by Shae Ford
“I went to the Bay.”
“And?”
“She wasn’t there.”
“What? Are you sure?” Thelred slumped when the boy nodded. “Where could she have possibly …? And what about the child?”
“The giantess had him. She said all was well.” Eveningwing seemed about to say something else, but his eyes cut away suddenly, and he bit his lip.
Thelred didn’t have time for this. “What is it?”
“I spoke to the Uncle —”
“Oh, good gravy.”
“— and he says he’s angry with you for leaving him there to wither all by himself.”
“Yes, I’m sure he is. But did he happen to tell you anything useful? Does he know where Aerilyn’s gone?”
Eveningwing’s hands twisted in his lap. “He told me not to tell you. He says it will only get her into trouble with the captain.”
“She’s already in trouble,” Thelred said evenly. “Lysander ordered her to stay put. But instead, she’s wandered off to do Kingdom knows what. That’s mutiny. Just tell me where she’s gone, and perhaps Lysander can find her before she gets into real trouble.”
Eveningwing’s face twisted around the words for nearly a full minute before he finally burst out: “Aerilyn and the masked woman went to the forest!”
Thelred sat back. “What in Kingdom’s name are they doing there?”
“She wants to speak to the Countess.”
It wasn’t possible. No one could’ve possibly been that stupid — not even Aerilyn. He’d blasted well told her from the beginning that it wasn’t possible for the Countess to have been involved with any of the trouble in the seas. It wouldn’t make sense for her to betray Crevan. She had no stake in their fight. The council was only using her for a distraction.
But apparently, Aerilyn hadn’t listened. “Is she mad? She’ll be killed! None of this would’ve happened if Lysander had just … go find him!” Thelred thrust Eveningwing off the bed with the heel of his boot. “Lysander should’ve been back days ago. Go find out what’s taking him so long, and bring him straight here. No more distractions, no more wandering off. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this up. I’m at my wit’s end.”
Eveningwing nodded hurriedly and shrank into his feathers. He bolted out the window and disappeared into the night.
Thelred fell back the moment he was gone.
He felt as if the seas had just collapsed and the rubble fallen across his chest. The pressure shortened his breath and made his leg pound all the harder. If he’d had the strength, he would’ve flung that wooden crutch out the window. He would’ve liked nothing better than to have it gone.
His leg was just another reminder that he was trapped — stuck on an island while the Kingdom fell apart.
*******
Thelred woke at dawn, his stomach churning. He slid from bed and limped down to the main floor, steeling himself against the fact that he would have to nod to everybody who wished him a good morning — and there would be dozens. The soldiers would already be well into their pacing and the servants about their chores.
When he managed to go the whole length of the hallway without coming across so much as a maid, he considered it good luck. There weren’t any servants hauling bulky items up the stairs, or any crowds to push through. He made it to the end of the next passage without a single door flying open in his face.
But by the time he reached the council’s chambers, his mood had begun to darken. What he’d thought was only luck had grown into a cold and empty silence. None of the lanterns were lit and the hearth fire had burned out. The chairs sat like stone and the tables cast hollow shadows across the floor — as if they’d always been empty.
Thelred stood for several long moments, his ears straining for any noise that meant he wasn’t alone. He’d just steeled himself to walk across the empty room when the sound of footsteps caught his attention.
It was so light and practiced a tread that he likely wouldn’t have heard it, had he not been listening so desperately. Thelred spun in the direction of the sound and saw a darkened figure slip down one of the hallways.
He followed as closely as he dared, grimacing against every creak and groan of his blasted leg. The man moved like a shadow down the hall. A mop and bucket hung from his hands and a strong, weedy scent wafted out behind him. Something that looked like resin glistened across his sleeves.
It’s only one of the servants, Thelred told himself as the man ducked into the kitchens. Perhaps it’s earlier than you thought. Perhaps they’re all still asleep.
He clenched his fists at his sides and pushed through the kitchen door.
The man was waiting for him on the other side, standing a mere hand’s breadth from his chest — a forest man with a short crop of hair. There were bruises on his face and his lip was busted open. Thelred might not have recognized him, had it not been for his slightly crooked nose …
Or that horrible, dead-eyed stare.
“Oh, for the love of — omft!”
Thelred stumbled backwards when the forest man’s head collided with his chin. He was still reeling from the blow when someone else kicked him onto his knees — a second man with bruises and an identically crooked nose.
No sooner did the world stop spinning than the second twin wrenched his head back by the roots of his hair, forcing him to lock eyes with the woman who sat at the kitchen table.
There were bramble scratches on her face and leaves tangled in her hair. A tattered woodsman’s garb replaced her elegant gown. But her eyes hadn’t lost a single shard of their cold.
And she turned their full power onto Thelred.
“Hello, pirate.”
“D’Mere,” he spat. Blood coated his mouth and his lips were still numb from the twin’s blow, but he forced the words out. “What in Kingdom’s name are you doing here? The council —”
“Is gone. All of them. Every … last … one.”
Slowly, she got to her feet. There was a pair of rucksacks upon the table. One of their mouths was opened, revealing a number of large bottles tucked inside. Thelred was trying to get a good look at them when D’Mere stepped into his path.
