The Death Dealer - The Complete Series

by Katie Roman

  Two weeks of hard labor felt like an eternity. Every morning Grace and Charlotte were pulled from sleep, fed a meager meal, and forced down to Traitor's Bay. The assembled prisoners worked at building the “supply tunnel”, and at sunset they had their meager dinner and prepared to start the cycle anew. Beyond Traitor's Bay was the jungle, Grace's only hope for salvation.

  She was weakened, but if she could just get to the line of trees she could find a way to hide. She was at home among trees. It was all a matter of getting away from Smythe and the other guards. Grace squashed her usually impulsive nature while she tried to formulate a plan.

  The young woman reached the stone cart and began unloading the load from the barrow into the cart. Her muscles were used to the labor by now, but they still ached against the weight of some of the heavier stones.

  Perhaps if I hit Smythe upside the head with one, she thought. No, that was no good. She didn't want anyone dead, not even a witless worm such as Smythe. Feigning illness? They would have to take me in the cart back to the prison. They would never risk carrying a prone body up the cliff face.

  She hazarded a glance at the sheer climb from the bay back to the prison. It was treacherous enough climbing up and down without carrying a sick person. Two of her fellow prisoners, men not allied to Nicholas, had passed out from exhaustion. The carter brought their bodies through the jungle. The only trouble with that plan was that three guards had also accompanied them. Unarmed, Grace would never be able to overpower all three and the carter to escape. If she could get a weapon, though...

  “Empty this load and you can break for lunch,” Smythe said. “But take much longer and I'll see you working through your meal.”

  Grace again did her best to move faster. Her stomach growled for want of food. The prison clothes she'd been supplied, which were never made to fit, were even looser now. She needed every meal she could get. She hefted the last stone and dumped it into the cart. She looked to the jungle longingly as she bent to take hold of the barrow's handles and saw a great black wolf sitting at the edges, watching her. Grace's fingers slipped on the handles and she dropped the barrow back into the sand.

  “Clumsy fool!” Smythe's whip bit into her back and Grace fell to one knee.

  Your time is at hand; the time to run. Await the signal, Grace's patron goddess said. You will know it when you see it.

  Behind her, Smythe dragged Grace to her feet. Her back stung from the lash and she whimpered in pain. The wolf was gone, but Diggery had been there.

  Grace grabbed the barrow and wheeled it back to the other prisoners. One of Smythe's cohorts passed around a waterskin and jerky.

  “This is it?” one of Nicholas's knights asked.

  “People are starving all across Cesernan, you sod. Be glad even this has been spared for the likes of you,” the dispensing guard snapped.

  Grace took her jerky and a few sips of water without comment. The four remaining non-traitors stayed secluded from Grace, Marcus, Charlotte, Nicholas, and his men. As long as they kept their voices down, the guards allowed them their meal time to converse and joke. Usually Grace sat and listened, but today she had questions.

  “Are they coming?” she asked. She wondered if the siege signal would be those sent to rescue the duke.

  “Who?” Nicholas looked up from his meager lunch.

  Grace didn't answer, but locked eyes with the duke purposefully. He said nothing, but stared back just as intently, toying with the jerky in his hands.

  “Yes,” Charlotte finally said.

  Next to her, Marcus laughed. “To see to the likes of you all, maybe.” He pointed at everyone in their circle one by one. “But what of the likes of me? And them working the farms?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “There's no telling what will happen when the time comes.” His eyes shot toward the guards.

  Grace noticed they were inching closer to see what the prisoners talked about. “Everyone will stand behind you,” she said softly. “Rally them and they will fight.”

  “I hope you are right.” The duke bit into his jerky without another word.

  ~*~*~

  Grace's cell was so dark she couldn't be sure if her eyes were opened or closed. Her mind was wide awake, though. It was impossible to sleep now that Diggery had finally appeared with a message. Grace knew the goddess would show herself eventually, but it had been weeks since she had done so. Now that she had, Grace wasn't sure what to make of it.

