behind his back.
“Lance,” I whispered. “You’re the leader’s son.”
SIXTEEN
He winced under the pressure. “Are you really going to do this?”
“I have to.” I pulled my knife out, holding it to the base of his throat.
“I can’t . . . I don’t understand—” I could feel him shaking. My chest tightened. “Why?”
“If any of you move,” I said, ignoring him, “I will kill him.”
“My home is here, and so is yours,” he continued, trying to change my mind.
“This was never my home,” I said dryly.
Lance’s shoulders sagged, and I could almost hear him—feel him—shatter inside. I needed to leave. By now, the rebel army would have been alerted, getting their gear ready. There were shouts coming from inside.
“Lance!” Demetria yelled. “Fight back!”
He tried to move, but I only pressed the blade deeper.
“You used me?”
“You were too trusting,” I said through gritted teeth. “That was your weakness.” I slowly pulled him back, towards the horse. “Get on the horse,” I pointed it at him. “Now. That’s an
order.”
He did as he was told, and I tied his hands behind his back with a piece of cloth. “No one moves, or he’s dead,” I warned, staring them down. Lorelle stood tall, but her eyes were shining. Lance was pale. His hair was in his eyes, but he made no effort to move it.
I turned to face them.
Charlotte raised her bow, her finger tightening against the trigger. Before she could shoot I had ducked, rolling towards her, and knocked her off her feet with my legs. The crossbow clattered to the side and the bolt shot out, barely missing the horse’s hind leg. I brought my elbow up, smashing Darren in the nose. He staggered back, clutching it. I spun around, ducking as Demetria swung her sword, and got up behind her. As I did, I grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, pushing it up so that she writhed in pain.
I yanked the sword out of her grasp, pushing her forward, and raised it just as Aland’s sword came down above me. Gripping the hilt, I smashed it into his fingers. As he dropped the sword with a cry of pain, I raised my boot, slamming it into his chest.
As they recovered, I grabbed the crossbow, loading a bolt, and aimed it at them.
“I will shoot if anyone moves,” I warned, hair falling loose around my face. Slowly, I backed towards the horse and mounted it.
“Go inside,” I said harshly. “Now.” No one moved. Frustrated, I scowled. “I said go.”
Charlotte was the first to act, stepping back. Darren held my gaze, but he also followed Charlotte. Aland retreated. Lorelle and Demetria were left.
“You’ll never get away with our fastest riders on your
tail,” Demetria said, coldly. “I’ll alert them immediately. They already know something is wrong.”
“Try it.” The crossbow in my hand was steady as I aimed it at her forehead. “Go ahead. Tell them. I have taken down armies. What makes you think I won’t be able to shoot your riders down? I just have to pull the trigger. You have five seconds. Get in, or I’ll shoot.” Kill all the threats.
She didn’t move. Lorelle held her ground. She watched me carefully. “Adalia, you can do better than this.”
“Five. . .” I started counting down. “Four. . .” She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were wide. “Three. . .” I was going to kill her. It almost felt funny that I was finally going to get my revenge. “Two.” She didn’t blink. “One.” I stared at her for a second. Lorelle covered her ears.
And then I did it.
As Demetria lunged for me, I shot. The arrow pierced through her thigh, and Lorelle stared in horror and disbelief as Demetria fell to the ground.
“No!” Lance screamed.
I kicked the horse, urging it into a gallop as Lorelle clutched Demetria’s body.
“You . . . you shot her,” Lance said, horrified.
“She’ll survive.” I never liked her anyway. “She left me no choice.”
“You’re a monster.”
“Oh, yeah?” I scoffed. “What would you have done in my place? We’re on two opposite sides here, Lance,” I gritted out. “Understand that.”
“I would never have hurt you this way.”
“And that,” I said, putting as much hatred as I could into the words, “is why we’re in this situation. I was the smart one.
You should never have trusted me.”
Behind us, I could hear hoofbeats. I looked over my shoulder, gripping the reins in one hand and the crossbow in another. Lance had slumped, a defeated look on his face.
“Don’t. Move.” I said to him. I pulled on the reins, slowing the horse down. Slowly, I unhooked one foot out of the stirrups, bringing it up.
“What—” Lance gasped with wide eyes as I slowly stood up on the horse’s back, clutching the reins in one hand for support. The horse’s mane rippled in the wind, my hair blowing around my face as I steadied myself.
The riders let out shouts of alarm as I stood on the horse as it galloped. I pulled the trigger, and before the rider had a chance to even think about dodging, the bolt had pierced his heart, and he was thrown off his horse. The crossbow was small, so I had no problem holding the reins in the crook of my arm while I used my hands to pull back the string and load another bolt. The second rider knew what was coming and had slowed down his horse. He was quite far now, but all I had to do was aim a bit higher, and taking into account the wind, a bit to the left. The bolt soared through the air and lodged itself into his throat. He sagged to the side but stayed onto his horse since his feet were stuck in the stirrups.
“How . . .” Lance’s jaw hung open. My knees bent as the horse galloped, and I, slowly, holding one arm out, slid back onto the saddle. “You really are the assassin, aren’t you?”