“What do you mean, the council is gone? What did you do to them?”
“Do to them? I saved them. Midlan is on its way — they’ll be here by evening.” D’Mere glanced out the window as she spoke, and the pale dawn revealed the shadows beneath her eyes. “Crevan’s gone mad, you see. He burned Lakeshore, destroyed my castle. We barely escaped with our lives.
“He’s coming for the seas next, and it’ll all be the same: more burning and destruction, more innocent souls cast into death. I came here in the hopes that the council might listen to wisdom … and for once, it did.” She turned back to him, her gaze colder than ever. “When Midlan arrives, everybody inside this castle will suffer a traitor’s death. The council knows this — and rather than face Crevan in battle, they’ve decided to flee. They set sail last night, in fact.”
Thelred couldn’t grasp it. He didn’t want to believe her. “You’re lying,” he growled, baring his teeth as the twin’s grip tightened upon his hair. “The seas have a treaty with Midlan.”
D’Mere rolled her eyes at him. “If that were true, the council would have no reason to run. There’s nothing wrong with your eyes, pirate,” she added, glancing down at his leg. “You should’ve been able to see that the ship was on fire. You shouldn’t have waited for the rats to flee before you started to worry. Now, you’re the only one left — the last rat in the chancellor’s castle.”
She wasn’t lying. Thelred had only to look around him to know that the castle was empty. There was no way D’Mere could’ve slain them all, or sunk each of their ships. So the only explanation was that they had sailed away. They’d poured from the castle and slipped off into the night.
And they’d left him behind to rot.
Thelred supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t as if he’d made any friends in
the council. Still, it was a cad’s move — even for Colderoy. “What about the villagers?”
“They’re gone, as well. I made sure the council took them aboard. As long as they insist on playing ruler, they ought to at least be responsible for their people. Now, if there are no more questions …” D’Mere reached behind her and drew a long, slender dagger from her belt. “I believe the last time we met, I promised to carve your face from your skull if I ever saw you again.”
Thelred tried to ignore the murder in her look — but when the dagger’s tip pressed against his chin, it was difficult. “If Midlan’s coming, why are you still here? Why didn’t you run with the others?”
“I suppose I could run. I could live the rest of my life in some forgotten corner of the Kingdom, flinching at every shadow and breath of the wind. But living isn’t all that important to me anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. No, Crevan’s ruined me. He’s taken everything from me — and I intend to ruin him back. I don’t think I could live with myself, if I didn’t try.”
Her stare hardened as the dagger bit through his flesh. Thelred gasped against the pain: it stung him at first, spreading across his skin in thousands of tiny thorns. But the knife didn’t twitch again, and soon the pain dulled.
He knew without even catching the edge of her smirk that D’Mere was going to skin him slowly.
The twin wrapped one arm around his neck and planted the other atop his head, leaving his face exposed. His knee crushed Thelred’s hands against his back while D’Mere’s twisted about the knife. She turned it ever so slightly — just enough to awaken another horrible sting.
There was no point in fighting her. Thelred knew this. He was alone in a castle, stuck at the middle of an island — his only escape a mile-long bridge. Even if he managed to free himself from the twin’s hold or avoid D’Mere’s knife, there was no way he’d be able to outrun them.
“I’m going to peel off your mouth, first. So if there’s anything you’d like to say …?”
Thelred scowled at her. His words slid out from between his teeth with surprising force: “I don’t care what you do to me. Skin me, if you like. But you’d better stop him, D’Mere. You’d better keep Crevan out of the seas.”
She smiled at this; she dug a fraction more into his flesh. Her eyes traced the lines of blood that ran from his wound and down the dagger’s blade. Something crossed her face in a bright red swell — some longing that carved a frozen path down Thelred’s neck.
Then all at once, she relented.
D’Mere paced back to the table and sat down hard. Her eyes closed for a moment as she brushed a loose strand of hair from her dampened brow. Deep breaths shook her arm as she waved to the chair beside her.
“Please … join me,” she said hoarsely.
Thelred didn’t get a chance to answer.
One of the twins pulled him onto his feet while the other kicked out his chair. They shoved him down and stuffed a cloth into his hand. He pressed it warily against his chin. “You aren’t going to kill me?”
“No.”
She offered him no further explanation, and the way she stared chilled him to his bones. “I’m warning you, D’Mere —”
“No, I’m warning you.” Her voice went hard and her eyes turned cold. “Whatever you may think of me, whatever lies or rumors the council might have you believe, listening to me is your only chance of survival now. You will die unless you do exactly as I say.”
He didn’t know if she meant that Midlan would kill him, or if she intended to kill him herself. But for the moment, he had no choice. “Fine,” he muttered. His eyes went back to the rucksacks, to the many sealed bottles stuffed into their mouths. “What’s in there?”
“Poison,” D’Mere said lightly. She drew a bottle out and held it up to the window. The liquid within it glowed an orange-red. “For the tips of our arrows and the edges of our swords. A single drop in a man’s blood, and he’ll be dead within hours. Midlan’s in for quite a shock, I think.”
