‘The song is about the world,’ he said softly. ‘The ice caps of Pirenti, where the berserkers live. The oyster farms along the coast where I live. And Kaya in the south. It was written so long ago that maybe the world was a different place. I sing it because I like to think of a time like that, and because it’s beautiful.’
I felt an aching in my chest. ‘You know nothing about beauty.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because you’re a monster, and a barbarian – all you understand is bloody slaughter.’
His eyes flashed in the firelight but he didn’t say anything. A kind of wild fury bloomed in my heart. My eyes scanned the ground for a weapon, anything I could use. I had to hurt him. I had to escape. Why was I going along with this situation? Why was I letting him take me to prison? For Gods’ sakes, I was behaving like the Pirenti women – cowed into obedience and constantly fearful.
Ambrose had already packed away the knives, so all I could see was the fire, and the hot coals sitting within it. A kind of savage recklessness possessed my body – amazing what desperate hate could make you do. I moved into a crouch that took me forward to the edge of the fire, and I plucked the largest coal from it.
‘Ave—!’
I flipped over the fire, springing off my back foot and twisting to land as close to Ambrose as possible. Then I jammed the coal into the nearest part of his body, which happened to be his bare calf. He grunted in surprise, but I held that coal there, pressing it as hard as I could, and it occurred to me slowly that it might be burning a hole through my hand. I didn’t feel it – I didn’t feel anything. And what was truly strange was that Ambrose didn’t try to stop me – he just sat there as I burnt his leg. After a few long moments I dropped the coal and started running. I didn’t know in which direction to head, but I was quick. Pirenti men, as a rule, weren’t particularly fast because of their bulk, so I was pretty sure I could outrun Ambrose, especially now that his leg was burnt to a crisp. I lowered my head and pressed myself into a sprint.
I got about a hundred meters before the brute caught me. I heard his heavy footsteps pounding behind me and try as I might, I couldn’t open any distance between us – the enormous, lumbering fool was fast. He grabbed me by the neck and wrenched me to the ground, pinning me roughly. My head spun as it cracked into the hard earth, but I didn’t give in to it. Letting my training take over, I instinctively jammed my knee into his groin. His hold loosened slightly and I jabbed him twice in the face with my fist. As I struggled to my feet, he stood slowly, as if it cost him nothing, as if he wasn’t the slightest bit rattled by my blows. We faced each other.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’ he asked, and I realised abruptly that he was enjoying this – there was a light in his eyes, and it danced across his gaze. It infuriated me.
I darted forward, sending a blow towards his chest. He blocked it easily, and continued to block all of my hits. I swung out with my leg, wanting to sweep him off his feet, but my kick didn’t even budge him. He just took it all without concern. What in the world? Ambrose grinned at my expression, so I did the only thing I could think of – I kicked the burn on his calf, hard. That finally got a reaction from him, a sharp and gratifying grunt of pain. Losing patience, he sent a punch into my sternum that knocked all the air from me. I flew off my feet and landed on my back, gasping breathlessly. Spots danced before my eyes, and then him – the brute, bending over me.
‘Don’t you get it yet?’ he asked calmly.
With a last bit of effort, I spat in his face. Again. But this time I didn’t get to enjoy his reaction, because I passed out.
When I woke it took me a few minutes to figure out that I was tied to a tree. The fire danced blurrily before me, a golden orange ball of light licking at Ambrose’s face. He was humming again, something different this time, something lighter. I swallowed against the pain. I’d acquired a veritable list of ailments by this point – my ribs ached from where he’d kicked me last night, my chest felt like it had been cracked open from that one punch, I had a pounding headache, my arm still stung from where he’d shot me with an arrow, and now my hand was damn near killing me from the pain of my own idiocy. What had possessed me to pick up a hot coal and think it would do more damage to him than it would to me?
Ambrose spoke without even glancing my way. ‘If I could somehow relive the moment when you picked up the coal, I would. I’d relive it over and over again, just to see your face.’ He started to laugh.
