The Butcher’s people stepped away to reveal Dońa Parvie stumbling backwards, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other holding a knife. Her sister and the two bodyguards lay dead at her feet. Blood trickled from the corners of Dońa Parvie’s mouth and from between her fingers.
“You big fucking—” she slurred at Choss and then toppled over.
The scarred Morrin approached Choss, but kept one eye on Gorraxi.
“You work for Don Jarrow, yes?” she asked.
“Yes.”
The Morrin grunted. “This is just for tonight. After that things will change.”
“Then follow me,” said Choss. “Because it isn’t over yet.”
Gritting his teeth against the pain Choss led the way out of the square.
CHAPTER 43
Katja raced after Faith through the halls of the palace. Scared guests streamed past them in the opposite direction, screaming, crying and running for their lives. All were wide-eyed with terror and one or two were spattered with blood, but no one had any visible wounds.
Faith tried to stop one man to ask him what had happened but he pulled his arm free and wouldn’t slow down. Something cold touched Katja’s spine. Deep inside a primal instinct welled up that told her to turn around and flee with the others. To move away from whatever danger had caused the stampede and to let others deal with it. There were plenty of armed palace guards who were far better equipped than she was. She didn’t need to do this and get involved. Katja’s instincts had always served her well, helping her to avoid injury and walk away from situations before they grew worse, but now she ignored them. There was more at stake than her own life. Clenching her jaw, she pressed on as the stream of terrified people scrambled away from the banquet hall.
The closer they came to the source of the disturbance the worse the noise became. At first it sounded to Katja like an animal keening in pain. The sound was so high pitched and strained it made her wince. As she rounded another corner the sound became a little clearer and she heard words amid the screeching.
Katja reached a set of doors to the banquet hall a few seconds behind Faith and had just enough time to duck as something came flying through the air towards her. The dripping object landed a few steps away with a sodden thump. It was a severed human hand. A second glance revealed teeth marks in the torn flesh. It had been ripped off and chewed.
“Blessed Mother save us,” whispered the guard as Katja came up beside him.
The royal banquet hall was a beautifully decorated room set out with three long tables in the shape of a horseshoe. At the far end of the room a raised platform held another long table where the two Queens and their close allies would have dined. Tall stained-glass windows ran down the right side of the room and on the left sat an array of pedestals with rare gifts given to Queen Morganse by guests from around the world. A balcony overlooked the hall with several doors leading off from it to rooms on the floor above. Rather than feeling awed, however, Katja felt queasy at the sight that met her eyes.
Several of the windows had been smashed. A storm had sprung up outside, wreathing the city in grey clouds, while fat drops of rain tapped against the remaining glass. The banquet had been ruined, with food thrown all over the walls, floor and even the ceiling. Blood had been liberally sprayed across the tables, up the walls and it dripped from the broken windows. Katja could see at least six dead bodies and she guessed there were others. All of the victims looked as if they had been savaged by a wild animal. Faces were chewed, limbs had been torn off and coils of intestines had been strewn about the floor. Two of those Katja could see were royal guards, probably the first who had tried to intervene. One guard had been decapitated and the other disembowelled.
Striding up and down on top of the banquet tables were two blood-soaked figures. It took Katja a moment to recognise them as Lord and Lady Kallan. Both had been transformed, seemingly possessed by some malicious spirit that had turned them completely feral. There was a wildness in their eyes that spoke of wanton bloodlust and a savagery she’d never seen before.
Their faces were daubed with gore but Katja noticed a blue stain at the corners of their mouths. The tainted venthe had driven them over the edge, beyond madness into something inhuman and unnatural. Rodann must have been desperate to turn to this strategy, one so unpredictable in its results.
Lord and Lady Kallan were smeared with blood all over their clothes and both had been wounded, but neither seemed to notice. When Lord Kallan spotted Katja and the others at the door he opened his mouth and let out an unholy shriek. Seeing the lack of humanity and recognition in his eyes made it infinitely worse. However petty and cruel he’d been, nothing remained of the man.
