“Uri?” I echo disbelievingly. “He had a piece of the key?”
“The Breath of the Dragon,” she confirms. “He said his mother gave it to him to remember her by, but Zeldek had me confiscate it from him nonetheless. At the time, I just assumed that Zeldek didn't want him to have anything personal that would make him want to leave.”
“But why would he keep them there if he only wanted their necklaces?” I muse. “Do you suppose that Uri and Annalyn could have some kind of special power that we don't know about?”
She snorts at this. “Even if they do, Annalyn is too soft to hurt anyone with it and Uri's too stupid to even discover that he had it. Believe me when I say that we are in no danger from them.” Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she grows more serious. “However, it is a possibility, and I do think that Zeldek kept them enslaved so he could find out if they did have special abilities. He's always looking for powerful people to subjugate and use to his own advantage.”
We fall silent. A thought comes to me, and I find myself smiling.
“What?” she demands.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply with a grin. “I'm just flattered that you thought that I was pure of heart.”
She looks at me, squinting slightly. “There is something about you, Ealdred. Something that I can't, as of yet, understand—”
It would have been nice to hear what she was going to say next, but unfortunately, she is unable to finish. The golden doors burst open and King Leonel strides into the room, flanked by a dozen ezixs.
Chapter Forty-One
“H
alt!” the king cries in his irritating, self-important way. “Hand over that arrow at once, or I will have these beasts tear you to shreds!”
Bellator arches an eyebrow and turns to him, bowing mockingly. “Oh yes, yes, anything you say, your divine majesty,” she says, her voice dripping with spite.
The king scowls at her. “Oh, you. I knew that I shouldn't have believed the rumours of your death.”
She straightens up with a harsh laugh. “I'm sorry to disappoint, my liege. But, as you should already know, it takes a lot more than serpents to kill me!”
He rolls his eyes. “If I had known that a girl so young could keep such a grudge, I would have killed you then and gotten it over with!”
“Because locking a nine-year-old girl in a pit of poisonous snakes for days without food or water just wasn't cruel enough for you, was it?”
“You survived it, didn't you? And you are stronger because of it,” he says, as if the accusations are nothing to feel guilty about.
“Stronger? You made me into a beast that needed to be caged!” she spits, her voice passionate with hatred.
Leonel laughs. “'Zandelba' may be afraid of you, witch, but I can see past your façade! You're still that feeble little brat huddled in the corner, petrified of the dark.”
“I am the dark!” she snarls.
“Such an imagination,” he says with vague annoyance. “Give the arrow to me, or I'll put you back into that pit. And this time it will be for the rest of your worthless life!”
“You apparently haven't heard,” she sneers, “but your precious master was just here, and I sent him home with a wound that won't quickly mend. If he couldn't take it from me, do you really think that a petty mortal like you can?”
A look of doubt passes through the king's eyes, but then he raises his sword so that she can see it. “You may have your arrow,” he says, “but I have this!”
“Ah yes,” she scoffs. “A magical sword that you can hardly use. I'm terrified now.”
His face turns red and he points at her. “Kill her!”
The ezixs rush toward us.
I begin to hoist up my sword, preparing to fight, but Bellator is quicker than I am. She takes the arrow in her hand, and points it at them, shouting, “Hiltzeko!”
A streak of white light flashes like forked lighting from the end of the arrow and disintegrates the entire line of ezixs into ashes that scatter in all directions. The king throws up his sword, deflecting the lightning with the blade. He looks around, fear flashing through his eyes as he finds that he is alone.
“Well,” he says, forcing a chuckle, “I see that your magic has greatly improved. But what about your skill with the sword? Have you even practiced that, or will you forever resort to hiding behind your bow?”
Bellator takes his bate. She throws down her bow and quiver of arrows.
“We fight hand to hand.” She turns to me. “Take the arrow, half-wit, and give me my sword.”
“Half-wit?” the king snorts, finally acknowledging my presence. “It does suit you, doesn't it?”
My face grows warm even as I pretend to ignore him, and I draw the sword, handing it to Bellator. She thrusts the arrow into my hands and faces the king once more, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.
“We fight to the death,” she says. “Winner gets the arrow. I'll throw in the half-breed too, since I've heard you've condemned him for sorcery or something of the like.”
The king nods his agreement to the terms.
I am really starting to resent the way that she continues to endanger me like this.
“Hypocritical, if you go into detail,” she adds acidly, “since your bloodline has been mingled with the magical blood of the Vaelhyreans for centuries.”
“It is for the king alone to have the power of the gods,” he replies arrogantly, and they face off, crossing their swords between them.
That is the sign for the fight to begin, and begin it does. First the king slashes at her and then she slashes at the king. That's how these things always start, it seems. I observe both of their bearings as the battle continues with ferocity on both sides. Bellator is agile, but the king is stronger and obviously a very skilled fighter. Adding to that, the magic of his sword sends blue sparks at her face every time their swords clash.
