Wicked Empress: The Onic Empire, Book 4 (21 page)

Defiant, he mouthed words at her, vicious and hateful words no doubt, but she couldn’t make them out. Moreover, she didn’t care. Ambo had spoken his last to her when he questioned her bonding to Drahka. Giving Ambo her back, she walk along the heated pathway, past the pile of stones, and took her place upon her throne. With a nod, she let the next accuser step up to the pile of rocks.

Once she had cast the first stone, any other person, citizen or slave, could step forward and state his or her own grievance against the condemned. Bithia wasn’t surprised that a long line of people stood silently waiting their turn. Ambo had wielded considerable power in the empire for scores of seasons; he’d wronged many people.

Bithia had other things she could have accused Ambo of, but by precedence, she stated the grievance for which he was put to the stone, not her own personal complaint. If she could, she would stand above him and cast stones until her voice gave out. By the prophecy, she spoke for the empire, not herself.

Black hair bound in a simple clip at the nape of her neck, her sister Kasmiri picked up a stone, her face grim as she approached the block. “You unleashed a monster unto the world.” She cast her stone, then turned, her loose black dress pressing against her body in the sudden gust of wind. At that moment, Bithia realized her sister was with child. Their eyes met across the expanse of crimson carpet. Subtly, her sister nodded while lowering her gaze, as if thanking her for finally delivering Ambo’s comeuppance.

Bithia wanted to ask why she’d refused to speak to her, but this was not the time. As Kasmiri drew close to her husband, she paused to kiss him, then left the gardens for the warmth of the palace.

Enovese set her book aside. She stood looking at the pile of rocks for a long time, as if debating whether to participate in Ambo’s stoning. A memory brought tears to her eyes and she grasped one. Walking smoothly toward him on her bare feet, her hair swaying with her movements, Enovese stood very close to Ambo’s head. “You told me I was nothing. I am not nothing.” She threw the stone as hard as she could, then turned, swirling her black skirt around her ankles as she glided by the pile of rocks. She picked up her book and then came to Bithia’s side.

Sterlave came forward. He selected his rock without looking at it, then marched to Ambo. “You abandoned Kasmiri and me on a world with the monster you created.” He cast his stone into the pressor. He strode away without looking at Ambo. At her throne, he paused, bowed and then followed his bondmate inside.

When Chur stepped forward, there was an audible drawing-in of breath from the crowd. Bithia wasn’t sure if their anticipation was because of his stunning appearance, for he glowed in the darkness, or curiosity about what he would say. She found herself leaning forward expectantly.

Hefting a stone in his fist, Chur strode to Ambo. “You conspired with others to have me killed when I was the Harvester.” As soon as he threw the stone, the crowd released a collective breath.

Others stepped forward, selected their stone, moved to Ambo, gave voice to their accusation, cast the rock upon him and stepped back. Ambo had been put to the stone for treason, but the nature of the ritual let any give voice to their grievance. The number who stepped forward, and the natures of their accusations, several of which were repeated endlessly, shocked Bithia:

“You forced me to your bed.”

“You killed my father.”

“You raped my sister.”

“You beat me.”

“You stole from me.”

“You lied to me.”

“You have worked tirelessly to overturn my bonding.”

“You have vilified me to others behind my back.”

“You corrupted the true nature of the prophecy.”

“You demanded bribes.”

So many people accused him of taking bribes that Bithia wondered if he held the bulk of the money in the empire.

Stone by stone the pressor crushed Ambo against the block.

Once everyone had a chance to cast as many stones as they wished, Bithia stepped forward again. This time she had to stoop forward to grab one. As these were closer to the heated carpet, the highly polished stone felt warm in her hand. She looked toward the Onic Mountains. Much of what they used on Diola came from the soaring peaks, including the rocks they now tossed upon the traitor.

As she drew close, Ambo was no longer mouthing vileness. He sipped air in a desperate bid to stay alive. His eyes met hers. Terror filled his gaze, his eyes beseeching her for forgiveness. Her heart was harder than the stone in her fist. She could summon no measure of mercy. If she wished to be kind, she could have had Ambo placed under a large stone that would have crush him immediately, but she’d forgone that clemency. She wanted Ambo to suffer as Viltori and Drahka now endured the trauma of their beatings.