  Certainly escape was near at hand, but then what? Grace couldn't swim across the sea back to Glenbard. Was a siege force sent by Drake and Katherine truly coming? Would they be the signal? Would they free everyone? Too many questions with no answers, Grace thought bitterly.

  “Charlotte?” she whispered, hoping the duchess’s maid was still awake.

  Charlotte said nothing, not even shifting on her hay. Grace sighed and rolled onto her side. They must be coming, she decided. They need the duke’s fortune to back Drake. Katherine would never let her husband die here. She smiled into the dark. “They’re coming,” she quietly proclaimed into the dark.

  “Yes, dear,” Charlotte whispered from her bed. “They are coming.” She shifted her position. “I was sent to prepare His Grace.” Charlotte crawled across the floor to lie behind Grace. They often huddled together at night to hold conferences. They weren’t sure if the guards listened in, but it was safer this way in case they did.

  Grace turned to whisper directly into Charlotte’s ear. “We will be free.”

  Charlotte leaned in close, her body like an oven, storing the day’s heat. Her breath tickled Grace’s ear and neck. “They were securing an alliance with Sera. Queen Elanor is ready to back His Highness when he returns to claim the throne.”

  It would take more than the duke’s gold to secure such an alliance. Though King Frederick and Queen Elanor had a long standing rivalry, open war never looked like a possibility. People talked that Frederick planned to challenge Elanor’s forces on the islands, but Grace never believed he would actually do it. War was costly and his people were starving. Besides – he would never have an army fit to fight. And Elanor was not one known to throw lives away on needless ventures.

  “What sort of price is the prince paying to be granted such backing?” Grace asked.

  “Elanor’s nephew and heir needs a wife, and Princess Elisabeth has yet to be married.” Next to her, Grace felt Charlotte shrug. “Her Majesty seeks for a more lasting peace through marriage, I think. Now is your curiosity assuaged?”

  “Yes, thank you, Charlotte.” Charlotte wrapped an arm around Grace and hugged her tightly before crawling back to her mound of hay.

  War. Grace frowned. She should have known it would come to that. Frederick would never willingly abandon his throne. By birthright it was his, and Drake had no right to try to steal it while his father still lived.

  But Frederick abused his people with his inattention, with his blindness. Leon killed himself because of Frederick, she chided herself. He saw only gain by taking Nareroc from Sera. She rubbed her temples, trying to make sense of everything.

  ~*~*~

  The next day over their noon meal, Grace sat away from her usual group and stared out over the water. Above, the sun beat down on her back, managing to scorch her skin through her threadbare shirt. Her wounds from Smythe’s whip were bandaged, but they stung and the heat and sweat only made it worse. The light reflected off the water, rippling along the surface of the ocean. Nowhere on the horizon could she see a ship.

  Behind her, she heard the soft tread of bare feet on sand. She expected it would be Marcus, so she didn’t bother to turn around. To her surprise, Nicholas sat next to her in the sand.

  “Your Grace,” she said quietly.

  He offered her a bite of his bread. It was old and stale, but Grace accepted it. She said a silent prayer as she took a bite, praying she didn’t break a tooth on it. Nicholas didn’t say anything, but stared out over the water with her.

  Feeling uncomfortable wit
h the silence, Grace shifted nervously. “Did you want something?”

  “You seem troubled.”

  Grace looked around her and chuckled. “Everything about this place is troubling, Your Grace.”

  Nicholas gave her a close lipped smile. “They’re coming eventually.”

  “I know.”

  A few more moments of silence passed between them. Grace was now content to listen only to the waves hitting the sand and the gulls crying high up in the air. Behind her, the others chatted and the guards patrolled.

  “Your father would have been proud,” the duke said at length.

  “Of my treason?”

  “Perhaps not of that, but of your bearing, even here. You have not crumbled as many would and have in your situation.”

  “What was he like? I mean, as a friend and a knight. My uncles always said he loved me dearly, and I remember him doting on me. I remember him hunting and taking part in contests of strength, but I remember little else.”

