A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2)

by Yolandie Horak

  What the hell was she doing? Was she seriously going to punch an old woman? Either that or give her a chance to get out of that chair, and I’ve seen how that goes. “So scared.”

  “Come to me, little one. I’ll make it all better.”

  Cara inched forward, slowly, slowly. All she needed do was peep, and she’d be the mouse Celestine wanted her to be.

  But Celestine missed one important fragment of information.

  Carabelle of Mordoux was no mouse.

  She clutched the bunch of keys in her fist and threw every inch of her strength into a punch aimed at Celestine’s temple.

  Celestine’s eyebrows flickered, and she leaned forwards as though she’d stand, but it was too late. Metal tore through soft flesh, and blood gushed over Cara’s fingers as the jagged edges of a key ripped into one of Celestine’s eyes.

  Time slowed. Already, Cara’s other fist moved, but this was wrong—violence was never the answer—and she was a healer. Healers didn’t inflict pain. Yet, she grabbed onto the image of Le Roux on the ground, gushing blood, and Celestine grinning with glee. She’d beat Celestine down so Le Roux’s image wouldn’t be replaced with Pointy’s.

  Celestine shrieked and began to raise her arms to cover her face, but Cara landed another punch at Celestine’s left temple.

  Violent, but freeing. How Celestine had lied, manipulated, tortured and killed. She deserved this and more. She deserved to die.

  At last, Celestine truly was as frail as she pretended to be. “Stop!”

  “No.” Cara landed a final punch with the keyed hand.

  Celestine lost consciousness, and her chin sagged to her chest.

  I did that. Cara allowed herself a split-second of astonishment, then jerked back into action. Her hands ached and shook as she fumbled in Celestine’s pocket, but she found the key, as well as a pistol holstered at Celestine’s side. The weapon was strangely heavy in her hand, but she took it anyway.

  Pointy’s eyes swam with tears, but he smiled. “My queen.”

  Cara tried to put the key into the lock, but her fingers were so slick with pungent, metallic blood she could barely think, let alone control her movements. The smell of blood was different in an operating room. Normal. But here?

  What had she done? Had she killed the old hag? She glanced over her shoulder. Her breath was so rapid her skull had become a drifting bubble. Rivers of crimson streamed down Celestine’s face. Injuries to the head did that—bled more than other wounds. Lots of blood vessels located there.

  “Carabelle.” Pointy waited until she met his gaze. “Deep breath through your nose. Hold it, roll your neck. Yes, now exhale through your mouth. Good. In through your nose, shake your shoulders, out through the mouth. In through the nose, raise your arms. Good, out through the mouth. You’ve got it.”

  She nodded and kept breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth as she unlocked the first of his manacles.

  He took the pistol from her, wincing as his broken fingers curled around the grip. Despite the pain he had to be enduring, a glimmer of mischief lit his eyes. “I, for one, actually know how to use this.”

  Maybe, but a small part of her had liked the feel of the weapon in her hand.

  She freed his other wrist, then helped him sit.

  He gritted his teeth, and sweat ran down his forehead and cheeks in rivulets.

  Cara went on to unlock the shackles at his feet. Those nails in his heels would make it impossible for him to walk. She glanced over at Celestine. The wheelchair.

  Pointy trained the pistol on Celestine in the same moment. “My queen, please avert your eyes. You don’t have to see this.”

  He was going to kill her. Right here, in cold blood. Did that make him a monster?

  No. For what Celestine had done to Pointy, she deserved death. For what she’d done to Le Roux. Chastain and Frank and Sera. For what she’d done to Cara.

  Inside her soul, a thing of scales arose. Its roar shook her very foundation, an all-consuming, guttural sound, more beast than human. In its wake, everything burned.

  Cara went to Pointy’s side and gently took his hand. “She died once before. I won’t believe she’s dead this time if I don’t see it.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Yes.”

  Pointy nodded, then shot Celestine in the head. Once, twice, three times, four.

  The air smelled of sulphur and smoke, and the sound ghosted in her ears.

