5
“NO!” GINATA’S VOICE is sharper than she intends and Addyson whimpers.
“Ginata, I have to try.”
“Trying will get you killed. You don’t try to kill a madman like your brother. If you’re going to try you better be damn sure you’ll succeed, or he will kill you. You can’t have a doubt. He will not keep you alive for love, or loyalty, or sibling nostalgia. You must know it.”
Everleigh nods; she knows it, but since she has come back from the island, since she pushed the people she loved into the water, a tightening has been forming around her stomach. She can barely breathe for the knowledge that the man who did this, the man who killed her brother, Halfreda, Archer, is laughing, joking, eating and drinking, full of merriment at his newfound Kingship at so many other’s expense. She cannot live while he lives. She cannot rest. She must do this.
Fury will help her win this. She is sure.
Will slips back into the room. They hadn’t even locked it after him.
Ginata puts a hand to her heart. “See! We have gotten sloppy just in the last ten minutes. He will kill us all if he finds us here. Eat something quickly and we’ll get you away.”
Will, unaware of Everleigh’s declaration of murderous intent, passes around bread, cheese and some sweet honey cakes. Ginata brings a jug of ale and some cups.
Ginata talks while she eats. “We need to get the two of you away from here. My neighbour, Della, and her brother will look after you. I don’t think Millard would think to look for you there. Will, you can go and ask Cook where they keep the clothes for the servants – not the livery – just the most basic of slips and dresses. I’ve got water warming for a bath. We need to rush but if we can get you both cleaned up and dressed and out of here, Will and I will get to tonight’s feast and Millard will be none the wiser.”
Will is nodding while he eats, pleased that someone else is taking control. Pleased that Everleigh and Addyson will be safe, but still worried about Lanorie. “What about Lanorie?” he asks. “We can’t just leave her in the tower.”
Ginata shrugs. “I really don’t know. I know we need to get her out of there, but I’m not sure how. I need time to think.”
“She is probably safe for tonight, at least,” Everleigh says as she wanders over to Halfreda’s work space, nibbling on a honey cake; she needs a weapon if she’s going to kill her brother and she knows Halfreda kept a sharp knife for cutting plants for her potions.
“I agree,” Ginata says; Will looks unsure. “He will be making merry; he believes Addyson is safely locked up. He won’t visit her tonight.”
Everleigh finds the knife in a drawer, bone handled, with a viciously serrated edge. She slips it in to the folds of her cloak, ready to take away with her. If she can kill her brother, tonight, she can rescue Lanorie and take her crown. If she has her way, her brother won’t even get to wake up one morning as King.
Will goes to fetch clothes and Ginata helps the two girls wash and dry. With great care, Everleigh unpins the brooch from her beautiful dress that she should have been crowned in, and when Will brings the clothes they will wear when they escape, she pins it to the plain and slightly shabby uniform, just under the hem, where no one will see it.
Wrapped in cloaks they sit together in front of the fire. “I’m so scared,” Addyson whispers.
Everleigh takes her hand. “Me too.”
She must fix this. Addyson may be the cursed princess, but she has never been frightened for her life until today. She has lost both of her parents, felt the hatred off her father because of her awful curse, lived with other people’s fear and suspicions for eleven years, almost twelve. Everleigh has to protect her.
Ginata brushes and plaits Everleigh’s hair first and then does the same for Addyson.
“How do we look?” Everleigh asks, when Ginata’s done. She doesn’t look like a princess or a Queen but that is what they want.
“Will, you stay here, I’ll take them to my cottage. I can introduce them to my neighbours. They’ll keep an eye on you both.”
The longer they are at the castle, the more likely it is that they will be found.
Will hugs Everleigh tightly and then hugs Addyson too. “Be safe. I’ll come down to see you tomorrow.”
Everleigh nods. She has never slept a night outside of the castle her whole life long. She feels stripped of everything that makes her, her. Her clothes, her family, friends.
Everleigh is no more and someone needs to pay.
