“Yeah, babe?” His gaze was on the soldiers we were stalking as we neared the castle.
“Don’t let Morgan throw me down that well.”
Bastien stopped suddenly and turned so I could see his serious expression. “After today, I won’t let anyone put their hands on you ever again. I’ll take you somewhere safe, and we’ll have a life where you don’t have to look at this awful place ever again.”
I leaned up on my toes to kiss him before we kept moving. I didn’t like feeling defenseless, but that’s exactly what you are when you’re at the bottom of a well. Bastien loved me when I was strong, charging into a guarded castle armed with only a couple knives. He also loved me when I was weak, emaciated, and couldn’t lift my head to greet him. That’s a good man, and I knew how lucky I was to have him by my side.
“Stay back,” Bastien warned.
When we neared the soldiers, Bastien handed me one of his shorter knives, and drew a third from his boot. Because, why wouldn’t he have an arsenal in his wardrobe? He motioned to the two men on the right, deciding to end them before he finished off the two on the left. There were three others, but they were farther away, and would be dealt with next.
It felt like cheating when I stabbed one of the soldiers in the side of his neck. I tried not to make a sound, but my panic at the dark deeds I was doing welled up in my throat like too much vomit. Though I’d helped Bastien kill Armand and Silvain in the beginning of our journey together, it never got any easier.
My second victim fell with only a tiny squeak that I let out when I drove my knife through his abdomen, letting him fall to the grass as he cried out he’d been attacked. My hand went over his mouth as the other two men bounded for the dying. Bastien’s kills were cleaner and quicker than mine as he intercepted them, but whatever. I blamed my clumsy cuts on me being a vegetarian.
When the remaining three in the distance responded to the slight noises of disturbance, Bastien was ready. The trio descended on their fallen brethren, but Bastien ended them without so much as a grunt, his knife flashing in the rising moonlight.
He frowned with frustration up at me as he grabbed one of the bodies under the armpits. “I told you I would handle it, and for you to stay back. Something confusing about that?”
I shook my head, trying to appear contrite. “Seven on one didn’t seem fair. I don’t like the thought of people fighting you.”
“Well, I don’t like the thought of blood on your hands.” He hefted the body to the castle wall, and then reached for another. “I also don’t like you in a lifeless pile on the ground!”
“I’ll try my best not to get stabbed, then.”
Bastien mimed laughing at my lame attempt at humor as we pulled the bodies to rest against the stone wall of the castle, so they wouldn’t be super visible. He affixed my hand to his belt again and coiled his arm around my back, so we walked together into the castle, and toward our family.
10
My Friend and my Enemy
I could’ve closed my eyes and still found our way, but they were wide as saucers, confused as I took in the castle that was dimly lit by the occasional candle. Though it had never seemed cheery to me, now it felt downright grim. The walls weren’t as clean, the stone shining with a layer of grayish grime. It smelled like mildew everywhere, and nowhere did the familiar scent of Fabien, the cook’s, freshly baked bread or delicious soups reach my senses.
We moved on stealthy feet through the stone corridors, since Cailleach hadn’t explained whether or not our sounds were being concealed. I stopped a few times and turned us in a different direction, since my gut was harder to feel when I was nervous. I wanted to tell Bastien that maybe he should wait outside so he didn’t get hurt, but talking wasn’t really a thing you could do in stealth-mode.
The few people we passed didn’t take notice of us, though my heart pounded loudly all the same. Most were household servants, keeping their heads down as they walked in their sandals through the castle. We were almost to the point my gut was tugging me toward when a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. My gasp stayed tucked inside of me as Bastien and I flattened our backs to the dirty wall. It had never been dirty when I’d lived here. I frowned at the oversight that meant the man coming toward me was dropping the ball.
“See that the prisoners are fed and watered again,” Rigby said to the man he was walking with, pausing just a few feet from where we stood.
“But her majesty most high said no more than once a day.”
Rigby’s voice was firm with the command he held over the household. “Then see it’s done quietly, and tell the prisoners to eat and drink quickly. I’ll not have the Lost Duchess die in a dungeon. The rest of Avalon would have our heads.”
