She Dies at the End

by A. M. Manay

  “You don't say?” Shiloh snorted, equally grim. She pulled out her wand. Hatch’s was already in his hand, glowing with white fire.

  “They must be close, right? Weather spells don't travel far,” Shiloh observed.

  “Aye. And they must be close enough to board before we sink, if they hope to take Lady Esta alive,” Hatch added.

  Around them, sailors ran frantically, preparing the ship for the oncoming storm. The captain emerged on deck, and Hatch waved him over.

  “Call battle stations,” Hatch told him.

  “Are you mad?” the captain sputtered, until the red lightening made another appearance. He swallowed. “Battle stations it is, sir.”

  The first drops of rain splattered onto Shiloh’s face. The swells grew higher, and the ship began to rock. Shiloh’s stomach lurched in time with it.

  “You know Kirkland’s Spell of Revelation?” Hatch asked.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  “I'll calm the seas. You find their vessel,” Hatch ordered.

  She looked up to the crow’s nest. She knew it would take her an age to climb up there, but it would give her the best view in all directions. She sighed, hating to reveal one of her new tricks so soon, but there was nothing for it.

  Holding her wand aloft, she bent her knees deeply and called out a spell in Estan as she leapt. A moment later, she landed lightly in the crow’s nest. Looking down, she saw Hatch throw back his head and laugh, then turned her attention to her task.

  She began on the starboard side, aiming her magic in a line that began just off the deck rail and extended into the distance several hundred yards. When nothing appeared, she turned about ten degrees and repeated the process. It was exhausting work, sustaining the magic for so long. At least Hatch had been successful at calming the water, so her precarious perch ceased its terrifying lurching.

  Luck was with her, and a small, swift vessel appeared out of thin air. Quickly, she bound it, lest it disappear anew. The ship shuddered as cannons began firing beneath her, now that they had a target.

  She pulled up the hood of her cloak, but her hair had already been soaked by the pelting rain. She turned her mind to setting a ward over the ship, assuming the fire would be returned.

  The water between the dueling vessels glowed bright with the light of the curses now flying back and forth, as every sorcerer on board took aim at their attacker. She could make out Lord Mosspeak himself throwing curses off the starboard bow, his maroon hat perched atop his head.

  Remembering her riding instructor's advice, she cast the ward she had modified to dissipate energy. The ship barely rocked when her shield lit up with the impact of incoming curses and cannonballs.

  Whoever was casting wards for their opposition had not been so skillful. She watched the smaller vessel tip so far over on its side that its mast nearly touched the waves. She felt a twinge of pity as she spotted men tumbling helplessly into the water. The shield around the ship flickered and disappeared. Its caster must be among the drowning, Shiloh realized.

  Those who managed to cling to wood or rope resumed their attack when the ship righted itself. No one spared a moment’s attention to the men in the drink. Shiloh realized she had been spotted when a volley of sickly yellow hexes traced an arc high in the sky and began to fall upon her nest.

  Clingfire. She knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the curses with a repelling ward. They would simply slide off to seek another target, then attach themselves firmly until whatever they managed to snare was nothing but ashes. That’s what made it such a terrible curse in battle. Instead, she created a basket ward, as large a one as she could manage, and caught each ball of hissing light as it fell, holding them aloft high above the ship where they could do no harm. Her eyes roved, seeking the caster of the difficult and dangerous magic.

  She spotted him quickly. She could see his mouth moving as he repeated the curse again and again. The man stood clinging to the mast with one arm; the one holding his wand pointed straight at Shiloh. She hoped that his concentration on destroying her meant that he was neglecting his own protections, but she knew he must have some personal wards up, even if the one around his ship had failed. He was obviously no fool. So, instead of attacking him directly, she went after the sails. She cut every rope she could see, and the rigging collapsed upon all who stood below.

  When the hail of hexes stopped, their caster too tangled up to continue, Shiloh drew the basket down into the waves and quenched the curses in the salt water far below. She saw that Mosspeak and the others were taking advantage of the pandemonium on their enemy ship to send curse after curse across the water. No one returned fire. They’re doomed.

