emberless
Raikal winced as Naiyta's attendants tighetend the rope around them, fastening them to the wooden stake. There was no escaping this, now. This was it. Raikal should have seen this sorry end coming sooner- or maybe, it had always been inevitable. Maybe, all those hundreds of horrible years ago, when she let Naiyta get her wine-drunk and fuck her through her blackout, this was what she was signing up for. Maybe, from the moment they agreed to that doomed mission in the first place, it was meant to end like this.
It would never have lasted. But was the certainty of this fate a cruelty, or a kindness?
Raikal kept his head bowed, not wanting to face the crowd. It was one more cruelty that Naiyta had staged their execution publically. With what little faith they had left, Raikal silently pleaded with Naiyta to be different. To choose better. To grant one last small mercy, and not kill them where others could see. When Naiyta had ordered their execution, rage-red and betrayed, Raikal had expected it. Yet somehow, somewhere deep in their heart, they considered Naiyta to have some good left in them. Enough good to look at the partner who'd stayed steadfast and subservient at their side for a thousand years now, and grant them a kind and merciful death.
Like many cases involving Naiyta, Raikal had been wrong.
His last night had been spent in the dank, wet of the dungron- tied up so tightly by the wrists and ankles that his skin had begun to chafe and bleed. They had been alone. At first, it was the normal kind of alone- the comforting kind, the easy kind. Naiyta had sometimes left them alone for long periods of time, with little food and no company. It was meant to make her reliant on it, she knew. When the confinement was over, and they were finally free again, Raikal would return willingly to Naiyta's arms and bed, begging it to have them again, begging not to go back.
This was not that occassion. Only hours into the solitude, Raikal had gone mad with delirium. Naiyta's anger was not like it had been before. It was not going to forgive this. They had never before threatened to kill Raikal- and now they had. They had. Raikal was going to die.
In death, would they finally be free?
Early in the morning, before dawn, Naiyta's attendants dragged a starved and unprotesting Raikal from their cell. He was made to strip before them, to ensure he wasn't hiding anything Naiyta didn't want up in flames. They were prepared for death. They were brought to the courtyard, and tied up among a pile of kindling. It shouldn't have surprised them, that Naiyta had chosen such a dramatic form of execution for their favorite concubine, who had betrayed them so. When the sun rose, the audience milled in. Courtiers and servants and nobels- all members of Naiyta's court, whom Raikal had consorted and whispered and made friendly with.
And in the very front row, were Odalia and little Rukime, dressed in rags and bound at the limbs. They looked scared, scarred. Raikal couldn't bare to look at them. She couldn't live with the shame.
As the sun rose to its peak position at noon, Naiyta finally entered. They came in from the east entrance, entering with the sun directly in line with Raikal's eyesight. Raikal kept their head low, out of habit. Like they were begging for mercy. They were.
Naiyta wore a simple white tunic, an outfit so plain it was unbefitting the occassion. Or perhaps, it was perfect- clean and stark and white and holy, in contrast to the depraved, dirty sins Raikal had committed. They had come to recognize Naiyta's little tricks, the different masks they put on infront of others. Now, no one would recognize them. Was Naiyta ready for that?
Naiyta climbed the stage silently, not saying a word to the crowd, til they got to Raikal. They placed a cold, bony hand on his cheek.
"Raikal." Its voice was cold, but low. These words were only for them. "Look at me."
Raikal closed their eyes.
"Look at me!" Naiyta demanded. They dug their nails into the soft flesh of Raikal's cheek, and jerked their face up. Blearily, Raikal opened their eyes. They blinked away tears, and tried to look behind Naiyta for Odalia and Anore.
"At me." Naiyta demaned. "Today is about me, and how you betrayed me, and how I will get my revenge." They spat. "You were supposed to love me. It was all you were supposed to do. And you betray me? Raikal!"
