Viper

by Bex Hogan

  ‘Yes I do.’ He’d turned to me then, his fingers brushing across my neck where Cleeve had drawn blood. Though Bronn was gentle, the bruises left by Cleeve’s arm as he’d crushed my windpipe were still tender under his touch. ‘What happened?’

  Though I didn’t particularly want to relive it, I’d told him everything, including what Ren had said about switching allegiance.

  He’d considered this carefully. ‘It’s not enough that you’re his daughter. The crew will only recognise you as the Viper if you kill their captain.’ When I’d said nothing he’d tucked a curl of hair behind my ear. ‘What is it?’ he’d whispered gently. ‘Is your love for him so great, even after all he’s done?’

  I’d shaken my head, trying to rid it of conflict.

  ‘Then what?’ Bronn had continued to coax the truth from me. ‘I know you’ve done it before.’

  So he’d known I was responsible for Briggs then. ‘I never wanted to kill anyone,’ I’d said. ‘I want to save lives, not take them.’

  He’d given me a sad smile. ‘Sometimes they’re one and the same thing.’

  I wasn’t being completely honest, though. I couldn’t admit to Bronn – could barely admit to myself – that when Briggs had murdered Joren and Clara and Tomas, a thirst to inflict pain had awakened in me. The truth is death wasn’t enough for Briggs. I wish he was still alive because I still want to hurt him, still want to punish him. The force with which I desire that suffering is powerful and only growing over time. The realisation that I’m capable of such darkness terrifies me.

  ‘I don’t want to become my father.’ It had come out a frightened whisper.

  ‘You are nothing like him,’ Bronn had assured me. ‘But one of you is going to die.’ His eyes had shone fiercely. ‘Don’t let it be you.’

  Did he know what he was asking? To win this fight I will need to marry a man I don’t love, and kill my own father. Who will I be after that? How much of myself must I sacrifice for the islands?

  ‘The diplomat at my Initiation?’ Bronn had looked away from me, staring up at the night sky again. ‘She wasn’t my first kill.’

  He was an endless well of secrets. ‘What? Then who?’

  ‘Do you remember Scurve? You’d have been about thirteen.’

  I’d tried to recall, and a hazy image of a pencil-thin, greasy-haired man had floated into my memory. ‘Did he have a scar on his nose?’

  ‘Yes, a big one. He was my first.’

  That had made no sense at all. ‘Had he crossed my father?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ He’d paused. ‘We’d been drinking one night, after a good day’s haul. Everyone was in a good mood, apart from old Scurve. Drink made him even crueller than usual, and that particular night he decided he’d like to pay you a visit.’

  I’d looked over at Bronn, confused. ‘Me? What would he want with . . . Oh.’ My blood had run cold as I realised what he’d meant, and bile crept unbidden to my mouth.

  ‘All the men knew you were off limits, being the Captain’s daughter, not to mention a child. Scurve was too drunk to care. I tried to reason with him, but he was having none of it, and started making his way to your quarters. Things turned nasty when I stopped him. He got violent; I won the fight. Captain didn’t care because I’d prevented an incident that would have shamed him.’

  He’d sighed, not enjoying reliving the memory.

  ‘The reason I’m telling you this is because I understand how you feel about killing Briggs. I know the difference between killing on orders, killing in self-defence and killing in anger. You lost control with Briggs. I lost control with Scurve. And yet it’s the one kill I don’t regret, not for a second. It was him or you. And it was always you.’

  My breath had caught in my throat, something between a sob and a laugh, strangling me with its intensity.

  He’d brushed his finger lightly down my cheekbone, his breath warm on my skin, and I’d slid my hand across his chest, lingering where I could feel his heart beat.

  ‘You will find a way to do what you have to do,’ he’d whispered. ‘And you’ll restore the honour of the Viper. I know you will.’

  I’d blinked salty tears away. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ll do whatever you ask of me. But when we reach the Sixth Isle I think I should leave. For both our sakes.’

