by Robert Evert
Bowing, he closed the door and stood in the hallway, breathing hard.
He had to find a way to escape, and he couldn’t do it on foot.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Natalie sat by Sir Edris’s bed, stroking his sweat-drenched hair. It was the middle of the night, and the knights had all ridden off in a mad hunt for Brago, leaving the manor house feeling empty and depressed. She dabbed the damp towel across Sir Edris’s drawn face and checked to see if he was still breathing. The wavering candlelight made him look like the waxen corpse of an elderly man.
How could this have happened? Six months ago, Sir Edris was riding around with Reg, searching for the legendary lost Chest of Queen Cassandra. A month ago, he was sitting in a tavern, drinking all night and reminiscing with old friends, laughing so hard he fell off his chair. Now—
Now, he was old, and frail, and dying.
Natalie put her hand on his chest and felt the slow, dull thud of his heart in between each grating breath.
He wasn’t going to last long, but perhaps that was good. Better to go swiftly in one’s sleep than painfully on some battlefield, a sword in the stomach.
She knew Sir Edris and the other knights would disagree. Dying in bed, weak and delirious with pain, was the worst death any of them could imagine. They’d rather suffer, lying in a puddle of blood, waiting for their adversary to deliver the final blow.
Idiot men…
Then again, nobody sang songs about knights who died in their sleep. And there should be songs about Sir Edris. He was one of the greatest adventurers of all time. He was big and strong and had a knack for finding whatever the kings wanted. Nobody could best him with blade or bow. Even to other adventurers, Sir Edris was a god. He deserved to have stories told about him, stories that’d grow taller and taller with the passing of each generation. He deserved better than dying in bed, rancid pus seeping out of a simple scratch.
Natalie wiped her tears away, then blew her nose. She considered getting up and opening a window. The stench of Sir Edris’s putrid wound and body odor made it difficult to breathe. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave him. She drew the damp cloth across his fevered brow again.
Had Brago caused this?
Remember me the next time you see your father.
How else could he have known?
He must have poisoned Sir Edris’s salve then orchestrated the fight between him and Sir David. Or perhaps Sir David’s blade was poisoned. Either way, Brago knew before he should’ve.
Yes, he caused this. The question was: Would King Michael’s knights find and kill him? Or would the bastard get away?
There was a light knock on the door. It opened slightly, revealing the worried but elegant face of Lady Braverton, bathed in flickering candlelight. Natalie rose to her feet.
“May I sit with you?” Lady Braverton asked.
Natalie pulled up another chair. “Please.”
Setting her candelabrum on the nightstand next to Sir Edris’s bed, Lady Braverton sat. For a long moment, the two women silently stared at Sir Edris’s unmoving face.
“I would like to apologize,” Lady Braverton said finally, “for any rash words I might have said to you.”
“You haven’t said anything you need to apologize for, my lady.”
“Perhaps.” She fussed with Sir Edris’s blankets. “But I have definitely thought a few inappropriate things.”
Natalie didn’t know what to say to this, so she said nothing.
“What you decided,” the lady went on, “that’s your purview. As his heir, I mean.” She gave a grim chuckle. “I would’ve loved to have heard how Ed convinced King Michael to make you his beneficiary.”
“King Michael?” Natalie repeated, still trying to determine where Lady Braverton was going with the conversation. Then the words “heir” and “beneficiary” registered.
“Oh, yes. Last year, Ed arranged for a royal proclamation allowing you to be his sole heir. Didn’t you know?”
Natalie shook her head. Sir Edris had frequently intimated that he’d done something to “secure” her future, but she always assumed he was going to leave her money. Not that she needed it. What they had made from her shop would last her many lifetimes.
“Of course, I wish there was no need for such decrees. But, these moronic kings and their antiquated views of women…” Lady Braverton watched her. “Do you agree?”
Natalie gave a half-hearted shrug. Talking about the policies of kings, moronic or otherwise, was perilous at any time, saying them to a noble, even a female noble, could be lethal.
“You’re exceptionally accomplished,” Lady Braverton said matter-of-factly. “Many women would give their souls to live the life you’ve led.”
Natalie held her tongue, bitter annoyance rising within her.
“I’m sorry,” said Lady Braverton. “I know what happened to your family. I only meant—”
Natalie put on a smile. “I know what you meant, my lady.”
“I don’t believe you do,” replied Lady Braverton, still watching Natalie closely. “You have no idea how I’ve longed to be treated like a man, to be able to forge my own destiny, to live the way I wanted, and not the way some man thought was best for me.” She stared out the window at the moonlit night sky. “Women deserve better.”
There was a delicate tap on the door.
“Come in,” the lady said.
A withered gentleman in his late seventies stepped in, his hands wringing.
“I will come to bed in a few moments, my lord,” the lady said tenderly. “You need not wait up.”
The hunched man blinked several times, his hands and lips constantly moving. Slowly, he shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“That’s my husband.” Lady Braverton studied Natalie. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“No, my lady. I didn’t.”
“So nobody has discussed my—situation, with you?”
Natalie shook her head again. As far as she could tell, the lady’s situation was that she married a doddering old man, most likely for his wealth and position. It wasn’t the first time a woman did such a thing, and it undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last.
