by Hannah West
My skin prickled and my mouth went dry.
“No, I know nothing about that,” Lucrez said.
Viteus forced her to her feet and held a knife to her throat. Her expression was defiant.
“You betrayed my trust and tried to lie when you were caught,” Orturio said. “That is unforgivable. But I might forgive you, if you tell me where the huntsman planned to take the girls. Did he tell you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Viteus dug the knife in at the edge of her collarbone. She sucked in a breath and said through her teeth, “He told me nothing.”
The following pause was the tensest I’d ever heard. “Take her outside and deal with her as you dealt with the other snake in the grass,” Orturio said. “Once a traitor, always a traitor.”
“They were going to a hideout in the woods,” Lucrez yelled, frantic. “A place that belonged to his father. I have no idea where it is. He never told me.”
Orturio seized her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Take her outside.”
“No!” Lucrez screamed as Viteus jerked her by the elbow. “Please, Rasmus!”
The urge to confess to stealing the keys rose hot and dangerous in my throat. But Lucrez had damned herself regardless.
Claiming responsibility for stealing the keys would not undo her fate. It would only damn me along with her.
In my imagination, I screamed at these beasts to unhand her, sent arrows through their chests, and relished their suffering. But the image of the maid’s grisly remains seared my thoughts like a fresh brand, reminding me of my helplessness. I could barely draw breath around the fear that filled my core.
Orturio walked away, leaving Viteus to drag out a thrashing Lucrez. What I wouldn’t give to have even the innate, unruly magic that Glisette possessed without an elicrin stone.
“What’s going on?” I heard Mathis demand.
“It’s none of your concern,” Viteus replied. Mathis roared with rage and erupted into a sequence of offensive spells, but no magic came. The Realm Alliance had taken his elicromancy from him but for a few measly tricks.
When nothing worked, Mathis shoved Viteus back and tried to rip Lucrez free of his grip. Viteus stumbled and nearly fell, flinging Lucrez to the floor, but he caught his balance and bounded back to bury his knife in Mathis’s flank.
I gasped. Mathis groaned. Viteus yanked out the knife, leaving Mathis pressing the wound in disbelief, blood trickling through his fingers.
Viteus dragged a struggling Lucrez down the hall. Mathis choked and staggered away.
Not long after, I heard Lucrez’s distant scream get choked off.
I pressed my eyes closed. Warm tears streamed on my cheeks. I wept for Lucrez and wished for her to find the land of light. I barely knew her, yet I knew she lived in passion, in danger, in sacrifice.
Eventually, a maid entered and offered no comfort beyond another pain tincture and a tray of oats and fruit. “You’ll dine with the master this evening,” she said. “He wanted me to tell you that he values your willingness to help secure the princess.”
She seemed resigned, disconnected. Perhaps she did not want to grow attached to someone who might be executed before her very eyes, lest she herself be executed for showing too much sympathy, like the Nisseran maid whose name I hadn’t even learned, the other “snake in the grass.”
The new maid opened the shutters to a beautiful day before bustling out. She locked the door on her way out. Clicking locks were the heartbeat of this dreadful house.
Mere seconds later, someone slipped a piece of parchment under my door. Wary, I slid it toward me, finding a message in Nisseran.
I wish I could do more to help you, but I watched them kill the Nisseran girl for trying to steal your elicrin stone for you. I’m sorry for my part in bringing you here. I knew that Orturio’s brothers killed my brother, but I didn’t know he was a murderer like them. He told me we would not use violence to overthrow elicromancers.
I know you borrowed Lucrez’s keys and that you found the maid’s body. Look again—your elicrin stone is with her.
Hurried hoof beats struck the stones of the drive. I launched toward the window and saw Mathis riding away, a streak of blond hair and bloody bandages.
That selfish bastard. He had dragged me here and left me behind to face Orturio’s wrath. The tip he shared was enough to satisfy his pathetic conscience, but it would mean nothing if I didn’t get a chance to search for the elicrin stone again without meeting the same fate as Lucrez.
