by Sally Green
Ambrose walked up to the physician and put a knife to his stomach. “I know you’ve seen the princess. Take me to her now.”
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ambrose pushed the dagger harder, piercing fabric and skin. “It’s a good job you’re a doctor. Will you be able to stitch this, do you think?”
The man started to shout but Geratan pulled him to the ground and laughed loudly. “Drunk again, friend. And so early in the morning. You need food in your belly”—and then added—“or a knife . . . You choose.”
“You’ll never get to her. There’re guards and she’s chained.”
“Where?” Ambrose grabbed the man’s face to glare into his eyes.
“A store tent in the northwest of the camp.”
“Take us there. But remember: if you raise the alarm, you’ll die before we do.” Ambrose pulled the man to his feet and they set off. Geratan went to tell Davyon and soon his group was following.
At the far end of the camp, at the point nearest to the enemy lines, were two large tents. Both heavily guarded.
“She’s in the nearest one,” the physician said, adding rather gleefully, “So, are you going to fight your way in, rescue the princess, and fight your way out again? I imagine you might make it in. But I told you, she’s chained up. You won’t free her and you’ll never fight your way out.”
Geratan hit the physician over the head and he crumpled to the ground. “Sorry, Sir Ambrose. My apologies. My hand slipped.”
“No need to apologize. I just wish I’d done it myself. But I suspect the doctor is right. We can’t fight our way out of Farrow’s camp. We’re outnumbered by thousands.”
“So we don’t fight. We go in as Farrow’s soldiers. At least one of us does.”
“Are you suggesting I go, Geratan?”
“No, Sir Ambrose. You stick out like a sore thumb. I’ll go in.”
TASH
DEMON TUNNELS
TASH FOLLOWED Twist along the tunnel. They passed the signs on the walls that showed they were heading to the central cavern. It was a long way and it gave Tash time to think.
She could see images from Twist’s mind and feel his emotions. Presumably this communication was possible with all demons. But if demons could see her thoughts, then how come they’d not seen Frost’s plans to invade? Perhaps Frost didn’t know of the Brigantines’ plan herself? Or perhaps she lied. But how did you lie? Was it just a case of imagining a different thing? If so, then Frost must be very disciplined—to have never been caught out, to have never let her mind wander! But then Tash had not let Twist see part of her life—the demon-hunting part.
Twist slowed as they approached the central cavern. He kept low and crept out of the tunnel on to the terrace. There was a Brigantine on guard below, just an arm’s length away, but he was looking into the cavern. And down there everything was going on as before. A new purple demon was just beginning to climb out of the central well. The soldiers followed their routine, killing the new demon and collecting the smoke. Twist turned away; Tash touched his shoulder and felt his disgust.
I’m so sorry. It’s horrible.
Twist took her hand and she saw an image of the demon headquarters and him holding her hand.
Yes, I get it. Now it’s time to go and see your mates. I just hope they’re my mates too.
But then Twist showed her a different image—one of the battle of Rossarb, the battle she had shown him when she’d told him of her life.
Why are you interested in that? Is that what you want me to show the other demons? The Pitorians and the Brigantines fighting? Is that something the demons need to understand? That humans are not all on the same side? That I’m not on the same side as Frost?
Tash needed to think about this. She trusted Twist but she was scared of the others. She could hardly breathe properly, she was so scared. But, of course, Twist was touching her, so he felt her nerves and now he made a fist—she had to be strong.
I know I’ve got to do this. I came down here to learn about you all. That means meeting you all. But I really, really don’t want any of them to pull my head off.
Then she saw an image of Twist putting his arms around her, protecting her as the other demons roared at her. He was showing her that he’d protect her, but also showing how angry the other demons would be.
Oh shits. She squeezed his hand and nodded—then remembered to think of an image. She thought of Twist protecting her.
Twist nodded at her.
He set off through the tunnels, walking with grace and ease. Tash tried to think of that. He was naked and she could see how the muscles in his back moved, how relaxed they were. She tried to relax too. He’d protect her.
The tunnel turned and swept downward and Tash knew they were getting close. Even Twist looked a little tense now. They rounded another bend and Twist put his hand back and Tash wondered what he wanted, then she realized. She took hold of his hand—she had to hold his hand—as that was the way to show trust between demons.
They moved slowly forward.
Oh shits.
There was an opening in the tunnel ahead and from it came a few sharp noises. The demons had spotted Twist. They looked at him and pointed at Tash, baring their teeth.
Oh shits. Let’s take this slowly.
But no demons rushed to pull her limb from limb.
Twist stood still, letting them see him and her. He held Tash’s hand and again she saw an image of Twist protecting her.
Thank you. Thank you. I’ll just stay still and quiet and hopefully they’ll ignore me.
One of the red-and-white demons stepped forward and held out his hands to Tash.
Not ignored, even for a moment.
Tash knew that she’d have to touch the demon and share her thoughts with him. Twist moved to the elder and Tash went with him, though she felt sick with nerves.
Right, I can do this. I will not fuck it up.