“You conspired to kill the men I love.” Bithia held the stone in her hand for a long time, feeling its warmth, thinking of the heat she might never feel from her two lovers again. Never had she professed to love anyone, but now she loved two men, and this man, this worthless bully who she could not even call a man, might have taken them both away for no other reason than his pathetic lust for power. “There is no forgiveness in my heart for the harm you have done to the empire, or to me.”

Slowly, the rock tumbled from her fist. As it fell, lighting crystals around the area flashed across the polished surface, glittering into her eyes, causing her to squint. Ambo closed his eyes, holding his breath, as if that could save him.

Bithia’s stone clinked against the mound in the pressor, and as she turned away, she heard a gruesome gushing
pop.
Simultaneous revulsion and relief shivered her spine. She looked to the Onic Mountains again. Had the gods let him suffer and squirm until her stone finished him? Was this their way of saying her accusation was just?

Turning to the crowd, Bithia nodded. “It is finished.” Calmly assessing them, taking the time to catch and hold the gaze of the highest members of every House, she lifted her voice into the cold night. “Let this be a reminder to all that I rule the Onic Empire.” Bithia stood tall, her glittering crimson dress sparkling. “To conspire against me is to conspire against the empire as a whole.” She lowered her hand to the crushed remains of Ambo. Only his head had escaped the pressor. “Traitors will not be tolerated.” Lowering her gaze to the members of Blue-green House, who were now splattered in Ambo’s remains, she deliberately drilled her gaze into each pair of eyes as she spoke. “At dawn, we will assess the nature of your crime against the empire. In the circle, we will decide your punishment. I suggest you bring your most skilled protocol liaison.”

At that, the highest member of Blue-green House allowed a self-satisfied little smirk to cross his face. It darted away as soon as he caught Bithia’s direct gaze.

“Do not think yourself so blessed, for I have found a protocol liaison of my own.” Turning, she sought out Enovese, who bowed with touching grace, her enormous book held to her chest. Confusion ate up the confidence of the man’s gaze. Bithia realized he did not know who Enovese was. Not that she knew the woman well, but she knew enough to know there was no other person on the planet with Enovese’s knowledge of the Harvest prophecy.

With a flick of her hand, Bithia summoned guards to take all the members of Blue-green House into custody. There would be no escaping to other worlds for refuge, as Ambo had sought to do.

As she turned away, there was a mumbling, a murmuring, the slightest show of dissent. Spinning back around, Bithia demanded, “Who grumbles against our royal decree?”

Dead silence.

After the longest moment, a bitter wind swept over the crowd, wiping away the heat that rose from the carpet. Bithia gave them all her back as she entered the palace. Alone, she returned to the room that held Viltori and Drahka. Blinking away her tears, she took a stand between the two beds.

“There is always a sacrifice.”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Bithia whipped her head around but saw nothing. On the verge of calling out to her guards, she held back, for the voice was so familiar.

Into the room walked the handsome stranger who had taken her from Beserrah to Diola. Tall, muscular, his shape was reminiscent of someone else she knew, but before she could determine who, he moved out of the light of the hall and into the glowing blue darkness of the infirmary. Still, she’d seen a flash of the black band etched into his upper arm. Parallel lines against angles drew around his biceps in an endless circle.

“You.” She could say no more than that, for she didn’t know his name, or why he’d taken her away from all she knew to bring her to a world that had given her the heights of ecstasy, then the depths of pain.

“I.” He dropped to one knee, draping his hands over his bent leg, just as Sterlave and Chur had done earlier. After a moment, he tilted his face and his calm gaze hit her and held her immobile. “You must decide which one.”

“Which one what?”

Slow-motion seductive, the stranger stood. “Which one do you want more?”

Bithia looked between Viltori and Drahka. She didn’t know why she did, because she already knew she could not choose. “I want them both.”

Shaking his head, letting his shaggy brown hair with golden streaks fall over his face, he said, “No, Bithia. There is always a sacrifice.”

“I won’t choose.”

