Page 101 of Arcane Entanglement
Something sparked in the depths of Martha Millbrook’s deadened eyes then.
A flash of fear. Despair. And an emotion he couldn’t identify.
“It’s too late,” she muttered. “Alastair is dead and there’s no bringing him back. We just want to be left alone.”
Viggo took a step forward. “Mrs. Millbrook, will you listen to my story?”
Confusion clouded Martha Millbrook’s expression.
“It won’t take long, I assure you,” the Brute continued, his tone gentle. “We don’t have to go inside your home either.”
Evander stared at Viggo, curious as to what he intended.
Martha hesitated. “Alright,” she murmured reluctantly.
William watched them sullenly.
“Twenty-eight years ago, on the night I turned six years old, a group of mages arrived at my village just as my family sat down for supper,” Viggo said. “By midnight, I was the only person left alive in a community of two hundred souls.”
Evander stilled, his frozen gaze on Viggo’s calm countenance. Rufus looked equally stunned as he stared at the Brute.
Hawk listened with an impassive face.
“I had four brothers and two sisters, the youngest barely a year old,” Viggo continued steadily, as if talking about the weather. “By the time the mages finished with them, their corpses were unrecognisable. My father and my mother tried to fight them, but what could thralls who’d lived their entire lives pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist do in the face of evil they could never comprehend?”
Grief constricted Evander’s chest until he could barely breathe.
Even Martha paled at the Brute’s ghastly confession.
“They hung my mother from the apple tree next to our house until her neck snapped. As for my father, they cut off his legs and tossed him to the hunting hounds they’d brought along to hunt us. Not a woman, man, or child was spared that night except for me.” A muscle jumped in Viggo’s cheek, the first sign of emotion he’d demonstrated since he’d begun his dark tale. “You see, I was the lucky one. I was…thechosenone.” The Brute’s eyes gleamed. “They always left one alive. One thrall who would bear witness to their horrifying acts of violence and who would carry that awful burden to his grave. But not before he spread tales of their deeds and instilled fear in the heart of every one of his kind he met. A child who they deemed would not lose his mind and become a gibbering fool rendered insane by terror.” He faltered. “A child the mage who led the massacre inevitably branded with his signet ring.”
Viggo shrugged his left shoulder out of his coat and pulled down the neckline of his shirt. An ugly scar in the form of the letter A wrinkled his inked skin beneath his left clavicle, the mark inches from his heart.
Evander shuddered and gulped down air, his entire body trembling and his legs weak. Rufus clenched his teeth, brow furrowed in an angry scowl.
William dropped the axe and covered his mouth with his hands, his cheeks drained of blood.
Viggo pulled his clothes back up, his voice brittle.
“What you’re feeling right now? I felt it too. For a long, long time. Terror. Desperation.” A bitter sound left him. “There were nights when I hardly slept. When I was afraid to close my eyes for fear of what I would see in my nightmares. But after a while, after I fled to London and found myself living on the streets of the capital, struggling to stay alive each day that passed, I met others like me. Children cast aside by their own terrible circumstances. Orphans who could only count on themselves as they navigated a world full of cruelty and devoid of compassion. And I realised that we had one thing in common.”
“What was that?” Martha said breathlessly.
“Rage.” Viggo’s voice grew flinty. “We were full of rage. At the world. At the unfairness of our plight. Ateverything.” He took a shaky breath. “We wanted retribution. Revenge. We wanted the people who’d thrown us in the pits of Hell to burn and suffer eternal torment.” He met Martha’s frozen gaze unflinchingly. “And I see you want that too.” Viggo glanced at William. “That youbothwant that. I promise you this. If you help us, we will make certain to deliver justice for your husband.”
The silence that fell across the clearing was heavy and fraught with tension.
“Come in,” Martha said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chapter41
The interiorof the cottage was cozy but sparse, signs of a hasty relocation evident in the half-unpacked trunks visible in the rooms they passed. Millbrook’s widow led them to the sunlit kitchen at the back, William bringing up their rear.
Hawk stayed on guard duty outside.
Porcelain tinkled as Martha placed crockery on a tray and brought it to the table. She served them freshly bake scones and poured them tea from the kettle on the fire.
“Thank you,” Evander murmured. He clasped his steaming cup in his hands and took a sip of the hot, sweet drink.
