The Vengeful Robin

by Erica Andrews

  With a light squeeze of the shoulder, he pulled me back to what mattered.

  The man in front of us.

  "Robin, this is Aman. He's been with Jon since he started the village some fifteen years ago."

  I took in Aman’s mechanical eye and leg with renewed interest as he stood in front of me refusing to hide what he obviously wore with honor. "Did you get those before or after you came with Jon?"

  He smiled, showcasing two missing front teeth. "Aye, I got it before. By your father's soldiers."

  He eyed Claius. "Though they were nice enough to let me be a test dummy and fix what they broke. After that, young Jon found me and I followed him."

  Words burned on the tip of my tongue. I ached to tell him he was lying. That my father's men wouldn't do something so malicious. But hadn't I also experienced what those men were like?

  He smiled, chipper, the gap in his teeth staring back at me.

  Even following his revelation, which still burned in my gut, I found on instinct that I liked the small man in front of me. This old timer had seen a lot in his years and probably could read me like a book.

  Me, on the other hand, I don't know half as much as I should.

  So, I did the only thing that I could.

  I listened.

  "So, Aman, what can I help you with?"

  His red eye twisted in its metal socket as he seemed to zero in on me.

  My attention stayed on him as I tried not to look at myself in his red lens.

  His features seemed to be at odds with each other. For while darkness radiated from his eye, joy shone through his smile.

  He was a conundrum.

  And for some reason, that intrigued me. His differences, along with his scars.

  "I want to help."

  His abruptness caught me off guard, and I furrowed my brow. "I'm sorry, what do you mean, you want to help? Help in what way?"

  His mechanical eye rolled, along with his other one. The springs connected to the red lens jerked and made clicking noises. "I want to help the girls."

  He paused, licking his lips. "Your lad, also… I want to help get him free."

  Mouth dry, I coughed, surprised at the small man and his sewn together parts. Here was a man who had surprised me with his request, and for the first time in a long time, I couldn't form words.

  Though many swirled through my head.

  Gratitude… humbleness… shock.

  In his hand, the old man held a twisted, gnarled cane. He tapped it on the ground to get my attention. "Your boy? He's a soldier, isn't he?"

  "Was… He was a soldier." The words flew from my mouth before I could stop them.

  I licked my lips. "He was, but now he's another set of eyes. And he helps me rescue the girls."

  The man banged his cane against the ground again as he shook his head. "You don't have to defend him. I was just making sure."

  He glanced between Claius and me, his red eye zooming in. "Now, when are we doing this rescue mission?"

  I took a small peek at Claius, trying to gauge his reaction while asking him a silent question.

  He shrugged, leaving me to make sure the man before me knew the risks.

  "Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, this is a dangerous mission. And I was a soldier like the ones who gave you those scars." I point to his leg, the gauges and wires whistling and twisting, interrupting the small break of silence between us.

  Then I ask the question that means the most. "Why do you trust me?"

  He smiled, tapping his cane against the leg made of machinery, the sound slightly hollow. "I've been waiting for my chance at these soldiers for a long time."

  He looked down, squeezing the handle of his cane till his fingers went white. "Ya see, they took someone from me. A person I loved very much."

  Releasing the handle, he looked back up, smiling once more. "And as for the latter… well, girly, I think that if you can be raised by that monster, and have an uncle as another, and still care about the weak and the innocent, then I think you might be all right."

  Monster?

  Aman continued to talk, but his words were drowned out as the word “monster” reverberated through my head.

  Was he saying it was my father that had ordered his loved one to be taken?

  All this time, I thought of my grandfather and uncle as the possible monsters, never for a second thinking it could also possibly be my father.

  Was he another secret that had been held in a sea of lies?

  "Girly?"

  Claius tightened his hand on my shoulder, while Aman’s gruff voice pulled me from my musings.

  Blinking, I patted Claius' hand before giving him a small smile. Concern etched his face, but I shook my head, telling him now wasn't the time.

  Aman curiously observed my small, silent conversation with Claius before clearing his throat. "You all right there, girly?"

  I tried to smile, even as my mind slowly began putting the missing pieces together. I fought to stay active in the conversation. "I'm fine, just something you said."

  I paused, not really sure if I was ready for answers to the questions swirling inside my brain. "Aman, I have to ask this if we are going to work together. But who took your loved one from you?"

  Dread churned in my gut.

  Claius, as if sensing the turmoil within me, began rubbing my back in rhythmic circles, soothing me.

  Palms sweaty, my stomach bottomed as the concern of just moments ago dropped from Aman’s face, to be slowly replaced by the one expression I despised above all else.

  Pity.

  Nausea took over me while I stood still, waiting for the words that were about to fall from his lips. In some sick, twisted type of punishment, even though I could hazard a guess at what the answer was, I had to hear the words spoken.

  "Your father took my wife."

  Pain and betrayal slammed through me. The emotions ran over me, making me feel something even the dungeon hadn't been able to.

  Shame.

