by Raven Oak
“As we passed through the forest a day’s travel before Menoir, we were attacked by a Tribor assassin. I held him while we questioned him, but he gave us little information. All we know for certain was that he was sent to stop me from reaching you. Before we could get details, he killed himself on my blade.”
“So a real mark has been placed on Margaret’s head.”
“Not necessarily,” Adelei answered. “He was sent to stop me from reaching this city—the mark may well be on me. If it is, I can’t take Her Highness’s place in the wedding. It’ll put her in more danger if she’s me.”
“Margaret will be happy with that.” She shot him a dark look, and he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. She’ll be happy to be in the wedding again. I can’t see her rejoicing over your death.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she muttered.
King Leon drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm, the pads of his fingertips thumping the carved wood. “Why would they want to stop you?”
“They want this marriage to move forward, and they know that if I’m here, I’ll find out information that could lead to the end of the peace treaty. Chances are they were hired by the Shadian family to ensure things move forward, despite the rumors regarding Prince Gamun.”
“I assume this one bore the mark.”
Adelei nodded. “’Twas fairly new though.”
“Why the ankle?”
“Your Majesty?”
“Why the mark on the ankle?” he asked.
“The ankle is easily hidden. Unlike Amaskans, the Tribor wish to remain anonymous since they are hired to commit acts against the Thirteen.” Adelei’s eyes flashed as she stared at King Leon. “Amaskans are proud. They bear their mark openly and are not afraid to do their job.”
Footfalls moved outside, and Adelei held a finger to her lips. She tiptoed to the door, one hand on her dirk’s hilt. Adelei waved at her father then, miming talking with her fingers.
“Oh… um… that makes sense, I suppose, though I can’t see what the Shadians think they will gain… by such a plan,” he said.
She pressed her ear against the door. Outside, the guards still paced. Whoever it was, he or she was high enough in rank for the guards to maintain their silence and not be startled.
Adelei waved in her father’s direction again, and he cleared his throat noisily before speaking. “Do you think yo—the princess is in danger?” As he spoke, Adelei yanked open the door. She reached through it and seized the eavesdropper by the shirt. Adelei hauled the person into the room before slamming the door shut again. Without a glance, she shoved the would-be-assailant into the chair she had vacated, and it was only then that she got a good look at the person before her.
“Margaret. What are you doing here?” King Leon asked, color flooding back into his cheeks.
“I-I couldn’t sleep. A-and I decided to take a walk, when I saw her—,” she said, jerking a thumb in the direction of Adelei, “—come in here. And I thought you were in danger.” Margaret held up a small dinner knife, one used to spread jam and with all the sharpness of a hair comb.
Adelei burst out laughing.
“What? What’s so funny?” Margaret dropped the knife in her confusion, where it clanged against the stone floor and skittered under a chair. King Leon’s lip trembled as he bit back laughter, which only served to make Adelei laugh harder.
Unable to breathe, she sucked in a gasp. “I’m sorry, but seeing you holding that knife—” A small laugh tried to escape her lips, and she bit her tongue to stop it. “I shouldn’t laugh. My apologies, Your Highness.”
“Father, I truly thought you were in danger. I don’t see what is funny about that at all. Besides, I did what she said. It’s a weapon.”
The truth of it sucked the humor out of the situation, and Adelei sighed. “You’re right, Your Highness. All of us are in great danger, which is not funny in the least. But my directions told you to run, not come defend the King.”
“I was speaking to my father,” Margaret snapped.
When his fist crumpled the paper beside him, he tossed the ball into the lit fireplace where it crackled and burned. “Enough,” he said. “Margaret, your disdain for Master Adelei has been noted, but it doesn’t change the fact that she is here to protect you, to protect us all. If you will not do your part as princess and help by following orders, then how do I know you are ready to rule this country? What future as Queen do you have if all you focus on is yourself?”
From the look on her face, I’d say that’s possibly the first time he’s ever raised his voice to her. Her Highness’s lips curled down, teeth visible from the grimace that painted her face an ugly shade of confusion, and then shock as she realized he meant it.
