And who is the cloaked man? Who is he wanting to kill? Why disguise himself if he would not be easy to recognise?
My mind is so full of unanswered questions that I made myself a sleeping draught last night. For the first time in my life I needed my own remedy.
I will visit Halfreda in the morning, as though it is my usual weekly trip. It won’t be suspicious should anyone – cloaked or otherwise – be watching me.
After all, if this cloaked man will pay for my silence before he has even done business with me, he may well be watching me to ensure that his coin is well spent, and while that threat is in my mind, I pick up a rosemary lotion and slip next door to see my neighbours.
I like to keep to myself; I don’t want to interfere in anyone else’s affairs; I know too much of what goes on in this village anyway. I know who has ailments and who is love sick, but I like my neighbours. They keep to themselves but look out for me, as I try to do for them.
I knock the door and wait for an answer. I don’t like to be too familiar and they return the favour. “Della?” I call out.
She opens the door and smiles when she sees me. “Ginny.” She folds me in to a big hug. “Come in.”
I follow her inside. Her cottage is the same as mine, but with a cobbled together extension on the back. She lives with her brother and so they are probably glad of the extra space.
I pass her the lotion. “It’s good for your hands,” I tell her. She works as hard as her brother on the land, and so I know she’ll use it. “I wanted to ask the both of you to keep an eye out. I had a customer yesterday and he was a little unsavoury. Just for you to be aware.”
Della smiles, sniffing the lotion as she does so. “Thank you. I’ll tell Finn when I see him.”
“He’s out?”
“Always.”
We chat for a while and then I leave her before I outstay my welcome.
Back in my cottage with no sign of any more customers, I throw some herbs on my fire, calming herbs, to fill my little cottage with sweet smells, to try to calm my thoughts and let me rest.
I am open for custom today, but I feel a little bit detached from the gossip and worries that people are bringing me. I have sold some tonics and philtres, some cordials and stimulants. My pockets are full of coin, but my mind is filled with turmoil.
I fill a cup with ale and sit in front of my sweet-smelling fire, to let the herbs do their job, if they can, if my mind is not too distressed.
I will wait until the morning, leave as I always do, although my feet are itching to carry me to the castle right now.
My hope is that my sleep tonight will come sweet and peaceful to me once again, as it has always done before.
I need to feel calm.
I need to share my worry.
A death draught indeed.
Who would need one?
A death draught, you see, is a sneaky little thing.
If a man is angry with his neighbour, he may fight him.
If a man is angry with his wife, he may hurt her.
If she is angry with him and strong enough to stand up to him, she may hurt him back.
A knight may kill another.
A traitor is beheaded.
A thief has his hands chopped off.
Who uses a death draught?
A sneaky, cowardly killer who does not want to be caught.
6
EVERLEIGH HAD A BATH, dressed in her nightclothes and slept for about three hours. When she woke, she had called one of the little maids to bring her food.
Lanorie taps the door and comes in to the chamber.
“Did you sleep well, princess. Queen?”
“Shh, Lanny. You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
Lanorie shakes her head. “Of course not. I promised you.”
Everleigh smiles and straightens the blanket across her knees. Lanorie places a tray on her lap.
“I’m starving, now,” Everleigh says and starts eating. The food is delicious – fish, cheese and bread. “I’m going to go for a walk after this. Will you dress me please?”
Lanorie nods, as she always does. She never begrudges looking after Everleigh; she’s been doing it for such a long time, and it isn’t hard work.
Everleigh eats while Lanorie readies her clothes and then stands while she dresses her. She doesn’t wear the dress she wore already that morning, Lanorie puts a deep golden velvet dress on her instead.
They haven’t said much about anything; the little maids are back and fore, laying the fire ready for evening, tidying up and Everleigh knows that even though she’s told Lanorie, without knowing what comes next from Halfreda, she must be careful.
Lanorie brushes Everleigh’s hair back, wraps her cloak around her and tucks her long hair in to the hood.
“You’re so beautiful, Queen.” The last word she whispers and Everleigh smiles. “Shh, Lanny. Wait until I know more. I need to speak to Halfreda.”
Lanorie nods and follows Everleigh from the room. The castle is busy and at every turn they are greeted with curtsies and bows. Everleigh smiles. Would she be Queen and rule over these people?
Lanorie curtsies and lets Everleigh walk off alone. She heads over to the stables.
“I want to ride out,” she says to one of the stable boys. He nods his head and quickly readies a horse for her.
She is a good rider but seldom rides out alone. The horse is one she shares with Addyson and it’s a gorgeous deep brown mare. She tickles her under the chin and then climbs on, tucking her dress around her knees in a most unladylike way; her father would be cross if he saw her.
“Let’s go.” They canter out of the courtyard and she heads for the fields. There are acres of fields, all linked with hedges or fences, most of which she can jump.
The air is streaming over her and clearing her head. Her heart is hammering in her chest and she feels alive. She feels like her heart has been slowing down, due to her inevitable death, but has sped back up. She stands up as the horse gallops, the wind whipping her hair, her cheeks painful from the cold air. “I am going to live.” The wind steals the words. “I am going to live. To live. Live.” The last word is a scream and she is laughing as her horse streaks through the grass. With every fence and hedge it jumps she is sure she’ll start flying.
