Letya shakes her head. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Aderyn. Not without you.’
‘You have to. Don’t you understand? Siegfried already has Lucien. I can’t risk him taking you too.’
‘He won’t.’ She waves a hand, dismissive. ‘You treat me like an equal, but in the eyes of the world – in the eyes of someone like Siegfried – I’m a flightless servant. Nothing more. It won’t occur to him that I have any value.’
‘That’s not true. He must know how important you are to me. Please – I want you to leave. Today. Take Henga and Vasta and get away from here. Head for Chantry, on the far side of the fjord. If Aron and I succeed, I’ll send for you.’
‘But … I can’t leave you here alone.’
‘You have to.’ I search for the words to convince her. ‘You know I love you. If I were to lose you as well as Lucien …’ I dash away a tear with the back of my hand, ‘it would destroy me. But if I know you’re safe, then I’ll be able to do what I need to do. I’ll be able to wait for the evidence from Merl. I’ll be able to wait out whatever happens to Lucien.’
Letya is silent, tugging on one of the stray strands of yellow wool.
‘Please, tell me you understand …?’
Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears. But eventually she nods. ‘When must I go?’
‘After supper – as soon as it’s dark. That will give you time to gather whatever clothes you think you can carry with you.’
As Letya begins packing up her knitting, I go to my bedroom and get out the red dress that Siegfried sent me. My father’s letters are here, sewn into the lining by Letya. It gives me pleasure to rip the fabric open and retrieve them. I ask Letya to take them to Aron before she goes to pack, and throw the dress onto the fire.
She leaves, and I go back to pacing.
Time hurries on – no word from Merl, or from Aron – and the hour arrives. Letya and I have had supper together, and I’ve forced down enough food to satisfy her. Now she’s adjusting the strap of the small bag she has slung across her body.
‘I’ve written you out a pass; the gates will be shut by now.’
‘Thank you.’ She tucks the letter into her pocket. ‘Though I’m not planning to go out through one of the main gates. There’s a small door round by the kitchen gardens that leads into the town. I’m friends with the doorkeeper.’
I’ve already pulled on a pair of gloves, so I grip her hands in mine. ‘Oh, Letya …’
‘We’ll see each other again soon. The news you’re waiting for from Merl will arrive, and you and Prince Aron will put an end to this.’ She sniffs. ‘If you see Lord Lucien again, tell him I wish him well.’
I nod. I can’t say Lucien’s name, can’t even think about him, without a sharp stab of fear in my chest. ‘May I kiss you goodbye?’
‘Of course.’
I lean forward and brush Letya’s cheek fleetingly with my lips. ‘Stay safe, my friend. My sister.’
She leaves. And I am truly alone.
The clock on the mantlepiece chimes, reminding me that I have little time to grieve what I’ve lost. I’m about to risk myself, but at least my Letya should be safe.
In the bedroom, I go to the chest of drawers containing my jewels and other ornaments. My mother’s sword is in here, together with the sword belt. But there’s also her dagger. I take it out of the velvet bag in which it was brought from Merl – I’ve had no reason to use it or wear it, so far – and test the edge.
Still sharp.
Lucien’s trial is due to start in three hours. I wait out one more of those hours in my apartment, hoping to give Letya time to get well clear of the Citadel. Then I slip the dagger into the pocket of my dress and make my way to Siegfried’s rooms.
The main staircases and public rooms of the palace are busy. Despite the deep mourning, despite the late hour, the court is bustling with gossip about Lucien’s arrest and the king’s death. As I pass, people break off their conversations and gawk, before returning to their whispering with renewed energy. I lift my chin, give back stare for stare. Lucien’s words run through my mind: Remember, the most important thing here is not your future; it’s that of Atratys.
I try to think only of Atratys as I reach Siegfried’s apartment and my anxiety builds. No guards, at least. I’m a little surprised, but I lift my hand and knock.
A servant opens the door; he bows, granting me admittance, and I force myself to cross the threshold. When the door shuts behind me, fear twists my guts. Siegfried is standing near the windows on the far side of the room. He dismisses the servant and turns to me. ‘Aderyn.’ His smile is the same dazzling smile I remember from the first day we met. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘I’ve come to talk to you about Lucien. About the trial.’
