The Kingmaker Complete Trilogy (The Kingmaker Trilogy #1-3)

by Gemma Perfect

  She tunes out of the quiet conversation around her, slipping into a dream, then a word or a laugh wakes her up, before she drifts off again. In this world between waking and sleeping she is calm, can pretend that all the horrible things that happened this week, didn’t.

  Would it have been easier for everyone had she been sacrificed as any other Kingmaker? Definitely. Her father would still be dead, though, and Millard would still have killed Macsen to become King and so not everything would be better. But she wouldn’t be here to feel the pain, that would be better, but then who would protect Addyson? No one else but her.

  There are always reasons to want a different outcome to what there is and yet she is glad to be alive. Addyson’s laugh nudges her away from sleep and her smile widens. Della will be wonderful for Addyson. Everleigh thinks she could ask her to move into the castle when she is Queen. Addyson needs people in her life that aren’t frightened of, or repulsed by, her curse. Della is obviously neither.

  They are talking a little louder now, all feeling safe and more relaxed, away from the castle, away from Millard, away from the death of the day.

  Della is talking, her voice is low and lilting, musical, almost, to listen to. Ginata didn’t mention any husband or children for her, only a brother, but she would make a good mother, bedtime stories would be heaven with her soft, sweet voice.

  Everleigh tunes in and out, her body sinking so deep into the chair, she doubts she could move if Millard ran into the cottage brandishing his sword. Her limbs are liquid, and she feels happy for the first time since she opened her presents that morning. Is it still her birthday? That doesn’t even make sense.

  Archer died on her birthday. How would she ever enjoy another year’s passing again?

  She opens her eyes. “Ginata, I’ve just remembered the stupidest thing.”

  “What?”

  “It’s still my birthday.” Suddenly Everleigh is both crying and laughing, smiling and sobbing, as both Addyson and Ginata hug her, both laughing and crying with her.

  “I’ll be glad when it’s over. Your birthday,” Addyson says, wiping at her tears. “By your next birthday things will be better.”

  “I was supposed to die today,” Everleigh says, regaining some composure. “Instead my brother, Halfreda and my beloved Archer died. How will I get over it?” As she asks the question, she answers it in her own head, by killing the man who did it.

  Della stands up, straightening her shawl. “I’ll go and fetch some food from mine. Sorry again that Finn isn’t here to greet you. He’s out and about all the time and I don’t know half of what he gets up to. He’s only a year older than you, Queen, so quite a bit younger than me, and he tells me I nag him like a mother, but then I’ll be doing the same to you two within a day, so I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Everleigh laughs. “Thank you, Della. You don’t know what it means to me, to us, to have somewhere safe to lay our heads, and someone speaking so kindly to us.”

  Della nods and leaves the cottage. Ginata smiles at them both. “Isn’t she lovely?”

  They both nod, and Addyson sits by the fire. “I don’t feel so scared with her next door.”

  “Do you want her to sleep in here with you both tonight? She wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, please.” Everleigh had been worried about leaving Addyson sleeping alone while she ventured to the castle.

  “I’ll ask her when she comes back in.”

  Della comes back and insists she is happy to sleep in the cottage with them. She has food and ale but Ginata declines. “I need to get back to the castle. There is to be a feast and I dare not miss it. I have to keep on your brother’s good side. The sleeping draughts are on the table. If you need them, take them a half hour before you want to sleep, just a few drops – any more will knock you out.”

  Everleigh and Addyson both nod. Everleigh will make Addyson take it and pretend to take it herself.

  After Ginata leaves, the three of them sit and, once again, a wave of peace settles over Everleigh. This is a safe place; Addyson will be safe while she kills Millard.

  Della takes the lead, entertaining them with stories of hapless villagers who knock on her door by mistake looking for anything from a love potion to rat poison. Both girls are enjoying the feeling of safety, the warmth of the fire. Addyson’s eyes are starting to droop. “Take this.” Everleigh opens the vial and squeezes three drops onto her tongue. It will ensure she sleeps soundly through the night and doesn’t wake up to find Everleigh missing.

