Piper Prince

by Amber Argyle

  “Oh, Larkin,” Bane whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Sorry because he thought she would die with him.

  An arrow clattered onto the packed earth at Bane’s feet. He hissed and jerked, his hand over his ear, blood welling between his fingers. She hadn’t thought to shield them from above. She widened her shield until it encircled them.

  Garrot shouted at the druids on the wall, “Stand down!”

  A dozen more Black Druids pushed through the crowd to line up in a semicircle around Garrot. Sixteen druids, all of them armed with staffs, paused just beyond her shield.

  “You cannot hold your shield forever, Larkin. Surrender.”

  Larkin hoped wherever Tam was—wherever her hateful family was—they were far away from here and would not try to come back for her. She licked her lips. “Grant Bane his freedom, and I will.”

  “Larkin, this isn’t why I sacrificed my life,” Bane whispered.

  “You’re in no position to bargain,” Garrot said.

  “Aren’t I?” She glanced pointedly at the druids around him. “You said yourself you want me alive. How many are you willing to lose to take me?”

  Garrot grunted. “Alive? Not for long.”

  If she was going to die today … She spared a glance at Bane and grinned. “We’ll take as many with us as we can.” Hadn’t Tam taught her that?

  He grinned back. “Better to go down fighting.”

  She cut through the center of Bane’s chains. He gripped the links and tried an experimental swing, the chains shuddering against her shield, making it ripple. She ignored the faint echo of pain.

  “I’m going to pulse my magic,” she murmured. “It will throw them. Take out as many as you can, then retreat back to the wall.”

  He gave a curt nod.

  She pulsed and threw the druids back a dozen feet. She charged, aiming for Blue Eyes. Flat on his back, he managed to lift his shield. Her sword easily cut through hardwood and then flesh. She tensed for a pulse of regret—she’d never killed a man before.

  All she felt was satisfaction.

  The man next to him died just as quickly. Then the druids were up. Three charged her—one at her front and two at her flanks. She managed to block one’s swing, her sword slipping easily through the shield of the other.

  Too late to duck the swing of the third, she braced for impact. Bane’s chains slammed across the druid’s chest. The man’s staff hit her back with half the original force. Still, her lungs froze, refusing to draw breath. She staggered. Half a dozen druids swarmed her. Her hands were wrenched behind her back.

  Out of options, she pulsed, the shock wave throwing them all. She landed hard, the edges of her vision going dark. Bane lay stunned beside her. A druid stood over them, blade aimed for Bane.

  Sucking air into her spasming lungs, she stabbed and spread her shield around them. She gasped and heaved in a breath, the darkness giving way to color and light.

  Bane scrambled to her side. He bled from numerous wounds, the worst sheeting blood from his middle. “You all right?”

  She managed a nod.

  Relief touching his face, he hunched over, his face ashen. The druids regrouped as well, more of them pushing through the crowd.

  Bane had managed to grab a sword and shield. He held out his chains. She cut them off at the first link.

  “How many more times can you do the pulse?” he asked.

  Her magic already felt thready. “That was it.”

  Bane winced. “All right, then.” He kissed her full on the mouth. She froze, too shocked to react one way or another. He pulled back just as quickly. “Before I lose too much blood.”

  She stared at him. This brave, cocky man. They never would have lasted—not with his womanizing ways—but she loved him still. And if they were going to die … Well, there were worse ways.

  She squared off beside him and released her shield. Two dozen druids swarmed them. She managed to take down three in one swing before they tackled her. Her arms were bent cruelly behind her back, her wrists tied so she couldn’t use her sigils. Her sword and shield sputtered out. A druid hauled her up.

  Bane had been tied just as tightly. Garrot wrapped his arm around Bane’s neck and backpedaled, dragging a weakened Bane up the steps to the stage. Larkin surged after them, only to be wrenched back, her shoulders screaming with pain.

  Garrot wrapped the noose around Bane’s neck. She didn’t want to beg for Bane’s life—not when she knew Garrot would not give it to her. She didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. Still, a word ripped from her throat. “No!”