He nods. ‘Very good. I’m so glad you didn’t try to insult my intelligence – or your own – by pretending ignorance. Or innocence. You wish to negotiate with me?’
‘Yes. Lucien is innocent. We both know that. And I have … certain evidence, that will implicate you. If I make it public.’
A muscle twitches briefly in the side of Siegfried’s face, but his smile doesn’t disappear. ‘Fairly weak evidence, I imagine. Given that you haven’t yet shown it to Convocation. So the question is –’ he tilts his head, walking towards me – ‘what are you offering me, in return for Rookwood’s life?’
‘I’m offering my silence, and my cooperation. I’ll say nothing about you and your half-sister. I’ll become your mistress and, in time, your wife. Olorys will control the Crown Estates and Atratys and eventually the whole of Solanum. That’s everything you wanted, isn’t it?’
Siegfried is right in front of me now, too close for me not to see the greed and desire in his eyes. ‘Rookwood means that much to you? You’ll ignore my plans for Odette, and give yourself to me, to save him?’
I stare up into his face. ‘Yes.’ I barely breathe the word, but he hears me.
‘Prove it.’
I close up the space between us, go up on tiptoes and put one arm around his neck, pulling him towards me. His head dips and our lips meet and I kiss him hard, flicking my tongue into his mouth, forcing him to respond, to kiss me back. His arms fold around me. And slowly, carefully, I edge my other hand down from his waist and into my pocket. My knife is there, solid and real – more real than what I’m doing, or where I am; I grip it, slide it out, tighten my hold on his neck and thrust the blade upward –
My dagger slips and twists aside and I drop it as Siegfried shoves me backwards onto the floor.
He starts laughing. And at first I think it’s shock, that I’ve managed to hurt him; there’s a tear in his tunic. But then he gets hold of the fabric and rips it and underneath –
He’s wearing chainmail. ‘Did you honestly think I would trust you, Aderyn?’ The laughter fades, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Did you honestly think I would still want you, you Atratyan whore?’ His handsome features are twisted with contempt. He picks up my knife. ‘Get up.’
I struggle to my feet. He grabs my arm and jerks me forward, holding the blade beneath my chin, forcing my head up. ‘Turik told me. He’s been in my pay for weeks now; it wasn’t particularly hard to persuade him to betray his master, especially once I told him I had his sister in my custody.’ Siegfried shakes his head. ‘The loyalty of the flightless so very rarely endures any real test. I know, therefore, that you’ve been in Rookwood’s bed. That you gave him what you refused me. That your virtue is nothing more than a sham.’ He spits in my face. ‘And yet,’ he lowers the knife a little, ‘I still have a use for you.’
I struggle uselessly against his grasp. ‘If you think I’m going to help you, you bastard, you’re even more insane than I realised. I’d rather die.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll change your mind. Unlike Patrus – who really is incredibly dim-witted – I have taken the trouble to acquire some additional leverage.’ Still gripping my arm, and with my mother’s dagger pointed at my back,
he marches me towards the bedroom. ‘Open the door.’
‘No.’
‘Open it.’ He presses the point of the knife against the soft flesh beneath my shoulder blade.
I turn the handle and push the door open.
Sitting on the bed, her hands tied behind her and a gag in her mouth, is Letya.
Seventeen
My courage withers. Why is she still here? Why did she not leave earlier?
‘How?’
‘One of my servants caught her as she was trying to escape the castle. You were sensible, sending her away. Unfortunate that your timing was poor.’
My mother’s dagger is digging into my back. There is no way out, for me or for Letya, unless I can transform. I screw my eyes shut, hoping that somehow my desperation will be stronger than the fear and the pain; that maybe, finally, my body will obey me –
Nothing. Apart from Siegfried’s mocking laughter. My shoulders sag. ‘What do you want?’
‘We can discuss that on the way. Turik.’
