“See, Mancellor,” Hammerfiss began, “Jenko figures Spades made him torture his own father because she hates men. Hates fathers.”
“Is that another one of your insights into the minds of women?” Spades asked, slurring her words slightly. She stirred the fire in front of her with the point of a thin pine branch. Spades sat to the left of Ava. Jenko Bruk was on the other side of Spades. Mancellor was straight across the fire from Hammerfiss.
“Well, tell us different,” Hammerfiss challenged.
“I have no father,” Spades said. “Never have had.”
“Is that so,” Hammerfiss said. “Gault told me some about your past. Said your wanton viciousness indeed has something to do with your father, a man steeped in lechery and perversion.”
“Gault Aulbrek told you nothing of my past,” Spades said sharply. “Because Gault was the type of man who kept his opinions of others to himself.” Her drunken gaze cut into Hammerfiss. “Why would you lie about our friend in front of the others?”
“If not your father”—Hammerfiss glared right back at her—“then regale us with other sordid tales of your youth. Let us glean from those stories why you blossomed from the precious freckle-faced kid you were to the savage heartless killer you are.”
“Fine, if you wish our friends to hear such tales.” Spades’ green eyes were now focused intently on Jenko. “When I was a child, my mother and I, we lived with my older brother, Egan, in Harlech, a small coastal village just north of Badr. I was an unnaturally tall and awkward girl, teased a lot for my red hair and lankiness. When I was six, my mother spent what small amount of coin she had for some white frosted cakes to celebrate my birthday. She planned out many fun children’s games to play in the grassy field behind our hut and invited the village children to join in the party. The day of my birthday we waited. And waited. And not one other child came to celebrate my birthday or eat the cakes. Egan reveled in my humiliation and tears. But he was always a cruel, unfeeling boy. I lost all faith in humanity that day, if you must know.”
Jenko sat back. “That is the reason you take such joy in killing, a spoiled birthday party?”
“No,” Spades answered flatly, smiling. “That story is complete bullshit. Made it up on the spot. There is no place called Harlech north of Badr.”
Hammerfiss was laughing deep and heavy now. His whole body shook, the fetishes tied in his beard bouncing gaily. “You’re barking up the wrong tree now, boy. Shouldn’t have gotten yourself involved. Shouldn’t have got her started.”
Jenko glared at both Spades and Hammerfiss, then shook his head in disgust.
“Wanna know the real truth?” Spades asked, a grim look on her face now. “I had a kitten once. A cute little black fur ball I’d named Pretty Miss Kitty. Came home one day to my brother Egan holding its smashed little body. He said the woodpile had toppled and crushed it. Found out later Egan had killed it himself. Put it in the bottom of an empty wine barrel and smashed it with a sledgehammer.”
“Another bullshit story,” Jenko said.
“Is it?” Spades glared at him.
“Did you bury the cat?” Mancellor asked.
“Can’t remember what I did with the cat.” Spades kept her eyes fixed on Jenko as she answered Mancellor. “But I snuck into the blacksmith shop, stole the iron forger’s tongs one night, took ’em home, and used ’em to pull Egan’s tongue out of his mouth by the root. Did it as he slept, cool as you please.”
Hammerfiss was no longer laughing. “You yanked out your own brother’s tongue?”
“Aye.” Spades’ eyes burned with a deep passion. She twisted the stick in the fire again. “But it only turned the bastard into more of a stupid brute. Crude and unruly and stupid. Several moons later I plucked out both Egan’s eyeballs with my bare hands. Forced him to eat ’em. Forced him to choke his own useless eyes down his own useless throat.”
Jenko looked sick to his stomach. Drunk, Ava wondered if the conversation she was hearing was even real.
“You needn’t share anymore if you don’t want,” Mancellor said to her. Spades nodded and went back to stirring the fire.
“So nice and compassionate, Ser Mancellor.” Hammerfiss laughed. “But lest you forget, Spades does not like nice men.”
“You’re wrong.” Spades looked up. “I happen to like nice men.”
Hammerfiss laughed again. “Of course you do.” He slapped his own knee, shook his head, and then pointed at Mancellor. “See, there is a nice man. I ain’t seen you fuck him in a long while now.”
