Page 94

Final Game

“ M a Queen,” the big man calls, and I focus back on him to see him dragging two men kicking and fighting over to me.

He drops them on the floor at my feet, and I look at the big man with an arched eyebrow.

He is huge. He reminds me of those giants my dad used to tell me about in stories—all muscle and so massive, I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

“Can anyone confirm these men killed the slaves?” I yell, and three men step forward, all with grim expressions.

“Yes,” one says.

“I heard Ivar give them the order,” the other replies, and when I look at the third, I can see the pain in his eyes.

“I saw them,” he offers softly. “I couldn’t—” He looks away, swallowing hard before steeling himself and facing me once again. “I saw them. I was ordered to watch.”

“Why?” I find myself asking.

His eyes spit fire, and they’re filled with so much pain and hate. “One of them…I loved her,” he rasps, his lips thinning as he bites on them.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. He nods and steps back, staring at the men at my feet.

“Were there any others?” I question him.

“No, just those two,” he confirms.

Crouching down to the level of the men who are on their knees in front of me, I grin. The one on the left spits at me and it hits my cheek. Keeping my eyes on him, I reach up and wipe it away. “For that, you will not die quickly.” He just glares at me.

“Now, do you admit you killed the slaves?” I inquire almost pleasantly. My body is itching to kill them, calling for their blood, to make them pay.

I look between them. The one on the left who spat on me is a skinny man, almost too skinny, but it’s clear he was born like that.

He has long, ratty hair, which I’m pretty sure has never seen water or a brush, and his nose is crooked from being broken one too many times.

His eyes are dirt brown and dead looking.

The man on the right almost appears normal, classically handsome even.

He has bright blue eyes, filled with warmth and life, pink plush lips, and high cheekbones.

That beauty alone makes me falter. I never trust anyone that beautiful.

He doesn’t even have a mark or scar on him.

If he has made it through this life with no scars, he’s a fucking monster.

It tells me he will do whatever it takes to stay alive, to protect himself above all others.

He has no allegiances and he can’t be trusted.

Just by looking at him, his eyes, his body language…

I can tell he enjoyed torturing and killing the slaves.

And I know he’d do it again. I also know, as his mouth opens, he’s going to spout nothing but charming lies.

“Of course not! He must have me mixed up, My Queen. I know it’s hard to believe that they confused me with someone else, seeing how I am so much better looking than all these barbarians.

But, then again, they aren’t the smartest.” He winks at me, a smirk curling up at his lips like he thinks he has me.

Oh, how very wrong he is. I would prefer a monster with horns and blood covering him, because at least I’d know where I stand.

This…this man is nothing but a very good liar.

“You forget one thing,” I whisper seductively, leaning closer to him, and I see his eyes flare in satisfaction.

“What’s that, My Queen?” he purrs.

“I’m the fucking barbarian queen,” I murmur in a velvety voice, before I snap his head to the side and bite down on his flesh.

Ripping my mouth away, I take a hunk of skin with me, hearing a ‘pop’ as I go.

Blood fills my mouth, and I spit his skin and gore onto the floor in front of him as he screams and falls back, clutching his bleeding neck and looking at me in pale horror.

All that charm falls away and shows me the frightened little boy he’d kept buried deep.

He is used to his charm working…but he can’t fool this monster.

“You-you fucking bitch!” he screams, as blood drips steadily down his throat.

I grin then, knowing my chin and teeth are coated in his blood, and I turn my gaze to the other man who holds it defiantly .

“You don’t scare me, little girl. I lived with Ivar for years. I have seen things that would scare you shitless,” he snaps.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Ivar always was creative,” I murmur. “Do you admit to killing the slaves?” I ask again.

“Yes,” he spits again. “I had my fun first too. Those fucking bitches screamed until the end, thinking someone would save them.” He laughs then and I nod, before standing up. I look at the man from before, the one who was made to watch his love be tortured and killed.

“Take your pick.” I gesture at the men and his eyes go wide before filling with satisfaction and bloodlust.

“Him.” He nods at the sobbing man still holding his neck. “He killed her.”

“He’s yours.”