  Trusting that she was now reasonably safe, Shiloh turned her attention to probing for another hidden vessel, just in case. When she found it, it was just off the port bow, casting hooks to board while all were distracted fighting off the attacker on the starboard side.

  Shiloh rained down red fire upon it, drawing Hatch’s attention to the stealth attack. Trusting him to handle it, she continued searching, but she found no additional enemy vessels. By the time she was satisfied that their little fleet was now alone in the water, the battle was in its final stages.

  It looked like the smaller vessels accompanying their own had taken a bit of damage, but the flag ship was unharmed, save a few scratches. She watched the enemy ships sink beneath the waves while she herself sank to her knees, her strength exhausted. The rain had stopped, and the setting sun lit the now clear sky in pinks and purples.

  She wasn't sure how long she had been curled up in the nest before Hatch’s head appeared over the side of the perch, his hair plastered to his head and his eyes wild.

  “You in one piece, there, little bird?”

  She lifted her head with effort. “I think so. But I'm so tired,” she managed. “I don't think I can climb down,” she confessed.

  “Or fly down?” he teased. “How long were you going to keep that trick a secret?”

  “Until I needed it,” she admitted, smiling weakly. “And it wasn't flying. It's more like leaping. And it's much easier to go up than down, I've discovered. What, you don’t keep up with the Estan journals? I thought you were a man of science.”

  He laughed. “I must be behind. I'll get someone to come carry you down. He'll probably smell terrible, but he won't drop you. I think the sailors are going to make you their new mascot. We didn't lose a man on our ship, thanks to that ward. What was that?”

  “I adapted Gilbert’s Ward to dissipate energy. I take it that I'm not bad luck anymore?” she replied tartly.

  “Evidently not,” Hatch replied. “They’re liable to carve your likeness into some wood and strap it to the prow. The other ships lost a few men, but not this one.”

  Silas descended, and Shiloh closed her eyes until a booming voice called, “Your steed, milady.”

  She found an enormous sailor looking down at her, grinning a wide, black-toothed grin.

  “I am much obliged, good sir,” she replied, laughing.

  The man reached over and helped her climb onto his back. She wrapped arms and legs around him, and he clambered down the nets so quickly she barely had time to be frightened. After thanking him, she tried to make her way to her cabin, but the deck was crowded with sailors and passengers. She received a number of claps on the shoulder that nearly sent her sprawling.

  A handful of burly knights crossed her path, dragging enemy survivors down to the ship’s brig. She caught sight of a man who looked like an older version of Daved. As he disappeared into the hold, Silas walked up behind her.

  “Lord Redwood’s eldest son, Bren,” Hatch confirmed. He smiled like a shark. “It is most fortunate that we were able to take him alive.”

  Shiloh shivered. She didn't imagine the young man’s future would be particularly pleasant. “Yes, I suppose that will be useful.”

  “He was on the second boat you revealed, the one trying to board. If it
weren't for you, they might have succeeded in stealing Lady Esta and killing the baby,” he pointed out.

  “I'm glad I was able to be helpful,” she replied. “They aren't going to give up, are they?”

  “No,” Silas replied. “They will make another attack, probably on land. We will arrive at Port Windham on Green Bay tomorrow. We will rest a day or two at nearby Limestone Castle, then press on.”

  Shiloh nodded wearily.

  “Get something hot to eat and go to bed. This was your first real battle. You did well. You earned the respect of the men,” he told her.

  “It wasn't my first battle. Not really. And I didn't have to kill anybody tonight. Not directly,” she countered softly. For a moment, she could smell Feralfolk burning. Before Silas could reply, she disappeared into the hatch leading to her shared quarters.

  ***

  “Let's be frank, my lord,” Silas began. He took a long swallow of red wine before continuing. “Your life is already over. You were caught attempting to board a royal ship, intent on committing crimes against the daughters of the king of Bryn. Three knights in the king’s livery lost their lives today in battle. That is an act of war upon the crown. You have committed treason. Barring an enormous change of fortune, you will be executed for that crime. But not all deaths are the same, my lord.”

