"Am I not a better king than you, Luccos? Ha. Ha."
The man on the throne laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever said.
Luccos stood across from him, jaw tight, hands balled at his sides.
"This isn't right, Miruth. Release my people. Let them go."
"Oh?" Miruth leaned forward. "And what exactly will you do about it?"
Miruth — six feet tall, broad as a wall, black hair, somewhere around forty. He hadn't taken this city by birthright. He'd taken it by force, with Mite at his side, and he'd been enjoying it ever since.
"My king."
Mite came through the doors at a near-run, which was unusual for him.
Miruth looked up. "Why are you shouting, Mite?"
"I'm not shouting. Forget it — look what I've brought you. This will make you happy."
"What is it?"
"Guards. Bring him."
The guard pushed Jhed forward into the throne room.
Jhed blinked.
He'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't fully registered being brought here. Now he stood in front of a king he didn't recognize, in a room he'd never seen, with no plan whatsoever.
How did I end up here. And who is this man.
"A boy." Miruth stared. "How did a boy survive, Mite?"
"Honestly? No idea. But I'm telling you — there could be more children hiding in the city. Should we search the whole city again?"
Jhed looked at Miruth.
I've landed somewhere very bad.
"I can't believe it," Miruth said, almost to himself. "Six years I've been here. Six years, and I still haven't killed every last boy in this city."
He stood.
"Mite — where did you find him?"
"The gold mine, my king. He had cloth over his face."
"Luccos." Miruth turned with a wide smile. "Today, a boy dies. Ha. Ha."
He laughed loudly, genuinely delighted.
Luccos said nothing. His face had gone pale.
Miruth began walking toward Jhed slowly.
Maybe I'm a coward. Maybe that's why I'm stuck here. I don't know enough about this world — and that's Linea's fault. Fifteen years and she never let me leave, never told me anything. Because of her, I ended up here.
The thought moved through him automatically, the old habit of finding somewhere to put the blame. Loneliness had taught him that — had made him turn everything inward and then outward again, looking for a cause, a reason, a name to attach to the feeling.
Miruth's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Don't worry," Miruth said pleasantly. "You'll be killed with a great deal of affection."
Strangely — I'm not afraid.
Jhed noticed it with some detachment. The king's hand on his shoulder, the promise of death, the room full of people who wouldn't stop it — and nothing moved inside him. No spike of fear. No panic.
Just quiet.
Outside, through some window somewhere, moonlight was falling on the city. Luccos was still begging — voice low and strained, asking Miruth to let the boy go.
Miruth laughed at each word.
When a person believes nothing can touch them, that's exactly when they fall.
Jhed shoved Mite hard and ran.
Mite recovered in half a second.
The spears came — dozens of them, summoned from the magic circle that bloomed beneath Jhed's feet. They hit him from every direction at once, pinning him, piercing through him, driving into the floor.
One went directly through his skull.
He dropped to his knees.
The room went silent.