Rise of a Fallen Man (A Look in the Mirror #2)

Chapter 21

Ari

T hree days later, the judge reached the verdict in the case that terrorized the city for weeks. The man who brutally murdered women was sentenced to death by decapitation the very next day. He didn’t appeal the verdict. There’d be no use if he did. His crimes were too grave to deserve any leniency. He earned the death penalty many times over.

As the crown princess, I was required to attend his execution, but I would’ve come here either way. Like so many people who had gathered around the execution site that morning, I wished to see the end of the terror with my own eyes.

Mother and I got our seats close to the platform. A few long benches circled the execution site, providing some seating for the spectators. However, the crowd swelled to a size far larger than the benches could accommodate.

There was a sense of relief among the people that morning. The execution meant to put an end to fear that had reigned over the minds of many.

As the guards led the prisoner toward the block with the executioner standing nearby, I braced to face the devil incarnate in the man who’d killed so brutally.

The blubbering, whimpering man they brought in, however, was nothing like I’d imagined. Tall and thin, he stumbled under the weight of the heavy chains that wound around his torso several times to bind his arms to his body. A heavy metal ball was attached to his right leg to prevent him from escaping. He dragged it behind him, barely able to move forward.

The crowd booed and shouted, but all I could do was stare.

“Monsters...” he muttered, wildly roaming his eyes over the crowd. “Demons are coming. Hide your sons... No man is safe...”

What was he talking about?

Saliva foamed in the corners of his mouth, dripping down his unkempt beard. His dark, overgrown hair fell over his forehead, covering most of his face.

The guards positioned him behind the solid wooden block. One of the guards kept her crossbow trained at his head.

As they pushed on his shoulders, forcing him down to his knees, he stared straight ahead at Mother and me, but he didn’t appear to see us. His eyes rotated wildly in their sockets, his chapped lips moving incessantly.

“They won’t stop until we are their property...” he chanted. “...until we all are dead. They’ll cut our flesh off our bones. Burning... They’ll burn us in eternal fire... All of us...”

A guard grabbed his hair, forcing him to tilt his head backward. The sweat-soaked strands fell away from his face, revealing what I first thought was a mask made from clay plastered on his face and never smoothed out.

The guards made him bend over, positioning his head on the block. The executioner raised her axe. The muscles in her tanned arms bulged out. With so few executions taking place in Rorrim, she didn’t get to practice her craft often, but she proved her skill by chopping through the man’s neck in one swift, clean blow.

The mumbling stopped as the head separated from the body and dropped toward the basket positioned in front of the block to catch it. It missed the basket, however. Bouncing off the edge, the severed head hit the platform, then rolled off it and to my feet.

Mother gasped, jumping from her seat. I got up, too, lifting the heavy skirts of my formal attire away from the rolling head and the bloody trail it was leaving behind.

Blood sprayed my slippers. The head stopped in front of me, the glassy eyes staring up into the sky.

What I’d mistaken for a mask turned out to be a thick layer of scars. Elaborate cuts and badly healed burns covered the man’s entire face and neck all the way to the bloodied line at the end of the stub of his neck. His beard grew in uneven patches with bald spots where the skin was too damaged to grow hair.

“Ari.” Mother gripped my arm, but I refused to move, staring into the dead eyes of the killer.

“What happened to him?” I asked. “Why does he look like that?”

Mother shook her head. “He was a dangerous man, daughter.”

I remembered the incoherent mumbling. The look in his eyes as he had stared at me from behind the chopping block didn’t hold much more awareness than the glassy stare of the severed head did.

“He wasn’t well,” I said softly.

Had the man even realized he was about to die? Had he known why?

“My apologies, Your Highness.” The executioner bowed to me, collecting the head.

Watching her toss the dead head into the basket, I remembered the killer’s description that Madam Trela reported to us, “Tall. Dark hair. With a beard.”

She had never mentioned the scars.

THE SCENE OF THE EXECUTION stayed with me long after I returned to the place.

I hurried up the stairs to my rooms, eager to get out of my ceremonial clothing. The stiff formal gown compressed my chest, and the heavy mantle weighted down on my healing shoulders so much they ached.

After I stumbled back into my rooms, it took three maids to relieve me from the heavy robes of my formal outfit. They helped me into a much lighter and far more comfortable cotton dress with a high waist and cup sleeves.

I wished it was evening already, so I could take a cup of Salas’s tea and go to bed. Whether or not the tea worked, it helped me relax before going to bed. It filled my belly with warmth and my heart with memories of him. Tonight, however, I feared even his magical tea wouldn’t erase the dead stare of the severed head imprinted in my mind.