By the time she canters back to the stables, her cheeks are raw and her voice is hoarse.
She decides to visit her mother’s grave. Even though she never normally visits her during the day, she feels that she should today. She needs to speak to her mother and try to feel some peace again and then, even though Halfreda has excused her, she might join the family for supper.
She moves silently through the trees, her soft shoes making no noise on the leaves that cover the floor and comes to the path alongside her mother’s clearing. She pushes at a branch that’s blocking the way and as she moves it she sees a flash of colour ahead of her.
She lowers the branch and looks through the leaves. It’s one of her brothers or her father, no doubt, and she doesn’t feel like talking to anyone. But it isn’t one of her brothers or her father. It’s the red headed man she had seen at the castle last night and this morning on her way to the river.
He is wearing green breeches and he has taken off his top. He is practising with his sword. Everleigh stands on her tip toes. His body is glistening with sweat and she can see his muscles rippling as he moves and twists and turns. She feels a bit hot. Princesses don’t normally see men like this.
When she watches a knight in a joust or a sword fight he is clothed and at a distance.
As this red headed man moves, he comes within feet of her. She wouldn’t have to stretch her fingertips out too far to touch him – to feel for herself the sheen on his light skin.
His body is as perfect as one of the statues in the courtyard. Of course, those statues are usually naked where he is clothed from the waist down. His skin is taut across his body and he has a light smattering of hair and freckles across his chest.
> Everleigh can’t take her eyes off him. He’s so fast and strong. She can see the steel in his eyes as well as his hands. He is springy on his feet for such a broad-shouldered man. He isn’t too heavily muscled though; he’s sinewy and lithe.
Everleigh loosens her cloak. She’s hot now but she can’t take her eyes off him. Doesn’t want to.
He’s striking forward with his sword, so fast and strong. Then he turns and retreats from an imagined foe. Then he charges forwards again, swooping and turning, his sword a blur.
Suddenly he turns and pulls a dagger from his boot. He spins around and throws it at the tree right next to her.
Everleigh screams and falls backwards.
He pushes through the branches quickly. He looks surprised when he sees her and reaches an arm out to her. His sweat lined body is just inches from her. Everleigh wants to reach out and touch him, trail her fingers across his skin, she takes his hand instead. He pulls her up with no effort at all.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Everleigh demands of him. “You could have killed me with that dagger.”
The man shakes his head and smiles. “I never miss and I wasn’t aiming for you.”
Everleigh sighs. He holds his hand out as if to shake hers. “People call me Archer.”
Everleigh humphs. “Oh, they do, do they?”
Archer nods, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“People call me princess,” she says and turns away from him.
She heads off through the trees, making far more noise than she had when she came in to the forest in the first place. She can hear him chasing her, his feet quick, but she keeps walking. She heads out of the trees and on to the path. He rushes past her.
“Princess.” He’s in front of her and she can’t ignore him.
“Princess, forgive me.”
Everleigh looks at him. He is taller than her, and still half naked. The sweat has dried and his chest is rising and falling as he catches his breath. He has a shock of red hair and the darkest blue eyes she has ever seen. He looks embarrassed but confident.
He keeps his eyes on hers and lowers himself down. When he’s on one knee he drops his head in to a bow.
Everleigh shakes her head. People in the courtyard have stopped what they are doing to watch them. “Rise up. Archer.”
Archer stands up and smiles. “I had no idea you were there, watching me.”
“I wasn’t there watching you, thank you; I was trying to find a quiet spot to think.”
Archer smiles again. “I never miss. You were safe.”
Everleigh humphs again and turns back to the castle.
“Princess,” Archer calls her again. She turns her head to look at him. “It was my pleasure to meet you.”
Everleigh says nothing but can’t help smiling and as she walks away she feels his eyes on her the whole way.
Feeling better after fresh air, and the sight of Archer with no top on, she decides to join the family for supper. She can visit her mother’s grave tonight.
Unaccompanied, which is unusual, she pushes open the door to the great hall and has a minute to stand and watch proceedings before she is noticed.
Occasionally as a family they would eat together in the quiet of the King’s chambers, or she would eat alone in her room, but most of the time, meals are a public occasion. Anyone could come to the hall and enjoy a meal. The King’s hospitality was always available. The guards on duty might exclude a character they deemed particularly unsavoury, but for commoners or royals, the food was there for the taking. The royal table was served first. They sat higher than everyone else, on a dais. They each chose dishes to send to people that they liked and wanted to honour. Then the remaining food was sent to the rest of the crowd.
She watches now from the doorway. Macsen and Millard are involved in some sort of discussion, hands gesturing, both laughing. She is so happy they will live. Watching the scene, without being in it, trying to picture herself on her father’s throne feels like she’s in a dream. The noise and colour of the great hall surround her. People laughing, eating, drinking, all oblivious to her. This is what it would be like if she dies on Saturday. Her stomach swoops again at the thought of her fate changing so completely, so suddenly. She will live.
