by Bex Hogan
Sharpe hesitates for a moment, reluctant now he’s the one expected to share. ‘No. There is someone. But I can’t be with them.’ He pauses and I have no idea what to say. ‘I think marriage for the sake of your country, even to someone you don’t love, is better than being alone.’
‘It’s a complicated thing, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘Love. Doesn’t play by the rules.’ I’m not just thinking about Bronn, though his absence hurts more with every passing minute. I’m thinking about my father.
He is undoubtedly a monster: foul, evil, loathsome. For everything he’s done, for everything he will do, I hate him. And yet, despite this, some part of me still loves him. He is my father, after all.
Complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Before Sharpe can answer, my patient stirs in his deep slumber and starts to cough, his cracked lips splitting under the strain. We try to lift him up to prevent him from choking, but the exertion has exhausted him, and one last breath marks his end.
I feel only relief that his suffering is over.
‘Let me deal with this,’ Sharpe says, resting his hand on my shoulder. ‘You should join the others.’
I’m so tired; all I want to do is sleep. But this man’s death – his unjustifiable suffering – is why I have to go after my father. He has to be stopped before more innocent lives are lost. And so I thank Sharpe and make my way through the maze of tunnels until I reach the great cave.
Torin sits at a round table that has been positioned in the middle of the standing stones. With him are Grace and his half dozen advisors. I know none of them personally, but all of them by reputation. At one time or another they each served the King and fell out of favour before disappearing from the court. Judging by the looks they give me, my father had orders to kill more than one of them. This must be the only place where so many important people could disappear in the Eastern Isles, and the fact that Bronn knew of its existence and never told my father reminds me where his loyalties have been all along. His absence is a gaping hole at this gathering.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ I say as Torin stands to greet me.
‘How is the patient?’
I shake my head in reply.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly. ‘Come, there is much to discuss.’
Torin introduces me officially to his advisors and after a decidedly frosty reception I take my seat beside him at the table.
We waste no time getting to the order of business. It’s established that the King has been willing to sacrifice his Fleet to concentrate on protecting the only island of any importance to him – the First. All other islands, including this one, are slowly falling to the bandits who work for my father, and they won’t be safe for much longer. Meanwhile, Torin reveals that almost half of the King’s Fleet has been destroyed by the Viper, and half of those left remain loyal to their loathsome king. The others have pledged allegiance to Torin. Right now, control of the Isles hangs in the balance.
‘I’m strongly in favour of summoning what’s left of the Fleet,’ says an old council member called Enoch. ‘Attack Captain Adler now before he can inflict more damage.’
‘He won’t let you find him,’ Grace says.
‘He’s too powerful at sea,’ I say in agreement. ‘I admit I once thought as you do, but Grace is right. My father can make the Maiden invisible. And while we’re all chasing our tails, leaving the islands unprotected, he’ll create carnage.’
‘This is not a new plan,’ Enoch says, puffing out his chest. ‘We haven’t all been sitting idly by waiting for you to join us. This is something we’ve been working on for a while. United, we will hunt him down and destroy him.’
‘You’ll fail.’ I do not appreciate his patronising tone.
Enoch and his supporters bristle at my response.
Torin steps in quickly to diffuse the tension. ‘So what do you propose?’ he says, gesturing at Enoch to let me speak.
‘He’s weaker on land. It would even the odds somewhat.’
‘They’d still be in his favour.’ Grace is in an unusually pessimistic mood.
Torin ignores her. ‘And how would we get him on land?’
‘Use me as bait.’
Finally I’ve said something the advisors can get behind. They positively light up at the suggestion of risking my life.
‘No, it’s too dangerous,’ Torin says.
‘What part of this war do you think isn’t?’ Frustration makes my temper flare. I look around at them. ‘You know nothing about my father. I do. His drive to punish me will outweigh everything, even his desire to control the whole of the Eastern Isles. It will make him careless and we can take advantage of that.’