“Too bad, Father,” Margaret said in a spur of inspiration. “I’m all you’ve got. And once I’m married, the law will be on my side.”
Leon’s eyes met Adelei’s, anger and sorrow mixing the brown into muddy waters that threatened to spill their banks. “I think it may be time that Margaret knew.”
“Knew what?” asked Margaret.
“This isn’t a good idea, Sire. Knowledge is power. And this could endanger her more.”
“But she refuses to listen to you. If she knew—”
“Knew what?” asked Margaret.
“It’s not a good idea,” Adelei said. “Trust me on this.”
King Leon held up his hand in protest, and Margaret stood, her hands on her hips. “Know what?” she shouted. Her face reminded Adelei of a berry, flushed red and purple as she stomped her foot.
“Margaret. Poppet. Master Adelei is your sister.”
Silence followed the announcement, until Margaret tore her eyes away from her father long enough to study Adelei’s face. “She cannot be. My sister is dead.”
Adelei knelt in front of her, her face before Margaret’s, and removed her head scarf. She used it to wipe away the makeup that hid her looks behind false wrinkles and almond-shaped eyes. “Look at me closely. I’m not dead.”
Margaret’s irises shrank as they moved across Adelei’s face. “It’s not possible. How—why—when—” she sputtered.
“That’s not a story I wish to repeat. You tell her how it happened,” answered Adelei. Anger seeped into her. Always there. I don’t know where my loyalties lie anymore. “By your leave?” she asked and bowed to King Leon. He nodded , and she secured the scarf before fleeing the room.
Her feet took her past her own rooms and down corridors and stairs until she found the stables. A familiar nicker greeted her. Midnight stood in his stall happily munching oats, and she ran a hand across his neck.
Master. Father. Why did you send me into such a situation? You had to know this would end up this way. You had to know this would tear me to pieces. She refused to give in to tears again. Midnight nosed her, nickering softly. Do I protect the sister who hates me for a father who played me, or do I return to the father who kidnapped me and stole me away from a chance of knowing this family of mine?
Adelei kicked at the straw below. I don’t know. I thought I knew what I was doing, coming here, but I don’t. And I get the feeling, Master Bredych, that you didn’t either.
The crunching of twigs under the boot heel of another caught her ear, and she froze. Behind me. She pressed her palm against Midnight’s neck. He responded to the touch and the tension in her body by shifting in the stall. Once he was in a better position to kick, he quieted. Adelei stepped right, out of his way, and watched him.
When the scuffing of a boot toe sounded, it was closer than before, and she leaned against the stall’s wall, dagger in hand. One foot at a time, she slid closer to the door until another footfall sounded.
A gloved hand reached over the stall, feeling for the latch. The person gently pushed the door open. Adelei held her breath, eyes moving between the hand and the ground where a booted foot stepped just left of one of Midnight’s droppings. When
the figure entered, Adelei didn’t waste any time. She ducked.
Midnight flung both rear hooves into the chest of her assailant. The kick hurled him through the swinging door and across the stable, where he slammed into the frame of another stall. Horses nickered loudly at the disruption, and Adelei rushed to his side.
The heart beat faintly beneath his flesh, but he remained unconscious as her deft, gloved fingers rifled through his clothing. While his pockets were empty, hidden at his wrist was a small piece of parchment bearing a sketch of her likeness. “Damn,” she whispered. “What do you want to bet he’s Tribor?”
Her horse whinnied in reply from his stall. He would alert her to the presence of others as she continued searching the body. This time when she found the tattoo, it was worn and faded, marking him an older member despite his baby face. The man, dressed in black, carried a small knife but nothing else.
Her mind pictured Princess Margaret, and she winced. Knowledge was power, even if the assassin had come ill-prepared.
