“I wanted to see if you’ve changed your mind about being useful. You haven’t long to decide to save your own life,” said The Cutthroat Prince.
A raspy laugh followed the words. “As tempting as it would be to become a traitor to those things I’ve sworn my life to in exchange to become your lapdog, I think I’d sooner be dead. You’ll have to make do with your current dog.” The Ranger’s voice was weak, dry, but Will recognized the cool tone.
Another thud and a sharp intake of breath. Will knew someone had struck the Ranger.
“I’d watch my mouth, traitor scum,” Draccart snarled.
“Leave it, Draccart,” The Cutthroat Prince snapped. “He’ll be paying for his tongue soon enough. Well then, Prince Esrin, you best be prepared to die for your foolishness because your darling King has refused our demands as well as failed to send help. It seems he takes the safety of a child more seriously than the safety of his right hand.”
“There are things worse than dying,” the Ranger said dryly. “You would do well to remember that, as it’s something too many of your kind take for granted. Perhaps you should look at me and remember that even Princes are left for dead at times.”
Another thud. “Do not speak to me as an equal, traitor,” hissed The Cutthroat Prince. Then in a louder voice, as though trying to compose himself. “There will be no more chances. By sundown tonight, you will be dead and for nothing. We will still take him as an heir for Kelkor, we will still ensure that the crown is passed to an ally in the future. All you’ve done is throw away your life like a fool.”
Will listened as the footfalls crossed the room again and then a sharp crack echoed, the sound of a door being snapped shut. He waited, wondering if Draccart had perhaps stayed in the room as a guard. Or other guards who had stayed silent. After a few moments of silence, he braced himself, drawing the sword at his side. Waiting would get him nowhere. It was best to save the Ranger now, before someone arrived to escort him to his own execution.
Pushing the door open softly, Will took in the next room. This chamber was twice the size of the bedroom he stood in, with tapestries hanging from the wall, shelves flanking either side of a fireplace. A few chairs were pushed out of the way against the walls and a single door led from this room. And there, leaning against the wall between two of the chairs, head bowed against his chest, arms behind his back and clothing matted with dried blood, was a man.
Will took a tentative step into the room, eyes fixed on the unmoving figure, half afraid that the man was unconscious or already dead. The man’s head jerked up, eyes flashing, and Will froze, staring. He had never seen the Ranger’s face and yet he recognized the high cheek boned features, the cool dark eyes, the dark hair, though it fell in tangles around his regal features. Even with the bruising along his stubbled jaw and his unkempt appearance, there was no denying the similarities of this man and King Tollien of Thornten.
The man’s mouth fell open as he stared at Will, what little color was in his face washing away. Closing his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut and Will took another step forward, wondering if the Ranger was about to pass out.
“When I have opened my eyes, I am very much hoping you won’t be here because I’m hoping you’re not stupid enough to have broken into Thornten.”
The eyes opened and Will noticed their depths were dark blue, not black like Tollien. Even the hair was lighter, a deep brown rather than midnight darkness. The Ranger’s face shadowed. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you,” Will snapped, striding the distance between them. He crouched beside the Ranger, setting the sword on the floor, and reaching for the dagger at his side. Luck was on their side. He could see the binding biting into the Ranger’s hands was the same style of rope that The Cutthroat Prince had used on him.
“Considering you came from the bedchamber, I take it you came through the window,” the Ranger said, eyes narrowed. “Which means your Kelkor friend is helping you get into trouble again.”
“Yeah, well, so are Rowan and Colin. Ross and Laster aren’t doing much to stop us either.”
“Remind me, if I get out of here, to kill you myself just to simplify matters.”
“Great, will do. Now, do you mind leaning forward? I can cut your hands free.”
He couldn’t watch the Ranger’s face as the man leaned forward but still he saw the body flinch in pain. They had clearly beaten him. Trying to keep his hands from shaking, Will sliced through the rope in a matter of never-ending seconds.
The Ranger brought his hands forward and rubbed the raw burns on his wrists. “I must say, I didn’t expect that Ross and Laster would have brought you of all people.”