  Everything was covered in blood. It splattered the chair, it pooled in Celestine’s lap.

  “I was going to shoot her six times,” Pointy said. “Now I don’t know if that’s wise. I should keep some ammunition for what’s to come.”

  The other corpses she’d seen had left her with too many nightmares, too many emotions that had threatened to pull her into a whirlpool. Now, she was numb. While the fire raged inside her, consumed her, Celestine’s empty husk meant nothing.

  So, this was freedom.

  Cara swallowed. She should have shot Celestine herself.

  “We need her chair.” Cara went to the corpse and yanked it by a limp arm. The wheels rolled forward, and the body sagged but remained in the chair.

  Cara blocked the wheels’ path with her foot and pulled the arm again. Her hands were stiff, and the skin at her knuckles strained, but she ignored the pain. This time, the body fell out of the chair, and blood seeped in a puddle around it.

  Cara brought the chair to the table where Pointy waited.

  “Thank you, my queen.”

  Cara’s throat contracted when another click sounded behind her, and Pointy trained the pistol on someone. To be free, finally, and have it snatched away so soon was almost too much to bear. She turned and met Malak’s steady gaze.

  “What do you want?” Pointy asked.

  Malak held up her hands, grinning like a panther. “I’m going to help you escape.”

  Flashes of pain shot through Cara’s temples. Everything throbbed. “First of all, how the hell are we supposed to trust you? And secondly, why? Why would you help us, when we all know you’ll jump off a cliff if Frank tells you to?”

  Malak laughed from the pit of her stomach. “Feisty little thing you’ve turned out to be.”

  Pointy’s expression fell away, and his features arranged in the most serene of ways, but his voice smouldered with menace. “Answer her. I’m not beyond shooting you for sport.”

  “You know what I found out today, my lamb? You know, besides the fact that you’ve somehow been clean for who knows how long.” Malak sniffed. “I learned that the man I love has been stealing my fertility herbs—something he wasn’t even supposed to know about—and has been feeding them to his betrothed.

  “But that’s nothing. Do you know what he did to fool me into thinking I was still using the fertility herbs? You know what he and this bitch did?” Malak’s eyes filled with hatred as she pointed at the heap of Celestine on the floor. “They replaced my herbs with medicines that cause infertility. In. Fertility.

  “I kept wondering why the hell nothing ever worked, why I still don’t have a baby. Well. Now I know. I’m barren, because Frank deadened the possibility of motherhood inside my own damn womb.

  “So. Why should you trust me, and why would I help you? Because, my lamb, I want to hurt Frank like he’s hurt me. Because I want to knock him down a peg or two and show him that there is such a thing as too far. Drug his sister? Sure. Not too far. Drug his betrothed? Sure. Not too far. Drug his mistress, the love of his bloody life? Too far. Way too far. Understand?”

  Oh, how she understood. Seemed Frank would learn everybody had a limit, and even his most loyal of underlings could turn on him. Two in one day, in fact, if Nic had really set out to save Nathan.

  “I get it,” Cara said.

  “I came here on a hunch. I figured, where else could Du Pont be, if nobody has a clue where he is? It would annoy Clarity if he magically disappeared, you know? And be a blow to Frank’s ego.” Malak leaned against the w
all, inspecting her cuticles. “I didn’t expect to find his little sister here. Setting you free will be a kick in the nuts. He took away what I most wanted, now I’ll take away what he most wanted. By the way, bravo. It seems old Clarity got what she deserved.” She shook her head and laughed. “How wrong we were to underestimate you, little Carabelle.”

  Cara shrugged. They had been wrong to underestimate her. She was about to march out of this castle with her friend, then save the man she loved. Then she’d fight. She’d never be anybody’s puppet ever again.

  After all she’d done today, and with what she still might need to do looming over her head, she couldn’t care less about Malak’s dilemma. She’d chosen Frank and Celestine, knowing how they manipulated and damaged everyone around them, so she’d have to live with her fate.

  “We don’t need your help,” Pointy said.

