“You cannot help at all. Addyson has to stay safe, and so do you.”
“I will not stand back and do nothing. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Archer opens his mouth to argue again, but sees the defiance on Everleigh’s face.
“Right. But you listen to me and Ceryn and you stay in the background. Don’t go off on your own, don’t try to find Millard on your own. Don’t try to win this alone.”
Everleigh nods her head. “I will be careful.”
“I’ll go down to the kitchen to get breakfast,” Will says. “And then I’ll ask one of the little maids to find you something different to wear. Some livery or something. Something practical.”
“Get clean stuff for Ceryn too. She’s all bloody.”
Ceryn shrugs, she’s not bothered what she’s wearing, as long as she can kill Millard.
“We need to make some arrangements, speak to the squires, the pages, the stable boys. Get as much back up as we can.”
“I wish we knew how many men he has.”
“We just have to be ready, as best we can.”
“I hope Weaver gets here in time.”
“He thought he’d be back today. He has no idea what he’ll be coming back to, though.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s always ready to fight. We all are.”
Will comes back, followed by a stream of little maids. They have food, drink, wood for the fire and clothes for Everleigh and Ceryn.
They eat in silence. Archer next to Everleigh, Will next to Ceryn and the teacher between them.
“Let’s change.”
Addyson has tucked back into bed, the covers up to her chin, her face pale, worried. Della is sleeping. She hops out of bed to help Everleigh undress to her slip, then Everleigh and Ceryn dress quickly, in the same livery as a page. Trousers, and a shift, not smart but much more practical than a dress. Ceryn transfers her weapons and keeps hold of her sword.
“I’ll give a dagger to Will but what can we give you...”
“A sword?”
“You can’t just have a sword. You’ll chop your own head off.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Not stupid. But swords are heavy. They’re not easy to just wave around. You need something, so you can defend yourself, not just join the fray and fight. You have to be safe. I’ll get you a knife. Something sharp, but you have to stay out of it, as much as you can.”
“I get that, but I don’t want to be useless.”
“You’re not useless. You’re what we’re all fighting for.”
“I wonder when he’ll get here.”
“Who knows? But he’s going to be so angry. Ginata and me got away. He’ll be furious. Murderous.”
“What’s new?”
They join the others and Archer gives a whistle. Everleigh blushes. “Do I look like a boy?”
“Oh, no. No fear of that.”
Archer’s eyes are fixated on Everleigh, and Will is looking at Ceryn with the same dopey look on his face.
The teacher claps his hands. “What’s next?”
“Ceryn and I will gather up everyone we can. Men and boys over the age of thirteen who will fight for you.”
“Fifteen. Thirteen is too young.”
“We need fighters. If they want to fight, we’ll let them.”
“What if they’re really on my brother’s side?”
“Once the fighting starts, it’s almost impossible to tell who’s fighting who and for whom. It’s every man for himself. We’ll keep the youngsters as safe as we can, but we cannot face up to Millard and who knows how many men, with just us two. He will laugh before he kills us. We have to have some shape.”
“I’ll go to the kitchen while you gather help, talk to the little maids, make sure they’re all out of the way. Will can come with me. The teacher can stay here with Addyson and Della.”
“We’ll give you a weapon just in case,” Archer tells him.
They all leave at the same time, Ceryn and Archer heading for the burnt-out stables, Everleigh and Will to the kitchen.
“It’s going to be a long day.”
“It’s the waiting, the not knowing. He might be on his way right now, or he might come tonight when we’re all in bed.”
“We’ll wait for him. None of us will sleep until it’s over. And if I am left to look after you, I’ll do it properly this time.” Everleigh hugs him tightly and they are both tearful when they draw apart.
“Let’s get on with things. I want anyone who’s vulnerable out of the way.”
“Does that mean me?”
They both grin. “I’m pretty sure Ceryn won’t let anything happen to you.”
Will doesn’t even argue, just grins a massive grin. “I hope not.”
“I think you’re both really sweet.”
“Ceryn is not sweet.”
“True. I mean the two of you together. You deserve to be happy.”
“We all do.”
They hold hands as they head into the kitchen.
Ginata
I HAVE STOPPED TO SIT by the river, oblivious to the danger I may be putting myself in, or maybe just not caring.
I have good reasons for leaving, I have gone over them in my head again and again, but the further away I get from the castle, the worse I feel. I feel like I’m abandoning Everleigh without explanation, without even trying to make up for all the terrible things I’ve done.
And I know I was under a spell, then, but I’m still running away now.
Even with good reason, I am being a coward.
And when Millard finds me and Ceryn gone from my little cottage he will be in a blind fury and he will go to the castle to end this.
I know that.
So, I am running away from him too. From what he did to me.
Since this whole thing began, I have been a victim of circumstance.
Macsen came to my cottage looking for a death draught and if I had refused him I would have died. My draught killed the old King. Then I was to be Halfreda’s replacement, simply because it was always assumed that I would be. My little life at my cottage was brushed off, unimportant, I had to go to the castle. And then I had to work for Millard, spy on him, a foot in each camp as the play went on. I was drinking a love potion without knowing, and I was just a player in Millard and Everleigh’s game, really.
