Fly with the Arrow: A Bluebeard Inspired Fantasy (Bluebeard's Secret Book 1)

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  The large table was facing the crowd with all the players seated along one side of it. A place had been left for my husband at the end nearest us. Just one chair, I noted.

  Off to the side past the far end of the table was a smaller table bearing a washbasin and towel and it was to that table that my husband gestured as he strode off in the opposite direction, fiddling with the string of his bow as he walked.

  “Take one of those golden apples and put it on Grosbeak’s head, sun of my world,” Bluebeard continued lightly. I noticed he liked to give me extravagant pet names when he was being particularly overbearing.

  I picked up two of the apples from the table and my eyes met the Sword’s as I plucked them from the heap. I could eat the second one. There is no way they’d poison an apple on their own table.

  “Just because you married him, doesn’t mean you need to stay with him,” the Sword drawled. “My claws may be bigger, but I don’t feel the need to mark what is mine on the outside.”

  It was the words ‘on the outside’ that left me shivering. What sort of marks would he leave on the inside if I took him up on this offer? My eyes narrowed and I said nothing, simply gliding over to the table that my husband had indicated.

  “Set the apple on his head when you have him in place, jewel of Wittenhame,” Bluebeard said as he took an arrow from his quiver, looking down the shaft as if to judge how it might fly. “Grosbeak was a friend of yours, if I am not mistaken, Sword.”

  The Sword’s mouth tightened. “No friend of mine.”

  “How odd,” Bluebeard said, but his voice sounded more like a threat than a simple observation. “We Wittenhame cannot lie. And yet, I could have sworn he was a friend. Perhaps he was merely your plaything. As he is now the plaything of my wife.”

  “Don’t let him do this to me,” Grosbeak hissed. “He’ll shoot me!”

  “You’re already dead,” I said practically as I removed the wash basin from the table and set his head down on it.

  “It will still hurt. And I will be humiliated.” His hiss grew sharper. “You heard the Sword disavow me. They will all laugh at my torment.”

  I didn’t feel the least bit bad for him. And yet I paused. My husband had asked me to play along to prove my loyalty. He was trying to make a spectacle here for all to see. Perhaps there was a way to show him how useful I could be. A way he hadn’t even thought of himself.

  “You sent me a message,” Bluebeard continued as he chose a second shaft. “And in that message, you suggested I cannot win this game because I do not sacrifice enough. I am no risk taker, you said. You know every move I make before I make it, you said. Did you see this coming? Step back, wife.”

  I stepped back at the same time that the arrow flew, striking the apple on Grosbeak’s head. He screamed, his face distorted with terror as juice sprayed across his face and the apple fell to the ground, pierced straight through with the arrow.

  The crowd roared.

  Bluebeard had their full attention. He made a little bow.

  “Set up a second apple, wife. Once may be a coincidence. Twice will show my skill.”

  “I stand by your cowardice. What skill does it take to shoot at someone already dead?” the Sword said from his seat. He’d thrown his feet up onto the table, leaning back in his chair. “You won’t take the risks I do. Which is why you won’t win. And when I do, I will raze the ground of Pensmoore – I’m sick of how you treat it like your own fiefdom, snatching brides from there and letting your wild folk roam their bogs and woods.”

  He did? My brow furrowed.

  He considered my land his?

  “I can guess your every move,” the Sword said.

  “Did you guess this one?” I asked in a clear voice as I set the second apple not on Grosbeak’s head but on my own.

  There was a delighted gasp along the table, and when my eyes met my husband’s, he had a look on his face as if he’d just found a particularly fine vintage of wine in his cellar he had not realized was there. He barely seemed to be able to tear his eye from me as he drew another arrow from the quiver.

  He broke eye contact long enough to look down the shaft and then his gaze swung to mine again. He was drinking me in like I was life in a cup. He was watching me like I might evaporate with the dawn. Maybe he believed I would. After all, I was made of story to him. And I’d just given him an excellent story.

