by Morgan Rice
She reeled as Rupert hit her again, but she didn’t care. She pushed away from him, forcing her way to her feet and running for the door. She didn’t care then who saw her, or what trouble it might mean for her in the future. She just wanted to get away.
Rupert brought her down before she’d gone half a dozen steps, tackling Sophia around the ankles and then wrapping his arms around her while she cried out. Sophia found her arms grabbed and wrenched up above her head, tied in place with a speed that said that the prince had done this more than once before.
“Did you really think you could get away?” Rupert asked. “Oh, Sophia, I’m not some weakling like my brother. I’m a real prince. A strong prince. One who can take what he wants.”
He laughed as he lifted her, carrying her bodily toward one of the rooms connected to the main chamber. Sophia screamed for help, both in the privacy of her mind and more vocally. None of it seemed to make any difference.
When she saw that the room on the other side was a bedroom, Sophia tried to fight. Rupert just laughed at it, carrying her easily and throwing her down onto the bed roughly. Sophia found her bound hands grabbed and tied in place to the wooden frame of it, so that although she could buck and roll, she couldn’t pull clear. She could see Rupert watching her while she did it, and his thoughts just fueled her panic.
“I don’t know how long you’ll last,” Rupert said. “But something tells me it will be a while. I like taming wild things. Shall we begin?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sebastian tried to look like a prince rather than just another seasick soldier as the ship carrying his company cut through the waves of the Knifewater. It wasn’t easy, because his stomach threatened to rebel with every lurch of the vessel, but he forced himself to stay strong with the determination not to embarrass himself, his family, or the crown.
Rupert, he suspected, would have made a better job of it. His brother was the dashing one, the brave soldier with the reputation for skill at arms. He had commanded forces, while Sebastian was stuck as a junior officer, just one man among hundreds. He had fought in battles against rebels and mercenaries, enemies abroad and foes at home. He was halfway to being a storybook prince, while Sebastian couldn’t even master his own emotions.
Thoughts of Sophia intruded with every instant that passed, reminding Sebastian of just how weak he was. A dutiful prince should have been able to push the need for her aside, blank his mind of everything except the coming conflict. He should have been able to keep from remembering the scent of her skin, the touch of her lips. Instead, Sebastian found himself aching with the memory of her.
He hoped she was safe. Her sister, Kate, had been a terrifying little thing, but at least she had protected Sophia from the worst that Ashton had to offer. Sebastian wished that he had been able to do it; that he hadn’t sent her away in the first place, but some things couldn’t be changed; they could only be borne.
Like this damnable sea crossing. The distance between the southern shores of his mother’s kingdom and the continent beyond might only be a brief one, but this crossing that was supposed to last a few hours already felt as though it had stretched into a lifetime.
“Mind your back, your highness!” a sailor said, a fraction of a second before water sloshed around Sebastian’s boots, splashing up as far as his knees. “Sorry!”
Sebastian could have turned angrily, but instead he made himself walk away. He had no doubt that the behavior was deliberate, as so much else had been since he set foot on the ship. He’d heard the muttered comments of the sailors behind his back, found himself “accidentally” nudged and barged whenever he got in their way. On one occasion, he thought he heard part of the “March of Loroch Aird,” with all its anti-monarchical sentiments, being whistled behind his back.
He walked up to the bridge, although in its way, the behavior of the officers had been little better. It had been punctilious, even deferential, but Sebastian had spent enough time at court to know the ways in which even that could be turned into a kind of mockery. There was certainly none of the casual camaraderie he had hoped for, nothing that went beyond formal politeness and into friendship.
He moved up to the spot where General Sir Aubery Lanchster-Courte, commander of this expedition, was making his plans. The general was an older man, plump and jowly, but with decades of experience behind him. Sebastian offered him a salute as he approached. He might be a prince, but the older man commanded.
“Did you want something, your highness?” the general asked. There was no unfriendliness there, but no friendliness either, just a kind of politeness with nothing behind it.
“I was just wondering if you’d noticed anything odd about the behavior of the men,” Sebastian asked.
“Nothing at all,” the general replied. “Why, have you?”
“Some of the men seem a little… unfriendly,” Sebastian said. “I was wondering if perhaps I had done something to offend them. I would hate to think that I’m affecting morale.”
The general stood considering him for a moment, and Sebastian thought that perhaps he was about to say something, but he seemed to think better of it.
“I am sure there will be no issue, your highness,” he said. “My men are very disciplined. With so many on one ship, a little fractiousness is only to be expected. Now, if you will excuse me, there are still preparations that need to be made.”
It was a polite dismissal, but it was still a dismissal. Sebastian found himself another railing to lean against and filled himself with thoughts of Sophia once more. He was still thinking it when he heard a snort beside him.
“You really don’t know why they hate you?”
Sebastian turned and found himself looking at a broad-shouldered, fork-bearded man wearing a sergeant’s stripes on his tunic.
“Feel free to enlighten me,” Sebastian said. “Sergeant…”
“Varkin,” the other man said with a shrug. “Let’s just say that we’ve seen our fill of princes.”
