Wrath Games

by B. T. Narro

  “Why are you so angry about this?” she asked as we started toward the stairs. “Is it because you know I’m right and you don’t want to admit it?”

  My rage burned hotter.

  Except for the restrained groans of pain Shara couldn’t help but let out every few steps, we ascended in silence. The second floor couldn’t come soon enough. I let go of her the moment we got there.

  “Can you make it to the medical room on your own?”

  “Can’t we talk about this?”

  “Can you make it on your own?” I repeated loudly.

  “I can,” she murmured.

  I turned but she grabbed my hand. The crowded hall was no place for this, with people glancing at us as they passed.

  She quickly let go as she noticed them looking, and I left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After finding the right person to ask, I learned Jaymes was meeting with Quince. So the king must’ve finished speaking with Terren. When he was done with Jaymes, I would be summoned and a haranguing was the best I could hope for.

  Too angry with Shara to focus on training, I went to the library and asked Storell if I could borrow a book that would teach me more about the kings, Quince and Marteph.

  Excitement filled his eyes for a moment until a scowl pushed it away. “Is the book for you or someone else?”

  “For me, sir. I’ve been meaning to read more but haven’t had the time.”

  His excitement came back, a slight smile to match. “Herall Danmaw wrote a vivid account of the lives of King Quince and King Marteph. He took only the facts from history. King Quince himself has read it, verifying its validity.

  “Isn’t Herall Danmaw a poet?”

  “He writes everything, a prolific genius the man is.”

  Shara would have something to say about that. “Is there another author who’s written about the kings?”

  “Many.” His smile disappeared. “However, while their books have verisimilitude, I don’t trust them. Your one-armed pyforial friend borrowed one by Gally Fwar, a filthy book full of gossip and tawdry lies. I tried to tell her not to fill her mind with such things, but she came only for this book and no other. It’s possibly the worst of any about the two ruling kings.”

  He brought me to a specific aisle. “Take Danmaw’s book. The language is beautiful and it’s all true.”

  With the heavy book in my hands, I couldn’t possibly give it back to him without great insult. So I thanked him and left, hoping Shara had exaggerated her disdain for Herall Danmaw.

  I figured the book Laney came to get was actually for Shara. I could feel my anger at her shifting toward disappointment. I couldn’t speak to her while she believed Swenn had been truthful throughout his confessions.

  I retired to my room with Danmaw’s book. I sat at the table and tried to ignore that it was only a matter of time before I’d be summoned by Jaymes or Quince to be scolded.

  I read for an hour, the rain still beating against the walls, thunder booming once so loud it startled me into dropping the book. Danmaw wrote as if he wanted to prove he was the smartest man in Sumar. Every page contained at least one word I’d never seen before. He threw in parenthetical lines to demonstrate his own thoughts, referring to everything else he’d written as if it was fact. I, unfortunately, didn’t know enough history about the kings to refute anything. It was written that Quince met Danmaw when the king was still a boy and Danmaw had predicted then that Quince would change the world. I rolled my eyes.

  A few of my bandages needed changing. When I was done, I noticed a book by my door with a note on top. Someone had slid it under, the storm too loud for me to have heard, perhaps even if they’d knocked.

  A long title was written across the top half of the book: The Queens of Marteph Mallen and Quince Barryn: The Women Behind the Rivalry. The author’s name was listed at the bottom: Gally Fwar.

  I unfolded the note.

  I understand what I said. I claimed he told the truth, though his confessions were a thread, going back to the incident of your youth. I didn’t mean to imply, that Faye threatened his life. My words went awry, and now we’re at strife. I only meant that his squire, could’ve made the situation dire. He could’ve attacked Swenn with ire, no longer ready to conspire. This could be true, and Swenn would escape the noose. That’s all I meant to construe, nothing more I wanted to deduce. The rest might all be lies, certainly what he implied about Faye. Can we once again be allies? It hurts to stay this way.

  I felt myself smiling. So she only believes Swenn’s lies about his squire. It was still disappointing that she believed him at all when he’d clearly lied, but the truth would come out during the trial.

  I opened the book she’d delivered with her note, planning just to take a glance before visiting her in the medical room. But the moment I got through the first line, I couldn’t take my eyes away. It read: Quince Barryn (the king of the North) and Marteph Mallen’s wife (the queen of the South) are in love.

  I could hear my thoughts screaming that this couldn’t be true, but the words on the page were too shocking to ignore, like watching a carriage accident unfolding.

  Wendi Mallen, who was Wendi Trycha before marrying the king of the South, has been teased as having the mind of a Northerner. However, this nickname is actually a cheap insult because everyone who uses it knows that Wendi Trycha truly was born in the North. They also know that Wendi’s father worked for Quince Barryn’s father, giving him counsel regarding faith, but only until an irreconcilable disagreement sent Wendi’s father south to work for King Marteph, where the two men share the same ideals of faith.