Mancellor’s nervous gaze fell on Ava briefly, then shot straight back down to the fire. Ava looked over at Jenko, but he would not meet her gaze. She couldn’t pinpoint why, but Hammerfiss’ comment about Spades not fucking Mancellor anymore made her feel guilty. Nail had been a nice boy. Obvious in his intent. And she knew it, and still she had led him on. Whilst Jenko was ofttimes mean and boastful and inconsiderate. I’ve no idea what Jenko Bruk thinks of me now. And that thought drove her mad. Does he think I go to Aeros’ bed willingly, with no fight? The wine was muddling her thoughts.
“You don’t know a thing about me or Spades.” Mancellor finally broke the silence, defending himself. “We’ve come to our own agreement.”
“Do explain,” Hammerfiss said. “This ought to be good.”
“The things we’ve discussed stay between her and me.”
“How valiant of you.” Hammerfiss raised his bushy brows, amused.
“I respect women,” Mancellor finished. “And that should be the end of it.”
Hammerfiss leaned back. “Now you’re just trying to impress young Ava Shay with how chivalrous you are, Mancellor. But lest you forget, Ava does not like nice men either. For it’s she who stays nightly with a man who rapes her.”
Hammerfiss’ words hit Ava like a punch in the gut. The blade of the ruby-hilted sword now dangled between her legs, her grip on the pommel limp. She wanted to say something in her own defense, but she was too stunned to speak. Hammerfiss had merely articulated what she herself had just been thinking.
“Do not blame Ava for what Aeros does.” Spades was glaring at Hammerfiss, a cold hardness in her voice.
Hammerfiss glowered. “Does not Ava’s Way and Truth of Laijon say, and I quote, ‘A woman should rather herself be put to death than be defiled by any other than her husband. A woman so defiled is useless in the eyes of Laijon.’ That and a whole host of other such sentiment?”
“Do not quote from that blasphemous book in front of me,” Spades said.
But Ava hung her head, for she knew the big man was right. Bishop Tolbret had quoted that very scripture to his followers in the Gallows Haven chapel many times. According to scripture, a woman was duty bound to end her own life before submitting to rape. She was duty bound to keep her own purity intact. And I failed. . . .
When she looked up, Hammerfiss was gazing at her steadfastly, no sympathy in his eyes. “It is why our Lord Aeros commits such depravities upon the girls he captures. To see which of them is truly a follower of Laijon. For those woman true to Laijon will kill themselves rather than yield to his hand, rather than surrender to his throbbing hairless cock—”
“Don’t say that kind of shit to her.” Spades stood, stirring the stick in the fire angrily now. “And don’t use the disgusting words of The Way and Truth of Laijon to humiliate anyone, especially not Ava. Especially not in front of me.”
“Or what will you do?”
“I will pluck your eyes from your head like I did my brother.” Spades glared icily at Hammerfiss. Her gaze then swung to Jenko Bruk. “Wanna know why I fight and torture and kill the men of Gul Kana with such glee and purpose? It’s because of Ember Gatherings and secret oaths. It’s because of that book. It’s because of The Way and Truth of Laijon. A book full of poisonous, demeaning lies. Nothing but woman-hating harmful bullshit.”
“What do you care what is in The Way and Truth of Laijon?” Jenko asked. “You’re from Sør Sevier.”
“W
hat do you know of my youth?” Spades answered quickly. “Are you privy to what type religious poison was forced into my mind as a child? Do you know what wraiths I have been forced to fight my whole life?”
Spades looked toward the Spider standing at Aeros’ tent. “And I’ve no more allegiance to The Chivalric Illuminations than the Bloodwood does.” She looked directly at Ava next. “What Hammerfiss said about The Way and Truth of Laijon and Aeros testing you is mostly correct. There is a reason Aeros has kept you as long as he has. Why he lies with you nightly. He wants you for his queen.” Ava’s heart lurched, the ruby-hilted sword not even a noticeable implement in her hand, her entire body now numb.
“I know you wish it were otherwise,” Spades went on. “The reason Aeros abuses you has its root in The Chivalric Illuminations. The prophecies of those Illuminations guide Aeros in all he does. The truth is, Ava, it’s these competing holy books that turn people cruel and evil. ’Tis The Way and Truth of Laijon and The Chivalric Illuminations you should blame. It is these false scriptures and the ones who devoutly follow them you need worry about, not warriors like me.”
