“I do need one more thing from you, Ginny. You’ve done so much but I need one more thing that only you can do.”
He smiles, and I feel two conflicting emotions at the same time. A beat of attraction and tenderness for this young foolish King who gets caught up in his emotions and acts so rashly, and a stab of piercing terror and a real sense of aversion for all that he is and all that he does.
“Ginny, I need you to make me a death draught.”
I am catapulted back to his brother standing inside my little cottage, this very room, asking the same thing. Full circle, I almost smile.
I was coy then, smiling at the cloaked stranger, desperate that he didn’t see the fear that his words struck into my heart. A death draught is an abomination. I knew it then and I know it now. Halfreda’s words echo in my mind, straight after we made the death draught for Macsen: All you do is go along with it. No questions, no concerns. No fault.
Do those words stand now? Not really. But if I defy a King I will die at his hands. If I make a death draught who will die at his hands?
“Who for?”
“Don’t be upset, Ginny. It’s for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to be King again; I make no secret of that. But if I am captured I could not stand to die at my sister’s hand. It would be too humiliating. I would rather have the power to end it myself. You can see that, can’t you?”
It makes sense and then I want to cry because the mad man’s words make sense to me. “A death draught is a terrible thing, my King.”
“Not if I don’t plan to use it on anyone else.”
“To use it on yourself would be a sin too.”
“I have done many bad things in my life, Ginny. I would be happy to do this last bad thing if it saved me from death by another’s hand.”
Is it logic or an excuse?
“I wasn’t going to go back to the castle...”
“If you go now they would never know you had left.”
Is this true? How early does Cook wake to start her daily toil?
What if I get back there and I’ve been found out?
He slips a strand of my hair behind my ear, tucking it off my face. My skin tingles at his touch. “Please Ginny. She’ll kill me.”
Suddenly it hits me; this could be a good outcome for all of us. If Everleigh does capture him, he’ll drink the draught and die almost instantaneously. He will never be able to spill my secrets to Everleigh.
“Do you promise not to use it on your sister? Either of them?”
“I promise not to use it on either of my sisters. That’s not what I want it for.”
It sounds like a truth to me. “I’ll have to run back to the castle.”
“You can do that. Make it straight away for me, today. I know you’d do anything for me.”
He says it with such certainty that I almost want to argue with him, but I know that what he says is true.
17
LUCK OR SOMETHING SIMILAR seems to be on Ginata’s side; as she slips the blanket over her body and shuts her eyes, allowing her mouth to slacken as though in sleep, she hears Cook stirring.
She keeps still, a sudden itch on her face, maddeningly overwhelming. She fakes a sleep stir, and scratches at her cheek, mumbling slightly as though still dreaming.
Cook steps around her and starts her chores, being as quiet as she can.
Ginata opens her eyes, mutters something incomprehensible and sits up slowly. “Where am I?”
“Oh, you poor darling. You fainted in here yesterday. I covered you over and let you sleep. It’s early, why don’t you go to your bed?”
“I think I will. Thank you.”
Cook passes her a mug of ale and a sweet cake. “This will help.”
Ginata takes them both and leaves the kitchen. If she is quick, she will be able to go to her room, find the recipe, the spell, for the death draught, gather what she needs and leave the castle before anyone wakes. By the time they come from Everleigh’s room to look for her in the kitchen, she will be long gone.
She unlocks the door to her rooms and sees Finn, Will and the teacher asleep. She steps softly inside and shuts the door, wondering why they are in her rooms. Creeping silently through to her work room she finds Everleigh, Ceryn and Archer sleeping on the floor in a heap. She can smell something sour and rotten in the air. Archer, she guesses correctly. One of his wounds must be infected, she hopes he’ll survive, but she cannot let pity or concern slow her down.
She heads quietly for the shelf of books and runs her fingers along the spines. When she gets to the one she wants she can feel it; a sick squirming sensation inside her.
She flicks through the pages until she reaches the right one: the writing is stark, written in a rusty red hue, which she remembers from the last time; it looks as though it’s written in blood.
DEATH DRAUGHT
Underneath in normal ink are a series of complicated instructions, more ingredients than for any spell she’s ever seen and several illustrations of the steps involved. She can remember the day she made it with Halfreda. Halfreda confessed that she had made it once before, to aid the King, probably to get rid of one of his enemies, though she never went in to detail.
She reads through the spell again, feeling the familiar tingle of unease. Deadly nightshade, a spider’s web, the heart of a dead animal, she shudders – disgusting.
She will need to take everything back to her cottage and make the draught there. She gathers the ingredients she needs, the spell book, a dagger, anything else she can think of and with a basket in each hand, she sneaks from the room.
Deciding to use the same technique to capture a freshly dead heart as when she made the draught with Halfreda, she sneaks into the stores on the way past, where all the meat is kept for castle consumption. She takes a dead chicken and slips it in to her basket.
Hunkering down on the edge of a copse of trees, Ginata tucks her baskets out of the way and places the chicken in full view.
