“I do not think my father had that in mind when he handed my safety to you.” Her pupils were so huge that Vard could not have guessed at the color of her eyes, even in good light. He drew a ragged breath.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” Vard said, taking a backwards step. “I don’t know what came over me. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention my transgression to your father.”
Alecia stared at him as if she couldn’t believe what he said.
“If you’ve no further use for me,” he said, “I’ll leave you to your rest.” When the princess remained silent, he bowed and pulled the door closed. Vard had no further awareness until he arrived back in his room, panting as if he’d run a mile.
He shut the door and slid to sit against the solid wood, his legs suddenly unable to hold him. Forbidden fruit. That must be the attraction. He loathed Prince Zialni -- what better way to hurt the prince than to seduce his daughter? Vard shook his head. He deluded himself because it was easier than admitting the unthinkable. He was drawn to Alecia Zialni. She intrigued him, aroused him and, more than that, he admired her. Alecia had imprinted herself on him and her scent, her very self, had seeped into his being. No woman had ever had the potential to control him until now and he couldn’t allow it to continue.
It was time to take action on the task that had brought him to Brightcastle. Kill the prince, and he could leave Brightcastle and the disturbing princess behind him.
Vard knelt in the shadows of the hallway, senses fixed on the sluggish heartbeat of the guard who sat slumped against the wall. Not long now. The beats slowed, the breaths coming so infrequently that on first inspection the unfortunate sentry would appear dead. He’d recover without adverse effects, the curious properties of the poison wiping all memory, timed to wear off before the next shift took over.
Vard glided from shadow to shadow up to the prince’s door and entered without a sound. Gentle snores came from the bedchamber and Vard suppressed a small snort. This would be so easy: smother the prince in his sleep, make it appear he had died of natural causes; wait a respectable amount of time to allay suspicion, resign his commission after the funeral and leave Brightcastle forever.
Vard stood before the prince’s bed, a thick pillow grasped before him, and pulled an absorbent cloth, soaked in surgeon’s ether, from his pocket. First the rapid-acting sleeping sponge over the mouth and nose, then the pillow to cut off all air. There would be a short struggle but his strength was superior to Zialni’s. He wouldn’t fight long and Brightcastle would be free.
He frowned. What of the princess? Her brilliant smile shone in his memory and he shoved it from his thoughts. The princess would mourn and move on. Zialni had spoken of an arranged marriage and, according to law, Alecia’s husband would rule until her first son was old enough to take over. Things were bound to improve in Brightcastle, and for Alecia as well.
Wouldn’t they?
But he had seen triumph turn to tragedy more than once in the past. Had seen one tyrant deposed, only to watch as another rose to take his place.
He raised the cloth, poised to clasp it over Zialni’s face, ready to suffocate the life from another soul. It was right! Wasn’t it? The wolf in him growled. He grasped the pillow and cloth in one hand and gripped the talisman, forcing his unease to quieten, his heart to slow, his tumbled thoughts to still.
Do it! Now! His limbs failed to move and Zialni’s peaceful snores mocked his intent. The man deserved death. He had sent others to theirs. The deed rested well with his Defender goal to protect the innocent by whatever means.
Still, the fate of the princess nagged at him. He saw her face, tear-streaked, fixed on a coffin; met her accusing stare as she blamed him for the death. Something in Vard held him fast. This wasn’t the time. He felt it so strongly it was like a voice in his head. Go back.
He left the prince’s chamber, replacing the pillow as he went, the cloth tucked back in his tunic. The guard still slept, his breathing a little quicker than it had been. As Vard reached the castle entrance, he was gripped by a sudden urge to run. The creature within needed to be free, to escape the confines of man. He slipped through the front door, his mind on the wolf, human troubles dropping away to the call of the wild.
