With a smile, Duke Berrilon took a seat opposite from the King as his man, Rainer stood behind him. Here, in the same room where Lyra dined with her new family, stood the man who had killed her father.
29
Fear and hatred battled within Lyra as she stared at the table, unsure of what to do. She found her hands shaking and the sudden urge to run. With closed eyes, she took two deep calming breaths. Her eyes opened and flicked toward the man at the far end of the table, looking away when he turned toward her. When she next turned that direction, Lyra found the man in a conversation with his sister, Jessibel.
She looked at Tallinor when Hamilton leaned over and whispered in his ear, the king nodding in response. The dinner had just begun and Lyra felt trapped, desperately wishing to tell Tallinor of what Rainer did to her father, while knowing that it would have to wait until after dinner.
A steward appeared between Tiri and Tallinor, leaning over the table with a carafe of dark liquid.
“Wine, Sire?”
The king nodded and the man filled Tallinor’s chalice before turning toward Tiri.
“For you, miss?”
“No, thank you.” Tiri replied. “Cider for me, Lyra, and Donte.”
Used to ordering for Donte, Tiri often did so for Lyra as well. Moments later, a second steward circled the table as he filled their cups with cider. Surprisingly, Berrilon also opted to drink cider, stating that his stomach remained too unsettled for wine.
Other servants then emerged from the doors to the kitchen, each carrying two plates filled with steaming food. Lyra stared at her plate while she ate, oblivious to the conversation around her as she struggled to come to terms with her father’s killer sharing the room with her.
Rionelle ordered a second serving, the big man clearing that plate before Lyra gave up on her first. When the servants came to collect plates, Lyra’s was only half-eaten. Her gaze flicked down the table, and she noticed that neither Donte nor Jessibel had taken a single bite.
The king coughed and Lyra looked up to find the man’s forehead coated in sweat. He coughed again, trying to clear his throat before taking another drink of wine.
“Are you alright, father?” Tiri rested her palm on Tallinor’s hand. “You’re hot.” She lifted her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I don’t feel well, either.” Garrett said. “Perhaps it was something…” His face contorted as he leaned into the table and grunted.
Across the table, Rionelle was sweating profusely while holding his stomach, the guests beside him doing the same.
“Excuse me.”
Lyra turned to find Donte standing.
“I believe that it’s time that I shared something with you.” Donte turned toward Tallinor. “Father, I apologize for the guilt you’ve been carrying since my accident. The ruse for me to play a simpleton was of Mother’s device. I’m not saying that it wasn’t a brilliant plan, I just wanted to be clear that it was her idea.” Donte smiled. “As was the idea to poison you.”
“Poison?” Tallinor grimaced and doubled over. “Why, Donte?”
“Why do people do what they do? Power? Money? Revenge? Jealousy? Perhaps all, perhaps none.” Donte shrugged. “The why doesn’t really matter. Only the results matter.”
Donte turned toward Lyra. “I must thank you, Lyra. Mother’s distaste for you helped me convince her to accelerate her plan, rather than waiting another two years.”
Lyra stared at Donte, unable to speak, finding herself trapped within a nightmare.
Jessibel’s eyes grew wide, her face pale as she bent over the table, her breath coming in rapid gasps as her stomach cramped.
“Sorry, Mother.” Donte shrugged. “While it was your plan to make me king, Uncle Berrilon provided a better offer. Accordingly, rather than poisoning the food, he convinced me to taint the wine instead.”
Jessibel turned toward Berrilon, rising to her feet. “You would turn my own son against me?”
“You’re letting your emotions get the better of you, Sister,” Berrilon sneered. “Which is nothing new. In fact, our new young king here was convinced that your emotions would be his downfall.”
“You hunger for power, Mother.” Donte stared at Jessibel with a look of disgust. “You might have been willing to make me king, but the price was for me to be your puppet. Uncle here only asks to be Grand Duke of Northern Kalimar, ruling Yarth and Vinacci after we invade and dispose of Queen Iglesia.” Donte smiled. “My life, and Kalimar, will be my own without you around.”