As I watched the note from Mathis burn, I let that one glimpse inside the barrel come back to me as vividly as my horror-stricken memory would allow. There was so much blood it was hard to distinguish anything, but I had seen something at the bottom of the barrel.
An idea sprang from the depths of my despair, and the thrill of revenge already throbbed under my skin like the first bold, dangerous notes of a folk-dancing song. I swiped one of several perfume bottles from my vanity tray and went to the lavatory to pour its contents into the commode. Back in my room, empty bottle in one hand, I sniffed the clear liquid in the tiny tincture glass. It smelled more pungent than my earlier doses. Perhaps both the maid and I would be safer if she kept me drowsy and docile. Carefully, I poured the tincture from the glass into the narrow opening of the bottle. I couldn’t afford to spill a single drop.
I didn’t breathe again until I had finished and put the stopper back in the bottle. I set the empty glass on the nightstand—I would have to endure the pain of my injury—and tucked the perfume bottle under the mattress, climbing onto the other side of the bed. I stared at the wall and pretended to sleep, listening to melting snow drip from the roof.
TWENTY-SIX
KADRI
MY plan was not foolproof, but it was less clumsy than my plan to steal Orturio’s keys, which would have resulted in my demise had Lucrez not been guilty of her own insurrection.
Not long after the incident, I saw Viteus and two other men leave on horseback. Orturio must have sent them out in pursuit of the princess.
Their absence could strengthen my odds. As far as I knew, only Orturio, his uncle, and the household servants were currently under this roof.
For dinner, I chose a dark-brown dress with cream brocade on the sleeves and a tight bodice that allowed me to hide the perfume bottle against my bosom. Without the tincture, my sprained ankle hurt worse than it had yesterday. But it would be worth the pain.
When Orturio sent for me, I took a moment to breathe and center myself.
Down in the dining room, I found him looking disheveled, distracted, like a man who had lost everything. His uncle was there too, which I’d hoped wouldn’t be the case, but I had factored the possibility into my plan.
Thankfully, they were drinking the clear spirits. Everything hinged on it.
Orturio gruffly beckoned me into the room without even glancing up from the map he was perusing. Gone were the canny pleasantries, gone was the zealous look in his eyes and his poised sense of control. Orturio was a desperate man who would cling to the hope and future his divinely appointed princess symbolized.
The kitchen staff served lamb pie, potatoes, and stuffed dates. I was the only one who took up my utensils.
“Tell us about Glisette Lorenthi,” Orturio said after a time, still studying the map of Halithenica and its surrounding villages.
“What do you want to know?” I asked. My voice sounded meek, but exhilaration coursed through my veins.
“Why would she cause such devastation?” He gestured at the window. The clouds had cleared, and the night was full of stars. But the snow had only begun to melt, and the breeze carried a bit of a bite. The workers had spent the day shoveling snow away from the damaged vines.
“I don’t think it was intentional,” I replied.
“Then how did it happen?”
“Well, her younger sister…” I couldn’t complete my thought. “Glisette must have been very upset.�
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“Do all elicromancer tantrums end so badly for mortals?”
“It wasn’t a tantrum. She…she must have had her elicrin stone taken from her.” I hated giving them this vital piece of information. But I hoped what I told them wouldn’t matter.
“Then how did she cause the snowstorm?”
“Elicrin magic is hereditary,” I explained, shifting potatoes around with my fork without looking at him. The more he thought he had broken my will to escape, the better. “Glisette had power before she came into possession of an elicrin stone. Raw magic. It’s unruly without an elicrin stone, which allows precision and control.”
“I see,” he said. “So without it, she is more dangerous in some ways and less in others?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
He looked up, studied me briefly. He plucked an empty cordial glass from the tray at his elbow. “This is pomati, made from the pomace after the grapes are pressed.” He placed the glass in front of me, seeming almost pleased. He preferred his captives and employees docile.
