Chapter 59: Diogo
Gunther is laying on his back, almost in the same position I found him in earlier when I visited. He's in a lot worse shape now though. Which is saying something considering he narrowly survived a Primitive attack. His blond hair and short beard are caked with blood. A few of his fingers are swollen, having been broken and then reset. His clothes are torn and I can see blood seeping through several spots in the material.
"Come to see your handiwork?"
I'm surprised by the strength in his voice, and when I look at his face, the light of purpose brightening his eyes. He's been beaten severely, but he hasn't been broken yet.
"I know you gave the order to have me tortured."
I turn away and sit on a nearby chair, leaning forward to place my arms across my knees. I have the advantage of being physically above him, but I'm maintaining a deliberately relaxed pose. Almost a friendly pose. He didn't say a word to my men, despite hours of torture. He spoke once, to ask to speak to Taran.
"I don't deny it," I tell him. "Nothing happens in these walls that I haven't given my express consent for."
He snorts, and then winces and lifts a hand to gingerly hold his ribs. His fingers are too stiff and swollen to be much help so he presses the heel of his hand against the injury instead. He gives me a wry look. "All of this over a woman."
I smile coolly. "If it appeases you to think that I had you beaten out of jealousy, then you may believe that."
"Ah, insulting my intelligence. Do you think I'm stupid, that I'll spill all of my secrets in a war of words?"
"You took my wife over the wall and into a desert filled with Primitives. My opinion of your intelligence doesn't have much lower to sink." I allow a deadly chill to infiltrate my voice.
He inhales a deep breath and then winces again, letting out a painful rattling cough. It takes him a few minutes to recover and when he does he looks exhausted and winded. He runs a hand through his hair and when it gets caught in the strands dried together with his own blood, he lifts the hand, hovering it over his head for a moment, before bringing it back down to rest on the floor.
Gunther has been my enemy for decades, since I've known of his existence, known we were on opposing sides. I've alternately despised him, admired him and used him to my own ends. I have never seen him brought so low as he is in this moment. If it weren't for his role in Taran's injuries, I might be able to bring myself to feel compassion. To end his misery now, quickly. But he signed his own death warrant the moment he touched my wife.
His blue eyes seek mine and his face twists. "I'm sorry."
I stare at him perplexed.
"I'm sorry I took her over the wall. It was my fault she was attacked. I misjudged the Primitive response to the explosion. Misjudged the distance out into the desert. I played it stupid." His gaze fixes on the ceiling above him and he frowns as if trying to decipher his own actions. "Everything I do is with careful planning, the end goal a shining point in the distance that I will eventually reach with every step forward. And somehow, I lost sight of the people around me, the reason for my mission. I lost sight of Taran. I wasn't just the cause of her injuries in the desert, I hurt her years ago."
Anger beats at me, telling me to go to him, to finish him. It doesn't matter that it won't be a fair fight. It was never going to be a fair fight. "Do you think this confession will move me?"
He laughs, the sound bitter and humourless. "Do you think this confession is about you?"
His intelligence strikes me again. He knows what to say and when to say it. He's a master manipulator. "Give me the information I require, tell me of all rebel plots and I will make your death a quick one."
He turns his head to look at me, piercing me with eyes bright with manic energy. "Let me talk to Taran and I'll give you everything."
"Names, places, plans?" I demand.
He hesitates for a split second, then seems to look into the eyes of his own death and says, "Everything. I want to talk to my wife."
I stand and walk to his side, removing my knife. I point it down, the tip less than an inch from his eye. "My wife."
He stares defiantly back.
"I will enjoy your execution."
"Good," he replies with satisfaction. "Me too."
I step back, frowning. Why would be look forward to his own execution?
Then understanding dawns. He's expecting a public spectacle, something the citizens of Sanctuary will talk about with zeal. When he's executed, news of his death will spread across the city like fire. Taran will find out and know I ordered it. She won't forgive me. No matter how much distance had grown between her and her former lover, she will see his execution for what it is, a major blow to the rebellion and the loss of a dear friend.
With those few words he changes everything.
"She doesn't know you made it out of the desert," I tell him, kneeling at his side.
"What are you talking about?" he demands, trying to lift himself up onto an elbow.
"You died in the desert, Xavier Gunther." I grip the back of his head and lift him toward me.
He cries out in pain as his ribs move. His eyes grow wide with the implication of my words. "No, you can't do this!" he cries. "You need me. You need my information."
"I doubt it." I place my knife against the edge of his ribcage, beneath his heart. "There are others within the rebellion that'll give me information. What I need now is for you to die a quiet death."
"Don't do this," he begs. "Taran will never forgive you if she finds out."
I lean closer, putting pressure on the knife. "The difference between you and me," I tell him. "Is that I care enough about her to keep the painful secrets. To put her happiness and well-being above all else, including the truth."
"Please," he begs, wrapping his broken fingers uselessly around my wrist, trying to stop the execution rushing at him much faster than he'd anticipated.
"Consider this atonement for every hurt you've ever caused her."
"But "
I slam the knife sharply up into his ribs, burying the blade in his heart. Two beats later his wide eyes dim and, as I release him, his body collapses to the floor.
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