The man still bleeding on the floor freezes at that, and glances back at the encroaching guard. All that sadness for his lost love has been wiped away and in its place is hate. He looks every bit the Berserker warrior as he prowls to the injured man on the floor.

“Stand up, I won’t kill a man on his knees, not even a worm like you,” he growls.

The other man, still on his knees, starts laughing, so I whip out my fist, knocking him sideways to the floor.

He groans as he cups his cheek, and I wave my hand at the avenging guard to proceed.

The beautiful man, the worm, gets to his feet, still clutching his bleeding neck, and faces the Berserker.

“She loved it,” he gargles with a smirk.

I don’t even know where the Berserker produced the blade from, but the next thing I know, there’s one sticking out of the worm’s chest and his mouth is opening and closing as blood bubbles there.

The worm looks down at his chest in shock before slowly falling to his knees, his eyes unfocused and draining of life until he tips sideways and sprawls across the stone floor.

We all watch him die. Not a single man steps forward to try and stop us.

They knew what would happen. You don’t hurt a Berserker, you kill them or they will only come back stronger than before, fighting through the pain and fire until they get their revenge.

They are warriors, fighters, and I am honoured to be one of them right now.

Turning to the other man, I grab his shoulder and haul him to his feet, making him meet my gaze.

I will use him to send a message—anyone who followed Ivar or who wants to live the way Ivar did will die by my hand.

There’s been enough blood and suffering, it’s time we become the clan we’re meant to be.

“Anyone wanting to kill, rape, or torture better leave now, because I will find you. That is not the way this clan will be. We are warriors, we are bred to fight, we survived the scorch and this dead world, and we will be reborn in the flames once again. Mark my words, Berserkers, break my rules and face my blade,” I yell, before I cut the man's throat—not a nice way to die. I don’t cut too deep, that would be too quick, no, he will suffer.

I might not be able to torture people like Ivar did, but I won’t let this man’s death be quick, not for his crimes.

I watch him die, we all do. As he chokes on his own blood, he tries to hold it in but it seeps through his fingers until he falls at my feet…

dead. Then, I meet every eye in here, letting them see how serious I am.

I’m giving them a choice. We can be better, we can be part of this world again, join the other clans, stop this fighting, and heed the outcome of the Summit and the lives lost for this.

“Take me to the room, take me to their bodies,” I order the Berserker who is still watching the man he killed.

I point at the giant man as well. “You, come with us,” I say, then I turn to the rebels.

“You are in charge while I’m gone. Let who wants to leave do so.

Contact the rebels and The Ring, and tell them I am coming.

” I turn away then, striding from the room, but at the doorway I stop to look back at the rebels.

“Oh, and throw his body to the ferals.” I grin, flicking a look back at Ivar’s corpse.

With that, I storm from the room with the Berserkers and Dray on my heels, trepidation worming through me.

What I am going to see now is bad, Ivar’s parting gift to me, but I know I can face it.

I have survived most of my life at his hands, and I can survive their deaths at it.

The room is actually Ivar’s torture room above the cells. As soon as I see it, I turn away. “I need to release my friend first,” I mutter, having completely forgot about Evan for a moment. They follow after me and I find Evan standing at the bars with a furious expression on his face.

“Worth, what the fuck! I thought you were dead!” he screams, rattling the bars. “Get me out of here.”

I nod at the giant Berserker, and he unlocks the cell door and swings it open.

Evan pours out and stops behind me with a nervous look at the others, but he seems to relax when he spots Dray.

“Ah, so you killed him?” he questions, and then and there he earns more of my respect. He didn’t ask Dray, he asked me.

“Course I did. I’ve got to go bury Ivar’s final gift, then we rest here tonight. Tomorrow, we are heading out,” I inform him.

“Where to?” he grumbles.

“Paradise, I need my father’s help with something. I will fill you in there, go get some rest. There are rebels upstairs, tell them I sent you,” I demand, turning away as I head back up the stone steps to the room with the closed red door. I stop outside, hesitating.

“No, I’ll stay with you,” Evan growls, and I shrug, not warning him about what lies on the other side of this door. He will have seen worse by now…right? Or maybe I am too jaded.