Lucien’s attendant steps out of the shadows. I hardly recognise him: his eyes are glassy and there are bloody lacerations across one side of his face. When he sees me he jerks forward. ‘Your Grace –’
‘Enough of that, fool,’ Siegfried snarls. ‘Remember your place, and what you risk. Bring her.’ He nods his head towards Letya.
Turik is carrying a sword. He drags Letya to her feet; her hands are tied with a long length of rope, like a halter. Turik holds the end of the rope and positions the tip of his blade against her back.
‘Very good. Now, while we are making our way downstairs, you need to be silent, Aderyn. The slightest sound, and Letya will suffer. Do you understand?’
I nod.
Outside Siegfried’s room we turn not towards the main staircase, as I had expected, but in the other direction. Ahead of us is the door to the menial stairs, the ones Letya and I took disguised as housemaids, and for a moment I think that we are going to go through it, that Siegfried is going to force us down to the dungeons. But we walk past that staircase too and come to a dead end.
Siegfried stops in front of a large but unremarkable painting, leans forward and slips his fingers behind the frame. He seems to be feeling around for something. Then, at a jerk of his hand, the entire frame swings outward.
Behind the painting is a dark, cramped opening. Siegfried steps through, and a few moments later reappears with a burning torch.
‘Now,’ he murmurs, ‘you are going to carry this. Letya will walk directly behind you. If you want her to live, don’t try to escape.’
He holds out the torch, and I take it and step into the darkness.
I find myself at the top of a staircase. There’s a rope running along the wall at waist height; a necessity, since the steps are narrow, uneven and slimy. The air smells damp and dusty and it catches, bitter, at the back of my throat. When the painting is pulled to, sealing us inside, the flame of the torch burns with a blue edge.
‘Get moving.’
We descend. The torch illuminates only a couple of steps in front of me. Since each stair looks almost identical, and there is no other variation in my surroundings, I soon lose all sense of time and place. I seem to be walking the same steps over and over again, a slow, never-ending plunge to who knows where. My leg muscles start to ache. Letya is crying.
Finally, just when I think my calves are about to cramp and pitch me down into the darkness, the air seems to change. It’s fresher, carrying the tang of seawater. Another few steps and there is a flat floor in front of me. I sigh with relief and hurry forward, anxious to get out of the tunnel, whatever may be waiting at the other end. Behind me, Turik swears at Letya, ordering her to walk faster, a sharp note of hysteria in his voice.
The tunnel widens, turns, and without warning we’re in the open and it’s stony underfoot. The cool night air and the space around me make me feel as if I’ve escaped. But Siegfried plucks the torch from my hand, throws it into the water – we are by the shore of the fjord – and takes my arm, jamming the knife against my side.
‘Into the boat.’
There’s a rowing boat drawn up on the pebbles; a man is waiting next to it with a pair of oars. Letya and I are hustled into the boat and made to sit in the bottom of the hull in a puddle of dirty water. Letya is at the stern, Turik next to her on a bench, and I’m in the prow. The rower takes his seat in the middle. We wait while Siegfried strips off his clothes and replaces them with a long robe. He climbs in and sits on a wooden ledge beside me.
‘We have a pleasant night for it, now the rain has passed.’ He gestures at the cloudless sky above the Citadel, slowly receding with every oar-stroke. ‘I imagine Rookwood’s trial must be about to start. A pity I am not there, but my sister will ensure the correct outcome.’
‘I don’t understand how I ever liked you.’
‘You liked me because I’m charming, and clever, and I seemed to offer a way to get what you wanted. Which was revenge on those who killed your mother, of course. For both you and your father.’
‘You used him.’
‘We used each other. He hated his brother, and I wanted the crown. A slow, painful death for the king suited us both.’
‘That’s a lie.’ I clutch my stomach, digging my nails into my flesh to ward off the nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. ‘My father just wanted to frighten him –’
‘Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?’ Siegfried smirks at me. ‘I’m afraid not, Aderyn. It was he who sought me out. He asked me to use my access to the Citadel to poison the king. In return, he offered me your hand in marriage and the whole of Atratys. I suppose he thought I would protect you. And I would have wed you, eventually. You would have ruled Solanum at my side. But as it is, you’ve chosen to throw away everything – everything – for one night of sated lust in the arms of a –’
My fist gets halfway to his face before he blocks me.