I could have killed him. Oh, how I wanted to.
‘You’re a complete lunatic – you know that, right?’ he chuckled.
I struggled against the rope. It was tied around my shoulders, chest, arms and stomach, so no matter how hard I pulled against it, it just dug further into my flesh. ‘Untie me!’ I yelled.
‘Now, now,’ he murmured, ‘There’s no need to get pissy.’
‘I hope you choke on that smugness and die in your sleep.’
‘You have anger issues, Ave.’
We sat in silence. I was uncomfortable and sore, but I didn’t want him to know it, so I clamped my mouth shut and stared into the dark forest. I needed to come up with some other way of escaping, since I clearly couldn’t fight my way out or run away. I wondered if there was some way I could trick him into letting his guard down, or perhaps I’d have to wait until he was asleep.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ambrose asked suddenly.
I blinked and looked over at him. He was staring at me from the other side of the fire.
‘I’m tied to a tree.’
‘No, Avery,’ he said slowly, something different in his voice. ‘I’m going to ask you something, and if you don’t answer, I’ll never ask again. What’s wrong with your soul?’
I froze.
‘From the first moment I saw you, I knew there was something wrong with you. I’ve heard myths about men who’ve had half of themselves torn away. Tell me why you hurt with each breath, and why you can’t smile. Tell me what it is that makes you so fearless.’
I closed my eyes. It hurt, that he could see me so easily – he could see everything. I drew breath into my lungs. I’d never spoken about this. For a few seconds I was determined to ignore him, or lie, then it occurred to me that I might be able to hurt him with the truth.
‘You know of the bond between lovers from Kaya?’ I asked.
‘Of course.’ He blinked, something kindling in his eyes.
‘I … I was bonded to a m— a girl called Ava. No Pirenti man or woman could ever imagine what the bond feels like – you see your other half, and you come to understand why it is that you’re alive in this world. All that you are is for them.’
My hands seemed to be shaking by my sides and I quickly clenched them together.
‘She died, didn’t she?’ Ambrose asked softly.
I nodded. I hadn’t cried, not once, and I wouldn’t now. There was something in his voice, though, that made everything harder – something that shouldn’t be there. He was just a brute from Pirenti – a big, sexist pig who didn’t understand about love. He had beaten me and tied me to a tree, and laughed at my discomfort. So why, then, could I hear something so painfully clear in his voice? Why was this the first time I’d felt like crying, when my own family hadn’t been able to move me even close to tears?
‘And half your soul died with her.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought Kayans died in pairs.’
‘We do – we cannot live without our other halves. At least, we shouldn’t be able to. No one ever has before.’
‘How long does it take? For you to die?’
I shrugged. ‘The longest I’ve ever heard of someone surviving alone was a month. But most kill themselves before they get to that point. It’s … unnatural not to.’
‘How long ago did Ava die?’
‘Two years.’
Ambrose frowned, confused.
‘I just … didn’t die,’ I told him miserably. ‘I don’t know why. I was so numb, so utterly destr
oyed that I wasn’t able to do anything, let alone commit suicide. The only thing I could think of was that there must be some reason for me to be alive …’
‘Assassinating your enemy’s queen? Why?’
‘Because, Ambrose,’ I said softly, meeting his eyes, ‘she was the one who killed my mate.’
He breathed out, closing his eyes. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘We were on a mission with a team of soldiers. We had three warders to get us inside the palace, but when Ava tried to kill the Queen, she was caught and murdered on the spot.’
Ambrose cracked his knuckles uncomfortably. ‘I think I remember that attack – I was there. I didn’t know a woman was killed, I thought it was just the man – the black-haired man.’
I froze, my breath catching painfully in my throat. He had seen Avery, watched him die just as I had. I didn’t know what to say, was too heartsore to try to cover the lie.
‘Can’t you move on?’
