by Bex Hogan
I shake my head. ‘If he’s not a guest, I don’t know how he got past the guards. I don’t trust him. He watches too closely. I would feel better if you could follow him. Question him.’
My concern is real, but the truth is that I’m also trying to put some distance between us, and assigning Bronn a mission is the best way to do that. The look he’s giving me suggests he knows my motives. Knows I’m saying goodbye.
It’s a while before he speaks and when he does his voice is colder. ‘Consider it done, Captain.’
And, giving the curtest of nods, Bronn walks away. It’s as if he’s extinguished all the candles and stolen the stars. My world has never felt so dark.
The celebrations last too long, but eventually Torin and I are escorted to our wedding chamber, high up in the east tower, with bawdy laughter and coarse jokes being thrown at us the whole way.
Once the door is mercifully shut, Torin leans against it and exhales, while I kick the empty chamber pot across the room.
‘That lying, cheating, conniving piece of scum!’ I can no longer contain my rage towards the King, and it spews out of me in an uncontrollable stream. ‘Rotten, scheming hagbreather!’
‘Yes, my father never fails to disappoint,’ Torin growls.
‘Backstabbing, treacherous wartwhale! We should never have trusted him for a minute.’
Torin sighs, rubbing his jaw. ‘You mean I shouldn’t have trusted him.’
His frustration with himself tempers my fury. ‘You wanted to try the peaceful approach first,’ I say, collapsing backwards on to the bed, flinging my arms out wide. ‘It was the right thing to do.’
Torin comes to perch beside me, removing his boots. ‘I should have known better. My father will do anything to cling to his power.’
‘No, it’s my fault. I was too lenient on my return.’ Worn down from fighting, I allowed the King to feel safe. I should have poured fire on his agreement with Torin, forced him to abdicate immediately. And now, because of my weakness, things are going to get ugly.
Torin lies back next to me and for a moment we just stare at each other, too weary for anything else. ‘Let’s not dwell on it any longer,’ he says eventually. ‘Let’s have just a few moments of the day untarnished by his presence. Tomorrow, the fight can resume. We’ll insist he keep his word and give up the throne as agreed. You have the document he signed, don’t you?’
I nod. ‘In my room. But he could argue it was signed under duress.’
A knowing smile spreads across Torin’s face. ‘Was it?’
‘There may have been some coercion,’ I say with a shrug.
‘All right, well, if he decides to argue its validity, then we overthrow him. We hold all the cards.’
More conflict. Just what the Isles don’t need. But in my heart I know this is where we’re heading. And though it won’t pain me one bit to rid us all of the King, I wonder how far Torin’s willing to go to be free of his father. Overthrowing him is one thing. But would Torin let me kill him if it came to it?
‘It’s funny,’ Torin says, nudging me with his elbow. ‘Of all the ways I imagined my wedding night, I didn’t think I’d spend it talking about my father.’
I smile. ‘Me neither. We have far more important things to do.’
‘Sleep,’ we say at the same time, and it feels good to laugh together, after the strain of the day.
Torin helps me undo the laces of my corset, but then averts his gaze while I slip out of my gown and exchange it for my shift. Once he’s in bed, I lie beside him and hold his hand.
‘It’s sad,’ he says, ‘that no one but us knows how momentous today actually was. East binding to West. The start of a new reign. Our reign.’
Something unpleasant stirs in my stomach. The reminder of my duty to the West is unwelcome. I can barely help the East.
‘We’re not the only ones,’ I say quietly. ‘Bronn and Sharpe know.’ Immediately I feel bad as pain flashes in Torin’s eyes.
‘They understand why we had to go through with today,’ he says.
I smile by way of apology, not wanting to infect him with my misery. Torin’s hopes for the future match my fears for the present, and it is why we need each other. Together we are balanced.
‘We can do this,’ he continues, squeezing my fingers. ‘We will do this.’
I lean forward and kiss his forehead. ‘I know.’
‘Good night, wife,’ he says, his eyes sparkling with affection.
‘Sweet dreams, husband.’
