Wait a second. The clothes the faux-Timothy wore...the leather tunic and black chainmail, the moleskin boots and the white silken lace tucked into them...they were the exact same clothes Timothy wore during his mysterious outing. Christina knew it because Timothy volunteered to wash the family clothes under the eye of Donna, the mean-eyed matron with the whip of barbed nettles. Poor Tim didn’t sit well for a month. “You...You had a hand in it.”
“Ask naught, my dear. Be content with what is. Timothy will aid you in any manner that you desire. With two saboteurs, your plans will go faster.”
“Do you have no brains, sir knight? Timothy’s too soft for this kind of work. He couldn’t hurt a flea.”
“I’ve already taken care of that.” Christina gasped when she followed the crimson knight’s finger to Timothy’s eyes. They were black, looped about by rings of purple flame. Soulless depths...the exact nothingness as the knight’s eyes. “Timothy. State what you will do for your sister.”
“I will do anything she asks concerning the destruction of Shayna Kae. I will kill any man she tells me to.”
“Elaborate.”
“I will rip a man apart, smother him with his pillow, rip off his fingernails. I will force acid down his throat –”
“Enough!” Christina twirled back to the knight. “Please. I welcome any help you will give. But not like this. Not by him. Anything else...I will agree to anything else. But please. Not like this. Not to him.”
“You are long past the time of doubt, little princess.” It took everything she had not to shudder. “You swore that nothing would stop you from killing Shayna Kae. You swore on the blood of your parents. Do not spit on their honor by relenting now.”
“But...How am I to explain...”
“No doubt my lady. It is past time for that. We expect immediate results.” Just like that the world was color and substance again. A loud knock at the door snapped her from her trance. She blinked at finding herself in her private quarters, and again that Timothy was standing before her. Not taking her eyes off him Christina flailed for the door.
“Auntie Chris!” He gave a squawk of fright at the sudden severity in which Christina tackled him. “Auntie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m just...I’m just so glad to see you.” She pulled her head away to inspect her brave little king. “You did very well at the Judgment. I am so proud of you.”
Mention of the Judgment hardened the boy’s resolve. “That was mean, Auntie Chris. You left me with all those funny people.” His eyes widened at the sudden intruder. “Who is he, Auntie Chris? He looks like you.”
“He should. Prince Nathan Zephyr, I would like to introduce Timothy...my brother.”
“Your brother? You didn’t tell me you had a brother.”
“It’s been so very long, I...I forgot I had one.”
“That’s silly. You can’t forget a brother.” He waddled over and stuck out a hand. “I’m Prince Nathan.” Sweat beaded her brow when Timothy merely met the boy’s eyes. “I said I’m Prince Nathan.” Still nothing. Just the blank, soulless eyes. “Auntie Chris?”
“I’m sorry Nathan. My brother...he just got back from a long trip. He’s tired. Why don’t you wait outside? I’ll be there in a minute. We’ll read some Sefiros Cayokite.”
“Okay.” Practically glowing from the statement Nathan waddled his way from the room. Once the door clicked shut Christina rounded on her brother in a fury.
“What the hell are you doing? You can’t just alienate him. He’s the Prince.”
“He has no use.” Timothy replied. “He’s too young to be counted on. Far too many nobles have manipulated him already. Plying his attitude will garner too much attention, and playing the mother provides an additional weakness for others to exploit.”
“That’s no reason to ignore him. He’s just a boy.” Timothy just met her stare. He’s just an instrument. He doesn’t understand. “Look. I have important things to do. Just...just stay here until I get back. We’ll discuss things later.” The fool became ramrod-straight; even to the faux-Queen he seemed a dead man standing. Only when the door clicked shut Christina allowed herself to breathe. Blunt instrument or no, Timothy – he is not Timothy! – radiated a coldness was that far too familiar for her liking.
She retreated to her chambers. The shock was too much. If the nobles saw her in such a frenzied state, they would see weakness. Her heart was a hammer, and she couldn’t draw in enough breath. Weakness? They would be on her like starving jackals. At least the fear from her wrath would disguise the flight to privacy. Hopefully that would be enough.
Josephine was waiting. A plump girl, the handmaiden was the closest thing to a Companion the castle had. It was a bitter juice, this tradition. The council that “presented” the maiden alternated from hardened eyes and smug leers. Someday I will round them up and spike their heads on the walls. Someday. Today she wasn’t powerful enough to resist them completely. So, the Queen reluctantly allowed this petty half-victory; now, she needed all the help she could scrounge.
“Your tea is ready.” Josephine announced.
Christina paid no attention to the servant...and in that first taste of tea realized she was the fool. Narcalip. Poison of poisons. Made from a white tulip that only grew in the Smir Mountains. Almost undetectable.
Almost.
Christina spit out the poison, sprang from the chair with her knife arcing down for the kill, all in an eye blink. But Josephine was a formidable assassin. She was already rolling away when Christina attacked, coming to her feet with her own knives, one forward and one back.
