by E. D. Walker
Llewellyn sat back on his heels and gaped at her, his face quivering with some strong emotion.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. “Thomas couldn’t stop himself. I couldn’t… I used that cursed hairpin. I had to—”
“You used the sleeping curse on him?”
She pressed her hands to her face, scrubbing hard as a bout of gasping hiccups spasmed through her. Oh, everything hurts. At last, she simply had to nod.
“My lady, I…” Llewellyn trailed off. She looked up at him and noticed for the first time that his own eyes were shining, his voice almost as ragged as her own. “Princess, everyone downstairs is asleep too.”
“What?”
“The sleeping curse has claimed everyone else in the house. We have to go.” He reached for her.
She yanked her arm away, crawling backward from him. “You want me to leave him?”
“If the blood witch sent him then she must be nearby. And everyone who can help us is asleep.” He dragged her to her feet, and she forced herself to let go of Thomas’s hand, to leave him behind. The best way to help him now was to keep herself and Llewellyn safe.
As they passed through the downstairs room, Aliénor couldn’t help but gape. Every soldier, every servant, Violette and Noémi…all of them were asleep, sprawled across tables, fallen to the floor. Every last person in the house was unconscious.
She shook her head. “How? How can they all be sleeping? The spell wasn’t that strong before. It was only me last time.”
Llewellyn’s mouth pinched with unhappiness. “My fault, I suspect. The blood witch’s small, simple spell got all tangled up with my magic when I drew it out of you. And my power seems to have magnified the effect.”
After peeking through the door to make sure the street was clear, they scurried out together, stalking carefully from one street to another. Aliénor had fastened her small dagger on and borrowed a short sword from one of the guards at the house. After what happened with Thomas, she just felt better armed.
They didn’t see many people, but those they did see were all as deeply asleep as Thomas and the others. A miserable light drizzle had settled over the city, dusting them with tiny water droplets, dampening the air.
“Why aren't I asleep?” Aliénor swabbed rainwater out of her eyes. “Why aren’t you?”
Llewellyn gave a small shrug. “My guess is that there are only three people awake in the city right now: the two of us and the blood witch.” He held up three fingers and ticked them off as he made his points. “The blood witch is immune because she cast the original spell herself. You are immune because I pulled the spell out of you in the first place. And I am immune to the spell because I'm the damn fool idiot who mixed his magic in and made this curse so powerful. Here, come on. Let's see how bad this is.”
They had reached the city walls, and he climbed up one of the ladders to a lookout stand. Aliénor followed behind him just so she wouldn’t be alone.
The two lookouts lay passed out and draped over each other like sleeping children. Llewellyn swore softly, standing by the window, and Aliénor came to look out beside him. “Oh my…”
All the men of Anutitum manning the city’s walls were asleep. Even the horses and beasts of burden were unconscious. Across the battlefield, the Tiochene camp too lay utterly still, every man, woman, and beast sprawled on the ground in fitful slumber.
Aliénor flinched and looked away, hugging herself for comfort. “How do we lift the curse?”
Llewellyn rubbed his temples hard. “This is bad. I’m…I’ve never…”
“We probably don’t have to go one by one curing everybody. If we can just lift the curse off Thomas, the rest should follow, yes?” That seemed logical to her, and never mind if that really was the answer—her heart selfishly wanted to it to be.
“Yes, that’s generally the way an enchantment like this works. Cure the king and the city will follow.”
“We must get back to him then.”
***
The longer they went without seeing a sign of the blood witch, the more uneasy Aliénor grew. “We shouldn’t have left Thomas alone. She’ll guess that we’ll come back for him.”
“We had to see if there was anyone else in the city awake to help us, Princess.”
“You don’t think you’re strong enough to beat her?”
“If it were only her strength against mine, I would not be worried, but I fear—” He halted in the street and gripped Aliénor’s arm hard, stopping her momentum. She could actually see the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. “—that.”