And she put her hand into that of the red-and-white demon.
They stood in a circle holding hands. Images filled Tash’s head. Twist was showing the elder what had happened to him, what the Brigantines had done to him, and that Tash and Geratan had freed him. And the elder showed Twist the Brigantine invasion, fighting the Brigantines, and Frost leading soldiers through the tunnels.
Twist eventually turned to Tash. She had a feeling it was now her turn to show them her story. She wasn’t sure where to begin and she realized that the other demons had moved closer to her, inspecting her, close enough that if they reached out their arms they’d touch her. They bent down and looked at her face and her hair and her clothes. They touched each other from time to time, but not her. It was as if they were talking about her.
Oy. This isn’t nice. I’m not a sheep at the market!
She looked at the elder and felt Twist give her hand a gentle squeeze.
Yes, right, I can do this. I just have to show my story.
She went back in her memory to being with Geratan, watching the Brigantines come into the cavern and Geratan fighting the Brigantine soldier, and then running along the tunnels, and unlocking Twist’s neck chain, but already she was getting tired. It was hard to concentrate. She wanted to speed through it all.
The elder squeezed her hand now. Tash wondered what he wanted to know. She saw a vision of the Brigantines in the central cavern.
Was he asking what she wanted to do about them? Or if she was with them?
You’ve seen that already. You know that. I don’t know what you want.
Again the vision of the Brigantines came.
But what was the question? How could she even answer it? How did these demons know a future idea from a past experience, a lie from a truth?
It’s too hard.
She was too tired.
I can’t do it.
Twist squeezed her hand gently and she saw her own life flash before her eyes. These were the memories she’d given to Twist before. He’d retained them all perfectly. She smiled to see Gravell and then Geratan. But what did Twist want to know?
Then she felt the elder pressing his finger to her forehead and Tash looked up. The demon’s eyes were red with wisps of gray and black in them, and they were fixed on hers. Tash’s thoughts moved to friends. Gravell and Geratan—her only friends. Or was he asking about family or about her tribe?
She thought of her old family and then Gravell taking her from them. Her happy life with him. That was her tribe. Walking in the snow. Gravell digging a pit.
No! Don’t think of that.
Tash took her hands away and rubbed her palms together as if to remove the sweat while she composed her thoughts.
Don’t think of demon hunting. Think of something else. Think of the soldiers. Think of the war. Twist wanted to show the elders the war.
Tash touched the elder’s hand again and thought of Gravell being killed by a spear, of the Brigantines killing him and killing other Pitorians and the awful contraption with Ambrose’s brother’s head on a spike and Prince Tzsayn and Princess Catherine and Rossarb castle, and as soon as she’d thought it she knew the image was a mistake. The princess had a bottle with her—a bottle of purple demon smoke.
Tash tried to pull her hand away but the elder’s grip was tight and painful. Tash looked to Twist and he glanced from her to the elder.
They’d seen the princess had purple demon smoke. And Tash tried to think of other things—but she remembered inhaling the smoke. She remembered Gravell collecting the smoke. She remembered the demon with Gravell’s spears in it and she was so sorry about it and she remembered it chasing her and her running and leaping into the pit, and then she couldn’t stop thinking of all the demon kills she’d made in the past, but they came to her unbidden. And the elder and Twist could see them all.
CATHERINE
LORD FARROW’S CAMP, NORTHERN PITORIA
Your spies are your best men.
The King, Nicolas Montell
CATHERINE’S MOUTH was dry. She was on a horse riding with Ambrose along the beach and into the sea. She dove off into the water and he took her in his arms, but the water was purple and swirled around her. And they were standing on the Northern Plateau, and it was so cold, but the smoke rose purple in front of her, then scuttled away, twisting and tumbling and disappearing into a demon hollow. And she tumbled after it and was hot now. And everything was red and hot and the ground was hard. But Ambrose had gone and so had the smoke and everything was dark again.
Her ankle was aching, her foot numb. Catherine moved her arm, but it was heavy. Moving was an effort. She felt like she was in a swamp, but her calf was cramping and she had to move. She stretched her leg. Where was she? There was no bed; she was lying on a hard floor, something heavy on her ankle.
Opening her eyes, she saw she was in a pale green tent. She wasn’t lying on the floor after all, but was on a small platform of rough, splintering wood. The platform had wheels, large wooden cartwheels.
But what was she doing here? How had she got here? She remembered General Xavi’s camp and feeling hot, Farrow’s triumphant face looming over her as her legs gave way.
Catherine rolled on to her back and saw that the platform had metal poles at each corner. There were chains between the tops of the poles and two iron boxes hanging from the chains. The thing she was lying on—made of dark metal and rough wood—reminded her of the contraption devised by her father to present Tarquin’s head and hands to Prince Tzsayn. What the poles, chains, and boxes on this construction were for she didn’t know, though they filled her with dread.
She looked around the tent. Two guards with green hair were standing by the entrance watching her, their faces expressionless. She sat up, trying to think. What should she do? Cry for help? Demand her freedom?