Lady Kallan howled in response to her husband, pacing up and down the tables, sending plates and bowls of food crashing to the floor. When one of the victims on the ground moaned she leaned down onto the woman’s back and started hacking away with a sword. The woman’s screams lasted only a few seconds. Lady Kallan ripped something away, an arm or possibly a leg, before taking a bite, hunching down over her food.
A dishevelled and bleeding royal guard came running up the corridor, followed by half a dozen more. They all looked worried but were heavily armed with swords, shields and helmets. Each wore a chainmail shirt, bracers and gauntlets, offering very little bare flesh to gnaw upon.
“Where is Queen Morganse? Queen Talandra?” asked Faith.
“Safe,” gasped the officer. “They’ve both been sent to secure wings of the palace under heavy guard.”
“They’re not safe,” hissed Katja, earning a few peculiar looks, which she ignored.
“Do you have this under control?” Faith asked the officer, who gestured to the balcony above their heads. Six royal guards armed with crossbows edged into sight, targeting Lord and Lady Kallan. He hissed at the newcomers, clearly recognising them as a threat, while Lady Kallan began to whoop and sway from side to side.
“I’ll leave this in your hands, Captain,” said Faith, pulling Katja away down a corridor. When they were out of earshot of the others, Katja turned to her.
“It’s happening just like I said. Neither Queen is safe.”
Faith shook her head. “Queen Morganse’s people can be trusted.”
“Do you know Lord and Lady Trevino?” asked Katja.
“Of course. They’re old friends of Queen Morganse.”
“Old enough to be secured with the Queen inside her quarters?”
“How do you know them?” asked Faith.
“Their son was recently murdered. I took care of his funeral arrangements.”
All colour drained from Faith’s face. “I heard it was an accident.”
Katja shook her head. “I think Rodann murdered their son. The whole family are Eaters. Rodann had me blackmail Lord Trevino into smuggling something into the palace. I think it’s more of whatever turned them savage,” said Katja, pointing behind her towards the banquet room. She heard the thrum of several crossbows, followed by a scream of pain. “The Trevinos could be a last resort. Rodann is desperate and we’ve just forced his hand.”
“They wouldn’t,” said Faith, but despite her words she started jogging down the corridor and Katja kept pace. “Why? Why now? They’ve been loyal supporters, almost since the beginning.”
“Do they have any more children?”
“A daughter,” said Faith, her eyes going wide. “She’s supposed to be at their country estate.”
“Rodann has her. If they don’t go through with it she’ll die too. If you can get to Queen Morganse quickly there’s still a chance. My Queen isn’t safe either. Is there another way into Talandra’s rooms?” asked Katja.
“Yes, there’s a secret tunnel, but it’s locked,” said Faith, skidding around a corner. She started fishing around inside her dress for something before finally pulling out a small ring of keys. With one eye on the corridor ahead she sorted through the keys until she found the one she wanted and slipped it off the ring. Passing it to Katja, sh
e led her down several corridors before stopping in front of a wall that looked exactly the same as all of the others.
Faith pressed part of the wall at waist height, which seemed to trigger a mechanism, as something hidden clicked.
“Help me with this,” said Faith. Together they pushed against the wall and a section moved backwards to reveal a narrow tunnel. Katja stuck her head in and saw that it extended both left and right. It was barely wide enough for one person, so she would have to shuffle sideways.
“Which way?” asked Katja.
“Follow the right path until you reach a junction,” said Faith, taking a small globe from an alcove inside the wall. It contained a pale green liquid which glowed very faintly. She shook the globe and the fluid fizzed and frothed, glowing more brightly. “Then turn left, go up the stairs, take the third opening on your right and follow the tunnel to the end. You’ll come to a locked door. Use the key and it will bring you out inside Queen Talandra’s bedroom.”
“Thank you,” said Katja, accepting the globe and stepping into the tunnel. The globe illuminated the tunnel for only a few steps in each direction but it was better than fumbling along in the dark. “What about you? Can you get to Queen Morganse?”