  Bren said nothing.

  “The Lord’s Council has passed a new bill setting out the punishment for treason. It is rather too gruesome for my tastes, but alas, I am not lord and could not vote against it. I'm not sure how much you are able to keep up with events in the City whilst skulking around plotting to harm little girls, so perhaps you are unfamiliar with the details.” Silas continued.

  Bren ground his teeth, but still said nothing.

  “Whipping, followed by castration, then disembowelment, then burning. Then the remains are to be thrown into the sewer. Wait, I nearly forgot the part where they chop of your head at the end and stick it on a pike. There might also be something in there about being ripped to pieces by four horses. At any rate, in my view, it is slightly excessive, even for treason, but what do I know?

  “Now, if you were to show your repentance, perhaps the king would have mercy. A nice, clean, dignified beheading. A proper burial. Perhaps you might earn some consideration for your brothers. Your father. You know, it would be a shame if young Daved had to suffer for your sins.”

  At last, Bren found his voice. “Daved has nothing to do with any of this. He is just a boy. You know that. You’ve had him locked up for months.”

  “I know. Such a good lad. I would like to save him,” Hatch acknowledged sadly. “Perhaps he might be able to keep some property, even. If your father and brothers can be rounded up without further loss of life.”

  “We’re not traitors. I was merely seeking to save my betrothed from being harmed by the whore who has bewitched our rightful king, enticing him into violating the law of the Gods,” Bren argued.

  “Your betrothed, is she? The king has not approved such an arrangement for Lady Esta. You think so little of our sovereign, do you?” Hatch asked, scribbling notes. “You think he cannot protect his beloved daughter from his own wife? You think he would permit such villainy in the bosom of his family? Since when can noblemen and women become betrothed without the permission of the king? You’re building up a list of offenses a mile long, my lord. A mile long.”

  ***

  “My lady,” Silas said with a bow, “I am pleased to report that the vessel is now secure. We will be back underway shortly.”

  “Splendid,” Lady Esta replied, looking green.

  Her ladies were still huddled around her in fear. Baby Loor was the only one who seemed unfazed, sleeping peacefully in her nurse’s arms.

  “Who attacked us?” Esta asked, tilting her chin upward.

  Silas smiled inwardly at her attempt to look regal. “Lord Redwood’s eldest son led the brigands. He seems to be under the impression the two of you are engaged to be married. But that would be impossible, of course. Illegal, even.”

  Esta turned a touch greener. “Obviously,” she replied. “I assure you I have nothing to do with Lord Redwood’s schemes.”

  “Perish the thought, my lady,” Silas replied. “I never imagined you did. I simply assumed your late mother failed to keep you apprised of her treasonous plans.”

  “I am still a child, but I am not an idiot,” Esta spat. “I know that were Redwood to place me on the throne, it would be to suit his own ends, so he could rule as my regent. Then he would marry me to his son, and my reign would never be my own. And just as soon as I produced an heir and a spare, I would no longer be of any use to them. I am not foolish enough to trust a traitor, Master Hatch.”

  “I’m glad we are of the same mind on the topic of Lord Redwood,” Hatch said with another bow.

  Esta nodded. “What about my sister? How do we protect her?”

  Hatch grinned. “Princess Loor is already at Fountain Bluff. That baby is not your sister,” he informed her, cocking his head toward the bassinet. “The princess was sent ten days ago, in secret, with a group of my own guards and women disguised as itinerant merchants. We had word before we sailed that she has arrived safely.”

  She studied him closely. “How clever. Whose baby is that, then, whose life we risk on this voyage?”

  “Mosspeak’s bastard,” Hatch replied. “We shall protect the child, my lady, I assure you. But Lord Mosspeak understands his duty to this kingdom and the consequences of failure.”

  “Does my father know what happened this night?” she asked.