I laughed bitterly. Not a real laugh, more a kind of hacking cough. ‘You don’t understand, and that isn’t your fault – it’s impossible for you to comprehend. But trust me when I say there’ll be no moving on.’
‘Okay, but why could you not have a life? There are plenty of widowers in my country.’
‘What life?’ I asked, clenching the grass beneath my hands. ‘I can’t smile, I can’t laugh – I have no concept of pleasure or desire. I hate how sick and weak I am. I barely sleep. Sometimes I feel like my teeth and skin are aching, aching like they need to get free, break from me. My own family cast me out. I’m a freak of nature. Everyone I ever knew considers me an abomination. They don’t even treat me like a human being anymore. I have nothing left, Ambrose. Nothing except the drive for vengeance.’
He didn’t speak for a while, then he folded his arms, his glare heavy. ‘You call my people brutal, but I’ve never heard of anything so cruel.’
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I felt embarrassed at having blurted out my sob-story to him. I shifted against the ropes and flinched at the pain in my ribs – it felt like a couple might be broken. The wound in my arm was throbbing with heat. Something cold dripped against my face, and I looked up, realising that it was starting to rain. Huge, fat drops splattered down, landing in my eyes and on my lips. I licked at them, noticing belatedly how thirsty I was.
‘Gods damn it,’ Ambrose muttered, casting a look up at the sky. The stars were obscured by clouds now – heavy, black things that had stolen all the light from the world.
‘Looks like we’re in for a wet night,’ I said. I frowned, confused by how my words had come out all slurred. My head was pounding even more, and I suddenly felt really hot, like my skin might be on fire.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ambrose asked sharply.
‘I don’t … nothing – I’m not sure.’
He squatted in front of me and placed a large, extremely cold hand against my forehead. I sighed with pleasure at the coolness of it.
‘You’re burning up. Do you have any wounds?’
I would have laughed, if I could. ‘Plenty.’
‘Any cuts?’
‘My arm.’
Ambrose pushed the ropes aside and then tore the sleeve of my tunic off. I felt his fingers prod the aching wound. ‘It’s infected. Why didn’t you tell me about this?’
My arm was gouged open and still oozing dark, puss-filled blood. ‘Because you’re escorting me to prison, and I assumed you probably wouldn’t care much if I got scraped up on the way.’
He started to untie me.
Now I’ll escape, I thought.
Ambrose laughed, and I realised I must have said it out loud. ‘You could try, but I doubt you’ll get far, unable to stand.’
He was correct. My legs wobbled beneath me and the Pirenti pig scooped me up, carrying me straight into the lake.
‘What are you doing?’ I groaned. ‘Let me go.’
‘Shut up for a minute, will you? I have to get your temperature down before I deal with the wound.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why deal with the wound? Why not just leave me here to die?’
‘We’ve been over this,’ he sighed. ‘The punishment you were handed by my queen was not death. So I’m taking you to prison – alive.’ He reached up to my cap, which was still miraculously secured with pins.
‘Don’t!’ I gasped.
‘What?’
‘Don’t take my cap off – promise. Promise you won’t take it off – promise.’
‘Fine, you freak. Just relax.’
My mind started to float away as a feverish sleep took hold, but something moved against my skin – something … strange. It took a moment for the sting to come, and with it arrived a pain so sharp I jerked awake and screamed.
My arm! My arm was on fire – it was being hacked off, torn apart with razors. There was poison running through my veins and I couldn’t stop screaming.
‘Avery!’ I heard, deep and clear. ‘Listen to me,’ this voice said. ‘I need you to stay calm. There’s a sea wasp wrapped around your arm, and I have to get it off, so you need to stay still.’
The absurdity of this made me giggle, mad, sick and delirious. It was the first time I’d laughed since his death. How funny that all I had left was this twisted, dying giggle – the laugh of a woman who was in the process of losing her mind.
