Avery (Random Romance)

by Charlotte McConaghy

A moan left my lips and I lowered my face into my hands, exhausted and sore and unable to bear that Ambrose might not understand the betrayal he’d just committed. ‘How could you say such a thing to me? You?’

  ‘Ava, I—’

  ‘I don’t care how weak your brother is, or how much of a puppet he is to your mother. I don’t care what made him hold Avery to the ground and watch with enjoyment as someone sheathed a knife thirteen times into his chest – thirteen times. Avery just lay there, Ambrose, and I could feel in my heart that he was worrying about me! Every time that knife cut him open, he worried for me.’ My voice broke then, somewhat hysterically.

  Ambrose grabbed me and pulled me against his chest, holding me tight. I tried to push him away but my body was unbearably weak.

  ‘Listen, then,’ he said against my ear. ‘This might not make any difference to you – it has nothing to do with the quality or clarity of your grief, and I don’t mean it to diminish anything at all. I simply want to explain to you why my brother means so much to me, and why I could not bear it if he was hurt. More importantly, girl, this is a story about why he is not the monster he seems.’

  ‘I don’t … please, I can’t—’

  ‘Listen,’ Ambrose urged me. ‘Once upon a time, a berserker wanted my throne. That berserker was the biggest, cruellest man I have ever come across. He was the king of the beasts under the ice mountain. I was twelve at the time. A tiny, gangly kid with no muscle, no height and no skill in anything. The berserker – his name was Thelle – scared me near to death. I stank of my own terror, but because he had challenged me formally, I had to face him in the public arena.’

  My heart was thumping very painfully, and my fingers had tightened around his arms.

  ‘Thelle would have killed me in moments – there is no illusion in my mind about it – but Thorne stepped into that arena and formally took the challenge upon himself, which he was permitted to do only because his throne sits higher than mine. He killed the king of the berserkers, a mighty beast of a man, when he was only fifteen himself. It was the most incredible thing anyone in the realm had seen – an impossible victory.’

  And then Ambrose added, to end his story, ‘Thelle, the berserker king, happened to be Thorne’s father.’

  My eyes fell shut; my heart ached.

  I heard him murmur, ‘I owe him every breath in my body and I will fight for him until every single one is gone – unless you’re the one I must fight. Please do not ask me to prove that, because I will, but I don’t know what I will become after.’

  Roselyn

  I heard the story as Ambrose told it, every word, but I knew it better than that – I had been there, thirteen years ago. I was only eight years old when I watched the tall, skinny prince fight the monster from the ice. I had watched him move like light, like the flash of a flickering flame, too fast to even glimpse. The berserker had been bigger, stronger and far more skilled, but I had watched the boy wear down the older man, wear him down with nothing but sheer, heartbreaking determination. We had all watched together as the elder prince, a child, had fought on and on and on for hours, through blood and broken bones, and so many other injuries I lost count, until he finally, at very long last, found an opening in which to sheathe the berserker’s own knife into his heart.

  We had all watched as the boy cut out the berserker’s heart and held it aloft, turning with eyes colder than ice to the stunned crowd to speak a few, sparse words. Challenge my brother and me, and you will die.

  I had not known, until this very moment, that that monster had been the young prince’s father.

  Drawing my fur around me, I plunged out into the wild night, searching for him in the glimpses of moonlight. I had to track my way around the pebbly coastline until I made out his distant silhouette, standing knee deep in the water. Warding off the fear, which had somehow become easier after last night’s slap of perspective, I waded out to him and placed my hands on his back. He stiffened for a moment, but just for one moment.

  ‘I hate her,’ he bit out.

  I pressed my lips against the space between his shoulder blades.

  ‘How could he … how could he love a freak like that?’

  Moving to stand beside him, I stared out at the black and grey sea. Thorne loved no one in the world like he loved his little brother. ‘He found something strange. It does not mean he loves you any less.’

