The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

“Let’s put it aside so that it doesn’t get in the way,” he said affectionately. The girl limply unclenched her fingers, and Kors pulled the burden from her hands. He placed the basket on the floor, kicking it sharply to the side and at the same time grabbing the slave girl with both hands by the throat just above the slave collar. His face became tense and his mouth twisted a little, but not from emotions, but rather from physical effort. There was a distinct crunch of breaking cervical vertebrae. In an instant, everything was over, and the lifeless body of a girl with an unnaturally twisted neck fell to the floor like a bag, the poor thing did not even try to show at least some resistance.

Kors looked at Nik and Arel, and the way they looked at him seemed strange to him.

“What?” Kors didn’t understand their views. “I couldn’t do it this way? It had to be a knife? I just didn’t want to make dirt in the room!”

“Well… actually, she might have wet herself,” Nik pointed out.

“She might have wet herself anyway, even just from the delight of being brought before her masters,” Kors protested. He walked over to the table, and tearing a large juicy grape from a bunch, twisted it in his fingers, as if examining whether it was good enough. Finally, bringing it to his mouth, he squeezed the berry with his teeth, biting and feeling the sweet juicy pulp in his mouth with pleasure.

“You are in the team,” Arel said in a dull voice.

And Kors smiled smugly:

“Arel, did you come up with this initiation when you were thirteen? It seemed to you to be the most terriblething in the world?”

Arel was silent and embarrassed, and Kors shook his head condescendingly:

“You, in fact, are children — just as thoughtless and cruel as they are. Your mental development stopped somewhere in adolescence, and you are stuck there. If you take away all the cunning nature of the Demon from Nik, there will be an orphan human who, because of difficult living conditions, went headlong. Inadequate and dumb as a tree, to such an extent that he is absolutely unable to analyze and realize the consequences of his rash actions, and because of that he endlessly gets into trouble. Because everything somehow happened by itself! Forgive me, Nik, for this bitter truth.”

“Anal… analyze…” Nik tried to repeat, and, realizing that he was getting something wrong, he laughed.

Kors nodded.

“Yes, yes, that's right, Nik, everything is ass-backwards with you.”

Kors looked at Arel.

“You, Prince Arel, are mentally ill, and besides, you are terribly lazy, although, in fact, not bad. And stupid too. But, to give you credit, Arel, you knew how to select people. It takes a certain talent to assemble a team consisting of a corrupt pedophile investigator, a murderous March, a military traitor and a criminal from the Limit of the unclean ones without a name and documents.”

Arel remained silent, and without waiting for an answer from him, Kors asked:

“Tell me, did it happen that one of your friends couldn’t pass this test?”

“Yes.”

“Who?!” Kors was genuinely surprised.

“Vil.”

“Your half-brother?”

Ariel nodded dejectedly.

“That’s right, your father had sons resembling assholes! The elders couldn’t win the throne and disappeared. You are insane. Vil is weak. AndValentine is just unfinished. Chester gave birth to so many sons, and all useless!” Kors looked at Nik, who was sitting next to Arel.

“Did Nik kill the slave girl too? But, probably, before that he fucked her?”

And, seeing how his son’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Kors laughed:

“Why do I know you so well? Maybe because you are primitive?”

“You have passed the initiation,” said Arel, “the last thing left is to become my slave. Do you agree?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Kors replied, “put a brand on me and let’s get this over with it, honestly, I’m tired of it.”

At that moment, Verniy jumped into the room like a shadow, and, grabbing the dead slave under the armpit, quickly dragged her out of the room. The unclean dog growled carnivorously under his helmet, apparently unable to contain the anticipation of the upcoming meal. Kors turned away in disgust. He looked at the abandoned basket, inside it:

“Here’s my shirt! Fuck! It was the laundress! And who will wash our clothes now?”

“Vitor, I want to put my brand next to Nik’s,” said Arel.

“What? Ah yes, great!” And Kors began to take off his jacket. He stripped to the waist and raised his left arm, revealing a small tattoo just below his armpit, a black swirling monogram — the mark of a Demon’s slave. Nik readily took out his tools and tattooed Kors. It was the silhouette of an eagle with outstretched wings, small and rather sketchy, but still recognizable, the seal of Prince Arel. The sign was located just below the snake’s tail twisted into a spiral.

When Nik finished, Kors bowed his head and looked at the side of his body, then lowered his hand. When his hand was lowered down, it obscured the brands, and they were not visible.

“Now I have seals on me, as on an important document,” Kors smiled bitterly.