by Shae Ford
A few slit windows ringed the walls — their only portals to the outside world. At least there was a breeze sweeping in to lessen the stench of sweat and nerves. That was one less discomfort Thelred would have to manage.
Three of the windows gave them a fairly decent view of the bridge. Thelred lined the guards up behind them, and took the front spot at the middle. “The first man will fire while the man behind him nocks. Once you’ve taken your shot, step to the back of the line and start nocking. Make every arrow count — and be careful,” he added, glaring at them. “The Countess has tipped the heads with poison. If you get nicked, you’ll die just as quickly as the tinheads.”
They nodded — and took an inordinate amount of time to nock their first arrows.
Thelred couldn’t bear to watch them fumble. If he had to witness one more arrow bouncing off its string, he’d start kicking shins. Instead, he turned his attention to the army below.
Most of the troops stayed behind while a small portion made its way across the bridge. It was wide enough to hold two wagons side-by-side, and sturdy enough to bear the weight of merchants’ caravans. So as much as Thelred might’ve wished for it, hoping the bridge would collapse and drag the soldiers to their deaths wouldn’t do him any good.
Midlan’s front ranks were comprised of a group of heavily armored men. They lined either side of a battering ram: a weapon the size of a stout tree with an iron-capped head. Behind the ram marched several rows of archers. Thelred couldn’t help but notice how they stood in perfect ranks. There wasn’t a shaking hand or an arch of sick among them.
At the very back of the line was a company of swordsmen. They shifted restlessly, the slits in their helmets fixed upon the ramparts. Thelred knew by how intently they watched that the swordsmen were eager for a fight. If that lot made it through the gates, the siege would end quickly.
Greyson lurked in the middle of it all. He was mounted atop a horse, fully armored. He stripped his helmet away and addressed them with a grin. “Good morning, Countess.”
D’Mere leaned against the rampart walls, inspecting the head of her spear. “You’re making a mistake, Greyson,” she called without bothering to look up. “You’ll find nothing but death behind these gates.”
“Really? I haven’t heard very many footsteps on your side of things — and I’ve got ears like a fox.” He turned his helmet over in his hands, gazing at her through the fall of his hair. “Your little trick at Lakeshore is going to cost you. There’s a bounty on your head large enough to change any man’s fortunes. I’m so pleased that I came across you first. Still, it would be a shame to put such beauty to the sword. Perhaps you’d like the chance to speak with the King, yourself? To plead for your traitorous life? Open the gates for me, my dear, and I’ll give you that chance … eventually.”
Laughter billowed up across the bridge. The soldiers’ shouts and whistles stifled D’Mere’s reply. She glared down as they taunted her, but made no move to silence them.
Thelred wasn’t sure if he could hold his place much longer. The way Greyson spoke, how he sat above everybody else and lorded over them with a smirk — all reminded him of Duke Reginald. He knew how the seas had suffered beneath Reginald’s rule. And there was no doubt in his mind that Greyson would be worse.
When he grew tired of laughing at them, Greyson waved the soldiers forward and galloped from the bridge — moving back into the safety of the village.
A crooked rail marked the edge of Thelred’s range. He’d managed to land arrows near it several times in practice. So the moment the battering ram’s nose crossed it, he pulled back and fired.
It landed harmlessly between two soldiers and skittered off the bridge.
Thelred swore. When the guard behind him tried to step forward, he elbowed him back. “Move!”
“But you said —”
“I want another go.”
Thelred fired again and this time, he struck true. The arrow thudded into the top of a soldier’s forearm, biting through his mail. He yelped and dropped his hold on the ram — and yelped again when one of his companions ripped the arrow free.
Thelred couldn’t stop his grin. “Ha! Got him.”
“In the arm,” someone muttered.
Thelred slapped him across the helmet. “It doesn’t matter — he’ll be a dead man before long. All you have to do is nick them, and the Countess’s poison will do the rest. Now come on!” He grabbed the man behind him and slung him towards the window. “Give them a taste of their own blood, dogs!”
Their shots were weak at first. Many bounced off the top of the bridge or plunked into the waves. But Thelred wasn’t going to give up. He’d never thought he would have the chance to go into battle again. This wasn’t the sea, but it was a blasted good second — and he planned to make the most of it.
When a guard finally landed a shot through a soldier’s foot, Thelred laughed. “There you go, lads! That one’ll be limping his way to the river before midday. Nock another round, you sorry bunch of dogs,” he yelled as he aimed. “I’m going to give this next scab something to think about.”
He did — and while the soldier screamed, the tower erupted in cheers.
A few moments later, the ram struck the door with sound that brought their celebration to an end. They’d shored the bottom of the gates with stone and used the ripped-off tops of the benches for extra planks. The rubble was piled so high that it nearly covered the latch. Thelred kept telling himself that the gates would hold.
But with every boom of the ram’s iron nose, it became more difficult to believe.
Midlan’s archers began to fire back. Thelred held them off for as long as he could, ordering his men to the windows between volleys. But soon Midlan struck so fierce a rhythm that there was hardly a pause between arrows: they clattered against the walls and flew through the windows, forcing the guards away from their posts.
