Wicked Women

by Gaie Sebold

  ‘That could cost lives. A lot of them, if the firedrake loses control like you think it will.’

  Jayla met Rae’s gaze evenly. ‘Yes, it probably will. But in the end, we’ll be free again. It’s worth the cost.’

  Rae watched her for a few seconds, her expression unreadable, then nodded sharply and looked away. Jayla settled down to wait again, reflecting on what she had told her. In fact she was utterly certain that people would die. The firedrake was a beast, without its advisor what else could it do but kill? If smouldering bodies in the streets didn’t turn the people against it then nothing would. And when that time came, she would be ready to take advantage of it and lead the Bask against the beast.

  The touch of a hand on her shoulder awoke Jayla from an uneasy slumber. Her eyes snapped open, her hand flying to the haft of her mace before she even registered what was going on. Rork stood over her, his expression grim. He gestured to the end of the tunnel, and it was then that Jayla registered the faint grinding noise and the increasing level of light. The secret door was opening.

  Jayla got to her feet and quickly pushed her way to the front of the group, drawing her mace and tightening her grip around the haft. She felt her pulse quicken as the door continued to open. If there was more than one person on the other side then that would be it, they would have been betrayed. As the gap yawned wider she caught sight of a figure in Draconic Guard uniform clutching a halberd and stiffened, moments later his face became visible and Jayla allowed herself to relax a little.

  ‘Jayla?’ The guard’s voice was tense, his posture stiff as he saw the seven people waiting in the tunnel. ‘Is that you?’

  Jayla stepped forward slowly so that her face was visible. ‘It’s me, Max. Any trouble?’

  ‘No.’ The guard paused, darted a nervous look up and down the corridor. ‘All of you get in here, quickly.’

  Jayla nodded and the others all filed out into the corridor. When they were clear Max pulled a lever set into the wall and the secret door ground shut again. He turned back and glanced at every member of the group in turn, his expression doubtful. His gaze lingered in particular on Rae and Dolan, the only two that had opted to wear the enclosing helms that had been provided with the Draconic Guard uniforms and armour. He was obviously nervous.

  ‘Is Dana in her chambers?’ Jayla asked, keen to keep Max focussed on the task at hand.

  ‘Yes. I think so. She hasn’t emerged from there for a few weeks, but that’s not unusual. There’s plenty of food and water, and a direct route from there to the… to the firedrake’s lair; they often spend a lot of time planning things.’

  Jayla absorbed that for a moment. The fact that Dana hadn’t been seen for a while was far from reassuring, but they had come too far to turn back now. She nodded sharply, keen to project an air of authority.

  ‘Lead the way.’

  They walked in silence down stone corridors with torches mounted in wall-brackets at regular intervals, passing closed doors without slowing. Jayla heard movement from behind some of them but nobody came out to investigate. Obviously guards patrolling the corridors of the Drake’s Roost were a regular occurrence. Hopefully that would get them to where they needed to go without arousing any suspicions.

  After a few minutes of walking Max stopped dead as a strange sound echoed down the corridor. At first it sounded like gusts of wind but the noise was too rhythmic, like an immense pair of bellows being worked. When she realised what it was Jayla felt a chill steal through her. It took a few moments for the sound to die away, and only then did the Draconic Guard look round.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he said, though the expression on his sweat-sheened face suggested otherwise. ‘It’s gone to hunt. It won’t be back for a while.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ someone muttered, low enough that Jayla wasn’t sure who had said it, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

  They walked on and after turning a corner were confronted by a set of double doors, one of which stood open. Max paused, and glanced back at them.

  ‘Through the main hall is the quickest way.’ He said. ‘Her chambers aren’t far beyond that. There will be guards, so keep quiet.’

  The hall was vast, with twin rows of stone pillars holding the high vaulted ceiling aloft. Once this would have been the place where Dax or one of his representatives received visitors. Jayla remembered a throne standing at the end of the hall, but that had been removed. Where once only icons and symbols of the Bask would have been displayed in here, great banners now hung between the pillars, each displaying one of the symbols of the six clans. The Bask symbol was there too, but to see it relegated to just one among the others filled Jayla with a cold fury. Largest of all was the firedrake’s symbol hanging on a banner pinned to the back wall where the throne had once stood: it was a crude and unsubtle illustration of just who had the real power now.