  Just as I’d always feared he was going to run. But this time he wasn’t just protecting his heart – he was protecting mine too. The sickness I’d known would come at this inevitable conclusion flooded through me, but I’d nodded in agreement. ‘Maybe you can find me a ship? Something that’ll give us a chance against the Maiden?’

  He’d laughed. ‘I’d have to build it from scratch.’

  ‘The Maiden no longer has her best sailor. With a good ship we have a chance. Find one you can captain.’

  ‘Consider it done.’

  And then he’d gone, leaving me with only the loneliness of my thoughts.

  Since then I’ve spent the remainder of the journey hidden away, losing myself in the troubles of others. Any time I’ve not been tending to burns or wounds I’ve managed to keep my conversations with Torin superficial, and have avoided Bronn almost entirely. Or he has avoided me. I’m not quite sure which.

  One of my patients, a young man with severe burns to his torso, is in particularly bad shape. I’ve stayed up two nights nursing him through his fever, hoping it will break, but the surgeon’s medicines are limited and I’m beginning to think I’m just prolonging the poor man’s agony. Still, I’m hopeful that when we land I will be able to move him to Torin’s castle, and perhaps do something for him there, though I’m not entirely sure what miracle I expect to perform.

  As the ship slowly makes its approach to the island, keeping to the invisible path that will lead safely to Torin’s concealed cove, I stand near the bow, breathing in the saline air.

  ‘Hi, stranger.’

  Grace appears beside me, and I immediately sense she’s been deliberately keeping out of my way these past few days. She knows me well enough to give me space when I need it, but my time is up. The journey’s over and we need to focus.

  ‘Some of Torin’s men think they have a ship that’ll be suitable for Bronn to modify,’ she says without preamble, for which I’m grateful. ‘They’ll take him straight there when we land.’

  ‘OK.’ I really can’t bring myself to say anything more than that. He’s only doing what I asked.

  She obviously has more to say on the subject, but we’re interrupted by Sharpe approaching, the usual scowl he reserves for me firmly in place. ‘The Prince requests you join him in his quarters.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll be there in a minute.’

  When he’s gone Grace turns to me and smiles. ‘Not your biggest fan.’

  ‘I don’t know what his problem is,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Is he like that with everyone else?’ Whenever I see him he’s watching me, always suspicious, always glowering. I can’t think what I’ve done to earn his dislike. Torin clearly values Sharpe highly as they’re rarely apart, but I can’t understand why he’s friends with him. And I dread to think what Sharpe says about me behind my back. I can’t imagine he is an advocate of my future marriage to Torin.

  ‘No, he’s one of the most popular men aboard the ship, hard-working, kind, thoughtful . . .’ Grace says, cutting her list short when she sees my expression. ‘Perhaps he just confuses you with your father.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  She walks with me towards Torin’s quarters. ‘Should I ask what’s going on with you and Bronn?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Fair enough. But I’m here if you want to talk.’

  I shrug. ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  She slings her arm round my shoulder. ‘Been a strange few months, hasn’t it?’

  I laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  When we reach Torin’s quarters, Grace makes to leave but Torin calls her in. ‘Join us, please. It’s nothing private.’

 
The Prince is looking distinctly scruffy, his smooth face now hidden under stubble, his clothes a little worse for wear. I find myself liking him more every day.

  ‘How’s your patient?’

  Even with a ship full of wounded people I know he’s referring to my dying man.

  ‘Not good.’

  Torin doesn’t look surprised. ‘If anyone can help him, you can.’

  He has absolutely no evidence to support this, but I appreciate his faith in me.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ I ask.

  He picks up a box from his desk. ‘I was wondering if you’d do me the honour of wearing this.’

  I take it from him and open it to discover a small crystal pendant on a delicate chain. It’s beautiful.

  ‘It was mined from this island,’ he says with a gentle smile. ‘It was my gift to my sister upon her birth, but she died in the cradle, long before she could wear it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The gift feels too intimate, too personal, but I remind myself that he is my fiancé. Intimate and personal are things I’m going to have to get used to.