  Thorne breathed out slowly. ‘What have I become, that I cannot even kill a Kayan prisoner?’

  ‘A better man than you’ve ever been,’ I told him, meeting his eyes in the darkness. His expression was unreadable. ‘This would haunt you,’ I added softly. ‘Her life is not yours to take. And I would never be able to forgive you.’

  He blinked. ‘Why?’

  ‘I won’t have any more violence in my life.’

  Later, with Ambrose and Thorne both miraculously dozing near the fire, I moved to sit next to Ava. She was awake still, her back against the wall. Her gaze was unreadable but changed colours every so often.

  ‘How do you feel, Ava?’ I asked in a whisper.

  ‘Better,’ she said with a smile more generous than I’d expected. ‘Ambrose tells me I have you to thank for that.’

  ‘You healed yourself. I did naught.’

  She shook her head, but seemed too tired or distracted to argue. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes, and the scars all over her body were impossible to ignore. Her good looks were forever ruined – the brands were ugly and commanded the eye.

  ‘I owe you a great deal, Roselyn,’ she murmured. ‘I’m glad we have the chance to speak. Ambrose has told me a lot about you.’

  I flushed bright red and quickly stared down at the ground. I remembered with sharp clarity how I’d disliked her as a boy simply because of the way Ambrose had looked at him. But he’d seen the truth of this person before anyone else could even have imagined it.

  ‘Roselyn,’ she said softly, ‘What are you still doing married to that man?’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘You don’t deserve his cruelty,’ Ava told me gently. She reached out and ran a finger over the fading purple bruises around my neck. ‘Don’t you understand that?’

  I shook my head. ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘Leave him.’

  ‘You don’t leave the people you love,’ I told her simply.

  She stopped, considering this. ‘But when they hurt you, Rose? No one is allowed to hurt you. Not ever.’

  I didn’t know how to make her understand. ‘I know that. I agree. But have you ever been in love?’

  Ava smiled brokenly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if that person hurt you, would you leave?’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘The pain of his absence,’ I murmured, ‘would hurt me more than anything he could do to me.’

  Ava looked down at her hands. It was difficult not to stare at the brand on her cheek. She was simple, just as my husband was – the two of them understood black and white, love and hate, pain and pleasure. They did not have the time or the patience for anything in between, anything … subtler.

  ‘If he loved you, he wouldn’t hurt you,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘That may be true,’ I agreed softly. ‘But I can’t give up on him. Not yet. He’s never understood, my husband, but then again, neither have I. It seems to me that something is changing. We didn’t know the rules before. If I’d given up, we would never have come to this new place. He’s my husband,’ I paused, swallowing, ‘and he’s imperfect. I endure that. But you’ve seen none of the reasons I love him – none of the beauty or strength or courage he holds. You’ve had no reason to see those things, so I cannot blame you for not understanding. But you must trust me – he’s not the monster he seems.’

  ‘It shouldn’t have to be so hard,’ Ava whispered and she sounded so weary.

  I shrugged a little helplessly. ‘We have no say, in this life, on how hard things will be. What we can control is how hard we
fight. How long we endure. How strongly we love.’

  Ava

  They called her stupid. I’d heard it said a thousand times that she was vacant and slow and dim-witted, but sitting in the cabin next to this girl with the bruised skin and the bruised eyes, I’d never heard the truth spoken more clearly, or more bravely.

  It was easy to love someone lovable – easy to love a man who was gentle and kind and understood everything. It was much harder, much more courageous, to love a man who was flawed and frightening and who didn’t understand. I’d thought I was brave for enduring Avery’s loss, but Roselyn was the bravest person I’d ever met, simply because she wasn’t afraid to love an impossible man and get hurt in the process.

  I realised, for the first time in my life, that you could love someone – properly love them – without being bonded to them. And perhaps it meant more if you chose that love, without having it thrust upon you by fate.