  Heaving, Garrot stared at her, hatred screaming from his expression. And she was back to that awful day—the day the druids had hauled her up the stairs to the gallows. She’d stumbled. Garrot had pushed her, and she’d fallen to her knees. The crowd had screamed for her death.

  Bane had saved her. He’d shoved her away from a frenzied mob and into a second-story window while screaming for her to run. And she had. She’d run as fast as she could into the Forbidden Forest, where she’d fallen in love with another man. When Bane had come for her, she’d only gone with him to save his life.

  Despite all that, Bane had once again risked his life to save hers. Now he was dying for that choice, dying for her. And despite the power coursing through her, she couldn’t save him—not like he’d saved her.

  “Don’t watch,” Bane said.

  Garrot was breathing hard. “Make her watch.”

  The druid holding her pinned the back of her head against his chest.

  Bane shook his head and mouthed, “Don’t watch.”

  He was still trying to protect her. He didn’t want her to have this memory of him to carry for the rest of her life. But she would gladly carry it, so he wasn’t alone in these last moments.

  “Please,” he mouthed, and the pleading on his face … She closed her eyes. It was the best she could give him. She would not watch his death, but she would not let him face it alone either.

  She waited, dreading the moment when the trapdoor snapped. When it came, even the crowd’s shouts couldn’t drown out the crack of Bane’s neck. And then she had to see. Had to know if it had really happened. She opened her eyes—only for a moment. It was enough to sear the image into her memory for the rest of her life.

  Larkin dropped as if her knees had been cut out from under her. The druid’s arms around her kept her from falling. I couldn’t save you, she screamed in her head, for she would never give Garrot the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he’d wounded her. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.

  Larkin was hauled into an echoing two-story room packed with druids all the way up the second-story gallery. At the opposite end, Fenwick sat upon a throne on a raised dais. My family’s throne, she realized. On simple chairs on each side of him sat three Black Druids, all of them staring at her in disgust. Kneeling in chains before the dais, Harben, Raeneth, and Iniya watched as she was dragged into the room and shoved to the hard marble floor. Her knees barked with pain, but it didn’t really touch her, didn’t really register.

  “Where is Kyden? Tam?” Larkin asked.

  Iniya shook her head as Raeneth wailed, “They took him from me! They took my baby.”

  “The child is fine,” Fenwick said in disgust.

  He said nothing about Tam.

  Ancestors, Larkin had sworn Tam would not die for her.

  No. He was not dead. He couldn’t be.

  Fenwick sighed as if he were tired of the whole affair. “Iniya Rothsberd, you have conspired with the pipers to free the prisoner Bane of Hamel and made an alliance with the pipers that would see you restored to power. The former having been witnessed under the watchful eye of dozens of high-ranking druids. The latter was confessed by your own son, Harben Rothsberd, in the hopes it would spare your lives. It will not. I sentence Iniya, Harben, and Raeneth to death by hanging. To be enacted immediately.”

  Why were they sparing Larkin’s life? It was not mercy. No. The druids had another plan for he
r. Dread curdled in her gut.

  Raeneth cried out and collapsed, shivering and whimpering. Harben stared off into nothing.

  Iniya glared up at Fenwick. “I charge you, Fenwick, with the murder of my parents and siblings.”

  “You have no authority here,” Fenwick said.

  “I have the authority of a queen!” Iniya cried with righteous indignation. “An authority usurped by the druids.”

  The crowd murmured.

  Fenwick eyed the people. “Do not listen to the Mad Queen.”

  “Mad Queen, ha!” Iniya shook her head. “A slur created to undermine my authority. I was not mad. I was grieving the murder of my family—a murder that you contrived!”

  “I saved your life,” Fenwick cried.

  “Only so you could marry into the royal family,” Iniya spat.

  Larkin reeled, too numb and horrified to process what she heard.

  Fenwick motioned to the guards, who hauled Iniya, Raeneth, and Harben to their feet.