“You’re going soft, Master Rigby,” the young man commented, his shoulder-length black hair falling into his face.
Rigby’s tone turned sharp, though he did not besmirch his graceful demeanor by raising his voice. “I’ll assign you to warm Morgan le Fae’s bed tonight, if you keep up that kind of talk.”
“No, Master Rigby! I wasn’t saying anything bad against you. I only meant that you’re…”
“I know what you meant. Perhaps a week in her majesty most high’s bed will teach you the value of kindness in such a cruel world.”
The young man lowered his shoulders, his chin dipping to the ground. “Yes, Master Rigby. I’ll see to the prisoners, and keep it quiet from the staff and her majesty most high.”
“Very good. On your way, now.” When the man left, Rigby remained in the hallway, pausing as if in thought. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, then whipped his head around in confusion. “Princess?”
I stiffened against the wall, amazed that Rigby was so details-oriented that he could pick me out by the scent of my skin. Bastien gripped my hand, unnecessarily warning me not to make our presence known.
Rigby inhaled again, though this time it looked as though the memory of me pained him. He pressed his hand over his heart and he closed his eyes, bathing in the slight fragrance of my skin. “Forgive me,” he whispered, almost like a prayer, as if the mere smell of flowers cut through the toughened exterior of his soul.
It was difficult to be so near to him. I didn’t know what I would’ve said, had I the option of conversing right now. Part of me wanted to punch him, while another side of me wanted to rant and tear him a new one, sobbing while I recounted each moment in the well, where he’d left me to rot. I wanted to scream Demi’s name in his face, demanding justice for my boyfriend, who hadn’t been given a shred of grace in his shortened life.
The other part of me wanted to fall into his arms, as I had in my father’s holding room when Urien had still been frozen in his slumber. Rigby let his guard down that day, assuring me that I had a friend in this cold, lonely place. My heart was too broken to be near him, and yet there he was, shattering my fragile pieces all over again by just looking at his pained expression.
Rigby’s hand reached out so he could brace himself on the wall mere inches from my head. I was afraid to breathe, too scared to even blink. Though he was still proper in his fitted beige pants to match the white dress shirt underneath his standard red jacket with gold threading, I noticed the wavy brown hair that curled up at the base of his neck was slightly mussed. I wondered just what misfortune might result in Rigby presenting himself to the household in any way other than the height of composure, perfectly groomed.
I rallied everything in me, willing myself to one day forgive Rigby for the blind obedience that had landed me in the bottom of a well. He’d seen me mostly naked, and I felt exposed in his presence. I counted the seconds through his steady inhales that seemed to invoke some sort of catharsis. The space between Rigby’s eyebrows wrinkled, his eyes shut tight through pain that looked both physical and emotional.
I would have held him through that pain. I would have stayed up all night listening to every ounce of it.
But here we were – him in pain, and me afraid to breathe in hi
s presence.
Bastien’s hand moved to clutch his knife, but I put my palm atop his wrist to let him know that killing Rigby might not be the best move right now. Morgan relied on him for everything. If we wanted time to get everyone out before we went after her, Rigby needed to be kept in the dark, and the house needed to be business as usual.
Plus, I’m not sure my heart could take the sight of him bleeding out on the stone floor. Angry as I was, I was too conflicted about it all to wish him dead.
After a few more beats, Rigby collected himself and moved down the hall. Bastien and I didn’t move until the footsteps had long faded. Seeing Rigby left me shaken, so when I reached out for Bastien this time, it wasn’t purely just so we could stay together through the maze. I wanted him close so I didn’t feel naked, exposed in front of a man whom I’d thought was my friend, until it turned out I was wrong.
I didn’t like being wrong about that. I liked to believe the best in people. But Rigby tricked me, hurt me, and left me for dead. I didn’t like to think about that whole mess, but seeing him invoked a fear in me I couldn’t reconcile. I felt sad for the state of the world, that there were duplicitous people who could do such unthinkable things.