Aliénor gazed at the cozy nobleman’s house just ahead of them. The earlier drizzle had increased to a full-out rainstorm, and it was difficult to see through the downpour. For a moment, her heart lifted to see people moving about all around the house. She opened her mouth to cry a glad greeting to Violette.
But her handmaiden’s eyes were shut tight, and the graceful Violette moved with a jerky, unnatural gait like a puppet with a particularly clumsy puppeteer.
“What is—”
“I suppose I should thank you,” Mistress Helen called out. She stood on the roof of the building, her hands dancing in front of her like a musician plucking her strings or…like a puppeteer making her marionettes dance.
Aliénor drew her borrowed sword, a sudden bitterness in her throat. “Oh no.”
Mistress Helen’s mouth tipped up in a tight smile. “People are so much easier to control when they’re unconscious. I don’t have to fight their own wills for their bodies, you see. You’ve gifted me a city full of helpers. As I said, I should thank you.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I think I’ll just kill you instead.” She flicked her fingers outward as if shaking water droplets off them.
Llewellyn grabbed Aliénor’s free arm, yanking her backward as the people round the nobleman’s house charged them. Everyone had a weapon of some kind: swords, knives, even cudgels. Violette had a wickedly sharp fishhook. Aliénor too had weapons, of course, but she wasn’t willing to use them on any of these innocent people.
Llewellyn stopped in the street and made a slash through the air with his arm. Aliénor’s hair stood on end, and the people chasing them bounced off some sort of invisible wall. Sweat popped on Llewellyn’s forehead, and he groaned through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to hurt them.”
Aliénor shook her head, staring in anguish as sweet Violette hacked mindlessly at the wall holding her back from them. Her beautiful face was utterly blank, her eyes still closed. One of the men toward the front slipped, and the others, oblivious, stepped on top of him to keep pushing against Llewellyn’s invisible wall.
“Llewellyn.”
“I see him.” With another strangled oath, Llewellyn let the shield fall. Aliénor and Llewellyn took off running.
“The river, Llewellyn. Her magic won’t work over running water.”
“Neither will mine.”
“We’ll risk it.” Aliénor hauled him after her toward the gurgle of the river.
The street cobbles were slick beneath their feet. The rain beat harder now, pummeling them like an angry spirit. Aliénor’s foot turned beneath her, and she went down. The breath was knocked out of her. Her sword skittered out of her hands, and one of the sleeping people snatched it up. Other hands immediately pawed at her legs, dragging her backward.
“No.” She kicked out, but as she looked back, she gasped in dismay to see Violette reeling away from her, holding a bloody nose. The other sleeping victims clawed at her, but their hands slid off, finding no easy purchase in the pouring rain and wetness.
“Back off.” Llewellyn pushed the air with his hands, and a great wind kicked up, blowing their attackers momentarily away from her as if they were dandelion fluff.
Llewellyn yanked her to her feet and dragged her along after him. The river roared just ahead, swelling with the storm water. The river’s level had risen at least two high-water marks since last night. The burned-out remains of Aliénor’s
boat rocked just ahead of them, still tied to the dock as it swayed back and forth on its tethering line.
Fifty feet shy of the ship, a new crowd of curse victims burst out of the small house just next to the dock. Aliénor danced free from their clutching hands, twisting and ducking. Someone grabbed her skirt, and a swath of fabric ripped away with a loud tearing noise as she jerked herself free.
They caught Llewellyn, and he howled and thrashed as they bent his arms back. “Run.” He shot Aliénor an anguished look and gritted his teeth as the curse victims wrestled him to lie facedown on the cobbles. The magician could probably free himself, but he would have to hurt innocent people to do it.
Aliénor rocked on her feet, torn by indecision whether she should help him or keep running.
Mistress Helen strolled down the street then. She wore a white cloak, a little bloody and torn, but the fine tasseled hood seemed to be keeping her dry.
Thomas’s cloak. Aliénor’s eyes burned, her insides churning.
Ignoring Aliénor, the blood witch crossed to Llewellyn and hurriedly knelt to tap his forehead. He went limp in his captors’ arms, and Aliénor recognized the spell Llewellyn had used on her just yesterday.
