“Your mother would be proud,” a foreign voice hisses through the darkness of the cavern, a pair of yellowish green eyes glowing to life in the darkest corner of the space. “Shall we put your convictions to the test?”
Chapter 6
“Not so hard!” Helena growls, shoving at the doctor’s hands as he prods her ribs. “Look, I realize it’s the night before the big test, but I’ve had enough healers, and I see no reason to bring in a doctor!”
“It’s the standard procedure,” Ithel explains once more, clenching his jaw to keep from lashing out at Helena’s persistent objections. “Alaric wants—”
“I know, I know! You’ve told me a hundred times already,” Helena snaps, rolling her eyes as she turns her head away from the doctor, unable to look at his familiar face. “The king wants a doctor to declare that I am medically cleared for this impossible task he’s put before me. Never mind the fact that nobody has ever survived the cursed thing.”
“Don’t think about that,” Ithel snipes, tossing a towel at my face.
But why did he have to send in Pryce? Helena laments, turning her eyes back to the aged physician sitting on a stool in front of her, calmly listening to her bickering. His hair is whiter than it used to be, and the grooves in his forehead look a little more etched and defined, but other than that, the years have been good to you, old friend. A lump swells in Helena’s throat as she waits for Pryce to begin his examination.
“I’d recognize that voice anywhere.” Pryce leans forward, his fingers roaming across Helena’s face, mapping out her features for his blind eyes. “The king finally came to his senses then, Helena? Why have you waited so long to send for me?”
“Not exactly,” Ithel interrupts, dropping a chair beside the bed, the metal legs clacking hard against the marble floor. “She’s got to run the tunnel to earn her freedom, Pryce. You’ve just got to say she’s fit enough for the job.”
“Even though I’ll probably die in the first two minutes of the trial,” Helena snorts, bitter gorge rising in her throat when she forces herself to acknowledge the truth of her words.
“Still doubting your trainer, I see,” Ithel muses from his perch, crossing his arms as he mutters, “I’ve prepared you for the run, Helena. If anyone stands a chance at surviving, it’s you.”
“And you are still faithful at her side, Ithel. Some things are as steady as the sunrise,” Pryce muses as he projects small slivers of energy into Helena’s hands and feet. After a few more pokes and prods, Pryce nods his head once and announces, “Everything appears fine to me. Your bruises will heal on their own, and they aren’t too severe to cause you any discomfort. Ithel is taking it easy with you, it seems.”
“Hardly,” Helena bellows, her heart breaking as she watches Pryce’s face light up with his knowing smile. It is the same smile she recalls shining on his face when he told her she was going to have a child all those years ago. He’d been so excited to share the news with her, so thrilled that the border guards’ barracks would “soon hear the cry of a wee babe.” Look how good that turned out. Helena crumples as she recalls this bittersweet memory, cursing Alaric once more for sending Pryce to her bedside today. No doubt the king purposely orchestrated this moment to rattle Helena’s already shaky nerves.
“Yes, I’d say I’ve been making Helena’s life comfortable and easy,” Ithel jibes, the only sign of mischief in the glittering of his eyes.
Helena’s colorful curses rattle the glass in the windows. Pryce totters off in a fit of laughter, his footing sure despite his blindness. Thankfully, he had enough sense to refrain from asking about the child, Helena thinks to herself, breathing a sigh of relief. I don’t think I’m ready to tell Ithel that part of my story just yet.
The silence lengthens, growing awkward and stale as Helena and Ithel sit in the empty infirmary, waiting for the dawn. Uncomfortable in the emptiness, Ithel shifts in his chair, his cloak draping over his lap as he finds a comfortable position. “Lay back on that table and get some sleep, Helena. We rise before the sun.”
“I need to say this,” Helena responds, pushing herself to sit on the edge of the small frame of her bed so she can look at her guard while she speaks. “My leaving the border guards and hiding in Cassè was never about you.” Helena clears her throat, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to leave you—”
“Helena,” Ithel growls, a hand covering his eyes. “Not now, please.”
