Chapter 5

  The Gift of the Amethyst Throne

  The stage is dauntingly big. It’s wooden and stretches so far I wonder if I’m dreaming again. I’m wrapped up in a cloak that’s thick and too warm. I’m sweating beneath my armor, and I can feel myself rapidly overheating. My breaths come shallow and short and my vision blurs, leaving my body deteriorating at a pace far too fast for me to do anything about it. That is, until the snake steps in and takes partial control over my mind. I know it cannot do anything, but it can trick me into thinking it has.

  As the power of the Amethyst Throne trickles through my body, that surge, the singing zing races along my veins and nerves and my body comes alive, lighting up like a torch bursting into flames. I choke back a gasp, and it feels like I open my eyes as the fuzziness vanishes.

  I watch with a distant kind of feeling as a Guard leads a pangaré bay colt on a short lead. They stop and tug on the lead to get the colt to halt as well. The colt spooks and tries to rear, jerking back and nearly yanking the Guard with him. He would’ve, if it hadn’t been for three other Guard reacting quickly and grabbing their fellow Guard to hold them steady. The pangaré colt tries to back away and free himself from the lead, but he cannot and after several moments of struggling, he eventually settles down and remains in place, ears swiveling around as he shifts in place on his hooves.

  Spyro materializes in my field of vision, directly in front of me. Their pink and blue pelt flickers in and out of existence like a cloud.

  “You are ready,” they tell me. Not a question, their words are, instead, a statement.

  No—.

  Yes, the snake corrects.

  “Yes,” my voice says. Whether it’s the snake or it’s me, I do not know.

  “Good,” Spyro says.

  The double blindfolds covering their eyes and ears prevents me from telling if they are actually looking at me when their head turns to face in my direction, but I imagine that perhaps they are.

  xxxx

  Spyro makes their way onto the stage before I do. I appreciate that, because anxiety twists within my gut at the thought of stepping foot on the wooden planks, despite how I know that the feeling is a betrayal of the King of Ragdon. But waiting lets the stress stir and coalesce and build and grow until it’s gnawing on my insides like a whole other being that I share my mortal flesh with.

  I’m barely paying attention when Spyro turns toward me. They stand beside a lead Guard at the front of the stage. Someone nudges me, and I snap back to the present.

  “Dust Devil, come to the stage,” Spyro says.

  I glance out at the crowd from the corner of my eye, curling my fingers into fists to stop myself from shaking. The snake hisses and spits in my mind, cursing me for betraying Bryant with my uncertain actions.

  “Come, Dust Devil,” Spyro says.

  They repeated themselves.

  Though I cannot see their eyes, the set of their body floating in midair has a slightly harder set to it, something a little more firm.

  I walk up the couple of stairs to the stage and cross it halfway, standing beside the General. They flick their shallowly forked, green tongue before speaking again: “Prepare for the Dust Devil’s magic. He has received the gift of the Amethyst Throne.”

  I’m Luke. I’m not the Dust Devil.

  You are now, the snake replies.

  xxxx

  A Guard approaches across the stage, dagger at the ready. I shake my head ever so slightly and take a step before I can realize what I’m doing, but the Guard keeps coming. Within a heartbeat, the snake realizes what is happening and seizes my mind in an attack so brutal and immediate that I can do nothing to fight back and stop it. I choke on my next breath, coughing so hard that I lose all air in my lungs and cannot breathe. My body locks up as I drop to my knees, chest thrust forward and back arched past the point my spine naturally curves. Hands out to the side and mouth open with a soundless gasp turned scream, black horns rip from my forehead and blood runs down my temples and into my hair. Dark veins spread from my eyes, bubbling up from beneath my skin with a popping sensation. Ebony spreads up my hands and wrists as my fingernails fall away to make room for claws.

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  The snake urges me back to my feet, extending a level of control over my body that does not fully move me as if the snake were me, but it can take command of a great deal. When I stand, my spine is straighter, shoulders further back. I stand with more confidence, somehow feeling far taller than before. Exhaustion clings to me like my own shadow, something I don’t think I could ever peel away, no matter how much I sleep and rest and meditate and pray to Erebus and Lucius to fall into a slumber so deep that every bit to the unneeded will fall away, lapped away like the ocean graces against the shore. But the snake pushes that to the back in a way that I know the tiredness will come slamming back into me far harder than it was taken to the side.

