by Aiken G. A.
Marius pulled his sword. “You cunts!”
“No, my prince! She lies . . . you cannot . . . you cannot . . .” The young general looked at each of them. “What are you all staring at?”
The prince pointed with his weapon. “You bleed.”
The young general touched the blood that poured down his chin, not realizing that the blood also came from his eyes, his nose, his ears.
“What have you done?” the older general, also bleeding from every orifice, asked Beatrix.
“I’ve killed you. Had your chainmail poisoned . . . so I never had to raise a finger.”
The older general took a step. “You vile cu—”
He dropped. Before he could finish and his partner fell on top of him. Both dead. Their blood still pouring out of them.
The prince faced her again, his sword still out, aimed at her. Beatrix smiled. “My lord . . . can we speak alone?”
The chorus of “no” was loud and came even from his mother, but Marius waved them off.
“I’ll be fine.”
“My son—”
“You brought her, Mother. Now let me talk to her.”
The Dowager Queen and remaining generals left the tent.
Beatrix dropped into a chair and gestured to another on the other side of the table. The prince put his sword back in its sheath and sat.
“I know I’m not what you were hoping for.”
“You’re right there. A beautiful woman of royal blood with a dowry and her father’s soldiers would be what I’d expect.”
“No worries about the soldiers . . . your dukes and lords will give you all the soldiers you request. And we both know you’d get tired of any woman who graced your bed more than once.”
“True. But what can you provide that others cannot?”
“The world.”
One eyebrow went up. “The world?”
“While other little girls played with dolls and learned to tend house, I’ve been planning to get everything there is to be taken. While you and your brothers bicker over your father’s puny territories, you could be advancing into the mountains.”
“For what?”
“Slaves. Warriors. Dwarves. Elves.” She gave a little smile. “Centaurs. Do you have any idea how much those creatures would sell for?”
“Centaurs? And what would all this gold made from enslaved centaurs be for?”
“To take your kingdom where even your father never dreamed.”
“Where’s that?”
“The Dark Lands.”
He briefly went pale, his gaze locked on her. “Woman, are you mad?”
“Don’t tell me you’re frightened.”
“They have dragons there.”
“Probably not that many. And I’ve done lots of research. Those things can be killed.”
“And then there’s that human queen. The crazy one?”
“The more insane, the easier to destroy. Her people are probably dying for her to be burned in a cleansing fire.” She leaned in, resting her elbows on the table. “The Dark Lands are there for the taking.”
“And you’re the one who’s going to help me with that?”
“The gods talk to me. Tell me what’s possible.”
“So you’re a seer then?”
Beatrix waved his words away. “Hardly. I can’t see the future. Or the past. I have just been blessed to see the possibilities. Of what could be.”
Prince Marius glanced off, silent. Then he shook his head.
She pressed her hands flat against the wood table. “The Witches of Amhuinn were playing games. They confirmed I would be queen. Then they said my sister would be too.” Beatrix let out what she knew to be a sad-sounding sigh. “My sister believed them. She took me to one of the chambers. To talk, she said. But she attacked me. I grabbed a blade . . . next thing I knew . . . she was dead on the floor.”
“You really didn’t think your sister would want to be queen?”
“Every woman wants to be queen, my lord. But we’re family . . . family is all.” She brushed at nonexistent tears. “Honestly, though, I think it was the witches who killed her. They toyed with her until she was crazed. I truly think for their own cruel amusement.” She tapped the table with her index finger. “How many others are they going to tell this tale? First my sister . . . then who? One of your dukes with a large army? A king in a nearby land?” Beatrix raised her gaze to Marius. “Or maybe that mad bitch in the Dark Lands.”
He stood, walked to his tent opening but he didn’t leave, simply clasped his hands behind his back.
“And what do you suggest we do, Lady Beatrix,” he asked, “for such an affront . . . to a future queen?”
“The only thing we can do, my king.” She dropped back into her chair. “Destroy the obstinate little cunts before they have a chance to do any more damage.”
Spying some biscuits across the table, Beatrix reached for the plate and added, “It would also be nice if we can take as many of their books as possible.”
Marius slowly turned his head to look at Beatrix over his shoulder.
“I’m an avid reader,” she admitted before taking a bite of a delicious biscuit.
CHAPTER 13
For hours the witches tended Keeley; younger witches following orders, often running in and out of the chamber while the older, more powerful witches cut into Keeley, sewed organs, and closed her, only to open her up again. All while chanting ancient healing spells and calling on their gods.
Gemma silently called out to Morthwyl. Well, at first, she chanted softly but when Keran asked, “Are you going to bring Keeley back to life so her corpse can kill Beatrix?” she stopped and did it silently. But war gods were moody, at best, and didn’t always come when called. They often demanded a sacrifice or, even better, a battle to get their attention and rewards.
Hours turned to days. Two days specifically. And Gemma was moments from giving up all hope.
She looked across the passageway and watched the two centaurs. They were still in their human forms and sat close to each other on the floor. When Caid sadly laid his head on his sister’s shoulder and she stroked his hair, Gemma began to wonder how attached the centaur had become to her sister. But Keeley had that way, didn’t she? With people. With animals. And, like their father, with centaurs.
