by Nyna Queen
Most of all he just wanted to make things right for his granddaughters by ensuring they didn’t suffer for their father’s shortcomings and his own lack of judgment. A trust fund had seemed like the ideal way to remedy it all. A secure fund that his son-in-law wouldn’t be able to access. Just a little allowance for the girls.
But now …
He shook his head. It had seemed like such a good deal at the time. A little easy money on the side. Small investment. High profit expectations. Barely any risk. All he had to do was to pay the initial investment sum and not ask too many questions. Easy.
Yes. Too easy.
He should have known this would catch up with him sooner or later. The chickens always came home to roost. But he had taken the money and now he had to pay the price.
Ferhus reached his suite and looked over his shoulder again.
Nobody is following you, old fool, he chided himself. But over the past few weeks, paranoia had become his new bosom buddy. They went to bed together and he woke up wrapped in her crushing arms. He’d even started to sleep with a weapon on his bed stand, if you could believe it! Something he’d never done in all his sixty-six years.
His fingers trembled when he keyed the ward. Great Mother, he needed to take his medication.
The door opened. Ferhus stepped into his room, quickly closed the door behind him, and sighed with relief.
He turned around—and stumbled back against the door.
“You!” His initial shock was quickly superseded by anger. “How did you get in here?”
The man who had been standing in front of the desk and studying a framed memora of Ferhus and his three granddaughters Marjolène, Petronella, and Joelle, carefully set the golden frame back on the wooden surface, before turning around with his black-gloved hands folded in front of his chest.
A thin-lipped smile tugged at his lips. “Let’s just say our … mutual friends arranged for this visit.”
No longer afraid—at least not by the intruder—Ferhus tossed his jacket aside. “What do you want?”
“I am here to remind you of your loyalties.”
“Loyalties! Hah!” Ferhus spat. “What do you know about loyalties? A spineless traitor such as yourself!”
For a short moment, the man’s lips flattened in irritation, then curved back into that thin-lipped smile. “My loyalty is not at issue here—yours is. We have received some disturbing news. The master is not pleased.”
“Master, eh?” Ferhus scoffed. “Well, tell your master that this has gone too far. If this doesn’t stop, I will be out!”
The intruder arched an eyebrow. “You knew what you signed up for, Robert. And as far as I am aware, until today, you were quite happy to take our money. You certainly didn’t care where it came from, as long as it provided a steady paycheck …” He cocked his head to the side. “And now that there’s been some trouble, you think you can just slip away? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t care what you think!” Ferhus snarled. All the fear, all the shame, and the guilt that had built up over the last few weeks, now came to the surface, coated in temper. “I didn’t sign up for this—this insanity! And I certainly won’t be a silent accomplice in murder. If this continues, I will go public.” It’s what he should have done a long time ago, he realized. No money in the world was worth a life. “My reputation may be ruined, but at least I will go to my grave with a clear conscience.” And he wouldn’t have to feel so very ashamed around his daughter and granddaughters. It was never too late to do the right thing. Wasn’t that what he always preached? Time to turn rhetoric into action.
The other man shook his head. “I think you misunderstand, Robert. This isn’t an exclusive club you can simply join or leave. Nobody backs out.”
Ferhus sneered. “Watch me!”
“Come now, I’m sure you realize we can’t let that happen.”
Ferhus turned red with fury. “You dare threaten me? Me? Do you know who I am, you worthless little maggot? We both know you cannot touch me! I am too important! So just crawl back to your master and—”
The other man moved so fast that Ferhus barely saw him move at all.
He looked down and, slightly bewildered, stared at the hilt of the dagger protruding from his stomach. His eyes bulged.
“You—”
The intruder yanked the dagger out with a jerk and stepped back, looking equally stunned. Blood spurted onto the snowy carpet in a crimson spray.
“I’m afraid no one is untouchable, Robert.” The man swallowed. “The master wishes to make this perfectly clear: There is only one way out of this.”
Ferhus staggered. Pain pooled in his stomach, taking his breath away. The ground buckled underneath him.
“You … you won’t get away … with this,” he squeezed through gritted teeth, feeling a tiny spark of triumph. At least, his death would reveal this conspiracy he never should have been a part of. It gave him small comfort.
“Oh, but Robert,” the intruder shook his head with a pitiful smile. “Of course, we will.”
Ferhus’ breathing turned shallow. His brow furrowed. Concentrating was becoming so hard. “The security system—”
“Yes, the security system,” the other man said smugly. “As we speak there are certain—let’s call it ‘convenient little gaps’ in the surveillance footage. Trust me, nobody will ever know what truly happened here. And nobody will come to your aid, either, we’ve seen to that, too.”
No!
Ferhus’ horror must have shown on his features.
“Now, don’t look so shocked, Robert. Too many important people have an interest in keeping this operation running, you of all should know that. It pays to have friends in high places. And we do have such friends. Or rather, I do. You?” He gave another pitiful shake of his head. “You do seem to have run out of friends.”
He lashed out again. The dagger’s hilt hit Ferhus’ windpipe, crushing it.
Ferhus gurgled and teetered backward, gasping for air, one hand reaching for his throat. His back hit the door. The shaking fingers of his other hand found the doorknob and turned it. The door sprang open and he stumbled into the corridor, lurching like a drunk. The world turned fuzzy before his eyes.