The man moaned, and she tugged him into a sitting position by his muddy shirt. Adelei slid his knife into a pocket of her own and crouched down beside him. She was confident in her ability to keep him immobilized. When his eyes fluttered open, he tried to lurch forward, but his ribs set him coughing.
Dejected, he leaned back against the wall. “My horse probably broke a rib or three with that kick,” she spoke in Shadian. Adelei leaned close to his freshly shaven face. No night grease covered his skin, giving her a clear picture of him, and she studied his features as she talked. “I wouldn’t move too much—I don’t know if those broken ribs are near any internal organs.” He shrugged, hazel eyes wide as they watched her.
“I see you were coming after me.” She held up the piece of paper she’d pried from his wrist cuff.
“Not you.” He coughed, then leaned over to spit blood upon the ground.
Damn, looks like something did get punctured. Adelei pursed her lips together. When his words connected, she grabbed the paper and held it up close to her face. “Yes, me.”
“Similar, but… not you.” A cough shook his frame. Then another. “You have no hair.”
Oh Gods, he was after Margaret.
He glared at her with eyes green one moment and blue the next. His cheeks puckered, and she leaned back, dodging the mixed saliva and blood he spat at her. It landed on the floor with a fizzle. The stone remained untouched, but the strands of loose hay bubbled and hissed when the mixture connected with it. When she looked on him again, foam dribbled down his chin from between pale, thin lips. His eyes rolled backward as his body seized beneath her.
“Dammit,” she yelled and rolled away from his poisoned body. Behind her, Midnight danced in place, a concerned whinny catching her ear. She ignored him for the moment, more concerned with the poison foaming out of the Tribor’s mouth. It hit the floor, leaving a foul smelling trail of bubbling hay in its wake.
“Hey,” she shouted. When a stablehand came stumbling sleepily from around the corner, his eyes popped out of his skull at the sight of the dead man. “Stop. Don’t come any closer.” She waved a hand in warning. “Go fetch a guardsman, preferably Captain Fenton.”
As he scampered off, she grabbed a nearby shovel to push the untainted hay away from the pool of liquid gathering outside his body. The ooze seeped through his clothing. There were poisons, and then there were poisons. This was like nothing she had ever seen. Adelei twisted on her heel to keep from stepping in the stuff. If it could eat through his clothing and skin, it could eat through Adelei’s as well.
The ooze ignored the stone as it continued to eat its way across the stable floor. Footfalls in the distance alerted her to the approaching guards, and she shoveled the mix of hay and manure until she had created a wide circle around the body. A hiss behind him meant the poison had reached the stall he leaned against.
Inside the stall a frightened horse whinnied.
“Oh Gods,” she whispered. Her eyes darted around in search of an axe. None. Nothing to break the damned wood and stop the spread. Kind eyes peeked over the stall’s gate. Kind, brown eyes that were widened to the whites as the hissing ooze ate away at the wood. The mare backed against the rear wall where she found no escape.
“W-What is that?” Captain Fenton stopped at Adelei’s outstretched palm.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it eats through anything but stone. We need an axe—we may be able to stop its path.”
“There’s another way,” a familiar voice croaked, and Ida Warhammer strode to Captain Fenton’s side. She reached out an arm to snag the stablehand by the shirt. “You, go fetch me the biggest pail of goat’s milk you can get. Tell the shepherd it’s by my orders, but get it here as fast as ya can. Understand?”
The boy’s knobby legs fled the stables for a second time that night. “Goat’s milk? You know what this stuff is?” Adelei asked. Another startled whinny from the stable took her attention away as the ooze leeched across the floor.
“Get the other horses out of here,” Ida shouted to the guardsmen as the animals cried out in fear. Adelei tiptoed across the floor, careful to step where the ooze was not, and she opened the gate to Midnight’s stall. He danced beneath her grip as she eased him out and edged him around the growing circle of goop.
She tugged his lead and found it taut. All four hooves dug in, and he braced himself for battle. But when she sought the enemy, none appeared. Except the ooze on the floor. The moment her hands were free of the reins, Midnight leapt over the poison and pivoted around to kick in the partially eaten door with ease.
