by Dove Winters
“They’ll keep them out of the castle. We have the time we need to stop Ulric. He has much to pay for,” Rayner says.
“And he shall,” Liam says.
I put a hand on Vian again and look him squarely in the eye. “Go with Rayner and get out! Newrock can’t survive without one of us to take the throne.”
I can tell he wants to join the fight, but he reluctantly follows Rayner away. We follow them down the stairs and watch as they run down the corridor heading to the back of the castle. We’re about to go up again when a door down the corridor opens. Someone runs out and in the direction Vian went.
“Ferrant!” I scream. He spins around, the weapon in his hand swinging in the air. A wave of fear shoots through me; he’s holding a mace, the spiked ball swinging off the chain connecting it to the club. We’re ready for the attack, but when he sees us, he turns and flees.
“He’s after Vian,” Liam says. We don’t hesitate to follow. We take the stairs down, Ferrant running into the Great Hall. Close to the entryway now, we can hear a commotion. I stop running and look back.
“They’ve gotten through the door!” I say.
“I’ll go check on them. You guys go after Ferrant!” Ward turns and runs away. Reluctant to leave him alone in a fight, I start to follow. But then I stop. We can’t let Ferrant get to Vian. There are too many people for me to protect on my own and I’m torn. Is this what my father felt like every time he looked at the people? What he felt like every time I snuck out?
We rush into the Great Hall, but don’t make it far.
“Ginny! Watch out!” Liam jumps in front of me and tips up a table in the room to shield us. Ferrant has swung his mace, and the spiked ball hits and splinters the table, knocking Liam backwards into me. We recover just in time for Liam to push me out of the way again as the mace hits the wall where I was. We have our swords, but facing the mace, I feel greatly outmatched.
“Your reign is over, Virginia! You can surrender and live. Ulric will have mercy on you,” Ferrant says.
“Like he had on my parents?” I ask. My eyes narrow. “How long were you planning that attack? What did Ulric give you for carrying out his deeds?”
Ferrant lunges at us and swings again.
Grabbing a piece of the table to use as a shield, Liam runs into the fight. There’s little our swords can do against a mace; dodging it seems to be our only defense. Liam makes a thrust at Ferrant’s torso, but the swinging mace forces him to jump back and his aim falters. I think he’s made it in time, but one of the spikes catches his shirt and rips it from his chest. I try not to imagine what it would have done if the spike had hit flesh as I rush to help him.
My strike lands a slash across Ferrant’s arm, but it doesn’t sink deep enough to make him drop the mace. Instead he swings at me with speed, forcing me backwards. I catch his mace with my sword and to my dismay, the blade shatters, leaving me with just a hilt. I throw it at him and turn to flee, jumping up on one of the long tables and running across it. Ferrant follows and takes a swing at my legs, which I jump over and keep running. Liam attacks him from behind and diverts his attention long enough for me to get away, but there aren’t any other swords here and I can’t leave Liam on his own.
There are some serving platters on a small table to the side and I grab one and run back across the table. I make to hit him with it, but he sees me and pushes me backwards with his free hand, knocking me completely off the table. I hit a couple of chairs on the way down, but quickly recover. I look just in time to see the mace catch Liam’s sword and send it flying across the room. We’re both unarmed now, save the platter I still hold. I hurl it at Ferrant so Liam can make a run for his sword and I follow him. We only make it to the end of the table before Ferrant catches up.
“This fight is over!” He stands above us on the table. When he swings, I throw myself to the ground. Liam grabs the chair in front of us and deflects the blow; the chair crumbles, while I scan the ground for any sign of the sword Liam lost. Ferrant circles his arm back to strike again, then cries out. The mace drops to the ground and he grabs his bleeding hand.
