The Kingmaker Series, #1

by Gemma Perfect

  Something is wrong. I don’t go for all that magic claptrap they love to bang on about in this Realm, but I know my friend and I know something is wrong.

  I am waiting for Weaver and I reckon he’ll agree with me, or else I’ll make him. There’s ale in the jug so I slosh some in a mug and down it in one go. I’ve had a busy morning and I’m thirsty.

  I prepare the rabbit while I wait for him, skinning it and then gutting it. I throw the head out for the dogs. I don’t have any dogs myself but there’s plenty of them around here and I’m happy to chuck out my scraps for them.

  I stab the body onto a fork and start roasting it over the fire. Weaver will be hungry too and he’ll be glad not to wait. He might have some spoils from his morning too. We’ll have a feast and decide what to do about Archer.

  Ah, Archer. We are a band of brothers, us three, despite my unfortunate gender, and we roam the Realm together, hunting our feed and helping the common man. We give our extra meat and fish to the poorest families, we make sure the King’s men are being just, by keeping our eye on them and what they’re up to. Only last week they had three young boys in the square, all lined up to some end, waiting to punish them in some cruel way, when Weaver shot his arrow straight through one of their bags of gold, collected from some poor farmer or other. The coins streamed out, and in the pandemonium of half the square fighting over the money, the boys ran off. They’ll not catch them again; one urchin in this Realm looks pretty much the same as another.

  The King’s men. All utter hooligans, they are. They reckon they serve the greater good, the ruler of the Realm; mostly they serve themselves. Well, we three wage war on them, best we’re able.

  Well, we did until last week.

  Archer’s kin Halfreda came to visit; she’s the King’s wise woman, lives at the castle, doling out her mumbo jumbo. He reckons he’d had some dream of a Queen. Poor Archer, he’s the softest of us three. Likes to dream, and imagine a different world to the one we live in. Just because he can fight and beds down in a fancier place than mine or Weaver’s, he can’t see the bad in the world. But he wins his jousts and he dishes out most of what he wins; it’s a good contribution to our cause. We keep a little pot that we all chip in to – I’m a good hunter and once we’ve given away what we can, we sell some of the best cuts to the people who can pay for it. Weaver can sew like an old woman, so he mends things for free for the people who can’t pay and charges those who can.

  We try our best to make our little corner of the Realm better. But Archer’s been gone a week. And I don’t know why.

  He was all a bit hush-hush when he left, reckoned he was just visiting his kin. But in the week leading up to the Kingmaker’s death, I don’t reckon it’s a coincidence.

  I taste some rabbit. Tender and rare, just how I like it. I tear strips off, burning my fingers, and cram them straight in my mouth, pour more ale and eat and drink my fill. I leave plenty for Weaver and close my eyes while I wait for him.

  I must have drifted off, a nice snooze after dinner, as Weaver slamming the door wakes me. The rabbit is cold, but I pull off a bone and suck on it.

  “You’ve been ages.” Most of what I say to Weaver comes out as a complaint. I’m not known for my cheery disposition, but I’m a happy grouch. I won’t whinge about the hand I was dealt by fate or any of that crap. I had a rubbish start to life but I’m doing alright.

  “A bit of fighting in the square, couple of men drunk in the morning, taking swings at anyone who came too close. They’re snoring in a ditch now. Nice rabbit?”

  “Lovely. I think there’s something wrong with Archer.”

  He places two rabbits on the table: show off. His eyes narrow. I don’t think he’ll dismiss me; I’m not one to worry or become hysterical.

  “He didn’t say when he’d be back...”

  “True. But it won’t hurt to take a ride up to the castle.”

  Weaver chews on some rabbit, grease dribbling down his chin. “It’ll take a few days.”

  “True.” Stating facts isn’t meant to dissuade me. He likes to mull things over, Weaver, make sure he knows what’s going on, reach the right decision.

  A knock at the door makes us both jump. Weaver waits for me to pull on my mask before opening the door. One of my neighbours: “Thought I smelled rabbit. Brought you some ale.”