“You ungrateful…” Jessibel dove toward Donte, her fingers clamping around his throat.
Donte gripped her wrists while one of the guards pulled her away from him. Jessibel stumbled backward and tumbled to the floor, curled up on her side as she heaved and gasped and foamed at the mouth.
Berrilon chuckled as he stared down at his sister. “I’ve always said that you drink too much wine, Jess. You must watch your intake because it might kill you some day. Oh, I guess today is some day.”
“Kill anyone else who tries to touch me” Donte commanded as he circled around his mother to stand beside Duke Berrilon.
The people seated around Lyra and Tiri began to foam at the mouth, shaking violently as sweat poured down their face. Tallinor slumped face-first into his plate, and his crown slid off his head to roll across the table, settling before Donte. Baroness Lamona shrieked and gurgled as Clavelle did the same. Garrett’s chair tipped backward and crashed to the floor, the man rolling to his side in a curled ball as he coughed and heaved. Desperate, Lyra reached for the lute hanging from the back of her chair.
“Stop her!” Donte shouted.
A guard grabbed the lute strap, pulling it so hard that Lyra’s chair almost toppled over before she let go. The man then tossed it across the room to land in Donte’s hands.
“I’ve learned what you can do with this, Sister. I’ll not be your fool.” Donte sneered. “You have played it for the last time.”
He spun around, swinging the lute to smash it into the wall. The drum shattered and wooden shards rained down as the ringing of the strings echoed in the room. Donte turned back toward her and raised his hand, revealing the neck and strings of the broken instrument, dangling like a man on a noose. Lyra’s heart sank as hope fled.
Rionelle’s eyes were wide, the man shaking violently as he choked on his own vomit. Hamilton’s body hung limply in his chair, the man already dead. Clavelle and Lamona lay face down on the table, dead as well.
Garrett rose to his hands and knees, attempting to stand. The guard beside the door kicked and Garrett twisted to grab the man’s foot as a dagger appeared in his hand. With a slash, Garrett sliced the guard’s inner thigh open, the wound gushing blood from the severed artery as the man screamed and collapsed.
When Garrett dove toward Rainer, the man dodged the blow. Garrett fell to his knees, his faced wracked with pain as he clutched his stomach with one hand and supported himself with the other. Blood oozed from his bulging eyes, foam covered his mouth and chin. Lurching forward, Rainer stabbed Garrett in the back. The former captain collapsed to the floor, twitching.
Lyra grabbed Tiri’s hand and yanked her to her feet, both girls leaping over the dying guard to dart out the door.
The two girls ran down the corridor and burst into the throne room to find a pair of guards standing near the Emblem Throne.
“Help!” Lyra cried. “The King has been poisoned and men are after the Princess.”
The two men turned toward Lyra, staring at her with unfamiliar faces. She noticed a man lying on his back behind the throne and realized that the real guards were dead. The two men drew their weapons.
“Run!” Lyra ran out the other door and down the stairs with Tiri close behind.
They ran down a hallway with several open doors, past the startled servants who lived in the apartments. At the far end, Lyra paused and lifted her dress so she could draw the dagger strapped to her thigh. She then began to cut away Tiri’s
skirt.
“What are you doing?” Tiri shrieked.
“We need to move faster. No time to worry about impropriety.”
She yanked the bottom half of Tiri’s dress off, leaving the girl’s torso covered by the top half of her green dress, only her white shift covering her from her waist to her thighs. Lyra did the same to her own dress, tossing it aside as she pulled Tiri up the stairs.
As they reached the next level, a guard leapt from the upper stairwell to land in the corridor before them. A humorless smile twisted his face as he turned toward Lyra. At six-feet tall, he doubled Lyra’s weight. The man had deeply tanned skin and a shaved head, marked by an angry white scar from his brow to the top of his scalp, reinforcing an image of ferocity. He pulled his sword from its scabbard, the ring of steel accompanying the clanking of the metal plates adorning his leather armor.