“I just could not stand it anymore. Alaric’s corruption and the vileness of his court was more than I could bear. I came out to the border lands in search of truth.” Helena’s chin wobbles, her resolve weakening even as a cold, despising glare shines in Ithel’s eyes. “And instead, I found you.”
“So, I wasn’t enough for you then?” Ithel snaps, gripping the arms of the chair to keep from lashing out at Helena. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? You found me, but I wasn’t enough for you. You still had to run off into that land, into another man’s arms.”
“I had to see for myself what was in Cassè. The border stations still weren’t close enough to fully understand the country over the Devil’s Spine,” Helena replies, rubbing her fingers together to comfort herself as she waits for Ithel to respond. “I just had to be sure that attacking the people in Cassè was right, Ithel. I had to know.”
“Nearly ten years you were gone. You must have been very indecisive.” Ithel leans closer, a fire building in his brilliant eyes. “Ten years of waiting, of not knowing what had happened to you. I spent every day searching for news about you, pestering the guards that crossed over into Cassè for information. Ten years of wondering if you had died, if you had suffered over in that foreign place while I was helplessly waiting for you to come back. Can you even imagine how terrifying it was? And then, to find you the day of the major attack, alive and well with a new man and a daughter, a traitor to your people.”
“I never turned against you or Déchets! I just—” Helena swipes a hand down her cheek, a low groan wheezing from her chest as she struggles to hold herself together. “It was beautiful there, Ithel. Cassè reminded me so much of Déchets that sometimes I’d forget which side of the Devil’s Spine I was on. Nothing Alaric claimed about that place was true, Ithel! Yet we were blindly attacking and killing them, all for the king’s incessant greed. Surely you see that.”
“For someone so concerned about the people, you did not fight for them very hard. I was there the day they caught you, remember? You surrendered and took the iron shackles willingly. You said not a word as we tore the land apart. You didn’t even cry when your new man disintegrated right beside you.” Ithel surges forward in his chair, his nose almost brushing Helena’s as he presses, “Why did you leave your child behind, alone in a world that was falling apart? What were you hoping to accomplish?”
“What else was I going to do, Ithel?” Helena snarls, her fingers clenching into claws as if she is a cat preparing to scratch out the eyes of another predator. “Should I have brought my daughter with me to the prison cell? Would you have her rot in that wretched darkness, or worse still, be a pawn that Alaric used to control my every move?”
“You could have asked me! I would have kept your daughter safe!” Ithel drops back in his chair suddenly, desiring to be as far from Helena’s side as possible, when he whispers, “Did you even once think of me?”
Unnerved by Ithel’s sudden mood swing, Helena moves to the farthest corner of her makeshift bed, lying down and facing away from her guard. “I just wanted to apologize before tomorrow’s trial, Ithel. You are a decent man, and you deserved much better than I could ever have given you.”
“I loved you so,” Ithel breathes so quietly that Helena almost misses the words. “You were my life.”
To repeat the sentiments would only hurt him more. Yes, she had loved Ithel, but in the days he remembers so fondly, her affection was like that of a child loving a favor
ite doll—an easy, superficial devotion. Her life away from the palace had given her the perspective she’d longed for. Her days in his arms at the border station had been glorious yet still sheltered.
Her time in Cassè had been so much harder. Trials and struggles had made her strong. She’d come to look back and appreciate everything Ithel had given her, including the beautiful moonbeam-haired daughter he’d never gotten to see. How bitterly ironic it is to look back on those days now, knowing that while her love for the man she’d left behind was only growing stronger, his affection was turning sour and bitter in her absence.
I should tell him he’s a father, Helena concedes, knowing the words will never be able to escape her lips. Yet that knowledge would accomplish nothing. If we live through tomorrow, I will have plenty of time to tell him the truth. If we don’t survive, it won’t matter anyway. “Sleep. We have lots to endure tomorrow,” Helena finally answers a willpower as strong and unyielding as iron forming in her heart.
