Finally reaching the fifth level, they clambered through the hallway toward the king’s room at the end of the long corridor. Silas slipped in front of the men to open the door.
“Put him on the bed. Be careful!” he said, watching them ease the elder man on the four-post bed. Silas checked his father’s pulse once more and confirmed his heart was still beating. “Ormond, get some water,” he ordered a younger man with a scar across his chin. He turned to another guard, Lars, a large, barrel-chested man who barely fit into his uniform. “Lars, take two or three men with you and find the royal cupbearer. I want to question him myself and find out who did this and how it happened,” he said, setting his jaw tight.
“Yes, your Majesty,” Lars replied, bowing quickly then leaving to carry out the order.
Silas ordered the rest of the men to keep guard outside and send in the physicians once they arrived.
Once they complied, he was alone in the spacious room with his ailing father.
The king mumbled unintelligently in a half-conscious state. Sighing heavily, Silas sat in a chair at his side and watched him for a moment before surveying the room. The royal bedchamber was the shape of a semicircle since the room was situated in one of the northeast towers of the palace. A large window on the curved wall behind the king’s bed let in a considerable amount of light during the daytime. Two wooden tables with chairs sat at each corner of the room and a mahogany bureau as tall as Silas stood opposite the bed.
He hadn’t stepped foot inside the king’s quarters for almost a year. As the leader of the Drachengarde, he was constantly engaged in military operations outside of Aldron that kept him from residing in the palace for extended periods of time.
He let out a deep sigh as his eyes wandered to a large portrait hanging from the wall. A painting of a woman with brilliant blue eyes and a warm smile looked back at him. In her lap sat a young girl with dark hair who was also smiling. It was his mother and sister. The painting was the most valued possession among all of Alfryd’s wealth. Silas hadn’t set eyes on it in a long time, partly because he hadn’t been in this room for so long, but also because it pained him. The grief over the day he lost both his mother and sister still tore at him. Though he was only a boy, he still felt that he could have done something more to save them.
“Silas,” his father’s feeble voice called.
He looked down at his father, whose dull blue eyes gazed up at him.
“You know it wasn’t your fault, son. It was mine. I failed your mother and Becca,” he said softly.
“No, Father, you did everything you could. Neither of us could have saved them,” Silas said, feeling a sting in his eyes. The feeling of helplessness as a little boy came back now. He was once again powerless to prevent the death of someone dear to him.
Alfryd reached out for his hand, and Silas took it. “You must think of the kingdom now, Silas. I know for so long you have dreaded this day. You’ve run away from your royal duty. I’m sure you didn’t intend to. I probably pushed you too hard,” Alfryd said, frowning.
Silas looked away for a moment, unsure how to respond. He had resented his father’s constant lectures about his duty as the future king of Aldron. The political responsibility of sitting on the throne of a powerful nation like Aldron had little appeal to him. In truth, it terrified him. The constant bickering he saw on display among the Four Houses, and the logistical nightmare of administrating every aspect of Joppa’s economy and people, kept him away from Gilead Palace. He much preferred being a warrior and handling life’s problems with a sword in his hand. But now the reality of the situation hit him hard. The Aldronian people would look to him as their leader, and he wasn’t convinced he deserved such a title.
“Father, let us not talk of succession now. The physicians are coming and will take care of you. You will be well again by Yewa’s will,” he said, hoping to silence the matter.
Alfryd shook his head. “No, Silas…I can feel the poison coursing through me and—” He stopped abruptly as a wave of pain shot up inside of him. He was convulsing again, and Silas grabbed hold of his shoulders to subdue his thrashing.
“Father, hold on!” Silas cried.
The door to the bedchamber opened suddenly. Lord Blaise entered with two of the royal physicians at his side. They gently ushered Silas away as they tended to the king.
The seizure subsided and Alfryd was unconscious again, his breathing more ragged and tired than before. Ormond stepped inside with a bowl of water and began assisting the physicians by dabbing a wet rag on the king’s forehead.
Silas watched the scene as though he were a thousand miles away, removed from it all.
Lord Blaise placed a hand on his shoulder. “Silas, the physicians will do all they can for your father. You should retire now and rest,” he said in a low whisper.
“No, Blaise. I must be here with my father,” he said absently.
“We will care for His Majesty, my lord,” one of the physicians said. He was an elderly man with a compassionate smile. “I’ve seen this kind of poison before. ‘Gillerweed’ is what they call it. Your grandfather drank some once, but he did not perish, my lord. It debilitates the body and upsets the humors, but with the right medicine and a few weeks’ rest, his lordship should make a full recovery.”
Silas’ heart leapt in his chest. “What kind of medicine does he need?”
“I can’t remember for certain, your Highness, but an apothecary would know. I think there’s an herbalist residing on the outskirts of the city,” he said diffidently.
Silas set his jaw and turned to Blaise. “The woman who saved me, Violet, she is an apothecary. Have her brought here at once to aid the physicians in their work,” he said.
“Silas, are you sure we can’t find the herbalist instead? We hardly know this woman—”
“Blaise, listen to me. She saved my life with her craft. Go send for her,” he said sternly. Then softened his gaze and added, “Please.”