Feeling power surge through my body for the first time in weeks, I tossed the crossbow onto the ground as we raced through the cobblestone streets.
I smirked, wondering how, why, I had ever even thought that I’d leave this behind.
The King’s Assassin was back.
The guards ripped him off the horse, clicking cold metal cuffs onto his wrists. He was kicked forward and he landed hard on his knees, the fabric ripping open.
“The king is waiting for you,” a guard said to me after a welcoming bow. I nodded, and without emotion, I walked up the steps without a second glance at Lance.
SEVENTEEN
A cold smile crept across the king’s lips.
“You’ve done it, then? Just today I thought you’d failed and wouldn’t return,” the king laughed.
“No, Your Majesty,” I swept into a bow. “I would never do such a thing.”
“Well then, we must celebrate. Bring in the hostage!”
The door opened, and the guards walked in, ready, holding Lance and roughly pushing him to the floor. He fell onto his knees and grimaced. They were already bleeding from his fall outside.
“You must be . . .?” the king trailed off, confused.
“Your Majesty, he is one of the leader’s sons.”
Lance looked up. His shirt was torn at the edges like he’d tried to put up a fight. He was bruised across the cheekbone. The corner of his lip was bleeding.
“So, you’re the mighty King of Astodia,” Lance broke out into a malicious grin. Blood dripped from his lips as he coughed. “Pleased to meet you.”
The king smiled coldly. “How does it feel to kneel in front
of me?”
“Strange, actually. You’re older than I imagined.”
The king’s smiled disappeared. A guard kicked Lance with a heavy boot to the stomach. He bent over, coughing painfully. I didn’t blink as blood splattered onto the floor.
“Sire, may I see the prince? I’ve brought the antidote,” I cut in, a part of me wanting to escape the king’s gaze.
“Ah, of course,” he nodded. I felt disgusted as I tore my eyes from Lance
’s pained body.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said, sweeping into another bow. I started to slip out of the room, clutching the small glass vial to my chest, only to be stopped by the king again.
“Oh, and one more thing. Take the boy with you. If my son awakes, the boy’s torture will be lessened during his time in the dungeons.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I asked curiously.
“If he doesn’t,” the king laughed, “Then we don’t have to worry about keeping the boy alive, do we?”
The guards stopped at the door. I flew into the room, my heart beating loudly in my chest.
Xavier was lying on the bed, his face sickly pale. His eyes were partially closed. Dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and his arms lay at his sides. The blankets were pulled up to his chest.
“Leave us,” I ordered the maids and servants. They took one look at me and disappeared. “All of you,” I told the guards, “get out.”
“We can’t leave the prince alone,” he said. “If he wakes up and he’s not in his right mind—”
“I’m an assassin,” I sneered. “Are you saying I can’t deal with him? Tie the boy there.”
I motioned to the guards who did so. He pulled Lance roughly, and it was only then that I saw the blood on Lance’s
wrists from being chafed by the cuffs.
When we were alone, I dropped by the side of Xavier’s bed, feeling for his pulse. It was so faint, like barely existed. I pulled out the antidote and opened his mouth, tipping it gently.
“I’m here now,” I said softly, rubbing his arm. “Come on—you promised you’d hold on.”
He lay still—and that’s when I realized I hadn’t known how much of the hazel liquid I should’ve given him. What if too much doubled the effects and hurt him more?
“Xavier. Wake up.” I shook him, beginning to lose my cool. “Wake up!” I shouted. There was sharp tinge in my voice, a tinge of helplessness.
Nothing. His pulse slowly faded, and I collapsed next to his bed.
“You said you would wait,” I said quietly, gripping his lifeless hand, “You lied to me. I only came back for you. If you don’t wake up, everything I did will be for nothing. I did it for you.” Suddenly, I remembered Lance was in the room. I swallowed, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Wake up,” I said softly, opening my eyes. “Please.”
And then I felt it. The gentlest squeeze.
“Adalia,” a voice whispered hoarsely.
I jerked up. “Xavier?”
“Water.” his voice was gravelly. I reached forward and pulled his head up, grabbing a cup of water from the table next to me and helped him take a few sips.
“Xavier,” I kept repeating, relieved, clutching his hands, laughing. “You’re alive.”
“Of course I’m alive.”
He had no strength to sit up. The antidote must’ve woken up a part of his brain to get him to speak. I didn’t care. He was awake. I threw back and laughed at how insane this whole trip had been.
“You’re. . . laughing.”
“Of course I’m laughing,” I said, overwhelmed. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”
“Who are you,” said Xavier, attempting a smile, his voice pained and slow, “and what . . . have you done . . . with my assassin?” he shook his head slowly and closed his eyes. He was tired.
I fixed his covers, kissing his forehead.
I turned to see Lance leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. He looked almost peaceful. Innocent.
He didn’t belong here.
EIGHTEEN
Weeks later, Xavier regained his strength and the king announced a ball in honor of his son’s revival. Of course, I was given no credit because I didn’t exist, but I was definitely invited. The ball was in a week, giving Xavier more time to recover.
“Dearest Adalia,” he bowed in front of me.
