And I don’t plan to die today.
The silence gives way to the roar of battle as we rush forwards, all of our men following us, weapons and voices raised.
I lock eyes with a man, and I can tell that he thinks I’m easy prey. Cockiness makes him clumsy and as he lifts his sword, I dart forward and split his belly open.
I jump backwards so I don’t get dirty shoes so early on, and one by one, I stab, slice and split, man after man after man.
My arm is hurting from the weight of my sword, but I don’t get lazy. One look at the blood and death around me and I know I can’t allow myself to; the smell of guts, and worse, is sickening and I will not allow my innards to join the mush of mess that covers the floor.
I assess and attack quickly and constantly.
In battle you can’t stop, or look to see what anyone else is doing. A split second where you’re not concentrating means death.
I have come out of the fog of a fight before covered in scratches and cuts, bruises and blood and been oblivious to any injury. In the heat of the battle, the rush of bloodshed, you become so involved in the moment. I reckon I could lose an arm and just keep on fighting. Not even notice.
I’m not going to let one of these men slice me open like a dead fish.
I attack, low, high, fast, fast, fast, leaving bodies in my wake. Same as I know my boys are. I can hear them both – I am silent when I fight, but they like to talk, to goad, to shout, swear.
I hear them, but don’t let them distract me.
My goal is to get to Millard. If he is lucky I will take hold of him and take him to Everleigh, unlucky he’ll be dead within the hour. As I slash my way through the crowd of his men, that’s my aim, but if he tries anything I’ll gut him.
I have no clue how many people are dead, how many have got past us, if any have got close to Everleigh and I can’t worry.
These men are all nameless and faceless so as I butcher them, I am only looking for Wolf and Millard.
I see Millard. He’s not even fighting, just hunkering behind Wolf. Wolf’s not even fighting, just holding his sword out.
I’m the first of our lot to reach them.
I keep my eyes on them, sword out. “Archer. Weaver.”
“Here.”
They’ve made their way through the throng and are at my side. The battle goes on behind us, and while Archer and me face our enemy, Weaver’s got our backs.
“Question,” I yell over the noise of the fighting. “Do you want to die right here, or would you rather tell your last words to your sister?”
Millard steps in front of Wolf, hands up, but I don’t let my guard slip for a second.
“Take me to my sister.”
I glance quickly at Archer, and Wolf, taking advantage of my split-second distraction, darts forward. Archer slips past him and holds his sword to Millard’s neck, but Wolf gets past me, spins Weaver around and plunges his sword right into his heart.
The scream doesn’t sound like me but I know it is. My scream, my pain, my friend dead. If I don’t scream, I will be sick. I can hear Archer cursing, but he knows what to do. He doesn’t let go of Millard. Not now that we have him again.
I don’t hesitate.
I slam into Wolf, who’s distracted, shaking drops of Weaver’s blood off his sword. Despite the size of him I manage to knock him off kilter. Maybe he thought I’d run away from him not towards him, be broken hearted, unable to move.
I hit him again, and then I bring my sword around and manage to cut his arm. Quickly, I attack again and this time my sword slashes his cheek. I cannot back down. My final blow stabs him in the stomach and in a mist of fury I raise my sword and plunge it into his belly again and again and again until I hear Archer’s voice. I stop.
I can feel his blood dripping down my face and all I feel is a swell of deep satisfaction.
That was for Weaver.
27
ARCHER KEEPS HIS SWORD at Millard’s neck, with Ceryn flanking them, weapon aloft, tear stained face, filled with a fury, daring anyone to come near her, to dare attempt a rescue of Millard.
Threading through the dead bodies, there is loss on both sides, but it seems as though Millard’s men, their scarlet livery matching their blood, have been wiped out.
Everleigh’s new army look dazed, wiping blood off their faces, clapping other survivors on their backs, lowering their heads in honour of the dead that they knew, liked, loved.
The courtyard is in a slumber of death, silent, eerily silent. So much blood, bodies without heads, heads without bodies, and at the back, blood on her dagger and shock colouring her face, is Everleigh.
Ceryn rushes to her side, the dagger drops to the floor and Ceryn collapses into her arms, her pain at losing Weaver mixing with Everleigh’s pain at the whole event. “What happened? Are you alright?”
The anguish on Archer’s face is painful; he wants to comfort Everleigh and be comforted, but he will not let go of Millard. “Alright?” He mouths the word, and she nods, shakily.
“I’m fine. One of Millard’s men got to me. Will and Ginata were fighting already so I had to kill him.” She’s quaking, tears running down her face.
“Weaver’s dead.”
“No!”
Ceryn is sobbing. “Wolf killed him but I killed Wolf.”
Everleigh looks at Millard, disgust and contempt on her face. “I’m glad you killed Wolf. I’m so sorry, for you both.”
They nod silently, accepting her condolences for the loss of their friend, unable to process their grief.
“Ceryn, take him to Ginata’s rooms. Stay with him. Do not let him go.”
“If he moves a muscle I don’t want him to, I’ll kill him.”
Everleigh knows it’s true. Ceryn takes hold of Millard and leads him away. “One wrong move,” she says to him as they walk and he must believe her because he doesn’t try to escape or fight.