Christina saw no reason to begin a defensive game. Dragon’s Fangs Glitter in The Moonlight. Tiger Pounces from The Bush. Raven Stabs the Eye. The Queen gaped as the last stroke of the Eye was not only deflected, but sent her knife clattering on the far wall.
Okay. This might be a problem.
But the Queen was trained by Han Lu, a relentless assault of a man who yielded no quarter. Christina slapped Josephine’s hand away, spun and followed with the Blurring Hand before the assassin could recover. The bitch’s grunt as the Hand cracked her breastbone was music to the queen’s ears.
Again, Josephine proved herself. Almost immediately the assassin’s hand flew to her weapon at her hip. Christina was quicker, though, and smarter, as well. Instead of fleeing for another weapon the Queen stamped on an ordinary plank of wood and smiled when the hidden springs threw a weapon into her hands. Not just any weapon, either. A snake sword. Seven blades thinner than paper and latched together tip-to-tip by diamond-hard chain links.
Christina didn’t allow the assassin time to regroup. Roping the Rhino. Teasing the Bull. Silver Lightning Roars. The last strike of the Lightning split Josephine’s entire body straight down the middle. For a few fleeting seconds the bloody halves wobbled, and then thudded to the floor. The entrails squirmed outward atop the slow-spreading pools of blood.
Christina was about to turn to her inner closet – any trace of the battle would raise too many unnecessary questions – when a slight growl spun her about. Josephine was dissolving. Inch by inch the blood and entrails they became mist, until everything vanished as though it had never been. Sorcery. This Weirwynd usurper was a smart one, leaving no trace of the assassination save for a few scraps of clothing. That gave Christina pause. The usurper wanted the scraps to survive. With those scraps the Queen could frame one of the scullery maids of wearing clothing so obviously above her position.
It was a message. I can come from anywhere. You will not be able to hide.
Christina smiled at the last. I’ve lived through years of lies. Even as a child many had sought to be by her side to avoid the tall presence of her shadow. I will survive you, you b
astard. I will laugh at your grave. Smiling the faux-Queen strode from her chamber, already rehearsing the accusation of the “thief.”
XXXII
Shayna was slick with fear. She was naked, hoisted in midair by leather cords that disappeared into the darkness to chains that roped the ceiling and down the walls. There were no lanterns present, and yet there was light enough to see the chamber. It was bare, it was stone, with nary a crack or crease that signaled possible handholds. Shayna kept swallowing but the fear always clawed its way back.
Again, she tested her bonds. She had no concern for noise; as far as she could tell, there were no one else in the room. Yet the edges of shadow always stirred with the pretense of motion. It was the wind. The wind, she told herself adamantly. Knowing that did not lessen the times her gaze was drawn to invisible assassins. He will save me.
Shayna started. That was not her thought, but it came nevertheless. In her mind, she saw Mykel’s image running towards her, saw him break down the door with slashes of his golden-boned khatar. Shayna clung to the image, and her heart gave in with a soft explosion of love. Love? Was this love? Yes. At least she thought so. It had always been there, but had no name to give it form. And now, surrounded by terror, she knew it to be true. These were not mere notions the mind forged to comfort her. She was a better person than that. Shayna clung to the love budding in her chest, even though the dependence cut into her pride. She was a Companion, raised in the arts of weaponry, healing, magic and countless other professions, yet here she was, relying on a man to save her. The abbey teachers would be most disappointed.
Dissecting the plight galvanized Shayna with new purpose. There had to be something she could do. Something. Anything. It was dark, so Shayna missed it the first time. It could have been a hallucination from the endless silence, but Shayna denied it to be so. It is real. It is!
“It” was a wheel of wood, snug within a shadowy corner. It was shaped with the handlebars of a pirate’s ship-wheel, but in its center, were twin lines of chain that bound her in mid-air. An idea sparked to life. She tried jerking her hand out of the cuff. All she got in return was three thin lines of blood where the iron bit into her hand. Taking a deep breath, Shayna flattened her fingers together and jerked again. It hurt like hell, and the hand stopped halfway, but it was a beginning. Shayna bit her lip jerking her hand from the cuff. Her fingernails were all but ripped off, but in the end the hand was free.
Renewed with vigor she attacked the other cuff, pulling, jerking...and then both arms were free. Come on! Work! There was a metallic creak, and Shayna released a breath she didn’t know was holding. The rapid shirk of active machinery filled the chamber, as slowly she was lowered thanks to the extra weight.
As soon as she touched ground her legs folded from under her. It took a great deal of time to work the blood back into the legs, even more so to undo the cuffs that bound her ankles. Once done, she attacked stray flannels of rags into a makeshift dress. Escape would only be harder naked within a stronghold of men.
She froze as a crisp footfall came into earshot. Shayna hurried to safety within the shadows. Slowly curling fingers to claws, the Companion crept to the corner the footfalls were coming from, took a deep breath, then whirled into the light, nails ready to open veins. Then Shayna got a good look at the attacker and blanched in horror.
“Mykel?” Damn him if he was a deception. “Is that you?”