Lyra released Tiri’s hand and strode toward the man, his grin widening just before his sword sliced toward her. Shifting sideways and twisting to avoid the sword, Lyra redirected it with her dagger as she dropped to the ground. The man began a motion to chop downward. In a sweeping kick, Lyra’s foot struck the back of the man’s heel as hard as she could muster, the pain of striking his boot making her wince. The kick knocked his weight-bearing leg from beneath him and he fell, landing hard on his back and striking his head on the stone floor. Lyra then lunged and swiped her dagger across the back of his raised leg, opening a gash across his hamstring.
Hearing a ruckus from behind them, Lyra turned to find men emerging from the doors at the top of the stairs and others shouting from the corridor below. She grabbed Tiri’s hand and pulled her down the hallway, past the guard who lay on his side, groaning in pain.
The two girls reached the end of the corridor and found themselves in a storage room, closing the door behind them. A frantic glance about the room revealed wooden crates and wine barrels along one wall, while rows of shelves occupied the other half of the room. There were two ways out: the door that they had just closed and a narrow window, high above.
“Help me block the door.” Lyra shifted behind the nearest crate and pushed hard, the object only moving a few inches. Tiri stood beside her and they pushed in unison, the crate moving a full foot this time. Four additional pushes pinned the crate against the door and left them gasping for air.
A thump hit the door, followed by shouting from the corridor.
“They’ve locked themselves in here.”
“Is there another way in?”
“No. It’s a storage room. Only one door.”
Lyra pulled Tiri over to a wine barrel. They both heaved and it tipped over with a crash, rocking and rolling unevenly. The two girls positioned themselves behind the barrel and rolled it until it was tight against the crate that blocked the door. Lyra then upended a sack of potatoes and wedged it beneath the barrel so that it wouldn’t roll.
“There.” She gasped for air. “Hopefully that will hold them for a bit.”
She turned toward the window, perhaps a foot tall and three feet long, tucked up against the high ceiling.
“Come and help me push the shelf over.”
“What? Why?” Tiri complained.
“If we can lean it against the wall, we can use it as a ladder to get to that window.”
Standing beside the shelf, the two girls pushed but it didn’t move.
“Let’s empty the lower shelves.”
A massive thud sounded against the door.
“Hurry.” Lyra grunted as she pushed a bag of apples off the bottom shelf.
Another thud sounded and small splinters sprayed into the room.
“They have an axe.” Tiri said in a frightened voice.
“Just help me.” Lyra pulled a wooden box filled with carrots from the shelf.
A thud sounded and splinters rained into the room, the axe leaving a hole two inches wide.
“Now push!” Lyra leaned against the shelf with Tiri beside her. The thing tipped a few inches and then rocked back down. “Rock it until it tips!”
They pushed and pulled in unison. Each time, the shelf tilted further. Backward it tilted, hanging in a moment of equilibrium as Lyra’s gut twisted at the thought of it tumbling the wrong direction. It then tipped forward again and she lunged into it. The shelf crashed into the wall, its contents creating a ruckus as they fell to the floor.
A loud thud sounded from behind and chunks of wood blasted across the room. Lyra turned to find a man’s face poking through the hole in the door.
“There they are!”
Lyra quickly scaled up the shelves. At the top, she drew a dagger and began working at the window casing. After a moment, she was able to pry it open, swinging it upward on its hinges as she sheathed the blade.
She turned toward Tiri, who stood below, watching the door as the axe hit it again to widen the hole.
“Tiri! Climb through the window. Now!”
Tiri climbed up the shelves, past Lyra and pushed her head through the opening.
“There’s a shrub below us. I don’t want to land in it.” Tiri complained.
“If we stay, we’re dead! Move!”
Tiri slid forward, grunting to squeeze her chest through the opening. With the girl’s lower body still in the storage room, Lyra gave her a shove and launched Tiri out the window. A scream and a grunt followed.
Another smash of the axe and the door opened wide. Lyra looked back as her head reached the window and found a guard with a gleaming sword in his hand, climbing over the crate.