“Ginata, could I have a few sleeping draughts, please. I’m not sure how we’ll sleep tonight.”
Ginata fetches half a dozen vials and then they quietly slip away.
The walk to the cottage is eventless, which is what they all wanted, needed. “At least you will be at peace here, no need to fear every knock at the door. The whole village knows by now that I have moved to the castle, so you won’t have anyone looking for a love potion.”
“Good.” Everleigh smiles. Maybe a few hour’s peace will help focus her mind and heart on what she needs to do. Kill her brother and rescue Lanorie. “What are your neighbours called?”
“Della and Finn. Brother and sister.”
“And they’re nice?”
“Wonderful.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know...”
Ginata opens the little cottage up, and leaves the front door wedged open. “Get some fresh air in here.”
She opens the window and starts setting a fire.
Everleigh looks around. The cottage is tiny, but clean and tidy. Most of Ginata’s things have been moved, so the shelves are all but empty – there are a few bottles and vials, a big copper-bottomed pan – and the place looks bare. But Everleigh can see that it would have been comfy and cosy. As the flames in the fire start to lick upwards she can imagine how nice it would have been for Ginata living here. No stress, no worries, no duty. Answerable only to herself.
Free.
“It’s lovely, Ginata. Really. Thank you.”
Ginata smiles and hugs Everleigh and then Addyson. They sit on the only two chairs there and Ginata pokes at the fire, stoking the flames.
“I’ll go and tell Della that you’re here and explain things.”
Ginata leaves them alone and Everleigh reaches for Addyson’s hand. “I’m so sorry. For everything. For father. For pretending I was dead. I had to. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t risk you knowing. Risk Macsen hurting you.”
“I hate our brothers. I’m glad Macsen is dead.”
“Addyson!”
“They never loved me like you loved me. Father never loved me either. How can I mourn a father when I never really had one?”
Everleigh’s heart breaks at the words. She thought she had felt so much pain on this day that she could feel no more. That she would be numb, immune from it. But Addyson’s words have hurt her once again.
Her father had been a wonderful father to her, Macsen and Millard. She knows he wasn’t fair on Addyson; it’s why she has always felt so maternal towards her.
“I’m so sorry, darling.”
Everleigh holds her arms out and Addyson sits on her lap, cuddling in close.
They sit giving each other strength and support while they wait for Ginata.
“I will always look after you. I will always do everything within my power to keep you safe. I hate that you hurt. I hate your curse.”
“I hate my curse too. But I love you and I know I’m safe with you.”
They have never really talked about Addyson’s curse. What was there to say? The same as Everleigh’s role was Kingmaker, Addyson had always been the cursed princess. Since their poor mother died giving birth to her, the Realm, her brothers and the King most of all, have been unable to forgive her or look past it. She is cursed and that gave them all the excuse they needed to abandon her. They were always there, but they never loved her or cared for her; never showed her genuine affection or consideration. She was just someone to put up with.
&
nbsp; “Will people ever see past it? My curse?”
“I do. Others will. Ginata doesn’t seem to care. Nor Will. Nor Lanorie.”
Addyson doesn’t reply, just cuddles in closer.
Everleigh watches the flames; she can think of so many reasons to kill her brother but none to keep him alive.
Ceryn
SO, IT’S DECIDED. I knew it would be. I can’t say any one of us is in charge, but Weaver is happier to go with the flow, than either me or Archer. Weaver’s a thinker, I’m a doer. Archer probably sits between us.
Both of our rabbits are gone, bones sucked dry, dogs munching on what’s left. The skins are drying outside, on a line, and no doubt Weaver will use them for something. We don’t waste much; don’t have enough to waste.
I have packed up a bag, with some flasks of water, a blanket; I have my bow and arrow, a dagger in my boot. My mask is tied on and I’m ready to go.
Weaver has gone to gather his stuff and we’ll meet back here before heading to the castle. He reckons a few days; I reckon we can do it faster. If we don’t hit trouble and ride through tonight, I reckon we’ll get there tomorrow. It’ll be late, but we’ll make it.