“Do you know any other who is crazy enough to come after you?” The librarian grinned, then glanced past Shayna. “Everything okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No. I’m just –” Shayna ran to his arms, held him tight so that he might not ghost away. “I knew you would come,” she whispered. A chuckle escaped him, and then a grunt when she elbowed him in the ribs. “Do you know the way back?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Shayna let Mykel hook his arm in hers, as nimbly as an escort in a ballroom dance. Shayna giggled silently. She used to hate those dances, for ladies-in-waiting were not to catch a young noble son that the princess might cast an eye at. Now that the nightmare was behind them, Shayna felt ecstatic.
Mykel, on the other hand, did not.
They walked until a sliver of light gleamed from a door ajar. Like everywhere else in this night-twisted place, the light was warped to shades and glitter unknown to the mold of man. The light pulled the librarian forward. There was...something odd about that light, something...familiar about it. Heedless of Shayna’s warning gasp Mykel elbowed the door and stalked into the chamber.
If the sliver of light could be called dazzling, then a room of such light was like the sun come to earth. After a time, the glow dulled enough for shape and shade to return. Lining the chamber were rows of metal coffins. Some chirped like a baby bird, others a tally of dates and events going back years. Set into the center of the northern wall was a giant mirror, black as pitch.
Mykel walked about in a daze, fingers caressing the metal boxes. A memory not his own skimmed the surface of his thoughts. He knew these things, somehow. The confirmation, though shapeless, intensified with each step. By the time he had reached the obsidian casket at the chamber’s heartstone, the answer was on the tip of the librarian’s tongue. He knew these machines. But how? Why?
“Mykel! There are people in here!”
The librarian shook as though doused in water. There. In the adjourning room. Prison cells as far as the eye could see. The denizens within, shrunken into themselves. Huddling within oversized robes as though denial could make them human again.
Mykel watched Shayna glide from cell to cell, watched the pain soften her face, tears winding a slow road down her cheeks. Her empathy was infectious; the librarian could feel the armor about his heart beginning to crack. Damn you, LeKym. Keep it together!
In the instant, it took the librarian to rebuild the emotional armor, Shayna ran on flashing feet to the central dais. He ran without thinking, vaulted a set of machinery and tackled Shayna over the central dais before she might have done something stupid.
Too late. Chirps beat a rhythm of music through the chamber, followed by the sound of rusty hinges moaning in pain after long years of disuse. “Damn it.” Shayna shuddered at the rage in Mykel’s face, the way his eyes burned with fraying calm mere inches away from rage. “What were you thinking? You don’t know how to work these machines!”
The hate-tipped harshness ensnared Shayna as it did the librarian. “I was saving those people! Would you rather leave them here to die?”
“I’m so sick and tired of your naivety! Rescuing everyone from the slightest danger? That’s just a dream! It’s just a storybook plot! It’s not real! I’m not Cayokite and you’re not Shayna!”
The words were a hammer-blow, shaking the Companion as though gripped by a seizure, until the end, where her flesh turned a hot red, and her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “Get off me!” Her fists might have been beating against stone, but she beat them anyway. “Get your slimy hands off me, you bastard! Get off!”
The rage ebbed from him. Mykel grunted as Shayna’s fist doubled him over. “Damn you! Have you no heart? These are people! They aren’t things or objects! It’s our duty to help those in need!”
What storybook did you get that from? Mykel knew enough not speak the words. Best to let the energy spend its time through her system. They could think of a plan when cooler heads would –
The doors opened as one. The pair watched in shock as the former prisoners stumbled their way from the cells they’d lived for who knows how long. Mykel had barely enough time to curse before Shayna raced to a prisoner. “Wait! Damn it, Shayna! Wait!”
She did not wait. She hugged the prisoner, laying him gently to the ground, fingers dar
ting from place to place with a nurse’s precise analysis. Her eyes met the librarian, huge and moist. I don’t know what’s wrong.
Mykel did. His entire body stiffened for a moment. He caught the prisoner’s face amidst the threadbare robes, and suddenly grabbed Shayna’s wrist and all but threw her behind him. Shayna spit a length of oaths that burned the tongue to say, but was sliced in half by the sight of the prisoner.
In the blink of an eye the gaunt man’s flesh melted to a nauseating hue of blue and green. The flesh that remained hung loosely from the cheek; his jaws now housed a set of dagger-sharp fangs, with twin ropes of spittle hanging from the pale-white lips.
Mykel met the leaping pounce. Steel flashed, a head rolled, stopping at Shayna’s toe, frightened flat eyes asking why. The click of hinges brought her gaze level to the librarian. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Another door opened, and another beheading. Mykel turned to the next cell and executed the hapless victims. All the way down the room, there was the slick ripping of a neck coming loose from the shoulders, and the bounce of a tumbling head with no body to command. He was about to finish the last one, when a soft hand cinched around his blade arm. Mykel twisted to see Shayna’s eyes, hate and sorrow mingling so deep one could not tell where one ended and the other began.
“I’ll do it.” She arched her hands in a way as to resemble claws, ready to snap a man’s neck in an instant. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
She might have succeeded, had not the prisoner decided to wake up.
“Please...please kill me. I don’t deserve this...please...please...”
Chased By War Page 31