  The party, I realized, had gone utterly still. I risked a glance to the side and saw they had all stopped their games of chance, their dances, their music, their trysts, and were arrayed to watch the spectacle before them.

  My body was shaking all over, my head suddenly light.

  He’d proven he could do it. Logic told me he could do it again. Logic was not working on my body, though. It was telling me that I needed to relieve myself. Promptly.

  “Eyes on me,” Bluebeard said as if he were seducing the entire crowd, but his words were for me, and as my gaze met his he gave me more instructions. “Hold your breath and watch me.”

  My fate was in his hands. But it had been there since I had greeted him. It only made sense to trust him with it again. The worst he could do was kill me. And he’d already promised to do that eventually.

  I drew in a long, steadying breath. Despite my flawless logic, my knees were shaking, and my abdomen felt like water being sloshed around.

  He drew his arrow. The point seemed aimed right at my head.

  I couldn’t help it. The tiniest moan of fear escaped my lips.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  I held my breath. I tried to keep my eyes on him, but I couldn’t help the delicate scream that tore from my lips when the arrow loosed.

  I heard it zip through the air. Heard the sound of it pierce the apple over my head. Felt apple juice spray across my scalp and the pulp of it fall into my hair.

  I hadn’t even shut my mouth when a second zip disturbed the air above me. An arrow took the apple a second time, splitting it right down the center. The halves fell to either side of me, bouncing off the fur of my stole.

  Grosbeak cursed as loudly and vehemently as I wanted to, while around us the crowd cheered. Their voices washed across us over and again like waves smashing the shore. He had given them a spectacle. And they loved spectacles.

  “I’m willing to place my hazard now,” Bluebeard announced to the crowd. “And any sane man will be betting on me. My wife certainly did!”

  That got him a laugh and another cheer. At the table, the Sword scowled grimly. He’d taken his feet off the table, but just like Bluebeard, his eyes never left me, as if he could steal me away by the power of his will and ruin all Bluebeard’s plans in a single stroke.

  There was a sudden chime, and everyone froze. The Sovereign spoke from his place half-covered in sand.

  “Peak of Night is upon us. Make your hazards.”

  Chapter Twenty- Three

  The Wittenhame, it would seem, took gambling very seriously indeed. The moment their Sovereign had finished announcing that they could make their hazards, a pair of creatures with large wings and hunched backs hurried to either side of the altar. They threw something at the ground that went up in a burst of bluish-white flame and continued to burn as they each pulled a silver cord and released a banner.

  To the left of the altar, the official hazards of the players would be recorded. To the right, the official hazards of the spectators. I expected that list would be considerably longer.

  The players rose, almost as one, to walk toward their banner. Bluebeard removed the string from his bow and approached me before he joined them.

  To my utter shock, he kissed the top of my head almost reverently and murmured, “What courage. What blazing, maddening courage. You were right, wife of mine, you do make a better ally than an enemy. Wait here as I place my hazard.”

  And then he was gone. I gathered up Grosbeak and took him to the long table.

  “I’m outraged that you did that to me,” he sputtered. “Outraged.”

 
There was still a little apple in his hair. I flicked it out and tried to ignore how tired I was and how much my back ached. There was no time for self-pity. If my husband’s competitors had left anything incriminating at their table, now would be my chance to find it – and they had left so many things that I needed to move quickly to see if there was anything of value.

  “I could have died, you know. He’s not the best shot in all of history, just the best shot there is right now! And how did you know he wouldn’t miss and kill us?”

  “I guessed,” I said.

  I hadn’t known. It was a calculated risk. I was the kind of person who took calculated risks because it was sometimes the only way to get ahead. You just had to be sensible about it.

  “Guessed? You guessed? You gambled with our lives!”

  “My life,” I corrected. “You already lost yours by taking a stupid risk. I rather think that betting against Bluebeard – as you did – usually doesn’t work out for people quite as well as betting on him winning does.”

