Chapter Sixty One: The Need for Vengeance, A Dying Flame
The Arakesh stood guard at the entrance to the dungeons did not want to allow Prince Carnen to pass, so he knocked the polearms from their hands and bashed their skulls against the stones, uncaring about ethics or diplomacy as he set off to put an end to the assassin who had slaughtered his entire family.
He snatched a torch from the wall and searched every cell, but it was only ragged strangers waiting for him in that network of musty corridors. He had no idea which area of the prison had even been assigned to Aya, but when he came to a solitary cell in the deepest section of the dungeons and found this one, single door hanging open, unlocked, he saw the truth in an instant.
Aya had already escaped, and her ignorant, incompetent guards had not even managed to sound an alarm about it yet.
Carnen sounded no alarm himself. He just headed back into the upper corridors of the castle, with his sword still hanging free at his side and demanded to know Lady Charlotte’s location. She was in the ballroom with her husband, Kareem, right in the middle of her wedding reception. “And that is where you should be as well, my prince, is that not so?” Clara’s lady in waiting, Arianna, prompted him gently, looking uneasily to the bared sword at his side.
“She’s no longer my bride. I’ve no need to attend the wedding,” Carnen retorted, “but I will make my appearance at the reception now, don’t you worry.”
He stalked right off on a straight course for that ballroom packed with feasting Arakeshi and dancing lines of noble ladies. Carnen felt no jealousy over Charlotte being twirled about in the arms of that posturing ponce, Kareem, but Aya was certain to feel outrage at the sight. She was sure to come storming in here to ‘liberate’ her friend from her new love, and Carnen would cut her head off the second she made her appearance.
The northmen on guard at the doors of that reception let through their prince without protest, but Clara herself intercepted him before he could be seen by this horde of foppish fools celebrating while an assassin roamed free around their halls.
“Carnen, you’re late, and you are not at all dressed properly,” Clara laughed, steering him away from the sight of the other lords. “Baring your sword right in front of our allies, that could have led to most serious--”
“Aya has escaped,” Carnen growled. “But that psychotic witch is far too possessive to cut her losses and run. She will make a move to rescue Charlotte first, and I am going to stop her!”
“Lower your voice. I understand this is concerning,” Clara soothed, with hand stroking his arm, but that only worsened his temper.
He pulled away from her impatiently. “No, you do not. You understand nothing. You are just like all those other fools, laughing and dancing on the eve of your king’s funeral! On the eve of his death! You care nothing at all--”
“And neither should you!” she snapped, finally losing patience, and he stared her down in bleary shock. “Yuri is dead. Yes. Now we can move on, and you will stop thinking about it. How many broken bones did he deal you? How many of those scars are from his belt? How many years did you spend most carefully picking your words to avoid inciting that wrath, an irrational wrath.”
“He was my father.”
“And you hated him,” she enforced, and he flinched, hand clenching all the tighter around his claymore. “You hated him, even more than I did, because you had to suffer that terror and abuse for far longer than I.”
“Are you saying Aya did me a favor?” he snapped. “That I should hunt her down just to thank her, not break open her skull--”
“You will not hunt her down. She is irrelevant,” Clara declared, putting hands to his face. “You have no need of vengeance, Carnen--”
“Yes, I do! And so should you!”
“Aya is not the one who killed him!” she shouted, and Carnen’s eyes widened, searching into that empty gaze, those hungry eyes devoid of all sadness, devoid of anything save pride and lust for power.
“What did you do?” he pressed her numbly, and she sighed, lifting the sword from his hand and setting it aside, as she raised his palm to her lips.
“I did what you should have, my young king. I put an end to that monster. I protected my child.” She guided his hand to her stomach. “And you will protect him too. I know you will. You will be such a better father to him.”
She leaned to kiss him again, and he seized her by the throat. “You killed my father. You killed your own husband, the father to your child, and you feel nothing about it!”
She stared him down in unblinking irritation. “Do stop raising your voice to me, Carnen. You are acting little more civilized than Yuri.”
“You feel nothing at all,” he realized.
“I feel for you,” she insisted, pressing up against his chest. “And I can make you feel better. I can make it all better--”
His fingers clenched tighter around her throat, and her horrid words cut out. He was one move away from breaking her neck. It would be righteous revenge to break her neck. She had betrayed them, used them, and… “I look at you and I feel nothing but disgust,” he stated, shoving her away.
He packed his notebook and a small sack of plain clothing and possessions, strapped on his sword and axe, and set off straight toward the city port. He was done with this country of plotters and poisoners. They were all of them monsters, and there was no use in vengeance. His men could follow the evil queen and the new heir of their dead king if they wished. Carnen was far too exhausted to stay posturing on as their leader. His family was dead, and it was well past time he sailed home.