Tale of the Heart Queen (Artefacts of Ouranos #4)

Chapter 55

C HAPTER 55

GAbrIEL

A PHELION —T HE S UN P ALACE

W e stand in the courtyard of the Sun Palace under yet another grey sky. Thousands have gathered outside the walls to bear witness to Atlas’s execution. The inevitable could no longer be avoided.

Though officially the order came from Tyr, I uttered the fatal words, and they sit heavy in my chest like my heart has turned to iron. There were a few feeble protests and arguments on Atlas’s behalf, but they were quickly buried. It seems no one is in a forgiving mood. The few still loyal to him have been dealt with, too, though their punishments were more private and more easily delivered.

As the news filtered through the districts, I stood on the palace’s highest towers, watching Aphelion’s reaction. The celebrations of the low fae went well into the night, and while it seems callous to celebrate a man’s death, I also understand their position.

I run a hand through my hair, expelling a heavy sigh. They all want to come closer, but I know this would turn into a blood bath if we allowed it. Almost every soldier in Aphelion is already marching through the crowd, struggling to maintain order.

In the center of the courtyard stands a platform. Off to my left, Atlas waits flanked by Jareth and Rhyle, the arcturite cuffs still binding his wrists and throat. His gaze slides to me, and he stares with fury and loathing. I don’t know if he’s trying to intimidate me, but I stare back, unflinching.

He made this bed. I’m only doing what I must.

Clouds gather in the sky as if they, too, understand what’s about to happen. I feel the first gentle drops against my cheeks and hope this isn’t an ominous sign.

“It’s time,” I say, my voice rough. Emotion wedges in my throat. Anger. Frustration. Resignation. I try to tease out its edges, searching for the guilt I expected.

The crowds beyond the wall surge and shout, chanting for Atlas’s head. Everyone is here. The nobles. The council. I even see some of the fallen Tributes. Atlas owes them all something too.

“We’re ready,” says the executioner, who stands on my other side, and I breathe out one more time, trying to expel the last of Atlas’s poison from my veins .

It is time.

I look behind me at Tyr, who stands between Hylene and Erevan. I watch them both. The past and the future, if only Erevan would stop being so damn stubborn.

Erevan nods and then drops Tyr’s arm, intending to join me. Tyr asked to stay back, and of course, I couldn’t deny his request.

I gesture for Rhyle and Jareth to come and follow the executioner to the platform. My brothers drag Atlas up the stairs. He stumbles along, his body limp, as he stares at me.

“Prince Atlas of Aphelion!” I shout, my voice rising over the increasing patter of rain. “For locking up the king. For impersonating the true ruler of Aphelion. And for crimes against all of us, you are sentenced to death.”

A chorus of boos and cheers greet my words as Atlas’s face turns white. Maybe part of him really thought he’d still get out of this. But after everything he did, I cannot allow him to live.

My brothers force Atlas to his knees as the executioner retrieves his axe, the sharp edge glinting despite the absence of sunlight. I blink. And I blink again, forcing myself to look as my stomach twists, threatening to climb up my throat before slumping at my feet.

“Gabe! Erevan!” Atlas calls as Jareth places a hand on his head and pushes him down. “Don’t do this! I’m your brother!”

Erevan shakes his head and walks forward, bending down to murmur softly to Atlas.

“You are lost, cousin. You had so many chances to undo all of this. Do not beg for clemency, for you have never deserved it. ”

They are cold words uttered without mercy. Erevan is true to his convictions, and I admire the fuck out of him for it.

And that’s when Atlas starts to cry. I haven’t seen him shed a single tear since we were boys, but fat tears roll down his cheeks as he realizes there isn’t a single person left in his corner.

This is the end, and I try to drag up sympathy, but all I feel is pity.

My gaze casts over my shoulder to Tyr, who also weeps as he clings to Hylene. Atlas stares at him, and I swear every single person standing in the square feels the accusation that moves between them.

Maybe, in the end, they both let one another down.

Tyr slowly lifts a hand, and I don’t know if it’s a signal for something because Atlas loses it then, thrashing, bucking, crying.

“You think he’d accept this with some dignity,” Erevan says under his breath.

And I shake my head. I knew he wouldn’t.

It takes two more warders to wrestle Atlas under control until finally they force his head onto the chopping block, his cheek pressed to the rough wood. He stares out at the crowd, and then his gaze falls on me again before an entire lifetime passes in that look.

He struggles with his restraints as the executioner walks up to the block, swinging his axe. It’s then Atlas goes still, his gaze sweeping over the crowds chanting for his head. Slowly, he studies them all as another tear leaks from the corner of his eye and drips over the bridge of his nose. What does he understand in this moment?

The executioner waits for the signal, and I take another breath that does nothing to settle the churning in my gut.

As I give him a dip of my chin—the signal to proceed—I feel myself moving in slow motion, willing myself not to throw up.

In a few seconds, there will be no turning back.

Atlas’s eyes move to me, and they stay there, watching me. Weighing me. Surprisingly, there is no accusation in his expression, only sadness.

Erevan shifts closer, his shoulder brushing mine.

“You don’t have to watch,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

But I must.

To find closure in this chapter of my life.

I must.

The executioner lifts his axe as thunder booms overhead and the rain falls harder. I blink drops out of my eyes as they mingle with the tears that slide down my cheeks.

Around the courtyard are shaking shoulders and bent heads and so many more tears.

Despite everything, for a little while, he was their king.

The axe falls, and as much as I want to look away, I force myself to bear witness to it as it slices clean through Atlas’s neck and then . . .

The false Sun King is gone, and there is only the sound of the rain.