I seemed to be out of the water now, but there were drops falling on my face, and I tried to focus on these instead of the agony in my arm. It hurt so badly – such an angry pain, a new, ferocious kind of torture. A set of pale blue eyes floated above me, concerned and focused, but I couldn’t remember who they belonged to. It seemed hilarious that I’d been in the water to help my fever, but that healing effort had caused me to be stung. How pathetic, to die from a sea wasp sting – how amusing.
‘You’re not dying,’ a voice said gruffly.
‘Of course I am,’ I sighed. Whoever the voice belonged to was either very stupid, or very blind.
Roselyn
Thorne and I lived in a small wing of the fortress that we had to ourselves. In our dining room, above the fireplace, there was a painting of him and his brother, made several years ago. I constantly found myself staring at the picture – something about it fascinated me. The brothers had their arms around each other and were grinning as they stood on the bloodied battlefield of one of their victories. Dead Kayans were strewn on the ground around them. I always wondered if it was a real likeness – whether the painter had actually been there at that very moment, or whether he had simply draw it from his imagination. But if he had imagined it, how could he possibly have captured that look in Ambrose’s eyes – the one that seemed to describe two entirely different feelings at the same time? That was an expression Ambrose only wore when he was with his brother – which meant that the brothers must have really stood in that field, grinning while surrounded by death, and such a thing had always been unfathomable to me. I wish to know what they are thinking. I wish to know if it is real or not.
‘Why do you constantly stare at that bloody thing?’ Thorne barked, striding into the room, clearly in a foul mood. He’d shoved me into our chambers this morning after my miserable failure with Vincent, and hadn’t returned until now. I wanted to explain to him what had happened to me to make me fear water so, but the words wouldn’t come. If I let them come, the memories would follow, and the tremulous hold I kept on my sanity relied on my ability to keep those memories out.
‘I’m about ready to get rid of it.’
‘No, please!’ I exclaimed. ‘Forgive me. I simply wondered …’ I’d never asked him before, and it occurred to me belatedly that this was a very easy way to grant myself a wish. ‘Did that really happen?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then you were really standing there together in the middle of that battlefield?’
‘Yes, Rose,’ he sighed.
‘Then why were you smiling?’
‘Because we
won, obviously. Why else would we be smiling?’
I nodded quickly, dropping my eyes. It seemed to me that there were very different expressions on the two boys’ faces. I peered at the painting again. Sometimes having it here in my home made me feel like Ambrose was close by, like he could actually be standing next to me. I wished he were.
‘Was that one of the days Ambrose killed a warder?’ I asked impulsively.
Thorne frowned and moved to stand next to me, staring up at the painting. ‘Actually, I think it was. Why?’
‘He seems sad.’
Thorne glanced at me as if I was crazy. He searched his brother’s face, clearly trying to find the sadness within the smile. ‘He seems happy,’ Thorne said finally, folding his arms and daring me to argue with him. ‘Why would he be sad?’
I shrugged. He observed me more closely and I started to feel self-conscious. ‘Is that who you gaze at when you stand here all the time?’ he asked softly, slowly. I could sense the atmosphere of the room change, but I didn’t know why. ‘Do you stand here staring at Ambrose?’
I didn’t know what to say, but I could see his temper rising. ‘Answer me, Roselyn!’ he snarled suddenly.
‘Yes. Sometimes I do. I find his expression … interesting.’
‘You stare at him like a dog in heat!’ Thorne hissed. ‘I’ve always thought you must be looking at me that way, but now I find out it’s him?’ He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and shook me. It became clear to me that a whole lot of things were clicking together in his mind, building to create something huge.
‘It’s so obvious! You stare at him like you stare at the damn oyster farms. Have you—? Oh, Sword.’ He broke off, letting go of me and pacing the room. He looked tormented, ravaged – his hands were shaking with fury.
I didn’t know what to do – I was stunned by the suddenness of this, by how quickly this idea had taken hold of him. I feared the beast in its cage, could feel it roaring to get out. ‘Thorne,’ I tried, ‘that’s not right.’
Avery (Random Romance) Page 7