  He was sputtering incoherently when I set him on the table and pretended to be grazing off the lavish food while I made my way slowly along it. I popped a grape in my mouth and looked over what Lady Tanglecott had left behind. A tiny fabric bag sewn with mouse skulls. A fan with a design of rats on it, their tales intertwined in a terrifying knot. A stole made of very delicate fur in a light brown color.

  “Lady Tanglecott seems fond of rats,” I murmured, but there was nothing here to lend me any guesses about her strategy. Her purse contained only a handkerchief and some mortal coins.

  I moved on, plucking a tiny pickled egg from the dish and popping it into my mouth as I looked at what Lord Antlerdale had left behind. It was a book.

  Mist and Memories: The Memoirs of Lord Antlerdale, the cover read.

  Wait. It was a book about him? I flipped open the cover.

  “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” Grosbeak whispered. “And if you don’t hurry, you’re going to be caught. You won’t find anything in there. The Arrow would have a copy of that book just like everyone else. Antlerdale gives them out like candy at a Nightwatch feast, and only the kindest of the Wittenhame agree to take a copy anymore. That’s people who publish their own writing for you, forever hawking that tripe to everyone else.”

  I made a sound in the back of my throat, but I left the book and hurried onward, plucking a strawberry from the plate to hide my actions as I examined a hat left by Bluffroll. It was a simple, broadbrimmed black hat. Nothing of interest there except for the dried snakeskin tied around the crown of the hat.

  I sighed and moved on to where Lord Marshyellow had left a walking staff as tall as he was. It was topped by the dried head of a cottonmouth snake, its mouth open and a small hat fitted to its head that matched the one Lord Bluffroll had been wearing exactly.

  I shook my head. The Wittenbrand were an eclectic kind with the same taste in items you’d expect from a mad wizard, but there was nothing here that might help my husband.

  Coppertomb had left nothing behind. Not even a hat or wrap. Wittentree had left a pipe carved to look like a small angry man.

  The Sword had left his own copy of Mist and Memories: The Memoirs of Lord Antlerdale. And that was all. In frustration, I sat down and began to chew on a roll.

  “I told you,” Grosbeak said, rolling his eyes. “Everyone has a copy. And you’d better get out of here before Lady Tanglecott places her bet and comes back here.”

  “Why do the players place bets anyway?” I asked. “I thought that was for spectators.”

  But I was hardly paying attention to the answer as a thought occurred to me. Grosbeak said only the kindest people still took copies of Lord Antlerdale’s book. But the Sword was not a kind person. What was he doing with a copy?

  I opened the book casually. It looked the same as every other. The title was on the first page. Lord Antlerdale had signed it.

  “They have to have skin in the game. Literally. Those are the rules. They must bet with pain, or loss, or not at all. That’s why some are missing eyes or ears or fingers from past games. Did you not notice?”

  “Bluebeard is not missing anything,” I said, opening the book and flipping through the pages. It was the right book. It hadn’t been replaced with secret messages or hollowed out to hold something precious.

  “He’s missing wives,” Grosbeak said a little nastily. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  In the margins of the book, someone had written with pencil in a tiny, precise hand.

  Raw timbers, ten carts full

  Bridge builders tackle

  Cart and horse

  Wages

  Cost: five hundred silver pieces, to be delivered when job is complete on the Alder River

  Now, this was interesting.

  “See,” Grosbeak was saying, “Lady Tanglecott has bid her left hand. She must be very certain. I would have expected a finger or two, but the whole hand?”

  I wasn’t paying attention to their horrible game or the sudden burst of cheering around us. I was paying attention to those margins. The Sword had paid for a bridge to be built. And the nation he had received bordered Bluebeard’s – mine – with only a river in between.

  Six tons of quarry stone

  Barges

  Cable

  Sail hands

  Cost: three hundred gold sovereigns drawn from the coffers, half in advance

  “You’d better hurry! She’s on her way back. And look now! Antlerdale has bet his northern estate and one of his antlers.”

  There was a smattering of applause but nothing major.

  “Why bid at all?” I asked. “Or why not bid something insignificant, to mitigate risk?”