Archer goes to Everleigh’s side. “It’s over,” he whispers into her ear, holding her tightly. “It’s all over.”
“Weaver...”
“I know. I can’t-”
They hold each other tightly, silently.
She turns to her men, the men who are still alive, who have streamed into the courtyard.
Silence settles over the men, weapons lowered. They all look to Everleigh.
“Thank you. I can never do anything for you that matches what you have done for me. I cannot make up for the pain, the hurt, the loss. But I will be a good Queen.”
There is a quiet roar of approval – more reserved and less hearty than the roar when she first met them, but a roar all the same.
“We need to clear the bodies, get Cook, fill the great hall with food and ale.”
Archer gestures for one of the oldest stable boys; he gives him instructions while Everleigh turns to Will and Ginata. “Thank you.” She wipes the blood off Will’s face. “Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head, no.
“Ginata? Are you alright?”
Ginata is white faced and shaking. “I’m fine.”
“Let’s go.”
Everleigh takes Archer’s hand. They make their way through the sea of dead bodies, slipping in the blood, tears flowing. “Oh, no!” Everleigh sees a familiar form, face down in the blood. She drops to the floor next to him.
The teacher.
She turns him on to his back, hand to his chest, shaking her head. “Please, no.” She touches his face, his skin, so much blood. She moves his cloak aside but cannot see a wound. She shakes him again, desperate for him to be alright.
He turns his head, groaning. Alive.
Sobbing with relief, she feels Archer put his arms around her, but she cannot move. This man saved Archer’s life, twice, what would they have done without him?
Will hunkers next to him taking an arm, Archer takes the other one. The teacher opens his eyes as they lift him to his feet. Wincing as he smiles, his whole body is shaking. “I thought my end had come.”
“W
e thought it had too. Are you alright?”
“I’ve been better.”
They smile at his wit, even so close to death, he can joke.
“I think I was knocked out. I have no injury that I can feel. The blood is not my own.”
Everleigh touches his shoulder, and they move through the crowd together, leaving the battle scene behind and head in to the castle. Ginata follows silently behind.
Inside Ginata’s room, Millard is on his knees. Ceryn is stood behind him, the point of her sword on the back of his neck; he obviously hasn’t tried to escape.
Everleigh ignores them both, sweeping past him and into Ginata’s bedroom. Addyson is waiting for her, Della beside her, and they sink into each other’s arms. “It’s over. It’s over. Wolf is dead and Millard’s next door. We’ve got him.”
The tears are a mix of everything they have felt and everything they have gone through over the past few days and everything they have lost. Della has her hand on Addyson’s back.
“It’s all over. You should have seen my army, Add, hundreds of them, maybe more, all ready to fight for me. And they did. We won. But we lost, too. Weaver is dead.” She cries again, sobbing for every death, every lost life, on both sides.
“What can I do?” Della, always practical, ready to help, despite her own sadness, her personal loss.
“I cannot face him.”
“You have to. You have to finish this.” Addyson’s voice is hard.
“I can’t. I’m covered in blood. So many people died for our fight today. I can smell it on me, the death, the destruction. I’m done.”
Della puts a hand on her cheek. “Queen, you will never be done. You are about to rule the Realm you were born to rule, destined to fight for. You cannot waiver now, not right at the end, not after everyone who fought for you, died for you.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I am Queen, now, with Millard caught. I have to do this.”
Archer pokes his head around the door. “All alright?”
Everleigh nods. “I was just having a wobble.”
He comes to her side, and takes her hand, kisses her forehead, her cheek, her lips. “You’re the Queen of the Realm. You’re allowed to wobble.”
Everleigh laughs, a shaky sound, but a laugh. “Della, listen to me?”
“Always.”
“If Millard says anything to you, anything about Finn, don’t listen.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s nasty minded. He’ll want to upset you, hurt you. Ignore him.”
Della stands up straight. “I will, or else I’ll clip his ear!”
Everleigh and Addyson hold on to each other. “I cannot wait to end Millard’s life for all that he has done.”
“Can I be there?”
Everleigh nods.
Everleigh
DO I REALLY WANT ADDYSON to watch me kill Millard? Not really. I think she has seen too much and been through too much, but I cannot refuse her. Not really. And I cannot put this off any longer. Will, Ginata, Ceryn and the teacher are in the other room with my brother and I have to be there too.
I look down at my boyish clothes, bloody and soiled, a testament to the men who died for me today. I want him to see their blood when I talk to him. I think about all of them – faceless, nameless – who died today, in my name or Millard’s and then I see Weaver’s face. He was so important to so many of us. And now he’s gone. Gone, in a second.
Macsen is dead and Millard will soon join him. I feel ready to see my brother and kill him for all that he has done.
I take Addyson’s hand and together we go to face him.
Ceryn still stands behind his back, sword to his neck. Will and Ginata, Archer and the teacher are all in the room. We stand in front of him, two sisters facing our brother.
“It’s over,” I tell him and fresh tears flow for everything that has happened, everything that has passed since I made the river rise. We are all crying in this room. Except Millard.