  “I may slip out for fresh air in the night,” she says quietly to Della, not wanting Addyson to hear.

  “Do not venture far, Queen. I have sworn to keep you safe.”

  “I know. And I thank you for it. And when I can reward you for it, I promise I will.”

  Lanorie

  SO THERE’S NOT MANY times in my life that I wish I hadn’t done something that I had. When I told Everleigh’s secret, that was one time, there was a time I pinched a bit of cake off Cook, and she rapped my knuckles so hard, it wasn’t worth it.

  And now.

  Sitting in the tower.

  By myself.

  Alone.

  Cold.

  Hungry.

  When I think about Everleigh, and I think how pleased she must be with me, then I feel a little bit better. A little bit proud of myself, like people would be surprised by me. Impressed with me.

  Then I hear the guard outside coughing or spitting on the floor and I’m crying again, thinking that no good feeling is worth the trouble I’m in.

  What Everleigh or anyone else might be thinking about me, means nothing, really, because in here by myself I can only pretend what they might be thinking or saying and it’s nothing compared to what I can see and what I feel.

  The real thing is the cold, bare room. The cold, hard bed, with one threadbare blanket, the cold, tasteless food. Only cold because of the trek from the kitchen to the tower, and only tasteless because I feel so sick, I could be sucking sugar off my fingers and it would be tasteless.

  The little maid who brought me food, a little supper, because Cook felt sorry for Addyson, nearly died when she saw me, and I swore her to secrecy. Let’s hope she’s better at secrets than I am or what’ll become of me?

  Well, I know what will become of me. If Millard finds out about me.

  I have seen the madness in Millard’s eyes. For every bit of handsome he’s got; something’s gone wrong inside him.

  Cook gave me the most beautiful little cake once, it was a honey cake, with frosting on top, and a load of chopped nuts just sprinkled over it. I bit in to it and tasted something wrong with my tongue. When I looked, I fainted dead, and after I woke up, poor Cook was most upset. There was a maggot inside it. Well, it wasn’t Cook’s fault, so I wasn’t cross with her. Long time till I ate another cake, though, I can tell you.

  Well, Millard is that cake. He is most beautiful on the outside, tall, broad shouldered, dark haired and dark eyed. But on the inside, he is rotten. He is maggoty.

  I feel quite clever thinking of that by myself.

  And then I feel stupid again, because I remember that I have got myself locked in a room, when after all the horrible things that happened today, I was one of the lucky ones. I was safe, I still had my head, but now I have got myself locked up.

  The guard didn’t even look my way when the little maid came in – that was something. I had been worrying that he would see me and kill me without a word when he realised that Addyson was gone. But he didn’t even look at me.

  Being alone is no good for me, I start thinking terrible things.

  I will have a cold and lonely night and then the guard will look at me tomorrow. He will call for Millard, who will be furious. He won’t even just kill me quickly. No, because I was so clever, and let Addyson escape, he will want to know where she is. I’ve heard about torture, and I can’t hold out from him, if he puts a rat anywhere near me, or tries to stretch me on a, who even knows what it’s c
alled, I’ll just tell him.

  And then what good is my good idea then?

  When I am dead.

  7

  EVERLEIGH LISTENS TO Addyson’s breathing, steady and deep, and then Della’s, not quite so deep, but steady.

  She is ready. She cannot wait any longer. She does not want to sleep while Millard is King. She wants him dead.

  It is late enough that she is sure the feast will be over, and her brother in bed. If she has mistimed it, she will wait. What else can she do?

  Her servant clothes are not as thick as her own, but she puts Della’s cloak over hers, so that she will be warm enough. She slips two vials of the sleeping draught in her pocket, but keeps the knife in her hand.

  She may run into trouble on the way to the castle, and she has to be able to defend herself; nothing can stop this.

  Kissing Addyson softly on her forehead, and whispering a thank you to Della, she slips out in to the night.

