The shouting and the jostling.
The protesting and the crackling fire.
Sarah struggled as the flames rose to meet her hungrily, but Caius didn't see it, didn't need to, didn't want to. As much as he wanted to keep people safe, as much as he couldn't even comprehend the fate the young mage was to suffer, he also couldn't comprehend why any of those in the crowd would really want to be here, to see this, for even in Cylus, this wasn't light in the darkness and the flames chilled him in ways the temperatures no longer could. Thus far, the example the King had wanted to set, the statement the Lord Inquisitor had wanted to make—the painting of mages as evil and worthy of punishment by death—was clearly working in their favor. The problem was, how much longer could everyone fuck it up before someone noticed?
The young Gawyne heard the crowd sway their response from cries of murder to cries for mercy and he was unfortunately not surprised, caught up in the commotion as things fell apart behind him. Of course her death was disgusting. Of course the crowd was shocked, horrified. They should be. But those who'd been there in Vhalar knew better. Those who'd seen the cobblestones red with innocent blood, scorched by magical explosions knew that justice would be served with or without their permission. If it could even be called justice. Even the Lord Arbiter himself wasn't entirely sure if it was a fair judgement he was dispensing, no matter how seared into his thoughts the extent of magic's evil had been.
He'd made it to the guards and the dark-haired man who'd touched Sarah's mother, who'd knocked a Knight over with a mere touch. Caius glanced him over as the young man submitted, afraid. Hardly the calloused, murderous Seekers who'd laid waste to common folk without a second thought,
"Get him inside. Find Sarah's mother and get her inside, too. Don't hurt him—we don't know what he's capable of yet, damn it." He repeated, louder this time above the noise of confusion and mixed emotions, above his pulse racing in his ears, blinking as the bitter wind he couldn't feel shifted and the smell of burning mortal flesh and the sounds of a young woman's agony flooded his senses for a moment. How desperate Caius was to remind himself of how the same scents and screeches had been from those without a Spark just barely over a season ago, as if that memory made this moment any better.
"Lord Arbiter, ser—" A voice from behind him growled, mailed hand snatching for his shoulder.
Hissing, the young Gawyne turned, grip tightening on his saber, opening his mouth to ask what was happening now, but he saw it, over the ruddy glow cast from the Moseke Knight's intricately engraved pauldron, catching the last moments of the man he'd conscripted to the Order's service because he'd breathed familiar names toss himself away from the flames and onto the cobblestones. The grave robber—Narav. He had a reason to hate mages, apparently, but was this a warped sense of revenge, an even more warped decision for mercy, or something twisted by the mage herself?
For Fate's sake.
There was no time to make that decision, for in the span of a few heartbeats, Narav had gone and stabbed the fucking mage.
She was an Empath, after all.
"Your man, my Lord, he's—"
"Mine?" Caius bristled, irises darkening, "That mage dying up there's an Empath, not that I expect you to know what that sarding means. It could be any one of you angry and waving a weapon had she met your eyes. Get him away from the crowd and the fire and inside. In a cell if it makes you happy. I'll deal with him later. Make it look like an official decision—for the Kingdom and all that. The crowd got the mercy they wanted and we made sure that one's dead. Now."
Shrugging off the gauntleted hand with a cloud of angry breath, the northern noble turned and followed the Purifiers and Hart into the Courthouse's holding cells, an unspoken rage burning inside the cavity of his chest like the flames that licked higher, consuming flesh. One more poor choice in a succession of horrible choices, and he'd have to answer for all of them, either in this life or the next.
Caius longed to feel more strongly the sway of conviction, the comforting weight of confidence in the decisions made against magic and mages. He longed for the firm touch of truth in knowing that this was for the greater good, that those with spark-twisted souls were incapable of anything but deception and evil, no matter how young their faces or how loud their cries in the grip of a painful death. He longed to untangle his insatiable need to see both sides from his emotions, to be able to see but not to feel, to judge without regret. Instead, he worried that there was no right answer, no clear path, no definitive direction that this decision could bring the Kingdom other than into the wind like ashes, divisive and chaotic as things were going.
Seven have mercy—were there mages in the Eternal Kingdom?
With one more glance at the crowd, Caius sheathed his weapon and disappeared into the Courthouse, hoping that someone had found DuKette and that whoever their dark-haired captive was, he wasn't another fucking mage.
The protesting and the crackling fire.
