Large candelabra lined the walls of Sunbird Hall, the torchlight throwing a sharp glow over the congested and heaving room. Though the double doors above the balcony were thrown open, the hall was stifling and growing louder with exclamations of distress. The throng parted as Jovan and his Dayknight escort pushed through the middle of the room, Tala, Lawri, Lindholf, and Glade following in his wake.
Directly under the balcony was Leif Chaparral. He was in Dayknight armor, dusty from long travel, dark-rimmed eyes solemn. He held a rope in each hand, the lengths of which drooped to the floor and back up to connect to the tied wrists of Hawkwood and a bald-headed knight wearing a dirt-stained mix of leather bucklers and breastplate armor. Hawkwood wore dark leather breeches, a torn tunic, and a shirt torn and bloodied.
Tala followed his somber gaze to the floor, sucking in a sharp gasp when she finally saw the body on the makeshift litter in front of Leif.
It was Jondralyn.
Tala staggered toward her sister, scarcely hearing the pained gasps of Lindholf and Lawri. She sank to her knees in front of Jondralyn, who lay in full Silver Guard armor. A ragged gash stretched from her forehead just above her right eye down to the left side of her chin. The length of the ghastly injury was sewn closed with some type of rough thread. The entire bottom half of Jondralyn’s face was mangled, purple and blue and swollen with infection, encrusted in congealed streaks of blood and nearly twice its normal size. Her tender-looking flesh was tightly stretched and straining with the bloat, her left eye naught but a filmy glaze of white, her right eye completely gone. Above the gaping socket was shredded skin, exposing a hint of pale skull between the crude stitches.
The stench of Jondralyn’s wound suddenly engulfed Tala, nearly causing her to retch. She sat back on her haunches and covered her face in horror, trying to hide behind both hands. Lawri knelt by her side, comforting arms around her shoulders.
“What tragedy is this?” Jovan muttered. “What has befallen my beloved sister?”
Tala glanced up through her tears, not believing her brother’s feigned concern for even a moment. This is your fault! she wanted to scream.
Leif Chaparral handed the ropes holding Hawkwood and the bald knight to one of his Wolf Guards, then beckoned two of his other men forward. The men came bearing two swords each. Leif took the swords from the first man, curved blades with spiked hilts. He tossed them to the stone floor at Jovan’s feet. “The twin blades of the Sør Sevier turncoat, Hawkwood. The loot of battle, and if it please Your Excellency, spoils I’d like to gift my brother Glade.” But Jovan didn’t even seem to notice the swords or Leif’s request. His eyes remained fixed on Jondralyn’s gruesome injury.
Glade stepped around Tala and then stepped over Jondralyn and snatched up the twin blades greedily. “Magnificent. Thank you.” He bowed to his brother, admiring the swords, glancing nervously at Hawkwood.
Through the strands of black hair hanging in front of his face, Hawkwood’s eyes were focused on Leif. There was a measured level of danger within those dark, devouring orbs as they sliced through the air. Tala shuddered when she heard both the pain and venom in his voice. “Have you no doctor to see to her?”
“Yes, a doctor?” Jovan looked around.
“Val-Korin went in search of Val-Gianni,” answered Ser Tomas Vorkink, steward of the castle.
“Denarius has been summoned too,” Ser Landon Galloway added. “The grand vicar and the quorum of five should be here shortly. They can soon administer to our poor befallen princess, if it please Your Excellency.”
“Good.” The king nodded, seemingly at a loss for words. “Good.”
’Twas you who wished her dead! Tala wanted her brother to look at her, if only so he could see the accusation flowing from her eyes.
Leif snatched one of the swords from the second Wolf Guard—a longsword in an elegant white scabbard. He drew the blade. It sparkled blue in the light of Sunbird Hall, garnering everyone’s attention. “I give you Sky Reaver, my lord.” Leif bent his knee to Jovan and held out the sword for his king. “The sword of Aeros Raijael.”
The crowded hall gasped at Leif’s pronouncement.
Jovan took the sword and sheath. “Sky Reaver.” His voice held both awe and reverence. He sliced the air with the blade twice, crisply. The sword sang with every movement. Then he rammed the sword home into the sheath with authority, holding it up with admiration.