Mistress Helen gave Llewellyn’s wet hair a small pat like he was a child. “I’ll play with you later.” She straightened and leveled her angry, assessing gaze at Aliénor. “Now, Princess—”
Aliénor whirled around and leapt off the short dock, onto the burned-out remains of the ship that should have carried her to safety. I just hope I’m right about moving water and her magic.
It seemed the stories were right, though, for the witch’s face immediately crimped with annoyance, and she flung her hands into the air. “Why must you make this so difficult, you little brat?” With narrowed eyes, Mistress Helen flicked a finger out.
Godric, poor Godric, shuffled forward. His eyes were shut like the others’, but whereas their faces were all blank, his was scrunched and tense as if his dreams were a torment. His clothes were torn and bloody. Shadows and lines had carved themselves into his face as if he had aged ten years after only a week or so under the witch’s power.
Aliénor shuffled back a step, the wounded boat bobbing around her, making her balance chancy. She steadied her grip on her sword, her stomach fluttering. She pitied Godric and feared him in equal measure, but he was not getting his hands on her again.
Godric stood on the very edge of the street now, ready to walk onto the dock and her small boat. The witch glanced back and forth between Godric and the water. At last, she narrowed her eyes and flipped her hand in a gesture almost of dismissal. Godric’s body heaved itself off the safety of the road, trying to overleap the gap and land on her boat. Aliénor flinched, bracing for the coming attack.
But as soon as Godric’s feet left land, the witch’s will seemed to leave him. His body went boneless, and he splashed unconscious into the water, just shy of the boat’s edge.
Aliénor rushed to the side, instinctively reaching down to grab him, but the ruthless tide had already carried him too far. As she watched, the lines of his face smoothed out, a small smile twitching on his lips though he still slept. He spun in the coursing river like a leaf carried by the wind. Slowly his heavy clothes soaked up the water and he sank, disappearing under the dark tide of the river. The smile on his face never faltered.
Aliénor flinched, her stomach roiling at this waste of life. “Your power doesn’t work here, witch.”
“It works well enough.” Mistress Helen chuckled, but the tension in her shoulders put the lie to her smile. “Come off the ship, little princess. Or shall I drown someone you do care about? Shall I choke this river with dead bodies?” She raised two fingers and flicked them toward the river. Noémi and Violette marched forward and stood swaying at the very edge of the dock, ready to walk to their deaths at the witch’s whim.
Aliénor rubbed her hands over her face, all of her shaking with fear and cold and anger. “What do you want?”
“I want you to come with me to awaken King Thomas.”
“Why?”
The witch snorted. “So I can take off with him and rule Lyond as his queen. My plan hasn’t changed.” She flung her hands out to take in the still forms of the accursed sleepers. “You think I want to be queen of the sleeping kingdom? No. Anyway, they’ll all be dead in a few days if they don’t eat. Drink.”
Thomas would be dead in a few days if they didn’t lift the curse. Noémi. Violette. Aliénor shook her head. “You’ll kill me if I go with you.”
“Yes, but only after we’ve woken King Thomas together. And the city. Are you really so selfish that you refuse to help me?”
Aliénor turned her face up to the rain, letting the cold water pummel her skin. Her feet were numb, her body shuddering with uncontrollable chill. There has to be a better way. It was a stubborn thought, perhaps a foolish one, and yet… “If I wake Thomas up, you’ll just take control of him again. I’d be saving him just to turn him into your slave.”
“Yes, but he’d be alive.” The witch was impatient, her foot tapping, her voice a brisk snap like a whip.
Aliénor pressed a palm to her own throat, to the bruises there. She could feel her pulse pounding beneath her fingertips, frantic as the tumbling whirl in her mind. “Why did you send Thomas to kill me? Why not just try yourself?”
The witch rolled her eyes. “Never mind. I’ll come get you myself.” She yanked the sword out of Noémi’s hand, and the witch jumped off the dock.