It doesn’t take long before a beautiful red fox slinks over. It sneaks closer sniffing, and licking his lips, rotten teeth dripping with saliva. It catches hold of the chicken, and Ginata shoots her arm out and catches hold of the fox. She snaps its neck before she can change her mind. She reaches for the dagger and cuts out the fresh heart. She wraps it in cloth and slips it into the basket, wiping her bloody hands on the grass.
She heads to her cottage, her heart heavy. She remembers more of Halfreda’s words of wisdom regarding a death draught: from the moment you first think on it, from the second you open the spell book and put your finger on the filthy stinking words it makes you feel like your soul is slowly dying, being poisoned or strangled.
That’s exactly how she feels.
She opens the door to the cottage, Millard and Wolf are languishing on her arm chairs, laughing and sipping ale. She slams the two baskets down on the floor and Millard looks at her with concern.
“Ginny, what’s wrong?”
“A death draught is a terrible thing, my King, it puts you in a terrible mood when you have to make it.”
“I’m sorry, Ginny. What can we do?”
“Just be quiet and let me work.”
Neither men have seen a potion or a draught being made before and are happy to silently watch.
She sets her old copper-bottomed pot on top of the flames in the fire and then reaches for her basket and pulls out the bloody heart, the cloth all soaked through. The smell is nauseating, and both Millard and Wolf make gagging noises. She’s happy to leave it in their full view until she needs it.
She pours in several liquids, referring to the spell book over and over again. Halfreda was so quick and capable with spells, recipes. Ginata is not. She’s slow and methodical, careful and calm. Checking and double checking her measurements and the order it all goes in.
She chants and mutters as she works, and the flames under the copper pot lick bright green. The air around them is shimmering as sparks shoot an
d fizz out of the pot. The room has an energy and a sound other than just the three of them.
The spell is alive.
Millard sits forward in his chair, fascinated.
When she throws in the dead heart the flames and the sparks turn black and the smell is like a hog roast. Ginata remembers the feeling well: hungry and sick at the same time.
The sound of the spell has changed. Ginata peers into the pot, gazing at the swirling liquid; it’s mesmerising, potent, evil. They can all hear it whispering, taunting and Millard stands up. “What’s it saying?”
“Everything and nothing,” Ginata says, her voice full of weary disgust at what she’s doing.
She takes a tiny black vial from her basket and ladles the death draught in. She mutters as she does and there is a scream from inside the vial; an unholy inhuman sound. She remembers it, and has the same reaction as last time: goose bumps all over and a headache. She screws the vial shut and places it to one side.
She lifts the copper pot, wincing at the heat. “Open the door.” Her voice sounds harsh and deep, not like her at all and Millard does as he’s told despite hating being told what to do by anyone.
He follows her outside and Wolf trails behind him, looking worried.
She takes the pot to the end of her path and pours the contents on the floor. Instantly the grass fizzes and turns black, dead. She doesn’t have a jug of stuff like Halfreda did to neutralise it, but she piles some stones over the top of the black patch, hoping it will stop any animals getting accidentally killed.
Ginata is sweating and looks awful. This spell has taken it out of her. “I need to sit down. I need a drink.”
Wolf pours her a drink, grudgingly, and Millard hands it to her.
“Thank you,” he says, kissing her hand.
She holds out the vial and he slips it into his pocket. “I can feel it!” He doesn’t sound concerned or anxious, just excited, enchanted.
Ginata shudders. “It’s awful.”
“It’s wonderful.”
Ginata closes her eyes to block out Millard’s words and within seconds she’s asleep.
Ceryn
I OPEN MY EYES. MY arm is throbbing and I’m glad I killed the hooded idiot who slashed me with his sword. I’m glad we killed the three of them. Me and Archer are quite a team-
Archer.
Everleigh is sleeping between us and I reach over her to touch him. I can feel the beat of his heart. His skin is on fire. But he’s alive.
Quietly, I leave the room, letting them sleep. He needs rest, and so does Everleigh.
Will, Finn and my old friend Kenneth are sleeping in the other room. I sneak past them and open the door. I need some fresh air. I’ve got my sword and the dagger in my boot. I’ll be safe.
“Hey.” Will has followed me out.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, I was awake. It’s not easy to sleep.”
“Tell me about it.”
“How’s your arm?”
“Painful.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
I whip my head around to look at him, to see if he’s joking, or...what? Flirting with me? “Why?”
“I think you’re good for Everleigh. She’s so impressed by you. The way you fight, the way you look after yourself.”
“So now you think it’s a good idea that I teach her to fight? You didn’t seem keen yesterday.”
“I was being foolish.”
“Ah, the fool.”
“Not anymore.”
“True. So, I’m good for Everleigh? Anyone else?”
What am I doing now? Flirting?
“Well, Addyson, of course. She’s really taken to you.”
“I like Addyson. I feel for her, but she’ll be fine. Her sister will be Queen.”
“True. She’ll be fine, but it’s been good for her to see someone like you and how you deal with your...you know.”
“I know. My mark.”
“Yes.”
“Does it repulse you?”
“No! Not even a bit, I think you’re...”