He’d duped me into believing he was my friend – that he was a good guy. I was the dummy who fell for his beautiful lies that I wasn’t alone, and that he would be there for me.
Rigby had known all along that I was stupid.
11
Down to Depths with the Damned
Bastien’s arm around me tightened, sensing my despair, but keeping quiet through the worst of it.
I checked in with my gut and led us down a set of stone steps I’d never investigated before. The mildew stench grew as the corridor seemed to narrow. Instead of only black and gray grime on the walls, now there were streaks of red. Smeared bloody handprints from prisoners fighting for their freedom screamed at us, letting us know we were visiting the damned.
My gut was tugging at me with all its might when we reached a solid wooden door at the bottom of the stone steps. Bastien gently pushed against it, but the door didn’t budge. “Locked,” he whispered with a tight frown. I could hear groaning and the clinking of chains on the other side, but I couldn’t get to the prisoners. I pressed my palm to the door and closed my eyes, willing Lane to feel that I was near, and for that hope to give her peace through her fear. I gulped with dread when it dawned on me that some of those bloody handprints might’ve been hers.
Taking a deep breath, I checked in with my gut for the key. My inner guide told me to stand against the wall. I did as my Compass instructed, yanking Bastien to my side to obey. He didn’t say a word, but trusted me to get the job done.
We waited in complete silence for seven minutes, letting the groans and intermittent wails of the prisoners fill our ears. Bastien was ready to attack – I could feel his muscles tensing with the frustration of being stuck on the wrong side of the door.
When heavy boots descended the stairs behind the unsteady shuffle of a no doubt weary prisoner, we sucked in our stomachs to give them ample room in the tight space. The warden was swinging a lantern, which shed just enough light to ensure neither of them tripped and smooshed us. I couldn’t help the gasp when I saw none other than Duke Henri being brought down before the stoic guard. My uncle was stooped now, unable to stand straight as he hobbled like a troll. He had a freshly bleeding lower lip, a long cut on his temple, and a limp that bespoke a busted hip.
The guard didn’t seem to derive pleasure from controlling every step of the once powerful ruler, but simply did his job – punching the clock without a thought. His forward eyes didn’t sweep to us, nor did he seem to care that his red vest with gold trim was stained with dried blood and grime.
Bastien reached out and caught the lip of the door before it shut, swinging it open just enough for us to both slip through. The door shut behind us, but we didn’t move from it. Instead, we took in the scene with mouths agape.
Prisoners were kept in the dark that was now only lit by the stoic warden’s swinging lantern. They were in separate cells that stood no more than four feet tall by four feet wide. They couldn’t stand, and couldn’t stretch out on the floor.
“Not the cage! I won’t go back in there!” Uncle Henri roared, suddenly coming out of his stupor. He turned and moved his stiff fists to try his hand at combat, but the guard only rolled his eyes.
“You know your time in the sun is over, old man.” The warden popped Duke Henri in the jaw, sending him stumbling back in a stupor. The open cage was behind him, and the guard kicked Uncle Henri in his bum hip, not bothering to catch him when Henri fell on the hard stone. The warden sighed, as if to say, “This is the lamest job in the world. When’s my fifteen?” He shoved Henri into the cage and locked it with the key on his belt.
“Why?” Henri groaned.
“Because her majesty most high absorbed your province. You yourself signed the papers that she could do what best suited Province 1’s needs. Having only one ruler is what does that.” He shook his head. “I’d be mad at you for giving up such a strong region if it wasn’t so sad. That you thought she’d let you sit on the throne by her side? Rich people don’t pay attention to shit.” He scoffed at the stupidity, and I really couldn’t blame the guy. Henri had been dumb to think Morgan would be cool sharing power. She only ever took from those around her.
“Leave him alone,” came a voice that made my heart ache. “Don’t touch my father!”
I wanted to call out to Draper, to let him know that help was here, and to shut up so he didn’t catch himself a beating, but I knew I couldn’t make myself known yet.