Halfreda will look after us, we’ll probably sleep wherever Archer is and come home with him the next day.
I head out to my horse, Pitch – she’s as black as Archer’s, but his horse is called Ink. I scratch her behind her ear and ask her to ride us safely to Archer. She whinnies like she knows what I’m saying, maybe she does, and I pat her softly, singing to her, cooing to her. I like her best out of anyone in the world. Maybe I like Weaver and Archer just as much, probably a bit less. I don’t like many people. Many people don’t like me.
Weaver trots up on his horse, his bag strapped over his back, a smile on his face. Life is good for Weaver. Even the King’s men, who hate us, like Weaver.
“Ready?” He asks the question, though he can see the answer.
“Absolutely.”
“We may have news of the new King further along the road.”
“True.”
We don’t get to hear much of what goes on at the castle, nor do we care to hear it. The King’s men cause us enough trouble in the little villages they torment, we don’t care to hear of their jousts and plays and feasts.
Riding along together, I can feel Archer’s absence keenly, and I know I am right to worry.
We hit our first bit of trouble just ten minutes from my cottage and it angers me. Trouble will only slow us down and I want to be quick.
The scene is all too familiar: since the King’s men love to lord it over the villagers, the villagers like to get their own back in small, anonymous but irritating ways. They cause a little bit of aggravation and there’s no way of knowing who did it, so the King’s men are angry but impotent and the villagers enjoy a moment of quiet victory.
Today, they have tied all the horse’s legs together; cruel to the horses, but the villagers don’t care, when the King’s men are so cruel to them.
The King’s men have obviously finished their business and gone to ride away, the horses have fallen in a heap of tied together limbs and the King’s men are roaring in fury, embarrassment and pain last of all.
We slow to a stop next to the jumble of men and horses, both trying not to laugh.
“It’s not bloody funny.” Brett, one we’ve had several run-ins with shouts as he staggers to his feet. He pulls a dagger from his boot, though it obviously pains him – both hands are bandaged tightly – and starts cutting the ropes away.
The villagers have come to observe the fun, forming a circle around the scene. The children are laughing and pointing, the adults acting only slightly more grown up.
One little boy throws an egg, before ducking out of the way.
The yolk runs down one of the King’s men’s faces and he howls out a threat. An empty one, we all know, but the anger is mounting.
“Leave us alone, you bunch of bullies,” someone shouts, and again, you couldn’t tell the culprit; they all look alike, sound alike, are as angry as the next.
We grin at each other, we’re used to this and hoping that it will fizzle out, as most of the troubles do, when a stone lands at Brett’s feet. He jumps back, looking around for whoever did it.
Another one is thrown, and even from up high on my mount I can’t see who did it, but it lands with more accuracy, hitting another one of the King’s men on the knee. Brett jumps up, brandishing his dagger.
Weaver hops down from his horse and calls for the crowd to move back; most of them listen; they like us because they know we aim to help them. Sometimes a fight isn’t what’s needed; sometimes words work and there’s no point causing trouble for the sake of it, and I love a good fight.
“Back off, back off,” Weaver calls out, and again the crowd move back. Brett cuts the rest of the ropes and the men help the horses to their feet. None of the horses nor the men are injured; the men are just annoyed, but they mount up quickly. Probably wanting to leave before anything else is thrown at them.
As I turn to watch Weaver jump back on his horse, I see a flash of movement and, thwack, another stone is thrown, more of a rock, and it cracks down on Brett’s horse, right in its eye. The horse neighs in pain and drops to the floor. Brett is thrown off again, and this time his fury is palpable. A bit of me doesn’t blame him.
Weaver rides his horse at the crowd, which is thinning, and people seem happy to back off. Looking around, they seem as upset as Brett is, no one likes the King’s men: there’s a definite feel of ‘us versus them’, but ultimately, they are just doing their job. Things don’t usually escalate like this, and not many of the villagers would hurt one of the horses; they aren’t at fault at all.
“Who did it?” I shout out, angry, and upset.
