by Bex Hogan
‘I know this is difficult for you,’ the King says. ‘But please try to tell us exactly what happened.’
Sharpe doesn’t speak for a moment, and the longer he’s silent, the worse I know this is going to be.
‘I never liked Marianne,’ Sharpe says eventually. ‘When she became engaged to Prince Torin, I tried to speak up, and warn him of the dangers of allying with the Viper. But the Prince has a generous heart and would hear nothing against her. She knew, though, knew I was a threat to her marriage, to her plans. And so she removed me from the equation.’
‘She did this to you?’ The King sounds horrified.
‘Yes. She tricked me into being alone with her, and then she took my eyes.’
There it is, the final nail in my coffin. People are on their feet, chanting for my immediate death, demanding my execution. I fight back the tears, wondering if this is it. After everything I went through, everything I lost, is it all going to end in failure now?
‘Why didn’t you tell the Prince?’ the King asks when order is restored. ‘Reveal her true nature to him before they wed?’
‘I tried,’ Sharpe says. ‘But love is a powerful thing. People will do whatever is necessary for the ones they love. To protect them at any cost.’
That last sentence is solely for me. Sharpe’s telling me that what he’s just done is to protect Torin, and I understand. The King has always disapproved of the love between his son and his close aide, and has used it to blackmail Sharpe. Between torturing him and threatening Torin, the King had given Sharpe no choice but to voice these lies, and I don’t blame him one bit. He did the right thing.
Now it’s time for the King to wrap this farce up while the people are baying for blood. He moves swiftly to request the jury consider their verdict and it takes them only moments to confer.
I am found guilty of treason. Of attempting to murder my husband. Of plotting to overthrow the King. I am to be hanged at first light.
I’m escorted out of the courtroom under heavy guard in a state of shock. The curses from the watching gallery barely penetrate my skull because all I can hear clamouring in my head is ‘What now?’
I could protest my innocence, point out that if I was the heartless killer I’ve been portrayed as, Torin wouldn’t still be breathing, but who would listen? The King has utterly succeeded in destroying me. If I don’t find a way out of this, I’ll be dead in hours.
Think, Marianne.
If it were Bronn in this situation, he would have a plan. Would already know every exit, every possible way out of the palace. I was here several days before the wedding took place, but never thought to map out escape routes. Some assassin I am.
Perhaps if I only had a handful of guards I could fight them and slip away. But considering what happened the last time they underestimated me, no one’s taking any chances. A dozen strong guards surround me. That would be a challenge even at my best – in my weakened state it would be impossible.
By the time I’m thrown back into my damp prison, it all becomes irrelevant anyway. Without the key I’m trapped here until they come to take me to the gallows.
I slide down the wall, fighting away despair. This trial has taught me nothing other than that the King loves power above all things, including his son.
Torin. Every time I think of him, my heart squeezes too tight, fearing the worst. What fate awaits him now? Will his father keep him asleep for ever? Or just for many years? Can his body even survive such an unnatural sleep when already weakened from his injury?
My mind drifts to my own fate. I imagine the rope against my skin … coarse, clawing, how it’ll tighten until it steals the life from me. For a moment I wonder if Bronn will storm the execution, rescue me before burning the palace to the ground. I almost smile at my own foolishness. He wouldn’t risk the lives of his crew for such a futile endeavour. And he wouldn’t attempt to save me alone. No point in us both being dead. Maybe he will come and watch so his face could be the last thing I see before the darkness claims me?
No. I will never see him again and my sob is a lonely echo in the night.
But if I am to die, then I will not let my sorrow show. I am the Viper, whether the King likes it or not, and I will be strong to the end. Silently I remember the names of all those in the jury who signed my death warrant. One day they will regret choosing the King’s side. Even if I can’t return from the grave to haunt them, then I’m certain Bronn will eventually find a way to avenge my death.
The sound of someone approaching brings me to my feet. It’s not dawn yet, and I can’t think of any good reason why I’m getting a visit.