The guard kicked the cage next to Henri’s, the flickering lamplight falling on my sweet brother. He was missing his shirt, and had crusty cuts all over his back. It looked like someone had taken a whip to him. I knew I couldn’t compromise my vision with bloody tears, so I kept my grief locked in my heart. I bit down on my lower lip to keep from shouting all the things that were wrong with the state of the world.
“Do you need to put in more time at the whipping post?” The guard didn’t seem pissed at Draper’s outburst, but more annoyed.
“Quiet, honey,” Lane cooed from the cell on the other side of Draper’s. “My son didn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t need to be whipped again. I can keep him quiet.”
“See that you do.” The guard squatted down to peer into Lane’s cage, casting light on her dirty face and haunted eyes. “I don’t like keeping you down here, Duchess, but I’m a good soldier who follows commands.”
Lane nodded with sadness pulling at her usually perky smile. “I understand. We’ll be good. Please don’t hurt my boy anymore.”
“You don’t have to stick up for me, Lane. I can handle the whipping post,” Draper seethed.
Her voice turned sharp with emotion. “Well, I can’t! Do you think your scars only hurt you? They break me!”
The guard didn’t acknowledge Draper, but addressed only Lane. “I won’t mess him up if he can keep his outbursts to himself. I don’t get off on beating prisoners who haven’t done a thing wrong to Avalon. You all give me a quiet night with no fuss, and I’ll leave you all alone. Sound good?”
“Sounds good. Thank you, Astin.”
Lane could charm even the most hardened soldier. Who knows how many prisoners he’d had to torture like this, yet Lane had found a way to soften him back into a malleable human. That was the magic of a good mom.
It was too much to expect me to stay dormant against the wall when Lane was in a cage. Bastien put his finger to his lips to warn me he would get the key. He wore a sneer of barely contained fury when his eyes fell on the cell on the other side of Lane. The steel prison held Reyn’s figure, which was shrouded in shadow. Reyn wasn’t moving, but was a pile of limbs on the stone floor. Bastien’s boots were soundless as he crept up on the warden, but he began to lose his temper the closer he got to his target.
Bastien hefted Astin up and slammed him atop
Duke Henri’s cage, spittle flying out in barely contained rage. His words came out forced through gritted teeth that told me when the final blow came, it would be bloody, and without regret. “You put my mother in a cage,” he growled, making my heart swoon that he could claim Lane as his own. When we got married, she would be his mother. I hadn’t put that together until just now, but it seemed Bastien had been mulling over the specifics enough to attach himself to my family. He held his knife to Astin’s throat. “You locked my brothers up like dogs.”
Astin trembled with confusion, and though he was a big enough man, not being able to see your assailant could dishevel even the strongest soldier. “Who are you?” Astin worked out as he struggled fruitlessly against my beastly fiancé.
“Wrong question. You should be asking yourself who you are, to be locking a duchess in a cage. She’s the beacon of the free world, and you’re keeping her in the dark so the rest of the world goes blind. Have you been starving my mother?”
“No! I feed them more than her majesty most high allows.”
“Have you laid a hand on my mother?”
“Of course he did!” Draper shouted, calling for revenge.
Astin scrambled for an answer. “I only ordered the beatings that are standard for all prisoners I oversee. You act like I have a choice in anything! You act like Morgan le Fae doesn’t see all and control all!”
“Bastien, wait! He’s only doing what he’s told,” Lane offered, gripping the bars on her cage with renewed hope. Like a good mother, she recognized his voice.
Bastien’s knife was quick when it finally moved. The serrated edge swept across Astin’s throat, spilling out red that dripped into Duke Henri’s cage, painting him with crimson splashes. Bastien held Astin there while he choked and bled out, pinning him with one hand while he unhooked the key from Astin’s belt. “I was in the army once too, and I chose to risk death because I knew what I was being ordered to do wasn’t right. You always have a choice, and you chose wrong, Soldier. Choosing nothing is how the world starts crumbling.” He leaned in, his volume controlled, but his voice shaking with rage. “I wanted more for Avalon than this! A true soldier fights harder for Avalon than he does his own life.”
Stubborn Girl Page 6
