AN: Ah, the long-awaited Chapter 11. I have not abandoned it, no; I shall continue. Nothing bothers me more than an unfinished fanfiction.
I am extremely proud of this chapter, yes I am.
Nephamael made his way down through the dark, winding passageways of the Unseelie Court, back under the hill, Corny trailing behind him like death itself often did. Nephamael wondered how long he'd last, how long before he broke. Maybe even tonight; he didn't seem too stable. That would be a pity. Plenty more to get out of this one, he thought.
When he entered into the brugh once more, an air of tension and excitement, even, had settled upon the scene. The air seemed to get closer, heavier. The edge upon which it teetered was sharp enough to cut.
He slipped through the crowd with frighteningly graceful ease; it parted for him without the requirement of even a threatening glace. It seems my reputation precedes me.
He managed to acquire a spot close to the dais where the sacrifice was being performed, and watched with a smirk as Nicnevin's clear voice rang out:
"What is the sacrifice we offer?"
Nephamael shivered. He lived for this night.
His gaze flickered to Kaye, who was now chained and squirming apprehensively, to his delight. Even where he stood, he could feel her paper-thin magic crackling slightly, attempting to throw the glamour off. Why was she even trying? That glamour was thicker than her own body; no sense in using her sadly underdeveloped ability in a vain endeavor to peel it back just enough to breathe a bit. It wasn't like she needed to breathe much longer, anyway.
He reached into a pocket in his coat and stroked Silarial's amulet, feeling the power flare and surge, shocking up his arm. He couldn't wait for the moment he could let it go, that almost violent release.
By then her corpse would be cold and still, lying inert on the colder marble of the dais. He longed to see Nicnevin's face, a pallid mask of shock and frigid beauty. Blank and white like freshly fallen snow.
He realized he was staring at Kaye, and she was staring back. Staring like she knew.
He wanted to flash a smile at her, but if he was mistaken...That would surely give his intentions away...Either that, or he'd come off as reassuring, which he didn't want.
Nicnevin. He felt something twist. What if she knew? What if she knew and wasn't letting on, had some secret way to kill him before his plan could be carried out? Some hidden way around it?
No, no, clearly he was being ridiculous. Such thoughts were fleeting paranoia and nothing more. There was nothing to back this steadily rising panic, nothing...Surely not the way her eyes flickered over to him just before she raised the knife above her tethered victim, or the terrible, threatening finality of her voice as it echoed throughout the hollow sidhe:
"Let the compact be sealed in blood."
Nephamael couldn't stand it any longer. He jerked his hand away from the amulet as if burned by it. He couldn't afford to be as impatient was he was.
A collective gasp from the amassed throng that was by now a living thing to him:
Their sacrifice had spoken, although her words were soft, inaudible. Roiben was up and moving now, the sharp sound of metal grating as he drew his sword. Suddenly Nephamael was entranced by the sight of blood, the smell. He ran his tongue along his teeth, searching for the taste. He heard the throng cry out, screaming for it. He longed to join them in their shrieking.
Instead, he laughed.
The pixie was jerking at her chains like a dog. Now she knows.
He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet panic like an addict. He caressed the amulet as one would a lover.
His trance was interrupted by a ringing clash. Nicnevin was dead; had the fool really killed her? The sacrifice struggled and howled under the body.
Nephamael unleashed the power from within the amulet, causing Kaye's flesh to peel back like burning paper .
Roiben stilled and stared with hollow eyes. His opponents did not hesitate to take advantage of this.
Another sharp, wild laugh choked from Nephamael He allowed himself to scream with the others now; it tore from his throat with unbridled passion. This was true elation, riding the wings of the night. The unified sound of the crowd roared in his ears; time seemed to slow as more death unfolded.
He screamed until he was raw and panting raggedly, until several knights lay dead and Kaye and Roiben had escaped into the dark.
Nephamael pushed forward and leapt onto the dais with fearsome grace, slipping through spilled blood. He looked out over his Host dazedly. He licked his lips and spoke, his voice a painful croak as he slumped into his ornate wooden throne:
"I am your King." Then, as an afterthought, "Bring me wine."