Their gaze had drifted again. Abruptly, Raikal refocused. Their voice was hoarse from dehydration, and it was impossible to find the words, but Naiyta was demanding an answer. "I- I'm sorry, I never meant to- to hurt you, Naiyta-"
Naiyta's stoic features flashed in shock and rage. "Do not deign to call me by that name. I am your lord. Your God. Your master."
"I'm sorry, my lord." Raikal corrected.
Naiyta regained composure, if only briefly. "I am giving you one last chance to redeem yourself, Raikal. Do this, and I will allow you to return to my side. We can forget all this ever happened. You can love me again, and remain at my foot for the rest of eternity. Don't you want that, Raikal?"
Raikal could not answer.
Naiyta's brow furrowed. "All you have to do, is renounce your little family. That's all. You just have to watch the southern concubine and the boy die. And then, you can return to me. It'll be just like it used to. You want that. I know you do."
Raikal bit their lip and fought back bile. Was Naiyta truly so ignorant to the harm they had caused, the hatred Raikal harbored for it. "I would never. I love them." They spat. "Kill me, if that's what you want, but I will not hurt them."
Naiyta dropped its hand away. "Fine." They said coldly. "It was your choice."
Before they turned fully around, they pulled Raikal's talisman from their belt- a final removal of dignity, for a person it had long since ceased to see as such.
"For the crimes of infidelity, secret siring of a child, and betrayal of their most high and beloved, the Lifebringer," Naiyta addressed the crowd, "I, Naiyta Hauryan, sentance Rook Raikal of the Jeteye Clan to execution by fire, upon this date." They turned back to face Raikal, but kept their tone loud and clear. "I will grant you a final mercy- the oppurtinty to give last words."
Raikal met Naiyta's cold, gold gaze. "I have always hated you." They spat, in a whisper so quiet it would only be Naiyta who heard.
Rage flashed again over Naiyta's features. They said no more, instead gesturing to their attendant, who handed them a lit torch. They did not break from Raikal's gaze as they lit the kindling at Raikal's feet.
Raikal maintained composure for as long as they could, tried for as long as they could to keep Naiyta's gaze, but it wasn't long before they were reduced to pained, agonized screaming.
The night was dark as pitch by the time Raikal's body was reduced to ash and blackened bone. Beside the smoldering ashes of wood and the body Naiyta had once relished was the corpse of the southern concubine they had dallied with, collapsed into an ugly heap after Naiyta had slit her throat. Hours ago, it had sent away the audience. The spectacle was over. They did not want Raikal to be mourned as a martyr.
Now, it was only Naiyta.
Emotion was still at war within them- a tumultous storm where only rage surfaced. They felt the need to tear and bite and scrape- to claw through something and feel it break beneath them. Yet, there was nothing left to break. It was all in pieces before them.
They sat on their knees, not quite watching the fire and not quite watching the stars. They felt at equal times full of everything and completely empty. Every thought raced through their head. What have I done? But they deserved it. Didn't I love them? Didn't they love me?
And, then, Raikal's final, whispered words to it- echoed through its mind in their pretty voice. 'I have always hated you'. Like all the others. And, deep in their rage twisted heart, Naiyta hated itself, too.
A sound behind it. Naiyta turned to look over their shoulder, and saw in the shadows the boy. The now-orphan boy, with his features so much like his parents' and his raggedy tunic and his ear-length braids. He was no more than fourteen. He was afraid.
What was it that Raikal had cried out when Naiyta had him torn from their arms? Rukime. A corvi name, for a corvi child. It was not the name his mother had called him.
Naiyta moved to get up, to approach the boy and- what, to kill him? To welcome him? To see what of Raikal remained in his boyish, bony body? Before they could, he was gone again- dissapeared into the shadows of the night and a flurry of clumsy footsteps. Naiyta could've stopped him, could have him easily retrieved and brought back. It didn't. It let him go.
It turned back to the fire, and watched as what was once Raikal was burnt into nothing but extinguished embers.