‘We won’t have the numbers.’ This time it’s a woman called Lora who objects to my idea. ‘They’re trained assassins, we’ll fail in hand-to-hand combat.’
‘Probably. But it’s the only way we’ll even have a chance.’
‘Your Highness, this is madness,’ Enoch says, turning to Torin. ‘We’ve spent years debating how best to be rid of this madman. Are you really going to trust the word of his daughter? For all we know she’s a spy.’
‘Want to say that again?’ Grace growls the warning at him.
‘He’s trying to kill me,’ I say, really not liking Enoch one bit. ‘Trust me, I want to stop him more than you do.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Grace asks Enoch. ‘Worried that if we draw him on to land he’ll finally carry out the kill order on your head?’
‘Enough,’ Torin says. ‘We mustn’t fight among ourselves – the Viper’s our enemy.’ He turns to me, apology written all over his face. ‘But I admit I’m reluctant to meet him on land.’
His lack of support is disappointing, but I’m not ready to give up just yet. ‘Lure him to the Fifth; it’s not an island he has much advantage on. Spring a trap.’ Mist Island would be an ideal place to stage an ambush. The island’s own microclimate would act as a veil of concealment. ‘Yes, there’ll be losses, but what war doesn’t have some?’
‘It’s suicide,’ Enoch protests.
‘Perhaps there’s a compromise?’ Torin says. ‘Bronn is working with some of the Fleet’s best sailors to make one of my ships a force to be reckoned with. He knows the Maiden’s weaknesses and will strive to exploit them. I propose we wait until he’s done and then launch our sea attack as planned, but with a higher chance of success.’
His idea is met with enthusiasm from his advisors and silence from Grace and me.
‘How long will that take?’ I say, exasperated by their apparent lack of urgency. ‘How many more islands can my father destroy before then? You think he’ll stop at the Fourth?’
Silence has fallen round the table as my anger grows.
‘He only started there because he knows it was important to me. He’ll burn them all to the ground if he has to, don’t you understand? He wants to hurt me and every minute I evade him he grows angrier. We have to stop him now.’
‘You have a Snake’s recklessness,’ Lora says.
‘And you have a politician’s cowardice.’ I no longer care about manners.
‘We should take a vote.’ Once again Torin tries – and fails – to calm tempers.
‘I didn’t come here to vote,’ I say, frustration getting the better of me. ‘I came for your help, not your hindrance.’
Torin sighs. ‘We have a council for a reason,’ he says, and he sounds so weary. ‘My father rules with an iron fist, making hasty and ill-advised decisions, and look where it’s led us. I don’t intend to make the same mistakes. Here, we vote.’
And so we do. I lose. It’s decided we wait for Bronn, then mount a mass attack on the stealthiest ship in the water.
‘You’re making a terrible mistake.’ My warning falls on deaf ears, the council already leaving the cave. Torin tries to mollify me, but I shrug him away and storm out. How many death sentences did we just sign?
Grace finds me in the medicine room, grinding mettleroot with such ferocity it
’s now little more than dust.
‘What do you want to do?’ she asks, sitting on a pile of sacks.
‘What can I do? I need help, Grace. The two of us can’t take down the Maiden by ourselves.’
She flashes a wicked grin. ‘We’d do pretty well, though.’
I put down the pestle and mortar, laughing at the awfulness of it all because otherwise I might cry. ‘He’ll be preparing another strike.’ I sound as helpless as I feel.
‘I know.’ Of course she does. It’s only those naive advisors who don’t understand how my father works.
We sit quietly for a while, both of us lost in dark thoughts. Eventually I break the silence. ‘Tell me about the Western Isles.’ The change of topic is entirely deliberate. I don’t want to dwell on what’s to come any more. ‘Are they really as awful as everyone says?’
Grace smiles, a smile that says she knows she’s slowly winning me round to believing her. ‘I don’t know.’
