Chapter Ten
King Cepheus
Cepheus knew his time had come.
Lying on his massive four-poster bed, with a red sheet tucked under his arms, he swept his eyes across the room, taking in the last image of it. Light, white drapes tied to each poster, brought more sunlight to his bed. The room held many furniture—chests, dressers, tables, and chairs—resting here and there.
It felt stuffy but nonetheless it was comfortable.
The walls carried a design of red-patterned diamonds. Above him, the high-ceiling displayed a painting of the heavens. He wondered if he still held a chance in entering the Elysium underground. Somehow he doubted it.
He stopped from examining the room when the door opened.
And in came his son dressed in his usual attire of black.
His coat held silver buttons running up a side of his breast. Chains dangled from his coat pocket and curved up, forming a loop. The black breeches fitted snugly around his waist. His round-tipped boots tapped against the floor and approached the bed. He held himself with confidence.
For the first time Cepheus noticed his missing necklace. He always wore his mother's gift; he cherished it with great love. Or so he would like to believe.
Darien stopped next to him and stared at him. He must have seen the exhaustion around his eyes. He must have seen a heavy man in bed, with a roll around his waistline, gray roots sprouting in his black hair, and dull-colored blue eyes.
He must have taken in his old man one last time.
Cepheus liked to imagine that.
It made it bearable to face his son.
He patted his stubby hand on the bed, wanting to reach his son. Darien looked at his hand and touched his fingers. It was enough for Cepheus to break into a smile.
"You came," Cepheus said. "Just like you had written in your letter."
He beckoned him with his fingers to come closer.
"Come."
He wanted to embrace his son one last time. But Darien did not want to move from his spot. Cepheus settled with his hand on his own, not wanting to take away the only affection he had of his son.
Then he noticed strapped around his waist the most obvious detail. He had ignored it on purpose, not wanting to think that his son would use it. But he slowly came with terms with it and tapped a finger against the hilt.
"Are you hesitating?"
Darien smiled lightly. "No."
It was hard to look into his eye. His only impulse was to run away but he was too weak to move, too sick to even lift his legs. He really hoped Darien did not go through with it.
"Have you come truly for my life?" he asked, not wanting to think his son would take his life away. His heart pounded violently. He was unable to look away from his son.
"Of course," Darien admitted. "What kind of a son would I be to go against his mother's wishes."
"She told me everything," Cepheus confessed.
Darien did not seem to care. "Has she now? Trying to play the noble part is she?"
He managed to shake his head. "No, she seeks forgiveness." He gripped his hand tighter. "Darien—"
Violent, and quick, he pulled his hand away from his grip, destroying the precious contact that Cepheus never had with his son. If only he paid attention to him more often, and not left him alone constantly with his mother, none of this would be happening at the moment.
"I do not want forgiveness."
Cepheus did not want to give up on his son. "You will be free."
Darien chuckled, bringing the back of his hand to cover his mouth. "Freedom is a dream."
Whatever his mother made him to believe, Cepheus wanted to counter it with salvation.
"Darien. Your mother… She did not mean all of this."
He wanted him to see that. His mother suffered from a heavy jealously. She was one of those people who acted before they saw reason. They can never grasp the enormity in their errors until it was too late to do anything.
Cepheus did not want Darien to follow that path.
"Did you know who my first victim was?" Darien said. "Rachel, the maid."
Again his heart raced painfully. It was plainly obvious that this was a reference to his mother's influence in the past.
"My second was Sandra, the wife of a general. The third, Annabelle, a chamber maid. The fourth, Sylvia, a baker's wife."
"Darien." Cepheus wanted him to stop. He refused to see his point.
"Then there was Cassandra." Darien continued counting the bodies. "Marie. Pauline. Jezebel."
"Darien, stop!" he ordered.
"And the last, Karina."
There was a heavy silence at the end of his impassive tone.
Cepheus cut through the thick tension with a shaky voice. "You are not to blame."
"I did not kill Elizabeth," Darien said. Cepheus turned quiet. "It was mother. She took it upon herself to do the act instead of using her son. It was the last kill. And what happens to her? She feels guilt, and cannot kill again. Why is it, Father, that I had to kill but I could not feel regret?"
Cepheus had no answer to give him. Constance did wrong to their son, and they were both paying heavily for their actions.
"Did you know what she used to say to me?" Darien continued, much to his discomfort. "'Emotions are for the weak'."
Cepheus looked directly into his eye. "Darien, your mother did not mean it. She was ill."
Darien shook his head. "No, she was a coward who used her son for her malicious acts."
Cepheus reasoned, "She was twenty at that time."
"I was five," he countered angrily. "What difference does age make?"
For a few seconds the silence invaded the room. Darien gained a bit of his composure and walked away from the bed, turning his attention to the window. Outside, the sun was bright, and the sky was barren of clouds. It appeared peaceful, different from the atmosphere in the room.
"You can still be saved," Cepheus reasoned.
He ignored him. "When I went to the heart of the labyrinth, I had a plea. Did you know what my plea was?" He looked away from the window and met his eye. "For us to rot in Tartarus."
"Darien, you just want revenge."