Lord Blaise pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes, your Majesty.”
He thanked him then walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Blaise asked.
“To speak with the cupbearer.”
*
A hurried knock rapped on Ravenmane’s door and she crossed her cramped bedroom to open it. Brandewulf stood there with a flustered look on his face. “We need to talk, Rae,” he said, placing a sarcastic emphasis on her assumed name.
She allowed him inside and shut the door behind them. “What’s the matter? You look as though someone invaded Allesmeade,” she said.
He scowled. “You failed at your task, Ravenmane. King Alfryd is still alive and well in his room!”
“Keep your voice down!” she whispered.
He gestured dismissively with his hand. “The poison didn’t work. This ruins everything. We don’t need suspicions running high in the castle. Are you sure you used all of the poison in that vial?” he questioned.
Ravenmane gritted her teeth. She hadn’t poured the entire vial of poison in Alfryd’s goblet thanks to her romantic distraction with Brinley. But she decided to spare Brandewulf those details. “Relax. There was enough poison in that goblet to kill a horse. It should run its course through his body in the next few hours,” she said, feigning confidence.
“No, it won’t. One of my knights has overheard a servant saying they plan to bring an apothecary to Alfryd’s room. An herbalist could easily stop the poison’s effects with an antidote,” Brandewulf said, brushing a lock of hair away from his face.
Ravenmane frowned and watched him pace the room. She hadn’t seen this side of Brandewulf before. He had so much poise in Tarshish and the days leading up to this plot, but now the man seemed on the verge of a breakdown.
“Sit down, Brandewulf. You’re making me nervous with your incessant pacing,” she said.
He whirled around and glowered at her. “This is all your fault. You didn’t use the entire vial!”
“There wasn’t enough ti
me, and I was trying to be discreet,” she admitted, returning his accusing look with a glare. “We might just have to poison him again in a few days.”
“We don’t have a few days, Ravenmane. The Four Houses will probably be dismissed after this debacle,” Brandewulf said with a heavy sigh. Then his eyes suddenly widened and a faint smile formed on his lips.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re going to kill him. Tonight. It has to be tonight when they least expect it,” he whispered to himself.
For a moment, she thought the man had lost his mind and was speaking nonsense. But he looked at her with a stern face, waiting for a response. “You’re serious?” she said.
“Of course. You’re an assassin; you have the skills necessary to go in there and kill him in his own room,” he explained.
She laughed. “You have gone mad. There are a dozen or more guards in that chamber and possibly more patrolling the halls now. I won’t be able to get within a yard of that room without being spotted or killed.”
“I don’t care what you have to do to make this work,” he said angrily. “Both our lives are in peril if you don’t finish the job tonight. Memnon entrusted me with this task, and he will not allow us to fail.”
Ravenmane crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. So Memnon had threatened Brandewulf to kill the king. It made perfect sense. She imagined that in order for Brandewulf to usurp the throne of Aldron smoothly, he needed the Draknoir leader’s blessing. But he’d only receive that if he successfully killed Alfryd, the thorn in Nasgothar’s side. Memnon loved to manipulate others to his ends. She’d seen him do it for years by treating his generals like pawns on a chess board, ready to be sacrificed for his greater purposes. His manipulative nature had never bothered her because she’d never experienced it herself. But now as she contemplated killing a sovereign with her own hands just to advance the political clout of Brandewulf, the realization hit her: she was just another pawn in Memnon’s game.
The truth of the matter angered her, and she balled her hands into fists involuntarily. Still, was it altogether bad that she was being used to deal a fatal blow to Aldron? The Aldronians killed her mother and caused Rekk considerable anguish through his exile. Conflicting emotions tore at her like claws rending flesh.
Brandewulf watched her impatiently.
“Are you going to do this or not? I don’t think Memnon would be pleased to know you were having second thoughts,” he said finally.
Her eyes burned into him. In another time or place, she’d stab the arrogant noble in the neck.
She sighed and let her shoulders droop in defeat. The task of killing Alfryd was unavoidable. Memnon had already made that clear. Normally she would jump at the opportunity to serve the Draknoir lord, but something within her hesitated. Maybe it was the fact that she knew he had manipulated her into doing his bidding.
She had no choice.
“Fine, I’ll kill him,” she said resignedly.
Brandewulf smirked. “Yes, you will. But how?” he said in a challenging tone.
Ravenmane crossed the room and pulled out a dagger hidden beneath her bed. She twirled it between her fingers until she saw Brandewulf grow uneasy.
“I’ve killed many men before, Brandewulf. I’m sure I can find a way to kill another one.”
*
The moon was bright in the pitch black sky, shining soft rays of light on Gilead Palace. In the courtyard, three guards walked in turns along the palace walls. On the palace wall adjacent to the courtyard, half a dozen guards stood on the battlements at least twenty yards apart from each other, peering outside at the city of Aldron.
Dressed in a close-fitting black outfit, Ravenmane studied the guards’ movements in the shadows. She pulled her hood over head and skulked along the walls of the castle, watching every movement in the courtyard.
