Avery (Random Romance)

by Charlotte McConaghy

  ‘No, I suppose you weren’t.’

  ‘And what punishment will the Queen receive for her crimes?’ he asked.

  ‘What crimes are those, kid?’

  ‘You know exactly what they are.’

  I shook my head, stretching my back. ‘You’re getting on my nerves.’ I pulled on a tunic and rang the bell beside my bed. A serving girl entered, her eyes downcast.

  ‘Fetch us some food.’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  Once she was gone, Avery turned to me. ‘Do you speak that rudely to all women?’

  ‘What was rude about that?’

  ‘How about a “please”? Or don’t you consider women worthy of manners?’

  ‘What are you talking about? She’s a servant, so she gets me food. We all have roles to play.’

  He stared at me. There was darkness in his eyes. ‘You’re a fool,’ he said softly.

  I blinked. ‘There’s no need to take offence at the differences between the two sexes.’

  He turned pointedly away. I would never understand Kayans.

  Once the food was delivered, I handed him a bowl of oats. He dumped it straight into my lap. I looked down at him, barely daring to believe what he had just done. I hadn’t been treated with such disdain for a very long time – not since a winter solstice and a challenge that had ended in the snow. ‘The last time you tested my temper I knocked you flat on the ground,’ I murmured. ‘Next time you do it, you’ll get a broken wrist. Understood?’

  He glared up at me, daring me. I didn’t like hurting him, but insubordination wasn’t to be tolerated. If you were weak enough to be dominated by someone stronger, then you deserved to be. Men fought for power – that was the way of things and I was no different. All the power I possessed came from the strength I’d demonstrated. Clenching my jaw, I backhanded his other cheek, harder this time. A grunt of pain escaped Avery as he fell against the bed, spitting blood. He didn’t reach to touch his cheek, only glared up at me, eyes blazing into a much brighter shade of purple. They glowed, and the tiny flecks of navy in them danced. I felt as though I was looking right into his fury. But there was no fear – still no fear.

  I ran my hand over my scalp, then turned my knuckles downwards and knocked them against my skull. ‘You’re doing this to yourself – you know that.’

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice muffled, ‘You’re doing it to me, Ambrose.’

  I felt a weird sensation at the sound of my name on his lips for the first time – heat gathered in my belly. It was said with a derision that raked at me.

  I strode from the room, saying over my shoulder, ‘Clean yourself up. I’m certainly not helping you use the latrine, so you’ll have to figure that one out yourself. Use the bowl you just emptied on me.’

  Ava

  I was not going to pee into a bowl, no matter how bloody long he kept me in this room. If there was any chance he could walk back in and find me with my breeches down, squatted over … Not happening.

  Hours ticked by and Ambrose didn’t come back, which I was extremely glad about. I needed to harm him in some way – a need as potent as any bodily function I’d ever had – but I couldn’t figure out how to do it tied to this bed.

  The last two years, apparently, hadn’t been worth much. The days and nights of training, of practising … they hadn’t even been worth the untying of knots.

  It had started almost as soon as Gidion got me safely home – I didn’t like to think about those weeks. The nightmares had stopped me from sleeping, but I couldn’t wake, either. I walked in a dream-state, a kind of semi-conscious daze. No one had known what to do with me, how to even look at me. My parents had cried more than I’d thought possible; I hadn’t shed a tear. It was like being alive to see the aftermath of my own death. They started planning my funeral, and mourned me while I was still there, lying paralysed in my childhood bed. But weeks went by, and then months, and still I didn’t die. I wasn’t the same – I was barely a shadow – but my body held on for some torturous reason. At times I thought it was punishing me. My own form had started to feel very foreign – a half-soul in a body not its own. It was no wonder I became an outcast.

  When the people in my town realised that I hadn’t died, they hated me for it. A petition went up banning me from entering public areas or shops. When I braved the streets, I was spat upon and called a demon. They said I was disgusting and inhuman, and they tried to drive me out of town – throwing things at the house and drilling holes in my father’s fishing boat.