"No." He shook his head. "I do not want that. I just want all of us to drown in our corruption. There is no good in us. We are evil."
"No." Cepheus fought for reason. "We are here because we fought against control. We are here because we wanted a better future for our children."
"Instead, we turned against each other," Darien said, putting an end to his reason. He had nothing to counter against that.
Then his son approached the bed, slowly in his steps. The sword, pulled from its sheath, shined from the sunlight and reflected the horror of his face. Darien gripped the black hilt with both hands and raised it above his head.
There was nothing Cepheus could do. This was his end.
"Darien, you are my only son."
It was pathetic to attempt to reason with his son. His mind could no longer comprehend the fear in his tone.
"And you my only father."
It came swift.
His mind burst with an overbearing pain. Somewhere far off, he could hear his son's voice. It sounded like he was saying his final farewell. He wanted to answer back, but he felt something stuck in his throat. He never realized that it was his blood blocking the air in his throat.
And then everything started to fade, and all he heard was silence.
xx
Constance held in her breath.
Inside the room, Darien was with his father. She wanted to burst in and stop him from killing Cepheus. But she was afraid. How can she go against her only son?
The past numbed her senses.
She had begun to remember the night she had caught her husband with another woman. He had her pressed against the wall, her legs strapped around his waist tightly. She had heard them moan, watching as he pulled back his hip and went forward, and repeated the process.
She had not been thinking properly when she had spoken to her son. She had twisted his mind with lies. She had told him that his father was evil, corrupted, like everyone around them. He had easily believed her. He was only four at that time.
Then after months had passed, and her son was five, she had enough with Rachel, the maid to her son. She had given Darien a knife, and had told him to use it and stab it in her throat.
He was afraid. He did not want to do it.
"Do it for your mother."
"I refuse." He had cried. "I like Rachel."
"She is no good. Your father will leave us for her."
He had only cried harder, rubbing his eye with his free hand.
"Darien." She had cupped his chin, making him look in her crazy eye. "Do you want me to go away and have Rachel take my place?"
"No." He had looked to the ground, the knife held tightly in his hand.
"Then do it for your mother. Kill away all my sorrow. Promise me that you will."
"I promise."
He had kept his word until this day.
She had pushed her son to his limit and had transformed him into evil itself. And there was nothing she could do. Twenty-three-years had come and went. And during that time, she did nothing but feared the day when he would carry out her final request.
Your worst enemy, she reflected, was you.
Then the doors opened.
Darien came out of the room, and behind him, she noticed Cepheus laid dead. She gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth. Darien looked at her, and she noticed the blood spots scattered across his light face.
He approached her, and said in passing, "Finished."
A tremor had shot up to her spine. She collapsed to the floor, feeling helpless. Her throat felt raw, overcome by shock.
She shouted at him, "Did he mean nothing to you!"
Her voice echoed against the walls, and returned to her, mocking her with the same question. He stopped in his step and turned to her, reading her troubled mind.
"Did he mean something to you?"
She cried, tucking her chin to her chest.
"If you cared so much for him, you should have stopped me."
There was no denying the truth in his words. She was given the moment but refused to take it. She feared to lose her son. It was not any different as she was losing to him now, however.
He continued down the hall.
And she was left alone with one other person.
She said to them, "Will revenge satisfy you?"
She heard their steps approach, and then stopped right behind her. At the corner of her eye, the sunlight poured through the high windows, and displayed a shadow. In their hands, they gripped the sword and positioned it above her head.
She knew it was her time to join the underworld.
"No," he said.
She instantly knew who it was.
It seemed he wanted revenge for his mother's death—the first kill she committed with her own two hands. Guilt will never leave her alone. Perhaps in death, she would finally find peace.
She couldn't help but ask, "Why then do you seek my blood?"
And he answered, "Because it is the right thing to do."
She looked at the shadow and watched as the sword came swiftly down. And all she could feel, before her mind went blank, was insufferable pain.
xx
Darien wiped the blood off his face with a cloth.
Hearing a shriek nearby, he looked up to the sky and watched a harpy descend, dropping the necklace in his gloved-hand. The harpy then flew away, heading back toward wherever she came. He smiled and saved the necklace in his breast pocket. He would've liked to see his wife's expression when the necklace was ripped from her neck. She must've been frightened without it guiding her.
Looking at the cloth in his other hand, he took in the red smear and laughed at the sight. His old man surely bled a lot. In his mind he could still see his expression seeking for forgiveness. He took in a breath and smelled the fresh air. Sitting on top of a stone wall, he turned his head and noticed the green field that led toward town.
The sun hovered above his head. Andrew should be finishing up soon.
Tucking the cloth in his breast pocket, he looked out into the horizon, of where the forest laid. Soon he will see his wife again. It was about time he checked on her, anyway.
He thought again of his father and wondered why his expression bothered him. It would soon pass in time. He hoped.
For a few seconds he continued to wait—until he heard footsteps approach, revealing a frazzled advisor. He smiled at him and jumped off the stone wall.
"Come. We have things to do."
Andrew followed without protest as he placed the bloody sword back into his sheath.