But if I am to move on with my life on my own terms, I have to finish things properly. I can choose to leave or I can choose to go back but I have to choose.
And I want to choose the path that will make me happiest. Not the path of least resistance, or a path thrust upon me by others. My path. My choice.
I pride myself on being good and doing good – death draughts aside, and now I know what to do.
I smooth down my skirts and lift the little vial of poison from my pocket. Before I head back to the castle I need to make this nasty little potion harmless. Undo my bad work – almost like a sign to myself. Bad things can be undone.
I remember Halfreda telling me how precise the draught was – each ingredient in the exact amount, stirred in the right way at the right time, all leading to the perfect storm of evil. I can’t feel it throbbing in my hands, like before, but I’m sure that’s because I’m in such turmoil. I don’t want to just throw it away. I want to keep it to remind me. Bad things can be undone, bad can be made good again.
I have that power.
I walk into the woods, looking for edible petals and berries I can add to this monstrosity to change the very heart of it, alter the essence of what it is.
I squeeze berry juice into the vial, thinking about Finn as I do so. Poor Finn; he didn’t get the chance to change the bad to good, to alter things, make up for the wrong choices.
And we all do it. We all make bad choices. At least once in a long life.
Only once if we are lucky and wise. Most of us do it far more often and spend our time balancing the good and bad. The wise and the stupid choices. Trying our best.
I shake the li
ttle vial once the lid is screwed back on and when I open it back up the smell is overpowering. I have changed the draught into something different. It will not have any powers; it is not a new spell to do something different, but it is no longer lethal.
It’s a harmless little reminder to me.
I head back to the castle and my step is as light as when I was leaving it.
I have changed my mind, the course of my life and it’s the right thing to do.
I only hope I get to the castle before Millard, Wolf and their men.
I do not want to arrive in the middle of a battle. I want to see Everleigh before it all kicks off.
26
THE POSITION OF THE castle means that anyone inside is well placed to see anyone trying to reach them. So far, the track leading to the castle is empty, as are the grass and trees to the side of it. Millard and his men could be hiding just inside the woods, but there doesn’t seem to be any movement.
The little maids and younger boys are all hidden in one of the upstairs rooms, with Cook, who protested fiercely but was eventually persuaded that bashing men with saucepans when they were brandishing swords, might not be the best plan.
Any of the young men of the castle who wanted to help protect Everleigh have been allowed to. They have been given weapons and armour and a brief idea of what to do and what to expect by Archer and Ceryn.
But Archer and Ceryn plan to lead from the front and kill as many of Millard’s men as possible themselves. They want to prevent blood shed to their side as much as they are able and end it all as quickly as they can.
As the time passes by the threat of attack intensifies and soon the slightest noise has people jumping. The tension is unbearable.
“Someone’s coming!” One of the nimblest little pages has climbed the flagpole, giving him the best view. Swords are raised.
“Just a woman,” he shouts.
Swords are lowered.
“It’s the wise woman.”
On hearing this Everleigh rushes forward from the back of the throng and is there to greet Ginata when she enters the courtyard.
Ginata drops to her knees in front of Everleigh, but Everleigh pulls her to her feet. “Don’t do that. There’s no need.”
“I know about the love potion, but it was still my hands that untied your brother, my hands that held the axe that broke open the door that let Wolf escape and my hands that made the death draught that killed Finn.”
“I know all of it and I forgive you. You are not to blame. I don’t question you, like Ceryn does. I really, really don’t, but you must go up to safety. Millard could come at any minute. Addyson and Della are in your rooms. Della doesn’t know the truth of Finn.”
“Ceryn didn’t tell her?”
“Neither of you is as bad as the other believes. Honestly. Now go quickly. I will see you later, once it’s all over.”
Ginata shakes her head. “I cannot fight but I will not leave your side. I will fall on a sword to stop it reaching you. I will be here to help today.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do.”
“People coming!” The boy yells out. “Looks like an army to me!”
Archer runs forward, to the front of the castle to see how many men Millard has. He gives a whoop of delight. “Everleigh!” His voice is an excited yell. “Come here!”
Everleigh rushes to him, followed by Ceryn, Ginata, Will and the teacher.
Ahead of them, turning the corner and approaching the crest of the hill, is Weaver, atop his horse, Sweet Mabel, and behind him, hundreds, maybe thousands of young men, marching, trooping towards the castle, towards Everleigh, towards their Queen.
The sight is something to behold, Everleigh has never seen so many people. Weaver is waving his hands, and Everleigh can hear the men, as they get closer; they’re all singing.
Archer runs forward, helping Weaver down from the horse, clapping his back. “How did you do this? How many men have you got?”
“I’ve got hundreds. Every village I stopped in people were desperate to help. She is well loved. So loved.”
“I know. Come on.”
They head towards Everleigh who is beaming, her arms open wide to welcome Weaver back. “Oh, Weaver, how did you do this?”