Faith bit her lip. “I think there’s a way. Good luck.”
With Katja pushing from one side and Faith pulling on the other the wall quickly slid back into place with a dull boom, sealing her inside the tunnel. The darkness pressed in on all sides, making the pool of green light seem very small. Katja took a deep calming breath then started shuffling sideways down the tunnel as fast as she could manage in the cramped space. Muttering a prayer to the Maker, she hoped she wasn’t too late.
CHAPTER 44
Dońa Jarrow glanced once over her shoulder and the fear in her eyes made Munroe run even faster.
There were so many reasons to hate her. The way she viewed people in the Family as nothing more than tools, to be used and then cast aside without a second thought. The way she pretended to care that the word family meant something. Her general indifference to killing everyone else was also a good one. Recent crimes aside, of which there were many, the real reason Munroe hated Dońa Jarrow was because of how she’d treated her when they first met. There were better reasons, and on some levels Munroe knew it was petty, but that first meeting spoke volumes about the type of woman she was. Upon meeting Munroe, and hearing about what she could do, Dońa Jarrow’s only comment had been “We can use her.”
Over the four years she’d been working for the Jarrows, Munroe had seen many unpleasant things. She’d known about the Families and what they did before getting involved, but there were lines that the Jarrows set and their people were unwilling to cross. Munroe had respected Dońa Jarrow’s because of this and now her betrayal burned.
The rage welled up and with a scream of fury Munroe threw one of her daggers. She wished it would smack Dońa Jarrow in the back of the head and willed it to happen. Whether it was luck or her magic Munroe didn’t know and didn’t care. The hilt caught Dońa Jarrow behind one ear and she tumbled face first to the ground. She skidded through the gutter, smearing mud and something black and sticky on her expensive silk dress. Dońa Jarrow stared in horror at the filth, which made Munroe’s grin widen.
Rather than being cowed, Dońa Jarrow’s normally calm expression twisted into something vicious and cruel.
“You’ve had this coming for a long time, Sabina,” said Munroe, unwilling to use her title. She didn’t deserve it or the respect it commanded.
“Fuck you, Munroe,” snarled Dońa Jarrow, getting to her feet. She flicked the worst of the grime off her hands then wiped them down her dress, leaving grey smears. “You have no idea what’s going on.”
Munroe cocked her head to one side. “Let me see. Betraying your husband. Probably fucking the Flesh Mage. Magic portal. Gang warfare, mass murder. Did I miss anything?”
Dońa Jarrow shook her head. “You’re short-sighted. This was never about what happens next year. There are too many Families. After tonight there will be only one. The city and its people need stability.”
“Don’t even pretend you care about anyone except yourself. We’re all just ants to you.”
“You’re wrong,” said Dońa Jarrow with a sneer. “You’re nothing but maggots.”
Munroe laughed in her face. “I’m glad we can be honest because I’ve never liked you, Sabina. You’ve always been a cold-hearted cunt. Showing emotion isn’t a weakness.”
Dońa Jarrow’s laughter was mocking. “I’m supposed to take lessons from you? You’re a coward. You’ll never achieve anything because you’re too scared of the risks.”
Munroe’s witty retort died in her throat. “Well, now you’ve just pissed me off.” She flexed her fingers and Dońa Jarrow shook her head in dismay.
“Taking the easy route again I see.”
“Oh no, I’m not going to use my curse,” said Munroe, drawing a dagger from her belt. She rotated her shoulders and stretched her arms left and right. “That would be too easy. Too quick.”
Dońa Jarrow showed her teeth in the approximation of a grin. She produced a dagger of her own and, taking hold of her dress, she cut the silk until it ended just above her knees. She threw the material to one side and kicked off her shoes. “I clawed my way up the ranks to rule a Family. You’re nothing but a street rat. It’s time you learned your place.”
But Munroe wasn’t listening any more. She knew whatever was being said was designed to make her angry. The countless hours of training and the painful stretching exercises Ben had made her endure day after day suddenly seemed useful. Twisting her arms one way and then the other Munroe felt the different muscles pull and flex, perfectly in balance. She tensed and relaxed her legs next, gradually moving from one muscle group to the next.