I watch with envy how quickly sleep claims him. Though exhaustion prickles through my bones, for a long time I just lie there, my head too crowded with thoughts. The air is thick in here, suffocating, and I feel the walls closing in on me. Leaving Torin alone in our marriage bed, I move to the window and push it open, desperate for air. It’s as if the night is crushing my chest and I cannot breathe. I have to get out of here. Without even bothering to dress, I wrap my cloak round my shift and slip my dagger back into my boot.
When I appear at the door, three surprised guards look up at me. I raise my hand for them to be quiet.
‘The Prince is asleep,’ I say, ignoring their suggestive glances. ‘I left some things in my old room and wish to retrieve them.’
‘Allow me to escort you.’ Braydon stands up, and then adds as an afterthought, ‘Your Highness.’
‘There’s no need; I can find my way.’
‘I insist.’
‘Very well, if you must.’
There is no concern in his offer, only mistrust.
We walk through the castle, the only light coming from the candle I hold. It’s quite a way to go to my room in the west tower, and all the while Braydon is several paces behind me, his eyes boring into my back.
When at last I reach my door, I turn to him. ‘I think I might stay here for the rest of the night. I don’t wish to disturb my husband. Thank you, Braydon.’
The bodyguard is clearly not happy to leave me, but what can he do? He bids me a frosty good night and at last I’m alone. The quiet is a balm to my troubled spirit. So much of my life has been spent in isolation that now I find hours surrounded by others leaves me itching for solitude.
I move to the other side of my room, pausing as I pass the desk to check the drawer remains locked. Satisfied the scroll signed by the King is safe, I push the doors open on to the balcony, drinking in the cold air of the early hours of morning. The moon beams down on the castle, illuminating the delicate nightglow flowers that weave through the stone wall beside me like stars, and for a moment I allow myself to believe that things will fall into place as we hope.
I haven’t felt much peace since I left the West. And it’s not just the fighting. A quiet dissatisfaction is growing inside me like a weed. I don’t know what it is, but it climbs and snakes, spreads and suffocates. Maybe it’s just part of adapting to my new life. Or perhaps it is simply frustration clawing at me from within. But it’s always there, an ever-present reminder that something is not right.
A sharp wind whips my cloak about me, stinging my skin, and as I brush the hair from my face an unexpected movement catches my attention. Leaning forward slightly, I try to identify what it is.
Scaling the ivy-covered walls of the east tower is a figure dressed entirely in black. The moonlight glints off the blade he holds between his teeth as he climbs swiftly upwards. Whatever his intentions, they’re definitely not friendly.
Only one person sleeps in that tower – Torin – and so I don’t hesitate. Moving as soundlessly as the intruder, I remove my cloak and take my dagger from my boot before climbing on to the balustrade and reaching for a foothold on the castle wall. Running through the palace would take too long – this is the only way I’m going to reach him in time.
My hands glide easily over ancient stones, urgency causing the blood to pulse through my body so that even my fingertips tingle. My blade grazes my tongue and sweat runs down my back. I don’t even let myself think of the drop beneath me. A single thought scr
eams through my mind.
Hurry.
I’m closing the distance between us, but then I lose the intruder as he disappears through the bedroom window I opened not long ago. I climb faster. If I don’t get there quickly, it’ll be too late. When I’m close enough, I push off the wall and leap towards the window ledge, only just making the distance and hanging precariously for a moment before I scramble up into the room.
Before my eyes can adapt to the gloom, my hair is grabbed and my head slammed against the wall. Pain streaks through my skull and I drop the blade from my mouth as I gasp for air. He knew he was being followed.
He’s swinging his knife round now, aiming for my guts, but I recover quickly and bring my fist down hard on to his arm, so that now he’s the one who drops his weapon.
I don’t wait for him to collect himself, bringing my hand up into his chin, and causing him to stagger backwards. But he avoids my next blow and lands one of his own, sending an explosion of pain through my shoulder.