“Marguerite!” I yell. She’s standing behind him, sword at the ready, Ward on the ground with a sword as well. His mace lost, Ferrant draws his sword and attacks Marguerite. Ward jumps onto the table to defend her, finally giving me a chance to get to Liam’s lost sword. Liam grabs the mace and swings it at Ferrant’s feet, pulling his legs out from under him and ending the fight. He leaps onto the table and steps on Ferrant’s wrist, applying pressure until he drops his sword. Now weaponless and surrounded, Ferrant starts talking.
“I was captured! I was threatened with my life! King Ulric promised me life and a high position if I helped him. I didn’t raise the sword against your parents!” he yells. His voice quivers. I put my blade to his throat.
“But you helped set them up!” I say.
“I had to! Otherwise he would have had me killed.” Ferrant puts his hands together like he’s praying. “Your father was merciful! He would understand where I was trapped! I don’t deserve my position, but I deserve to live! I was loyal to your father!”
“A loyal officer would have died rather than put his king in harm’s way. You’re nothing but a coward and you’ll suffer like one. Where’s Ulric?” I stare down at the groveling creature unworthy of calling a man. I’m so disgusted by him my hand quivers on the sword.
“I don’t know. He fled the balcony and I haven’t seen him since,” Ferrant says. I push the blade harder against him. He flinches. “I don’t know!”
Footsteps echo through the castle as Borin and a group of the Thumbstole villagers rush in.
“Etigan’s army is outside the gate. What do you need us to do?” Borin asks.
“Take this thing and chain him into the dungeon,” I say. I look at Ferrant. “Death would be a convenient way to escape punishment, and you won’t. But I’ll deal with you when this is over and I sit on the throne. Meanwhile, I have to find Ulric.”
“I saw him! I saw his face in the high tower!” one of the villagers says.
I turn to Liam. “The Reflection Room!”
Without another word, we bolt up the stairs.
Twenty-seven
My heart races as we run up the stairs. We’re careful around every corner, but we see no one until we reach the stairs of the Reflection Room. Ulric’s personal guards are there and they fight without asking questions. They seem more preoccupied with Liam than with me, and glancing up, I see Ulric on the stairs. We meet eyes and he runs. Ward and Borin join in the fight, and since they’re there to help Liam, I run after Ulric.
An intense yearning pumps through my veins and drowns out the sounds around me. I’m focused on getting to Ulric and on ending this fight and nothing else. I reach the top of the stairs and enter the room at a run with sword ready. I can hear each breath I take, each beat of my heart. I match my steps to their rhythm and go.
He’s on the balcony. I’m running to him, my sword raised, my gaze steady, when his arm rises and lowers quickly. A sudden, piercing blow to the gut sends me reeling backwards into the wall. I hit the stone and my legs go out from under me. My hand flies to my abdomen, strokes the handle of the blade stuck in there. A handle I recognize without having to see it. My dagger, given to Vian and stolen from him, now one with me. Surprisingly, there’s no pain, though I suspect there will be later. But there is blood; it streaks my white dress and warms my hand.
I can’t seem to move. A shadow is over me; Ulric, with a grin. His booted foot kicks my hand still holding the sword and I hear the ting of the blade as it slides out of my line of sight. He walks away and there’s a click as the door is locked, strangely loud in my ears. I hear words, though they’re muffled, like if my head was under water.
“All too easy, as I thought it would be. I’m very sorry, my dear. You’re a very beautiful young lady. With proper care and training, you may even have made a good queen someday. You have the history of a troublemaker, but some
times that willingness to bend the rules makes for a good leader.” Ulric steps away as he speaks, back onto the balcony. “What a beautiful view. I’m rather fond of Newrock. As a matter of fact, when my plan is through, I may retire here. See, I have a plan to carry out. Taking over Etigan and Newrock is just the beginning. Next will come Windem. They are planning to attack me, but I have the upper hand. With our joined forces, I’ll overthrow their king easily. I have spies there. I know the ins and outs of their castle. I know many of their secrets. And once they fall, only Kensar will remain and that will be an easy job. Five kingdoms, reduced to four, soon to be one. Under my rule.” Ulric looks at me and I try to meet his eyes, but everything seems so blurry and tinged with red. He continues talking, letting me bleed, letting me weaken.
