On her birthday.
As she was always supposed to.
The Kingmaker, dead on her seventeenth birthday.
No!
Fury and a refusal to lie down and die spur her on; she runs as though the hounds are already at her heels.
She will not die like this.
Not like this.
She flees through the corridors, not caring how loud she is, not caring who sees her or hears her. She falls, sliding to a stop, her ankle turning painfully. She does not rest. She cannot stop.
She can barely breathe as she flings open a door and falls out into the cool night air.
She runs and runs and runs, cloaks flying behind her, boots slipping on the gravel, arms flailing, keeping her upright.
She cannot fall again; she cannot be a target for men with sharp swords or hungry hounds with deadly teeth.
She has to get away; she has to get to safety.
She is crying, her breath ragged, her lungs exploding with pain. She cannot stop.
She runs out of the castle grounds, she runs along the road, she runs and runs and runs and when she sees Ginata’s little cottage, her heart is bursting, cold sweat pours off her and she feels as though she will never set foot outside of the safety of Ginata’s cottage or Della’s sight ever again.
She flies down the path and with her hand on the door, finally safe, she stops. Bent in half, trying to breathe but failing to fill her lungs, tears and sweat stinging her eyes, her knees buckle and she drops to the floor. Cloaks swirled around her, she sobs as quietly as she is able.
Now what?
What now?
She has no idea, no hope.
She balls her hands into fists and pushes them against her eyes, bringing pain of her own making to the pain her life has become.
A clatter to the side of her makes her jump.
“Who’s there?” A young man she doesn’t recognise is brandishing an axe, eyes slightly wild. “Speak up.”
“Please.” The end has come. This is one of the King’s men it must be. It registers a little late that he’s not dressed in livery or armour.
He steps closer to her, axe at his side now. “You’re not a thief. Thank the gods.” He drops the axe. “What I would have done with my axe if you were, I have no idea. I can barely split a log.”
Everleigh looks up at him, and he smiles.
“Sorry, did I scare you?”
“Who are you?”
“Finn. Della’s brother. You’re the Kingmaker.”
Everleigh doesn’t reply, just sinks back to the floor, this time the lightness of relief mingling with her tears. She may live through the night, after all.
Confusion on his face, Finn steps closer to the Kingmaker who looks like a peasant girl and slowly wraps his arms around her. He cannot leave her on the doorstep. He stands up, holding her gently, and then the door to Ginata’s cottage opens.
Della stares at him. “What’s going on?” She shakes her head as she takes in the two of them; she had been unaware that Everleigh had even left the cottage until she heard a disturbance outside.
“Don’t ask me,” he says, “I just found her on the doorstep, crying. I thought she was a thief. I had my axe ready.”
Della laughs, and opens the door wider for them to come inside. “What would you have done if she was?”
He shrugs, not easy with Everleigh in his arms. “Why is the Kingmaker here?”
“Not the Kingmaker. Our new Queen,” Della says, a smile twitching her lips, as Finn nearly drops her.
Ceryn
I WANTED TO RIDE ALL day and through the night, so we got there tomorrow, but Pitch’s steady galloping is making me drop off. The anger at wasting time and slowing down keeps me going a bit longer, until my head starts dropping again. “Weaver,” I call out to him, my voice angrier than I intended. It’s not his fault I’m tired. He is slightly ahead of me but slows to ride alongside me.
“I need to stop.”
He nods agreeably. He never thought we’d make it through in one ride anyway. I hate him being right.
“We’ll stop at the next inn,” he says, never one to say I told you so.
I would have.
A good sleep, a good breakfast and then we still might get there tomorrow. It’s still a long ride to the next inn and by the time we tether our horses my skin is itchy, I’m so tired. I need to get my mask off, I need to sleep, but I need ale first.
There’s one room left at the inn, and so we take it. There’s no nonsense from me about not being happy sleeping in with a male. We’ll share a bed because there’s no point one of us being uncomfortable on the floor, and it’ll be fine. I can’t stand girls who make a fuss. I’d rather do something I hate than let on and be judged like another useless girl.
Weaver asks for two jugs of ale, he knows me well, and I carry the two cups. We ask if there is any food and the filthy inn keeper grudgingly gives us a hunk of stale bread. Neither of us care. It’s a long time since the rabbit and despite wanting to power through all night I am glad we stopped. He passes us a candle, almost down to the wick and Weaver thanks him. I stay quiet, or else I’ll lose my temper with him.
We sit on the bed, and it’s surprisingly clean. Not that I would have made a fuss; when you’ve slept on the floor in the mud, any sort of comfort is welcome. My own home is bare to say the least, I’m not one for pretty curtains or lacy cushions.
Weaver pours the ale for me and some for himself. I take off my mask and put it on the table.
We tear the bread in half and chew. “Do you really think something’s wrong?”
I nod as I eat, talking with my mouth full. “Maybe.” Do I want to admit my real fear, that something is very wrong? “Yes. He was wishy washy about why he was going and how long he’d be. And telling us he’d call for us if he needed us, I don’t know, just felt like he was keeping us away. Besides a week’s long enough.” I finish my bread. I could eat the same amount again, easily.