What was the most natural way for me to act after watching them drag Lucrez to her execution? Should I be timid and compliant? Or eager to offer them anything in a bid to win freedom?
I decided to just drink the pomati for now, as it required me to say nothing. The spirit was stronger than I expected—too strong. A couple more of these and my head would be spinning.
“If you are able to help us recover the princess, I will consider releasing you,” Orturio said.
This was the first time he had used the language of a captor. He thought I was desperate enough to believe his promise. He thought my hopes depended upon his willingness to do as he said.
“The huntsman’s neighbor said the princess and the elicromancer left the village with the huntsman and his family in the early morning. The huntsman told the old man that if he felt unsafe and wanted to join them at the hideout, he could meet him at the edifice in Enturra at noon the day after tomorrow, on Sun’s Benediction. The huntsman must expect that the crowds will help give him cover from us and the queen’s guards.”
“So you want to follow the old man and ambush the huntsman when they meet?”
Orturio shook his head. “He’s in no state to take the huntsman up on his offer. Viteus nearly killed him. Thankfully, there’s a priest in Enturra, one of our allies who helps us protect religious artifacts. He says he knows the huntsman’s face. He will be on the lookout. We can follow the huntsman to his hideout, where you will approach the group, establish trust, and make sure that your friend allows the princess to come with us. If that happens, we will release you. If anything goes wrong—if Princess Navara gets hurt or you fail to secure her in our custody—the deal is off.”
“I understand,” I said.
The uncle shook his fist. “And if we find out that unbelieving huntsman has violated her—”
“Uncle,” Orturio said in a placating tone. “She will be the pure queen who restores faith to Perispos, as the ancient scriptures foretell. Our mission is to protect her and continue her mother’s work of raising her on the path of virtue. She will strike fear into the hearts of those who reject the faith.”
Repressing a shudder of disgust required all of my resolve. The young princess’s “purity” was far from the business of middle-aged men mired in views of bygone centuries. If they had their way, Navara would return Perispos to the age of violent religious conquests and heretic executions.
Any of my elicromancer friends could kill Orturio with a flick of their pinky fingers. But I needed to do it now, before he could hurt anyone else, before he could sink his claws into Navara and make the future queen an enemy of elicromancers, a punisher of unbelievers. The Uprising’s influence would be felt throughout the world if they succeeded.
Orturio grabbed the bottle to pour us each another drink. I watched him splash more liquid into the glasses and felt the small reassuring pressure of the perfume bottle between my ribs.
It was time.
They were large men. The full dose of tincture would probably knock one man out, but splitting it two ways was a gamble—and that was only if my plan to distract them actually worked.
But I didn’t have a choice. It would be now or never. At least the uncle was older. I could give Orturio most of the draught.
I faked a chill that visibly shook my shoulders, rubbing my upper arms for warmth. “I feel the cold again. Do you think the snow has returned?”
They both hurried to the window. With calm movements even though my heart was raging, I slipped the perfume bottle out of my bodice. The stopper made a tiny pop as I removed it, but they didn’t notice. I reached to splash most of the tincture in Orturio’s drink and the rest in the uncle’s. Hopefully, the pomati would disguise the taste. If not…I didn’t want to ponder if not.
I barely had enough time to hide the empty bottle in my lap before Orturio turned around and said, “It’s not snowing again, thank the Holies.”
Orturio settled back down and drained the clear liquid in the glass, blinking a little in surprise at the taste. I drank mine, resisting the urge to search his face for a sign that he knew what I had done.
Frowning, he poured himself another. He would either recognize the difference or wash the taste away and shrug it off. He looked at me as he drank. I averted my eyes and stabbed a potato.
I didn’t anticipate it would be enough to lull two large men to sleep within minutes, as it would me. I could only hope it was enough to cloud their senses. I ate slowly, taking small bites and watching through my eyelashes as Orturio complained to his uncle about what the snow would do to his harvest and ultimately, his product and fortune. I thought his blinks seemed heavier, longer, but it could have just been wishful thinking.