  ‘May I?’ He gestures an offer to put it on, and I nod, turning round and pulling my hair up, not giving it a second thought until I catch Grace’s widening eyes and sense Torin pause as he sees my neck.

  There is a short but astonishingly awkward silence.

  ‘It can’t be,’ he says under his breath as I hold Grace’s stare.

  ‘It is,’ she says after a moment.

  I let my hair fall back down as the three of us all try to work out where this conversation is going.

  ‘You bear the mark of the crescent moon.’ He looks at me in disbelief.

  ‘You’ve heard of it then?’ So Grace truly hadn’t made it up.

  ‘Of course, but there’s no one left alive who should have it.’ He switches his scrutiny between Grace and me. ‘How is this possible?’

  Grace raises her eyebrow at me, seeking permission to tell him everything. I shrug my agreement.

  She fills him in on who she really is and what she believes. Somehow hearing her say it to someone else and seeing that he actually believes her, brings home the gravity of the situation.

  ‘You’re Western royalty?’ Torin actually has to sit down.

  ‘It’s a tiny, slight possibility,’ I concede.

  He shakes his head. ‘You bear the mark,’ he says, and it’s disconcerting to hear him sound awestruck. ‘It’s more than a slight possibility.’ He rubs his stubble, deep in thought. ‘This changes everything. An alliance between land and sea was one thing, but this? This would be an alliance between East and West. The restoration of the Twelve Isles.’

  ‘The Western Isles are lost,’ I say. ‘And I have no interest in claiming that poisoned throne. Stopping my father is all the madness I can take.’

  Grace smiles. ‘So you finally admit the throne is yours to claim?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ I say, but I’m no longer sure. Torin’s conviction in Grace’s theory has rattled me.

  Torin stands up and this time succeeds in putting the necklace on me. ‘I knew there was more to you than met the eye,’ he says with a chuckle.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ I say, turning to him, increasingly scared at how real this is becoming and wanting it to stop. ‘We’re already facing an almost impossible fight against my father – and yours. Things don’t need to be more complicated.’

  ‘Of course not. But I don’t think this is something you can ignore for ever.’

  Just then Sharpe knocks on the door, finally doing something helpful by saving me from this awkward conversation.

  ‘We’ve dropped anchor.’ His eyes linger on the pendant resting round my neck and narrow with displeasure.

  ‘Thank you, Sharpe.’ If Torin notices his commander’s lack of civility towards his betrothed, then he doesn’t mention it.

  ‘Right then,’ Grace says to Torin, her voice bright. ‘Time to show me how you’ve managed to keep your castle secret on this island.’

  ‘Will you excuse me?’ I say. ‘I’m going to help bring the wounded ashore.’

  I leave them as quickly as possible. The necklace may as well be a choker round my neck – I can barely breathe. The Western connection isn’t something I can dwell on right now; I have to keep focused.

  My father hasn’t been sighted since the Fourth Isle, and it’s not because he’s feeling in any way thwarted. He’s plotting something, some hideous revenge for Cleeve. I know he is. Luring us into a false sense of security, so that we lower our guard. I can’t let anything distract me, especially not some ludicrous notion of bringing peace to six desolate islands.

  I have far more immediate problems. I’ve had nothing but time to think about what Bronn said, and he’s right. I have to kill my father before he kills me. And I have no idea how I’m going to do it.

  The moment we arrived it was immediately clear how the castle had remained so successfully hidden over the years. It’s built right into the rock face, disguised by the high walls of the crater it’s nestled in, so that at a glance you would never suspect a thing.

  When I’d asked him how he came to live in such a fortress, Torin told me that his ancestors had built it during the war against the West. His grandfather had told him about it, but his own father knew nothing of its existence and so when he needed to escape from the King, Torin had claimed it as his own.

  It’s a dark place, with no natural light penetrating the rock, and lanterns casting eerie shadows in the corridors and rooms. But there’s something about being deep in the heart of the island that creates a feeling of security. At the castle’s centre is a cavernous hall, the walls glistening with moisture from a natural spring. In the middle of the cave is a circle of twelve standing stones, one to represent each of the Isles. Torin told me that his ancestors never gave up hope of reuniting the two kingdoms.

