“You will have the medics clean out his wounds and keep him healthy,” Helena clarifies, her words sounding less like a question and more like a demand.
Alaric picks through the tools, his voice deadly soft as he whispers, “Naturally.”
“And you will ensure that he is released from the prison without being harmed,” Helena adds, silently noting that Alaric’s definition of a prison cell could be vague. If, for example, Alaric’s interpretation of a “prison cell” is a body that houses a soul, then Alaric’s promise of freedom from that cell could mean a death sentence. I’d be a fool not to believe Alaric might try to trick me, Helena reassures herself as she watches Alaric’s expression. Judging by the fact that he looks like he’s just taken a bite out of a rotten orange, Helena suspects her worries were justified.
“Very well. He will be released unharmed,” Alaric concedes, his voice tight. “But if you fail to bring me the Windwalker within a year, Helena, I will kill him myself. Very, very slowly. Perhaps I’ll even send pieces of him to you as motivation. A finger or toe every month, just to keep in touch—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Helena scoffs, struggling to keep herself calm and emotionless. I can’t let him see how he gets to me. “But why make we wait until tomorrow to start my journey, Alaric?”
“A feast, dear girl! We aren’t about to send you back to that retched land over the mountains without some food and entertainment!” Alaric announces, clapping his hands a couple times as he sighs and whispers conspiratorially, “It’s not every day that your only daughter is released from prison, you know. The court will want to celebrate your return to good graces.”
The prospects of sitting through a meal and whatever sordid entertainment Alaric could find almost makes Helena’s stomach lurch. However, Helena knows better than to argue. Make a fuss, and Alaric would probably increase the length of the feast just to spite her.
“Very well,” Helena replies, resigning herself to being the source of amusement for Alaric’s wicked court. “I’m sure you have preparations for such a grand event, so I won’t keep you any longer.”
“Dismissing me from your presence already?” Alaric pretends to pout even as he moves toward the door. “Oh well, we will have all evening to catch up at dinner, I guess.” Alaric drifts out of the doorway on the breeze, a gentle hum the only remnant of his presence.
“Glad you’re happy,” Helena mumbles under her breath as the tears she’s been holding at bay finally well in her eyes. She leans heavily against the windowpane, longing to throw it open and fly away from this wretched place forever. I’ll see it burn, she vows, wiping her hand across her cheek. Alaric’s precious kingdom will go down in flames before the year is done.
***
Once night falls deeply enough that all the campfires have died, Wren stands at the entrance to his tent, casting a wary glance at Lynx’s sleeping form. Her son stirs in her arms, his forehead wrinkling as if he’s in the middle of a nightmare. If everything goes according to plan tonight, I won’t have to worry about your safety anymore, Wren realizes, selfishly regretting that he may soon have to cope with their absences. I’ve grown used to seeing you both every day, to having someone to talk to regularly. You’ve let me imagine what life might be like with a child of my own; I will miss you.
But this is the right thing to do, Wren declares as he slips out of his tent and winds his way to the barn. Even with only the light of the moon and the twinkling stars, he manages to move without hesitating footfalls or excessive noise. At the rough-hewn fence, Wren slips through the heavy logs without touching them and opens the barn door just enough to keep its hinges from creaking.
Jackal and the rest of the captives are tied around the poles that anchor the hayloft in place. Most of them sleep, their heads drooping toward their stomachs, leaning heavily toward the ground. “That’s going to be hell on their shoulders,” Wren whispers as he sneaks up to Jackal’s side.
“What are you doing here now?” Jackal hisses, lashing out at Wren with his feet.
“Wolf wants me to question you all tomorrow to find out your plans,” Wren replies with a mischievous grin. “Of course, we both know there’s nothing for me to find, so—”
“You came here to gloat?” Jackal grumbles, a weary, broken chuckle rattling through his chest. “I knew you were tricky, but I didn’t expect you to be cruel. What else do you want? You’ve already won Wolf’s loyalty.”
“I came to offer you an alternative,” Wren explains, slowly drawing a knife from his pocket. “Only one will get this opportunity; everyone else will die tonight.”