I wish it weren’t so dark, because all I can see of the intruder is that he’s wearing a mask over his nose and mouth, his hood concealing his hair. I need to know who would be brave enough to steal into the Prince’s room so brazenly, and I reach forward, hoping to remove the mask. But again he evades me. He’s fast, and it’s like he knows what I’m planning before I do it, because he’s able to dodge every move I make.
He’s good.
But I’m better.
Changing tactics, I kick him in the stomach, knocking him off balance. It’s all the edge I need, and now I’m able to make my strikes count: a punch to the face, a jab to the ribs. And as our silent dance continues, the moonlight catches on his striking amber eyes, which blaze with fear.
‘Who are you?’ I have to know.
His response is to lunge for my neck, his hands seeking to crush my bones. I manage to grab his wrists before they can do their damage, and for a moment we’re frozen in a deadlock.
There’s only one thing to do – I snap my head forward into his. He falters in pain and, with his balance compromised, I kick him again. He lurches away from me and falls on to the bed where Torin has been sleeping, oblivious to the danger.
But the weight of an assassin landing by him is enough to wake him, and Torin groggily sits up. ‘Marianne?’
He’s still half asleep.
The attacker hasn’t fully recovered from the headbutt, but it won’t take him long. I have to be quick. Racing to where my dagger still lies on the floor, I pick it up, and aiming directly for the man’s heart I fling it with all the strength I possess.
Only for him to catch the blade between the palms of his hands.
Such skill, such a reflex, momentarily stuns me and before I can gather my wits the assassin turns and plunges my dagger firmly into Torin’s chest.
My breath leaves me as if the wound is my own. I race towards the attacker but he’s already sprinting to the other window, and I have to make a choice: pursue him or save Torin.
Cursing, I run to where Torin lies, his blood rapidly soaking the sheets.
He’s wide awake now and confused as I pull him into my arms.
‘Marianne?’ He’s clutching his chest, and I move his hand away to see how bad it is.
‘You’re all right; let me look,’ I say as calmly as I can, despite the panic roaring in my ears. The knife has missed Torin’s heart, but he’s losing a lot of blood.
I start to tear one of the sheets, pressing the material hard against his chest. ‘Nothing I can’t fix,’ I say, giving him my most encouraging smile, but I realise his eyes are closing as consciousness escapes him. ‘No, no, stay awake.’ And then I’m shouting to the guards, unable to stem the tide of fear rising in me. ‘Help! Help us!’
‘Torin, look at me.’ I speak with my most commanding voice, daring him to disobey. ‘You’re not going to die, do you hear me? Don’t you dare die.’
I can see him fighting, but he’s losing the battle, and when he tries to raise his hand towards me it only lifts a few inches before it falls back to the bed.
I could save him with magic.
The idea comes from nowhere. Magic is something I haven’t allowed myself to think about since I turned my back on it in the West. But I’m desperate. Could I reach inside myself once more for the power to save him?
The door bursts open, shattering the thought, and the guards stare at the scene before them, open-mouthed.
‘Call for the healer.’ I’m shouting again, angered by their inaction – and my own. ‘And raise the alarm. The intruder can’t have gone far.’
One of the younger guards runs off, screaming murder and waking the castle from its drunken slumber. Another hurries over to us and even through my panic I’m aware of the suspicious look he’s casting over the situation.
‘Pass me that bottle on the chest,’ I say. It’s a weak tonic, and not one I’d normally ever use for a wound like this, but it’s better than nothing and Torin’s running out of time.
The guard doesn’t move. He’s staring down at me and it’s then I realise how this must look.
Me, still in my shift, which is now drenched in blood, and my knife protruding from my new husband.
‘Please.’ I force my voice to be softer this time. ‘He’s dying; let me help him.’
For a moment I think it’s hopeless, but perhaps the guard senses my despair because he walks over to the chest and picks up the tonic.
I exhale. ‘Thank you.’
But as he stretches to pass it to me a voice cuts through the air.
‘Don’t you dare give that killer her poison.’
The guard sheepishly steps back from me, bowing his head as the King strides into the room, and my heart falls when I see Braydon with him. He clearly went to fetch the King the moment he saw what had happened.
