Marked Chapter I-Violet

Chapter I- Violet

Violet was making a Death March for a death that wasn’t her own.

Darkness. Executioner. Justice. They were all common names for her everlasting plight on the kingdom’s people, and each one of them made her skin crawl. Nyx was Violet’s given title and it sent a wave of bile into her throat. The whispers that chased her as she walked down the streets were nothing short of scathing, and she kept a mental note of every single one. On quiet moments like these, the memories of those whispers would seize the opportunity to rise up and clatter around in her mind like the slamming of doors and shattering glass.

A moment in silence had all the excruciating detail of a dreaded nightmare.

That was the thing about Violet’s nightmares.

They were always real.

She tightened her grip on the jewel encrusted hilt of her sword. Sweat broke out on her forehead. The day was hot, the sun's sweltering rays drenching everyone, but she refused to shade her gaze. One wrong move and she might break altogether. Her mind could snap and she would run away from her one and only determined future.

Violet’s boots crunched on the gravel along the path to the small shack ahead. She was slightly shocked to see it less than overgrown, with its quaint little bushes and flowerbeds carefully groomed by the front door. The windows showed a little glimpse inside, and she caught view of shadows moving about inside.

She pressed her lips together.

The group reached the door, and Captain Leighton stepped forward, his pressed blue and white uniform perfectly straight. His golden threading gleamed as if to show off his high rank among the guard. VIolet was a higher rank in stature, but he always seemed to take that as a challenge to flaunt whenever possible. She clenched her teeth as he took the much-needed time to pull a pearly comb from his jacket and straighten his blond locks.

“Appearance is everything,” he said precisely, shooting her a haughty glance.

A comeback jumped to the tip of Violet’s tongue - No amount of combing can fix your ugly personality - but she bit it back. He knew she was nervous. His whole purpose was to stretch the time spent here, the time she had with her thoughts and guilt. He wanted her to break, and, well, she simply couldn’t hand him that satisfaction.

She straightened her back and strode forward, passing Leighton, and coming face to face with a mirror.

It was old and dingy, but large, large enough to broadcast her face and body straight back up to her. Violet’s stomach twisted and it was enough to make her hesitate, her resolve breaking in that one moment. She stared, eyes glued to the monster before her, unable to look away. She let a breath hiss out between her clenched teeth. Do not show your fear. She could feel Leighton’s razor gaze raking over her, thoroughly enjoying her pain.

Violet’s face was pale, framed in the long, fiery waves of her hair. Round, dark eyes wide open, haunted, and for good reason. Huge and deep red, her Mark stretched from her right temple into a jagged line across her jaw, impossible to miss. A strike of lightning. The line slashed through a corpse’s throat.

Violet clenched her fists into her dark cloak, weaving the black fabric around her fingers. She knew who she was. She knew it well. The farther away you traveled from the core of thriving Galia, the stranger and more desperate the attempts to keep her out became. The mirror was not new to her, yet it broke her every time.

“Your loyalty is your only priority,” Leighton said, dripping with fake elegance.

He was right. Violet was here to prove herself, nothing less. She was committing herself to her Fate, her undeniable place by King Alistair’s side. She’d always wanted to find her true place and the comfort it would bring. This was the one way to propel her in the right direction. Nyx. Becoming Nyx. The one thing she could be.

Smothering her roiling fear, she pushed the wooden door open.

Violet heard the children, their laughter. The mother - she had beautiful black hair - she pulled them close, wide mouth open in shock. Around her neck hung a small, silver pendant. A mirror.

Violet could hear her own breathing, the racing of her heart like a bolting stallion. She had her sword out, its blade glistening with obsidian darkness, the sapphires gleaming on its hilt. A sound sliced through the muffled air around her, and it took her a moment to realize it was the mother’s scream.

There were tears on Violet’s cheeks, their salty taste dripping onto her lips. She was crying silently, desperately. A single word swirled through her head: loyalty. It was more important than anything else. It had to be.

She shifted a small clay doll out of her way, its crumpled form rolling across the floor. Violet strode into the room. The guards behind her stayed purposefully outside the door.

A man, graying in his chestnut beard, leveled his piercing green gaze at her. In an instant he was in between Violet and his family, protecting them. His lips moved, calling her out for what she really was. What Fate herself had made her into, with this Mark. “Murderer.”

His wife was whimpering now. “Fang,” Violet said, catching sight of the telltale snake’s head tattoo on his arm, poking out from under his sleeve.

His face paled at the mere mention of the gang he was a part of. Violet forced herself to see him as he truly was. A violent criminal, caught in his own web of lies. She was justice, and he couldn’t escape her. She took another step closer and her legs shook.

From the doorway, Violet saw Leighton take a step inside. His eyes gleamed with something cold and dark. “You, Abaron Howell, have been found guilty of treason due to your active conspiration against the king.” He paused, tilting his head. “Treason against the crown is punishable by death.”

The man - Abaron - hastily shoved his wife and children away from him. They dashed toward the back door, and the mother turned to her husband, tears in her eyes. He didn’t meet her gaze, and she finally fled. The door slammed shut with finality.

Abaron met Violet’s gaze head-on. “Kill me, but leave my family in peace. They do not know.”

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “Your family is not my business,” she said quietly. Violet raised her sword. Her arm shook visibly.

Abaron lowered his head.

“Do it, Nyx,” Leighton hissed, a sneer painted on his lips. “Are you truly such a coward? You can’t kill this man to save Galia, to save the king you swore yourself to?”

Violet took the final step closer, closing space between Abaron and the blade, the tip of it touching his shirt. Her eyes burned. He kept his head down.

Loyalty, she reminded herself. Prove it.

“Do it!” snapped Leighton. “Or do I have to kill you both? Who are you loyal to, Nyx?”

She took a hard breath, her lungs bearing down against some invisible weight. Her chest hitched. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” she choked. Before Violet could think, she rammed the sword through Abaron’s chest.

The tip slid through his back. Her hands were covered with something hot and slick. She let go of the sword, stumbling back, as the lifeless man in front of her hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Violet didn’t look. She couldn’t. She couldn’t even think.

Instead she found herself staring at her hands. They were dark, soaked. There was so, so much blood. The weight was dragging her down, down, down into inevitability. A darkness. A fog that she would never escape. It smothered her.

“Well done.” Leighton’s tone wasn’t angry, just quiet. “The kingdom has you to thank for ridding it of one more spy.” He stood behind her. “This is who you are. You chose the right side.”

Violet didn’t process what he was saying. Her thoughts had heightened to a blistering roar, now. It was the same thing, over and over and over again.

Abaron Howell. Her first kill.