A short while later, a maid arrived with Mother’s request for me to join her for tea.

Pressure inside my head threatened to grow into a headache. I needed a few more moments of peace and quiet.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” I said to the maid.

“But Her Majesty insists, Your Highness.”

That was Mother’s way to let me know that her request was actually an order. The matter must be important.

“All right. I’ll be right there.”

As I approached the drawing room where Mother was taking her tea that afternoon, the guards at the door bowed to me.

“Lady Etah and Lady Gem are with the queen already, Your Highness,” one of them informed me. “Madam Trela and the games master have been sent for too.”

It looked like Mother was holding an informal meeting disguised as a tea party.

The three women stood by one of the tall open windows into the gardens as I entered. A low table in the sitting area was set with tea, but no one seemed to have any.

“We can put strings with paper lanterns over the pond.” Gem gestured across the window at the lily pond out in the gardens. “This way, we’ll have plenty of light before and after the fireworks.”

Mother nodded.

“Oh, that will look so lovely, Gem.” She turned to me with a bright smile. “Ari, dearest, thank you so much for joining us.”

“What are you discussing?” I asked, after greeting the ladies.

“The event tomorrow,” mother replied. She was giving a ball in honor of the delegation from the Olakrez, whose visit to Rorrim was coming to an end. “I decided to expand the ball. We’ll have a garden party and a ceremony before dinner—”

“What kind of ceremony?” I glanced at Gem.

Mother answered for her, “You see, darling, there has been so much...um, upsetting events lately. But the king is doing well. You survived that horrible ordeal in the gladiators’ arena. The safety regulations of the games are being overhauled with the help of the council appointed committee.” She gestured at Lady Etah, the Head of the Council, who nodded in confirmation. “Now, I decided it was time to bring some positivity into our lives.”

“By having a party?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Instead of dwelling on the bad, I wish to highlight the good that has happened by honoring the heroes who keep us safe. Madam Trela and her guards will be invited as the guests of honor, as well as the gladiators.”

“The gladiators? All of them?”

My heart beat faster at the mere possibility of catching a glance of Salas tomorrow. Guilt came rushing in right after. Salas was not the man I should be thinking about when I had a husband who had been sulking at me over the lack of attention he was getting from me.

“Madam Trela reported last week,” Mother continued, “that one of my gladiators helped capture the murderer who was executed this morning. I thought it’d be appropriate to celebrate the man who helped us keep this city safe. And since one of the gladiators also assisted you to get to safety in the arena—”

“ Assisted me? Mother, he literally saved my life,” I corrected her weak choice of words. “If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead.”

Gem rubbed her chin in thought. “Has he ever explained how he ended up defeating the dragon? They say he created a fire?”

Gem left the arena shortly after the dragon had gotten loose and way before Salas used his fantastic abilities to save us.

“That’s what I’ve heard too,” Lady Etah said. “Witnesses claim he created fire, which is incredible if it’s true. Is he a warlock, by any chance?”

“Why not?” Gem snorted. “He’s been many things. It wouldn’t surprise me if he also practiced some forbidden magic on the side.” She then turned to the window, mattering under her breath, “Is there a line that man wouldn’t cross?”

“He’s not a warlock,” I said firmly.

“How do you know?” Mother tilted her head.

“I just do. But feel free to ask the games master when she gets here.”

“All right,” Mother conceded. “The point is, two of my gladiators have distinguished themselves in the past few weeks. One helped to apprehend the murderer, and the other one rescued you in the arena. King Trebor suggested a ceremony to bestow the queen’s medal on one of them, and I agreed. It will be good for the healing of our people to honor a deserving man after the execution of a terrible one.”

“We’ll just have to decide which of the two gladiators is more deserving of such an honor,” Lady Etah added.

Mother sighed. “It will be a tough choice to make. Saving the city from terror or rescuing the crown princes from the clutches of a dragon? How does one weigh these two great deeds against each other?”

“Why not give them both a medal?” I suggested.

Mother chuckled. “I’m not against honoring a man once in a while when his behavior sets a good example for the rest of the male population. But receiving the queen’s medal is the highest honor in the country. We can’t give it just to anyone.”

“Just last year, you gave two medals on the same day,” I reminded her.

“Yes, but that was to honor two very distinguished women. We can’t do the same for men. We risk making the award look frivolous.”

“But if both deserve it—”

A knock on the door interrupted me.

“Your Majesty,” a guard entered, “Madam Trela and the games master have arrived.”

The door opened wider, and the two esteemed women entered, followed by a man who had not been announced.

He stayed behind the women, but because of his height that allowed him to tower over them, I could see his face perfectly.

Salas.