As the murderous dance wears on, it grows clear that King Leonel has the upper hand. Bellator is getting slower, and he frequently gains ground, while she loses it. Her strength is still drained from breaking the spell, and the fact that she was eaten by a snake only a few days ago certainly can’t be helping. At last, the outcome is inevitable. Leonel rips her sword out of her hand, and points Stormcrest at her chest.
“Ha!” he taunts breathlessly. “You have lost, as I knew you would. My master will be pleased that I have avenged him.”
He runs the tip of his sword up her neck, forcing her to look up at him. She flinches, breathing heavily. There is a flicker fear in her eyes, but there is something different about it this time. Nothing like the fear I’d seen when she was falling down the snake's throat. It's almost... artificial.
“Please, don't kill me!” she whimpers mockingly, and then her voice grows callous. “Is that what you want to hear? Just as it was before, with me at your mercy!”
And that's when I see what she is doing. Before I can say or do anything, she jerks out a knife that is strapped to her leg, rolls out from under his sword, and thrusts her knife into his stomach. He doubles over, his sword falling from his hand. There is an alarmingly savage glint in her eyes as she shoves him onto his back, still holding onto the knife.
“Oh, vengeance is sweet!” she says through her teeth. “I always imagined that it would end this way. With fire and blood. Isn't that what you said to me once?”
He gasps, trying to pull out the knife, but she presses it in more.
“Now, now, don't touch it,” she chides. “I need time for the venom to take its hold in you.”
“V-venom?” he stammers, his face turning ashen.
“Aye, the venom. Compliments of Ealdred.”
I have been standing paralyzed until this point, but when she says this, I break out of my stupor.
“What?”
She pulls the knife from him and throws it at my feet, blood splattering the floor around it. I bend down and pick it up. She's right. It is mine. It is the knife that she’d given to me. The one that I threw int
o the giant viper's mouth. She must have retrieved it when she escaped and laced it with poison from the creature's fangs.
I swallow. “Bellator, that's Hamish's father.”
“Yes, it certainly is.” She rises to her feet, looking down at him. “And Hamish will make a much better king than he ever has been!”
I feel panic rising in my throat. “You are supposed to be protecting Valamette!”
“You're right, I am!” she spits, snatching the arrow from my hands. “The king is dead! Long live prosperity!”
I shake my head and push past her, falling to my knees at the king's side. He turns his gaze to me, his sapphire eyes clouding.
“Sir?” I say, touching his arm.
He shrinks away, and even now disgust crosses his face. “Get away from me!” he chokes. “You caused this!”
“Please,” I say, “let me help you!”
“No. I want my son! I want Hamish!”
“He's— not here...” My voice falters, and I back away, feeling suddenly very lost.
A loud bang jolts me from my confusion, and I turn in the direction of the sound. Any sorrow that I am beginning to feel fades into horror as Hamish himself rushes into the room.
“There you are!” he says, looking relieved. “I tried to follow right away, but the door...”
His voice trails off as the scene before him registers on his countenance. A cry of alarm escapes his throat when he sees his father's gasping form, and he rushes to his side. He kneels down beside the king and puts his hand to his father's cheek.
“Father?” he whispers.
“H-Hamish,” the king gasps, his breath coming short. “M-my son. My brave, precious son.”
“I am here, father,” Hamish says reassuringly, tears spilling down his cheeks.
“I said not to trust him,” the king wheezes. “Didn't I tell you not to?”
“What— what are you talking about?” Hamish asks, his voice trembling. “I do not understand what you are saying.”
“The half-breed!” The king's gaze darts to me. “He did this to me—”
He breaks into a fit of coughing, and Hamish helplessly pats his shoulder, assuring him that everything will be well.
I feel myself going cold all over. He's blaming me. He's blaming me for this. And to make things worse, he's trying to turn Hamish against me before he goes.
“Avenge me,” the king rasps. “Promise me.”
Hamish shakes his head, taking a shuddering breath. “Father, you're not—”
“Swear to it!”
“Father—”
“Do it!”
Hamish closes his eyes. “I swear.”
The king is labouring to breathe now, and it seems to be taking great effort for him to speak. “Do not fail me this time...”
His breath leaves him and he goes very still.
Frozen in place, Hamish stares unblinking at the body of his father. The very air is hushed, and even Bellator remains unmoving, giving the prince a moment to grieve. Hamish sits back on his knees, trembling all over. He swallows and presses his hand over his mouth, and I know that he is trying to be brave. But his composure dissolves and he slides down to his hands and knees, collapsing into heartbreaking sobs.
Sorrow washes over me, more for him than for his – for our – father. How could I have let this happen? I should have stopped Bellator before she killed him. I should have done something! But if she hadn't killed him, Leonel would have killed her.
Hamish straightens up and turns to us. His face is streaked with tears.
“You!” he shouts, pointing at Bellator. “You killed him!”
“What if I did?” she retorts, reaching for her quiver, which is once again strapped to her side.
He draws his sword. “I made a promise to my father that I would avenge him, and I will die before I break that oath!”
No! If he attacks her, Bellator will surely kill him too!
“Are you deaf?” I shout indignantly, turning my expression as cold and unfeeling as the walls around me.
Hamish and Bellator turn to me, surprise apparent on both of their faces.
