The rebellion of the Wendigo is crushed. Guards drag me away, limp and bruised. Through the slits of swollen eyes, I see the remaining foremen on their knees, bullets blasting through the backs of their heads in a spray of red mist. Faria, though, breaks free from my father’s men. He stands before Alberich.
“You have what you wanted. Patriarch Leontes promised a reward?”
Faria?
“Edric Leontes thanks you for your service. That’s reward enough,” Alberich responds.
My father’s men grab my mentor. He fights at first, but he’s not the man he once was. A humbaton strike to the old man’s midsection doubles him over. I lose sight of him under the beatings of my father’s men as I’m pulled away.
MOVEMENT III: FINALE
CHAPTER 25
CODA
The return to Meridian is a haze. I’m shoved into a sondi, barely able to stand upright. No matter. I’ll heal fast, and nothing will stop me. My rebellion was thwarted, but I’ll be led to the same place—face-to-face with my father. I’m no longer the helpless youth who was held down and watched while he murdered my wife and unborn child. I’m no longer a boy who is too small to stop the beating of his mother. Edric desired that I become a killer. Now, he has his wish, and there’s only one man in the whole universe I desire to kill. I summon my energies. I’ve little time to clear the neurotoxins from my cells. I shut out all other thoughts.
Finally, my face is shoved to the floor at the foot of what I remember as the Wusong throne. Now, however, the chair’s golden sea monkeys have been replaced with resplendent silver leviathans. The man reigning is not Old Wusong, but a silver-haired titan.
“Edric,” I murmur. One strike is all I will need. I look up, but the man on the throne is not the father I remember.
He is wrinkled and haggard. Skin sags. Thick veins like bluish worms shine through its sickly yellow hue. The lustrous silver hair now hangs lank. His frame seems flaccid and rickety. His bones pop and creak as he stands. Edric Leontes is horribly changed. In my five years of exile, he has aged more than thirty.
“Rise,” he whispers.
My plans to murder fall away as I’m too shocked to react.
“Strip him,” his voice rasps. Guards descend upon me tearing the rags from my body. I don’t resist. Edric’s pale eyes take me in from head to toe. “Alberich.” He gestures to his seneschal, who lumbers forward to help the decaying skeleton down the steps. He hands Edric a cane of whale ivory, a silver leviathan head for its pommel.
My father shuffles toward me, the cane tapping eerily. He squints.
The hate I’d been so long preparing turns to ash in my mouth. All I feel is surprise and pity.
He takes in my smooth scalp and my emaciated physique. “You look terrible,” he croaks.
“Take a look in the mirror,” I spit back.
His lips curl into a sneer as he shuffles past me. “I’m not what you remember.” Several lung-bursting coughs rack the old man. Alberich quickly returns the old man to the throne and fetches him a drink.
“Poison.” Edric gestures to the flagon in his hand. “Corocona. A rare herb scoured from the depths of some Theran jungle. Highly addictive. The doctors tell me the precursor was introduced into my blood not long after you left. You see, the drug needs multiple components in order to take effect. The precursor is harmless on its own. It only becomes deadly when bonded with a catalyst, making it all the harder to trace the source. The effects were subtle at first. Headaches, dizziness, loss of equilibrium. Most victims don’t know they’ve been dosed. Most are dead within weeks when the toxin’s removed from the diet. I’m not most.”
“You’re one of the lucky ones?” I taunt.
“I’m a two-time champion of the—” He doubles over in a fit of coughing.
A dying two-time champion, I think.
“I consulted physicians, top pathologists from Prospera’s academy on Lyria. They said removing the toxin from my body would cause instant paralysis and death. So I continue to take the contaminant and complete a slow downward spiral, watching myself wither into decrepitude.”
“Your body now matches your soul.” I laugh at the bitter irony. I should kill him anyway. For my mother. For Nadia. Yet I realize someone has already done the work in a far crueler fashion than I could ever have dreamed. All I have to do is nothing, and I can watch him waste away in agony.
I feel triumphant, and I feel robbed. I’ve lived for vengeance for so long, to have it yanked from me like this . . . I laugh to keep myself from crying.
“I need you, Edmon,” he croaks. I laugh harder. “Edgaard is dead. Those who have sought to destroy our house by murdering him and poisoning me must be punished.”
Tears stream down my face as I shake with amusement. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“I’ve watched your progress, my son. You’ve faced challenges. You’ve become strong.”
My laughter ceases. “You knew what happened to me in the Wendigo. You made sure I was kept alive in the event you needed me.”
“If you died, you were too weak anyway. But you didn’t, and now, you’re ready. Take your place as my heir. Enter the Combat. Claim your place with the Electors. Stop the madness, this cult of Phaestion.”
“I’ll never fight for you!” I gnash my teeth, cutting off his monologue. “You beat my mother in front of my eyes, then lobotomized her. You strangled my wife, the mother of my unborn child, while your men held me down. You slew all the people I held dear and condemned me to darkness. You think I’d raise one finger for you?”
“You’ve no idea what’s at stake,” he whispers.
“Nor do I care. I’d rather kill you right here!”
“Do it!” he challenges. “Show me what you’ve learned. Commit the ritual patricide!”
That’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it?
I shake my head. “I’d rather watch you slowly wither.”
“You’re still weak,” he accuses. “You think I’d let you kill me, while you still don’t understand?” The thick cords of his veins bulge. “You could never see past your own selfishness, Edmon, never one action further than the next—”
“Says the man who bites the very hand he asks for help,” I reply.
“What choice do either of us have now, son?”
My scornful musing soars. “I’ve the greatest choice. I choose to do nothing.” I stand before him, naked, but fearless.
“We will force you into the arena. Do nothing, you’ll die, and all the people you love, their deaths will go unanswered,” Alberich growls.