  One moonless night I drew a cloak over my face and stole away without a word to my poor, wretched parents or my four younger brothers, all heartsore with grief and shame. On that night I didn’t have a plan, but I walked and walked until my boots fell apart, and then continued with bare feet until I reached Avery’s house in Limontae, and I fell to my knees and begged his parents to take me in so I could sleep in his room and be close to him.

  They slammed the door in my face.

  And so I came to be a ghost with nothing to haunt. The only creature that saw me was Migliori, who was only a piece of what he’d once been but still stronger than me. We looked at each other, he and I, and decided something together. I would die and he with me, but I would not die without the Barbarian Queen – she and I would share a death. I’d tear her limb from limb, if it took every last piece of my tattered, broken soul – that was my vow to Avery, to the memory of all he’d been. A vow, it seemed, that not even two years of training could help me achieve. All it had taken to thwart it was a man from Pirenti with cold blue eyes, and now I was on my way to live out the rest of my miserable existence in a rotting hole in the bowels of the world.

  The leather around my wrist was tied in an elaborate knot, as was the one around my ankle. It was impossible to undo with only one hand – I’d been trying all day. And so it would be a knot that proved my defeat. The sun began to sink, leaching the colour from the cabin. I couldn’t move to light any lamps, so I sat in the darkness, alternately longing for Avery and scheming ways to inflict pain on Ambrose. I didn’t even realise how cold it had gotten until I began to shiver. It had been dark for what felt like hours by the time Ambrose strode in. He sank onto his bed and started unlacing his boots. Next he set about lighting lamps, all without looking at me. We had to share a room so he could keep an eye on me – which he definitely wasn’t doing, since he’d just spent the whole day above deck – and he didn’t seem too happy about it. Eventually he threw me the blanket off his own bed, obviously having noticed that I was shivering. I threw it on the floor. Ambrose made a grunting noise, then picked up the blanket and pelted it into my face, hard. I coughed and pulled it off, stubbornly throwing it back – we could have gone on for hours. He caught it and for a second I thought he was going to hit me again. His pale eyes flashed dangerously as he loomed over me, holding the blanket. Maybe he’s going to suffocate me with it, I thought. He leant down and used one hand to pin my free wrist to the bed, the other to tuck the blanket tightly around my body. He held it there while I struggled pointlessly. Only once I’d stopped did he step back, a smug smirk on his lips, and slump down on his own bed. I waited a few minutes, then soundlessly dropped the blanket to the ground so that he’d only notice it in the morning.

  I didn’t manage to sleep, but instead imagined that the sound of Ambrose’s breathing was Avery’s. I closed my eyes and told myself that he was right there next to me, that if I wanted to I could reach out and touch him – could stroke his beautiful black hair and look into his perfect amber eyes. I imagined the feeling I got when my own eyes glowed golden looking at him. I imagined, with a brutal denial, that he was real and solid and here to look after me, that we didn’t live in a world of violence, disguises and dishonesty. For a moment I could actually feel his slender hands on my body, could feel the strength in them as they held my bones and muscles and skin in place.

  Then the boat lurched, throwing me heavily against the wall, scattering me to pieces once again. Ambrose grunted
awake, looking around in alarm and blinking rapidly. ‘What in Sword’s name?’

  Without looking at me, he leapt up and dashed out the door.

  ‘Ambrose!’ I yelled, struggling against the restraints. The boat was lurching violently and the noise was horrific. It sounded like the whole thing was cracking in half. I swore and desperately scrabbled with the knots. The water level had risen above the window – according to my da I was no boat expert, but it was pretty obvious that that wasn’t good.

  ‘Ambrose!’ I shouted again.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, charging back into the room. ‘I’m here – though I don’t know why. You’d be less annoying at the bottom of the ocean.’

  He grabbed his sword and cut straight through the leather that bound me. I sighed in relief and scrambled to my feet. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Sinking ship, pretty boy. Massive storm. I hope you can you swim.’ He winked at me and led the way up onto the deck.