  What these Southerners (and most Northerners) don’t know is that Wendi and Quince were to be wed until this incident. Wendi’s father took measures to keep this information esoteric, which turned out to be an easy task, for Quince’s family wanted no one to know of his relations with another king’s wife.

  I managed to finally stop reading.

  “What?” I muttered.

  For once, I wouldn’t have minded Henry breathing over me. His opinion, as someone who’d been involved in the castle, would be valuable.

  I didn’t want to keep Shara waiting any longer, knowing she was eager for me to forgive her.

  She and Laney were playing some sort of game when I entered the medical room, the two young women grinning as they wrote on parchments that they passed back and forth, each sitting cross-legged on Shara’s bed. Swenn was asleep or at least seemed to be.

  Aside from her missing limb, Laney had become unrecognizable compared to the way she looked on her first day in the castle. Her skin now had a healthy glow. Her eyes no longer shrunk in trepidation. She was still thin as a stick, but she didn’t appear nearly as frail.

  Shara’s face brightened when she saw me watching from the doorway, the beauty of her dark eyes stunning my heart. She stood and murmured something to Laney, who jumped up and threw her arm around Shara’s neck, pressing herself close.

  “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun,” Laney said. “Can we play again tomorrow?”

  “If there’s time. Remember, the trial’s tomorrow.”

  “Ohhh,” she whispered, glancing wide-eyed at Swenn.

  Shara came and joined me in the hall.

  “I received your—”

  “I’m so sorry, Neeko.” She took my arm.

  “Of course I forgive you,” I told her. “Is there somewhere we can speak?”

  “On the way to my room. Mayla has allowed me to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

  “Your wounds must be healing nicely, then.”

  “About as nicely as they could, I presume.”

  “May I see?”

  “Nay, they’re hideous. The scars are going to stay with me forever.” Suddenly her eyes went wide. “Promise me you won’t ever call me Scar-a!”

  That stole a laugh from me. “How can I not now?”

  “You just keep that mouth shut, that’s how.” She pinched my lips and
didn’t let go. Amused by the face it caused me to make, her mouth crept up in a smile.

  I tried to speak but it just came out as a silly sound. She laughed but cut it short as she grabbed her side and hissed in pain. “I’m fine,” she said quickly.

  I put my arm around her back and she eased into me. The evening rush in the castle was over, but that didn’t mean the halls were empty. I forced myself to step aside. “The king’s rules,” I muttered.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you truly believe Quince could be in love with Marteph’s wife?”

  She wore a twisted smile like she was entertained yet insulted at the same time. “You started reading that book before coming to me? You must know I felt terrible!”

  “I just read the first page.”

  “Laney kept me busy, so I suppose I can’t stay mad. Yes, I do believe it. They were in love before Wendi’s father moved his family to the South and began to work for King Marteph. Fwar writes about both kings and queens meticulously as the book goes on. Quince and Marteph weren’t always enemies. They’ve met several times to discuss trades and other business, and Quince has been seen speaking with Wendi alone. Even if they thought they were being furtive, people noticed. They haven’t carried on an affair, but they certainly never lost feelings for each other.”

  “Have you read the entire book?”

  “And others.”

  “What do you know about our current queen, Eona?”

  “She’s from a powerful family. Rumors say she and Quince have had trouble conceiving, but some believe they aren’t even trying. It’s known by all that they aren’t in love.”

  “How can it be known by all?”

  “Because they’re royalty. There isn’t much they can hide.”

  “Then one might think someone like Swenn wouldn’t want to be king,” I said. “You still believe he killed Luke in self-defense?”

  “I do. But I don’t believe the same situation occurred with Faye.”

  “And you believe he won’t try to get rid of us?”

  “Yes, I believe that.”

  I frowned.

  “Just imagine for a moment that he was telling the truth.” Shara showed me a desperate look. “Please.”

  “Fine. Let’s say he was telling the truth.”

  “Now imagine he stays, unpunished, in the castle after the trial’s over.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Just for the moment, imagine it has happened already.”

  I did and anger hit me immediately.

  Shara asked, “Would you still want to…” She pressed her lips together. “Kill him?”

  “I would.”

  “But is that what your mother would want?”

  I stopped, beginning to feel manipulated.

  She held out her hands. “I know it’s difficult to speak about her, especially in regard to Swenn. But I really want you to think about this.”

  “You’re prying too much here.”

  “Because I care about you.”

  That left me with no retort.

  She went on, “Just think about it for this moment, then you won’t ever have to again.”

  “That’s not true because every day I think about it. I cherish each moment that passes without me remembering that he killed my mother, that she’s dead because of me but more so because of him. He deserves to die, Shara.”

  “Yes, but would your mother want you to be the one who does it? Or would she want you to forget and live your life without constant suffering from guilt?”

  “Of course the latter, but Eizle would want me to kill him.”

  “Eizle would want—” She stopped herself, her argumentative tone softening. “All right, Eizle would want you to kill him, but he was half mad.”

  I gave her a look.

  “He was!”

  “I wish you wouldn’t speak about Eizle like that.”

  “I know it’s bad zuji to speak ill of the dead.”