“I’m listening,” Jackal murmurs, casting a wary glance at his comrades. None of the others appear to be awake. Breathing a small sigh of relief, Jackal questions, “What are you offering, Wren?”
“Freedom.” Wren dangles the possibility like a treat before a hungry dog. “I will let you go free. In return, I expect you to take Lynx and her child and run to the Pith lands. Find Mynah and the Ddraigs; carry a message to them for me. Tell them we are getting ready to move over the Devil’s Spine. After Wolf finds the dead bodies in the morning, he will be frightened. I’ll persuade him that it’s time to join the king and make plans for a joint attack.”
“And what if I agree but don’t follow through on my part of the deal?” Jackal sneers, carefully picking at the ropes around his wrists, searching for any means of escape.
“Then Lynx will kill you and carry the message herself. Besides, what other option do you think you’ll have? After Wolf finds the dead in here and discovers you aren’t among them, he will naturally assume you killed them all to keep them from sharing your assassination plans. He will never trust your word; most likely, he’ll kill you on sight. At least with the Ddraigs, you have a chance,” Wren explains, raising his blade to inspect its edge as he lets Jackal consider his words. “Now, are you going to take this opportunity? Or shall I slit your throat and offer it to the next man?”
Jackal sighs, shaking his head a little as he laments, “I don’t really have a choice, do I? Just kill them quickly, Wren. Don’t make them suffer.” Jackal turns his gaze to the other five men tied to the poles, recognizing this is the final moment he will see them alive. “Believe it or not, they are decent men. In a different world, they would have been some of the best.”
“You could say that of us all,” Wren quips, stalking over to stand before Hyena. In one fluid motion, he slices deep into Hyena’s neck, cleanly severing the arteries. In a matter of moments, Hyena’s body falls limp.
Wren moves quickly around the room, almost as if he’s taking part in a morbid dance. Slice the arteries, twirl away from the blood spatter, step to the next man. Slice, twirl, step. Slice, twirl, step. He moves with fluid grace until he stands before Jackal once more.
“I hate you,” Jackal declares in a hoarse voice.
“I don’t blame you,” Wren replies, sounding fatigued as he slices through the ropes that bind Jackal to the pole.
The sudden loss of support from the ropes causes Jackal to stumble and fall onto the hay-covered ground. He kneels in the muck, feeling the warmth of fresh blood seeping into his pant legs. The cloying air suffocates him. Breath comes in quick, ragged hitches as the scent of death begins to permeate the barn. “I can’t…breathe,” Jackal cries, clawing at his mask. He rips the tanned hide off his face, pushing himself off the ground as he races toward the barn door.
Wren beats him to the opening, forcing Jackal to stand still. “You can’t go out there until you’ve calmed down. Otherwise, you’ll alert the whole camp.”
“If I get their attention, then you’ll go down for this!” Jackal announces, preparing to bellow for help.
Wren clamps a hand over his mouth, bracing himself for a fight. “I’ll just say I heard movement in the barn and came to investigate.” Jackal lashes out with his elbow, connecting hard against Wren’s stomach
. Yet even while winded, Wren has a plan. Doubling over, he uses the momentum of his motion to slam his head into the center of Jackal’s back. He lands a kick into the back of Jackal’s knees. Then, in one quick motion, Wren raises the knife and poises its tip against Jackal’s neck. “I could kill you now and be hailed as the hero that took out the traitor. I could send Lynx off on her own and still get the message to Mynah. I could even blame her escape on my distraction from dealing with you. Letting you live is a mercy, but it is one that I don’t have to give.”
“No, please,” Jackal begs, falling very still. “I’ll do as you wish.”
“Good answer,” Wren whispers in Jackal’s ear. “I’d rather Lynx and her son travel with a man that could protect them if it was necessary. Unlike me, however, Lynx won’t offer second chances. You give her any reason to mistrust you, and you won’t live to see the next sunrise.” Wren lets the knife fall slowly. When Jackal doesn’t put up any more of a fight, he carefully steps over to the barn door. “The door squeaks. Slip through the opening without widening it, and wait outside for me. Do not try a stunt like this again; I won’t offer you a third chance.”