With those final words, Spades hurled her stick into the fire and stalked off.
All were silent as they watched the red-haired woman march toward her tent.
“Well.” Hammerfiss stood and dusted off his leather greaves. “My work here is done.” He laughed. “As you can see, I delight in stirring up folks until their heads spin right off.”
Hammerfiss made his way to his tent next. Ava, Jenko, and Mancellor were left alone, each stewing in the strange cruelty they had all just endured.
“Don’t fall for their bickering.” Spiderwood stepped into their midst, his black leather armor eating the light of the fire. “They are playing with you, Ava. Playing with you and Jenko both.”
“Don’t you think I can see that?” Jenko snapped.
The Bloodwood stood there at the edge of the firelight. “They are using an antiquated Sør Sevier interrogation technique—Hammerfiss acting like your enemy, Spades acting like your friend, like your protector. That entire conversation was staged, a mere ruse for their amusement. They are like the Vallè that way. It’s all a game to them. And their mischief only gets worse after a battle. They are giddy from the fight. Battle-weary and deranged and drunk. It is why they laugh at the destruction they cause. Laugh at the pain of others. After ten years of dealing in war, seeing all that they have, death, dismemberment, blood—it is how they cope. Wine and cruel jokes and the physical and mental torture of others. Believe it or not, their behavior was worse in Wyn Darrè, when they actually fought long and waged battles. They’ve both literally gone insane.” His red-hazed glance met Ava’s. “The wraiths work in mysterious ways.”
“They are taken by the wraiths,” Mancellor said. “The both of them.”
“And don’t let Mancellor fool you either,” the Spider added. “He’s heard it all before. He plays his part.”
“The Bloodwood is full of shit.” Mancellor stood, anger on his features.
The Spider continued on, his eyes again on Ava. “Be wary. For Spades might grow bored with the game one day and just stand up and stab both you and Jenko in the heart. Stab you and go straight to her tent and fall asleep as if nothing had happened. And Aeros will let her do it too.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Mancellor dipped his head to Ava. “You should trust this Bloodwood the least of us.” Mancellor walked away from the fire and into the darkness toward his tent.
“Just keep your wits about you,” the Spider said. Then he went back to his post, standing guard before Aeros’ tent.
“This is madness,” Jenko muttered, standing. “We’re surrounded by it. The Spider is not even a Knight Archaic anymore, yet Aeros lets him stand guard.”
That’s what he is worried most about? She wanted to say something to him but didn’t know what. She stared straight into the fire. What does Jenko think of me? That this is all my fault? That nibble of ebbing guilt had blossomed to all-out panicky guilt now, and that, coupled with her own paranoia, was creating patches of sweat under her arms. Am I a bad person like Spades? Is that why Laijon punishes me so? Is that why I cannot pray to him anymore? Is it all truly my fault? Aeros awaits me in that tent! And it is all my fault!
She realized she was blaming herself for her own rape.
Ava knew she had to dispel those types of thoughts, or the wraiths would return to drive her mad. Or does Aeros truly bear their burden for me? Does he truly fill me with healing powers? She looked up from the fire as Jenko walked away from her last.
Then she looked toward Aeros’ tent. Sometimes I wonder who I even am!
* * *
With their faith in conflicting religions, humans will someday prey upon themselves, ravish and tear and eat one another alive, like uncontrollable beasts of the underworld.
—THE BOOK OF THE BETRAYER
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CRYSTALWOOD
10TH DAY OF THE ANGEL MOON, 999TH YEAR OF LAIJON
ROKENWALDER, SØR SEVIER
The heavy air of the dark dungeon was like lead in Krista’s lungs. She’d been awake for only a few hours now. Lying on her back. Then curled up. Then on her back again. Then curled. She could scarcely breathe from the nonstop throbbing lump of pain in her abdomen and chest. She feared the iron maul of the Knight Chivalric had shattered each of her ribs and smashed her innards to mush. Each agonizing breath was a heavy chore. She just wanted to give up, never in her life having imagined getting to a point where she wished for her own demise. But wouldn’t death would be such a sweet release from this all-consuming misery? And part of that misery was knowing that she was locked in a cell—her worst nightmare.