Her ankles were chained to the wooden platform, but her hands were free. She was in her armor, but was the small vial of demon smoke still inside? If she could take the smoke, could she break free of the chains? They looked thick and strong. She had a feeling that they’d be too much for her to pull apart. And where would she run to? Surely she was surrounded by soldiers? For the moment she needed to learn what she could, then try to escape.
Through the tent material she could see that the sun was low in the sky—dawn. She could hear sounds of army life from outside. Distant shouts and calls, jolly-sounding. She’d been here all night. What had happened to Ambrose, Davyon, and the others?
She turned back to the guards and spoke in a hoarse voice, “Where am I? Are you responsible for putting these chains on me?”
“You’re in Fa—” one guard started to answer.
But the other guard shouted, “Don’t speak to her. You know our orders.” To Catherine he said, “Shut your whining.”
So he couldn’t even follow his own orders! Catherine replied in a haughty voice, “I’m not whining. I asked a simple question. Are you stupid as well as treacherous?”
But the man didn’t have the chance to reply as the flap of the tent was pulled open, letting more light in, and Farrow and Turturo entered, followed by five green-haired soldiers.
“Ah, the Brigantine is awake,” Turturo said, smiling at her.
“Awake from the drug you gave me and lying here in chains. What sort of treachery is this? I’m Queen Apparent. Wife to Prince Tzsayn. Leader of the blue-hairs. I demand you release me.”
“You’re not in a position to demand anything. And as for your claims that you’re Prince Tzsayn’s wife . . .” Farrow peered at her as if he might see something that would give the truth away. “I still don’t know if that’s true or not.” He smiled. “But the point is that it doesn’t matter. If it’s a lie, then you deserve to be in chains; if it’s the truth, you deserve it even more.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t act so innocent. You’ve been seen alone with Sir Ambrose on several occasions. He can hardly keep his hands off you from all accounts, and you let him kiss you in full view of half of Donnafon.”
“Half of Donnafon?”
Farrow reached out and fingered Catherine’s chain mail. “Zach is a very talented armorer, isn’t he? And very observant too.”
Catherine tried to remember if Zach knew about the smoke being her lucky charm. She had to hope not. “And what do you intend to do with me now?”
“You are to be returned to where you belong—to your disgusting backward country and to your lunatic family.”
“If you send me back, you’re as good as murdering me, as I’m sure you know.”
Farrow shook his head. “What your father does with you is not my concern.”
“Even if you send me to him, my father will still wage war with you. He’ll see you as being weaker for this.”
Farrow shook his head slowly and pursed his lips as if in thought. “No, I don’t think so. We’ve negotiated with his envoy and agreed terms. You’re part of the exchange for the prince. Your presence helped speed up the negotiations, which is what you wanted after all. Your father is accepting quite a bit less gold and taking you instead. It must be good to know someone values you.”
“And when Prince Tzsayn is back, what will you tell him? He won’t believe what you say. He knows you hated me from the start. He’ll know that you’ve sent me to my death.”
“He’ll forget you soon enough. I’ll tell him of your lies, your lust for Sir Ambrose; I’ll tell him Zach observed you with your lover. I’ll tell him how remorseful you were when discovered and how you wanted to help secure Tzsayn’s exchange and bravely agreed to help. I’ll tell him how we planned to rescue you during the exchange.” He added in a tone of sadness, “It’s such a shame that the rescue will fail.”
Catherine had an awful feeling that Farrow might jus
t get away with this. “So when will I see my father again?”
Farrow smiled. “The happy reunion will take place this morning. You on one cart, the gold on another. You and the gold will be checked and verified, while we do the same with the prince. And then it’s good-bye, Pitoria; hello, Papa.”
Farrow turned to Turturo and said, “Chain her up.” Then Farrow bowed to Catherine. “Your Highness. It certainly was not a pleasure.” And he left the tent.
Turturo motioned to the soldiers, and two of the men leaped on to the cart and pulled Catherine to her feet. She struggled but they were far too strong for her to resist.
“Put her hands in the metal boxes. Position them carefully.”
One man opened a box. Inside was a metal spike. It would penetrate her hand. Catherine fought harder, screaming out, but the men held her firmly and pushed her right hand into the box. The spike pierced her skin, her sinew and muscle.
The pain took her breath away. She gasped in shock.
The spike had gone right through her hand, and blood ran down her arm. Catherine stared at it and slumped against the men, fearing her knees would give way. The box was fixed shut with a simple hook.
The guard pulling her left arm was more gentle and his eyes met hers very briefly—none of the others looked her in the face. And she recognized him as Geratan, though his hair was ugly and spiked and green! He mouthed, Be brave.
He was pushing her left hand into the box and she braced herself for the pain but her hand wasn’t pierced, though there was a spike pushing against it. Geratan had eased her hand to the side; it was cramped and painful but it wasn’t pierced through.
But now her hands were confined in the metal boxes that fit round her wrists. The boxes were on chains and held her arms up. Her father had devised this just for her. She couldn’t sign with her hands, couldn’t get to her vial of smoke.