“Do you know that I am not a rightful Etigan heir? Neither is Liam, you know, nor was his father. The line of Etigan was tainted long ago. A commoner, unhappy with the king, overthrew him and took his place. It is his line that bore my brother and I and Liam. We have no blood relation to the Etigan knight. Not many people know that. But it’s written in history. Either way. I will soon begin a new line that will rule over this country as one. A fresh start.” Ulric takes a deep breath. “I am very sorry to end your life. Your life, and that of your brother, which, sadly, will follow. Life is a beautiful thing, and you are both so young. But you are just one of many stepping stones on my quest. As was Declan, the beloved brother. And Liam’s older brothers. They both died very young, both in unfortunate accidents. My brother spent years believing his line was cursed, but it was all me.”
I’m listening to Ulric’s words, sickened by his confessions, my head screaming foul things at him that my mouth can’t seem to release. But the light of the setting sun catches my attention. It’s shining on the faces of my painted parents. My gaze drifts to them and I meet eyes with my father. I silently apologize to him for letting him down. I tell him I was right when I said I couldn’t do this. In my head, I hear his voice arguing with me. Telling me to get up. He reminds me that the Knight of Newrock’s sword is mine for the taking when I prove myself worthy.
The painted sword. That’s what caught my eye. It glints in the sunlight. How does paint glint like solid gold?
My father’s voice in my head. Grab the sword!
I gather my legs under me and try to push myself up. Now there’s pain, piercing, stinging pain that radiates from the dagger’s blade and shoots through my body. My legs are numb, mere thoughts below me, and I slip in the blood that has pooled on the ground. I catch myself on my free hand, keeping one on the dagger’s handle to hold it steady; it can’t leave me yet. Instead, I begin to crawl. It takes all of my will to not cry out in agony, but I won’t give Ulric the pleasure of hearing me whine. Instead, I focus on my goal, and am blindsided by sudden memory flashes that come to me.
It starts with Vian. His small face pleading at me for protection.
His loving embrace when we met in the corridor.
That look he gave me when I let him down.
I can hear them screaming my name. Liam and Ward. They’re banging on the door, but they can’t get in. The door is locked and I’m on the wrong side of it.
More flashbacks.
Ward dancing beside me, sloshing his drink, his laughter filling my mind.
The look on Ward’s face when we told him our plan to make him my maid.
Monroe’s little smile when I tickled his chin.
Marguerite’s determination when she saved us from Ferrant.
The memory flashes help numb the pain as I move. Is my life flashing before my eyes? Does that mean I’m dying?
My cheeks flush with heat; Liam’s lips on mine.
The taste of his mouth, soft and warm.
His weight holding me still when he disarmed me the first time we met.
The feel of his hands on my back.
Liam. If I don’t make it, neither will he. I keep pulling myself.
Ulric is watching me as I scrape across the floor like a maimed dog. The cold stone. Another feeling creeping into my memories. The cold stone of the dungeon. Suddenly, I remember clearly. The hand on my head. It was in the dungeon that night my father locked me away. I was passed out from mead, my cheek lying against the cold stone. Father came in and put a hand on my head.
His words. You’re better than this. They can doubt you all they want—I know you’re better than this. They don’t think you’ll ever make it as a leader.
I pull myself forward. One more pull to the fireplace.
My father had put his head close to my ear. Was his voice quivering? Prove them wrong! You are my daughter, and I love you. Prove them wrong!
I’ve reached the fireplace.
“You’re a brave girl. More so than I gave you credit for.” I hear a blade being drawn. Ulric’s blade, studded with green emeralds. Emerald green like Liam’s eyes. “I’m afraid we’ve reached the end though. I won’t make you suffer.”