Thelred knew that with every second the archers went unchallenged, they would gain ground. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be able to hit the ramparts.
He lunged for one of the far windows and saw that D’Mere was wreaking havoc on the men who worked the battering ram. The guards sprang up at her command and let loose a deadly hail of spears. Their bolts did far more damage than arrows: nearly every soldier they hit wound up too mangled to fight on.
Though the guards held their own, the twins were responsible for much of the damage. Thelred watched as Left pinned soldiers to the ground with quick, practiced throws. Some of the arrows flying from the other tower were particularly well aimed: they hit the soldiers in their gold-tinged helmets nearly every time.
But no matter how bravely they fought, they were simply outnumbered. More soldiers charged in to take the places of those who’d fallen. They carried fresh quivers for the archers and dumped the corpses off the bridge — along with several men who weren’t quite dead, but simply too wounded to run.
With the towers pinned, the archers turned their attention to the ramparts. Two spearmen fell to their arrows — struck dead before they had the chance to scream. Soon their volleys grew so relentless that D’Mere and her guards had no choice but to flee. They rushed down the stairs and disappeared into the courtyard, sprinting out of Thelred’s sight.
“Should we follow them?” one of his guards said.
It was too late for that. With the ramparts emptied, the archers went after the towers. There was hardly a missed shot among them. Arrows spewed through the windows and peppered the doorway beyond. The only safe place was along the wall beneath the windows. Thelred knew they’d have to be worse than daft to try to run for the door.
Unfortunately, there were more than a few daft men among them.
“We’re going to get slaughtered, standing around like this!” one of the guards cried. His eyes were so wild that they practically bulged from his helmet.
“I wouldn’t turn my back on those windows, not for all the gold in the realm,” another said. He flinched as a bolt clattered off the
sill above him. “We’ll be drowned in arrows before nightfall!”
“They’ll be in by nightfall! I’d rather just take an arrow to the back and be done.” Before Thelred could stop him, the wild-eyed guard peeled from the wall and tore for the archway.
An arrow buried itself between his shoulders just as he reached the door. Thelred tried not to listen to the fleshy thud of his corpse flopping down the stairs, but it was difficult.
They were trapped inside that tower for what felt like an age: cramped beneath the windows, grimacing against every jolt of the ram upon the door. Thelred listened for a signal from the courtyard — any sign that D’Mere and her guards still fought. But he couldn’t hear a thing over the noise of Midlan’s battle. When he chanced a look, he saw that no arrows flew from the northern tower.
He swore under his breath.
Thelred had been a fool to trust D’Mere. It’d been well over an hour, and Midlan still fought. There’d probably never been any poison on the arrows to begin with. She’d already escaped the King’s clutches once — sacrificing her own people in the flames, no doubt. What would keep her from doing it again?
By the time Greyson broke through the gates, D’Mere would be gone. Thelred didn’t know how she would manage it. He didn’t see how there could possibly be another way off the island. But if there was one, D’Mere would find it.
Thelred had simply been left for bait …
“Fall back!” a man screamed, jolting him from his rage. “Get away from the gates — she’s bloody cursed us!”
Thelred twisted around and peered carefully over the sill. A guard pressed in behind him, craning to see over his head.
Midlan was in a panic. The archers tore for the village, scattering like insects from the light. They stomped over the bodies of their companions in the rush to get away. Some convulsed in the middle of their running and fell — clutching at a graze or scratch. Their bodies flailed wildly, limbs kicking out in every direction. They screamed as if their heads were doused in flame.
The men who worked the battering ram faired worse. Half of them were already twitching upon the ground. The others tried their best to haul the ram back to shore, but only made it a few paces before the second wave dropped beneath the poison. The ram’s nose thudded into the bridge, crushing a few hapless men beneath it — while the rest broke into a terrified sprint.
Thelred watched their mad charge across the bridge — laughing each time another soldier fell to his wounds. “Look at them run! What did I tell you, dogs? Follow me,” he called over the guards’ relieved howls. “Let’s twist the knife.”
His pain vanished as he hobbled down the stairs. D’Mere and her guards were already in the courtyard, moving stones from the gate. Thelred watched in amazement as Right hefted a rock the size of a man over his shoulders. Left ripped nails from the planks with his bare hands.
D’Mere nodded as Thelred approached. There was a hairline scratch across her cheek. The bright red line matched the color of her lips. “An arrow graze,” she said, when he asked. “Left managed to throw me out of the way, or it might’ve been much worse. I was thinking we ought to toss the ram.”
That was precisely what Thelred had been thinking, though he wasn’t about to admit it. “The nose should sink it nicely. If we leave the corpses —”
“It’ll make Greyson’s next attack all the more difficult. It’s a shame our paths didn’t cross sooner, pirate,” D’Mere said with a smirk. “We work well together.”
She turned away, then — leaving Thelred with an uncomfortable twist inside his gut. He knew full well what the Countess had done to earn her throne, and to keep it. Her poison had just crippled a horde of the best-trained soldiers in the realm. She’d sent them screaming like maids from a mouse, which he couldn’t help but find … impressive.