  “The castle is in lockdown,” Malak said. “Nic’s been accused of killing Intelligence agents to help Cara escape, and since he’s gone, Cara’s gone, and now Nathan Cutter is gone, the network is thrumming with tension. What do you think will happen when Frank comes here to consult the old bitch and finds her freshly dead? You’ll never get out without me.”

  Cara held up a hand to silence Pointy when his mouth opened. “Nathan’s gone?”

  “Without a trace. Seemed he found out someone was coming to kill him.”

  The fire inside Cara burned brighter. “Good. Help me get Pointy in the chair, then we’ll follow you to safety.”

  Pointy placed a hand on Cara’s shoulder. “My dear?”

  “Let Frank feel what it’s like to be betrayed by the people he loves,” Cara said.

  Malak gave a nod. “Good choice, my lamb.”

  Cara’s cheeks heated. “Shit. You know, between you and Nic with the damn pet names, I’m going to lose my mind. I’m nobody’s bloody lamb.”

  Pointy chuckled. “Such language, my dear.”

  He was making fun of her. Now, of all times. He had to know she’d grown up so secluded that her repertoire of cusses was limited, at best.

  “I’ll have to teach you a few more powerful profanities for the future,” he continued. “Just to keep it current.”

  He did know. “Hush, I’m rescuing you.”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  Chapter 38

  Cara pushed Pointy in the wheelchair. The steam power would probably move him faster, but the susurrations caused strange echoes in the passages, and it wouldn’t help if they went quicker, but sent out a beacon of sound that would allow the enemy to locate them.

  The darkness was heavier, more ominous than ever, and she was effectively blind. The need for speed often had to be replaced by caution. Banging into a wall because she wasn’t careful would also let every agent in the passages know exactly where they were.

  Malak had led them to an intersection she’d claimed would take them outside of the castle. Her orders had been to go straight ahead, she’d wished them luck, then turned back.

  This way would either lead them to freedom, or right into Frank’s waiting arms.

  Something whirred behind them, and the darkness in the passage lessened. Two more whirs and their shadows became defined.

  “Shit,” Pointy whispered. “They’re turning on the lights.”

  The passages had lights? Creator, what else?

  “I’m going to run,” Cara said in Pointy’s ear.

  She pushed the chair as fast as she could, but all the while, the passages lit. Her eyes didn’t need as much time to adjust, but too soon, the passages were flooded with light.

  Had she been frightened of this place? Whatever for? The passages were more cramped versions of the castle’s halls, much like those in the basement. Not scary at all. Grey brick, floors smooth with age, and not even a cobweb in sight. Funny how one feared what one couldn’t see.

  The sounds behind them gained definition. Footsteps. Had they been spotted? She pushed herself harder than she’d ever pushed before. Creator knew, if they got out of this, she’d take up running. The way her life went, she’d have need of the skill again.

  Cara careened into a dead end—let it really lead out of the passages—and stopped to search for the switch that would open the door. Not long now, and they’d be free. Not long now.

  Footsteps gained volume and people called out deeper in the passages. The echoes were closer, clearer.

  Cara found the switch, but it was stuck. She pressed it down with both aching hands, then stomped on it with her heel. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Not to pressure you, my dear, but hurry.” Pointy’s voice was husky, almost all breath.

  “I’m.” Cara smashed her heel into the switch. “Trying.”

  “Cover your ears.”

  Cara frowned in his direction just as he raised the pistol and fired at an agent who’d entered the passage a few metres behind them. The bang merged with her, reverberated in her mind, and her skull quaked with it. She shut her eyes, then locked her jaw and slammed her heel into the switch. It gave under her foot, and the door slid open.

  She grabbed the chair and pelted out.

  Night had fallen, and mist-like rain enveloped them. Cara’s skin was feverish, but the drizzle did its part to cool her off. Yellow lights shone from cottages and the stalls of vendors, but despite the cold and wet, people walked about.

  They gaped at her and Pointy or gestured their way. Some bowed.

