“I saw, babe, and I’m so proud of you.”
“He was going to kill all of you. I couldn’t let him, so I tricked him and…”
Emmerson swallowed her last words with a powerful kiss on her forehead.
I moved to the table and began eating from the trays of food that hadn’t been sprayed with blood. Around me the couples were kissing and hugging. Even Henry was holding Marni tight against his chest and placing kisses on her hair.
My father sat down at the table and pulled my mother onto his lap. She was feeding him and they smiled at each other.
“Are you sure you want to be the ruler?” I asked Emmerson while picking up a turkey drumstick. “It’s a lot of work with all the people plotting to kill you to gain power for themselves.”
“I’ll be like Dawson McGreggor. He ruled until he was old enough to pass on the responsibility to his son.”
“Yeah, but he’s the only one. Every other ruler has met an untimely death.”
Emmerson pushed out his chest. “Then I’ll be the second one.”
Taking a bite of my drumstick, I blinked at Wilma. “I’m sure that with you by his side, Emmerson will be invincible.”
She raised her chin. “That’s right. You men should never underestimate us women.”
I turned my head to Henry and Marni, who were talking in low voices. “Did you hear that, Henry?”
He looked over. “What?”
“Wilma just pointed out that no man should ever underestimate how far a woman will go to defend herself or the people she loves.”
He nodded and kissed Marni again.
The food and beer filled me up with new energy and when Emmerson led the way down to the courtyard where people had turned up to witness our execution, he walked with a swagger and confidence onto the podium built for King Jeremiah to tower above his people.
“There’s been a change of plans. You see, King Jeremiah wanted to make Wilma his queen. I agree that she would be a fantastic queen but the problem is, she’s already married.” In a dramatic way, Emmerson held up Jeremiah’s bloody head in the air.
The cameras were pointed straight at him and would be doing a live broadcast to the whole country. Emmerson pointed to them.
“I am your new ruler, and if you want to say goodbye to your old king you can find his head on a spear outside the palace where he planned to have all our heads.”
Wilma walked up to stand next to Emmerson and he placed his other arm around her while still holding up the head of Jeremiah. “This is the head of the despicable, sick man who has tyrannized us for years. He hurt not just my wife, but her sisters, her mother, and Starr too. I’m fucking proud to be the king slayer.”
The people who had come to see the execution were listening and moved closer.
“Wilma, why don’t you tell them what happened?”
In her own words, Wilma explained how the women had been paired with new men before their first husbands were dead. She was thundering about the women being stripped of their right to choose their own husbands and how they had fought against the unfairness of it all.
“That’s right. Wilma stabbed Jeremiah with a knife in his throat. That’s what you get for messing with a strong Northwoman.”
Wilma smiled like she had just been told she’d aced a science test.
“Jeremiah touched my woman, so I cut off his head.” Again, Emmerson dangled the bloody head of Jeremiah and in that moment, I was grateful that Devina wasn’t here to see it.
For a sweet Motlander like her this would all seem brutal and primitive. But there was something deeply satisfying in seeing our tormenter reduced to almost nothing.
The people had come for executions and cheered when Bruce and Eli were shot dead and decapitated. The cheers went crazy when it was Carl’s turn. As the tax collector, he and his staff were disliked for setting fire to houses of people who couldn’t pay.
None of the three men had any last words before they ended their time on earth with their heads impaled upon spears.
“Tomorrow you will wake up to a new dawn and a much better world than what Jeremiah had to offer you. I will lead you and care for you with my beautiful queen by my side.” Emmerson held up Wilma’s hand and smiled as the crowd cheered.