Faith in my plan wavered when I finished the last bite of my meal. I hoped Orturio wouldn’t lose interest and send me back to my chamber.
He continued rambling about how the poor weather would ruin them. “But I believe we stand to recoup some of it when we install the princess on the crown—”
I looked up in surprise at his mistake. He hadn’t noticed, and neither had his uncle. The tincture was affecting them both now, undoubtedly helped along by the pomati.
I nearly offered to pour another round, but decided I was better staying put, inessential to the increasingly incoherent dialogue. At last, Orturio blinked a few times, his head lolling slightly to the side.
The uncle snapped in Orturio’s face to try to wake him before settling back in his chair, unsuccessful. He grumbled something that made no sense, slurred by the pomati and the tincture.
A feeling of urgency sprang upon me. I set the perfume bottle on the table and slipped out of my seat, eyeing the fire iron at the hearth. The weakness of my injured ankle would make this a difficult fight. I steeled myself for a struggle.
“What are you…?” The uncle garbled his words as his lazy gaze tried to follow me to the hearth. The fire iron felt powerful in my grip.
The uncle’s back was turned to me—an easy target. Orturio sat in profile at the head of the table, his head resting on his chest. I debated a moment before deciding that it was Orturio I had to take down first. He posed the greatest danger if he recovered consciousness before I could make my escape.
I circled around the head of the table, the slipper of my unmaimed foot sliding along the floor as I favored the other. I looked at the uncle; his mouth was open, his breathing heavy, his eyelids barely flickering.
I raised the pointed fire iron, found my balance, and gritted my teeth. The weapon whistled through the air as I brought it down and struck Orturio’s broad crown, denting his skull, spraying blood over my knuckles.
Orturio roared and thrashed. My second blow only glanced off his skull. The uncle jerked awake and lunged for the iron, swaying so heavily that he dragged us both backward as we struggled, sending knives of pain through my sprained ankle. We tumbled together, and his large body broke my fall. He tried to wrap his thick arm around m
y neck, but I slipped away from his grip and snatched my weapon again, swinging it down to meet his groin. He cursed and howled.
Orturio staggered from his chair. He swiped to knock me down, but the head wound and the tincture slowed him enough that I was able to land another solid, bloody swipe to the side of his head, which sent him barreling to the stone floor.
The maid who had cared for me since the other’s death hurried in, gasped, and exited. She might summon the guards or the other servants. I had to finish this now.
The uncle gripped my maimed ankle, squeezing the swollen knot with his massive fist. I issued a sound that was part sob, part scream, and fell against the table. My elbow crushed the tray of cordial glasses and the bottle of pomati. Glass stung my skin, but I’d managed to cling to the fire iron. I turned to find the uncle getting to his feet. If he caught me, it wouldn’t take much for him to overpower me. I couldn’t give him the chance. I whacked him hard in the basin between his shoulder and neck, then swiped up and smacked him across the face. He roared like an angry bear as he stumbled back and fell, fatally striking his head on the stone mantel.
Orturio lay on the ground in an unmoving heap. I flung away the fire iron and dug into his breast pocket for his key ring.
“The Uprising won’t die with us,” Lord Orturio said, his wide eyes darting to and fro.
Clenching the keys in one fist, I extracted the iron effigy of the Holy of Loyalty from the pouch sewn at my waist. I slid it into his breast pocket and patted it. “We’ll see about that.”
I waited only a moment before his broad chest ceased its frantic rising and falling.
Victorious, I started my limping trek toward the cellar door before any of the servants could discover the carnage and try to stop me.
The corridor seemed to stretch to eternity, and the pine cellar door seemed so far away.
Behind me, I heard a shuffle and a deep groan. I looked back to find Orturio careening after me, blood gushing over his face. Had he pretended to breathe his last breath, or had rage reanimated his battered body?