‘I don’t think so, you flightless bitch.’ He grabs my wrist and twists my arm behind me so hard I cry out in pain. ‘Touch me again and I’ll break it.’
‘I am – not – flightless.’ I force the words out through gritted teeth.
‘You can say that as many times as you like, but it won’t make it true. Do you know who told the king you were flightless? I did. And who do you think told me? Your father. My poor, flightless daughter – that’s what he called you. He didn’t keep you locked up at Merl merely for your protection. He was embarrassed by you.’
He lets go of me, shoves me forward; I catch myself just before my face hits the dirty water in the bottom of the boat. I want to scream. To tell him he’s lying. That my father would never – never – have called me flightless, that he was a good man, not someone to plan murder. Not someone to sacrifice his only child in the name of revenge.
But the words stick in my throat.
Because obviously I didn’t know my father at all.
Siegfried chuckles. ‘It has been amusing, talking to you about my friend the chemist, knowing all along it was your father who made the poison that killed the king. Who made the potion that enabled you to fly again.’ He leans closer. ‘The potion that he gave to me, Aderyn. To me. Not to you.’
The icy water has soaked into my dress. There’s a large wooden splinter stuck in the heel of my hand. I pull it out, stare at the trickle of blood that tracks down my arm. I should be feeling cold, or pain, or both. Something. But my centre seems to have been … excised. Like someone has taken a knife and cut away whatever it is that connects my emotions to the rest of me. Cut away my heart.
‘Why haven’t you killed me?’
‘A reasonable question. And I will kill you. Or –’ he waves a hand – ‘watch you be executed, I suppose. But first, you’re going to write a confession. You’re going to tell Convocation that it was you – and your father, and your servants – who planned to murder the king and take the crown. The queen will suggest, as a reward for unveiling this plot, that Atratys should be ann
exed to Olorys. Your family shield will be disgraced and struck from the records. But you’ll be dead, of course. You probably won’t care.’
I’m about to give in. To tell him that I’ll write whatever he wants, say whatever he wants, if he at least allows Letya to live.
But then he adds: ‘I’ve never been to an execution for high treason. Apparently, they’re going to bind poor Lucien by his wrists and ankles to one of the posts in the arena and flog him. Then, once the skin is bloodied, they’ll place borer worms into the lacerations.’
I clamp my hand to my mouth as my stomach heaves.
Still Siegfried continues. ‘Curious creatures, borer worms. From northern Fenian. They live by feeding on wounded animals. The scent of blood prompts them to produce an acid, which, in combination with several rows of very sharp teeth, enables them to eat through skin, muscle, bone … But they move slowly. It’s a lingering, agonising, humiliating death.’ He sighs. ‘I would have so enjoyed making you watch Rookwood die.’
The fire flares in my belly. Maybe I can’t feel anything else, but I can still feel rage.
‘Go to hell. And rot there. I’m not signing anything.’
My captor merely smiles. The boat bumps against something solid, and as the oarsman jumps out to tie it up I look around. We’re at the tower that stands out in the fjord. Siegfried drags me upright and we clamber up out of the boat onto the rocks that form the base of the tower. There’s a small door. Once Turik and Letya have joined us, Siegfried opens it.
It’s like our journey down the staircase behind the painting, but in reverse. Again, Siegfried forces me to carry a torch. Again – apart from the small area illuminated by its flames – we are plunged into gloom. But this time we have to climb upward, circling round the inside of the tower. There are windows, but only at the top; looking up, I can’t see any glimmer of light. The darkness sucks at my eyeballs. The stairs are steep and uncomfortably deep. Turik soon starts panting. Every so often I slow down too much, and Siegfried yells at me. But I can’t help it. I’m so tired; all I’m aware of is the ache in my lungs and the throbbing pain in my injured hand.
A Throne of Swans Page 24