This time, Jackal does as he is instructed. Once Wren slips through the barn door, he wordlessly motions for Jackal to follow him to his tent. They pick their way through the campsite, but their travels are far from stealthy. Jackal lumbers through the sand, accidentally kicking a few cooking pots and stumbling once into a firebreak. I was wise to keep only one alive, Wren grimly admits, wishing there had been a way to spare them all. The blood staining his hands weighs heavy on his heart as he struggles to guide Jackal to a quieter path. It’s a wonder Jackal hasn’t alerted the whole campsite to our plans. Trying to do move stealthily with six other people would have been impossible.
After stepping into his tent, Wren immediately throws a hand over Lynx’s mouth. The motion startles her awake, her eyes bugging out wide as she suppresses a strangled scream. Her son rouses as well, a tiny cry piercing the silence. “What are you doing?” Lynx hisses as she bounces her son in her arms, hoping to calm him down quickly.
“Gather only what you can stand to carry on a long walk,” Wren whispers, holding his arms out to take the child. “The basic things you need for yourself and the child. And move with haste, Lynx. There is little time.”
Lynx nods, immediately springing into action. Within minutes she readies her meager amount of food, clothes, a canteen, a baby’s bottle, and a blanket with its ends tied together to be a child’s sling. “What now?” she asks, making sure the lacings of her desperately worn shoes are tight enough.
“Now, come with me and don’t make a fuss,” Wren commands, flipping back the curtain of the tent. Jackal stands directly in front of the entrance, shifting from side to side anxiously as he keeps a lookout.
“What is he doing here?” Lynx challenges, her voice sharp.
So much for not making a fuss, Wren groans, pointing toward the ocean. “Shh! Get out by the waves, then we’ll talk.”
Wren still carries the child as he, Lynx, and Jackal hurry toward the water. He keeps his eyes shifting and searching for any signs of trouble. The gods smile upon us, Wren believes when his feet hit wet sand without anyone from the camp noticing their movements. Once they stand beside the roaring water, he catches Lynx up on his plan.
“You can’t seriously expect me to travel with this monster!” Lynx shouts angrily, casting a loathing glance in Jackal’s direction.
“It’s for the best, Lynx. He’ll protect you and your son in the journey,” Wren persists, wishing he believed the words even as he says them.
“He’s a traitor! He murdered good people in the House of Piranhas,” Lynx argues, unrelenting in her fury. “How could you expect me to willingly leave with someone so horrible?”
“You do see that I’m standing here, right?” Jackal interjects, his tone mocking as he huffs indignantly. “I can hear every offensive thing you’re saying.”
“Shut up.” Wren rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to Lynx. “You don’t have to like him or trust him. You just need to keep him around until you get to the Ddraigs.” Catching Jackal’s smug smile, Wren adds, “Or you can kill him and chance the trip alone. Makes no difference to me. But if you choose to kill him, do it far away from here. I need Wolf to believe Jackal ran off because he was the betrayer.” To prove the sincerity of his words, Wren hands Lynx his knife, blood from the other prisoners’ murders still coating the blade.
“I…I need time to think about this.” Lynx hesitates, pacing by the water’s edge.
“You don’t have time,” Wren presses, following close behind her. “You need to leave now and put as much distance between us as you can before the sun rises. If Wolf sends me after you, I don’t want to accidentally find you because you were too close. Get out of here now while you can, Lynx.”
“But what about you, Wren? What if Wolf suspects—?”
“He won’t. If you all are gone, Wolf won’t have any reason to believe I’m involved.” Wren tightens his hold on Lynx’s child, whispering, “I’ll do exactly what I said I would, Lynx. I’ll play both sides, spy, run myself into ruin if need be, and I will keep you and your son safe. So please, go while the chance is before you. Leave now so Wolf can’t try to use you against me later.”
Lynx stares out over the dark ocean, mesmerized by its relentless violence. “I’ll go,” she replies, her voice emotionless as she holds her arms out to reclaim her child.