  Shame at being part of a family that seemed to know no bounds. Shame that the more I unearthed, the more I found I didn't really know them at all. And that maybe I had helped with an enemy far longer than I wanted to admit.

  Maybe I was what everyone thought of me.

  Someone not to be trusted.

  Beware the dark side of a man that wouldn't show his.

  Words from my father's mouth burned itself inside my mind.

  All this time, I’d thought he’d been talking about the enemy, but maybe, just maybe, he had been talking about himself...

  I had to know just how much damage my father had done. How much I had done.

  "Aman, why would he take your wife? Did she do something she shouldn't…"

  "Your father took her because she was a shifter, and he didn't want anyone to know they existed. Let alone be with us, regular humans."

  Aman's answer cut through me.

  Shifters?

  Myths.

  Or that's what my father and uncle had said on the one occasion I had decided to broach the subject.

  I had listened to the old stories the lower caste told on one of the many days of my pretend swordplay. They used to talk of the old days when shifters roamed free. Helped the innocent. Kept watch over the village.

  My father and uncle had said it was a story to help the lowers sleep at night. I had believed them.

  So, could it be they actually were real? And if they were, why did my father want to take them?

  "Aman, could you be wrong? I mean… shifters? It's a little far-fetched…"

  "They're real." Claius’ low, melodious voice cut me. His words sliced through whatever hope I had been grasping for. He was one of the few I trusted to always tell me the truth, even when it hurt—like now.

  I turned around, blanking out Aman, and instead took Claius’ hand and waited for him to explain.

  "Robin, did you ever wonder how Jon and this place came to be, and why your father left them alone?"
/>   I had wondered this exact thing. And I cringed inwardly at how easily I dismissed the questions, choosing instead to believe my father had allowed these people the choice to have a sovereign place where they could live in peace.

  I was naive.

  At my silence, Claius pressed on. "Many of these people weren't always outcasts. They were pushed to leave by your father to keep their stories quiet. Stories that would prove shifters did exist and helped in the kingdom long before any of us had been born. When your father took the crown, people assumed he would be the same as your grandfather. Hard… but fair."

  He squeezed my hand and closed his eyes.

  I braced myself for the next blow to my glass house.

  "I was young like Jon, but I remember the day shifters were told to hide, not allowed to change. Then, one by one, they went missing. Jon's father was one of them. And so Jon, Aman, and a few others brought the people here, away from your father. When we were safe, Jon sent an emissary to the castle to ask for sanctuary, on the proviso that we could promise to stay quiet. His answer was swift. He killed the boy and promised we were safe as long as we never stepped foot in Fraser again."

  The hits kept coming.

  The father and family I stood beside for years were sick, twisted monsters.

  I was numb.

  How had I missed all this? Claius and Jon had been mere teenage boys when this had all happened. They weren’t much older than me, so where was I?

  The answer came quick.

  Safe behind the castle walls. Playing with my sisters, while the maids attended to us.

  Did my sisters have any idea?

  Probably not, if I was honest with myself. We were secluded from others. The only people we were allowed to see were those our mother and father deemed appropriate. They had no idea about the few times I stole away and met my friends for a bit of swordplay.

  All my life, I had looked up to my father. Been his number one supporter. Thinking he could do no wrong.

  Now everything I had ever known seemed to be going down in a flood of lies. Which meant what my uncle was doing was really only the tip of the iceberg.

  I shook my head, trying to focus on the two men in front of me, instead of the lies and deceit. I turned back to Aman, seeing he had been watching me and Claius closely. "Aman, if what you’re saying is true…"

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand so I could finish. "If what you're saying is true—and I hate to admit my family is this horrible—but I believe you. Then I hope you do help us. No matter who my family is. And maybe we can figure out what else my uncle and father were keeping from me.”

  I looked back at Claius. "Is there anyone who you think would want to be a part of this? Anyone who might need to know what happened to their loved ones?"

  Claius smiled, his white teeth taking on a look of a predator.

  It thrilled and frightened me.

  Maybe I didn't know as much about Claius as I thought.

  "I may know a couple… but we can't meet out here like this."

  I nodded, looking between the two men. One a model of perfection. The other broken beyond measure.

  Both willing to help the fallen princess.

  My insides were destroyed, my heart and mind tattered, but an absolute thrill coursed through me at the prospect of getting help. To make things right. Even if I didn't have all the answers about Jon, Claius, my family.

  I was going to figure all this out.

  Even the parts that scared me.

  "Okay, let's meet at my tent at nightfall. We don't need this coming to blows with Jon. And Claius, don't think I didn't hear what you said earlier. We are going to talk about that."

  They nodded, Claius laughing at my last words.

  I turned and headed for the watering hole. If I was going to have to deal with a bunch of men, the least I could do was be semi-clean.

  11

  Robin

  * * *

  The sun had fallen about an hour ago. The campfire outside burned bright, lighting my small tent. People just getting done with their chores gathered around it for warmth as I paced by my bed.

  And waited.

  Patience was never one of my best virtues.