Alecia remained frozen for several minutes after the captain’s departure. The heat of his skin had surely left its mark? She looked down at her right wrist but his fingers had left no brand. Had he been about to kiss her? She raised her fingers to her lips and shook her head. She was losing her wits over this man. How dare he lay hands upon me again! Alecia had to keep him at a distance for if he continued to behave like that, she might not have the strength to rebuff him. Or the will.
She clamped down on that thought, the flush of shame firing her cheeks. Jorge does not deserve this! No matter how quickly she banished them, memories of the ‘almost kiss’ returned, along with the crush of his hard body against hers. Her reaction to the captain confused her. He should be nothing to her and yet from the very first contact there had been something… some connection between them that scared her. He stirred feelings she had never experienced with Jorge. Was it just that the captain was a tough man of action while Jorge had been a gentleman? The thought of her lost love and his devotion to her brought a heavy wash of remorse. He is barely cold in the ground and here I am lusting over another!
Alecia shook her head. Vard Anton could never be anything to her but a servant. He was years older than she and the wrong class. Her father would never let her marry a soldier. Marriage! Her heart lurched at the thought.
Deliberately, she turned her thoughts to her vendetta against the mercenaries. It would continue; it must. Jorge would not die unavenged. Her first attempt had almost led to disaster but in the end, the target had lain dead -- if not by her hand. She could still do this, but it would take brains, not brawn. Why did I not see that from the outset?
Alecia pulled a parchment with the descriptions of the five mercenaries from her bedside drawer. The second on the list was the man already dead. First was a tall, thin man with narrow shoulders and eyes set close. The third was almost as tall and heavyset, with six earrings on each ear. He was bald but sported a bushy black beard. Fourth on the list was a man shorter than Alecia with close-cropped blond hair and a red gem set in the lobe of his left ear. Last of all came the one she had nicknamed ‘the Devil’. Jorge’s father had been eloquent in his description of this man: of average height with wild black hair balanced by a moustache and beard, cold green eyes and a cruel laugh. The Devil was the leader and his sword had cut down Jorge Andra as he tried to defend his parents. Well, he would soon discover how it felt to be the victim of cold steel.
But how to find these men? Her first assault had come on impulse. She had seen the five men enter the tavern and realized at once who they were. It was then a matter of waiting for one to come out. There had been no plan, and the aftermath had shown her the folly of that. She had heard The Dancing Lion referred to as a favorite watering hole for mercenaries. Would the killers continue to associate there or had her father ordered them to disperse? It was time to investigate.
Alecia shed her nightgown and donned a dark gray shirt and breeches, bundling her hair up under a tattered black cap. Then she pulled on the hood. She stuffed her nightgown with her spare blankets and placed her nightcap over the top. By candlelight, when the covers were pulled up, it would appear that she was still in her bed if anyone should check.
She retrieved five knives from a cavity inside the wood box and hid them about her person. A puff of breath snuffed the two candles by her bedside and she pulled the tapestry aside with a whispered prayer to Izebel to keep her safe. The stone door swung open with a low rumble and closed just as quietly. The trip to the trapdoor was uneventful and she soon found herself outside the castle walls.
Alecia paused in the stand of trees that hid the trapdoor. A three-quarter moon floated in the sky. She kept to the shadows as she made her way into town. The backstreets frequented by dru
nks, thieves and other unsavoury types were well known to her but darkness made the narrow alleys forbidding. After half an hour of creeping through the putrid streets Alecia’s teeth ached from the strain of avoiding notice. She stopped in an alley across from The Dancing Lion. Light blazed from the windows and the sounds of a woman singing a bawdy tune floated to her. The patrons were comfortable in their warm retreat and none ventured into the street.
Open slats on two windows at the front of the building and one on either end spilled lantern light into the night. Alecia cast her gaze around the streets and rooftops for signs of watchers but saw no movement. She took a deep breath and sprinted across the street to the alley beside the tavern, dropping beneath the windowsill. Her heart raced, her breath coming in gasps. She waited until her body settled, then peered above the sill.