She feels someone’s gaze on her, and turns to see Archer watching her. His face serious, eyes flickering around, and she wonders why. He is so handsome; she could admit it to herself. And so-
“Everleigh. Good evening.”
Everleigh’s eyes reluctantly move away from Archer to rest on the man in front of her. A princess through and through, she puts a smile on her face and greets him politely. “Brett. Good evening, Sir.”
Brett is one of her father’s men, probably the youngest. He’s always causing a stir around the castle. The King enjoys his company, says he keeps him young. He loves watching the hijinks and the revelry, even if he can’t always join in. Macsen and Millard lead the trouble: the drinking, jousting and carousing, and handsome men of good families are always welcome to join the throng.
Brett is both handsome and from a good family. He’s tall and strong and excels at fighting and hunting and everything he does really. But he leaves her cold. Sometimes, and this is ridiculous, Everleigh was glad that she was the Kingmaker and would die before a love match was made for her. The King holds Brett in such high esteem he may well have considered him for his eldest daughter.
But of course, a shiver runs through her, she is going to live. And as Queen she will choose her own match. She has nothing to fear from Brett.
He holds out his arm to her and with a smile, a smile of relief that life is changing and that she does have choices, Everleigh tucks her arm into his. She risks a quick glance at Archer and is a little pleased to see him frowning.
Brett escorts her to the royal table. “Princess. Kingmaker. I want to express my regret that your passing excludes me from your future. I have always had respect and adoration for you.”
Everleigh hides her smile with her hand and merely nods to him. No words are necessary. Only Brett would think, sorry you’re dying because you won’t get to be with me, was a good thing to say to a girl about to die. He is so sincere as well, she has to cough to cover her laughter.
Everleigh finds Archer in the crowd again. He’s sitting with a table of strangers to her. All here for her death. He’s still watching her and as she meets his eyes, she feels peace settle over her.
These people will all be her subjects. She will rule. Maybe she will rule with him beside her.
Lanorie
OH MY, OH MY, OH MY.
I cannot keep a secret and my princess, my Queen, has told me the biggest, most exciting secret ever to be told. Or not to be told.
I don’t know what to do.
Last night after supper in the great hall, which Everleigh came down for, even though the shuffling witch Halfreda had told her not to, I went down to the kitchen to help Cook, and wait for Everleigh to call down for a bath, or help with dressing for bed, or whatever.
Cook knew something was wrong with me. “Cat got your tongue?” she kept asking me.
I kept my mouth closed and bit down on my lips lest something slip out.
I can’t say how shocked I am by what Everleigh told me. Well I can really. I can’t believe it. The Kingmaker is tradition – it’s something that just is, you don’t question why the sky is blue or the dogs bark or why Cook hits the stable boys with her rolling pin when they try to steal food. It just is.
Everleigh is the Kingmaker, she just is.
Only now she says she’s not. On the word of that creepy old shuffling woman. I wouldn’t trust her if she told me my own name was Lanorie. I have known her for as long as I have known Everleigh; she has always worked in the castle, long before I was born, but I just don’t like her. I think she scares me; I imagine she tries to see inside my mind. I hate it.
I don’t understand it. How can she not be Kingmaker? She is.
Everyone kn
ows it – we’ve just had a massive feast with visitors from every corner of the Realm because of it.
And what would the King say? We have never had a Queen rule on her own. It’s unheard of. Even as a princess of the Realm, Everleigh must do what she’s told, and though the King always lets her join in with Macsen and Millard she’s never been the important one. She just went along with things – I think the King always felt so guilty that she was going to die. And he doesn’t even like Addyson. So really it was like Everleigh was his only daughter.
And now she is to live. I’ve never heard such a tale. What’s going to happen now? This will set the cat amongst the birds, as Cook would say. And why tell me and burden me with such a secret? I am terrible at secrets. She ought to know that by now. She knows me well enough.
How can she live? She’s Kingmaker. Her head has been turned because dying is so scary. That’s all.
Oh, and she seemed so excited too. And that’s the truth of it, if you ask me. Everleigh has always known that she will die and has always acted like she doesn’t care. But I think this shows that she really does care. We’d all be the same.
I’m not saying I didn’t believe her about the river, but it could have been a crazy trick of that scary witch.
After all, if I was due to die in less than a week’s time and you told me I would live I would jump at the chance and I would believe you. Anyone would. Oh, I feel bad for doubting her. I believe everything Everleigh says to me, why wouldn’t I? She is my princess and my friend, but I don’t like Halfreda.
And I don’t see how no one else has ever heard of such a propheseen or whatever she called it.
I certainly haven’t. I would ask Cook, but she would sniff something going on in a second. She’s clever like that is Cook.
And what’s Macsen and Millard going to say about her living and stealing the crown out from under their noses? I can tell you right now that Millard won’t like it. If I had to choose I would choose Millard for King most definitely.
This is trouble in the making, I tell you. Propheseens and Queens, I have never heard of such things.
The Kingmaker Complete Trilogy (The Kingmaker Trilogy #1-3) Page 6