  “I was only seventeen years old!” Iniya screamed. “I demand that you hang. I demand my throne returned to me. I demand—” She continued listing demands that would never be met. They were all going to die.

  Larkin hated her father. And yet she loved him too. Raeneth had done horrible things. And yet she was her brother’s mother. She had helped them at great risk to herself. And Iniya … Ancestors, what had the woman been through? Why was Larkin not hanging with them?

  “Please, Grandfather,” she begged.

  Fenwick flinched and refused to glance her way. The guards dragged the three of them toward the door.

  “I am the rightful queen of the Idelmarch,” Iniya cried. “I have allies still, Fenwick. They will rise up and—”

  Fenwick shook his head. “Your aging lords are too content with their wealth and their heirs to risk a coup simply to go back to the old ways.”

  Larkin struggled against the druids holding her down. “Have you forgotten who I am, Master Fenwick? I am the princess of the Alamant. An assault against my family is an assault against me.”

  His gaze slowly, reluctantly turned to her. “Take her to the dungeons.”

  “No!” she cried.

  “Please, Master Druid,” came a new voice. “I would ask for mercy.”

  Larkin knew that voice—a voice that chimed like bells. A voice that caused Iniya to pause in her shouting. The guards stared as Nesha limped into the room. Her large pregnant belly did nothing to detract from the beauty of her auburn hair or her violet eyes. The black of her gown only made her rich coloring flare. Even her limp was dignified as she stepped up to the throne and bowed before it.

  Larkin was aware of her own torn and soiled gown—her fake belly had fallen out sometime in the scuffle. Now that the druids had seen the real Hero of Hamel, they would never again mistake Larkin for her gorgeous sister.

  “My father isn’t much of a man,” Nesha said into the silent crowd. “He is a drunk and a coward and a traitor. But I ask that you spare him. And my grandmother, though she disowned me before she ever knew me.” She looked at Raeneth, who was sobbing uncontrollably. “And I ask that you spare his mistress, if only so my half brother doesn’t lose his mother.”

  Raeneth looked up at Nesha, gratitude shining in her eyes.

  Fenwick’s gaze softened as it never had for Larkin. “I cannot spare them, for they will only rise up against the druids again and again.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes. “Banish them to the forest, then, Master Druid, and let fate decide.”

  Fenwick stared at her a long time. His gaze rose to Iniya, an ancient guilt fleeting across his face before vanishing. “Very well, Nesha. For your unwavering loyalty and service to the druids, I will grant your request.” His gaze fell on Iniya. “But if you ever step foot inside the Idelmarch again, I will tighten the noose myself.”

  He waved his hands, and Iniya, Raeneth, and Harben were dragged away. Iniya was still cursing, Raeneth still cried, but her father met Larkin’s gaze.

  “Take to the trees at night!” she shouted after him. “If you want to survive, you must be in the trees by sundown! Find the river. Follow it upstream.”

  He gave one hard nod, then they were out of sight. Surely Denan’s spies would hear of this. Surely he would find them and see them safe. Relief gutted her. She would not lose anyone else—not today.

  Of their own volition, her eyes sought out her sister. Nesha locked gazes with her. Her sister’s betrayal stung all over again. What had Larkin ever done to Nesha to make her hate her so?

  “And what would you have us do with your sister?” Fenwick directed the question to Nesha.

  Nesha’s gaze landed on Garrot. He gave a slight nod. “Do with her as you will,” her sister said.

  Larkin locked her jaw to keep from sobbing. “Bane is dead.” The father of Nesha’s baby.

  Nesha froze, her breath sucking in a startled gasp. So she hadn’t known. Larkin shouldn’t have felt satisfied at the obvious pain on her sister’s face, but she did. The forest take her, she did.

  “And whose fault is that?” Nesha ground out.

  “Yours,” Larkin spat.

  Nesha rounded on her, but Garrot stepped between them and brushed his hand tenderly up and down her arm. He whispered something in her ear. She shot a poisonous look over his shoulder at Larkin before turning on her heel and quitting the room.