She was in the dungeons of Rokenwalder, fettered to the wall by a five-foot length of chain, a thick iron collar around her neck, garbed only in a one-piece smock of rough tan canvas thrown over her shoulders, open at the sides. It was like one of the gowns from the infirmary in Aevrett’s palace, only stiff and uncomfortable. It was all so unbearably uncomfortable. And worst of all, the blue ribbon her father had given her was gone from around her ankle. How long had she lain unconscious? A day? A week? An hour?
Was Aevrett Raijael really dead?
Sudden light filtered in from somewhere beyond the bars of her cell, thick iron bars that stretched from floor to ceiling not five feet away. The damp, filthy, straw-covered floor she lay upon smelled of dead bodies and feces. And it was probably crawling with bugs and mice and rats and bats and who knew what else. A scum-filled trough of water ran down the center of her cell, right in front of her nose. It smelled too.
She didn’t want to care. But she knew herself too well. Luxury was her one vanity. And this place set her nerves on edge. More fetid water dripped from the ceiling above. Drip. Drip. Drip. It hit her in the face as she stared straight up at the rough stone twenty feet above. The black dye from her hair was running off into her eyes, stinging, adding to her torment. She didn’t care.
Did I really stab King Aevrett Raijael in the heart? Groaning, she rolled onto her side, chain around her neck rattling. She thought of the lies Solvia Klingande had spewed about Ser Aulmut and her mother Avril—filthy lies that had caused her to thrust a knife into the heart of the king. A Bloodwood must become fatherless! Hans Rake had said, Don’t you get it yet? I already killed your father. You have been deceived. Ser Aulmut Klingande was your father.
The lurching shadows of two prison gaolers bearing torches drifted up the corridor beyond the bars of her cell. Krista raised her head as they marched past. They were followed by Bogg and Café Colza Bouledogue. The dog stopped and sniffed and slobbered in her general direction, his rusted spiked collar gleaming dully. Two sullen prison trustees with rancid-smelling mops and buckets of water followed Bogg. She wanted to call out to the warden, but didn’t, realizing Bogg probably knew she was here and didn’t care. She wondered if the one-eyed dwarf, Squateye, was down here too. Bogg
barked an order and his two trustees began to swab the length of the corridor with their moldy mops. Then Bogg and Café Colza disappeared into the darkness, followed by one of the gaolers. The other gaoler remained, torch held aloft for the trustees to work by.
In the flickering orange glow, Krista could see through the bars of her small chamber across the narrow hall into another solitary cell across from hers. A bearded man sat there behind the bars, similarly collared and chained. He was staring at her. “Rumor down here is you killed King Aevrett.” His voice was mellow, almost comforting.
Krista raised herself up on one elbow, wincing in pain. The fellow sat in tattered pants and shirt, bare feet thrust out in front of him. He had skinny legs and arms, skeletal almost. He’s been down here a while. She reached out and scooped some water into the palm of her hand from the trough in front of her. Drank. Spit it out, gagging.
“That stream is for shitting and pissing into,” the bearded man said. “The gaolers and trustees will bring you three cups of fresh water a day. Plus two small meals. Usually just stew or gruel or porridge. It’s horrid stuff. Sometimes the meals come one after the next. Other times it can be days or more between feedings. Nothing down here is on a schedule of any kind. Nothing down here makes much sense. It’s run by the laziest of sorts. You will see.”
Krista knew a few things about the dungeons of Rokenwalder. None of them positive for the inhabitants. She slowly levered herself up to a sitting position, tenderly prodding her chest and stomach with stiff fingers. Each small touch sent pain lancing through her entire body.
One of the trustees was swabbing the floor directly in front of her cell now, and her view of the bearded man was blocked. When the trustee moved away, Krista saw a small slip of paper lying on the floor in between the trough of piss water and the bars of her cell. She leaned forward, holding in a scream of pain as she did so, and picked up the paper before the gaoler could spot it. There was some writing on the paper. But she didn’t have time to read it as the two trustees and gaoler moved on and the corridor was pitched into blackness again.
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