  Once the first woman fell in behind Cara and Pointy to block the entrance to the passages, many others followed. They closed ranks and became a barricade of living bodies, blocking the path of the pursuing Intelligence agents.

  Cara didn’t stop to thank them. She ran with all her might, pushing the chair over the wet cobbles.

  Pointy’s face contorted as he was jostled from side to side, but they had to get away first, then see to his injuries. After a few minutes, he sagged back, unconscious. He was going to freeze if they didn’t find him something warmer than Cara’s coat, and soon. Lucky that she’d had the foresight to drape the coat over him before they’d left Celestine’s lair.

  The running kept her warm enough for now, but she’d also need dry clothes. Escape first; all else could wait until later.

  She had no idea where she was. The only place she’d been to outside the castle was that damn garden, and where Nathan had trained. How would she escape if she had no sense of where to go? Think!

  Distance—that was most important. Far away from the castle. She chose a path that led towards the keep wall.

  Her muscles protested, and a sharp pain pulsed between her ribs, but she kept going. Past cottages and shop-like buildings, some of them puffing smoke scented by baking bread. Sound returned to her slowly.

  People shouted behind her, and a gunshot shattered the night calm.

  Ashes, the way she’d chosen led to a dead end. She’d had enough of those to last her a lifetime.

  Cara turned into the first cobbled way that split off—curse the cobblestones—and almost collided with something white and furry. She yelped as she jumped back, shaking.

  A bear growled in her face.

  “Down, Skjold.” Vendla held out a hand. The bear sat on its haunches and sniffed at Cara. “Carabelle of Mordoux, just the woman I was looking for. With my missing ally in tow. Sweet Ehrd, he looks terrible. Here.” Vendla loosened the clasp of her pelt cloak and slung it around Cara’s shoulders.

  The weight of the garment almost pinned Cara to the ground, but she didn’t need it. She shook her head and draped the cloak over Pointy instead.

  “Du Pont wasn’t wrong about you.” Vendla took Cara’s place behind the wheelchair and set a fast pace. “Let’s go.”

  The chief-queen and Pointy allied? Ashes, so much had happened while she’d been imprisoned.

  As if Vendla hadn’t been intimidating enough, she wore full plate armour.

  Some components of the armour were dented, dulled with scratches. Others still glinted in the light—pieces tha
t had been replaced. Embossed and enamelled, the emblem of a growling bear adorned the chest piece. The bear stood atop a corpse, maw dripping blood.

  A flash of memory transported Cara to that night in the valley when she’d almost been raped, but she pushed it aside. Not now.

  More people scurried about here, out on various errands, hunched, collars turned up. They parted for Vendla, or bowed before Cara, open-mouthed and staring. Many of them pointed at the state of their hero Du Pont.

  There was no way Frank wouldn’t learn which way Cara had come. With Vendla. How angry would he be about this? More importantly, what would he do for revenge?

  Maybe Vendla didn’t care that much about Frank any longer. Considering she’d already allied with Pointy, maybe she was seeking a way out of her agreement with Frank.

  A new idea knocked out Cara’s wind. If Pointy had allied with anyone, it had probably been in Cara’s name. As queen.

  What did that mean? She hadn’t come to terms with what Pointy wanted for her, and already she had allies. Power. Could she leave Collinefort with an army? Go to Aelland and help Sera calm the insanity that was probably still raging in the streets of Roicester? And…did she want to?

  She had a lot to think about.

  “Your physician friend is with my people,” Vendla said. “He’ll be glad to see you.”

  Cara halted mid-step and wiped unexpected tears from her cheeks. She hurried to keep up with Vendla. “He’s safe?”

  The corners of Vendla’s mouth turned up. “He is. How much of that blood is yours?”

  Cara looked at her hands and relived the feeling of metal as it tore through skin, not smooth and even like a scalpel. Jagged, halting, violent. “It’s not mine.”

  “Whose?”

  “Celestine Chastain’s.”

  Vendla arched an eyebrow.

  She wouldn’t know that name. “Pointy called her Clarity. She was in control of Intelligence here.”