Lowering his chin, the handsome stranger held her gaze even with his subservient pose. “If you don’t pick one, you will lose them both.”

Bithia’s heart broke. “Who are you? Why would you do this to me?”

Sudden fury turned his body hard. Muscles flexed against tanned skin. “I do not do this to you. I am simply the messenger.”

Placing one hand upon Viltori’s glass coffin, she placed the other upon Drahka’s arm. When he moved, she stifled a gasp by yanking her hand away from Viltori’s glass cage.

“And the choice has been made.” With that, the handsome stranger exited the room, the curious eternal circle on his arm glowing golden.

Chapter Twenty

Lost in darkness, Drahka thought those who had gone before had finally condemned him to pay for his transgressions. Pain unlike any he’d known assaulted his body. He floated in agony, so alone and hurt he did not know what to do. A part of him gave up, almost embracing the endless crush of death, but another part longed for the loving embrace of the woman and man who inspired so much heat. And then, just when he thought he couldn’t decide whether to fight against the pain to love again, or give up and face no more pain, a tentative touch to his hand made the choice for him.

When he blinked open his eyes, Bithia stood over him, one hand clasped to his, one covering her mouth. “Drahka?” She mumbled his name against her fingertips.

He moved his mouth, but nothing emerged. His vision of Bithia doubled, trebled. Her dress glittered blue, but he knew that was wrong. Bithia wore only red. Because of her, he wore only red. Then he saw the tiny blue lights along the floor. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He had to know. “Viltori?” That was all he could summon.

“Oh, Drahka.” Bithia clasped his hand, squeezing firmly.

He tried to squeeze back, but he could barely tighten his grip. Weak as a child, he tried again to open his eyes, to see where he was, but his head hurt terribly from the effort. With his eyes closed, all he could see was man after man kicking, punching and spitting at Viltori’s limp body. What kind of warrior continued to pummel his opponent when he’d clearly surrendered?

Anger had rolled off the men like a stench. Such fury at Viltori, but Drahka didn’t understand why. Both of them had offered to suck the man’s cock. Drahka had offered so Viltori could run; Viltori offered so Drahka could run. However, that’s not what the man wanted. He did not seek pleasure, only retribution.

After an exchange of words, Drahka realized the man in the rumpled suit wanted revenge for the embarrassment Viltori caused him. Before the most powerful members of the tribe at the bonding celebration, this man had been shamed. When Viltori refused his attentions, he lost face. Drahka didn’t understand how beating Viltori would return him to prestige.

Two against twenty was unjust, but there was little they could do to stop such a determined group. Reason would not work. Pacification held no promise. They wanted blood. In the end, rather than one of them running to safety, they’d both stayed to fight. Drahka had a quick glimpse of a young man with black hair and blue eyes who Viltori urged to run, but then the group was upon them. Drahka had tried to fight them off, but they glommed onto him to keep him occupied while they went after Viltori. Bared teeth amidst snarls made him realize they would not stop until Viltori was dead.

Panic infused his body with great strength, but even he wasn’t big enough to prevail against so many. He knew he’d killed at least two men, maybe more, but none of that meant anything if Viltori were gone.

“Dead?”

“Please don’t speak.” Bithia leaned close to whisper in his ear, her scent of flowers and growing things soothing. “I have the men in holding. They will be dealt with.”

Drahka couldn’t find the breath to tell her that he didn’t care about those men, or what happened to them, all he cared about was his teacher, his friend. Words refused to form and he fell back into a dreamy mist.

There was something from the exchange he’d forgotten, something that was terribly important about his relationship with his chosen. The man in the rumpled suit had taken great glee in telling Drahka this information. All Drahka remembered was that the comprehension of it hurt. Whatever the man said was like a punch to Drahka’s gut, but no matter how hard he dug at the hidden knowledge, he could not uncover it. When struggling to remember hurt his head, he stopped trying to understand. He would find out soon enough.

Bithia stayed close, her scent and her heat filling him with hope that he would live to see another day. If only Viltori would be there with him, he could sleep in peace. And then, as if he had tried to protect himself from the truth, he realized Bithia’s refusal to answer told him all he needed to know.