Wren struggles to let go of the boy. Dropping his head, Wren kisses the child’s head lightly before passing him back to his mother. The sudden absence of weight in his arms leaves Wren feeling empty as if he’s just given away a part of his heart. For a short while, I glimpsed what life would have been like if I’d had a family. It’s a memory I will treasure, Wren longs to say, clearing his throat as if he could wipe the words out of his mind. “Take care of yourselves,” he pleads hoarsely instead, lightly brushing Lynx’s arm.
The sudden contact sends a shiver rattling through her bones, but she nods in agreement. Turning to face Jackal, she points in the general direction of the horizon, where the forests can be seen in the sunlight. “Stay in front of me where I can see you,” Lynx commands, transferring her son into the sling so she can freely hold the knife in her hand. “Give me even the slightest reason not to trust you, and I’ll gut you where you stand.”
Jackal’s smirk fades as he watches Lynx’s eyes. Seeing no trace of humor or insincerity, his spine straightens as he gulps and nods in agreement. Then, without any further conversation or exchanged goodbyes, they disappear into the night.
Wren walks down into the water, letting the furious waves cleanse his body of the horrors this night has brought. The thought of returning to his empty tent twists painfully like a knife in his brain. They are really gone, he declares, feeling a little foolish for how deeply this truth burns in his chest. They have left me behind. Wren steps down further, not hesitating to keep moving until he can barely keep his head above the water. Goodbye, Lynx. Be well.
Water rushes over Wren’s head. At least it carries away the scent of death, Wren tells himself as his lungs begin to burn, the need for fresh breath growing rapidly more urgent. It would be so easy to just end it all, he imagines, forcing his feet to bury themselves a little deeper into the ocean floor. To let this place be my eternity, to rest in this watery grave…who would care if I disappeared? Wolf would think I’m guilty, but so what? He’ll probably be heading over to Déchets soon anyway, so my work is done. There is no one else in this place that needs me now.
The memory of the black Ddraig suddenly springs to life in his mind. He’d carried Wren to the den where all the young Ddraigs that weren’t able to fight were kept. Suryc rebuffed me for my lack of loyalties. Yet I think he would be pleased to see me now. I’ve helped Lynx and her son. And yet, Wren sighs, forcing his feet to lift out of the sandy muck
and start paddling toward the shore. Drifting off into the sea would still be self-serving, wouldn’t it? There’s still too much work to be done.
Coughing bitterly once he floats to the surface, Wren gasps to breathe fresh air once more. He opens his eyes to the starry sky, enchanted by the billions of tiny fires flickering above him. I guess I’ve found where my loyalties lie, after all, Wren confesses, slogging through the wet sand on his way back to his campsite, the memory of Lynx and her son burning in his mind. I need to make sure Wolf leaves Cassè. Then it will be up to Mynah to bring down the king.
Chapter 11
The constant roar of the River Sangre buzzes off in the distance. Tomorrow we will cross near the minor markets on our journey back to my old house. I can see the faint whisper of bushes and trees on the horizon. My eyes strain as I stare at these shapes, longing to have the keen sight of my Ddraig just this once. We’ve spent so long in this world of rocks, sand, caverns, and burned brush that I’ve almost forgotten what our old home looks like.
Home, I sigh, wondering how I will react to see my old house once more. Will I cry? Will I suddenly recall all these strange, important details about my family and feel the need to talk about them with everyone I see? Yet even as I think these thoughts, I wonder if I should feel anything at all. The man I thought of as my father wasn’t actually related to me. The mother I thought was dead is somewhere in Déchets, alive and well after abandoning me. Lion, I shudder as I remember his always smiling face, recalling the day I stood and listened to him die, burying my face in Wolf’s chest to keep from seeing the gruesome details. But he wasn’t really my uncle, was he?
Dark claws rip through my conflicted memories as Siri breaks down my feeble mental defenses. She’s been unsuccessfully trying to teach me to guard my thoughts for the better part of an hour now. “Try it again, Mynah,” Siri growls, her voice carrying in the open air of the rocky terrain.
Brood of Vipers Page 19