  ‘Oh, Gods,’ I muttered. It was chaos above – men were shouting and screaming over the din of the creaking hull and the waves were huge, constantly sweeping people overboard. Ambrose grabbed hold of my wrist in that insane grip of his and didn’t let go. Heavy rain lashed down on our heads.

  He led me quickly towards a couple of small canoes, each meant to seat two people. The captain came charging over and grabbed one of the boats. ‘Climb in, sire,’ he said, moving to the railing. Ambrose didn’t let go of me, but the captain reached out and grabbed my other arm. ‘Not you!’

  ‘Let him go,’ Ambrose ordered.

  ‘Sire, he’s just a prisoner. The seat must go to someone else.’

  ‘The seat will go to whoever I say.’ Cold, blunt authority sliced through the noise around us and slammed into the captain, making him nod quickly and shakily. I wondered for the first time who Ambrose really was.

  ‘Of course, sire.’ Giving me the nastiest look I’d ever seen, the captain shoved me into the boat so that I tripped and fell heavily. Ambrose leapt in after me, pulled me into a sitting position, grabbed the oars and started rowing. It was ridiculous, really – impossible. The boat was far too small to do anything except be thrown about in the waves. We were slammed straight into the side of the ship, and I felt the impact jar through my bones, but Ambrose struck out, his huge arms pumping with the effort, and we managed to escape the spray of the ship. The screams of the people left on board were in my ears; I couldn’t drown them out.

  ‘What of the others?’ I shouted.

  Ambrose didn’t respond. There was no sign of the other canoe.

  ‘Ambrose, what about—?’

  ‘I can’t save everyone,’ he snapped. ‘Only the strong survive.’

  I stared at him, stunned into silence. He was emotionless, unfazed. Anyone would think that he was the one with half a soul.

  A wave swept over us, drenching me and nearly capsizing the boat. When we were steady again, I watched it sink – watched the vessel, with all those people aboard, sink into the water, screams turning to whimpers in the now-still night. We were a long way from them. A long way away when the sounds disappeared and there was no longer any light on the horizon.

  Pirenti men, I told myself firmly. Not my concern. Not mine to grieve.

  Funny, though. Their screams had sounded like any others in the dark of night.

  The storm ended and the waves stilled, and then it was just the two of us, rowing silently through an endless sea of death.

  Time passed slowly, and eventually I glanced down and noticed something strange beneath the surface of the water.

  ‘Oyster shells,’ Ambrose informed me. ‘We can’t row inland or the boat will be cut to pieces.’

  ‘So what, we have to row further out to sea? How far are we from the shore?’

  ‘Well, we were on the ship for two days and a night. It would take us at least triple that time to row back from here.’

  ‘But you’re saying we can’t, that we have to go the other way. Brilliant.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m excited about so much alone time with you too, Ave.’

  ‘We don’t have any food or water!’ I exclaimed angrily. ‘Amb—’

  ‘I know, Avery,’ he interrupted. ‘I know.’

  I sighed and sank down into the boat, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves. After a while I asked, ‘Why did you choose me? To save?’

  ‘Because I have a job, kid – and I never leave a job unfinished.’

  ‘Get me to prison or die trying?’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘How noble.’

  ‘You tried to kill my Queen, and assume I’m just going to let you die?’ He met my eyes. ‘That would be far too easy, Avery.’

  I looked into his face, trying to figure out what was wrong with that sentence – trying to find the lie. I could feel that there was one. ‘But, Ambrose,’ I said slowly, ‘you don’t really care about your Queen, do you? That’s not what this is about. You never cared that I was trying to hurt her.’

  ‘Oh no? What is this about then? Why don’t you tell me, since you’ve got it all figured out?’

  ‘I believe you about the unfinished job part. I just don’t think you care as much about what I was doing as you let on.’

  ‘If I hit you in the face again, will you believe me?’

  ‘Go ahead. Let’s see.’