CHAPTER 39
A Short-Lived Victory
It turned out that Thelred wasn’t alone, after all. One of the twins found a number of guards passed out inside the dungeons — lulled to sleep by the contents of their tankards, scattered all across the card table and the floor.
Once D’Mere explained to them that they’d been abandoned by the council and were now very thoroughly trapped, it was amazing how quickly they sobered up. The twins marched them into the courtyard and stood watch while they practiced fighting — occasionally stepping in to slap them across their helmets for bad form.
Thelred wasn’t at all impressed with the guards. Judging by the hesitance behind their blows and the sheer number of arrows that completely missed their marks, he wagered none of them had ever done any real fighting. They’d likely been given their spears for the sole purpose of stalking around the castle, looking formidable.
Still, with the gates shored and the bridge keeping their enemies trapped in one spot, he thought they had a decent chance of surviving for a few days.
Then Midlan marched in.
Several hundred soldiers entered the village at sunset. Thelred watched from the other end of the bridge as they took over the houses and let themselves into the shops. A line of carts packed the streets, each piled to its top with rations and gear.
They’d prepared for a siege.
While most of Midlan spent the evening either sleeping or buried deep in their cups, one man separated himself from the rest. He was obviously a seas man: he stripped down to his trousers and dove into the waves first thing, spear in hand. He swam beside the mile-long bridge and did his hunting just out of bow range — Thelred knew, because he’d sent an arrow at him the moment he came close.
“Greyson,” D’Mere whispered. She smirked when the man shot them a rude gesture. “One of Midlan’s more dangerous captains.”
Thelred readied another arrow. “You know him?”
“I make it a point to know a little about all of Crevan’s leaders. There are other seas men he could’ve chosen — I rather wish he would’ve sent anybody else.” D’Mere sighed, and her smile slipped into a frown. “Greyson doesn’t make mistakes. He’s frustratingly thorough. The fact that Crevan sent him to the chancellor’s castle means he wants it taken over, not destroyed.”
Thelred supposed that made sense. Crevan would likely appoint another grubbing ruler the moment he captured the seas, and the island castle was too enviable a fortress to pass up. The rule would probably go to this Greyson fellow … if he survived.
Thelred raised the bow over his head and drew back as he brought it down. He leveled the arrow straight between Greyson’s eyes, but it fell well short.
“You have a strange draw,” D’Mere said, glaring after his shot. “Perhaps that’s why you keep missing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my draw. I’ve been shooting this way since I was a child, and I’ve hit plenty,” he added, before she could retort. “I’m only missing because that scab is floating out of range.”
“Just make sure you have it sorted out before tomorrow. In order for the poison to work, it has to actually hit something.”
Thelred glared at her smirk. “I know how to fight. Perhaps you ought to worry about your own men, D’Mere.”
“I’ll do that. And please,” she said as he marched away, “call me Olivia.”
That was the last in a long list of things he wanted to call her. But somehow, he managed to hold his tongue. All he had to do was suffer her presence for a few more days. If he could survive that long, the pirates would do the rest. They couldn’t be far from the castle, now. They would turn up at any moment.
He was sure of it.
*******
A red sun rose the next morning. The wind blew at his back, howling from the Westlands. Waves slapped against the island’s jagged rocks in a near constant roar. Thelred thought for certain that he would be the first to the ramparts, but D’Mere was already there.
; “No mages. That’s … unusual,” she whispered when Thelred approached. Her eyes sharpened upon the gathering crowd in the village: Midlan was preparing to cross the bridge. “Ready your archers, pirate. I’ll gather the spearmen.”
Thelred didn’t know how she could’ve possibly seen from that distance, but he didn’t question it. For now, his only task was to survive the morning — and it would be far from easy.
Most of the remaining guards were spearmen. They gathered on the ramparts with D’Mere and the twin she called Left. Only a few guards seemed to be any good at archery — and even then, Fate might have to intervene if they wanted any chance of hitting their marks.
The guards stood in a crooked line in the courtyard, waiting to file into the towers at his order. Half would go with Thelred into the southern tower, and the others would follow Right into the northern. At least Right was decent with the bow: after a few minutes of practice, he’d been able to fire arrows that thudded into the target every time.
As for the rest of them … well, Thelred just hoped their hands were steadier than their nerves.
“Chins up, dogs,” he barked as he approached. “I need you all to —”
One of the guards heaved over the top of his words, spilling his breakfast across the stone. Another followed him, and a third became so violently ill that he collapsed upon his knees. The last man didn’t raise his visor in time: he wound up spewing sick through the vents of his helmet while the others watched in open-mouthed shock.
That was precisely the moment when Thelred realized they were all going to die.
“Is everybody finished?” he growled. “Get it out, now. If things go well, we’re going to be stuck inside those towers until dusk. I don’t want to have to wade through the sick to reach the windows. Tighten your laces and let’s get climbing.”
The men slumped off into opposite directions. Thelred followed well behind his guards. By the time he’d finished climbing his way to the top of the tower, his leg ached and the grip of his bow was damp with sweat. It was going to be a long, miserable day.