Driven by urgency, she pushed through the opening, clinging to the windowsill with one hand as she pulled one leg out and the other.
“They went through the window!” A guard shouted.
Lyra let go and fell into the shrub, scraping her legs on the branches as she landed. She fell backward into the dirt path and found herself beside Tiri, who lay on her side, attempting to catch her breath.
Scrambling to her feet, Lyra pulled Tiri up as the girl gasped for air. She looked around and realized that they were in the garden. After years of spending time there, Lyra knew the garden well…and knew she had only one option.
With Tiri’s hand firmly in her grip, Lyra pulled her sister down the path, through the fruit trees, past the colorful flowers that encircled the massive tree, and toward the wall at the east end.
“What are you doing?” Tiri gasped. “The way out is that way.”
“We can’t go that way. If we do, they’ll be there and we’ll be dead.” Lyra didn’t pause when she reached the wall, quickly scaling it until she stood on the top. Far below, ocean waves flowed through the narrow inlet that ran up to the castle, crashing over dark rocks to slam against the base of the wall in a white spray of foam.
Lyra turned to look behind her, finding Tiri standing below.
“We have to jump.”
Tiri’s face turned pale. “But…it must be a hundred-foot drop.”
“Keep your legs together, arms in, and land feet-first.” Lyra stared down at the water, mentally preparing herself. “Now, get up here before they kill us.”
Tiri climbed up on the wall, wincing as the jagged edges of the eroded bricks cut her palms. Lyra grabbed her sister’s hand, helped her to her feet, and looked her in the eye.
“Trust me. You can do this.” Lyra surprised herself with the confidence in her voice, despite her own fears. “Just be sure to leap outward so you don’t hit the wall on the way down.”
Tiri nodded.
“At the count of three.” Lyra took a breath.
Shouts sounded behind them.
“One.”
“They’re on the wall!”
“Two”
“Archers, fire!”
“Three!”
They jumped.
Lyra’s breath caught in her throat in a moment of raw terror. She and Tiri plummeted past the walls, past the natural cliff face as two arrows sailed over their heads. Waves crashed into rocks below, the angry ocean swirling and roil
ing, growing ever closer…until it swallowed them.
30
“Shh” Lyra hushed Tiri. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Tiri nodded, the motion barely visible beneath the shadow of the trees.
A pang of jealousy struck Lyra at the way Tiri could appear beautiful despite the torn rags she wore, despite her snarled and twisted hair. Lyra turned toward the farm and examined the buildings in the failing light. A man appeared with a pitchfork full of hay, which he tossed into the pen that held his oxen. The moment he returned to the barn, she darted across the yard, and put her back against the house.
“Earl!” A woman’s voice called from the house. “Time for dinner!”
“I hear you, woman!” the man in the barn shouted. “I’ll be there in a minute!”
A sense of relief arose. With the homeowner focused on eating, Lyra’s job would be easier.
The man strolled out of the barn and wiped his brow as he crossed the yard. Hearing the door to the house slam shut, Lyra ran to the clothesline strung between the two buildings.
Moving quickly, she pulled the trousers, shirt, and dress from the line, pausing briefly before grabbing the blanket hanging there as well. With her prizes clutched to her body, Lyra ran toward the woods where Tiri waited.
“Take this.” Lyra handed the pile to Tiri before running back toward the barn.
She circled the far side of the building, opposite from the farmhouse. When she reached the door, she eased it open and slid inside. Fumbling in the darkness, she found the man’s plow and felt the leather strap of the man’s water flask hanging from the handle. After sliding the flask over a shoulder, she began digging through the crates and sacks on the shelf.
With an arm full of vegetables, Lyra eased the barn door open and noticed the man’s hat hanging from a nail on the back of the door. Inspiration struck and she grabbed the hat before slipping out and creeping around the barn. When she reached Tiri, the girl frowned.
“Why’d you steal that poor man’s hat?”
“They’ll be looking for two girls. I plan for them to see us as a farmer and his wife, making a trip to the city.”
Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia Page 18