  Garrot glared at Larkin. “And what will happen to the Piper Princess?” He directed the question at Fenwick.

  The old man sat heavily in his chair. “Take her to the pit.”

  Larkin sat for unending hours in the complete dark of the open pit. She feared the dark. She’d thought she’d understood that fear. She had understood nothing.

  To keep the terror at bay, she sat with her back against the wall and held her sigils open, the light illuminating the pit for a step in every direction. Her magic had grown strong enough that she was able to keep them up for hours on end without fail.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat with her memories playing over and over again, the dark held at bay by nothing but her magic. How many times she watched Bane die. Felt her sword sink into Venna’s middle. The satisfaction she’d felt when she’d ended Blue Eyes.

  She’d come to believe the dark would never end when light appeared around the edges of a door that opened near the ceiling. The light grew brighter. Muffled steps scuffed on an uneven path. Someone was coming.

  There was nothing Larkin could do about her red, swollen eyes or the puncture marks on her arms from where she’d pierced herself with her amulet, only to see the same vision of the curse’s origins over and over again.

  Unwilling to be caught huddled in a corner, she pushed her stiff, aching body upright. The steps came closer, the light brighter. Alone and carrying a wooden chair, Garrot stepped through the doorway and looked down at her. Unfortunately, he was too high to reach with her sword. She let it fill her hand anyway. Let the threat slide over him.

  Unperturbed, he settled his chair on the side of the pit and sat in it.

  “I will kill you for what you did to Bane.” Her voice sounded abused.

  “Bane was tried and convicted as a traitor. He paid for his crimes with his life.”

  “He died for getting Nesha pregnant!”

  Garrot clenched his fists—she’d hit her mark.

  “You can’t stand that it’s not your baby she’s carrying, can you?”

  “If not for me, she would be an outcast, starving on the streets or whoring in some brothel to feed herself. If not for me—”

  “You think yourself a savior,” Larkin spat. “But you’re nothing more than a petty murderer.”

  He took a calming breath. “I do what I have to, Larkin.”

  Ironic how like the pipers he sounded. “You spared my family. You spared me. But not Bane. You wanted him to die. And you wanted him to die in front of me.” She choked on a sob. “You’re the true monster.”

  “I, the monst
er?”

  “Where’s Tam?”

  He leaned back in his chair and watched her.

  “Why am I still alive?”

  “Let me tell you a story,” Garrot said. “Long ago, two boys were born to a prostitute in the hovels of Landra. When the boys were six and five, their mother died of pox. The boys stole and begged to survive, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

  “Until one winter day the oldest boy was caught and beaten so severely that he knew he wouldn’t survive until morning—not unless he found somewhere warm. With the help of his younger brother, they broke into an empty house, ate everything they could out of the larder, and curled up on a soft bed.

  “The boy awoke only a few hours later to a scream. Too weak to run, he stared up at a girl about his own age, with dark skin, tight curls, and eyes the color of cinnamon. Her father came running, a knife in hand. The boy managed to stand on his broken leg before his little brother. The man wrenched the boys up to throw them out, but the pain was so great that the oldest screamed and wept.

  “The girl begged her father not to throw them out. And as the father loved his only daughter very much, he finally agreed. The boy’s wounds were dressed. The brothers were fed and clothed. The younger was given a job as an errand boy for the wealthy merchant. The older apprenticed to a guard in the man’s caravans.

  “The girl made it her goal to teach both boys to read and figure their sums. And over the years, the three of them became fast friends. Until the oldest boy fell in love with her—a girl so far above his station in life he knew it could never be.

  “So you can imagine his surprise when this girl demanded that her father apprentice the boy in his merchant business so that someday she could marry him. You can imagine his even greater surprise when the father agreed.

  “The boy worked hard—harder than he ever had before to prove himself worthy of her, of all that he had been given.”

  Garrot paused, his shoulders rounded under the weight of his story—for it was his story. And Larkin knew what came next—she’d always known Garrot had lost someone he loved to the pipers.