“True. I thought it was strange that he went without us, to be honest. We’re always together.”
“Exactly.”
We are quiet as we drink. I finish the ale and fill up the cup once more, swallowing it down in a few quick gulps. I shuck off my boots and climb under the covers. The very thin covers. It’s cold in here and I’m glad we are sharing a bed.
Weaver pulls off his boots and his top; he’s a boiler. I’m a freezer.
We leave the candle on, it will gutter out by itself.
I turn away from Weaver and wonder if I have drunk enough to sleep.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Weaver says to my back.
I cannot be so optimistic. I have been quietly in love with Archer for three years and something is telling me that something is wrong.
I think Weaver knows. I don’t think Archer does.
“I know how much you care,” he adds, his voice quiet.
“We both do,” I say, admitting nothing.
Weaver laughs. “You’re right. We both do.”
I wonder for a minute if he loves Archer like I love him, but I dismiss it. Weaver might sew like an old woman, but he is never lonely in his little cottage, and he knows the village girls well enough.
Love takes many forms and I know he loves Archer. Not quite like I do, but enough to worry and join me on this trek.
I love Weaver too. He is one of only two humans who have anything to do with me.
Villagers are happy enough to take my food and coin, but I see the looks they give me, the weird girl – is she a girl? – who hangs about with the two lads, hunting, riding, with that strange mask on, short hair, boy’s clothes.
I try not to care, and when I have had my ale I can sleep without worrying, crying, wordlessly defending myself, while my thoughts, upsets, rejections swarm around me like angry bees.
Weaver and Archer took me on face value. A girl who dresses like a boy and swears like a soldier, cuts her hair short and doesn’t care for beauty or fancy things. I fight
as well as either of them, I eat well, I sleep well – with ale – and I am happy for the most part.
And the first time after I met them that I took my mask off neither of them showed any reaction, not fear or repulsion or even curiosity and then I loved them both.
These boys of mine, they love me and protect me and I do the same for them.
And my love for Archer? A secret I’m happy to keep.
I have lived with rejection all my life. My mother and father both tried to love me for a while and I wish they hadn’t because when they eventually did throw me out, I was old enough to remember them. I hate them for that.
I will never make Archer say out loud that he doesn’t love me too.
Better to stay quiet and always have some part of him, even when he is older and marries and has children; I will know them and love them and keep my broken heart to myself.
And when I am alone forever, I will have my little secret and it will keep me warm. I can pretend that things are different. That I’m not a freak.
9
WHILE EVERLEIGH DRIFTS off into a nightmare filled sleep of hounds and guards, Della fills her brother in on their new neighbours, the danger that surrounds them and what their part in it is.
The two of them eventually sleep and they are all woken up abruptly by Addyson’s screaming.
Everleigh shoots out of her chair, and stumbles, unsure of her surroundings.
“Everleigh!”
Everleigh follows the sound of her little sister’s voice and holds her close. “Just a nightmare,” she says, smoothing Addyson’s clammy forehead and sweaty hair.
Addyson is shaking as she sobs, will she ever get over all of this upset? Everleigh can’t help but wonder at the life the fates have given her sister: Cursed from birth, shunned by her father, put up with by her brothers, loved only by her. People are superstitious and scared of her and her curse has kept her lonely all her life. Only paid help to play with, no one that really spent time with her because they liked her. And there is so much to like. She’s sweet and kind and funny. She’s young with all her life ahead of her, but what life? Even with Everleigh to help and protect her, most people can’t see past the curse, like it’s a physical thing, an actual mark upon her that flags her up as different.
Della comes in with a cup of wine for them both. Everleigh smiles. One person who isn’t scared of Addyson. Della takes Addyson’s hand. “You’ll be fine, lamb.”
Addyson sips her drink and smiles at Della. “I keep having nightmares. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, it was time for us to wake up anyway. No point lazing around all day, there’s jobs to do.”
Nightmares that Everleigh has helped give her. After Macsen killed their father, and thought he had killed Everleigh, Everleigh went along with the pretence that she was dead, so that she could more easily take the crown, but poor Addyson then thought her sister and her father were dead. Then she had to watch one brother kill the other, before seeing Everleigh come back to life. Then Millard had her locked in a tower, alone and scared, only eleven years old and already so aware of the evil and twisted world she lived in.
She is safe, but her subconscious hasn’t realised it yet. “Come and meet my brother,” Della says, and the two girls follow her through to the other room.
Now that she isn’t half asleep and panicking about why Addyson is screaming, Everleigh is embarrassed, remembering her first meeting with Finn last night.
He bows low to them both and then straightens up, a smile playing over his lips. “Queen.” He looks directly at Everleigh and she covers her face, laughing.
“I’m so sorry about last night. I wasn’t very...Queenly.”
“Where had you been?” Della asks, the tiniest little bit of hurt audible in her voice.
“I went to kill my brother.”
All three people in the room, Della, Finn and Addyson, say the same thing at the same time. “What?” Della sounds shocked, Finn amused and Addyson frightened.