“What? What do you think I am?” I turn on him then, hands on my hips, feeling angry, hurt – here we go again, being described exactly how people describe men: strong, fearless, courageous, blah, blah, blah.
“Beautiful.”
That floors me and I cannot answer him. I’m blushing, I know. I cannot even look at him and he’s silent, probably wondering if he’s offended me or disgusted me. Truth is, I’m flattered, and pleased, and if there wasn’t so much going on now, maybe I’d even consider him. He’s a great person, funny and clever and kind.
“Um, we should get back, see how Archer is...” I still cannot look at him.
“Yes, of course. How is he?”
“Boiling hot. Not awake yet.”
“Are you alright, though?”
“Yes, I’m fine and I think he’ll be fine. The teacher is good. He knows what he’s doing.”
“True. He saved him once.”
“He’ll save him again. Where are you headed anyway or are you just joining me?”
Him calling me beautiful has left me feeling clumsy and awkward.
“Joining you, but I thought I’d check on Ginata too.”
“Oh yes, she fainted. I forgot about her, what with Archer. Do you think she’s acting strangely?”
“I think we all are to be honest. I haven’t felt like myself for days.”
“I guess. I don’t know her very well I suppose.”
“I think it’s been hard for her having to pretend to serve Millard, she’s not spent as much time with all of us-”
“You had to stay at the castle though when you were being followed. Ginata didn’t. She still saw us most days.”
We walk in to the kitchen. Cook is stirring something in a large bowl. “Morning,” she says, gesturing at some bread. We take some and it’s still warm, without a doubt the best thing I’ve eaten in a long time.
“Where’s Ginata?”
“She left a while ago, when I got up to start cooking. I was a bit later than usual, but it was still early. I thought she would head to bed, she looked exhausted.”
“She’s not in her rooms.”
Cook shrugs.
Will and I take another piece of bread and leave Cook to it. “Where is she then?”
“She disappeared the other day. I don’t like it.”
“Let’s go back up and see what everyone else thinks. See if Archer’s awake. Listen, I’m sorry if I offended you just now, saying, you know...”
I shove some bread in my gob so I can’t answer and just give him an awkward shrug.
I follow him through the courtyard, past the tower-
I grab his arm, what he said to me completely forgotten. The tower door is ajar. We run over. “Someone’s taken an axe to it.”
I push the door open, cautious but knowing in my gut that he’s gone.
Wolf is gone.
Ginata is gone.
“I bet Ginata’s got something to do with this.” I can feel the fury coursing through me. It would explain how strangely she’s been acting, sloping off, not wanting to stay with us.
“No way.”
“Where is she then?”
He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t...”
I slam the tower door and glare at him. “Who untied Millard then, who rescued Wolf?”
“I can’t believe it of her. Let’s go and tell the others he’s gone.”
18
WHEN THEY GET BACK to Ginata’s rooms they rush through to her work room. Everleigh is awake, but Archer is not. Everleigh is stroking his palm. The teacher is mixing something up in a pot. Everleigh turns to them. “Morning.”
“Ginata’s gone and so is Wolf.”
“What?”
“Ginata’s gone from the kitchen and someone broke Wolf out of the tower.”
“Broke him out?”
“It looks like they took an axe to the door.”
“Reall
y? Who? Do you think he took Ginata?”
“No! I think Ginata took him. I think she’s working for your brother. I think she’s on their side.”
“No.” Everleigh shakes her head. “She wouldn’t.”
“Actually.” The teacher steps forward, a frown on his face. “I meant to mention this yesterday, but with Archer...”
“Mention what?”
“Last night when I needed water for Archer, remember I said it wasn’t water? I tasted it but couldn’t quite think what it was – it’s disguised with something...cloves? – but I knew it wasn’t water. It took me a while to put my finger on it.”
“What was it?”
“If I’m right, and I know I am, Ginata has been drinking it unwittingly, maybe since she started living here at the castle. In fact...Will, fetch me any other jugs or containers with drinks in.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a love potion.”
Ceryn snorts. “A love potion?”
The teacher nods. Will brings in two more jugs from around Ginata’s rooms and a glass bottle that was next to her bed. The teacher takes a mouthful from each. “Definitely a love potion.”
“Utter nonsense. They don’t even work!” Ceryn folds her arms across her chest.
“True, if you buy a love potion from a country fair or a travelling gypsy, then you’re probably getting spiced wine or age old ale with some herbs in, but if I made you a love potion, my dear, you would be maddeningly, desperately and helplessly in love with me, within seconds.”
“Really?” Everleigh kisses Archer’s forehead and then stands up, taking a jug from the teacher.
“Really. If these are potions Halfreda made or even Ginata herself then they would be potent and they would work.”
“Love potions!” Ceryn repeats the words, arms still crossed, a grumpy look on her face.
“How would it work?” Everleigh asks, tasting a tiny bit off her finger.
“They scramble the brain, ensnare the heart, stir up the soul. If she was being given a love potion, daily, her levels topped up and Millard playing on her feelings, luring her in, being kind to her, making her feel like she could fall in love with him, then it’s likely she did. It’s likely she would do anything he asked her.”
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