“What?” Hamish demands.
I hold up the dagger, which is still dripping with my father's blood, and try my best to imitate Bellator's chilling sneer. “Did you not hear what your father said? I killed him! I killed King Leonel!”
Hamish gapes, horror stricken. “You?”
I look down my nose at him as I take a step in his direction. It hurts, but I force the words out. “Perhaps you're merely daft!”
His lower lip quivers. “But- but why?”
“Do you really think that I would forgive him for the way he treated me? Never! He deserved what he received!” My words come out with such passion that I am convinced their truth is rooted in me. I doubt that I could ever have forgiven him. That I ever will.
“But we trusted you! I trusted you!”
I look directly into his glistening eyes and sneer. “You should be careful who you trust, little prince. Your father was right about me, though you were too gullible to see it! I am more dangerous than you can possibly understand.”
He charges toward me with a scream of rage, brandishing his sword wildly. I don't know what I would have done had not Bellator cried, “Vanesco!” at that moment. Hamish vanishes into thin air, along with – I notice moments later – the body of King Leonel.
I turn to Bellator, completely dropping my harsh composure. “Where did you send him?” I ask, my voice breaking in my throat.
For once, she doesn’t have a quick retort ready on her tongue. She stares at me, her brows furrowed in confusion and her mouth parted in shock. Then she shakes her head, dropping her gaze to the floor.
“Where did you send him?” I cry desperately.
She looks back at me. “I sent them back to Gerithold...” Her voice trails off.
I heave a sigh of relief.
“Why?” she asks abruptly. “Why did you do that? I would have been happy to take the credit for that, and I would be tempted to feel threatened by you stealing my thunder had it not been you that did it! You’re such an idiot. You finally had a chance at being happy. The king was gone and you had the trust of the crowned prince! Hamish would have let you stay with him for as long as you wanted!”
I grow angry. “I did it to protect him from you!”
“I wouldn't have killed him!”
“Wouldn't you have?”
She hesitates.
“It was the only way to ensure that both of you remained safe.”
She snorts. "He wouldn't have been able to scratch me.”
“That's not what I meant! Batuel charged you with protecting Valamette. It is your duty!”
“You don't have to tell me, half-wit. I know what is required of me!”
“No, you have to listen to me!” I cry. “You have to stop caring only about yourself. It is your country now, Bellator, whether you like it or not. You are the protector of the people of Valamette and you must fulfil that duty, because there is no one else that will! And how do you expect them to accept you if they find out that you killed their king?”
“I get it, alright?” she snaps. Then she smirks. “Thanks to your play-acting, they'll be on the lookout for you instead. Even I thought you had lost your mind, you played it so well.”
I don't take it as a compliment.
It is better this way, I tell myself. Hamish was born to rule. He may be hurt now, but it's nothing compared to the pain that I may cause him if I stay and my true identity is revealed. I will not take away his chance to prove himself to the people. And even if Bellator doesn't see it yet, Valamette needs her. Hamish will need her. My one hope is that my faith in both of them is not misplaced.
“And another thing,” I add.
She rolls her eyes. “What now?”
“You must promise me that you will bring no harm to Hamish, and that you will give him your full support and undivided loyalty for as long as he is king.”
She shrugs. “Sure. My grudge was against his father alone.”
“Please! You must protect him, whether it goes against your own interests or not!”
She stares at me for a moment, weighing her options. “I will.”
“Swear it on the thing you hold most dear!”
Our gazes meet, and she sighs. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I will protect him with my life.”
I feel reassured, because for once, I know she is telling the truth.
Chapter Forty-Two
“H
alf-wit,” Bellator's voice comes softly from behind me.
The evening sky is dark and starry, and moonlight shines down into the garden. I slide off of the bench that I am sitting on and turn to Bellator. She is outfitted in a long black jerkin, a simple white shirt with armguards over it, and trousers. The firestone, which is not illuminated at the moment, hangs around her neck. We retrieved the three stones on our way out of the underground cavern, and she returned my amulet back to me with only feeble resistance. No doubt the third necklace is locked away in the same place that she’s hidden the arrow of Arnon.
The walk back to the castle was long and tedious. My spirits were low the entire time. Bellator seemed to guess it because after she transported Jambeau's unconscious body back to Gerithold, she tried small talk in an attempt to cheer me up. The problem was, she isn't all that great at cheering people up, and she gave up pretty quickly.
When we returned to the surface early this morning, the castle had indeed been restored to its previous splendour. Batuel certainly outdid herself. The walls, ramparts, and gates rise protectively around a courtyard, a huge keep, and the palace. Even the clearing outside of Arnon has been replenished, and is now green with flourishing grass. Inside the palace is well furnished and decorated like some haunted castle, which thrilled Bellator. We spent the entire day exploring it and the grounds outside.
As evening drew closer, Bellator allotted me a room in the guest quarters that was equipped with a bathhouse. We both cleaned up and then met in the dining room for a silent dinner, after which she retired to her rooms for a rest. I went out to the garden to clear my thoughts, which is where I am now.
Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1) Page 31