“One last gift.” Leif grabbed the fourth sword from his Wolf Guard—a plain sword. This one he threw down on the stone floor before Jovan. “The weapon that cleaved the face of our beautiful princess, Jondralyn. A rotted blade that should be melted down, its molten-hot steel rammed into the anus of the one who nearly killed her.”
Leif looked to the bald knight standing next to Hawkwood. “This is the man who struck down our beloved princess! Gault Aulbrek, Knight Archaic of Sør Sevier! One of Aeros Raijael’s personal bodyguards!” Every eye in Sunbird Hall fell upon the Sør Sevier knight.
Gault Aulbrek was tall, angular, and rangy. Though he stood before them in ropes and chains, he carried himself with a certain swaggering air, a coolness and poise, eyes flat and watchful, raw and untamed. Many in the hall did the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over their hearts just looking at him.
“Kill him now!” several onlookers shouted. “Kill him now!”
Soon the entire Sunbird Hall was chanting the mantra. Tala desired his immediate death too. She hated his bald head and goatee and quiet confidence with a swift, furious passion. The stoic look he gave the baying throng was infuriating to her.
When the crowd calmed, Jovan spoke loudly. “I wish to hear the story of how these two men were captured and how our beloved Jondralyn was struck down.”
“Permit me.” Leif bowed, adjusted his armor. “Our beautiful princess was viciously and cowardly attacked—”
“That is a lie,” Gault snarled between clenched teeth. There was a deep-rooted anger in his eyes that had not previously been there. “I will not suffer lies told about me, not by one such as you, Leif Chaparral.” Gault held his head straight, gaze slicing into Jovan now. “It was a fair duel. At Jondralyn’s request. Some of the men here with Leif saw it. I pulled my blow and spared her life. I was promised my freedom.” His cold, hard eyes held those of Jovan as he raised his bound wrists. “Your sister promised my release. I aim for you to hold to that promise.”
There was a dull ripple of concerned voices throughout the hall.
“What of the White Prince?” Jovan asked Leif, ignoring Gault as if he hadn’t heard a word the man said. “You give me Aeros’ sword. Has he been slain? What of Ser Culpa Barra?”
“ ’Twas Hawkwood who carried Sky Reaver,” Leif answered. “I know not how he came into possession of Aeros’ sword. He has offered up scant information. Culpa Barra proved himself a traitor, fleeing like a thief in the night near Lokkenfell. He is no longer to be trusted. I’ve a feeling he was working in league with Hawkwood and the dwarf all along. And in league with Sterling Prentiss, whom I also suspect of treachery.” His eyes roamed the room. “I was hoping to spit in Sterling’s fat, pitted face next time I saw him.”
“Sterling has also proved himself a traitor,” Jovan said, eyes burrowed into Tala. “He’s either fled Amadon or been killed for the accusations levied against him.”
Tala felt absolutely powerless to whatever effects Sterling’s disappearance might now have on the court. The consequence of the lies I spread. She could feel the emotion well up in her. Lawri was still there beside her. Lindholf, too. Both still under as much suspicion as she in Jovan’s eyes. All my rotten lies!
“Did Jondralyn meet with Aeros Raijael?” Jovan asked Leif. “Does the White Prince know that Gul Kana will not bow down to his threats?”
Leif hesitated a moment. “Truth is, my lord, your sister dared not meet with Aeros Raijael.” He cleared his throat, bent his knee to his king. “ ’Twas I alone who ventured into the camp of the White Prince and spelled out our inte
nt to Aeros. ’Twas I alone who informed him that Jovan Bronachell would stand and fight him.”
“Splendid.” The king bowed to Leif. “In Sterling Prentiss’s absence, I will need a new captain of the Dayknights. For your bravery, I deem that you, Ser Leif Chaparral, will serve as my Dayknight captain. The official swearing-in will be soon. The ceremony in your honor shall be a celebration!”
Leif stayed on his knee before Jovan, bowing low, almost to the floor. “I am most honored, Your Excellency.”
There was a smattering of claps from the crowd as Leif stood; a subdued celebration though, with Jondralyn lying on the floor between the two.
The Val Vallè ambassador, Val-Korin, entered the hall, his Vallè medicine man, Val-Gianni, right behind him, Seita and Val-Draekin too. Val-Korin wore a long bejeweled robe of red tied at the waist.