  He grinned at me, a wolfish, wild thing. Then he threw his head back and laughed, and the sound travelled all around us for what seemed like leagues, echoing off the still water. I stared at him, unable to believe it, until I heard the laughter die off suddenly, the way it did when amusement quickly turned to despair. He shrugged, letting the oars drop into the boat. Even though his eyes were very pale, his gaze was dark and heavy, and I felt its weight inside me.

  Trying to keep my voice steady, I asked, ‘Why have you stopped rowing? We have to keep going.’

  ‘What happened to “death is easy”? Here’s your chance, pretty boy. All you have to do is lie back and relax, and soon it will be over.’

  I glared at him, thinking about the truth of that statement. I wasn’t afraid of dying, but something about this bizarre turn of events had made me aware that I didn’t want to give up quite yet. If there was still a chance – however slim – of getting back to Pirenti and killing the Barbarian Queen, then I’d take it.

  ‘What makes you think I’m the kind of person who would choose easy?’

  He looked at me, considering this, watching my face, my eyes, my lips. ‘I’ve heard that drowning is a nice way to die.’

  I met his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t pick you as the kind of man who’d care to die nicely.’

  He leant forward, lacing his hands together. ‘How do you think I’d like to die?’

  ‘In a blaze of ice and fury.’ He was from Pirenti, after all.

  The corner of his mouth hitched up at that, but it was a humourless expression, one filled with chipped edges and painted regrets. ‘And you?’ he asked. ‘How would you like to die, Avery of Kaya?’

  I picked up the oars and started to row. ‘I’m already dead, Ambrose.’

  Chapter 3

  Thorne

  Each time I put her in the dungeon, I didn’t stop thinking about her until she was out again. I knew it was good for her – she had to be taught how to think her actions through, that she couldn’t just wander aimlessly around the fortress wherever she pleased, her head in the clouds. And yet my thoughts never strayed far from her while she was being punished.

  I’d meant to leave her in there for five days this time. That was my limit. Once I’d left her in there for a week, but she hadn’t recovered well – there’d been something haunted and broken in her eyes for months – so I’d made a decision never to keep her in there any longer than five days. When the storm started, however, I gave in – she was frightened of storms. And my bed was cold without her.

  She was curled pathetically in the corner of the cell when I found her. In my eyes she seemed impossibly tiny. ‘Co
me,’ I said tersely. Roselyn scrambled to her feet and took my hand as I led her to our room. Taking in the sight of her, I sighed. ‘You have to wash, Rose.’

  She shook her head wretchedly, teeth chattering.

  ‘You’re filthy and you stink.’ I crossed to the tub and began filling it.

  ‘Please,’ I heard her gasp. ‘Not the bath.’

  Impatient fury stole over me and I growled, grabbing a washcloth instead. Crossing back to Roselyn, I pulled her clothes roughly from her body and started wiping her dirty skin as clean as I could. Her hands were too stiff from the cold to do it herself.

  Some days she was fine – some days she found a way to distract herself for long enough to bathe properly – but other days the terror was too much for her, and when that happened a cloth was the only way to get my wife clean. I hated the weakness, and refused to ask her why she was so afraid of water – refused to indulge her in the fear. Who, in this world, ever had time to indulge in fear, no matter its source? And when there was no source? When a girl lived in the shelter of her father and then her husband for all the years of her life? It made no sense; there was no excuse.

  When even Ma was noticing the smell, then it was time something was done. When I finished I threw the cloth on the ground with a grunt. ‘Dry yourself and come to bed.’

  She did as she was told and then slid under the sheets next to me. I was startled by the iciness of her skin. She didn’t stop shivering, even when I wrapped my arms around her.

  I closed my eyes and buried my face in her red hair. If she wasn’t so damn beautiful it might have been easier not to feel so sorry for her. I’d never tell anyone this, but secretly her whimsical, vague poeticism was endearing to me. It made me think she must be imagining great, wonderful things inside that head of hers – exciting things that could captivate her as the real world could not. I wanted to know the things she imagined – I wanted to know what was inside her. But I knew at the same time that I never would, because she wasn’t capable of expressing it in any normal way.