Sebastian frowned at that. “My brother?” he said. “But Rupert is—”
“I know what he is,” the sergeant said. “Do you?”
“But I’ve heard the stories of the battles he’s won,” Sebastian said. “He was at Olds Hill.”
He saw Varkin nod. “Aye, when he wasn’t running away. Sat back and let better men die, and then charged in at the end to take the glory.”
Sebastian tried to dredge up other battles that his brother had been involved in. “He’s put down rebellions. He’s fought a dozen places.”
“If you could call it fighting,” Varkin replied. “Safe sorties against groups we knew we’d outnumber. Butchering idiot peasants too slow to get out of the way, then calling them an army. Hardly the glory you hear about, is it? Not that I’m complaining. I’ll take a safe fight over getting butchered in battle any day. And now here we are, escorting the next in line to build his legend on nothing.”
Sebastian wanted to say that it wasn’t like that, and that Rupert wasn’t like that. The trouble was, he knew his brother. Was it so hard to believe that he would take easy glory slaughtering peasants over a real fight? Even so, he wouldn’t be tarred with the same brush.
“We’re going to the continent,” Sebastian pointed out. “I suspect there will be enough real fights for everyone.”
The other man laughed at that, in a big, booming explosion of sound.
“You aren’t serious? You are, aren’t you?” He laughed again. “That’s why you’ve been standing there like you actually believe you’re a hero? You think that you’re going over to fight all the free companies and the Disestablishers, the guild armies and the imperialists? You probably think that you’re going to take on the New Army by yourself.”
As if the first few weren’t wars worth fighting, and the last was impossible. Now, Sebastian had to admit that he was getting a little annoyed. “You think I can’t fight?”
“Of course you can’t fight!” the other man said. “That’s why we’re heading to one of the Strai
t Islands with hundreds of men to put down a few dozen peasants who have decided to declare a free kingdom, as far away from the real war as we can get.”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, there must be some mistake.”
“No mistake,” Varkin said. “Do you think I’d sign up for this if there were a real chance of getting killed? We’re going to go to Least Isle and remind a few farmers of the price of rebellion.”
He said it as though it was a joke, but Sebastian couldn’t see the funny side of it. Was this really what this was about? Sending him away to a non-battle to build his reputation? The worst part was that it sounded far too much like the kind of thing his mother might do.
Sebastian stood there, looking out, and tried to hide his disappointment.
***
When the island came into view, it was even smaller than Sebastian had suspected it would be. Just a few miles across, with scrub and grass, but more rocks than either. It was the kind of place that barely seemed big enough to warrant settling, let alone fighting over.
Even so, the far side of the island was out of sight around a spur of rock that jutted out into the water like the reaching branch of a tree. Perhaps there was more to it.
“Will we be sending scouts first?” Sebastian asked General Lanchster-Courte.
“And risk giving away the fact that we’re here?” the general replied. “Let’s not pretend that we’re walking into real danger here. It’s a few farmers. We have an entire company. We will advance as one and get this over with. Bosun, take us in close. It’s not as if this rabble will have the artillery to target us.”
“But General—” Sebastian began.
“Your highness,” the general said, cutting him off, “I am a man who does his duty, even if it means participating in this farce. But I will not stand here and be told how to do that duty by a man who has his rank because of his birth rather than because of any knowledge or skill. We will proceed to the landing boats and take this island. You will stay beside me and not even attempt to do something so foolish as issue orders. Do otherwise, and I will confine you to your cabin until this is over.”
They were the sternest words Sebastian had heard from anyone but his mother in a long time, and for the moment, they were enough to render him speechless. He fell into step beside the general, following him to one of the many landing boats, where soldiers were already waiting with a mixture of swords and axes, crossbows and clumsy-looking muskets. Some wore hints of armor, but most didn’t.
For his part, Sebastian wore a breastplate and gauntlets, but not the kind of full armor that might have been used for ceremonies. He had his sword at his hip, along with a dagger and a pistol whose powder he hoped would remain dry on the journey across, although it didn’t seem likely.
They rowed, although no one seemed to expect Sebastian to play a part in it. Indeed, it seemed that none of them really cared whether he was there or not. When they splashed up onto the beach, no one moved to help him. Sebastian had to scramble out on his own, the weight of his partial armor making the whole process take twice as long as it should in the water.
They moved up the beach in a great mass of men, although Sebastian noted that he and the general were toward the back. He suspected that the idea was to protect him even from the few fragments of danger that there were on the island, and he knew better than to argue.
A man called as he found a route up off the beach, and quickly, the soldiers started on their way. Three hundred of them at least, well armed, and more than enough to deal with an island rabble, yet still Sebastian could feel a sense of wrongness running through him. The island seemed too quiet, too still.
“General, there’s something wrong,” he said.
“If you are going to add cowardice to uselessness, I will send you back to the ship,” the general said, and something about his tone said that he was serious.
“Can’t you hear it?” Sebastian insisted.
“I can’t hear anything,” the general replied.