I’d taken a walk in the courtyard to take my mind off things, and Xavier had found me. Things had gone back to normal.
“Am I not welcome in my savior’s presence?” his drawl was back.
I rolled my eyes. “What do you want?”
He put an arm around my shoulders. His face was still pale and he looked painfully thin, but he was trying to act as if everything was fine.
Everything was not fine.
“Is everything alright with you?” Xavier questioned, curious.
While Xavier was recovering, I had a lot of time to think to myself. There was a heavy weight in my chest, something I had never felt before. It weighed me down, making me feel upset and uncomfortable.
“What happened to you?” Xavier shook his head.
“I was with the rebel army for a while,” I said, walking with him. “Many things happened.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” Xavier raised an eyebrow.
“I just . . . experienced things that I had never felt before.” Now, I’d gotten his attention.
He stopped walking.
“Does any of it have to do with the boy you brought back?”
“Lance?” I asked. “Yes. Some of it.” I turned to Xavier, trying to put my feelings into words. “They were so kind to me, and I can’t help but feel . . . guilty.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.
“Guilty, huh,” he repeated. “Would you . . . want to go back?”
“My place is here. I just wish things had turned out differently.”
Xavier worked his jaw, mulling over my words.
“His Majesty would like to see you,” the servant girl said after a low curtsy the next morning. He had wanted more information.
“It was a servant, your majesty,” I told him. “She poisoned Xavier, but I have not seen her since. I was told by the boy that she escaped. He proved to be of help,” I said, gesturing to Lance who was again, on his knees, close to me. He had ribbons of blood dribbling down his wrists and it sickened me, though I couldn’t show my distaste.
A guard was standing beside Lance, ready.
“And this boy, whose child is he?” he asked, rubbing his chin.
“Son of the leader, Janine.”
The king’s hand froze. “Who were the other leaders?”
“One man and a woman named Clarice.”
The king stood up abruptly, fury in his eyes. “And the girl’s name?”
“I don’t know.” The lie rolled off my tongue easily. “I didn’t stay around long enough. I never met her.” I had already brought back Lance—I couldn’t have him put a target on Lorelle too.
I was hoping Lance would play along, but he wouldn’t even look at my face. His green eyes were focused on the king; taunting, mischievous. Xavier sat on the other side of the king, his throne smaller but posh enough all the same. His leg was crossed over the other, his chin rested on his fist, cape draped over the arm of the throne. The crown rested on his head, tilted slightly. Xavier obseved Lance carefully.
The prince turned his head and caught me looking. He gave me a gentle smile. The beat of my heart quickened.
“What were you planning down there?” the king asked Lance. “What were you rats thinking you could accomplish?”
Lance laughed. It was a cold and angry laugh, and he shook his head. “We’re not the rats, your majesty,” he spat the word. “It is your kind who are the rats, murdering everyone who threatens your throne.”
My breath caught in my throat, but Lance’s eyes stayed on the king. He was putting himself in trouble.
He didn’t know the king like I did. This was a bad, bad move.
“Assassin, take him to the Dungeon.”
There. The feeling was back. The chill that ran up my spine as if someone was spilling ice cold water down my back—fear. The Dungeon was a room located inside of the actual dungeons—a place where nightmares were born.
“Very well, Your Majesty.”
“Make sure he feels it,” the king said, smirking, as he sat back down on his blood red throne.
The Dunge
on was the worst place for an enemy to go.
It was a torture chamber, one that I had personally spent countless nights in. I had learned the hard way to never, never disobey the king.
Lance was thrown into the Dungeon. I ordered two guards to come in with me. I wasn’t going to hurt him—it had to be someone else.
It was dark, eerily quiet. Something scurried across the floor between my ankles. Rats.
“Very well then,” I sighed. “On the chair he goes.”
I lit the torches for light and faced Lance. His arms were still cuffed behind his back.
“Un-cuff him,” I ordered the taller guard. He hesitated. “I know what I’m doing,” I assured him. “I’ve done this many times before.”
The guard reached forward and unlocked Lance’s handcuffs.
“Okay,” I said, my hands clasped behind my back. “These are the rules; I ask a question, you answer. If you don’t answer, they’ll make you answer.” I gestured towards the guards who stood on either side of Lance. He flexed his chafed and bruised wrists, bleeding, and finally looked up at my face.
“What are your torture methods? I’m only asking so I can prepare myself for what’s coming.” He raised his eyebrows, giving me a smile that warmed my chest, despite the position
we were in.
“You need to answer the questions,” I spoke calmly. “You won’t get hurt. I’d advise you to answer the questions and not give the guards the pleasure of beating you to death. Once they start, they don’t stop.”
I had to keep myself in control. One careless slip and I would be sitting in the chair next. I had to do this. I had to, or both of us would die.
“What are the rebels planning?” I asked. “An attack?”
He laughed, running a hand through his dirty hair. “Why would I tell you?”
“You would if you were smart,” I said to him coldly.
“Over my dead body.” His words made me angry. They made me upset. I felt like a fool, thinking everything would be alright once I’d completed my mission. Things would never be the same, and Lance made sure to rub salt in my wounds.
The Battle for Astodia Page 12