  “I have sent word. He should know by morning. If he wishes us to turn back, or to send Lord Bren to Greenhill Palace, he will send a message to Limestone Castle. We will rest there a few nights.”

  Esta studied him for a long moment. “Just how narrow was my escape tonight, Master Hatch?”

  “It was a near thing, my lady. Were it not for Dame Shiloh’s help, Lord Mosspeak and I may have failed in our charge,” he admitted.

  “Hmm. Then it seems that I’m not the only one who had a narrow escape.”

  Chapter 15

  The Right One

  “To continue would be madness,” Edmun asserted, “and yet she refuses to negotiate terms.”

  Silas stood silent in a corner, listening to his superiors debate the next move, outside of their queen’s earshot. She had insisted on being alone and undisturbed, with only her maid, which had given her men a moment to plot in private. He leaned against the wall, nearly drowning in dismay. For three years, they had fought. For three years, he had killed and spied for the cause. Now, it seemed to be ending in defeat, all that killing and suffering for nothing. As much as that thought grieved him, the idea of continuing to battle grieved him more.

  Lord Blackmine confessed grimly, “I am hard pressed to keep my men from deserting. I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

  “And with Chief Keegan gone missing with his men,” Brother Tomah added, “We will not stand up to another assault.”

  “Keegan,” Edmun spat. “Aligning with that Godsless savage was our greatest mistake.”

  “Agreed,” Blackmine replied. “But he was her mistake, not ours.”

  “The best any of us can hope for, at this point, is comfortable exile. I don’t trust Rischar, nor Mirin, to abide by any pardons or terms of surrender. We should make for the Estan border, the lot of us,” Brother Tomah proposed. “I’d rather die in the saddle than wait here for the hangman.”

  “She will never agree to that,” Edmun countered. “I’ve tried to tell her that alive in exile, there is still a chance to fight another day. Who knows? Rischar could die without issue tomorrow, and her claim will remain.”

  “But she insists on continuing to fight,” Blackmine concluded grimly. “And with our numbers reduced, all we have left on our side is the darkest of magic. And if that is the plan, then I . . . I will no longer be a party to such atrocities.”


  “The worst of the curses have come from the other side,” Bishop Devan insisted.

  “Regardless, I have no interest in rendering Bryn barren and empty. If she refuses to negotiate terms, my men and I will surrender without them,” Blackmine asserted.

  “You’ll lose your head,” Edmun cautioned. “Better to flee and allow your men to scatter.”

  They were interrupted by a knock. Vivi, Queen Alissa’s maid, opened the door and peered through the gap. “She wants Silas,” she said. Her voice trembled. Before Silas could follow, she ran back down the hall like a frightened rabbit.

  Silas pulled himself upright and made to obey, each step heavy and slow. It was hard for him to believe how much he had once admired Alissa.

  Poll stood guard outside her door. He was a giant of a man. The troops called him the Boulder. No one could seem to touch him on the battlefield. Rischar’s men were terrified of the creature.

  “Poll,” Silas greeted him, nodding. Poll stepped aside, ax in hand, and allowed him to enter.

  Alissa lay in bed, holding something. A pile of bloody linen sat on the floor. Vivi lay crumpled in the corner. Her chest was still. Silas looked around, wordless and wide-eyd, until he heard a baby’s cry.

  “Oh, my Gods,” he breathed. “What have you done?”

  Alissa laughed bitterly. “I should think that would be quite clear.”

  “You killed Vivi,” he whispered.

  “She saw too much. No one can know I gave birth to a hexborn baby,” the queen explained with an exaggerated patience, as if Silas were slow.

  “Keegan—” Silas began.

  “My husband does not know. Why do you think I sent him to fight in the south months ago? I couldn’t risk his finding out. It would have broken his heart and the alliance, both,” Alissa sighed.

  “You’ve hidden a pregnancy all this time? Why didn’t you—“

  “Get rid of it? I tried. I was too far along before I realized,” she admitted. “My courses have never been predictable. And I thought there might be a chance for it to be healthy . . . But there wasn’t. I want you to kill it, sneak it out, and bury it.”