  “I don’t care about that, but I do care about him.”

  Shara stayed quiet. As we walked, my thoughts held their own conversation about my mother. Shara was right about one thing: My mother would want me to let go of this anger toward Swenn. But I couldn’t forget what Eizle wanted and how he would’ve gotten justice if it wasn’t for me.

  None of this mattered. Swenn would be hung after the trial.

  We took a turn. Finding only one person in the same hall, a woman walking ahead of us with sheets overflowing from her arms, I freely put my hand on the back of Shara’s head and kissed her cheek.

  “I care about you, too, and I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

  “Thank you.”

  We got to her door before I was ready to part.

  “Well,” she uttered, “good night.”

  “Good night.”

  She made no motion toward her doorknob.

  We stood there glancing about, trying to figure out how noticeable we were to those walking by. Unfortunately it just made us more conspicuous.

  A moment came when the hall was empty. I put my arms around her and she melted into my embrace. I suddenly remembered something worrisome.

  “Why did you say it would be for the best?”

  It was clear by her silence that she knew exactly what I was talking about.

  “Think about everything we’re involved in,” she said. “Compared to the war, our feelings become just a distraction to what’s really important.”

  “Just a distraction?” I teased, halfway insulted.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You mean a wonderful distraction.”

  She laughed softly. “Yes, but there’s more to it than that. Have you thought about what will happen when you leave the castle to fight?”

  “You think I won’t come back?”

  “There’s always a chance.”

  We finally parted from our hug, the silence uncomfortable. I couldn’t say that she was wrong.

  “You might not even be sent back to the castle,” she said. “Or I might not be here if you do come back. I still don’t know what they’re going to do with me.”

  I had no response I wished to give.

  “So,” she said, “that’s what I meant by ‘for the best.’ ”

  “It’s not for the best, though.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in question.

  “It’s not,” I repeated. “The best for us isn’t ignoring this. And even if it was, I couldn’t do it.”

  She leaned into me. Gently fisting her hands against my chest, she looked up into my eyes. “Me neither.”

  I snuck a quick kiss to her forehead as she gave a peck to my chin, subtle like a gentle raindrop. I wanted to grab her and steal her breath with my lips, but she’d already pulled away from me and entered her room.

  “Good night,” I said.

  She showed me a waning smile as she shut the door.

  I stood there for a while, my feet refusing to move.

  “Neeko Aquin?” a woman servant eventually came and asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Commander Jaymes has requested to see you in his chambers.”

  My heart rattled in my chest. “Does he seem upset?”

  “Extremely.”

  I silently cursed as I hurried off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I closed the door behind me as I came into Jaymes’ quarters, his eyes telling me to take the chair before him.

  “You will receive no salary this week,” he said. “And I still haven’t decided if your lack of propriety will carry through to earn you deductions for the next week.”

  Was that it? I couldn’t help but be relieved. “I understand.”

  “Tell me right now why the king had to hear about your disobedience through Terren instead of through me. Is it that you don’t trust me?”

  I was prepared for this. “I don’t trust Terren more than I do you, sir. He forced himself into the situation without my asking. It was out
of respect that I didn’t want to trouble you.”

  “Trouble is all you’ve caused me so far. You should’ve told me about Gram coming after Kayren. Would you have mentioned it if Terren hadn’t?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “There’s too much of my past attached to why I needed to save Kayren. It seemed easier for everyone to keep it to myself.”

  “Your past is out now. Quince told me you believe Swenn killed your mother. This is the real reason you’re here. Admit it. You’ve come to kill Swenn.”

  Now this, I did not expect. “I’m here to fight for what I believe in. Justice.”

  He scowled. “His trial is tomorrow. You’ll be among those questioned.”

  My heart fluttered. “About what, sir?”

  He ignored my question. “If you’re still here after judgment, you will serve the king without any more insolence. Show me you understand by saying nothing unless spoken to and telling the truth tomorrow.”

  It pained me, but I kept my mouth shut and nodded.

  I longed for company when I returned to my empty room. My carpet was still stained by Shara’s blood, my wall blackened by a wild fireball. Is it up to me to replace the carpet and paint the wall?

  This isn’t my room, I reminded myself. I have no room to call my own. As soon as I left the castle, this space would belong to another man.

  It was a constant effort not to sneak down the hall to Shara’s room as I curled up in bed and prepared for a long night.

  Eventually, sleep started to take me.

  I fell into my mother’s house, too tired and weak to do more than lift my head. I tried to call out to her, but my voice wouldn’t come. She walked into her bedroom to find Swenn collecting all the coins from her drawer. I knew what was about to happen. “Run!” I tried to scream, but I couldn’t break the silence as they saw each other and went still.

  Swenn charged at her, a knife suddenly in his hand. Faye fell and screamed, her outstretched arms doing nothing to stop him as he plunged the blade into her heart. As quick as a dog digging, Swenn drove the knife in and out of her torso. The pitch of her scream lowered to that of a young man, Eizle’s limp body taking her place.