by Dawn Peers
"I can't come any further, Quinn. You have to save yourself. You have to want to come out of there. Please, Quinn, you must. Even if we can't stop Sammah, I can't live without you. Eden can't live without you. Come back to me. You have to do it, Quinn. I can't lose you here."
She moved another foot forward. Her other foot, however, stayed stubbornly where it was, no matter how much she pulled. It was stuck fast in the sand, and a rising wave splashed at her hips. "I can't do it, Maertn. I'm stuck. I just don't have the energy."
"Don't use your body Quinn. Use your mind. Use me! Use your ability. What you did to me, when Elias hurt my leg—do that—do it now!"
Quinn opened a thread to Maertn. She found within him a wall of resolute iron will, that she had never thought her sweet, fragile Maertn capable of possessing. But right now, he was in his element; he was a healer, and he had been skilled enough to make the journey here to save her, and only to save her. She grasped on to this, and using his willpower as a lever, again tried to move her foot. It began to wiggle free of the sand. She imagined kicking down at it, hammering away at whatever was holding her back, whatever was keeping her here; whatever being wanted her to die in this place.
With a slick pop, her foot came free. She almost tumbled face-first in to the water, but caught her balance in time, using the forward momentum to not just walk, but to sprint out of that macabre sea. Quinn ran in to Maertn's waiting arms. He kissed her cheek and her forehead, hugging her tight.
"I knew you wouldn't leave me." he whispered in to her ear.
Quinn grinned. "I knew you wouldn't let me."
The Beach of Bones faded away. Quinn closed her eyes; the next time she opened them, she was back in Sammah's study. She was on the floor. She had been on the chair? Why was she on the floor now? She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes of the tears that were there. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but when she looked at it, she didn't see water, she saw a smear of blood. Looking down at herself, Quinn saw that her front was blood-soaked. She felt at her chin. That, too, was sticky. The sweet iron tang was all that filled her nostrils. She felt bile rising to her throat, and knew straightaway that she was going to be sick. Quinn twisted herself so that she managed to spew on the floor, and not over herself. Her entire body heaved and retched. Someone soothed her back, and the calming words of Maertn finally reached her past the horrendous ringing in her ears. Nothing was coming out of her stomach; Quinn tried to remember the last time she ate, and realised she had no idea. Eventually all that came out was blood and acid. It kept coming.
"Make her something. Smelling salts. Anything. Just stop that noise."
"She's alive, Sammah, isn't that enough for you?" Maertn snarled.
"Not nearly enough, healer. Get back."
Quinn felt the back of her shirt being tugged, and Sammah yanked her in to a sitting position as her chest convulsed. She tried to curl back over, and found herself held. Pain billowed across her chest, but Sammah would not let her move.
"Dearest Quinn. How are you feeling?"
Her green eyes shone, standing out in stark contrast against the red blood that was smeared over most of her face. Her chest heaved, but now she was upright, the convulsions began to subside. She bared her teeth at Sammah. They were pink, washed with saliva and blood. Sammah didn't dodge in time before the spittle hit him in the face. He reeled back and slapped her, wiping at himself with a cloth.
"Vile creature. This is the thanks I get for bringing you back from the dead."
"You," Quinn spat again "didn't."
"The same bargain stands, empath. Can you sense me, yet?"
Quinn looked Sammah up and down. Like the last two times she had returned from the beach, she felt different. Each time she had felt stronger. This time, she could almost feel her power thrumming through her veins. She wasn't sure which gift the spirits had wanted her to present them with, but each time she came close to death, her abilities were being changed. This time, when Sammah had asked her to reach out, she wasn't scared. There was no tension anymore. She knew this because, like before she had passed out, Sammah was glowing. Not enough to cause a glare; barely enough, in fact, to register to the naked eye. But it was an odd colour, a poisoned purple. She knew that, if anyone else had so far seen it, they would have called out in alarm. No one had; therefore it had to be something to do with her abilities. She was seeing Sammah. Not sensing him, but seeing him truly, for the first time. She looked at Maertn. He was glowing, too. His colour was a yellow-green. Elias—Quinn could only look at him once. His aura was black, and his skin so sallow that he looked near to death. She was seeing their gifts. She looked down at herself, expecting some brilliant gold, one of the magnificent colours of the rainbow. There was nothing. She extended her hand, placing it on Sammah's arm. He was breathing heavily. She let herself flow to him, bracing herself for the fire. Instead, she found nothing. Sammah was empty; devoid of emotion. She found in him nothing but a void. She felt herself being sucked in to that and pulled back. At the bottom of that void was the fire, and the fire was why she had hurt before. She had sensed Sammah, but she could not control how much. She couldn't control it, because she hadn't realised that there was nothing to feel. Sammah...Sammah had no emotions, at all.