  Any time now, Aman and Claius would bring me the men who they thought would come and help.

  Though, judging by Aman and Claius’ revelations earlier, that could be anybody. Or nobody. I had learned the hard way that many people saw Jon as their protector and would consider this as a move against his wishes.

  But I couldn’t stop, even if I wanted to. Whether it was because of my chance at being an elite, or just something I was born with, I had to make things right. And if Smite was really in trouble, which I was confident he was, then I had no choice but to save him.

  Where were they?

  I wasn’t used to waiting on others or asking for help.

  While I was used to doing everything in a group, some things were different now.

  I now had to ask for help.

  In the past, I told, not asked.

  The only thing that made all of these changes easier to handle was that maybe, with this little vine of help, rescuing Smite and the girls had become a real possibility. So I pushed away everything else. The last thing I needed to think about was my emotions, about what could be happening to Smite and the girls, and instead focus on what I could do now.

  Which was wait.

  Sitting down in my chair, I heard laughter flitter through the flap of my tent. Envy tugged at me. They seemed genuinely happy. I was sure even Lily and Jamie were out there, listening to the songs and stories.

  A part of me wished I could be out there too, but my place was here. Eyeing the tent and waiting for people who hated my father as much as I used to love him.

  It was ironic.

  Someone thrummed a string instrument outside while memories of happier, naive times threatened to come forth. My sisters’ faces crept up, and it was all I could do to picture what they looked like before that night.

  Lace, with her reddish-brown hair. I had been so jealous of her hair. More cinnamon than orange, it framed her heart-shaped face delicately. She was always the most beautiful. Out of my two sisters, she was also the quietest. Always with a book and a studious expression. My polar opposite in every way. God, did I love her. The rational one. The one who would take her time. The one who, if she were here right now, would have calmed me down.

  A small smile stretched my lips as I thought of her chastising me.

  Then there was Rory. The firecracker. She had been more like me, just with a dress and tiara.

  Bossy beyond belief, one would think she was spoiled and honestly, she probably was, but that's what happened when you were the baby.

  If I was truthful, we had all been spoiled in one way or another. We had also garnered attention everywhere we went.

  Lords and ladies discussed how we would find wonderful husbands. With our looks, none could compare. We were sure to go down in history. And while Rory had seemed happy at this assessment, Lace and I had turned up our noses and rolled our eyes at the idea of husbands, albeit for different reasons. Mine because at the time, I had just joined the academy, while Lace was all about her studies. She was determined to become a medicine woman—always researching her herbs, mixing potions and coming up with theories. If anyone could have found out what was in those shots, it would have been Lace. I closed my eyes, letting the mournful music and people singing along take me under.

  That night, the soldiers had stormed into our room and pulled us from our beds. They beat us… violated us. Everything had changed. Uncle John had wanted power above everything else, and he made sure he got it by killing my family that night.

  Of course, he didn't say we had to be killed right away. My sisters’ screams, begging for mercy, still rattled in my brain, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I had been left to be taken to the dungeon.

  I went to wipe my nose and found my face wet.
Lost in the music of their memory, I hadn't realized that I had been crying. Dashing my hand over my cheeks, I removed the evidence of my walk down memory lane before the men arrived. The last thing they needed to see was a woman lost in her emotions. They would run for the hills. It was essential they knew I could handle the task. That what I wanted them to take on, I could just as easily handle.

  My tent flap rustled, and I sniffed to push the last bit of my tears out of the way, leaving no evidence of what had just occurred.

  Aman pushed his head in, smiling his missing tooth smile. “Princess."

  I rolled my eyes.

  Seemingly in a happy mood, he walked in, his awkward gait traipsing him into my tent, while a pipe hung in his mouth.

  "Aman, just call me Robin. I’m no longer a princess.” He shook his head as he walked in the rest of the way, and sat on my weapons chest before removing his pipe. "Once a princess, always a princess."

  Ignoring him, I turned back to the flap to see three men shuffle in.

  Aman, noticing the direction of my gaze, turned and waved them in. “Aye, get your big asses in here. Girl ain’t gotta tell you what to do. And I’m not your mammy.”

  Not wanting to scare off the people willing to help, I stepped forward, inviting them in. "Hello, gentlemen. Thank you for coming."

  As the men walked in, one broke from the pack and walked ahead to stand near Aman. It was the man instructing the ones with swords earlier today. His soft blue eyes never left mine. I couldn’t take in the rest of his face given the curtain of black hair that blanketed it.

  Silence descended during our stare down, and suddenly deja vu hit me.

  Had I seen him before?

  Aman, not caring for the silence, or one’s comfortableness it seemed, walked over to the man closest to me and slapped him on the lower back while smiling up at him. Unkempt, dark hair hung slightly in his blue eyes. Average looking, if not somewhat overweight, and his eyes held affection for the small man. Because of that, I instantly liked him.

  We might get along fine.

  "Princess, this is Fagen. His parents were taken when he was a lad. Afterwards, he followed Jon and started over here.”