  Chapter 19

  Thorne

  I woke wanting my wife next to me. Lying on the hard wooden floorboards, I opened my eyes in time to see the Kayan woman touch her neck – it was intimate, like a family member or a friend might touch her – and I was dumbstruck by it, by the familiarity and closeness of it. What surprised me even more was the fact that it didn’t make me angry. Those were my bruises on her skin, the marks of my fingers, my anger, my jealousy. I should be the one comforting her, but I didn’t know how. I thought about this for what seemed an age. Thought about her desire for no more violence, and about where a creature like I could fit into a life like that.

  In the middle of the night we were all awake again, moving through routines in a bizarre parody of a family – we stoked the fire, boiled water, cooked food. We did everything we could so that none of us would have to talk about the wounds between us.

  At one point I saw Ambrose take a bowl of soup from Roselyn’s hands, and I saw the way his touch lingered against her skin, and the smile he gave her, and the look on my wife’s face. I saw these things, and even given what we’d been through – all the real problems we had to worry about – I felt everything inside me go black. I watched them both until I was sure they were on opposite sides of the room and fixated on other things, and then finally, I drew breath.

  The relationship between my brother and wife was certainly not the only concern I had. Each time I looked at Ava I felt a dull nausea, but I had no idea why. Her words were seared into my brain. I dream of you. I had no idea who she was or how that could be true, but the truth in her voice was like a brand.

  ‘I told you my story, Thorne,’ Ambrose said once we’d eaten. ‘So tell me yours. What are you both doing out here?’

  I looked at Rose. She didn’t even seem to be listening, lost in some thought of hers. ‘I ordered my wife to be executed,’ I said into the silence of the cabin. I was aware that some part of me did it as a challenge – as a dare. I wanted to fight and shout and hurt. I wanted them all to hate me as much as I hated myself.

  ‘What?’ The Kayan girl’s voice was flat, deadly.

  I met her eyes. ‘I was a dumb, bullying Pirenti pig. Right? That’s what we all are, all the time.’

  Her jaw clenched at my mockery. ‘You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Thorne?’ Ambrose interjected.

  I licked my lips – I felt annoyed at having to explain myself. I decided the fate of my wife – it was no one’s business but my own. Still staring at Ava, I said, ‘My little brother knows why I lost my temper.’

  He frowned. ‘Why would I know?’

  I felt the beast stir. ‘Don’t lie to me. It’s beneath you.’

  ‘Thorne, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  I clenched my teeth and looked over at Rose. Her head was bent over her supplies and whispered numbers drifted from her lips; she had no idea that this conversation was happening, which was a good thing. I felt my heart constrict at the sight of her, so unaware, so distracted.

  ‘Tell me you’ve never touched her,’ I whispered, turning back to Ambrose.

  His expression changed as he began to understand. We gazed at each other. ‘Thorne,’ he said, ‘I’ve never touched her.’

  ‘Have you wanted to?’

  He breathed out, pained. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yes!’ I snarled. ‘Of course it matters!’

  He didn’t look away from me. ‘Then yes, I’ve wanted to – usually after you’ve roughed her up or thrown her in the dungeons. I’ve wanted to touch her then, to show her kindness. To help her see that she need not be frightened of everyone in the world. If that makes me weak, or soft, then so be it.’

  Humiliation washed over me. I felt sick, and small and ugly. For the first time in my life, I felt worse than the beast I shared a soul with.

  ‘Weak?’ I uttered, a fist taking hold of my heart. I had never hurt so much, never in my whole life. ‘You’re worried about seeming weak? What the Sword do you think of me, Ambrose? That I actually care how you look more than I care about my wife’s honour, or the betrayal you’ve wanted to commit with her? If you’ve touched her, it will destroy me, not because it makes you weak or soft, but because you’ve touched something that belongs to me, when never in a million years would I wound you in the same way.’

  Ambrose’s mouth fell open slightly and I saw the shadow of pain in his eyes. ‘Thorne, I’ve never touched her and I never would.’

  ‘Too late,’ I whispered. ‘Too fucking late.’