A guard I don’t know strides up to my cell, a plate in his hand. ‘Last meal,’ he says, his voice gruff and clipped.
I frown at him, but walk over to take a closer look. ‘Why would the King waste food on a dead woman?’
‘Not sure I’d call that food,’ he says with a smirk, and I reach to pick up the bread roll he’s brought me. I bang it against the iron bars and it makes the same noise a rock would.
‘I can hardly wait,’ I say, moving to return it to the plate, but he steps away.
‘Don’t choke,’ he says, turning to leave. ‘Or it’ll spoil all the fun tomorrow.’
And then he’s gone, before I can ask the questions building inside me. There’s something about the way he cautioned me, something unnatural, that makes me suspicious, that almost gives me hope … and if there’s ever been a time to act on such feelings, it’s now.
I tear into the stale bread, which is no easy feat, until I stab my finger on what is concealed inside it. A needle.
Sharpe. He must have found a way to get this to me, that’s why the guard was unfamiliar. Silently I thank him. He’s given me a chance and I’m not going to waste it.
The gaoler and his two other guards are at the far end of the prison, sitting around a table, gambling. They’ve been drinking, eating, trying anything to stay awake through these long night hours, and are paying no attention to what’s happening in the cells they believe are safely locked.
Crouching, I stretch my fingers until they reach the padlock on my prison door, and as I do so a memory of Grace freeing herself from the King’s dungeons comes to mind. She picked the lock with a hairpin that day, but the needle works just as well, and her presence is so strong I can almost believe she’s standing beside me as the lock springs open. Slowly, quietly, I unravel the chain from round the bars, and loop it into my hands. It’s a better weapon than nothing.
I creep up on the guards from behind, taking advantage of the element of surprise, and swing the chain hard across the back of the gaoler’s head. He instantly slumps forward. The other two guards scramble to their feet, but they’re drunk and disorientated. I bring down the chain over the nearest man’s knuckles and his sword clatters to the ground as he cries out. Before he has time to think, I’ve whipped the chain back up and this time slash him hard across the face, knocking him to the floor. The third man is watching all this, frozen with fear, and now he looks at me with pleading eyes. I could let him run, but then he’ll raise the alarm. There can be no mercy. I stoop to pick up the fallen sword, ready to fight, but he raises his arms in pitiful surrender. I press the blade against his chest.
‘You have keys?’ I ask, gesturing to the irons still clamped round my wrists.
He nods.
‘Then free me.’
He fumbles as he searches for the right one, before eventually finding it, inserting it into the lock and letting the irons fall away. A swift blow to his temple with the sword’s hilt and he no longer presents a problem. I look at the three of them, so easily overcome, and shake my head. How much have they had to drink?
Still, their utter incompetence worked in my favour. Swapping the sword for a dagger from the gaoler’s belt, I think about my next steps.
Before I do anything else, I need to find Torin, to see him, help him if I can. The castle is asleep and it’s easy to slip through the shadows undetected. The
passageways in the depths of the castle aren’t frequently used, even in the busiest hours. It lures me into a false sense of security, thinking that I’m the only ghost roaming the halls at night. But the moment I reach the steep spiral staircase that connects the main castle to the dungeons, I hear voices. Lots of them. Creeping up, I take a look and my heart sinks. While the King may have felt confident leaving only three guards on duty outside the cells, he apparently wasn’t taking any chances for the rest of the castle. No amount of stealth will get me past the regiment assigned to this doorway, and if I try to fight my way through, I’ll meet my death earlier than scheduled.
Cursing to myself, I flee back down the stairs. There has to be another way out. I hastily retrace my steps, but every door I try is locked, so that the only path to take is the one that leads back to the cells. And then I see it, right before the entrance to the gaol: a narrow hallway off to the left. There are no torches on the wall this way, but I can see a sliver of light like a beacon in the distance, and so I run towards it. It’s only when I reach the end that I understand why the King hasn’t bothered to waste guards down here. Moonlight shines through a small window on the west side of the castle. Beyond it is nothing but a sheer drop down a perilous mountain. It’s not a way out; it’s certain death.