I frown. ‘But you said you were a Westerner?’
‘I did and I am. But my brother and I were separated from my parents when we were small and taken east, to the Fallow Island, where we were trained by a respected Guardian.’
That’s a lot of information to process. ‘You have a brother?’
‘A twin. His name is Jax. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years.’
I stare at my friend, realising how little I truly know about her. Or the sacrifices she’s made for her cause. ‘Are there other Westerners living in secret in the East?’
‘Yes, but I couldn’t tell you how many. We’re only told what we need to know. The man who raised and trained me is called Ibner. He’s my uncle. There were four other children living with us, my cousins, and from the moment we could walk we learned how to fight. The Guardians take their duty very seriously.’
‘But why come to the Eastern Isles? Couldn’t you stay at home? Could your parents not come with you?’
‘Perhaps there’s the answer to your original question. The West wasn’t considered safe enough for those who needed to protect the bloodline. So my parents decided to send us away, while they continued their search for your mother.’
I flinch inwardly at such casual mention of the word ‘mother’. But I brush it aside, wanting to focus on her story, not mine. ‘What happened to Jax?’
‘He returned to the Western Isles, as most people believed the lost princess would be found there. But I decided a different path was necessary. To broaden our horizons.’ She pauses, picking at a loose thread on her cuff. ‘For years I’ve wondered if I should try to find Jax somehow. Tell him about you.’
Her reluctance is confusing. ‘But you don’t know where to start?’ Surely finding her brother would be a wonderful thing.
‘I’m sure if I tried I’d discover a way to communicate. It’s not that.’ Now she meets my eyes. ‘I just fear what they might do to you if they knew.’
The familiar sense of impending doom swells inside me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m afraid they will try to put you on the throne. Whether you wish it or not. And what I do know of the Western Isles is that they’re lawless and dangerous. I have no reason to doubt the talk of wild magic that shrouds them in mystery, nor do I think it foolish to fear the Western waters.’
I remember the nights Grace would thrill me with tales of magic and realise they weren’t stories at all. She was telling me her history. Despite everything, excitement spikes my insides. Until I recall one of the more alarming aspects of her tales. ‘You don’t think water raptors actually exist, do you?’
She shrugs. ‘Legends always stem from fact.’
‘But no one’s ever seen one.’
‘Not for a long time. But the stories have passed down through generations. They must have come from somewhere. I was taught all this as a child. In fact . . .’ She trails off, suddenly reluctant.
‘What? Go on.’
‘Well, according to legend, the water raptors only disappeared from the seas when the Western royalty were assassinated. Some people believe they will return when the crown is restored.’
She’s deadly serious, and out of respect I don’t laugh. ‘Then that’s a very good reason for me not to claim the throne. Creatures that breathe water so venomous it melts your flesh are best left to the depths. Or to legends.’ I try to ignore the way my heart is beating faster at the prospect of seeing such beasts, the unnerving flurry of desire to have them rise.
She smiles, oblivious to my thoughts. ‘It’s not a future I would wish on anyone. Unless you’re certain you want it, tell no one else about this.’
‘But Torin knows.’
‘I don’t believe he’ll betray you.’
The more she speaks of the Western Isles, the more confused I become. I realise I’m starting to truly believe her. Somewhere along the line I’ve subconsciously accepted that my father fell in love with a woman, not knowing her true identity, and unwittingly continued the generational line of the lost Western royalty. It’s so far-fetched I feel foolish for believing it. And yet my attraction to the Western waters, the ill-advised swell of excitement at the mere mention of water raptors . . . it would all be explained if what she says is true.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the compass she gave me. I like to keep it close – I find running my fingers over the shells comforting. ‘This is from the Western Isles, isn’t it?’