Finally an elderly witch walked out of the chamber. She wiped her bloody hands with a white linen cloth and stopped in front of Gemma and Keran.
“Your sister lives,” she announced with no preamble. “The gods must have heard our prayers.”
“More like she’s too pissed at whoever did this to her to die,” Keran said.
“Whatever it is, so far it’s working.”
“So far?” Gemma asked.
“Your sister was nearly disemboweled. She’s lucky to be breathing at all.”
“So what do we do now?” Keran asked.
“We wait for my sister.” Gemma got to her feet. “The next move will be hers.”
“As you like.” The witch glanced around. “Now I’m going to check on your sister one more time and get some sleep. You lot should too. If she wakes up”—and Gemma felt that “if” like a knife to her gut—“it won’t be for quite a while.”
After the elderly witch returned to the healing chamber, Gemma motioned to the rest of them to follow her. They went to another chamber and she faced the centaurs.
“I understand if you have to leave. As I told you, based on what Samuel witnessed, Beatrix is off . . . somewhere. Doing something. I honestly don’t know what. Not yet.”
“Do you really think she’s with Marius?”
Gemma shrugged at Caid’s question. “I know Samuel wouldn’t tell me something that wasn’t true. I can’t say the same for Beatrix.”
Laila’s nose crinkled a bit before she said, “You don’t really think that your younger sister actually had anything to do with Keeley’s . . .” She shook her head. “She couldn’t have. Wee thing like that.”
“I wi
sh I had an answer for you. I wish I could tell you ‘no’ and have no doubts when I said it. But I truly can’t.”
Gemma had been so distrustful of Laila when she’d first seen the Amichais at Keeley’s shop. But now, looking in those earnest, big, brown eyes, she realized that over time, she’d come to trust Laila and Caid in a way that she never had with Beatrix, her own blood. She’d never trusted her sister, and that had been one of the biggest issues between Gemma and Keeley when they were younger. Because as far as Keeley was concerned, family was family.
“We’re not leaving,” Caid suddenly announced. “I will not leave your sister until—”
Screams from the healing chamber cut the rest of Caid’s words off.
Gemma and Caid were the first in the passageway when the elderly witch came at them and shoved Gemma with way more strength than Gemma would have thought possible.
“What have you done, War Monk?” the witch demanded, her voice filled with rage.
“Me? I haven’t done anything!”
“Liar!”
“What are you talking about?”
The witch gripped Gemma’s arm with bone-breaking strength and yanked her back until they reached the healing chamber. The witch pulled her right up to the entrance and demanded, “This! What have you done?”
There were eight of them. Seven surrounded Keeley’s bed but one . . . one stood directly on her bed, at Keeley’s feet, and snarled at them, warning away anyone who might be a danger to Gemma’s sister.
“I did not call them. We worship the gods, not demons.”
“Then where did they come from?”
Keran stepped in beside Gemma, took a look, and casually announced, “Oh! Those are Keeley’s friends.”
Gemma cringed, then glared at her idiot cousin.
“What?” Keran asked. “Are we lying about that? Because Keeley would never lie about that. And look . . . they’re here to protect her. That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Are all your sisters evil?” the witch asked Gemma.
“Keeley is not evil! She just happens to love animals.” Gemma looked at the beasts snarling in warning from across the chamber. “Even animals with eyes of pure fire, drool of blood, that have clearly been birthed from one of earth’s many hell pits. . . .”
* * *
To say the Witches of Amhuinn were not happy about having demon wolves in their sacred space would be a gross understatement. But Caid was more than happy to see the creatures. Because once Keeley’s bitch sister found out that she hadn’t killed her—and unlike everyone else, he was sure it was Beatrix who had done this to Keeley—she’d send someone to finish the job. He planned to stand guard over her for as long as necessary, but he wouldn’t resent the extra assistance.
“Our queen will know about this,” the healer witch warned before storming away, but the centaurs had a healthy amount of influence with the witches and he was not above using it if he must.
“I’ll take first watch,” Caid said, stepping into the chamber. Gemma grabbed his arm and yanked him back seconds before one of the wolves could bite his entire face off.
“Are you mad? They’ll kill you!”
“I’m not leaving her alone.”
“No one says you have to leave her. Just stay out here.”
But he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to be near her so that she knew she wasn’t alone.
The gray mare walked into the healing chamber, stepping between Caid and the wolves. The beasts snarled at her, bared their fangs, but she went up on her hind legs and came back down hard. She tossed her head, pawed the ground.
The wolf on Keeley’s bed motioned to the wolves on each side. The animals moved back and the gray mare looked at Caid.
Caid walked into the chamber, and the wolves made no move to attack. He grabbed a wooden chair from against the wall and pulled it close to the bed near Keeley’s head. That’s where he sat, resting his elbows on his knees and gazing down into her pale face.
The wolves encircled the bed again, with Caid now on the inside. He had no intention of leaving. He could sleep here. Wait for her to awake.