“No.”
Too late. Midnight’s hooves made contact with the acidic ooze. He backed up and gave the rear wall two swift kicks. A light whinny from Midnight was all it took, and the mare escaped through the hole in the rear wall. Just as quickly as it had spread across the wood of the gate, the poison frothed across Midnight’s hind quarters. It bubbled and hissed its way across his flesh, and he cried out.
“Oh Gods,” Michael whispered, his eyes glued to the scene before him.
Adelei ached to reach out to Midnight, to touch his quivering flank and soothe him. Instead, she could only remain a spectator as it crept across his flank. He screamed a brutal sound out as his rear legs failed to support him, and the battle steed fell to his knees. Bloody foam scattered across the stone floor.
“You did good, boy,” she whispered. Adelei stretched her arm across too far a distance, fingers stroking the air. Her mind remembered the touch of his black mane beneath her long fingers and the warmth of his breath as he inhaled her scented palm. Adelei fell to her own knees as Midnight cried out in agony. Beside her, Michael withdrew his sword and moved toward the battle steed, but Adelei placed her hand against the captain’s leg. “No. You can’t touch him. It’ll spread.”
Ida’s hand rested on her shoulder, a light sympathetic squeeze along her collarbone. “If the goat’s milk gets here soon, we can—”
“It’s too late.”
Adelei gestured at the horse’s rear quarters, a mess unrecognizable in the bloody foam. When Midnight cried out again, bright red foam erupted from his mouth and nose. Captain Fenton balanced on one foot as he leaned forward. He gripped Ida’s shoulder for support and stabbed Midnight through the heart.
Michael left the sword where it was, quick to release it lest he be contaminated as well. Midnight whinnied softly, the sound more a gargle than anything else. His eyes rolled toward Adelei, and then he stilled.
The ooze continued to devour Midnight’s corpse, and Adelei returned her dagger to its sheath.
“Worth the sword. No one should suffer like that, be they beast or man.”
“I have the goat’s milk.” The bucket knocked against the stable boy’s knees as he approached.
Adelei ignored him. She watched her battle steed’s body instead.
The first time she had seen him, a foal among a field of horses. Each one to be trained as a battle steed. He was a beast of so
lid black, a creature meant to replace Master Bredych’s fallen mount. Before anyone could tell her otherwise, Adelei had clambered over the fence and into the field. Never mind the battle postures of the horses around her, she bee-lined for the foal.
“Adelei, come back,” Master Bredych had cried. Only the Horsemaster and his crew had been given clearance to the field, and for good reason—all those half trained mounts. I’m lucky I wasn’t killed. Which was exactly what Master Bredych said when he got a hold of me. But by then, that foal was convinced I was his second mother.
No one could explain why we bonded so well, only that we did. She had visited him daily until Master Bredych had gifted him to her. Adelei’s first battle steed.
Milk spread across the floor, and the hissing ceased. Ida scooped cups of it out of the bucket and sloshed it across the stall doors and walls. Anywhere that was infected. When the milk touched Midnight, Adelei watched, part of her hoping that somehow he’d rise up, whole and fixed again.
But the body didn’t move. He lay still. A foul mix of decay, ooze, and goat’s milk. Bile rose in the back of her throat as she turned away. On hands and knees, she crawled into the nearest stall where she lost her dinner like a war-green soldier.
Midnight’s stall.
The hay still fresh with the smell of him, his saddle slung across a side-wall. He was a gift. He was family.
“Master Adelei,” Ida called softly from the door. “The poison’s stopped. It’s safe now for the stable boys to clean up.”
“That’s fine.”
Ida shifted back and forth in the remaining hay. “We… we didn’t know what ya wanted us to do with Midnight’s body.”
Adelei glanced up and met a sea of blue holding back unshed tears. “His body should be sent back to Sadai, but… but I don’t think that’s possible now. There’s not enough left to…” A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Are ya sure? I can help—I know what it means to lose—”