Grace smiles sadly, but I can tell she’s pleased I’ve figured it out. ‘Yes. It’s one of the few relics my ancestors were able to salvage from the palace ruins, relics that were entrusted to Guardians for safekeeping. The truth is, I should have handed you over to the Guardians the moment I realised who you were. To fulfil my duty. But the longer I spent with you . . . Well, I grew to love you. You don’t belong to the Guardians, or to anyone else. We exist to protect you, which is what I’ve done. Returning the compass was my way of releasing you from the Guardians’ hold. Your life is entirely yours to live.’
I nod, biting back the tears, moved by her loyalty and affection. Every time I dig, a little more is revealed. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to keep digging.
There’s a light knock at the door. ‘Can I come in?’ It’s Torin.
My earlier anger has turned to weariness, and I like Torin far too much to stay cross with him. ‘Of course.’
When he enters the room his relief is visible. Clearly he’d expected me still to be fuming. ‘Thought I might find you here. I wanted to apologise—’
I hold my hand up. ‘No need. We disagreed. It might be the first time, but I’m certain it won’t be the last.’
‘Good, after all we both only want what’s best . . .’ He trails off as he catches sight of my compass. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Grace gave it to me.’ I frown at him. ‘You recognise it?’
I hand it to him, and he traces his fingers over the painting in the lid with undisguised wonder.
‘The royal family crest. From the West. This must be the only thing of its kind left.’ Torin is mesmerised.
‘The royal crest?’ I had thought the ‘V’ stood for Viper, but now I’m certain it doesn’t. I take the compass back from him, running my thumb over the ornate letter. ‘What does this mean?’
He smiles at me, though it’s tinged with sadness. ‘It’s for the house of Vultura. Your family’s house.’
The name resonates in a way I cannot fathom, unleashing a deep yearning I don’t understand. It’s like the word itself has reached out and claimed me as its own.
I clear my throat, pushing down the rising well of emotion. ‘How do you know so much about the West?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Torin says. ‘I hardly know where to start.’ He looks from Grace to me, before untucking his shirt and lifting it. On his right-hand side, slightly below his ribs, is a birthmark. A semicircle.
‘You have one too?’ It hadn’t even occurred to me the Eastern royalty would carry their own symbol.
‘The mar
k of the rising sun. That’s how I recognised your moon, because I carry its opposite. But there’s more I want to show you.’
Fortunately he doesn’t remove any more clothing, but instead asks us to walk with him. Torin guides us down tunnels that twist and narrow as we move deeper into the cavern, collecting a torch from the wall to light our way. We stoop as the roof grows ever lower until we arrive at a heavy wooden door, which Torin unlocks with a key I hadn’t noticed was hanging round his neck. Before he pushes it open he hesitates. ‘Grace, would you mind giving us a moment?’
I can see Grace does mind – having walked all this way her curiosity has got the better of her – but she merely nods her head. ‘I’ll be right out here,’ she says before adding, ‘in the cold. And the dark.’
The last I see of her she’s resting back against the hard stone wall, arms crossed but alert nonetheless, and then Torin lights the chamber we’ve entered and I forget about Grace entirely.
The room is cramped, dark and airless. And full of ancient books.
‘What is this place?’ The atmosphere is positively alive with history.
‘This is how I know so much about the West.’ And Torin smiles at me. ‘You of all people should read these manuscripts.’
‘How do you have these?’ I turn to search his face. ‘Who are you?’
He laughs. ‘Grace isn’t the only one descended from people who care about the Western Isles. My ancestors may have murdered the royal family, but through the generations others in my family have devoted their lives to making amends.’
I look at him now and realise the true purpose of this fortress. It’s a sanctuary to contain the truth that’s been so conveniently lost and a symbol for restoring hope. That’s why there are the twelve standing stones; that’s why it’s on the island closest to the West.
‘You want peace for the Twelve Isles. Not just the East.’
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Shouldn’t we all?’
‘Why? We’ve managed perfectly well on our own for years.’ But the moment I say the words I realise how untrue they are.