  “There was little else to Daniel. He liked his wine, his women, and his hounds. He loved the tournament and he loved to hunt when the tournament season was over. He, Robert of Escion, Frederick, and I were all great friends in our youth.”

  “Do you think he would have sold out his countrymen like Robert did?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Daniel had no mind for politics or management. Though he was Lord of Arganis, it was always Leon and George who ran the barony.”

  “What would he think of me, do you suppose?”

  “I told you he’d be proud of the way you are handling your situation.”

  “And? You were at the tournament where I dishonored myself. What would my father have to say about that?”

  Nicholas looked uneasy and fell silent again. The guards called for the prisoners to return to work, but Grace knew if she let the conversation stop now, he would never answer. When the duke moved to get up, Grace grabbed his arm to hold him down.

  “Would my father still have been proud of me?”

  “You two! Back to work!” Smythe yelled from her post. Nicholas tried to pull away, but Grace held fast. “Are you deaf?” Smythe began to bear down on them, her whip ready.

  “He would have been proud if you were a son. But as his daughter, he would have bargained with Frederick and shipped you off to become a priestess. He loved you, but he would never have tolerated his daughter to so disgrace herself and the Hilren line.” Smythe was on them. Nicholas stood quickly and blocked Grace from Smythe. “My lady guard, the young woman was succumbing to her affliction. I was trying to calm her troubled mind.”

  Smythe looked around Nicholas to glare at Grace. Grace let her mouth hang open and hoped her own gaze was sufficiently empty of emotion. “Is she better now?” Smythe took a few steps back.

  “Yes, yes, but please allow me to help her up alone, just in case.” Nicholas turned to Grace, hoisted her up by the armpits, and made a show of dusting sand off her. “Such a pretty, clean lady,” he said loudly. He looped an arm around her waist and marched her back to their work posts. “Fool. To think people are still taught that mental illness is contagious. At least that belief keeps you from too much guard contact.” He left her by her wheel barrow and went to his own work.

  Why did I want to know? she thought, angry with herself. Her father was nothing more than a distant memory, a man who took her out riding and bought her pretty things. She loved the memories she had, and yet she had ruined them all by asking. Leon and George never said much beyond reinforcing the fact that Daniel lavished praise on his young daughter.

  Stones hit the empty barrow and Grace felt each one as though it landed squarely on her shoulders. It wasn’t until Nicholas mentioned Daniel that Grace even gave her father any thought. His death prompted her into the role of the Death Dealer, so she always assumed he’d have been proud no matter what she did. It never occurred to her that her father would see her as a disappointment.

  When the barrow was full, Grace trudged along her little path toward the cart. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she moved along.

  ~*~*~

  “You’re looking distant,” Big Sal remarked over dinner. She pointed a spoonful of gray, tasteless porridge at Grace. “Have a bout of ‘madness’, did she?” She turned to Charlotte for an answer. A few mornings into their stay at the prison, Sal told Grace her father suffered from what people called Soldiers’ Sickness. It affected men who saw combat and they returned home entirely different men than when they left. Sal knew, no matter what the ignorant said, that no one could catch these maladies of the brain. So Grace and Charlotte let Sal in on their ruse.

  Charlotte lowered her voice and leaned in so Sal alone could hear. “She was talking to the Duke of Actis and suddenly she wouldn’t let him go. He had to convince the guard she was suffering from some sort of attack. She hasn’t said anything since their exchange.”

  Both pairs of eyes landed on Grace, but she continued to stare straight ahead. She thought about what would happen if she turned herself over to Frederick. She would most certainly become his assassin in exchange for restoring her family’s honor. Certainly restoring the honor she tarnished would make her father proud, but what good was that?

  “Is she going to be alright?” asked Sal, now concerned for Grace.

  “If the king offered you amnesty, would you take it?” Grace spoke suddenly.

  “If Frederick walked into this prison and offered me a flagon of wine and a full pardon, I’d spit in his face,” Sal growled. “A pardon from a king who lets his people starve ain’t worth nothing, Gracie.”