  Subtle.

  When we first arrived, sea vultures were immediately dispatched to those loyal to Torin in the remnants of the King’s Fleet, advising them to stand by for action. Most of the refugees from the Floral Island have been taken to the nearest settlement, which is already overpopulated by other Sixthers displaced by mining accidents and bandit attacks. I’ve spent several days down there with Torin and Grace doing what we can to help. But there’s only so much food and only so much medicine.

  Still, a regiment of the King’s Fleet guard it, so it’s the safest the people are going to get, and word is that more islanders from the Sixth are making their way towards it.

  I’ve kept my sickest patient at the fortress, wanting to move the poor man as little as possible. Four days we’ve been here and it was only last night, while he screamed in feverish torment, that I admitted to myself he was going to die. His burns are too severe.

  I mixed up a tonic to knock him into the deepest sleep I could, and have sat by his bedside in a gloomy small room ever since. I’m supposed to be attending a council meeting that Torin’s called with his advisors, so we can draw up our plan of action against the Viper, but they’ll have to wait. I won’t leave this man to die alone.

  He’s in a bad way, his skin oozing and infected over the burns, his eyes sunken into his skull, his breathing rapid but shallow. I can do nothing but keep him comfortable, changing the poultices on his wounds and keeping the dressings fresh, though I know it won’t save him.

  I’m not surprised when there’s a knock at the door. I knew they’d try to drag me away to this meeting. But I’m a little disappointed by who’s been sent.

  Sharpe stands in the doorway, but rather than insist on my accompanying him, he comes in to sit opposite me.

  ‘How is he?’

  I’m so surprised by his civil tone I almost forget to answer. ‘He’s not got long.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  I stare at him, confused. Is this the same man who’s been nothing but unpleasant to me since we met? ‘No, it’s fine. Thank you, though.’

 
‘When did you last eat? Can I bring you something?’

  That’s it. I’m far too tired to pretend this is normal behaviour for him. ‘What are you doing?’

  Sharpe looks up at me. ‘Offering you food.’

  ‘No, I mean, why are you suddenly being nice? I thought you hated me.’

  He winces, shame reddening his cheeks. ‘I guess I deserve that. I think an apology is in order for my earlier conduct towards you. I’m ashamed of myself. I hope you can forgive me?’

  I consider him carefully, noting his complete sincerity and wondering at it. ‘Apology accepted. But can I ask why?’

  Sharpe removes the cloth I’ve draped across the man’s forehead and refreshes it in cold water. ‘I’ve been in the Prince’s service for a long time. We grew up together. It’s important to me that he’s happy and, I confess, I had misgivings about him allying himself with anyone related to the Viper. But I was wrong. You have proved you are nothing like your father.’ He gestures to the man lying before us. ‘No Snake would waste their time and energy to ease the passing of a dying man as you have. Not when it serves them no purpose.’

  His honesty is so genuine that I soften towards him. ‘Believe me, I have no intention of hurting Torin.’

  At the mention of Torin’s name Sharpe looks away. ‘Do you love him?’ he says quietly. He immediately seems to regret the question and quickly says, ‘I’m sorry, that was too personal.’

  There’s no reason why I should trust him with my answer, but something about his frankness encourages me to be the same.

  ‘I love him as much as he loves me.’

  Sharpe gives a slight smile.

  ‘I barely know him, Sharpe. But I respect him. And I like him.’

  How could I not like Torin? He’s proving himself to be a good man. An honourable man. I haven’t known many of them.

  ‘I don’t think either of us imagines this marriage to be anything beyond a political alliance.’

  Sharpe makes no reply, but looks satisfied with my answer. I expect him to leave now but he doesn’t, instead sitting with me while we wait for death to arrive and claim his victim.

  ‘Tell me about yourself.’ This unexpectedly intimate conversation shouldn’t be all about me. ‘Are you married?’