“I suppose”—Lady Braverton got up and adjusted Sir Edris’s pillows—“that’s a conversation for another time.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Lady Braverton smoothed a few wrinkles from the blankets, then returned to her chair.
“I must say,” the lady said. “You must take after your mother. You don’t resemble Ed at all, save for your strength of will. However, some of his other daughters have that in spades as well.”
“Other…daughters?” Natalie managed to say.
“Yes,” said Lady Braverton casually. “Ed has at least three daughters I know of, each more stubborn than him.” She ran her fingers through the knight’s tangled hair. “I always wish I could have given him a son.”
Natalie sucked in air.
“You…?” She stopped, not knowing anything appropriate she could add.
Lady Braverton’s chin quivered. “I’ve loved him since I was twelve.” She wiped a silk handkerchief across her eyes and then mastered herself. She laughed. “Not that he noticed me. He wasn’t a knight then; but, by the gods, everybody knew he was extraordinary.”
Lady Braverton smiled warmly at the shell of a man in the bed before them.
“How—?” Natalie hesitated. Realizing that what she was about to ask was rude, she shifted the conversation to a more benign topic. “How did you two meet?”
Lady Braverton stroked Sir Edris’s grey hand lying on the coverlet. “I first saw him at a festival our village was having. He was fighting in one of the tournaments.”
“Village?”
“Yes. I’m originally from a village upriver from Lower Angle.” The Lady appeared amazed. “Hasn’t anybody told you about me?”
“We haven’t had much time for talk since I got here. We’ve all been thinking about Sir Edris.”
Natalie tugged at her dirty riding clothes. “And I’m terribly sorry about my appearance. I should’ve changed hours ago.”
“I thought everybody knew about me,” Lady Braverton said. “I assumed…” She shook herself out of her thoughts. “And you’re fetching, my dear. Please don’t take what I said before as an insult. A daughter resembling her father is rarely a desirable outcome. Still…he is a handsome man. So handsome…” She trailed off.
Natalie watched the dancing ribbons of black smoke rising from the candles. There were too many questions she wanted to ask. She didn’t know where to begin.
“Tell me about your mother,” the lady said, a touch of jealousy in her tone. “How did she meet, Ed? Did she love him?”
Before Natalie could answer, Sir Edris gave a great rasping breath. His eyes flew open. Struggling to speak, he looked wildly at Lady Braverton. Both women sprang to their feet.
Lady Braverton caressed his brow. “I’m here, Ed. Everything is fine. Be still, my love. Be still.”
Straining to sit up, he called out, “Nat!”
“Yes?” Natalie leaned forward anxiously, taking his hands. “I’m here too. I’m here.”
Turning vaguely in Natalie’s direction, Sir Edris’s vision went in and out of focus. He peered at Natalie, opened his mouth, and said, “The bastard…”
He then fell into his pillows—dead.
• • •
Natalie and Lady Braverton wept, holding each other, until the chilly dawn. Gradually, the tears came in choking pants, then fitful sobs, and then not at all. Lady Braverton posted a guard at Sir Edris’s door and ordered that nobody was to enter his room. She escorted Natalie to the guesthouse and bade her good night with all the dignity she could muster.
Now in her luxurious quarters, Natalie stood feeling numb, and exhausted, and hollow. She stared out the window at the manicured lawns lit by the soft rays of a rising sun creeping above the eastern hills. But all Natalie could see was Sir Edris in his last moments, sitting up, terrified.
She pictured Brago.
Remember me the next time you see your father.
The bastard.
The fucking bastard.
Gripping the windowsill, Natalie knew two things in the depths of her heart. The first was Brago was responsible for Sir Edris’s death. The second was Reg and the knights weren’t going to catch him. After Brago had slashed open Natalie’s breast, Sir Edris and Reg searched everywhere. They offered colossal rewards for information regarding Brago’s whereabouts. They paid mercenaries. They hunted for months—and found nothing.
Further, Brago had too much of a head start. Despite what some of the knights seemed to believe, Brago wasn’t a fool. He’d know everybody would be searching for him. He’d have a plan. The question was: What was it?
Would he run?
Would he hide?
Somehow, neither seemed to be Brago’s style.
What was his style? What would he do?
The bastard would gloat.
Gloat to whom? Other knights?
No. They’d kill him.
He’d gloat to the person it’d hurt the most—Sir Edris’s daughter.
Hazy with fatigue and grief, the seeds of a plan germinated in Natalie’s mind. She’d have to deal with Brago herself. She’d end his miserable life in the slowest, most painful way possible. The trick was going to be getting him to come out of hiding. Again, he wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t come after Natalie right away. He’d make her wait and stew in her fury. He might wait years and then show up one night when Natalie was alone.
She wouldn’t let that happen. She wasn’t going to live in fear, looking over her shoulder, checking and re-checking the locks on her doors and windows. She was going to kill him. However, first, she had to find the bastard.
Natalie peered out the window.
Where was he?
Where would you go, if everybody was hunting for you?
Somewhere nobody was looking.