I pull myself up on the stones, willing my legs to support me. They tingle and stab, but they hold me up. I raise my eyes to see that my suspicion was correct, yet I still marvel at what I’m seeing.
The painting was placed around an indentation in the wall. It looks like my father’s hand rests just above the sword in his belt. But the sword is real, stuck in the wall and reflecting the light from the setting sun. Why have I never noticed it before? I never looked closely enough.
It calls to me now.
I am worthy.
The final strike is coming. With a sudden burst of strength, I wrap my hand around the hilt and yank the sword from the wall. Half a sword, the blade broken by the sword of the Etigan knight in a decisive battle won by my ancestor.
Now, that same half-sword catches Ulric’s blade, stopping its intended path. I meet eyes with him and see a look of fear flash through them. He knows the story of the knights, too.
“I am from the line of Newrock, and this kingdom will never be yours!” I say with conviction, and with the strength given to me from the sword, I push him away from me. He stumbles backwards, and I attack before he can recover. I catch his blade once, then a second time; the third time his blade goes down, I slash my broken blade across his hand and he drops his. I continue to swing at him until he’s backed onto the balcony. He makes a grab for the dagger still in my gut, but I deflect him and cut his other hand. I thrust my blade for his chest and miss, and he grabs my wrist. We’re struggling against the parapet, the loose stones giving way to the pressure and opening a hole in the wall with us teetering on the edge. My vision is beginning to darken, as if someone is pulling a shadow over my eyes. I don’t know how much longer I can maintain consciousness. Below, I can see outlines of people, and wonder if they’ll watch me die.
Then it happens. My left hand is sliding along the stones, looking for something to hold on to so I don’t fall over with Ulric’s tugging. And I finger something that shouldn’t be there, but is. An empty bottle. Unable to form coherent thoughts anymore, I grab the bottle and shatter it over Ulric’s crown. He stumbles and disappears over the edge, bringing sudden relief to the tension on my arm. I feel myself falling, into the darkness that now surrounds me, and I surrender to my fate.
Only I don’t fall. There are shouts and voices and hands, followed by thorny vines of pain that choke the breath from me.
Life grows quiet and warm.
One last vague recollection. Liam’s shirtless torso against my face, the feeling of my skin on his skin.
Twenty-eight
Three months pass in a blur. The memories fade in and out, tainted with pain and mead. My first real memory is Joannes’ voice. I only catch bits and pieces of the conversation, but I think it is Liam he speaks to, the voices still muffled.
“I can only do so much for the pain...”
“She’s lucky I got through that door…”
“We’ll just have to watch her. I just don’t know…”
“I told her that dagger would never kil
l anyone…”
There is blackness for a long time. Then slowly, growing from the darkness like a thorned weed, the pain begins; hot and burning and stabbing. I recall a voice crying out in agony and I think it’s mine. Someone holding down my arms and legs. A rotten smell in my nose. Sweet mead pouring into my mouth and erasing reality.
The darkness begins to clear. But waking up means facing the pain. Thankfully, I have a best friend named Ward, and he comes daily with bottles of mead or ale or wine. Joannes and Liam complain at him, but the stupor the drinks put me in relieves the pain.
Eventually everything begins to wind down. I start walking on my own. I spend more time awake, and Liam sees to it that I spend less time drinking. I feel my strength begin to return and I ask what happened.
Ulric fell from the balcony merely inches away from the second balcony below it. I almost followed, but Liam managed to kick the door in and get to me before I went completely over. Ward tells me I was fortunate to be unconscious at the time so as not to have witnessed Ulric’s end. I disagree. After what Ulric told me on the balcony, I wish I had been awake. I inform Liam of the things Ulric confessed to, including the murders of his two older brothers. I know it hurts to hear it, but I know it’s important that Liam know his family’s only curse was having Ulric in it. In his anger, it’s Liam that gives the order to end Ferrant for his betrayal, to both Newrock and Etigan.
Liam also returns my dagger, cleaned and polished, and it goes back to my leg where it belongs.