  It’s a clear night, with no clouds, the stars bright, lighting up the Realm. She walks quickly, and quietly, with her head down and the knife ready.

  The closer she gets, the faster she goes, until she is running. She forces herself to slow to a walk again. She needs to be quiet and careful, not loud and careless.

  As she walks, she whispers the names of the dead, the people Millard has killed. “Macsen, Halfreda, Archer. Macsen, Halfreda, Archer.”

  All the death is for nothing until she has the crown on her head or at least off his.

  The castle looms ahead of her, and tears prick her eyes, she wasn’t expecting that, but of course this has always been her home, a safe and happy place, full of people who love her and care for her, look after her. Now it seems like a hard place, an unforgiving place where bad things happen. She looks over at the tower, sending Lanorie a silent message, I’m on my way.

  It seems quiet and so she is sure the feast is over. She slips through the courtyard, cloak low on her face, ready to duck into the shadows if she needs to. She knows every twist and turn of the inside and the outside of the castle, and there are plenty of places to tuck herself away if anyone comes, but it is silent. She is sure Millard is exhausted after his busy day and that he’s sleeping. She’s sure the guards are all happy to see the end of the day as well and maybe off their game a little bit; not paying attention.

  She heads to the kitchen first, she wants to catch one of the little maids. She needs just a little bit of help to deliver the sleeping draughts to the two, hopefully just two, guards on his door.

  She hunkers down, next to a wall and watches. There’s light coming from the kitchen and she’s sure Cook is busy clearing up after the feast. It takes a while but her patience is rewarded; one of the little maids comes out carrying two ale jugs. She comes to stand near Everleigh and starts pouring the contents away. Everleigh doesn’t want to scare her too much, so she slips the dagger into the folds of Della’s cloak and moves quietly into her sight, “Hey.”

  The little maid jumps but only a tiny bit.

  “Princess.” She drops into a curtsey, and Everleigh smiles at her.

  “Thank you. Can you help me please? And not tell anyone?”

  The little maid nods; she has looked after Everleigh more than a hundred times and would do anything for her.

  Everleigh closes her eyes in relief. “I don’t even know your name.” Suddenly Everleigh feels guilty, so many little maids have looked after her, they had seemed almost interchangeable to her. How awful.

  “Molly.”

  “Well, Molly, I can never thank you enough, but when I am Queen, I will try.”

  Molly smiles. “I would do anything to serve you, no matter what.”

  “Can you fetch me two cups of wine?”

  Molly nods and takes the jugs back to the kitchen.

  She quickly comes back out. “Cook was in the store cupboard. She didn’t see me.”

  “Thank you.” Everleigh slips the vials from her pockets and empties one into each cup.

  “Can you take them to the guards outside the King’s door? With some food, maybe? Say that Cook doesn’t want the food to go to waste?”

  Little Molly looks at the cups, warily, but nods straightaway.

  “It won’t kill them, only send them to sleep. So I can talk to my brother.”

  Molly nods again, looking happier. She leaves the wine with Everleigh and slips back to the kitchen. When she comes out, she’s holding a tray with a selection of little cakes and some cheeses.

  Everleigh puts the wine on the tray and Molly heads towards the castle. “From Cook.” Everleigh just wants to remind her. “So it doesn’t go to waste.”

  Molly turns back and nods.

  Everleigh hunkers down with her back against the wall, waiting.

  Cook throws out some scraps, and another little maid scurries off towards the castle. Watching them Everleigh feels sad. It’s her birthday – the worst day of her life – people are dead, but life goes on for others. Nothing has changed for Cook. She will cook for one King or another, or a Queen or anyone who pays her. The little maid would scurry around whether it was Cook giving the orders or someone else.

  Everleigh’s life is on pause until she is crowned Queen, the pain of death a physical sharpness inside her chest, an actual weight on her shoulders. Everyone else is carrying on regardless but she cannot.

