Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

examining them closely, as if there is a memory hidden within them. His fingers glide across the raindrop sapphire on one of the pommels. “They have a sister, you know. These blades. Keep them safe. I have a hunch you’re going to need them someday.”

Harris strides down the steps without any indication he has just endured a grueling battle. He strides forth with confidence and strength. Like an invincible warrior seeking out his final battle. I follow with a slight limp and a lot of pain as my body recuperates from the loss of energy.

Beyond the angry mob, I see what’s causing the uproar and the bright glow. Four bodies hang from the noose rafter, and all four bodies are aflame. It’s Parliament—every one of them, save for the evil tyrant, the one who should be hanging from a noose. Shambrock, the Shogun; Nigel Whitewater, the Magistrate; Leonard Lumen, the Architect; and Kel Cromarte, the Chancellor. All four hang with nooses around their necks, lives extinguished, unlike the flames scaling their bodies.

“There he is!” shouts an infuriated voice from the crowd.

“Taboo!” shouts another.

“You’ve abandoned the law! An execution without a public trial? String him up with the others!” one bold man calls out.

I have never heard anyone threaten the Taoiseach’s life. Not without consequence. The crowd moves toward us as I stand beside the accused murderer.

“Are you responsible for this?” I whisper to Harris while focusing on the approaching angry mob. Sasha. He communicated something to her right after they left the chamber. And now, they’re dead. Who else would command such an act?

“He must burn with the others!” another voice cries out.

“I will not show weakness,” Harris replies, avoiding my question. “This is where you are tested. Will you compromise? What are you willing to sacrifice?” He hands Life Bringer to me—both blades—and positions himself for a fight with his fists at the ready.

“The boy is with him. Burn them both!” a woman exclaims.

Decide? Decide what? What choice do I have? Harris publicly executed Parliament, and the people believe me to be a coconspirator. They fear him, but their anger outweighs their fear. They will all die if they attack him. Including me. If Harris remains in full power with the realm fearing him more than ever, this will not end well for anybody. Society will continue to crumble. Harris must die.

I regard him with admiration and animosity, as he stands at least a head taller than me. He’s a warrior ready for battle with his muscles full of adrenaline. He stands in a defensive position, but with a calmness that shouldn’t be possible. Knowing what I know now, I don’t know whether to respect his courage for the choices he has had to make or hate him for his effect on my own life. I mostly despise him, I think.

“All I have left is my flesh. And my tyrant. To protect Azure, there is only one thing left to sacrifice.”

A subtle grin appears on Harris’ face. I grip Life Bringer tightly, one blade in each hand, and circle around, swiftly decapitating the Taoiseach just above the shoulders with one blade and piercing his heart with the other. His body falls first, sliding off my blade. Then, his head follows, bouncing off the limp body and rolling to the side.

The crowd halts. Stunned.

“Burn the body,” I command. “And mount the head on a spike next to the others. It is time to elect a new Parliament.” I turn without another word and walk back to retrieve my sister. “We’re going home.”

54 Ellia

“O

h, Susy’s four hells,” I whisper liberally to myself after lifting my head from the pot. The morning is brisk, yet I sweat in abundance and vomit unwarrantedly. My handmaid, Nayettѐ, enters the room to address the violent noises I so willingly divulge to any nearby eavesdroppers.

“Miss Rosewood. Please, drink some of this.”

Nayettѐ holds out a tray with a steaming silver teapot and a mug filled to the brim with a hot, aromatic beverage. She’s lovely, only a youth at a mere fourteen seasons, and she knows exactly what ailment causes my vehement outbursts. Hardly.

“What is it? Smells worse than what escapes my stomach.”

“Only tea, Miss Rosewood.”

“Tea? I heave everything. Why would I want tea?”

“Well, you’ll need to do your best to keep it down because this is tea you’ll regret not drinking.”

“What are you saying, Nayettѐ? What’s wrong with me?” I sit down in the armchair nestled by the window of my bedchamber. It’s a bit hard. Not nearly as comfortable as I’d like. I pull my dark hair back, roll it into a bun, then slip a dagger from my black petticoat and pierce it, fastening it in place to keep it out of my eyes. In case I feel the urge to lunge at the pot again.

“Whose is it?” Nayettѐ asks.

“Whose is what? Nayettѐ, stop with your confounding tongue. It’s too early.”

“It’s barely dawn, and you’re vomiting, are you not? You awake in a sweat on a morning that could chill a snow leopard. And above all these symptoms, there is a glow about you. You have a child inside you, Miss Rosewood. Drink up.”

“What is this?” I slap the silver tray from Nayettѐ’s grasp. The hot tea splashes all over the two of us, causing her to wince. I grab at her black handmaid’s dress and tear a portion from the already above-the-knee hem to dab at the mess. “This wouldn’t be laced with toxins, would it? Get out!”

The handmaid hastily rushes to the door with her head low. I’ve offended her. Nayettѐ knows all too well she will have to convince me it’s a miracle. And because of that, she also knows she needs to abolish it.

“Wait. Nayettѐ?” I urge in a more controlled tone. “My actions