Val-Gianni swiftly shed his own similar raiment, handing it to Seita. Under the robe, the Vallè wore gray pantaloons secured with a black belt and a darker gray shirt and tunic. A well-worn leather satchel hung from one shoulder under his robe. “Her armor should have been removed days ago.” He unslung his leather bag and knelt over Jondralyn. He opened his satchel and began pulling out various medical supplies. “She’s feverish, burning up, trapped inside all this metal. I imagine she can scarcely breathe.”
“Can you save her?” Jovan asked.
“Yes, can you?” Leif’s words seemed no more than polite concern.
“Bring me a torch,” the Vallè doctor said to no one in particular, as his eyes scoured Jondralyn.
“Get a torch for him.” Leif snapped the order. Glade scurried off into the crowd toward the nearest wall sconce.
Val-Korin knelt and began unbuckling the armor fastened around Jondralyn’s midsection, pulling it off. Her chest barely moved, so thin was her breathing under the bloody undershirt. Val-Gianni slid his hand under the back of her neck and gently lifted, turning her head slightly to the side. “She’s got a wound on the back of the neck also.” The Vallè set her head back down and examined her injured face again. “When I see infection this bad in a limb, I’m forced to chop it off.” Tala’s heart faltered as the Vallè sifted through his medical satchel anxiously and pulled forth a glass tube of dark purple liquid. “This much damage, and an untreated infection so close to the brain, it’s a wonder she still breathes at all.” Val-Gianni uncorked the tube. He slid his hand under Jondralyn’s head again and gently lifted, putting the glass to her bloated lips. “Aelbazis liquor. It should help numb whatever pain she might feel.”
Before he poured, he looked up at Jovan. “For the operation I am about to perform, I’d empty this room of people, but I fear we’ve not enough time. We’ve not a moment to waste before her heart stops beating altogether.” He pried open her lips and poured. At first the liquid ran down the sides of her face until she began to choke, gagging, slobbering as she swallowed hard. When the tube was drained, some of the milky glaze had gone from Jondralyn’s left eye.
Val-Gianni ordered Seita and Val-Draekin to secure each of her legs and asked Val-Korin to hold down her shoulders. “The infection needs draining, and she’s liable to thrash about.”
Tala felt a whisper of bitterness growing in the cold depths of her being, anger that something so dreadful and unfair had been done to her sister, rage at her brother and Leif and the Sør Sevier knight Gault Aulbrek, who had caused it all.
Glade finally returned with a torch in hand. “Kneel beside me,” Val-Gianni ordered him. “I shall need the flame.” He handed Glade a small iron poker the length of a quill pen, its tip sharpened to a needle point. “Heat the tip of it in the torch flame.”
Glade did as instructed whilst Val-Gianni prodded the tender flesh of Jondralyn’s face with two nimble fingers. Tala grimaced as blood and pus ran from the holes of the crude stitching above Jondralyn’s eye. With more prodding, the wound parted and a thick glob of blood burst out, livid and scarlet, streaming down the side of her forehead.
Val-Gianni took the heated poker from Glade and worked fast, using its searing red point to prick at the rough stitching, working it free of Jondralyn’s stiff, bloated flesh. Blood poured freely from the straining skin on Jondralyn’s face now. Most of the men and women of the court looked away. Behind Tala, Lawri was crying.
Jondralyn’s breathing was now rapid and hoarse. Seita and Val-Draekin tightened their grip on her legs. Once the wound was unstitched, the Vallè doctor carefully positioned all five fingers of both hands along the side of the seeping wound. He gently prodded the length of the swollen gash, finally settling on a spot. Then he pressed down hard. A broad and viscous geyser of puss erupted outward as the wound split. The cloudy white infection oozed over Val-Gianni’s hands. Jondralyn suddenly screamed, her body writhing under the three Vallè who fought to restrain her. Through the screams and thrashing, Val-Gianni kept pressing on Jondralyn’s face, draining the wound. A stream of pale sickness crept down the side of her face, pooling on the floor thick as goat cream. When he was done, the Vallè sawbones took a bottle of straight hard whiskey from his pouch and began cleaning out the wound. Jondralyn’s renewed screams filled the hall—the sound pure terror and pain, tortured and raw. And the fury stirring within Tala’s own soul was threatening to pull her down into places she dared not venture.