Yet no sleep finds Helena, nor does she seek its solace. Silently she watches the stars and moon dance through the sky. Let the rest of the world slumber, she thinks as she traces their patterns in the sky. If this is my last night, it will be passed, savoring every moment of life. She imagines her beautiful daughter as a grown woman, strong and capable of anything. She mourns the loss of the man she’d shared a home with in Cassé, wishing his life could have been spared. She watches Ithel pretend to sleep, mapping the lines on his weathered face, drinking in the sight of his shuttered eyes.
Helena greets the morning sunlight calmly, her thoughts far over the mountains. Today I gain my freedom or—no! She cannot allow herself to consider defeat. Instead, she vows, I will survive the tunnel. I will return to Cassè and find our daughter. I will protect her at any cost.
***
“Attack! Get into the skies!” I bellow down the cavern halls that lead deep into the Pith before the intruder has the chance to move closer to me. “Siri! Ekard! Both of you and Drake get everyone out of here,” I command, reaching for my weapon as I prepare to fight off the enemy. Siri hesitates only long enough to cast one loving glance in my direction before she and the crimson Ddraig hasten off to do as I ask.
“Relax, child,” the strange being mutters as it slinks closer, keeping to the shadows. Its strange eyes glitter yellow and lime green as it moves. The creature’s elongated slit pupils expand to adjust to the darkness, giving the already unusual eyes a creepy, maniacal stare. “I’m not here to harm you,” the distinctly female voice taunts, but I do not believe her words. Brilliant white teeth gleam suddenly as the intruder smiles, and my heart shudders in my chest at the sight.
“Then why do you hide in darkness?” I wonder, keeping my hand on the hilt of my serrated blade. “Unless your words are lies?”
“I’ve been waiting and watching for this moment for a long, long time. But I am not a liar,” the woman’s soft voice hisses as she slinks out of the shadows. Her skin is mostly scales, similar to those of a Ddraig. Iridescent green, black, and gold, she practically shimmers when she moves into the moonlight. Everything about her is ethereal. She watches me with a cold, calculating gaze, her lips pulled into a tight, hostile straight line. My hair raises on end as I watch her creep closer, my feet glued in place. It’s like she has charmed me into submission, forcing me to stand still as she comes close, drawing power from my fear.
“Wh…what do you w…want with me?” I stutter through the question, half afraid that her answer will be that she wants me to die by her hand right here and now.
“I want revenge,” the lady whispers, the word reverberating through the cavern ominously. She stands in front of me now, the long, dark claw-like fingers on her left hand reaching up as if she plans to trace my jawline. “We have a mutual acquaintance, and more importantly, a common enemy,” she explains, her talons hesitating as they hover over my eye. Her smile gleams with malice, and I wonder if it takes a great deal of restraint on her part to keep from digging my eye out of its socket. The thought nearly buckles my knees.
“I…I don’t understand,” I confess, hoping my words don’t frustrate the intruder, causing her to attack. “Please, lady, explain what you mean.”
“My name is Vatusia,” she hisses, leaning close as she inspects the Dadeni lines that trace patterns on my face. “And I knew your mother.”
Surely to the gods, my mother never befriended a monster like you, I think to myself, my face growing pale as the Lady Vatusia begins to laugh. Can you hear my thoughts?
“Of course I can, child. The people in Déchets have spent years perfecting our abilities to see into minds, while you Cassians have been scratching away at the dust, struggling to survive.” Lady Vatusia ignores my sputtering outburst at her revelation, clearly not seeing me as any kind of threat to her safety. She sounds rather bored as she adds, “And you are right; I was never friends with your mother. She was weak, too full of pity and empathy to be useful to me.” Lady Vatusia stalks around me, and I feel like a cow she’s sizing up for the slaughterhouse. “But the real reason I am here is the enemy we share.”
“The king of Déchets?” I ask, guardedly watching her reaction for any signs of deception. She sounded so loyal to that other land just a few moments ago. Was she lying then, or is she lying now?
“I am loyal to my country, not the king,” Lady Vatusia snarls, turning hostile. Yet, almost as swiftly as her fury awakens, it fades into nothing more than a tight smile and a frigid stare. “Alaric and his war mean nothing to me or my people.”