The crowd was not large. The four men she wanted were seated around the room. Two talked together in a corner while the Devil and the blond man rested on a bench in front of the fire. Alecia flirted with the idea of boarding the place up and setting it on fire before she caught herself. If she did that, she would be no better than the mercenaries or her father. She slumped back to the ground under the sill, her arms wrapped around herself. What is happening to me? First the incident yesterday when she nearly died, then the captain unnerving her and now she was contemplating killing innocents to attain her goal. She hugged herself tighter, shivers of panic sliding over her skull.
Massaging her temples with cold fingers, she took deep breaths to stem the rising dread. I can do this. As long as she remembered she acted for good, she could not fail. Tonight’s task was to discover if the mercenaries still frequented the Lion. Now she could return to the castle to plan her attack.
As Alecia stood and made ready to leave, a commotion at the front door drew her attention. She peered around the corner of the building and saw the Devil push another patron onto the cobbles fronting the tavern. The big mercenary pulled the other man to his feet and turned him about. A sharp crack echoed up the street as the victim’s neck snapped and Alecia’s heart leapt so hard she gasped and grabbed her chest. Allowing the body to slide to the cobbles, the Devil turned.
Even in the dim light of the moon, the murderous glare of the big man heralded his intent. He started towards her, slowly, deliberately and for crucial moments, Alecia froze. He was too big, too fierce! She would end her life in this dirty alley and this man would add another murder to his crimes. No! She could not let that happen. Taking a deep breath, Alecia felt for the knives hidden about her person but her chilled fingers fumbled the task. Finally, one came into her hand and she threw it. The mercenary flung his arm up and the blade glanced off his leather guard. Harder, faster! Her second knife wedged in his left shoulder.
He howled like a wounded animal then pulled the blade from his shoulder, tossed it aside and started towards her once again. Alecia yelped as her back bumped up against the side of the tailor’s shop, and her attacker smiled. She fought the terror that clawed at her and inched along, her back scraping over the rough wooden boards. A little more space is all I need. He is slow and I have the cunning of the fox. The trouble was, Alecia’s brave words did not ring true in her heart. As she backed up, the Devil came on like a winter avalanche.
Another of her knives sprang into her left hand and she threw, gratified to strike the Devil’s chest this time. He clutched at the hilt and a gobbet of blood spilled from his lips. Six strides separated her from the mercenary. Calm descended upon her as he closed the distance. She would not die a frightened mouse. Alecia found her last knife and threw it, the blade flying true to its target. Moments later, his huge hands closed on her shoulders and his face loomed over hers as he bore her to the ground.
The air gushed from her lungs as his massive bulk settled. Alecia battled for breath and braced herself to fight those meaty fists but the man did not move. The handle of her last knife protruded from the right side of his neck and blood pumped onto her chest. His blood. The sticky, warm liquid oozed onto the skin of her neck and bile rushed up her throat. She pushed at the Devil’s shoulders and kicked her feet under his legs. It was no use. She was pinned beneath this man mountain, barely able to draw breath. The body felt heavier by the second and the air she managed to suck in reeked of stale sweat, sour wine and the metallic stench of fresh blood. How can this be happening again? There would be no Captain Anton to save her this time. The best she could hope for was for one of the other patrons to find her when the tavern closed. Without warning, the dead weight shifted as the body rolled off her. She found herself staring up at Hetty.
Alecia rolled over onto her side, coughing. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” the witch said. “Get up and come with me before that man’s friends come looking.”
Alecia scrambled to her feet and glanced at the tavern. The body of the other man still lay in the street. As her eyes swept across the Devil’s still form, she spied two golden spots, like eyes, at the far end of the alley. A shiver of unease swept through her. “Hetty,” she whispered. “Do you see that?”
“I see nothing but darkness,” Hetty said.
The golden points had vanished.
Hetty tugged at her sleeve and Alecia jogged along behind the old woman, tensing each time they passed a side street, anticipating ambush from the mercenaries, or worse. She had not imagined those eyes. They gained Hetty’s two-storey shack without incident and entered.