  We happily swap our wares and he heads away, eating as he goes. I start skinning another rabbit. If we eat our fill before we go, we won’t have to waste too much time on the road hunting down our dinner.

  I put the rabbit on the fire and take off my mask; it’s too hot to keep on inside, and Weaver has seen my mark a million times.

  He won’t stare or point, or throw me out.

  He won’t mutter spiteful things about the devil’s mark or shrink away from my touch.

  I don’t think he even notices anymore.

  We share the rabbit and make a plan.

  3

  Millard takes a long swig of his wine, raises the goblet to Wolf, who grins at him, and then drinks the rest.

  “My man,” he greets his closest friend and ally.

  “Your Grace.”

  “So, it is done. I am King.”

  Wolf bows low. “You are. We knew it.”

  Millard nods. “Only because you betrayed my brother...”

  Wolf nods. “I would do anything you asked me to.”

  “You serve no other?”

  Wolf shakes his head; the truth.

  Millard pours more wine into his jewelled goblet. He doesn’t offer anything to Wolf. Wolf stands, hands clasped behind him, waiting.

  “I’m in a good mood, Wolf, but I have to say I was worried about you.”

  “Your Grace?”

  “You betrayed my brother so easily, you spilled his secrets as easily as I pour this wine. How do I know you won’t do the same to me?”

  “Your Grace, I served Macsen only because you told me to, I spilled his secrets because you asked me to. I serve no other.”

  Millard nods, watching Wolf over the top of his goblet. “I think I believe you. But I need to be wise, Wolf. I need to know that my trust isn’t in vain. That you are indeed, my man. I’ll be watching you. Fetch me the fool’s boy.”

  Wolf nods and turns to leave.

  “Bring me Everleigh’s handmaiden too. I may trust your loyalty for now, but can I trust theirs?”

  Wolf nods and leaves.

  Millard smiles as he surveys his room; he won’t move into his father’s old rooms. The witch can have them. He likes it where he is; he won’t sleep in a dead man’s bed or walk in his shoes. This reign is his own and he plans to enjoy it.

  KILL HIM.

  Everleigh’s words fall heavy in the quiet room and while Will and Ginata nod at her words, they are both scared. They all know that Millard must die. Not only because of what he’s done today but because of what he will do to Everleigh when she takes his crown. He won’t accept it or agree to her being Queen and so death or prison are the only two options and after what he did today, they can both see why Everleigh is suddenly steely in her decision to end his life.

  “We need to go to the island first. I’ll do it when we come back.”

  Will takes her hand, stopping her from pacing the room. “How? I know you’re furious with him. Understandably, but he’ll be heavily guarded. How will you kill him?”

  “Quickly.”

  Will and Ginata laugh, some of the tension in the room dissipating.

  “Good idea. But practically, how?”

  Everleigh shrugs. She doesn’t really know how, only that she wants to do it, needs to do it. Too many people have died and Millard is too unstable to rule the Realm. She needs the crown that is rightfully hers on her head, before too long, before he causes any more damage and before she sinks into another gloom at the mention of Archer’s name, or the thought of his eyes, his smile, his mouth on hers...

  “I’ll think of something. I must. I have to do this, don’t I?”

&nb
sp; Will and Ginata nod, none of them feeling old enough or wise enough, or in any way equipped to make the decisions here, or to properly guide Everleigh.

  “For Halfreda and Archer. For my father. I have to avenge their deaths, and someone has to rule the Realm, look after all the people, my people. I can’t trust Millard to do anything. He’s not all there in the head.”

  They both know she is right.

  “Ginata, you said you can perform the ceremony on the island?”

  Ginata nods, she has all Halfreda’s knowledge and the authority to do so as the new wise woman of the castle. “I would rather do it quickly, so that Millard doesn’t find out.”

  Everleigh nods. “Let’s go.”

  “Without Lanorie?”

  “Yes. Millard can’t know that Ginata is assisting me in any way. So, we need to be quick.”

  The knock at the door makes them all jump.

  “Open up.”

  Everleigh ducks out of sight, in the other room. Will stays by Ginata’s side.