Aliénor scurried back as the boat rocked with the witch landing. The wounded boat seemed to groan under the extra weight, the wooden beams creaking. Water sloshed over the side, splashing across Aliénor’s face like a slap.
The witch swung the sword as she landed. Aliénor dodged, and the blade stuck in the wood of the small, half-burned cabin compartment.
The witch tugged and grunted in frustration, trying to free her blade. As she stumbled back, she yanked the spell-knife from the sheath at her belt. She tilted the blade to flash in Aliénor’s eyes. “Better this way, eh? No more coaxing.”
Aliénor’s belly went cold. “Blood magic won’t work on open water.”
“Are you sure? Care to test your luck?”
No. Very much no. Aliénor tore her own knife out of its sheath.
The witch snorted. “Pretty toy, Princess. I don’t think you ever learned to fight with a knife, though, did you? You never had to learn.”
Aliénor also snatched a broken board up off the deck, hoping she could keep the witch far enough back. As the witch advanced, Aliénor swung her board at Mistress Helen, but the witch ducked and came up slashing with her own knife. Aliénor stumbled away, swinging the board one-handed, trying to hold on to her little knife as the grip grew slippery with water.
The witch looked cocky now, confident. She and Aliénor both knew she only needed to get the shallowest cut in and the fight could be over. “Do you know why I sent your king to kill you, little Aliénor?”
Aliénor dodged away, almost losing her balance. She wheeled her arms, trying to balance, as the witch slashed at her face. Aliénor lost her footing and landed on the deck, her rump stinging. She’d dropped the board, and Mistress Helen kicked it away with a snort of contempt. Aliénor scuttled backward as the witch advanced toward her.
Mistress Helen grinned. “I sent King Thomas to kill you because that is the surest way to make him mine. If you were still alive in the world, he’d fight me to get back to you. To be free. But if you’re dead, and at his own hand, then my control becomes a refuge for him. He’ll never want to be himself again after that, never want to face what he’s done. It’s the perfect prison.”
Aliénor’s body tensed, seizing up with anger. With a cry of rage, she hurled herself at Mistress Helen, knocking the other woman to the deck of the little skiff. Aliénor’s knife went skittering away. Something cracked beneath them, and they lurched downward together, water suddenly sloshing over both their faces. Aliénor reared up out
of the water and slammed the blood witch down hard again. Again.
Mistress Helen spat water and thrashed beneath her, clawing for Aliénor’s face. She’d dropped her knife too, and lost it to the river pouring into the boat. “You stupid—”
With a crack, the boat split in half underneath them, and they were both dumped into the chill, rushing water together.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Under the water, tossed by the current, the witch clawed for Aliénor’s throat. Chest aching for air, Aliénor shoved back at the woman as the river tossed them along. Aliénor kicked free of the blood witch and shoved the woman away. Lungs burning, Aliénor kicked toward the surface of the river.
She broke the surface and swam hard for the dock, pawing at the boards, her sodden garments dragging at her all the way. The witch slammed into her back, slipping and grabbing to use Aliénor’s body as a boost to heave herself up. Aliénor elbowed the other woman in the gut and slapped her hand over Mistress Helen’s face. She shoved hard. Mistress Helen fell back, her eyes wide, and splashed into the water, going under.
Aliénor braced herself against the dock, holding on, watching the water, waiting for the witch to resurface. After a moment, she dared to turn her back and gripped the wooden dock to lever herself up.
The wood cracked, the board breaking lose to bang against her head. She crashed into the river, the water swirling her round and round. Alarm flared inside Aliénor and she struck for the surface, for air.
Something caught at her legs, tugging her back. For one horrified moment, she thought it was the blood witch. But as she felt down around her ankle, she realized her now-tattered skirt had caught on a nail in the side of the dock. She yanked again and again and at last felt the fabric give.
With a voiceless cry of relief, Aliénor hugged the pylons under the dock, holding on to them as she swam through the murky water up to the surface. She caught a trailing rope in the water, used that to drag herself up the rest of the way.