That feeling troubled him greatly. His gut twisted more when they opened the gates and he got his first look at what D’Mere’s poison had done: the corpses bled from the eyes and foamed from the mouth. D’Mere hardly glanced down as she strode towards the ram — but Thelred couldn’t look away.
The guards must’ve had a difficult time looking away, as well. No sooner had they stepped outside than one of them was already heaving his guts over the rails.
“Oh, I hate to think what it’ll be like when the sun stokes the smell from them,” D’Mere called, her voice tinged with amusement. “Let’s get to work, gentlemen.”
Right and Left did most of the work. The twins stood on either end of the ram while the rest of them struggled at its middle. Even D’Mere took a spot along its girth.
“There’s no need to trouble yourself. I wouldn’t want you to crack that peg,” she said when Thelred crouched beside her.
He shook his head firmly. “I worked for this just as hard as anybody else. I want my part of the celebration.”
She gave him a long, inscrutable look — one that made him almost wish for the ice. Then she shrugged. “Very well. On my count, then …”
They lifted with everything, each man lending what remained of his strength to the effort. They managed to toss the ram into the sea and only broke a few feet of railing in the process. The guards cheered as they watched the ram get dragged into the depths by the weight of its iron nose, but D’Mere was silent.
She’d turned her eyes upon the shore, and her smile vanished. “They’re already moving,” she whispered when Thelred stepped in beside her.
He’d known their victory would be short-lived. Still, he felt they ought to have gotten at least a day to celebrate. But Greyson wasted no time: lines of soldiers rushed among the slender woods around the village, moving at his command.
Thelred squinted, but lost them the moment they ducked into the trees. “What happens next?”
“They’ll build catapults,” D’Mere said quietly, her eyes distant. And she needed to say no more.
A catapult could fire from well outside an arrow’s range, and it couldn’t be poisoned.
Their victory would be even shorter-lived than he’d thought.
CHAPTER 40
Olivia
Boulders cracked the walls and rattled the gates. They fell in inconsistent patterns, breaking the silence whenever they least expected it. At every fall, they listened: all ears turned and the taut line of each mouth was a silent plea for the keep doors to hold.
The towers were broken, some of the upper rooms had been smashed in. Thelred spent three nights upon the floor in the council’s chambers. Night froze the stones and day tormented him with a sweltering heat.
In a matter of hours, Greyson’s catapults had forced them to retreat. His shots landed wide of their marks, at first. They crashed harmlessly into the sea. The soldiers he sent to ram the gates fell beneath their arrows and spears. But then quite suddenly, the catapults found their aim.
Thelred remembered when the first boulder crashed through: the splinters of rock that’d burst from the walls tore his shirt and left deep cuts across his face. Two guards had been trapped beneath the boulder. One died instantly, crushed to death. The other got caught by the legs.
They’d tried desperately to free him. The guards heaved against the boulder and Thelred’s wooden leg cracked with the effort. But the rock was wedged tightly against the hole it’d left in the wall. They couldn’t move it. D’Mere and her twins had already fallen back — chased away by the rocks that thudded into the courtyard.
More boulders fell. When Thelred saw a catapult turn in their direction, he’d had no choice but to order his men to retreat. The guard was still screaming as they tore down the stairs.
He screamed until a second boulder exploded into the tower … silencing him.
Now, those screams echoed inside Thelred’s skull. He woke with a start each time a boulder landed. He scanned the room, convinced for a moment that someone else had been crushed — that Greyson had finally broken into the keep. Blow after blow shook the floors and rattled their nerves. But against all possibility, they surviv
ed.
The guards spent most of their time in a worried clump. They nursed their wounds and moaned about how they were doomed to die.
Thelred knew things were desperate. For the first couple of days, he’d listened for the bells — the familiar call of Anchorgloam as she sailed in to free them. But as the hours dragged through days and nights without so much as a ringing in the distance, he’d slowly given up. If the pirates hadn’t come by now, they never would.
Perhaps the same fire that’d chased the shipbuilders from their homes had fallen upon pirates. That was the only possible explanation — the only reason he could think of that Lysander would ever leave him to die. They’d been through too much, shared in far too many ill-conceived adventures. He’d always thought that they would face the final battle together …
But Fate must’ve thought differently.
Thelred knew he would go mad if he dwelled upon the pirates. He felt as if he was already an hour from mad, as it was. So rather than brood, he tried to play.
There was a small piano in the council’s chambers — one of Countess D’Mere’s gifts to the seas. Thelred played it for hours at a time. He let the notes wash over him, let the songs blanket his mind. For the time the piano sang, he escaped the crumbling walls and lost himself to the music …
“You play rather well, pirate,” D’Mere said quietly. She’d crept up beside him while he focused. Her eyes roved across the piano’s keys for a moment before she waved to the bench. “May I?”
“If you must,” Thelred grumbled as he slid over. He tried not to flinch when she sat down beside him, but it was difficult. “I’m not going to teach you.”
She raised her brows. “Teach me what?”
“How to play. Every woman who comes over here wants to learn the piano. But all they wind up doing is wasting my time.”
“How so?”