  Grace turned her gaze to Charlotte. “And do you feel the same?”

  “I am no fan of Frederick’s, but I wouldn’t insult the man.” Charlotte pursed her lips at Sal. “At least not to his face, anyway, but I wouldn’t take anything he offered, either. I know you are upset to be here, Grace, we all are.” Charlotte put a comforting hand over Grace’s.

  “My uncle died for what he believed in. He thought going to Kamaria, Ciro, and Diggery was preferable to turning himself over to Frederick and suing for mercy.” In her veins, her blood boiled. “Frederick offered me amnesty if I swore I would serve him. When I refused, he sent me here to reconsider my initial answer.” Grace fixed her stare at a point on the wall above Charlotte's head. She no longer spoke to her friends. “His Grace said my father would have been disappointed in my display at the tournament. I thought if I served the king now, I might make him proud again. Maybe even regain some lost honor. I only went into that stupid tournament so my cousin would not have to forfeit the match! If I turn myself over now, maybe I could save them any more heartache.”

  “Grace...?” Sal asked tentatively. “Are you thinking of leaving?”

  “Think of what Frederick has done,” Charlotte snapped. “Don't take whatever reward he is offering you at face value. There is always a hidden cost.”

  Grace looked down at her hands suddenly. They had not been soft since she was a small child, but these days they were hard and red from toil. “These hands have erred, but who would I make proud if I turned myself over now? The memory of a man dead over a decade? My poor, lost uncle? A mother who barely remembers me? If I did that, I would only disappoint my uncles, my cousin, and the prince.” Grace grabbed her bowl of porridge and hit it against the table.

  “Quiet down!” a male guard yelled from his post.

  Grace brought the bowl down again and the force sent a crack from the bottom, all the way up the sides. Runny porridge leaked out onto her fingers. All conversation stopped.

  “I said to quiet down!” The male guard left his post and one of his cohorts followed him toward Grace's table.

  Grace jumped to her feet and brandished the bowl like a weapon. Porridge flew out in every direction. She bared her teeth at the guards.

  “Grace! Sit down!” Sal hissed.

  “Listen to your friend,” the male guard instructed. “Don't want to spend time on the coffin block, do you?”

/>   Charlotte grabbed Grace and pulled her back into her seat. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Now three guards surrounded their table. Suddenly, Grace felt all her fight drain away as Diggery's words echoed in her mind. Await the signal. She would miss the signal if she was taken to the coffin block. If they took her off her duties on the beach, there was no telling how long she'd be locked away.

  Charlotte spoke to the guards. “The heat…it is getting to her.”

  The male guard raised an eyebrow. “She's going to have to come with us.”

  “We'll look after her,” Sal interjected. The guard narrowed his eyes at her. “She's not right,” Sal added, tapping her head. “She's been babbling on and on about invaders and fortifying the battlements.” Charlotte nodded her agreement.

  “Some rest, and she'll be fine,” Sal continued. “There’ll be no more trouble from her, honest.”

  The guard looked to Grace, waiting for her to say something in her own defense. She sniffed and put her hands in her lap. “If we don't post archers on the walls, they'll take the fortress, my lord.”

  “Come on,” another guard groaned. “This is that batty one Smythe mentioned. She's harmless.”

  “If she causes another scene, we'll tie her down and drag her to the coffin block.” The male guard pointed his baton at her.

  As they walked away, Charlotte pinched Grace's side. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I felt angry suddenly.”

  “I'm sure that whatever Nicholas said to you wasn't meant to hurt you. He was friends with your father, you know, and he wouldn't lie to a friend's daughter.”

  “Who cares what he has to say anyway?” Sal sniffed. “You're not of his ilk no more.”

  Grace looked up and caught Sal's eye, and Charlotte took it upon herself to respond. “She is of a proud line; Lord Daniel and Lady Deidre's only child. She is very much on the same level as the Duke of Actis, and the duke's opinion matters very much in Cesernan.”