Will grinned guiltily. “They didn’t. We all just sort of showed up at the same place.”
The Ranger rolled his eyes to the ceiling, inhaling deeply. “There are days I don’t know why I bother trying to keep alive those so intent on getting themselves killed.”
“Well, dwell on that later. We have to go. Can you stand?”
“Of course, I can stand,” the Ranger growled. He pushed away Will’s offered hand and, teeth bared, climbed to his feet. Will waited, holding his breath, as the Ranger swayed a moment. If he fell, all Thornten might rush through that door. Inhaling deeply, the Ranger straightened, face tightening with pain. “What is the plan from here then?”
“Ross will pull us back up, him and Niet.”
“They can’t lift us at the same time,” the Ranger said, frowning. “Where is Laster? He should be up there.”
“Planning our get away,” Will said, shaking his head. “We haven’t got time, we got to go now. When they come back for you, they are bringing fifteen guards.”
He scrambled to his own feet, grabbing the sword, and forcing it into the Ranger’s hands. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Right.” The Ranger nodded, grabbing the sword in trembling fingers. Pain spasmed over his face but he didn’t allow it to slow him, leading Will back across the room on cat silent feet. In the bedchamber, Will was glad to see the rope still trailing from the window, waiting for them with its looped harness. “You first, Will.”
Will shook his head. “No.”
The Ranger’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You have to get out of here.”
“I will but you have to go first,” Will snapped. “They’re expecting you first and you’re not strong enough to tie yourself in right. We can’t have them getting worn out lifting me first either. You weigh more. It’d be a really worthless rescue if you dropped off a rope and died halfway through.”
The Ranger looked at Will with a strange frown, then shook his head, turning his face away but not before Will had caught a glimpse of his smirk. “You’re getting rather bossy. I never thought I would miss the days when you were scared to be in my presence.”
“Yeah, well those days are over.” Will laughed ruefully and glanced back to the empty room they had just left. “We need to hurry up though, or Ross is going to charge down here himself to see what’s going on.”
“Nearly worth my life to see that,” the Ranger said coolly but grabbed the rope all the same. Will helped adjust the knots, checking the harness was secured correctly before watching the Ranger lift himself through the window. A moment later, the rope moved, pulling the Ranger upwards, one hand clutching the rope, the other the sword. Another pull and he was almost out of sight of the window.
Will’s chest swelled with pride, with success. This was it. They were saving the Ranger.
A crash behind him made Will whip round. Draccart was standing in the doorway of the other room. For a moment they stared at one another, shock and realization dawning on Draccart’s pale features. Out the window, Will heard the Ranger yelling something, his voice weak, hoarse, too quiet for Niet and Ross to hear above the roar of the wind, the distance of four floors.
Draccart’s shock broke and an evil leer pulled his mouth. He moved to step forward, reaching for the jagged edged sword on his side. Will’s hand dove for hi
s own blade and dread washed over him. The sword was in the Ranger’s hand and his dagger was on the floor where he’d cut the Ranger free. He’d been so intent on getting away he hadn’t thought to grab it. Plunging a hand into his pocket, Will drew the falcon blade, gripping it in a shaking hand.
“We’ve got him!” Draccart yelled, his voice shattering the silence of the room. “We’ve got the heir we wanted!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Will dove away from the window, vaulting and rolling across the bed before crashing to the floor next to the wardrobe. He could hear Draccart running flat-footedly toward the room and scrambled to his feet, grabbing the clothing rod from the closet and gripping it in his dagger-free hand like a staff. The few garments that remained slid to the floor at his feet as Draccart appeared, swinging the sword lazily in one hand.
Catching sight of Will’s makeshift weapon, he let out a bark of laughter. “Sticks against swords? They keep saying you’re a threat but now I’m doubting that.”
Without answering, Will threw the falcon dagger as he had in the tunnels. His stomach clenched as Draccart batted it away with a swat of his own weapon, barking in laughter.