  They were halfway through the hall when the door slammed shut behind them. Jayla whirled, at first wondering if it had been blown shut by a draft, but then the rattle of chainmail reached her ears from all around them. From their hiding places behind the banners Draconic Guard stepped out into the open; all in armour with halberds pointing towards them. Rae and the others drew their weapons, several spitting out curses as they recognised what Jayla had already realised. They were outnumbered at least three to one.

  They had been betrayed.

  Her first thought was that Max was to blame but one look at how the man was shivering, the halberd in his hands visibly trembling as he pointed the weapon at his erstwhile comrades, suggested otherwise. Leana then. Obviously that neighbour she had spoken to outside the city was nothing of the sort, the bitch must have-

  ‘Place your weapons on the ground, now!’ The shout came from her right, and Jayla turned. Clearly the Draconic Guard’s commander, this man was the only one not wearing a helm, and Jayla felt her lip curl as she saw that the commander’s hair was tied in the Bask fashion. Traitor.

  ‘Go fuck yourself,’ she spat in response, clutching her mace even tighter. ‘We’ll never surrender to cowards like you.’ The commander rolled his eyes.

  ‘Brave words from a woman coming to murder someone while she slept,’ he snapped back. ‘Give it up. There’s no escape from the Drake’s Roost now. There are many of us, and only seven of you.’

  Eight, Jayla started to think, then heard someone behind her begin to move. She turned, her mouth falling open as she saw Rae step quickly away from the group, pulling her helm off and shaking her hair free. At the sight of her Max let out a soft oh gods and dropped his halberd. The weapon clattered onto the floor but Jayla paid no attention, unable to make sense of what was happening. She had trusted her, she was a loyal Bask, how could she… then she remembered the beggar, the coins Rae had given to him. What else might she have passed on or whispered while Jayla was busy dealing with Leana? She had been such a fool.

  ‘Is this all of them?’ The commander asked. Rae nodded.

  ‘All that Jayla wanted involved. There are probably others that she didn’t trust for something like this. So, Brin, did I miss much?’

  ‘Nope. It was pretty dull around here without you.’

  Jayla watched all this, taking in the manner in which they spoke, their posture and how the two looked at each other. Then she remembered how Max had reacted when he had seen Rae’s face for the first time, and she felt the floor disappear from under her.

  ‘You’re Dana,’ she said numbly.

  ‘I am,’ she replied, her expression neutral. ‘And you’re Jayla. You look a lot like him, you know. Dax. It’s a shame he never acknowledged you.’

  ‘Why did you do this?’

  Dana shrugged. ‘We’ve known about you for some time, and suspected that someone inside the Draconic Guard was feeding you information. This was the best way to flush him out of hiding.’ Nearby Max let out a sob, but Dana kept her eyes fixed on Jayla. ‘If you meant why me personally, well. I was bored.’

  The Draconic Guard commander snorted, an
d Dana glared at him for a moment, an expression that he returned in kind. She smiled, and the expression stoked the anger that permanently bubbled deep within Jayla to new heights of fury. Before she knew what she was doing she was lunging forward, lifting her mace and letting out an incoherent roar of pure rage, ignoring the alarmed cries from all around her and the sound of rushing footsteps, only seeing the smug bitch in front of her who-

  Dana moved faster than she had thought possible.

  In one smooth motion she sidestepped and drew her sword from its scabbard, twisting slightly and swiping out with the blade. Jayla felt a fiery pain across the side of her wrist, the shock of it jolting her hand open. As she fumbled to grasp hold of her mace again she sensed the hilt of Dana’s sword come sweeping in towards her temple.