Holding his stomach, Ferhus dragged himself along the wall, leaving bloody smears on the wallpapers, while his wound wept a trace of dark red tears onto the carpet.
He had to get down. Had to find someone … Had to …
Red spots flooded his vision.
I’m so sorry my little girls. Please forgive me.
A blue glow seeped into his view. He slapped a hand against the panel of the machina ascendere. The doors opened and Ferhus fell inside, swiping blindly at the buttons. The crystal platform inside the cylindrical shaft jerked and he collapsed on its smooth surface, wheezing, drowning in an agonizing sea of shame, and pain, and guilt.
So this is how I pay for my sins. Great Mother, have mercy on my soul. I’m so sorry, my sweet little ones. So very, very sorry …
THE informant watched the governor stumble from his suite. He didn’t bother to stop him. In his current state Ferhus wouldn’t make it far, nor would he be able to spill anything except blood, and a bit of added drama was exactly what they needed to give everyone involved a wake-up call. There had been too many doubters lately. Too many like dear old Lord Ferhus, who were whispering among themselves when they thought the master’s ears weren’t listening. But the master had many ears. Let them see what happened if someone intended to break faith with the group.
The informant glanced back at the picture of Ferhus and the three little girls and felt a pang of regret. It was a shame for those girls to lose their grandfather this way but Ferhus had dug his own grave when he had decided to betray them. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been warned.
The informant shook his head. The man had made his decision. Just as he had. He shuddered. Right or wrong, he had decided where his loyalties lay, and now he had to follow them through. Because if he messed up ag
ain …
His gaze fell on the bloody knife on the floor and his stomach rolled. A dark red blotch stained the carpet, bright on the ivory fabric, like spilled red wine. Its coppery stench reached his nostrils. The informant’s gorge rose and he retched. He still had enough sense to check that, despite their precautionary measures, nobody was in the corridor before he bolted for the nearest public restroom. There, he locked himself in and held onto the toilet seat with shaking fingers, while his stomach emptied itself until nothing but gastric acid remained. When he was done, he took out a little vial filled with a yellow liquid, swallowed its content, and flushed the container down the toilet together with the half-digested remains of last night’s dinner.
When his body had finally stopped shaking, the informant took off his black gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. He left the stall, but stopped in front of the sink. Stared into the mirror.
Traitor! The word echoed in his head, mocking him. He closed his eyes and turned away. He had made his choice. Nothing to be done about it now.
Straightening up, he left the bathroom. It was time to join the action in the ballroom.
KEEPING her eyes locked on Stephane’s ponytail, Alex pushed her way through the thickening crowd in the great hall. When a man refused to let her pass, she elbowed him in the ribs, not caring that it didn’t befit a lady to do so. He growled something uncomplimentary but when he noticed whom he had just insulted, he hastily stepped aside and called an apology after her.
Alex had already moved on. She needed to tell Stephane what she had heard. For some reason, her instincts urged her to hurry. She couldn’t tell why, but her gut was rarely wrong.
She had almost reached Darken’s brother, when an ear-splitting scream rang out through the hall. Another scream joined the first and suddenly more and more hands pointed upward. Alex followed them with her eyes and stopped dead in her tracks.
Governor Ferhus was standing at the balustrade of the landing, face as white as chalk. He was clutching his stomach with both hands, from which thick, red liquid was seeping through his fingers. Dark red. Almost black. Blood from the liver, the analytical part of Alex’s brain supplied.
The hall had fallen completely silent.
Ferhus swayed. His mouth opened, but instead of words, a gush of blood spurted from between his teeth, inducing more shrieks and screams.
Almost in slow motion, the governor’s body sagged. It fell against the balustrade, toppled over the top, and crashed down, hitting the granite floor with an ugly, stomach-turning thud.
Screeching men and women scattered in all directions, leaving an unobstructed view of the body in the middle of the hall.
Shell-shocked, Alex stared at the elderly man, who was twitching softly in his death throes. A pool of blood was quickly spreading around him, adorning him with scarlet wings that would carry him nowhere, except to the Jester’s Realm.
A shadow detached from the receding crowd, and Darken gently knelt beside Ferhus and took the old man’s trembling hand—a black raven risen from the graves, forbidding but at the same time strangely solemn and sad.
Ferhus’ lips moved, forming soundless words, and Darken leaned over him. Suddenly, the old man shuddered and lay still, empty eyes staring blankly at the ornamented ceiling. Dead.
No, not just dead. Alex shivered. Murdered.
Darken raised his head and his gaze found hers, blazing with the same fierce desperation that was rising inside her.
This was a murder that wouldn’t go unpunished. And if they discovered that a shaper had tricked her way into the palace …
Alex took a small step back but instinctively knew there was no place to run. She felt the threads of their web tighten around her throat, while all around her the palace turned into a madhouse.
Find out how Alex and Darken’s story ends, in KISSED BY DEATH, Book Three in the Trueborn Heirs Series.
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Nyna Queen started reading fantasy books at the sweet age of six (in fact, as soon as she could read) and never got out of it.
After she finished her law degree, she committed herself to a career as an author. When she isn't reading a book or dreaming up another story, she works as a lawyer, indulges in way too much coffee and enjoys long walks in the sun.
If you are looking for Nyna, you'll likely find her behind her laptop, hitting the keys, writing on her latest novel—careful, if you speak to her now, she might not remember later!