Ceryn pulls him to his feet and the sneer on his face makes me want to hurt him in death, torture him for all he’s done.
I shake my head. I will not stoop as low as him.
“It’s over. I told you it would be.”
He shrugs.
“Don’t you have anything to say after all that you’ve done? Or will you die as you lived, selfish and uncaring?”
“I suppose I will die as I lived, how I am. I am all I know to be.”
“You could have been better, done better. We loved you so much. You had so much.”
“I wanted more. Always. My downfall, you could say.”
“Aren’t you sorry?”
“Not one bit. I’ve had some fun.”
“Fun?”
“Yes, slicing Macsen’s head off was pretty funny. And, Halfreda, she was more than ready to die.”
“I hate you,” Addyson shouts at him.
He shrugs. “And Lanorie. I enjoyed that one. And Finn.”
“You’re sick!” Della’s voice is a mixture of a scream and a sob, she drops to the floor, Addyson hugging her.
“I’m sick? Really? You must be his sister. He told us all about you. Old maid, childless and lifeless. Your only pleasure mothering him and anyone else unlucky enough to meet you.”
“He didn’t say those things. He never would have. You killed him, you-”
“He did. He spilled his guts to Wolf and to me. And he was happy to help me.”
“Help you? He never-”
I interject, I do not want her to hear this. “Della, don’t listen, remember what I said?”
“No, listen to me Della. You didn’t know Finn as well as you thought. Did you know he was helping me? Did you know he was in love with Everleigh? Did you know that he would have done anything I asked him, even killed her? He brought me Ceryn. I should have killed her when I killed him.”
“Ceryn?” Della’s face is awash with anguish.
Ceryn looks away from her, tears flooding her vision. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Della.”
“Ah, she didn’t tell you? That Finn helped me to capture her, but then I killed him. She didn’t tell you that I killed him with a death draught that she made.” He points his finger at Ginata, an accusation that makes her knees buckle.
“What?” Della is sobbing harder than before.
“I had to make it! Della, I’m sorry I didn’t know he would give it to Finn, I didn’t know Finn was helping him.”
Millard is laughing now, crowing. “It’s all coming out now. And Ginny, did you know about the little drink I have been leaving you in your rooms? A gift from King to servant.”
Ginata marches over to me, stands in front of him, and I take her hand to stop her getting too close to him. “Ceryn told me and I knew it. I knew I could never have fallen in love with a pig like you, a maniac like you, an evil, twisted, murderer like you. Who could fall in love with you without a love potion to make her?”
He just closes his eyes and laughs. When he opens them they are full of menace and mischief. “Really? But shall I tell you a little secret?”
Ginata is shaking, her skin clammy. I squeeze her hand so that she knows I’m there for her. “No one wants to hear anything you have to say. It’s the end of this,” I tell him.
“No Everleigh. Not yet. Sweet Ginny needs to hear this.”
“What?” Tears are coursing down her face and I feel pity for all the conflicting emotions she’s had to put up with since she’s been living with my brother, serving him.
“So you know about the love potion? I guess Daisy told you?”
We both nod.
“But I bet you didn’t realise that only half of the bottles I gave to Daisy contained a love potion?”
The teacher speaks up. “We knew there were two different potions. One to make her fall in love with you and one to make her submissive?”
“Is that what you think?” He is crowing again, shaking his head, a smile making his lips twitch.
“Isn
’t it?” The teacher cannot help his natural curiosity.
The tension is building in the room again and while I don’t want to hear what he says I also need to know what he’s going to say. I want to cry for the man he has become. My brother was everything to me. I looked up to him. I loved that he loved me and I loved him.
How did he change into someone so unrecognisable? I hate what he’s done and I hate who he is.
The grin that comes over his face is pure madness. “Half of the bottles were love potions, you’re right. But the other half? The other half were the complete opposite. Brewed by you, Ginata, you clever little witch and taken from your stores. A potion for lovesick fools who are fed up of being love sick fools. A potion that would turn their heart against the person they had feelings for, close off those emotions and leave them immune to their loved one.”
We are all silent, trying to figure out what he’s saying.
He helps us along. “So if you drink a love potion half of the time and the opposite of a love potion the rest of the time...”
The teacher steps forwards. “The one would negate the other.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, looking from the teacher to Ginata to my brother.
It seems Ginata understands; she has fallen to the floor, let go of my hand, buckled under my brother’s words and she is bawling, heartbroken.
Ceryn has a sneer on her face. “I knew it!”
I am still confused; with everything that’s gone on I’m just not thinking straight.
Ginata is wailing and Millard is laughing.
The teacher touches my arm, his eyes full of unshed tears, for me, for all of us, for Ginata, I don’t know. “I couldn’t tell what the taste was. What the other potion was. I assumed it was something to addle her brain, but...If it’s the potion Millard says it is, an antidote to love, if you will. If anyone had been drinking them both, which Ginata has, then she hasn’t been drugged into falling in love with your brother. The two potions cancel each other out. She has been drinking nothing more potent than water.”
“So if she wasn’t forced to fall in love with him...”
“She chose to betray you!” Ceryn’s voice is bitter and hard.
Born to Rule Page 20