  The Guard advances upon me further, and the snake turns my attention toward him. Dagger at the ready instead of his bow, I can tell he’s looking for a fight that’s up close and personal. He doesn’t want to hit me from afar.

  We can do that, the snake muses.

  Why are we attacking one of our own? What are you doing? I ask when the snake rears up, chains clinking. Fear lances through me as venom trickles down the links of its body.

  I barely notice Spyro and the lead Guard moving to the edge of the stage and the other Guard and Soldiers forming a ring as they give us room to fight.

  So easy, the snake murmurs.

  I see a blue unicorn as the Guard advances further toward me, despite my silent begging for them to stop because please, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want any more blood on my hands, I don’t want to fight, you have to understand. The unicorn’s pink mane blows in a light breeze that stirs the hair on the back of my neck as I undo the cloak around my shoulders, and the unicorn’s horn gleams in the sunlight. They watch me with an unreadable expression, until I see a flash of sadness and realization, a sharp exhale flaring their nostrils as they jerk back with a start.

  Did they get the gift of the Amethyst Throne, too? Who are you? What’s your name?

  I’m almost distracted by watching the unicorn to see the Guard rising up onto his toes and readying himself to fight. Whether I do so or the snake does, I don’t know, but one of us inclines my head. My hair falls over my forehead, curling around the ebony horns breaking through thin skin.

  The snake takes further control and acts for me. It spreads my arms up, palms down, then flips my hands the other way around. It curls my fingers to gain a hold on the dust. Dirt on the wooden stage rattles, and the worn planks shake. Under the snake’s control, I pull one hand to my stomach and sweep the other in an arc in front of me, enforcing my magic’s hold on the dust around me. Dirt and sand respond; it condenses into a stream and whooshes across the stage. It hits the Guard in the legs mid-stride and sends him pitching off balance and tumbling down with a cry.

  He lands hard on his shoulder, grunting.

  The crowd around me gasps and murmurs as they realize what I have done and a fraction of what I know I can do. If I can do this and more, what can the King of Ragdon do? What can the Amethyst Throne do?

  I hear the bray of frustration from the unicorn and see them throwing their head out of the corner of my eye.

  The Guard makes another move for me, but the snake only snickers at the effort. There’s a level of humor to the sound that unsettles me and makes something within me twist in discomfort. I don’t look at it too much; I cannot. I don’t want to hear what the snake will say. I don’t want to hear what a traitor I am, because I know what those thoughts are.

  When the Guard gets within a half step of me, the snake reacts for me, shoving me back into the depths of my mind. It curls my fingers into tight fists, then rips my hands apart with a wide-eyed look at the Guard, an intense focus I’ve only seen from Bryant himself in the moments I was most uncomfortable.

  As the Guard seizes up, he only manages a small step forward before he collapses as he claws at his throat, wheezing and dropping his dagger. I punch him in the jaw, if only to prove the snake wrong and that I am not a traitor.

  I’m sorry, I think to the Guard. I don’t want to hurt you.

  I don’t feel right, hurting the Guard. I don’t like it. He hasn’t done anything to me.

  With the one punch, the Guard falls and doesn’t rise, though I can see him breathe after I encourage dust to spill from his throat. He chokes and sputters and gasps, coughing again and again.

  “Kneel,” I say coldly, raising my chin to look down at him. I ignore the clench of my stomach, the way it twists with some little monster whispering to me in a language I can speak, if only I’d listen.

  I turn a hand into a fist to quell the shake of an arm.

  Blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, the Guard wipes at his face with the back of his hand, then pushes himself to a seated position.

  “I bow before the Amethyst Throne, Dust Devil.”

  The Guard braces himself and shifts until his legs are beneath him in slow, shaky movements, then drops until his forehead brushes the ground.

  “Would everyone give a round of applause for the Dust Devil?” Spyro asks.

  Claps erupt through the crowd. Not deafening, but loud nonetheless.

  I push down the discomfort.

  Traitor, the snake hisses. Coward.

  I know, I sigh.

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of the Reform section of The King's Remorse! Please comment your thoughts and consider a favorite/follow

  At the top are Luke and Brook, both sharing the similarity of having received the gift of the Amethyst Throne, though they share different viewpoints on how much of a gift it is

  Did you recognize this scene?

  What will happen with Luke? He is having some doubts, whether he would like to admit it or not

  What did you think of the fight between Luke and the Guard?

  I hope you're having a nice day, but if not, I hope tomorrow brings something nice for you

  -Werewolf14- :)