‘Get her away from my son,’ the King says.
Braydon and the other guard move towards me.
‘If I let go of this, he’ll bleed to death in seconds,’ I warn, and they hesitate. Torin’s turning a frightening colour and it’s not hard to believe death is imminent for their prince.
‘You.’ The King points to the older guard. ‘Take her place.’
The man swallows nervously as he stands beside me. I position his hands down on the blood-soaked sheet.
‘Press hard. Don’t let go.’ My command is laced with threat. Torin’s life depends on it.
Braydon grabs my arm and pulls me off the bed.
‘I didn’t do this,’ I say to the King. ‘But I can save him, if you let me.’
The King ignores me and turns to Braydon. ‘You say you left her in the west wing?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. She must have climbed through the window.’
‘I followed an intruder! He fled out of that window,’ I say, gesturing to the far wall, where the open window swings in the night breeze. ‘You can still catch him.’
The look the King gives me says everything. They’re not searching for anyone else. They have their suspect.
‘Arrest this traitor.’
Braydon wrenches my hands together and clamps irons round them. I don’t fight, but only because the last thing I want is for the guard to move from Torin’s side. So for now I’ll let them do this. As long as he lives.
The sight of the King’s healer finally arriving does nothing to lessen my dread. Old, frail and looking worryingly dishevelled, the healer is barely awake, until the sight of the Prince seems to shake the sleep from him, and he hurries to his royal patient.
‘Add silverbud and swampnettle to your poultice,’ I say as I’m dragged from the room. ‘And lace your tonic with whiterust.’
I doubt my advice will be heeded but I don’t trust the old remedies the healer uses. They’re largely ineffectual. Torin has only slightly more chance of surviving under his care than with no care at all.
Braydon is joined by another five guards to escort me and despite the circumstances I feel a shard of satisfaction. They’ve re
membered who I am after all. Not just some woman who happened to marry their prince, but the Viper. They should be worried. If I wanted, they’d be dead in minutes. Fortunately for them I don’t want them dead. I’m not leaving this castle until I know Torin’s going to be all right.
I’m taken down to the dungeons and thrown into a cold cell. The summer castle isn’t often used, so the dungeons are mostly empty with only a few neighbours to witness my arrival – a relief since I’m the one who’s been catching most of the prisoners in the Isles recently.
As Braydon pulls the padlock through the chain, I grab his arm. ‘I didn’t do this,’ I say. ‘The man who did is still out there. He might come back. Whatever you think of me, promise you’ll keep Torin safe.’
Braydon rips himself free from my grasp and spits in my face. ‘Viper bitch. You’ll hang for this.’
I give no reaction outwardly, but inside I’m raging.
Alone in my cell, I take a moment to consider my situation. Shivering in only my thin shift, the immensity of what’s happened begins to sink in.
Someone tried to kill Torin. Someone exceptionally skilled. And the King is framing me for the crime.
I sit down.
This is bad. On so many levels. Who could want Torin dead? Who would benefit from his death? The most obvious person is the King, but for all his many faults I can’t believe him capable of this. Of having his own son murdered. If not him, though, who? I didn’t recognise the would-be assassin, but it’s possible he was working with the stranger who shadowed the evening’s events.
But then, apart from the three guards, there was no reason for anyone to suppose I wasn’t in the bedchamber with my new husband. Surely the presence of the Viper would cause most people to reconsider an attempt? Unless the assassin was there for me. I can easily believe more people would wish me dead than Torin.
The war I’ve waged against the bandits has been bloody and it’s been brutal. My aim always was – and remains – to take prisoners, to bring them to justice for their crimes, but the reality is they’re prepared to fight to the death and my crew are the best fighters there are. Though I’ve lost a few Snakes, it’s been nothing compared to the losses of the bandits, and while my crew celebrate our victories, they leave me unsettled and uncertain. Bronn thinks it’s because I’m still afraid of becoming like Adler, but it’s more than that. It’s not quite the justice I imagined bringing to the East.