Because he had to believe she would awake.
CHAPTER 14
Gemma snapped awake when she felt something drip on her cheek . . . and that’s when she came face-to-face with the lead demon wolf. He stood over her, his bloody drool drizzling from his massive jaws.
She thought he was there to kill her. To take off her face since he’d just missed Caid’s. But then he began to pace and whine. After several seconds of that, he trotted out.
Gemma scrambled to her feet and ran into the passageway and back to Keeley’s healing chamber. Her sister was still alive, but unconscious. The centaur was sitting in the wood chair but his arms were resting on the bed, his head lying very close to Keeley’s. He was asleep but so close to her sister, Gemma was sure if Keeley hiccupped, he’d be awake and reacting. The wolf had settled back on Keeley’s bed, by her feet, but he gazed at Gemma.
He was trying to tell her something but she didn’t know what. She didn’t speak demon. At least not yet.
Still, Gemma couldn’t just walk away. She crouched at the end of the bed and looked deep into the balls of flame that were the wolf’s eyes, trying to see something. Anything that would tell her what she needed to know.
But as she crouched there, moving her head a bit to one side and a bit to the other, attempting to decipher whatever the flames were telling her, a voice beside her asked, “What are you doing?”
She didn’t look away from the wolf, afraid she’d miss something, but told Keran, “He’s trying to tell me something.”
“The dog is trying to tell you something?”
“Wolf. The wolf is trying to tell me something.”
“Okay.” Keran grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. “Come with me.”
Together they exited the healing chamber and Keran led her to an empty tunnel.
Once ensconced deep inside, Keran said, “I know you’re upset about your sister. I’m upset about your sister. But it’s not like you to sit around, staring at dangerous demon beasts, waiting for them to tell you things. That seems like something your uncle Archie would do. You don’t want to be like your uncle Archie, now do you?”
“It’s not like me?” Gemma asked, her exhausted mind desperately trying to grab something in Keran’s words. She just wasn’t sure what.
“It wasn’t like you. There was that period you were away.” Keran frowned. “Has being a monk made you mad? Are you like your uncle Archie?”
“No. Because you’re right. That’s not like me. Because you know me. You know me.”
Keran no longer frowned; now she just appeared panicked. “What is happening, Cousin?”
“You know me, but do you feel you know Beatrix? Do any of us know Beatrix?”
“What are you going on about?”
“Do you think Beatrix would hurt Keeley? Do you think she did hurt Keeley?”
“I don’t know.” Keran stretched her neck as if all the tension in the world had lodged in the muscles there. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like her.”
“What does she seem like to you?”
“That was filled with sarcasm,” Keran shot back.
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I’m asking. What does she seem like to you?”
“Oh. Well. Uh . . . she seems . . . um . . .” Keran glanced off. “She . . . uh . . . loves to . . . uh . . . read. And she, uh, seems to be a thinker. I don’t think she likes . . .” Keran now looked at the ceiling. “I actually don’t know what she doesn’t like. Or what she does like. Except books. She really likes books. Then again, Keeley likes books. When she wasn’t working with iron or rescuing demon dogs—”
“Wolves.”
“Whatever. She was reading.”
“But what are Beatrix’s feelings on politics? Society? The gods?”
“Uhhhh . . .”
“How does she feel about slavery? Torture? The royals?”
Keran could only shrug.
“But,” Gemma went on, “if I asked you about Keeley . . .”
Keran suddenly laughed and began rattling off, “She hates slavery and slavers and strongly believes they should be wiped out. She feels torturers should be tortured. And that the royals are as useless as your gods.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“I don’t have religious preferences.”
“Not that—” Gemma bit off her insult. “Doesn’t it bother you that you know so much about Keeley and almost nothing about Beatrix?”
“I spend tons of time with Keeley. Beatrix is always reading or getting dresses made in town. So it’s not surprising I don’t know much about her.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you can’t use my lack of knowledge to prove Beatrix killed her own sister.” Keran grimaced. “I mean . . . tried to kill her.”
“Fine. What do you know about me?”
“I don’t know shit about you. No offense,” she added.
“What about the baby?”
“Oh, gods! You have a baby?”
“No! Mum’s baby!”
“Oh. That baby. And that’s easy. Nothing. Your mum won’t let me take care of her.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “The first time I had her in my arms, I dropped her.”
“Keran!”
“She was fine! They bounce at that age.”
“No, they don’t!”
“It doesn’t matter. What I do know is that I know nothing about the baby.” Keran suddenly raised her forefinger and added, “But when I roll my eyes back in my head, she does laugh.”
“Why do you keep making my point for me?”
“All right, fine!” Keran snapped. “I’ll admit that I have no idea what makes Beatrix laugh. Or cry. Or rage. To be honest, I don’t think she’s ever been any of those things. That still doesn’t mean—”
“That she tried to kill her own sister?”
“You can think what you want, Gemma. But without proof . . .”
“I need to find out the truth.”
“How? Beatrix is gone. We don’t know when Keeley will wake up.”
Neither said “if” but Gemma knew it was implied.