I know it was an accident to hurt the horse, but whoever threw the rock was stupid enough not to be sure of a true aim before they attacked.
No one answers me but I knew they wouldn’t. A joke or a prank against the King’s men is one thing, but it’s stupid to try to start a fight. They are all armed, they are all trained in fighting and some of them are pretty nasty, just looking for something to rally against.
This is the last thing we need.
Maeve, one of the nicest villagers, hands up in surrender, moves to the horse. It’s probably been blinded in the one eye, and is jumpy. Maeve coos to it and smooths along its nose. Her daughter brings her some water, cloths, ointment.
Brett nods at her and she starts to work on the horse, trying to patch it up so it will have a more comfortable ride back to the castle, or whatever inn the men are staying at.
“Can we leave things peaceful here?” Weaver asks him, as I watch Maeve at work; the horse is calm and accepting her tending to him.
Brett nods but he’s angry. “Only because we didn’t see who did it and no doubt they’re too cowardly to own up.”
I agree with him again, and it worries me. I don’t have much in common with the King’s men.
“Any news from the castle?” I ask, patting his horse. “Which prince was crowned?”
I know the princes from their travels, they like to visit the villagers, mingle with the common folk, not that I’ve ever sat and dined with them. Nothing like that. “Did the Kingmaker cry when her throat was cut?” The Kingmaker I never met; she had no reason to travel to our village and I had no reason to travel to her castle. Unlike Archer.
“The Kingmaker is alive,” Brett says, pushing his dagger back into his boot. “One of the princes killed his brother and so we have a new King.”
“Really?” Weaver looks surprised but only because he can’t imagine anyone looking for trouble like that. Despite what us three get up to, Weaver is the most placid person I know.
“The new King is Millard.”
I shrug, as does Weaver. Which one of the cosseted princes has a bigger crown on his head now isn’t really a concern to us. Whoever is in charge will tax the poor and look after his own. We will still have
to battle the King’s men, who cause so much trouble for us, whoever wears the crown.
We are back on our horses and ready to ride off. “We are headed to the castle, looking for a friend of ours.”
“Good luck,” Brett says, grinning. “There’s even more people there than there was for the feast. Everyone wants to meet the mad King.”
Again, who is or is not King doesn’t matter to me, nor how mad he might be. We just need to get moving and moving quick.
The crowd has completely cleared and so with a nod to the men we head to the castle, hoping the way ahead is clear.
6
GINATA COMES BACK INTO her little cottage with a woman in tow, she is older than Ginata, but not old enough to be her mother. She is as fair haired as Ginata is dark haired, and has a kindly face, and soft eyes.
“This is Della, Della this is Everleigh, and her sister, the princess Addyson.
Della bows to them both in turn and then takes Addyson’s hands. “You must have been so scared. You too, my Queen, but you more, little lamb.”
Everleigh smiles. She loves this woman already. No one ever pays more attention to Addyson than to her. No one ever touches Addyson unless they have to. No one has ever spoken so kindly to her, who wasn’t related to her or paid to.
“Ginny’s told me everything, I hope you don’t mind me knowing, Queen, but I will do everything I can. I will look after you both until whatever happens next.”
“Thank you.” Everleigh sits down, watching Della chat to Addyson in front of the fire, touching her plaited hair, laughing at something she says and for the first time since Archer’s death, she feels a sort of peace settle over her.
There is plenty to be done, but for a moment she closes her eyes. She is safe. Will is safe. Ginata is safe. Addyson is safe. Lanorie is the only one she has a slight fear for, and yet, she thinks it’s unlikely Millard will get to her before she does and so she smiles.
It’s been an awful day, but by the time the sun comes up tomorrow she will have done it. She will not risk anyone else’s life; she will go to the castle alone, once Addyson is sleeping and she will kill Millard. Before he does any more damage, and more importantly, before he finds Lanorie or Addyson or her.
The Kingmaker Complete Trilogy (The Kingmaker Trilogy #1-3) Page 26