Quinn frowned. Sammah grinned. That should have elicited something; joy, some glimmer of happiness, some warmth flowing between the two. Still, there was nothing. "You're empty." she stated. "What are you?"
"I, Quinn, am an apath. So far, I am the strongest apath to have ever lived. You are the first empath in many years to ever survive sensing one of my kind. That makes you the strongest empath to have ever lived. I think we are going to have a bright future together," Sammah pushed his face in to hers "but first, I need you to help me kill the king."
51
Quinn stood stiffly, her arms and legs outstretched as Maertn washed her with a rag. She didn't trust any of Sammah's men to do it. She certainly didn't trust Sammah to do it. She had been locked in with Maertn, and told neither of them were coming out until Quinn looked like she hadn't been bathed in blood. The water in the bathing tin was already red. Quinn, Maertn had declared, was looking almost human.
"That was brave of you, saving me. You didn't have to."
"I did,” Maertn answered. "We're lost without you now, Quinn. We had the answers. Ross got Sammah's book. I knew what Sammah was, his plan. He...he thinks you can control emotions now. He thinks that you'll be able to change someone, to make them kill the king. Can you do that now?"
"I don't know, Maertn. I haven't tried. I don't want to try. It's bad enough knowing what people feel. Making them feel something they don't want to? I can't even begin to imagine doing that."
"Well you're going to have to my dear," Sammah sang through the doorway. "Now hurry up. I haven't got all day. I'm only going to be able to keep people locked away in their rooms for so long."
"How has he been able to do this?" whispered Quinn.
Sammah still answered through the doorway. She closed her eyes within frustration. "Because I have more wisdom, wit and ambition than every simpering fop in this castle. Now do hurry up. I hate to be left waiting."
Maertn handed Quinn her clothes. She pulled them on, her skin still damp, the rough fabric scratching against her body. "If I was queen, at least I'd be in nicer clothes than this."
"That's the spirit!" came through the door. Maertn scowled at her; she put her finger up to her lips, suggesting he should keep quiet.
“How are you going to do it?”
“Do what, my dear?” Sammah continued in his false sing-song voice, which was beginning to grate on Quinn.
“Kill the king?”
“We’re not going to discuss that through a door, Quinn. And besides, I won’t be. Are you ready? It sounds like you’re ready?”
Quinn sought out Maertn’s gaze, seeking solidarity from him. He gave her a weak smile. It was better than nothing, under the circumstances. “I’m ready.”
&n
bsp; Sammah ripped the door open. His eyes only briefly flicked to the bath of water, showing no remorse for his treatment of Quinn, before eyeing his adopted daughter up and down. Quinn stood back, slightly behind Maertn. Sammah grinned. “Let’s go. It’s time for you to become a woman, Quinn.”
52
“How long are you going to keep us in here?”
Shiver’s question was a simple one, but the mercenary waved his hand in a gesture that meant he didn’t know. Eden was sitting in the corner, his head bowed. The boy was exhausted, and Shiver felt a pang of guilt. Rowan, he could have coped with seeing there; his eldest son was not an innocent party to this. Eden hadn’t known the depths to which his father was plunging in his pursuit of the throne, and was as innocent as any other bystander. Shiver had been shocked when Broc had been killed, but had believed himself to be beyond Sammah’s swords. Seeing Eden come so close to death had rocked him to the core. His alliance with Sammah had run its course, and the baron was now more of a liability than a useful tool. The baron needed to be stopped, before he started another war, and ruined Everfell for everyone.