A guard in the courtyard neared the end of his beat at the entrance to the main level of the castle. She stood only a few feet from him, but she was well-trained in the art of concealment. In the cover of darkness, she stood motionless, waiting for the guard to begin the next leg of his beat toward the end of the cobblestone courtyard. Once he did, she moved further along the wall toward the northeast tower, which was a few yards away.
Up on the fifth level of the tower, she saw the large rectangular window of King Alfryd’s bedchamber. It would be an ambitious climb, but she’d endured worse. Her eyes darted every few seconds to the guards on the battlements, but their watchful gaze was focused outside the palace to any possible intruders. Still, no harm in being cautious.
As she neared the tower, another guard rounded the corner of the structure and she froze in place. He was walking closer to the outer palace wall than his compatriots, and in a few feet would see her easily. Ravenmane cursed under her breath, then slipped her dagger from the sheath on her belt. Though she didn’t mind taking the life of a worthless Aldronian guard, doing so would increase her chances of being caught if someone found the body.
Options ran through her mind as she contemplated the best course of action. She could double back and wait for the guard to turn back the way he came, but there was no guarantee he would, or that her movements would be completely concealed. Distracting the guard with a noise by way of throwing a rock in the opposite direction was also out of the question. He was too close, and any motion would be obvious even in the relative darkness of her position. So she waited, dagger drawn, for the guard to be close enough for her to kill him.
The guard approached slowly, often looking toward the outer wall where his friends were standing. Then inexplicably the guard turned around and headed back the way he came. He sat down by the foot of the tower and yawned.
Blast it, he’s going to nap! Ravenmane thought angrily.
In a few minutes, the man had closed his eyes and fallen asleep. The guards on the battlements didn’t notice him, and neither did the guards in the courtyard due to the distance and darkness.
She could still kill him. He’d certainly made the task easier. But she opted to make her way toward the tower as quietly as possible and remain undetected.
Once she was within a foot of the sleeping guard, she tucked her dagger back in its sheath and looked up to assess the climb ahead of her. The window was at least a hundred or more feet above the ground. The stone wall was roughly hewn, and contained plenty of handholds and footholds on its uneven surface. Her main concern was whether or not her movements could be seen by the guards on the battlements. They hardly moved from their positions, but if one of them should change their shift and see her peripherally, the alarm would be raised. Thankfully, the moonlight was hitting the other side of the tower and casting a long shadow on the side she would be climbing.
Taking a deep breath, she found a handhold above her and hoisted herself up quietly. The guard near her snored contentedly, none the wiser to the events that were taking place right above him.
Her initial climb was easy enough, and she quickly realized that her arms were not as strong as they used to be. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d engaged in such an ambitious climb, and hated herself for not keeping up her strength.
When she reached the midway point of the tower, the cold wind of the autumn season picked up and sent a chill through her body. Her fingers grew numb as she ascended further, grabbing another handhold above her. Placing her right foot in a narrow cleft in the stonework, she pulled herself up and planted her left foot in another foothold.
Suddenly her foot slipped on the stone, sending bits of rock to the ground below. She gripped the handholds to steady herself, then looked down below to see if the guard had awakened. The rocky fragments that were hurled down were not large enough to create a noisy impact, but they did cause the guard to stir. Her heartbeat raced as the guard yawned himself awake, then stood from the ground. Don’t look up, she thought. The guard began pacing, now toward the other side of the tower, continuing on the track he had neglected to guard for the last few minutes.
She reached the bottom ledge of the king’s windowsill and grabbed the smooth stone with her right hand. Easing herself up, she peeked inside. There was no glass shielding the opening. Instead a thick curtain covered the window from the elements and provided privacy. But through it Ravenmane could still see the warm glow of a fireplace. She listened for any voices, but heard nothing except the crackling of the flames in the hearth and the quiet footsteps of the guards below.
The faint snore of someone inside roused her to action. She carefully tugged at the curtain, pulling it aside so she could see the interior without obstruction.
The room was devoid of any movement save for the flickering fire, which was nearly down to the embers. Looking to her right, she spied a four-post bed and a figure sleeping within it. She pulled herself onto the windowsill and creeped inside, ready for the next part of her plan.
CHAPTER 16
OLD FRIENDS
Lucius ran through the halls of Gilead Palace, sprinting to find his room in the maze of the grand castle. He’d followed Brother Elendon back here, but the priest was on an errand to perform last rites for King Alfryd should the monarch perish. He wanted to join the cleric and offer condolences to Silas, but the guards were afraid to allow anyone not sanctioned to see the king into his bedchamber. So Lucius climbed up one of the dozens of staircases to the second floor and searched frantically for his room. Every hall looked identical to the last: polished marble floors with old paintings hanging on the walls. He passed a pair of guards who stopped him abruptly and demanded to know his business inside the castle. After stating his name, they quickly bowed and allowed him through. It seemed the news of his true identity had already spread through the palace. He hurried down another hallway to his left and passed a suite of rooms when he recognized a large porcelain vase on a wooden table close to his room. Walking another ten paces, he saw the bedroom door slightly ajar.
Gauntlet of Iniquity (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 2) Page 15