When the door closed behind her, Alecia turned to her friend. “I saw the glow of eyes at the end of the alley. What do you think it was?”
“Could have been anything, Princess. Might have been your imagination, after a shock like that. Now, tell me what you were about. Not on your vendetta again, are you?”
Alecia frowned. “I was just having a look. Then the Devil stormed out of the tavern and broke that man’s neck. He saw me and I had to kill him.” Dizziness swept over her and she staggered to a bench near the small fire in Hetty’s sitting room, both arms wrapped across her body to halt the shudders. “I do not feel well.”
Hetty stared for a moment and sighed. “Wait here, I’ll get you some tea.”
Alecia closed her eyes, praying that the room would stop spinning. I have just killed the Devil! It was in self-defence but still I killed him. A surge of nausea hit her and she breathed deeply to prevent her stomach from emptying. By the time she had battled down the nausea, Alecia was trembling so hard her teeth chattered. She couldn’t give into this. She had to get back to the castle before word spread of murders in the town. In that moment, the thought of the trip back to the castle was too much to bear.
Hetty returned with a mug of steaming tea. “Drink this.” She gave the brew a last stir.
Alecia took the tea and breathed deeply of its aroma. It smelled a little different. “What is it?”
“Plain tea with extra honey. Oh, and owl’s blood for intelligence.”
She stared at Hetty. “You jest.”
“Do I? When I think of all those years I tried to teach you common sense… Do you believe you can even the score like a man would?”
“It is the only language they understand; violence and cruelty. Even my father.”
“Especially your father, Princess.”
“He too is a victim.”
“Your father is no more a victim than that mercenary. He is the cause of all this strife. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll end the misery.”
“You know nothing. Father is the victim of manipulation by his advisor.”
“And happy to be manipulated.”
Alecia stared at the witch, who glared right back. She could not accept Hetty’s words but the stubborn set of the old woman’s whiskery jaw told her arguing was pointless. “How can I deal with my father’s mercenaries any other way?”
“It’s your father who must be stopped. Permanently. You must discover the means. Violence against the mercenaries will only end in grief for you and
I can’t bear to see you harmed.” Hetty sat and placed her bony arm around Alecia’s shoulders.
She looked at the old woman. “How did you move the mercenary? One kick should not have been able to budge him.”
“I’m stronger than I appear,” she said. “Are you injured?”
Alecia looked down at the blood congealing on her shirt and neck and shuddered. “No, just a little bruised.” She took a sip of the sweet tea and found it was just an ordinary brew. Or was it? One could never tell with Hetty. She took another mouthful and warmth blossomed in her belly. Perhaps it would give her enough courage for the chore ahead. “I must go before I am missed.”
“First, I wish to ask about the captain,” Hetty said. “Rumor says he is now your protector.”
Alecia frowned. News traveled fast. “Captain Anton has been given the task of ensuring my safety,” she said, stiffly. Her eyes met Hetty’s and Alecia lifted her chin.
“Not doing a very good job, is he?” Hetty said.
“He does not know what he has taken on,” Alecia said, her voice rising. “If he thinks he can imprison me, make my life a misery in my own castle…”
“Does he know your secret?”
Alecia dropped her eyes and her voice. “No.”
“You’ll tell me if you need help. Tell old Hetty and she’ll come to fetch you. You see if I don’t.”
“I would not allow you to expose yourself so.” Alecia straightened her shoulders and looked at the witch. “Whatever my father and the captain have planned for me… I will deal with it.”
Hetty studied her for a long moment, her eyes full of pity, a frown deepening the creases in her brow. She opened her mouth but Alecia raised her hand. “Do not say it, Hetty. If you show me an ounce of sympathy, I am not sure what I will do.”
Hetty nodded. “You need to change those clothes. Come, I have a shirt and hood that will suffice.”
Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 Page 5