“You do know who I am, don’t you? You can’t keep me in here all day.”
The mercenary pointed at Eden, who had looked up at hearing his father’s rant. “It’s me, who Baron Sammah wants to keep quiet, father. I’ll stay here. You go. Do whatever you need to do.”
“I’ll do that, son, but I won’t be leaving you here.”
Shiver squared up to the mercenary, who looked amused. It was easy to see why. Lord Shiver of Sevenspells may have been a hero of the last war, but the intervening years had been spent pandering to his affection for wine and red meats; Shiver was not the lean fighter he once was. The grin not leaving his face, the mercenary lifted his short sword free of its scabbard. It was a simple move, and one designed to intimidate Lord Shiver. Shiver, however, didn’t give the man the time or space to complete the gesture. As the sword was partially raised, he charged. Shiver was not the lithe fighter he once was, so like any good tactician, he used the strengths he did have to his advantage; in this case, his strength was his weight. Shiver tackled the man in the midriff, and taken completely by surprise, all the wind was knocked out of him. Both men smashed into the door, and Eden cried out in alarm. He was still bound, and struggled to balance himself as he teetered to his feet, desperate to help his father. Ross groaned, stirring, and suddenly their sole guard was outnumbered three to one.
The two wrestling men were on the floor now, and Eden saw Shiver’s hand raise and fall, then heard the skittering of metal against stone as the sword slid away. Straddling the man’s chest, Eden winced at the pounding of flesh against flesh as Shiver raised his fists, smashing them down onto the mercenary’s exposed face.
“If you ever touch one of my sons again, I’ll string you from the parapets by your innards.”
“Shiver…stop.”
Ross’s groggy voice brought Shiver back to his senses. Eden and Ross both staggered unsteadily over to the lord, who stood up off Sammah’s fallen mercenary. The man didn’t move. His face was a mess of blood. Shiver sighed, disregarding the man with an apathy that chilled Eden. This, here, was the man that had won Everfell the war. “At least Torran is already on the way. Should be, at least. Where is that old fool?”
“The door is barred. He couldn’t get in if he wanted to.”
Shiver looked bashful as Ross pointed out the obvious, and lifted the wooden slat which sat holding the door locked from the inside. Almost immediately, it was opened by Torran, followed by an excitable young boy hopping from foot to foot and carrying a bag full of greenery. Ross groaned.
“What is it Briar?”
The Chamberlain was more than used to the boy’s gossiping ways, and if he’d seen something worth chatting about, then they needed to know.
“On the way here, we saw Maertn. He ignored us—ignored his master. Said he was needed in the hall, by his father. He’ll get the lashes for that, won’t he?”
“I doubt it,” Ross replied, barging past Torran and Briar, both of whom recoiled as the chamberlain almost knocked them to the ground.
“Here,” Torran croaked. “That’s no way to treat a healer and an old man.”
“You’ll be paid well enough for your time. The girl is over there.” Shiver waved towards Ross’s bed as he worked to free Eden from his bonds. Torran looked Eden up and down.
“It looks like your boy needs my attention first.”
“This boy is needed elsewhere.”
Torran threw up his arms in frustration, nearly knocking the herbs out of Briar’s hands. “Is everyone going to be somewhere else now, when I come to heal them? I am capable of doing this, you know. Been doing it for years, before that apprentice of mine started stealing all the plaudits.”
“Master, I don’t doubt your abilities, but truly, there are bigger things going on.” Eden spared a glance for Briar before addressing his father “Sammah needs to be stopped. You’re going to be dragged right into this, father. Are you sure you want to stay in the city?”
Eden knew that he shouldn’t be giving his father any choice in the matter. He had conspired with Sammah to take the throne; but, deep down, Eden couldn’t view his father in the same way he saw the conspiring Baron from Sha’sek. Somehow, in some way, Eden had to believe that Sammah had manipulated Shiver into the conspirator he was today.