  There seemed to be no transition between that moment and the next. Jayla found herself flat on her back, pain blazing through her wrist, the tip of a blade resting against her throat. Dana looked down at her, her expression impassive. Behind her she could hear the clash of arms and a brief, abruptly cut-off gurgle as the Draconic Guard restrained the others. They had followed her willingly and she had led them to their doom.

  ‘It’s a shame you don’t understand what we’re trying to build here,’ Dana said. ‘You’re very much like your father, but I don’t know. There might be hope for you yet.’

  Jayla snarled up at her in response. ‘I’ll never be like you. I’ll never betray my people and sell them out to a creature.’

  ‘My people are dead. Your father saw to that long before you were a twinkle in your whore mother’s eye. As for the creature, well. Saramanth is a lot smarter than you might think.’ She smiled at the look of surprise that Jayla couldn’t entirely hide. ‘Of course she has a name. She might be fearsome but she’s no fool; under her rule the land is going to become better for everyone. The changes the city is going through now are only the beginning. She’ll be back soon; perhaps she’ll be able to persuade you of that.

  ‘And if not?’ Dana shrugged. ‘Well. She’s always hungry.’

  The last survivor of the Rushani clan turned and walked away. Jayla snarled and lunged to her feet, but could take no more than a step before Draconic Guard appeared to either side of her and strong hands closed around her arms. Dana and Brin ignored this and walked away together while Jayla was dragged in the opposite direction, past more than one body, spitting curses and crying out that she would get her revenge on her, that her father would be avenged, that Dana would pay for what she had done.

  Later on, in the darkness of the dank prison cell into which they had thrown her, Jayla heard the pounding wings of the firedrake as she returned to her lair.

  DOWN AT THE LAKE

  Jaine Fenn

  Dawn already? Cold too: winter’s on its way. As I stumble back up the slope to the cottage my feet break through a crust of frost; freezing mud squelches up between my toes, thick and chill and sticky.

  There’s no smoke coming from the chimney. Damnit papa, have you let the fire go out again? A shadow passes over the sun and I shiver; before I can catch it the shiver becomes a shudder, something beyond a mere reaction to the cold.

  Even as I wonder where this sensation comes from, it’s gone again and all that matters is getting inside, where I can be dry and warm.

  The cottage is empty, but I should have expected that. Last night papa was so pumped up with his great victory that he swept out without a word. He must still be over the far side of the lake, gloating. Ah dear, you poor, tragic birdies. Sorry princess, looks like you got your hopes up for nothing. What a shame.

  I just wish papa would give me some credit for his triumph. I danced until my feet bled.

  Or perhaps he’s avoiding me because of what I found out yesterday. How spells work both ways: black needs white and night needs day. It’s all about balance. Pay a price – and gain a reward.

  There’s a lot of crap talked about magic. To hear the villagers prattle on you’d think papa could pull gold coins and fine linen from the very air. If only. You need to start with the right raw materials.

  You can’t just magic things away either. Which is why, between the fabric, beads, paint and knives papa used to make me look the part, and the crusty plates, cobwebbed corners and unwashed laundry that built up while he was enchanting and I was practising, this particular sorcerer’s cottage is a stinking hovel.

  I need clothes. Up in my room, I find and pull on a fairly clean kirtle, drab brown but warm and familiar on bare skin. While I fasten my dress I find myself looking at the shapeless frock hanging on the back of the bedroom door. Today, it’s coarse black fabric sewn with cheap glass stones. Yesterday, I dazzled the courtiers in midnight satin and blood-red rubies, fitted to show every curve. I looked amazing. I was amazing. And papa was so proud. But that was then; in daylight the romance and magic drains away.

  Well, not entirely. If he’d given me the choice I would have kept the dress and lost the face. This intsy-winsy mouth would look better on a trout than a girl and these wide, trusting eyes make me look like a lost puppy. Shame magic sticks to flesh better than it does to cloth or glass. So I’m left with a peasant’s costume and a princess’s looks - at least while the sun’s up. I imagine I’ll get used to it.

