Murder Scene Blogfest!

So, clearly I'm very late posting this. I had several murder scenes to choose from, but I like this one best. It's taken from the novel I just finished writing and has not been fully edited yet.

The setup is: Rand is a rogue faerie bent on avenging what he believes was a premature treaty forged between his mother (the faerie queen and, as it turns out, one of the four elemental goddesses) and humans. Rand is determined to steal the power of the elemental goddesses so that he can use it to defeat humans once and for all. He believes the only way to steal the goddesses' power is to kill them.

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"Follow me, ladies."

Rand heard a quiet sob escape Sylvan’s lips, and caught a glimpse of his mother wrapping an arm around her waist for support. He looked away, focusing on the steps in front of him, climbing them one at a time until he gained the top.

“So, who’s going first? Any volunteers?”

Although he heard the edge in his own voice, in a detached part of his mind his enthusiasm seemed forced even to him. He was losing focus. He refused to let the tears rolling silently down Sylvan’s cheeks, Fia’s false bravado, Naida’s indifference, or even his mother’s stoicism affect him. He’d planned this for too long to suddenly develop a conscience. He’d killed countless people in his lifetime, why was he hesitating now?

“What’s the matter, Rand, having second thoughts?” Fia’s acid tone cut through his thoughts.

“No, not in the least. Just savoring the moment.”

She raised a brow, clearly not believing him, but her only answer was an indifferent grunt.

“No takers for the honor of christening the cistern?” he asked.

None of the ladies answered him.

“Fine, then Sylvan, you can go first, it’ll put you out of your misery - and mine - and you won’t have to suffer witnessing your sisters take their turns.”

Sylvan shrank back, her eyes wider and dripping more tears. Rand let out an irritated sigh and stepped in her direction, intending to yank her pathetic little lost puppy hide and throw her bodily on the table, strapping her in himself. He wondered why these women had to make this so complicated. But two steps away, as he was within reach of grasping Sylvan’s wrist, his mother stepped between them.

“I’ll go first,” she said.

He pulled up short. “No, I don’t think so. You’ll go last.”

The look on her face was maddeningly smug.

“Why? So you can punish me for all of my alleged mistakes?”

He disliked that she could upstage him like that. “You don’t think you deserve some sort of punishment? If you hadn’t made the choices you made the world would be a very different place. I think it’s reasonable to hold you responsible.”

She dismissed him with a wave and a tsk. “Really, Rand. You should be more careful. Your mommy issues are showing.”

The muscles in his jaw worked as he forced his response through clenched teeth. “Do not belittle me, majesty.”

She sauntered regally over to his table and sat gracefully, swinging her legs up off the floor.

“Fine, then. Your point is taken. I’ll die knowing my sisters will suffer. Does that make you feel any better? You don’t need to throw a tantrum and stamp your feet and kill everyone before me just to make me feel more guilty. Trust me. I feel guilty enough already. Now, let’s get this over with, shall we?” She crossed her arms across her chest, challenge in her eyes.

This was not going the way he had planned, so it was time to get things back under his control. If she wanted to die first then fine, he’d let her.

“All right mother. If you want to play the brave martyr, I’m game.” He strode over to the table, pushing his index finger into her shoulder, forcing her to recline. “Lie down and we’ll get on with it.”

Victor began binding Anila’s wrists and ankles to the table while Rand smoothed aside the fabric of her dress, baring her neck. She clutched one hand to her chest.

“You don’t need to bind me to the table. I won’t fight you,” she said, addressing Victor. After a considering glance at his mother where all he saw was acceptance and serenity, Rand nodded once to Victor who didn’t finish the binding. Instead he took up a scalpel and leaned in with no preamble.

“Wait!” Sylvan cried, and turned to Fia. “You can’t let him do it! You said! We agreed!” She threw herself at Anila, pushing Victor out of the way, taking Anila’s hand. “You said you’d rather live and fight another day, didn’t you?” she sobbed.

“I changed my mind, Sylvan. He needs to live with the consequences of his actions.”

She lifted Sylvan’s hand to her lips and kissed her fingers. “I’ll tell Mother hello for you,” she whispered.

Rand rolled his eyes and made his way around the table. He’d had enough. He took another scalpel off the nearby tray, shoved Sylvan away and slashed Anila’s neck quick and deep, before anything else stopped him. She gasped and then sighed, a tiny smile crossing her lips. Her blood began to gush, thick rivulets coursing a red river down the channel to the cistern below. His eyes grew wide, not quite believing the moment had really come. He dry-swallowed, mesmerized by the flow sluicing much more quickly than he’d imagined, until her free hand flew up and caught his wrist which still held the bloody scalpel. A chuckle rose deep in her throat, causing the blood to gurgle from her veins. Her grip was a steel vice.

“The wind blows when you least expect it, Rand,” she whispered. “There is always a price to be paid for our actions.”

“A death bed prophecy? Really, you shouldn’t have,” he sneered, but her eyes had already rolled up under the lids and her lips were pale and still. He peeled his mother’s fingers from his wrist and laid her hand on the table beside her, noticing that the blood had slowed to nothing more than a trickle.

It was just like her to get the last word, and make it as dramatic as possible, but he had no interest, and even less inclination to contemplate its significance. He had three more goddesses to drain of their power. Lifting his chin and straightening his jacket, he turned.

“So, who’s next?”

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Okay, I hope you liked it. Better late than never, right?!