“That’s my point. Why is it so quiet?”
He hadn’t been involved in a war before, but Sebastian had been dragged off hunting by his family enough times. Normally, the forests and the fields were full of the sound of birdsong or the movement of small animals. The only time it grew quiet was when things were hiding, waiting.
“General—” Sebastian began.
“I’ve had enough of this,” the general replied. “Your talking is enough to wake the—”
Noise ripped across the beach, in the deep boom of cannon fire. Sebastian saw splinters fly from their ship as cannonballs struck it, and he cursed the fact that they’d come in so close, not believing that their foes could ever have real weapons.
Next to those deep booms, the crackle of musket fire was quieter, but only just. Sebastian saw the general clutch his chest and fall, while a dozen other men went down in that first volley. For a moment, he stood there, not knowing what was going on, and it was clear that the others there were the same.
Men advanced along the beach in tight formation. These weren’t farmers or rebellious islanders. Instead, they wore ochre tunics and carried pikes, bows, and muskets in equal measure. Sebastian knew enough about the affairs of the continent to recognize the uniform of the New Army when he saw it.
“Ambush!” he yelled, but it was already too late for it. Men were already dying around him, brought down by shot or bolts, not even having a chance to make it up past the beach. Out on the water, the ship that had brought them was starting to list, holed near the waterline and already sinking.
Sebastian saw what must have happened. That the New Army must have advanced more than they thought, taking the islands in the middle of the uprising. It meant… it meant a lot of things. That they’d thought they were coming for a fight that would be little more than a slaughter, only to face a real force. That the men in front of them wouldn’t run, only try to kill.
Above all, it meant that Sebastian had gotten his wish. He was facing a real fight.
Now he just had to survive it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In her chains, Kate dreamed, and the dream was a familiar one. Ashton lay beneath her, and in it, people died. They screamed as men in ochre tunics moved through the streets, killing and looting with no sense of restraint or remorse. They slaughtered the people, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
She was running through the streets now, running away from the oncoming soldiers. Kate turned and there was a blade in her hand. She struck out with it, feeling it glide through flesh as easily as water. She turned and ran again, off into the shadows, always moving.
She was running through the forest now, but somehow that forest sat within the walls of the home that always haunted her dreams. Trees grew out of the walls, their branches burning as the fire started to claim them. Flowers and briars grew up to form the frames of paintings, and now those paintings held a mixture of long dead ancestors and people Kate had killed. There were the veiled faces of the masked sisters, the rough visages of soldiers, the younger features of the boy she’d killed on the road, what felt like a lifetime ago.
Siobhan was there, or a dream version of her at least, more plant than woman, more wild spirit than either. She sat in the middle of a banqueting hall, on the lip of a fountain that was somehow in the center of the floor, masked figures dancing around it. She dipped a cup into the fountain, offering it to dancer after dancer.
It was only as Kate moved closer that she saw that the fountain didn’t run with water now, but blood.
The dancers consumed it happily, sipping it like the finest wine or quaffing it like beer. They laughed as they danced, even when their dancing turned to spasms and they started to fall, dying as they hit the floor.
Siobhan seemed to laugh loudest of all, and there was nothing human in that laughter, nothing peaceful or quiet. It wasn’t the laugh of something evil, just something so alien to human thought that it might amount to the same thing and never notice. Whe
n the dream Siobhan turned to Kate, Kate found herself drawn forward, taking a cup of the poisonous blood without even hesitating. She lifted it to her lips…
…and woke, gasping for breath. She lay there for long seconds in the tent they’d put her in, guards surrounding it as if worried that she might try to escape at any moment. Perhaps she would have, if not for the heavy chains holding her. Escaping them was one thing that Siobhan’s lessons hadn’t covered.
Siobhan. Kate didn’t know what her dream meant, if it meant anything at all. She actually felt a little guilty about the content of her latest nightmare. She was the forest woman’s apprentice, so shouldn’t she trust her more than that? It seemed though that some deep part of her had its fears about her new teacher, and Kate couldn’t honestly say that there was no reason for them.
She pushed that thought aside, considering her captivity. Should she call for help with her powers, to either Siobhan or Sophia? Sophia would be more likely to come, but it was hard to see what she might be able to do. Of the two of them, Kate was the strong one, and if she couldn’t break free on her own, it was hard to see what her sister might do.
Kate was still thinking about calling for help when she heard the sounds of an argument growing outside.
“And I say that you can’t go in there. This is the camp of Lord Cranston’s company, not some city street.”
“Street or not, we are still in the Dowager’s domain. Stand aside. You’ve a murderer in there!”
Kate knew that they were talking about her. She could sense plenty of minds around her, enough that she would have had no chance of slipping past them, even if she hadn’t been chained. She caught the thoughts of men approaching, and a moment later found herself blinking in the sunlight as it streamed in through the tent flap.
“Up you!” a man bellowed. He looked more like a watchman than a soldier, with a club in place of a sword, and manacles at his belt. Another like him followed behind, and they grabbed Kate by the arms when she didn’t move.