Will glanced to his side, desperate for anything else to use as a weapon and grabbed up a pillow from the bed, still clutching the make-shift staff in his other hand, thinking desperately of Rowan and their pillow fights.
Draccart’s laughter redoubled, and he shook his head, glancing the way he had come. “If they didn’t want you alive so bad, I’d do it myself. Kill you here, like I did that horse.”
“You didn’t manage that too well,” Will snapped. He glanced toward the window, hoping to see the rope drop back into sight. If he could grab it and jump, maybe he could hold on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Draccart take a step forward and, without thinking, he wheeled round and threw the pillow at Draccart’s face with all the force he had.
Draccart swung his sword up to stop the pillow and white feathers burst into the air like snow, scattering around the Cutthroat and blinding his vision. Will didn’t hesitate but leapt up, onto the bed again, and dove forward, bringing the rod in his hands crashing down on Draccart’s flaying arm. There was a howl of pain and before Draccart could strike, Will was on the floor again, bounding past him, out the door.
There were no guards coming. Maybe Draccart had been the guard! He might still stand a chance! He was across the room now at a sprint, rushing toward the door that would lead him out into the castle. He was crossing the threshold, stunned with his own thinking and luck.
His foot caught on something solid and unmoving, and the ground rushed to catch him as he crashed onto his chest, the closet rod flying from his hands and rattling over the floor ahead. Pain split up one leg, over the hand he had thrown out to break his fall, but he didn’t care. There was time for pain when an angry teenager with a sword wasn’t chasing him. He made to scramble upright, and a foot collided with his back, dropping him forward again.
“Come now, did you really think you could get away that easily?” laughed a snide voice above him. Will rolled onto his back, spitting blood from his split lip, and glowered in the dark eyes of The Cutthroat Prince above him.
Only The Cutthroat Prince wasn’t wearing his grey hood and dark clothing. In fact, he wasn’t hiding his face at all. He stood over Will with a gloating smile on his handsome face, black hair falling over his black eyes, somewhat disheveled from his springing forward to trip Will. His dark grey and gold tunic were perfectly tailored, his black boots polished to a high sheen, and one hand rested on the ornate handle of an expensive sword. Will stared up at the boy above him with a mixture of horror and comprehension freezing him in place.
“I must say,” purred the boy, tilting his head to one side, “this is a pleasant surprise.”
Will scrambled back as Draccart pounded through the door, panting, and came to an abrupt halt, murder dancing in his small eyes. The boy beside him held out an arm to stop him, smirking.
“Don’t kill our guest quite yet.”
“He let the Ranger get away,” Draccart panted, turning from Will to the boy next to him.
The boy raised his dark eyebrows, seeming grudgingly impressed. “That is unexpected. No matter, go alert the guards. They’ll find him and whoever else helped him to get away. Then bring my father and Marl here. They will want to see what we’ve managed to catch.”
“What about him?” Draccart asked, jerking his head toward where Will still lay.
“I can handle him,” snapped The Cutthroat Prince. “I want some time alone with my dear cousin.”
“You’re the Prince of Thornten then,” Will snarled, trying to push himself into a seated position as Draccart strode past, down the corridor.
The boy gave a mocking bow, eyes never leaving Will’s own. “With distinction. Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Prince Tabius of Thornten, heir to the throne of my father, Tollien.” He straightened dark eyes dancing, daring Will to rise to the bait.
“I’d bow but I’m afraid I don’t actually care,” Will growled.
He glanced behind him, toward the out of reach closet rod. He had a mad urge to lunge for it, just to knock this Prince around the ears. And to think he had felt bad that Ross and Laster intended to kidnap him when, all along, he had been the Ranger’s captor. That feeling was gone. Now he wanted to see Laster burst through a door and tackle this fiend. But that was unlikely, and the closet rod was so close…
“If you move for it, I can promise you’ll regret it.”
Will turned his eyes back to the Prince to see the hungry black gaze was fixed on him. Tabius gave a humorless smile, raising his brows.