‘Prisoner on the loose!’ The words bounce down the stone walls to reach me and I swear under my breath. I should have killed those guards rather than just knocked them out. They know I’m here somewhere, like an animal in a trap. I look again at the window. If I don’t want to be captured, this is my only chance.
I’m dead anyway. I’d rather die free. And so I pull myself up on to the stone ledge and push open the window.
It would be raining. Within minutes of lowering myself out of the window I’m soaked through, my shift plastered to my skin, my fingers turning to ice as they cling to the slippery rock surface.
Lodging the dagger in thin cracks provides me with precarious handholds, but they’re few and far between and my progress is slow. Still, down is the only direction I can go, and so I persevere, knowing it won’t be long before the whole kingdom is looking for me.
And yet I can’t shake the feeling I’m going the wrong way. Away from Torin. To save my own neck I’m abandoning him to his father’s questionable mercy. I swear that if we both live long enough, I will return for him, but it does nothing to assuage my guilt.
The wind is whipping up now, and I’m seriously regretting not taking the guard’s cloak as well as his blade. Chilled to the bone, I shiver as I struggle to grip the dagger, blinking away blinding raindrops.
It happens in a split second. My foot slips, and the dagger isn’t secure enough to take the sudden jolt of weight, and then I’m sliding, falling, falling fast, so fast that I gasp for breath. Desperately I try to find something to grab hold of, but the rain has left the rock like glass, and momentum is spinning me out of control. I’m dimly aware of pain shooting through me, as my skin is torn off, as my bones are battered against the rock face, but all I can think about is saving myself. I stab the rock with my blade, frantically searching for any gap I can take advantage of, but it’s too hard, too unyielding.
When the dagger eventually lodges in a crevice and abruptly stops my fall, I’m barely expecting it and only just manage to cling on, my recently dislocated shoulder practically torn again from its socket by the jolt. I hang there, one hand clutching the dagger, pain shooting through me, my feet dangling. For a moment I’m too shocked to do anything, but then I look down and panic grips me once more. I may have fallen a long way, but there’s still an enormous drop beneath me. I try to pull myself up, hoping to secure myself, but my strength isn’t what it was after rotting in that cell.
I don’t know what to do.
Exhausted, and wondering how much longer I can hold on, I allow my body to press close to the rock and for a moment I’m still, feeling its cold surface against my cheek. Despite everything, the very immediate peril I’m in, I close my eyes. How I’ve missed being outside, missed the smell of the air, and I breathe slowly in and out, allowing nature to soothe my soul until the fear starts to subside.
Through the howling storm I notice a softer noise. A gentle hum that’s coming directly from the mountain. I strain to listen, for the sound is sweet and familiar, like a friend calling out in greeting. It’s been so long it takes me a while to realise what I can hear – the fragile whisper of magic.
And as I drink in the buzzing warmth of the mountain, which nourishes me more than food ever could, I finally understand the dissatisfaction that’s been growing inside me since I left the West. Denying the part of me drawn to magic has created an emptiness within. A cold, dark void that has spread every day. I hadn’t known it until now, as the space refills and causes a glow of pure joy to swell inside, even here in the direst of circumstances.
The traces of magic in the East are all but gone, only forgotten fragments lurking in the deepest, darkest parts of the land, but now, somehow, I’m drawing it out of the stone. The problem is I don’t have the knowledge to harness it or utilise it in any way. Esther would know what to do. All I can do is be aware of it.
Or is it?
The last time I tried any kind of summoning it was in Western waters when desperation and a thirst for vengeance had enabled me to rouse water raptors from their slumber. Now my life is in jeopardy again, and if I don’t try something I won’t make it down this mountain alive.