Sarah struggled as the flames rose to meet her hungrily, but Caius didn't see it, didn't need to, didn't want to. As much as he wanted to keep people safe, as much as he couldn't even comprehend the fate the young mage was to suffer, he also couldn't comprehend why any of those in the crowd would really want to be here, to see this, for even in Cylus, this wasn't light in the darkness and the flames chilled him in ways the temperatures no longer could. Thus far, the example the King had wanted to set, the statement the Lord Inquisitor had wanted to make—the painting of mages as evil and worthy of punishment by death—was clearly working in their favor. The problem was, how much longer could everyone fuck it up before someone noticed?
The young Gawyne heard the crowd sway their response from cries of murder to cries for mercy and he was unfortunately not surprised, caught up in the commotion as things fell apart behind him. Of course her death was disgusting. Of course the crowd was shocked, horrified. They should be. But those who'd been there in Vhalar knew better. Those who'd seen the cobblestones red with innocent blood, scorched by magical explosions knew that justice would be served with or without their permission. If it could even be called justice. Even the Lord Arbiter himself wasn't entirely sure if it was a fair judgement he was dispensing, no matter how seared into his thoughts the extent of magic's evil had been.
He'd made it to the guards and the dark-haired man who'd touched Sarah's mother, who'd knocked a Knight over with a mere touch. Caius glanced him over as the young man submitted, afraid. Hardly the calloused, murderous Seekers who'd laid waste to common folk without a second thought,
"Get him inside. Find Sarah's mother and get her inside, too. Don't hurt him—we don't know what he's capable of yet, damn it." He repeated, louder this time above the noise of confusion and mixed emotions, above his pulse racing in his ears, blinking as the bitter wind he couldn't feel shifted and the smell of burning mortal flesh and the sounds of a young woman's agony flooded his senses for a moment. How desperate Caius was to remind himself of how the same scents and screeches had been from those without a Spark just barely over a season ago, as if that memory made this moment any better.
"Lord Arbiter, ser—" A voice from behind him growled, mailed hand snatching for his shoulder.
Hissing, the young Gawyne turned, grip tightening on his saber, opening his mouth to ask what was happening now, but he saw it, over the ruddy glow cast from the Moseke Knight's intricately engraved pauldron, catching the last moments of the man he'd conscripted to the Order's service because he'd breathed familiar names toss himself away from the flames and onto the cobblestones. The grave robber—Narav. He had a reason to hate mages, apparently, but was this a warped sense of revenge, an even more warped decision for mercy, or something twisted by the mage herself?
For Fate's sake.
There was no time to make that decision, for in the span of a few heartbeats, Narav had gone and stabbed the fucking mage.
She was an Empath, after all.
"Your man, my Lord, he's—"
"Mine?" Caius bristled, irises darkening, "That mage dying up there's an Empath, not that I expect you to know what that sarding means. It could be any one of you angry and waving a weapon had she met your eyes. Get him away from the crowd and the fire and inside. In a cell if it makes you happy. I'll deal with him later. Make it look like an official decision—for the Kingdom and all that. The crowd got the mercy they wanted and we made sure that one's dead. Now."
Shrugging off the gauntleted hand with a cloud of angry breath, the northern noble turned and followed the Purifiers and Hart into the Courthouse's holding cells, an unspoken rage burning inside the cavity of his chest like the flames that licked higher, consuming flesh. One more poor choice in a succession of horrible choices, and he'd have to answer for all of them, either in this life or the next.
Caius longed to feel more strongly the sway of conviction, the comforting weight of confidence in the decisions made against magic and mages. He longed for the firm touch of truth in knowing that this was for the greater good, that those with spark-twisted souls were incapable of anything but deception and evil, no matter how young their faces or how loud their cries in the grip of a painful death. He longed to untangle his insatiable need to see both sides from his emotions, to be able to see but not to feel, to judge without regret. Instead, he worried that there was no right answer, no clear path, no definitive direction that this decision could bring the Kingdom other than into the wind like ashes, divisive and chaotic as things were going.
Seven have mercy—were there mages in the Eternal Kingdom?
With one more glance at the crowd, Caius sheathed his weapon and disappeared into the Courthouse, hoping that someone had found DuKette and that whoever their dark-haired captive was, he wasn't another fucking mage.
❦
Off Topic
Side thread for Hart (and Plague, plzkthnx) here. Whatever happens in the Pyre thread after this, Caius is out. For better or for worse there. Hahaha.