“Go for it, if you’re feeling brave, I won’t kill you. But what I can promise is that you will regret it. You see,” he said, drawing his sword, his voice casual, more like he was discussing the weather than Will’s fate. “This blade is from my uncle, a gift that he got in Kelkor when I first arrived at the castle this spring. It’s imbued with Inanimus. Do you know what that is?”
When Will refused to answer, Tabius continued, turning the sword in his gloved hands and smirking. “You should know what it is. My father says that it was used on you last year, when they caught you before. It’s what we used on the Ranger to slow him down when we were trying to capture him before on his way back from Kelkor. Only then we almost killed him. He wasn’t meant to get struck with two blades, but he took the arrow meant for the Kelkor squire as well as the one meant for himself.
You see, this Inanimus is a poison. If inhaled, it can render a person unconscious in time and, if in the bloodstream, it can cause the victim paralysis.” His smile grew more delighted, his dark eyes fixed on Will’s blue ones. “Sometimes temporary but, in high doses, perhaps permanent. It will shut down the body slowly until the person dies in the most agonizing way. Their body will fail on them, their own body will attack and kill them.”
“You nearly killed the Ranger,” Will snarled, furious. “You almost killed him with that stuff.”
“As I said.” The Prince shrugged, lowering the sword point to rest on the floor. “That wasn’t my intention. We wanted to use him as bait before, when we realized attacking you wasn’t getting us where we needed to be. I wanted to capture your knight too but, I guess he and I will have to catch up another way. I haven’t forgotten that he humiliated me.”
“He should have killed you,” Will spat. He wanted to kick out, to strike, even if it meant getting struck with this blade. It would be worth it just to kick him right in the shins and see him hop around like a moron.
“Lucky for Alamore that he didn’t,” Tabius chuckled, shaking his head. “You see, there would have been war. My father wouldn’t have stood for it, nor would our allies in Phersal, Bronswick, and now Kelkor. But your King already knew that. He knew that The Cutthroat Prince couldn’t be killed so easily. He gave the orders that your knights not try to kill me but rather capture me and, by never showing my face, it protected all of
my Cutthroats as well.”
“How did he know that?” Will demanded.
“Why from your Ranger, of course,” Tabius said, raising his brows.
“The Ranger?” Will frowned, furrowing his brow. “He wasn’t even around.”
“Oh, he was for our earliest attacks. You see, you weren’t my first target. Before I went for you, I needed to see to it that the Ranger was out of the way, that I had a clear shot at you because he’s kept you protected more than you ever would know. What I needed was the ability to track your movements, give me insight into everything in Alamore.”
Will snorted, rage making him bold. “Right, about that. That bloke, Oberoan? Your spy? He’s dead.”
“Oberoan? He’s dead?” Tabius frowned then nodded thoughtfully. “I’m honestly surprised he lived as long as he did. He’s been torn between betraying me and joining me for months now. But no matter. I planned for a few casualties. He’s not my only set of ears in that castle.”
The sound of approaching feet cut off any response from Will and he sat up, forgetting about the sword in Tabius’s hand, and twisted round. Immediately he wished he hadn’t as his mouth went dry, and hands curled into fists on the floor.
Draccart was half running toward them, his face alight with excitement while behind him strode two men. The taller of the men shared Tabius’s features, which might have been handsome had they not be so cold, his black eyes more like bottomless pits. Tollien’s brow furrowed as they approached, his lips pulling into a frown at the sight of Will on the ground. Beside him, his beard groomed and looking strange in a rich green tunic and bronze cloak, Marl’s face was transported with delight.
“We’ve got a new guest, father,” Tabius called. Will grunted as Tabius shoved a boot into his chest, knocking him almost to the ground again.
“Well done, Tabius.” Marl leered down at Will, his chest rising and falling excitedly. “And here I was heartbroken that I would have to celebrate becoming King without my heir at my side. I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses and decided to bring your loyalties where you truly belong, son.”
The Cutthroat Prince (William of Alamore Series Book 2) Page 40