  May as well tidy up. Anything to stop him going into one of his strops when he gets home. I know him: after the party, the comedown. Despite the success of this latest scheme he’ll be off again soon enough, pacing and muttering over injustices only he remembers, raging about vengeance for ancient slights.

  If only I could stop thinking about Siggy. That wasn’t a side-effect either of us foresaw. It’s so dumb. He’s so dumb. But the silly boy’s also very... cute. And he’s a prince, of course. A real live, blue-blood, no-brain, pert-buttocked prince. When papa gets back I’m going to ask when I can see him again. After all, he loves me now: naturally he’ll want to see me again. It can’t end here. And if I do go back to the palace to see Siggy again, then that would make the revenge all the sweeter. That’s what I’ll say, soon as papa gets back.

  While I wait, I light the fire. I sweep the floor while the water’s heating, then I put the plates in to soak, wash some socks and shirts and finally have a go at scraping papa’s work-table clean, though it’ll take more than warm water to shift all this fat and dried blood.

  When the sun starts to sink behind the trees and there’s still no sign of papa, I begin to fret. Remembering the odd feeling I had this morning – it’s a wise sorcerer’s daughter who listens to her intuition – I put on a cloak and shoes and go out.

  I know where he’ll be. I’m in such a hurry to get round the lake that it’s a while before I notice how empty the water is. Not a swan in sight, even though it’s still light. Something is wrong.

  On the far side I come across footprints. Footprints made by delicate, girlie feet, the sort born to wear embroidered slippers and be carried across thresholds by adoring princes. Dozens of pairs, all running away from the lake. Which can mean only one thing. The birds have flown. Or rather, not being birds anymore, run off.

  My heart begins to patter. I call papa’s name, but get no answer. I won’t panic. A sorcerer’s daughter never panics.

  Then I find him.

  He’s lying face-down in the reeds. I almost stumble over his body.

  A noise, an ugly thoughtless squeal, breaks from my throat. Birds burst up from the willows at the sound. Then I’m crying, the tears rolling off my face like the first fat drops of a summer storm.

  After a while I get control again and make myself look more closely. His right wing is broken and he’s been shot through the heart with a crossbow bolt.

  A crossbow bolt.

  Siggy?

  I never thought my silly, pretty prince had it in him. That’s love for you. Not love for me though. I know that now. I might have turned his head when I danced for him in the glow of papa’s magic, but the one he really wanted was her, the leader of the cursed princesses. Her white inno
cence, her effortless grace; her pathetic need. He killed my papa to free the stinking princess from papa’s enchantment. And it worked too. Her and all the other girlies, back in human form all the time, no longer doomed – hah, doomed! – to be swans in the daylight.

  I start crying again. This time the tears are all for me. I don’t fight them.

  When I came out of the lake this morning I had a father – not a good or loving father, but the only one I’ve known – and the love of a prince. Or so I thought. Turns out I don’t have either! I rage at the trees, the sparrows, the reeds. I curse the world.

  The world ignores me.

  Finally I run out of anger and tears. I sniff, then drag papa’s body down to the shore. On his left side, he’s got an arm, not a wing, and I wonder what this means. After all, if murdering him lifted the curse on the princess and her cronies, what will it do to me? They were normal girls once, back before papa found them. I don’t think I was ever a normal girl, not given the way papa changed the subject whenever I mentioned mothers or birthdays. Now he’s dead so the spell’s broken and they’re human all the time. What about me? Do I have to spend the rest of my life as this leggy, flightless girl-thing?

  But when the last flashes of the sun disappear behind the mountains I feel the familiar tingle, soft as downy feathers and urgent as the need to pee. I hurry to get papa into the water. As soon as he’s free of the shore the lake pulls him out of my hands. He slips silently down into the dark, chill depths.

  My skin is crawling now. I undo my cloak, pull my dress over my head and wade out further. Tiny buds of black are bursting out all over my body, unfurling into sleek feathers, a thousand pin-pricks becoming dark flowers. I raise my chin and my neck grows longer, filling my head with the sound of cracking bones. My knees twitch, then break cleanly and start to heal themselves, reversed.