  She decides to sneak inside the castle, make her way to Millard’s rooms and put her plan into action; she cannot wait any longer.

  She hears footsteps and ducks behind a curtain. She holds her breath as the person goes past, and then sneaks a look. One of the pages, probably heading to the kitchen. She waits for a moment then starts slowly and stealthily along the corridor again.

  Millard’s rooms are not far from her own and a little bit of her wants to visit them, slip back into the past, pretend this day never started.

  It cannot be, and so she keeps going to Millard’s rooms.

  She stands around the corner. And listens. She cannot hear anyone and usually the guards would be chatting, and laughing.

  Taking a deep breath, she risks a look around the corner at Millard’s door. The guards are there, slumped on the floor, an empty tray next to them and the two cups of sleeping draught laced wine, laying on the floor, empty.

  Everleigh smiles.

  This.

  This is what she has been waiting for since Millard slashed his sword against Archer’s innocent body.

  Ginata

  AND THIS DAY IS DONE. I have never been so happy to see the back of a day, the deepening of the dark, and the stars peering through the black above with a soft and reassuring glow; some things remain the same.

  I stand in the doorway of my new rooms and give a sigh a small sigh of contentment. This is the only good thing to have come out of this mess.

  When Millard first had a maid show me my new rooms, I felt uneasy. A King had died in these rooms.

  But my superstitious nature quickly gave way.

  The rooms are beautiful. Three interlocking rooms. All my own. Each one at least three times larger than my entire two-room cottage.

  I allow myself a little bit of satisfaction as I survey them now: my rooms. Millard has done a wonderful job of making them up for me, all signs of his father gone.

  This first room is a receiving room. I have no idea what that even means, but it’s a little like a front room, only huge and grand, and sumptuous. There are three windows along the side, so the room will be flooded with daylight come the morning. Now the drapes are closed, thick drapes, made with better quality fabric than any of my clothes; silver in colour and shimmery. In front of each window is a seat. Each seat is covered in fabric and adorned with cushions. There are three free standing chairs, plump and cushioned, and two sofas, that could fit three people sitting side by side.

  There are rugs on the floor and hangings on the wall. In my whole life, I would never have lived somewhere so wonderful, were it not for the death of my good friend Halfreda. And
though I know it was her plan for me to take over her role here, and that she was at the end of her life regardless of Millard’s sword, I do feel sad and guilty.

  I sit in one of my plump chairs, feet on a footstool, a blanket behind me to drape over my lap should I feel a chill, and I wonder at the change in my circumstances.

  Have I made a deal with the devil?

  Is that what this is?

  I stand up and wander through to my second room, a work room. Shelf after shelf of root, plant, petal, potion, lotion, bottles, jars, vials in every size. The smell is wonderful and smothering at the same time, filling my head and making it ache.

  On a table, next to some chairs, is a tottering pile of Halfreda’s work books, her ‘spell’ books, her recipes for this and that. In one of them is the list of ingredients and the steps to make a death draught.

  What if I killed Millard myself?

  I dismiss that thought with a shake of my head. Despite what Macsen did with the draught Halfreda and I made, I cannot bear even the thought of doing the same thing. Poison is the coward’s way out. Maybe what I am doing is the same. Pretending to serve when I don’t, but I know I will sleep soundly tonight, regardless.

  And in a beautiful bed!

  I laugh aloud at my wickedness, but by the gods, these rooms are a delight.

  This, I head to the third room, is my private room, a bed and a bath and some chairs, my things from home, for me to place where I choose. My clothes and some new ones as well.

  I have my own maid, she has other duties, and I can dress myself at my age, but she will ready me a bath and bring me food if I don’t choose to eat in the great hall. I will have fires lit for me and food brought to me, even in the dead of night, if I choose.

  I have choices now.

  I have never had much of a choice. I could barter a potion for a chicken rather than a piece of lamb if I preferred. I could bathe in the river in the morning and sweep the floors in the afternoon, or if the fancy took me do it the other way around.