  I threw myself at him, a snarl erupting from my mouth. Ambrose fought like no one I’d ever seen – he was faster than lightning and skilled beyond belief – but I was the slaughterman of Pirenti, the most dangerous man alive, the man who’d taught him everything he knew. I feinted left and then right, took the punch he sent into my stomach without feeling it, and had him pinned against the wall in four seconds.

  He stared at me, his eyes calm, not bothering to struggle. ‘Stop,’ he said softly. ‘I will never fight you. I’d rather die.’

  I felt everything leave me, every feeling I’d ever had, so that all I knew was weariness. I stood back and dropped my hands to my sides.

  ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘No,’ he told me firmly. ‘I never have. Not as more than a brother.’

  I found that I was too tired to distrust him any longer, so I turned instead to look for my wife.

  At the back of the cabin there were two bedrooms. I found her in the smaller of the two, standing by the window. Her fingers were pressed to the glass, and she was watching the wind move through the long grass on the hills beyond.

  ‘Did you hear any of that?’

  After a moment she nodded.

  ‘Are you …’ I didn’t know how to do this. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Her eyes looked black in this light. ‘You hurt me,’ she whispered, ‘so much.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘How could you think that?’

  ‘Think what?’

  ‘That I could ever let him touch me? I have told you before – twice now – but you still don’t believe me. You had to ask him.’

  ‘I asked him because he’s my brother.’

  ‘I am your wife.’

  We stared at each other. I had no idea what to say. I didn’t feel like I’d done anything wrong. Wasn’t she the one who had fallen in love with another?

  ‘When will you start listening to me?’ Rose asked.

  I frowned.

  ‘When will you hear me?’

  Shaking my head, I moved to her side. ‘Stop it, Rose.’ It was the wrong thing to say, but I didn’t know what else to do. She said I hurt her, but she’d hurt me so damn much that I could barely breathe. How could she think that I would forget? That I would ever stop thinking about the two of them together? I wouldn’t – I couldn’t.

  ‘You’re supposed to be mine.’

  ‘I am.’

  Ambrose

  Ava wouldn’t let me touch her, and she refused to look at m
e. I had broken something between us, something that might never be mended. I loved, irrevocably, the man who had killed her mate. There was no overcoming that, no moving on from it, just as there would be no healing of the brands on her body – not truly.

  I saw her and was faced with the mark of the wolf – my mother’s mark, my brother’s. She would never be able to look in the mirror and see anything else.

  ‘You need to eat,’ I told her.

  She ignored me.

  ‘How do you expect to be able to get into the fortress if you’re too weak to move?’

  Her head whipped around and she stared at me.

  I shrugged. ‘It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t want your help.’

  ‘You’ve got no choice in the matter.’

  Her eyes went red with anger and she was about to say something when Thorne and Rose moved back into the room and sat by the fire. I didn’t fail to notice how Thorne and Ava watched each other every time they were in the same room. They were like predator and prey, though I didn’t know which was which.

  ‘All right?’ I asked my brother.

  He blinked, glanced at me, then grunted his assent. In terms of a truce, that was the best I’d get from him.

  ‘Are you going to help us then?’ I asked him.

  ‘Help you what?’

  I met his eyes. ‘Take the throne for you.’

  Thorne bared his teeth silently, turning back to Ava.

  ‘Don’t look at her,’ I ordered. ‘Look at me. Answer me.’

  My brother rose to his feet, fluidly like an animal. He started to pace the small hut. ‘The throne is no longer mine,’ he said, eyes dark in the flickering light. ‘I left. I am unworthy of it.’

  ‘Untrue.’ It was his wife who replied. Her hair was wild and her eyes full. ‘Once that might have been so, but now I think you are the only one who is both strong enough and human enough to be worthy of ruling a country like Pirenti.’ She paused and then said, ‘You are not your mother.’

  They stared at each other. ‘You all expect me to betray our Queen?’ asked Thorne.