“It didn’t work. I wanted to. I had the dagger right there.”
“Why didn’t you?” Addyson’s voice is a whisper, filled with dashed hopes.
“He woke up. Told me that the guards in the tower would kill you if I killed him.”
“But I’m not there.”
“They’d have killed Lanorie instead. I couldn’t do it.”
“I wish you had...” Addyson says quietly.
There is silence in the room and Everleigh is all too aware that she is with strangers. Addyson is too young really to understand it all, and Della and Finn don’t know her. What must they think of her, sneaking off in the middle of the night to stick a dagger in her brother’s neck?
“He does deserve to die.” Her voice sounds strange to her own ears, hard, defensive, but also full of sadness. Just one week ago, she would never have said anything remotely like that about either of her brothers. It still feels, sometimes, like a dream, or something that’s happening to someone else.
“I was at the coronation...” Finn’s voice is quiet. “We both were. We saw what he did to your brother, the wise woman, the young knight.”
Everleigh’s smile is sad. The prince. The wise woman. The young knight. They sound like characters in a play, and maybe for anyone watching the coronation yesterday, that’s all they were. But for her they had been her family, her friend, her first love.
Was it only yesterday?
“I didn’t stop him.”
“You couldn’t have. He would have killed you, too. No question.”
“I should have stopped him. I couldn’t save the people who meant the most to me. I’ll be a terrible Queen.”
Della moved from Addyson’s side to Everleigh’s. “I don’t believe that for a minute. Didn’t you go last night to kill your brother? Like a man, alone?”
Everleigh nods. A Queen that fights like a man. That’s what she will need to be.
“But I didn’t. I failed. I failed my friends, and last night I failed Addyson, and for every minute that Millard is King, I fail the Realm, my people.”
“You didn’t fail me.” Addyson’s voice is small.
“You didn’t fail last night. You tried. And if you are alive, you can try again. You only fail if you stop trying,” Finn says.
Della nods. “We’ll help you. And your other friends. We’ll all help you to get to the throne.”
“Why? You don’t even know me.”
Della smiles. “I know Ginny, and Ginny is on your side, so I am too.”
“We both are,” Finn says.
Everleigh smiles at them both but shakes her head. “Being on my side is what got Halfreda killed, it’s what got Archer killed. I can’t ask either of you to do that. It’s enough that you’re letting us stay here, looking after us.”
Finn takes a long drink of his ale. “Do you believe you will be Queen?”
“I’d like to think so, but Millard is always one step ahead of me.”
“If you could though, would you? Would you want to rule the Realm?”
“Yes. I believe it’s why I lived. Why I was born, even.”
“So, then you can’t stop us serving you as Queen. If it’s what we want to do.”
Everleigh shakes her head. “And if you die?”
“All who serve a King or Queen put the life of their King or Queen above their own. Nothing you can say will change that. Let us help you.”
Everleigh nods, finally. She will agree to it but do her damndest to make sure all her people are safe. And the way to do that is to get rid of Millard.
“Enough talk,” Della says, standing up and taking Addyson’s hand. “Until Ginata comes back later, we need to get on with our day. We’ve got jobs to do.”
Lanorie
WELL I AM ALIVE, AND I guess that’s some good news. I haven’t even been in here a day and I am going mad, that’s the bad news.
Last night, after the sky got black, and the candles went out, I was alone in the dark. Every now and then the gua
rd would cough or retch up some phlegm or mutter to himself, and even the company of a smelly pig with a sword was better than being completely alone in the silence
I don’t like silence. I talk to myself when I’m alone, but I couldn’t do that here in case he heard me. He might be thick as to not look at me, but he’d know the difference between me and Addyson if I started talking.
Every now and then I’d start to talk or sing or tell myself it would be alright and I had to bite my lip to be quiet. I hate the quiet.
My room is never completely dark, because it’s right by the kitchen and it’s always light in there so Cook can cook all night and usually I stay in with Cook talking till late, so really, it’s not often I’m in the dark or the quiet.
By myself.
And the dark in here is thick. There’s not a smidge of light. I held my hand in front of my face, and on my life, I couldn’t see it.
On my life. Oh, my life is running out, let me tell you. I can feel the end coming.
I might be alive now, but I don’t see it lasting. How long till the King wants to come and visit his little sister, whether to frighten her or reassure her?
Oh dear.
Well I have survived a night and I have rescued Addyson and I have eaten a good breakfast and so that might be it for me.
I have only kissed one boy.
I have never been in love.
I have never been beyond the castle, never mind the Realm.
I have lived a small life.
And it’ll be over soon.
It was the same little maid who brought me food this morning, that saw me last night. I asked her if she’d told anyone and she said she hadn’t. I asked her to very carefully and very quietly – making sure there was no one else in sight – tell Cook. She might be wondering where I am and I wouldn’t like her to worry.
And she might send me up some extra special little treats if she knows what I did, how I saved Addyson.
I might get to eat some nice stuff before I die.
Like cheese.
Like a honey cake or a lemon cake.
Or a big chunk of pork, with some bread.
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