‘Veitja.’ My lips brush the rock as I breathe the ancient word into the mountain. I wonder if the stone will remember this long dead language; certainly I recall very few words from the dusty tomes I read long ago in a dark room on the Sixth Isle. But I remember this one. Help. And, as this archaic tongue belonged to the Mages, I’m hoping it might work for me now.
Nothing happens. The rain runs down my face, melting my hair against my skin, and reminding me that if I don’t fall down the mountain, then I shall certainly freeze to death.
‘Veitja.’ This time I don’t just whisper the word with my mouth; I speak it with every fibre of my being, through every part of my flesh touching the mountain, willing the rock to answer the plea from my very core.
And I hear its reply.
The hum grows louder, a great roar spreading through the granite until it reaches my fingertips and vibrates through my bones. I am utterly connected to the mountain; it awaits my command. The thrill of this magical binding almost makes me forget the danger I’m in – almost – and cautiously I test the cliff face with my foot.
Immediately I find a foothold. Then another. Wherever I move my hands or feet, the rock seems to shift, allowing me enough ledge to grasp hold of, reshaping itself once I’ve passed. I’m able to move fast now, gliding as easily as a raindrop down glass. The moon is obscured by cloud, and so, under the cloak of darkness, I pass safely to the bottom of the ravine. I do not allow myself a moment to marvel at what is happening, not until my feet are firmly on the ground once more, at which point I laugh out loud with relief and astonishment, leaning against the staggeringly vast rock face and spreading my arms wide to embrace it.
‘Thank you.’ I do not know the ancient words of thanks, but hope the sentiment at least will be understood.
The connection is fading, the magic dying away, and I’m painfully aware of the loneliness that slips back in its place. For those brief, intense moments I’d felt oddly complete, a part of something immensely powerful. I can barely believe it just happened. The rock moved. For me. At my request.
I’ve felt the powerful seduction of magic before, but never like this, never without fear and anger tainting it, and as I sprint across the ravine floor, grateful for the cover of shadow, I wonder again if I made the wrong choice turning my back on magic. Given that I’m fleeing for my life, stripped of my title, and further than ever from restoring peace, the decision to become the Viper isn’t looking so much like the right one.
Once I reach the forest that lies west of the mountain, I allow mys
elf a moment to catch my breath. Two weeks in a cell and my fitness is definitely not what it was. But soon this forest will be filled with guards searching for me, so I press on, weaving in and out of trees, their gnarled branches appearing to point the way to freedom.
I need to get to a harbour, need to get off this island, and then I need a plan. First things first, though. I’d better find some warm, dry clothes or I won’t make it at all.
The sound of horses storming in my direction reaches me before I find shelter. The King’s Guard are searching for me. There’s only one place to hide in a forest and so I scale the nearest snowbark tree, climbing the pale white trunk as high as possible to disappear among its dense copper leaves. Perching in a fairly precarious position, lying as flat as possible, I wait, hoping my pursuers will pass through the forest quickly, hardly daring to breathe in case I give myself away.
There’s a rustle in the leaves in front of me and my heart forgets how to beat. Prowling slowly towards me, perfectly camouflaged and far more balanced in this environment than I could ever be, is a timber bear, his eyes liquid black as they meet mine. His claws wrap elegantly round the branches, razor-sharp to catch his prey, and I try hard not to look at them, uncomfortably aware of how easily they could rip me apart.
I’ve never seen one before, but Grace told me about the tree-dwelling creatures, hunted so mercilessly for their russet pelts that they’re close to extinction. They’re beautiful but unpredictable, capable of savagery if threatened – and I imagine finding me in his tree would be considered a threat.
I hold his gaze. There’s no way I’m going to be the one to break it, to show fear. But I’m mentally trying to figure out how I can reach my dagger if he strikes.
His nose starts to twitch, sniffing the air, and then I hear what he has already smelled. They’ve released hounds. My spirits sink. My chances of escape are getting worse all the time, but now I’ve led the guards to the bear and possibly endangered his life too.