Glade reheated the poker, and Val-Gianni was now using it to cauterize the wound. As the red-hot iron slipped under Jondralyn’s skin, the foul odor of burning flesh filled Tala’s nostrils. She didn’t know if she could watch any longer, hate and rage flowing through her. She, too, felt the urge to scream. She sharply inhaled and exhaled several deep, painful breaths of her own.
It’s all Jovan’s fault!
Squinting through the tears of rage forming in her eyes, Tala looked up at her brother. By the look on his face, Jovan was as horrified and confused as she. Leif’s face, on the other hand, was a shrewd mask that veiled all thought save smugness.
Six spear-wielding Dayknights escorting Grand Vicar Denarius and the Quorum of Five Archbishops marched into the hall, Denarius’ concerned gaze fixed on Jondralyn. He wore the regular burnt-orange-colored cassock of his station and immediately did the three-fingered sign of the Laijon Cross over the necklaces of silver and gold covering his heart. Then he covered his nose as the smell finally hit him, his jowly face turning red. Denarius was fat and lecherous and ugly and Tala wanted to lash out at him, too.
She knew her emotions were about to spill forth. But she was resolved—crying got no one anywhere at any time. Confidence and anger were what solved things. Her eyes traveled to Gault Aulbrek. The bald knight’s emotionless eyes appeared to survey the entirety of Sunbird Hall at once.
As if he could sense he was being watched, his eyes fell on Tala.
She wanted to let go of his gaze, look away, but his bold glance lingered on her with something she could not quite define, part sympathy, part level-eyed curiosity. But who is he to feel for me? Her fuming anger was growing so hysterically intense that she wondered if she wasn’t going insane. Somehow this is all part of the Bloodwood’s twisted game!
“You did this to her!” Tala’s fierce shout was like a whip crack echoing through the hall. Everyone looked at her.
She launched herself from the floor straight at Gault with one tremendous burst of rage and strength, punching and tearing at his face.
His hands were tied before him, and he managed to shield his face from her initial blows. But through the berserk haze of her wrath, Tala hardly felt like a person any longer—rather a snarling, screaming, slavering animal, fingernails savagely raking him like the fangs of a saber-toothed lion.
Her attack lasted only a moment before both Leif and Jovan pulled her off the Sør Sevier knight and tossed her roughly to the floor. Lindholf and Lawri were immediately at her side, Lawri whispering comforting words that Tala could not understand. She was so utterly drained.
Her eyes felt like a blazing fire, scorching everyone in the room.
With
all her might she hauled herself to her feet and ran from Sunbird Hall as fast as her legs would carry her.
† † † † †
Tala found herself in Jondralyn’s bedchamber, weary and heartsick and alone. She sank into the cushioned settee, seeking respite. But she could find scant comfort in the pastel colors of the walls and columns and arched ceiling that surrounded her or the rich maroon rug underfoot. Her chest would not stop pounding out its rage.
Her anger subsided only when her eyes fell on the tall mahogany bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. The shelves were full of the hundreds of books that her sister had collected over the years. Tala had read a few: Dust of the Fallen, The Seeker of Agonmoore, Dread Fort Fire. And then there were the ones her mother, Alana, had read to her when she was a child, like The Mouse of Avlonia Castle. A pain sliced through her heart as her gaze fell upon the gold-embossed spine of the last book in line: Fairy Tales of the Val Vallè Princess Arianna. They’d replaced Princess Arianna’s likeness with that of Jondralyn on the Gul Kana copper coin.
She couldn’t think of that. Jondralyn was so beautiful. She wanted to blank the image of her sister’s grisly injuries from her mind. There was a gaping hollowness in Tala’s stomach, in her soul, knowing Jondralyn might die.
Jovan had sent her sister on a quest, hoping she’d die. Will I have to stand up to Jovan next? Will he conspire to kill me? Or does he already? She thought of the Bloodwood and the Bloodwood’s game. The Bloodwood! At least there is one person who seems to think I am important! She thought of the pouch of little green balls she was supposed to feed Lawri and what the assassin had written in the last note: Your cute little cousin is only partially healed of what afflicts her. Make no mistake, she will spiral into insanity and die if she is not fed more of the antidote. In this sack I have left you twenty dosages. One per day. More will be given to you later . . . but only if you continue to do my bidding and bring me what I ask for. Only then will Lawri’s transformation be complete. Only then will your own destiny be underway.
The Blackest Heart Page 12