“What do you know of the king and his plans?” I wonder, hoping I can glean some useful information from the lady before she attacks me. No matter how I imagine this interlude, it always ends in a fight. So if I can learn anything of significance before the battle begins, everything I endure at her hand will be worth it.
“I am one of his most trusted, child. Alaric values me above all others in his court. I’d be his queen if I could condescend to take such a despicable man to my bed.” Her slender nose wrinkles while she speaks as if the idea of tying herself to the king of Déchets is as detestable as a garbage heap.
“Why do you hate him so?” I question, unsure whether or not I believe what she says. Yet I am careful to keep a tight rein on my tongue and my thoughts, hoping I do not give away my suspicions.
“Do you know what I am, child?” she murmurs, looming in front of me once more.
“She doesn’t. But I do,” Cyrus growls, appearing behind the Lady Vatusia with a wicked looking club in his hand. Before I have a chance to shout, before the lady even has the opportunity to turn and face her unseen threat, Cyrus swings the club at her head.
I watch in horror as he moves, completely frozen in place. Breath rushes from my lungs as I anticipate the moment when the club strikes her. I wait for the dull thud as it pounds into her skull, and I pray it causes an immediate death. I cringe and close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable moment of the lady’s demise.
Yet the bat passes through her as easily as if she is made of air. “You think I’d be so foolish to come to you in person?” Lady Vatusia laughs, waving off Cyrus as though he is a nuisance pest buzzing around her face. “If you truly are that naïve, then you should surrender now. You will definitely lose any fight you attempt against Alaric without a high dose of cynicism, mistrust, cold-hearted cruelty, and paranoia.”
“How are you here?” I wonder, flinching when the stranger’s ethereal eyes focus on me once more. “How is any of this possible?”
“I am a powerful Vibría, child,” she replies, offering me nothing else as if her words require no further explanation. I feel my face grow cold as the lady scoffs at Cyrus, recalling all the atrocities he endured at the hands of the Vibría. “So, you must be the one that battled with my kinsman.” Lady Vatusia waves a dismissing hand at Cyrus, declaring, “You don’t look like you could have put up much of a fight.”
&
nbsp; Cyrus raises his club, uncaring that it will not damage the Lady Vatusia. I think he fully intends to swat at her ghostly visage until his limbs grow too weary to lift the weapon. I step between him and the Vibría, lightly taking Cyrus’s hand. “You came here because you say we have a common enemy, but you have not explained why you hate the king. Why should we believe you?”
“My kinsmen and I are Vibría abominations because of the king’s nastiness and greed,” Vatusia explains, all traces of humor and mischief fleeing from her expression. “We are not his allies, child; we are his captives.” Lady Vatusia turns her scaly face up toward the cavern’s opening, closing her eyes as though she is being warmed by the soft moonlight streaming in overhead. Her shoulders slump as she prepares to tell her story, and I cannot help but feel sorry for her. Everything about Lady Vatusia in this vulnerable pose attests to her helplessness and desperate circumstances.
“I…I am sorry,” I lament, wishing I could offer her more than words in comfort. Cyrus begins to protest, but I quell his words by brushing my hand on his arm. Look, I plead, hoping my eyes can convey what my words do not. See her as she really is, Cyrus. She’s a victim too.
“It is not you that I blame for my situation, child,” Lady Vatusia replies, crossing her arms and digging her claws into her own skin. Whatever magic she’s using to project her form before us must be showing us a current image of herself. Tiny trails of blood trickle down her arms. But she’s too emotional to notice the damage she causes, already too full of pain to feel anything more as she tells her story. “The Vibría used to be skilled magicians and seers, possessing wonderful abilities. But we were still simply human, in service to Alaric’s father. He was a fierce but fair-minded man. He treated us reasonably, and we counseled him well. It wasn’t a happy situation, but it worked well enough for both sides. When Ddraigs were discovered in our land, it came as no surprise to anyone that most of them bonded with us. The king gave them over to our care, and we never forgot his unexpected generosity.
Brood of Vipers Page 11