  But I was still distracted. These were the Sword’s logistics notes. This one, I was sure, meant he was blockading a port somewhere. Logistics would tell us exactly what he was doing. I needed to read and remember as many as I could.

  Cloth, uniforms, stitchery: five hundred gold sovereigns

  How many uniforms could you get for that?

  Stables and hands. Seven hundred and fifty silver pieces

  I should have attended my father’s lessons to my brothers about managing estates. I felt hot all over as I tried to remember how many horses you could house for a silver piece. How many uniforms could be made of a gold piece? This was all important.

  My lips moved as I tried to memorize each entry.

  “The highest bidders get the opening moves. And advantages. The key is to either convince your opponent to bid too high and thus, bleed him hard when you win, or to drive him to bid too low in his fear of how high you will go. There’s no point making a huge bet if you are sure your opponent will outbid you. Usually, for instance, the Arrow is quite conservative. He bids the life of his wife.”

  “What?” I looked up then, my fingers still jammed in the book.

  “Well, you had to know you were going to die soon,” Grosbeak said unapologetically. “Maybe he’ll keep your head on a ribbon, too.” A hand clamped down on the back of my neck and I leapt in my seat.

  “And what, pray tell, are you doing, mortal?” a silken voice asked me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The thing about allies is that they never end up being the people you expect. The same is true for enemies. Which makes them hard to distinguish.

  I looked up into the cold eyes of Lord Coppertomb. His hand was soft and delicate, like he didn’t perform even the lightest of tasks with it.

  “Only competitors are allowed to be at this table,” he said but there was a glint in his eye.

  “I was only hungry,” I said, popping an olive in my mouth. I chewed it deliberately, looking at him the whole time. Beside me, Grosbeak began to hum.

  “What is your name, child of dust?” he asked, his plain face inscrutable. Almost everyone in the Wittenhame was either incredibly ugly or gloriously beautiful, but he was the one person here who was neither. He could have passed for human if he clipped the
ends of his ears – and not even a very noticeable human if he wasn’t dressed in cranberry uncut velvet and draped in strings of beads made to look just like human molars. My mind stuttered over that. I knew full well that they weren’t made at all. They were taken. From people’s mouths. I could only hope they were already dead.

  “Izolda of Northpeak,” I said calmly, keeping my face clear of any emotion. I had to remember that he was one of the players of this deadly game of lives, too. “What did you hazard for the game?”

  “A finger,” he said with a small smile. “And a month in a woven cage. I need no grand gestures for my debut game.”

  I suppressed a shudder. I knew how nature worked. If I seemed scared, the predators would gather.

  “And you, Izolda, have already paid a price, haven’t you? They say that those who fly with the arrow burn hot and bright and fast. And then they are gone. Like a shooting star in the sky.”

  “They say many things,” I said coldly.

  “Did he tell you that he has had sixteen brides before you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “She’s not a fool, Coppertomb,” Grosbeak said from beside me, breaking his hum for long enough to sneer.

  A flash of irritation crept over Coppertomb’s face, but Grosbeak only began his tune again.

  Coppertomb turned his back to Grosbeak. “Then you know he will spend your days as water for his purposes.”

  I took another olive and ate it very slowly, trying to appear as though my heart wasn’t racing so fast I could hardly breathe. But it was a lie. All calm in the face of this madness was a lie.

  “He holds my nation in the palm of his hand,” I said slowly.

  Coppertomb looked surprised, but there was something off about it, as if he was very poor at performing and trying to make up for it.

  “Oh. He’s playing for your nation? It must seem noble to you – a woman who has never seen the game played before.” I felt my face growing hot. I was not a fool and did not appreciate being spoken to like one. Coppertomb leaned in very close so that he could lower his voice almost to a whisper. “But what you don’t know is this: he doesn’t need to win to save your nation. In fact, he’ll spend them like water just like he’ll spend you. The faster he’s out of the game, the sooner your people can go back to their normal lives. No plotting. No warring. No assassinations of minor nobles.”