“I made my choices, Eden. My choice now is the throne for Everfell, or for Sha’sek. I think we both know what choice I make there. Come what may of the consequences.”
53
“Your highness! Hold, a word, if you please?”
Baron Sammah walked briskly through the corridor, catching the king just before the corridors to his suites. Vance turned, a tired and unpleasant expression resting over his weary face. “Yes, Sammah? What do you want?”
“I have news, sire! It is urgent, and most private. We can’t discuss it here. Can we meet, in your chambers?”
“We are almost there, now, and there is no one here save your children. Send them away and let’s hear it.”
Sammah waved his arm in a scooping motion, beckoning Maertn and Quinn forward. “Sire, they have helped me in this, what I have to tell you, they already know.”
King Vance was regarding them with suspicion, and Quinn couldn’t blame him. In the past few days, his court had been ripped apart, and with the murder of one of his noble subjects, his entire rule was being brought into question. No wonder Sammah was choosing now to strike.
His plan was simple; Quinn’s role was clear. She was to read Vance as Sammah exposed Shiver for a traitor. As soon as the Lord of Sevenspells’ sentence for treason was passed—execution, Sammah had no doubt—then there were no other threats between Sammah and the throne. Quinn was going to impress on Vance that Sammah was right, and his throne was safe. Quinn didn’t know how she was going to do this, and she’d already protested to Sammah that she didn’t know how to force other people’s feelings. She knew, though, that Sammah didn’t believe her. After taking some of Maertn’s pain, she didn’t fully believe herself, though she hadn’t know how she’d done it.
“It’s not appropriate here, sire. It’s about one of your lords. I don’t wish to cast aspersions out where anyone might hear.”
“But you’re happy to bend my ear in private, where no one else might have the knowing of it?”
Vance didn’t trust Sammah. Quinn could have cried out with joy; she knew what many others thought of their king, but he was not a stupid man. He was proving it now, with the way in which he was responding to Sammah’s words of trickery. Words, it seemed, would not be enough. Sammah sighed.
“Far be it from me to question the King of Everfell. If you want to hear me out here, then so be it. It was Maertn who first found out, then Quinn, sire. It’s Sevenspells. All of them. Shiver, Rowan, River, even Eden. They’ve tricked you. They want the throne, and they’ve been behind the killings all along.”
Quinn opened her m
outh to protest, but said nothing when Vance responded to Sammah with raucous laughter. Sammah, too, was so obviously surprised by this that both Quinn and Maertn were confused. This wasn’t at all what the Baron had been expecting.
“Oh Baron, if you think I’m so foolish as to think Shiver is a loyal man, then you really haven’t been paying attention during your tenure here. I don’t know what you think you’ve found linking Shiver to the killings, but it had better be good. Otherwise I’ll have a messenger sent to your brother and I’ll be asking for you to be replaced. Shiver is never out of my eyesight—be it my friends or my spies. Lord Shiver can’t sneeze without me finding out. You, Sammah, are more elusive, and I don’t think for a second that you’ve only just noticed that Shiver covets my throne
“What are your real intentions, Baron Sammah?”
Shiver’s mouth worked as he searched for his next words, and Quinn realised that, for the first time ever, she was seeing her father flustered. The King didn’t disbelieve him, Sammah just wasn’t telling him something he didn’t already know. The lie, therefore, about Shiver, had no credibility in the King’s eyes.
“Sire, I assure you, no matter what you think your men have seen, it is the Lord Shiver that’s been working to overthrow you. He had Lord Broc murdered. You must take this more seriously!”
Quinn swallowed as her throat began to dry; Sammah was lying, and for the first time in her life, she could feel it. As the lies seemed to flow from his tongue freely, she wished that she couldn’t. She kept her mouth shut, but in her head, she was willing him to stop.
“And what hand have your children had in this? What have they discovered, that men in my employ for most of their lives as spymasters, have been unable to tell me?”
Sammah waved Maertn forward first, and the healer edged himself forward, his eyes downcast.