“Easy. Each and every one of them is happy to serve you.”
Everleigh turns to the crowd of men, wishing she was beautifully dressed instead of looking like a boy, and raises her arms, even though they can’t all see her; there are too many of them. “Thank you.”
Two words and the answering roar of cheering is deafening, showing her that these men do not care what she wears, or what she looks like. Everleigh is laughing and waving. “You must all be starving, exhausted.”
“No. Every inn we passed had food and ale for us, we’ve eaten and drunk the whole way here.”
“Really?”
“Every person we passed wanted to help you. We have young men, old men. I tried to turn people away but they refused.”
“I don’t think we have weapons...”
“Most of them have their own – loads of them had swords, or daggers, knives, a few bows and arrows.”
“And they’re really happy to help?”
“I made sure. Every one of them understands what they’ve signed up for. Every one of them wants to see you on the throne. They all want to help you get there and they all understand that they could die trying.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say. But tell me, what’s happening?”
Archer takes over, filling Weaver in on Millard and what they think will happen next.
Everleigh is looking at the sea of faces, each one smiling at her, grinning, beaming, waving, saluting. Each one happy to serve her.
She is filled with a strength, a feeling that she can do this. These people believe in her, strangers who she’s never even met are willing to fight for her, to defend her.
A Queen.
It’s unheard of and yet they are willing to risk their lives for her.
She has to make sure that she lives up to their expectations, that she is as good as she can be. A Queen worth dying for.
She watches Ceryn, Archer and Weaver as they organise her new troops, and recognises that she could not be in better hands. These three really know what they’re doing, they have an instinct for battle. Hopefully an instinct that won’t be relied on too heavily if she wins this fight today.
“People coming!”
This time when the call goes out, a silence settles over everybody, as though everyone has frozen simultaneously; there is no one else it could be.
This time it must be Millard.
“We outnumber them!” Another call out.
Most of the men Weaver brought here are still outside the castle’s doors. There are so many, they simply cannot fit in the courtyard. Archer runs back to Everleigh. “Stay back, stay hidden, if you can. We can do this. But I can’t do this if I’m worrying about you.”
“We’ll both stay with her,” Will says.
Archer hugs Will, nods at Ginata and then hugs Everleigh, holding her tight and kissing the top of her head. “Stay alive.”
“I’ll try.”
Ceryn
THIS IS WHAT I WANT. This is what I live for.
I can see the fear on the faces around me but I don’t feel it, not at all.
I feel a rush inside me, a squirm of excitement, a pulse of adrenalin and a lust for violence. It might not be healthy or a good thing to admit, but I feel it, a thirst for murder. I am ready for this. Ready to kill any of them. All of them.
And Millard. Especially Millard.
If he comes close enough, he’s dead.
Let him come close enough.
My body changes when I’m getting ready to fight. I feel lighter; already I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet. I shake out my hands before I grab my sword and dagger, making sure my fingers aren’t stiff, but supple and fluid.
All my senses heighten as well. I can smell the honk of the man standing next to me, betting he hasn’t washed for a month or more. I breathe through my mouth, deep breaths, feeling my skin tingle.
I am ready for this.
The shout goes out that they are getting closer. It’s definitely them. Millard. Wolf. Millard’s men.
I head to the front of our pack. Me in the middle, Weaver one side, Archer the other.
The three of us.
Best friends. Comrades. Brothers.
I nod at them and I can see from the looks on their faces that they are as ready for this as I am.
Millard stops in front of his men. They are lined up in rows like our men and we outnumber them easily.
There is too much distance between us for me to hear anything, not even a murmur of voices. I cannot see his face clearly, either, though I know it’s him. I know how angry he will be that Ginata and me got away.
Good.
If he loses his temper, if he’s angry, he’ll be less careful. Make stupid mistakes.
Millard’s men move forwards, letting Wolf and Millard take up the rear. I get that. They want to protect him the same as we want to protect Everleigh.
At the end of this, it will all come down to the two of them.
One of them will live, triumphant and the other will die, defeated.
It has to be Everleigh. I feel my toes curl with the anticipation of this fight.
We outnumber them, but I know they’ll fight dirty.
But so can I.
I tune out everyone and everything except for me and my weapons. I am the only person who can keep me alive.
And I don’t plan to die today.
The silence gives way to the roar of battle as we rush forwards, all of our men following us, weapons and voices raised.
I lock eyes with a man, and I can tell that he thinks I’m easy prey. Cockiness makes him clumsy and as he lifts his sword, I dart forward and split his belly open.
I jump backwards so I don’t get dirty shoes so early on, and one by one, I stab, slice and split, man after man after man.
My arm is hurting from the weight of my sword, but I don’t get lazy. One look at the blood and death around me and I know I can’t allow myself to; the smell of guts, and worse, is sickening and I will not allow my innards to join the mush of mess that covers the floor.
The Kingmaker Complete Trilogy (The Kingmaker Trilogy #1-3) Page 62