Some place that had already been checked? No. Some place where you shouldn’t be. Some place the hunters would overlook.
Where would—?
The last place where you were seen…
Winros Minor.
Suddenly, everything made sense. Brago was wounded. He couldn’t travel far. He’d stay in Winros Minor and make sure his spies kept a sharp eye out for any adventurers.
His spies…
Who were his spies in Winros Minor now that Nathaniel was—?
“Magnus!”
The treachery stabbed at her broken heart.
There were only two reasons why a kid like Magnus was in Winros Minor—money or revenge. Brago likely got to Magnus and stoked his hatred for Sir Edris. He probably offered Magnus a fistful of gold coins to poison Sir Edris’s healing concoction. Using one of Sir Edris’s own informants to murder him would be poetry to the son of a bitch.
So when Magnus was going into that inn…
…he was relaying information to Brago.
Natalie exhaled. Now finally able to tear her blurry gaze from the sunrise, she paced the room on exhausted legs.
She knew where Brago was. Now she needed to kill him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Magnus sat on the inn’s wraparound porch, attempting to stay out of the relentless wind. He cursed. He’d been lingering in front of the inn all blasted day. He was tired and hungry and felt stupid each time he had to explain to the fat innkeeper why he was loitering. But he couldn’t leave; Lord Fairhill insisted on that.
Scanning the street, he watched people ride in and out of town. Others roamed from store to store, going about their daily routines. He didn’t know if any of them “belonged” or not. Hell, he didn’t even know what that meant.
Then again, it didn’t matter. If Sir Edris himself danced by naked, blowing Magnus kisses, Magnus would be damned if he’d go upstairs and tell Lord Fairhill about it. He was nuts. Not “noble nuts,” but literally insane. The way he kept clutching those knives…it was like he was going to stab the next person who entered his room, and Magnus was going to make sure it wasn’t him.
And what in the gods’ names happened to his leg? And how could he sit there and calmly sew himself up like that?
He was mad. He had to be.
Magnus watched the crowds of pilgrims heading to their various shrines scattered about the city, their grubby, threadbare clothing falling off them.
What was he going to do? He had to get out of town. He had to disappear and make sure Lord Fairhill never found him. Without a horse, however—
Did Lord Fairhill know all of the horse dealers in Winros Minor? Probably. He seemed to know everybody and everything. Even barricaded in his room, he knew exactly what was going on throughout the entire town.
How?
It didn’t matter. Magnus had to get away. The question was: When?
Maybe he could buy a horse while the lord was sleeping. He had enough money. He could give the stable hands a few extra coins so they wouldn’t tell—
Behind him, a voice spoke. “Magnus…”
Screaming, Magnus vaulted to his feet. Spinning around, he found Lord Fairhill pulling on a pair of black gloves.
“Stop this foolishness,” Lord Fairhill hissed. He inclined his broad-brimmed hat so it covered most of his face. “I shall be back momentarily. I have an errand.”
“An, an…errand, sir?”
“Indeed.” Lord Fairhill scanned the crowded street.
Magnus suddenly realized a great many people were headed to the town square. “What’s going on? Where’s everybody going?”
“Never you mind.” Leaning heavily on his silver-knobbed walking stick, Lord Fairhill limped down the porch stairs. “Keep your eyes and ears open.”
Magnus brightened.
Perhaps now was the time. Perhaps he could make a break for it while the lord was gone! He’d buy a horse and—
“And Magnus,” Lord Fairhill said, adjusting his cloak so it hid the long knife
hanging from his belt.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. You best be here when I return.”
Chapter Forty
The day of Sir Edris’s death, Natalie awoke well after noon. As soon as she was dressed, she hurried out of the guesthouse to find her host. She found Lady Braverton sitting on a wrought iron bench in the rose garden, staring with bloodshot eyes at the few blossoms that had yet to succumb to autumn. Natalie tried to get her attention without startling her.
“My lady…”
Lady Braverton gave Natalie a fragile smile, and then said, as though to the dying flowers, “I instructed my lady-in-waiting to place some of my daughters’ dresses in your parlor. Sophia and Elisa love to shop but rarely wear half of what they buy. I thought you might like them.”
“Yes, my lady. I saw them. They’re lovely. Thank you for your kindness; however…”
Drawing a handkerchief under her nose, Lady Braverton sighed. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
For many moments, Natalie stood silently by as Lady Braverton sobbed. Eventually, she said, “Brago did this. And I’m going to make him pay.”
“You’re—you’re going after Brago?”
“I know where he is.”
Lady Braverton faced Natalie more fully, anger added to her sorrow. “So tell one of the knights!”
“They’ve all gone.”
“Then wait for them to return! I can send one of my men to—”
Natalie shook her head. “I’m not waiting.”
“He’ll kill you!”
“I’ve been trained…”
“To do what? To kick and scratch and fight for your life? Do you honestly believe you could kill a man? To watch his eyes as the life seeps out of them?”
“Absolutely.”
Lady Braverton recoiled. “By the gods, you are Ed’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“And nothing I can say or do will stop you?”
“No, my lady. I’m sorry.”
“He’s going to kill you!”
“He’s tried before.”