Somewhere in the distance she could feel the hum of the Flesh Mage’s magic, but it wasn’t part of her. Not now, not at this moment. Her curse, her magic, whatever it was, didn’t belong in this fight.
When Dońa Jarrow realised her words weren’t having the desired effect she rushed forward, slashing wildly with her dagger. Munroe carefully gave ground before blocking a crude jab and retaliating, backhanding Dońa Jarrow hard across the face. She stumbled back and spat blood from her split lip before attacking again.
Whether it was anger or something else that fuelled her, Dońa Jarrow’s technique was crude but dangerous. Munroe had heard the stories and knew how she’d earned her position, mostly by outsmarting other people, but not everything could be settled that way. Sometimes it came down to a bloody knife in a dark alley and you had to be the one holding the weapon.
Apparently she’d not lost her touch. Munroe was too slow to move out of the way and Dońa Jarrow sliced her across the left forearm. Munroe hissed in pain and glanced at the wound, but couldn’t see if it was deep. All she knew was that it hurt like a bastard.
Much to her surprise Dońa Jarrow didn’t gloat or threaten her. She stayed utterly silent. Her face remained an expressionless mask that barely twitched in an imitation of life. Munroe was used to bravado, overconfidence and aggression, but Dońa Jarrow’s silence was unnerving.
This time when she attacked Munroe moved to meet her and they started to dance. One stabbing while the other twisted away, slicing and jabbing, swaying to one side and then the other. Their daggers clacked together and sparks flew. They kicked and gouged, punched and elbowed, constantly trying to unbalance the other. Back and forth they moved, Munroe pushing herself off one wall and painfully bounced off another with her hip.
When she slipped on some filth Dońa Jarrow managed to get behind her. While they battled to keep each other’s blades at bay she put Munroe in a headlock and tried to choke her. Rather than try to wrestle, Munroe grabbed Dońa Jarrow’s hand and bit down until she tasted blood. With a desperate scream Dońa Jarrow tried to pull away and shake her off. Eventually Munroe relented and let go, spitting out a lump of skin. She wiped the blood from her mouth a
nd spat, trying to clear the taste.
Munroe stepped back, flipped her dagger in her grip and attacked with an overhand stab. As Dońa Jarrow moved to block her knife arm Munroe kicked out with her left leg and followed up with a right hook. Dońa Jarrow dodged the kick and saw the punch coming. She twisted her face aside, but it still clipped her on the jaw. Munroe kept up the offensive, hammering blows which Dońa Jarrow had to either block or move backwards to avoid. Her back collided with a wall and Munroe twisted her dagger, holding it flat against her forearm. She spun and dragged her right arm in a diagonal arc, then quickly stepped back out of reach.
Dońa Jarrow stared at her in shock and then down at herself. Two long red lines had appeared on her dress. One ran horizontally across her hips and the other down one leg. The wounds weren’t deep but they were bleeding profusely and would ebb away at her strength. A little deeper and they would have spilled her innards all over the street. She wobbled on her feet but quickly righted herself, one hand pressed against the wound at her stomach.
Perhaps it was the sight of Munroe’s bloody grin, or the bits of skin stuck between her teeth, but whatever the cause Dońa Jarrow lost control.
As Munroe had expected she came out fighting. Her dagger became a silver whirlwind that whistled through the air. But for all of her skill and history with a blade, Dońa Jarrow hadn’t fought in a long time. She was rusty and her aggression made her sloppy. Her balance was off and Munroe punished her for it, ducking beneath Dońa Jarrow’s arm and punching a nerve cluster low on her back. She squawked and stumbled away, holding herself awkwardly. She managed to parry two of Munroe’s attacks but missed the third, which sliced through the top of her left thigh. Hissing in pain she hopped back, her dagger held high, one hand pressed against the wound.
“What’s wrong?” asked Munroe. “I thought you were going to put me in my place.”
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