  Ginata opens the door, an easy smile on her face. She almost balks at the sight of Wolf, flanked by two heavy-set guards, swords aloft, but she keeps her smile pasted on.

  “You.” Wolf points at Will, who turns white. “With me.”

  Will’s feet won’t move, but Ginata squeezes his arm and her touch seems to wake him up. Reluctantly he leaves the warmth of Halfreda’s rooms and follows Wolf.

  Wolf pats him on the back, almost knocking him over. “One of the pages said you was with the witch. Come on, the King wants you.”

  AS SOON AS THE DOOR shuts, Everleigh rushes to Ginata’s side. “What will he do with him?”

  Ginata can only shrug. Any sort of sixth sense or instinct has run away from her. She needs calm and quiet to see things, and this day has given none.

  “What can we do?”

  Ginata takes Everleigh’s hands in her own, wishing she was as wise as Halfreda.

  “Nothing. We can only wait and hope. Why don’t we go to the island? Rather than stay here worrying.”

  Everleigh nods, and Ginata finds her one of Halfreda’s old cloaks. Everleigh tucks all her hair away and then sits the hood down low over her face.

  Ginata checks the way is clear and takes Everleigh’s arm. She is risking her own life and future by having anything to do with her, but she cannot turn away.

  They walk in step to the island, and Ginata pulls out the boat, helping Everleigh to climb in.

  The three bodies are laid out, Everleigh’s murderous brother Macsen, Halfreda and Archer. Only one of them can be Archer – the tallest of the three – and Everleigh almost drops to the floor at his side. Ginata senses it and holds on to her arm.

  “It’s alright,” she lies and Everleigh nods, wishing she could believe her. Wishing it was true.

  Ginata gives her no time to fall apart and starts sprinkling white powder over them; a cleansing herb to help them on their way. Then while Everleigh silently weeps, she starts chanting. Everleigh walks to her brother, drops to her knees, touches him. She cannot see him, nor would she want to now, his head cruelly separated from his body, dusty from rolling on the floor, and she cannot quite believe all that’s happened. That this funny, loving boy, her brother, her favourite brother, did this. He killed their father and would have killed her. All for a crown. All for her crown.

  She pushes him into the water and turns to Halfreda. Grief is a new emotion; she was young when her mother died and so she missed her but never really grieved properly.

  Seeing Halfreda’s body bundled up hurts her, physically, it takes her breath and punishes her. She wants her back, she wants to hear her voice, and see her smile, touch her soft cheek, conspire with her. She smiles at a fond memory and cries harder as the pain turns sharp in her belly; she knows who is next.

  Archer.

  She pushes Halfreda in to the water and walks to Archer’s side.

  A perfect young man, one she barely knew and yet felt so deeply for. The first man to turn her head, the first man to kiss her. The first man to wake emotions in her she thought she would never get to enjoy.

  Archer.

  So handsome, so brave, so willing to fight and die for her.

  She drops her head on to his chest, bundled as it is, and sobs.

  When she learned that she would live and rule she had been so happy. And so naïve. She thought her father would be happy, her brothers would be pleased for her, the Realm would celebrate and that this man, this beautiful man, would rule beside her. Her King and knight, her lover and protector.

  And now he’s gone.

  She is all but alone in the world.

  The new feelings Archer had awoken, now stripped and trampled and ruined. All that was left now: death.

  Loneliness and death.

  She reaches for the little silver brooch he gave her, a tiny replica crown, and is about to unpin it, to send something of her away with him, when she hesitates. This is all she has of him now, the one gift he had given her, apart from a feeling that she could have a future, a love, a happiness of her own. She leaves the brooch pinned on her dress and puts her hands on him but cannot bear to push him away. She cannot bear that he is gone and that he will never be back. His shock of red hair gone. Her cries become louder, until they are a wail. Ginata sits beside her, rocking her, letting her cry, letting her get it all out. She needs to cry, needs to rail against the cruelty of the events of the week. Ginata takes her hand. “It’s time.”

  Everleigh shakes her head, but Ginata takes her hand and helps her to push, to push Archer away, to let him rest in peace.

  Everleigh collapses onto the dirty floor, and Ginata quietly watches her.

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