Chapter 50
The guard I had been glaring at scoffed and leaned forward, his hand reaching toward Sister Alethea. I struck his hand away, but his strength was far greater than mine. With no other course left, I lunged forward and sank my teeth deep into the flesh of his hand.
He cursed under his breath and jerked back, inspecting the bite with a grimace. His eyes met mine, full of irritation. I pulled Sister Alethea closer and glared at the gathered soldiers. Some looked from the slain man to me with unnerving calm; others stood motionless, awaiting instruction.
One man, hair tinged purple, nudged his chin toward the fallen soldier. Two men stepped forward and dragged the corpse away as he approached me.
"Come with us," he said, his voice devoid of feeling. "That is an order."
"I am Lady Naevia Ashcroft. How dare you, a mere soldier, presume to command me," I replied lowly, my glare intensifying.
A soldier behind him scoffed and stepped forth. "She is but a woman. Why hesitate?" He began to bend down, hand reaching toward me.
The purple-haired man raised a leg with sudden precision and struck the man hard in the side. The force sent him sprawling several feet back.
"Captain?!" the man exclaimed, rising to his feet, clutching his ribs in disbelief.
"Do not lay a finger upon Lady Naevia," the captain said evenly.
Then he turned his gaze upon the rest of them. "Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir!" the soldiers echoed.
"One of you, ride to the capital and inform Her Majesty," the captain commanded.
A soldier bowed and departed in haste.
Not moments later, at least three dozen men emerged from the forest, swords drawn, their war cries piercing the air as they charged the soldiers. The Queen's men did not retreat, steel was drawn in answer.
Swords clashed with violent force. Blood splattered across the bark of trees, soaked into the earth, stained the tall weeds and the bodies of men alike. Groans of agony echoed through the glade as the fallen met the ground.
Yet I did not cower. My fear was gone. In its place lived only fury.
"Protect the clients!" a man bellowed.
The men Sister Alethea had entrusted.
I looked down at her still body. Her skin had grown cold. More tears welled in my eyes. I reached to adjust her head, hoping to grant her some final comfort when rough hands yanked me upward, wrenching me away from her. My gaze snapped toward the offender.
It was the very soldier the captain had struck before.
I opened my mouth, ready to curse him with every vile word I had ever dared think, but he was swift. He pressed my back against his chest, one arm wrapped tightly around me, the other hand clamped over my mouth as he began to run.
"Mmm!" I cried in his palm, clawing at his arms with my nails, kicking wildly as rage consumed me.
"I shall be richly rewarded for this," he whispered into my ear.
Behind us, the clash of swords and the cries of battle grew faint. When the sounds vanished, he threw me onto the ground. Before I gathered myself, something sharp struck the back of my neck and the world fell away into darkness.
---
When I returned to my senses, the first thing I felt was the dull, persistent throbbing at the back of my neck. He had struck me, I had no doubt.
I opened my eyes and cast my gaze about the room. I was back in my guest chamber, lying on the same soft bed. I turned my head toward the mantel clock.
Almost six in the evening.
I had been unconscious for hours. That was far too long.
Alethea…
I sprang from the bed and made swiftly for the door, anger already rising within me. But as I crossed the room, my reflection in the great mirror drew me to a halt.
I was clean. They had bathed me. The blood was gone. My nightgown had been changed. A wave of revulsion coursed through me. Why such careful hands, when they intend only to break me?
I turned sharply toward the door. I would protect myself. I understood now why they wanted me gone. They desired my suffering to reach my family's ears, for every hardship I endured marked yet another stroke of victory in their pursuit of vengeance.
I paused at the door, halted by the sudden recollection of a piece of jewelry I had long forgotten. My gaze dropped to my pale bare feet. More precisely, to the big toe of my right foot.
The ring was still there.
I slid it off and turned it over in my fingers. After a moment, the faint glow of the initials MV.PY shimmered within the band.
I closed my left hand firmly around it and opened the door. Two maids approached and bowed.Top of FormBottom of Form I seized one by the collar and fixed my glare upon her.
"Where is your queen?"
She recoiled slightly, startled by the sharpness in my tone. Her eyes widened in alarm.
"P-pardon?"
"Where," I repeated, slower now, my anger rising with every breath, "is your queen?"
"In… in the throne room, with the ministers and nobles," she stammered, confusion flickering across her face.
I released her with a shove. I shifted my glare to the second maid, and she shrank beneath it. I then strode down the corridor. Two soldiers fell into step behind me. It was plain they had been instructed to watch me. I paid them no mind and walked straight to the great doors of the throne room, where more soldiers stood.
"Open the door," I commanded.
The guards bowed and obeyed.
Within the vast chamber, nobles and ministers stood on either side of the central aisle. At the foot of the throne, a woman knelt on the floor. And upon the throne seat, Queen Yseldra, a devil in disguised.
All eyes turned to me.
The woman who knelt before the throne sprang to her feet and thrust a finger toward me.
"Murderess!" she cried, her voice shrill as I advanced through the hall. "She killed my son!"
She turned swiftly back to the throne and collapsed once more to her knees, weeping bitterly.
"Your Majesty, my son served the royal family faithfully for thirty years! She must repay blood with blood. She must give her life in return!"
Her words quickened my steps. Tears slid freely down my cheeks. My chest ached in a manner I had never before known. It was as though grief itself had wrapped its hands around my ribs and squeezed.
Ombrithar teaches us to forgive, to cast hatred aside and embrace love. But this, I could never forgive.
"Your Majesty," a woman called sweetly from the side, raising her voice above the weeping. "Might I suggest a toast, in honor of another splendid festival?"
"The Baroness is quite right," came another voice. "It is the perfect time."
"I am still speaking!" the woman on the floor shrieked. "I have waited for hours. It is my turn!"
"To the late King and Queen!" a nobleman near the throne lifted his glass high, his voice booming above the others.
"Your Majesty," someone called out. "We shall not be denied a proper spectacle. Do not falter midway as you did before. Let the enemy receive what punishment they are due."
I was nearer now.
The devil sat upon the throne with the poise of one born to command, one leg draped elegantly over the other. Her elbow rested upon the arm of the chair, and her chin lay upon the curve of her hand. In the other, she held a crystal glass, its contents swirling with the faintest motion. Her lips curved with amusement. On her head sat a crown of gold, but I could not admire its beauty one bit.
"Bring it forth," the devil called out cheerfully, giving a casual flick of her fingers.
The soldiers flanking me stepped forward, barring my path.
"Now, now, Lady Naevia," the queen said with a light laugh. "We must please our audience. And to do that… we must have a little drama."
"Your Majesty," cried the woman still collapsed upon the floor, "please, I beg of you! Grant me justice!"
A soldier passed by me with a tray, and the scent struck me.
Poison.
The two guards before me stepped aside. The soldier carrying the tray moved to the foot of the steps leading to the throne. Upon the silver tray sat a single small clear glass cup, its contents still, waiting.
I clenched the ring tighter in my hand.
"Now then," the queen called out sweetly, tilting her head. "You may approach, Lady Naevia."
I moved forward, stopping in front of the woman who had wailed so bitterly for blood. I raised my right hand and struck her across the face. The sound echoed through the chamber, sharp as a bell.
She gasped, her mouth hung open in disbelief. I leaned in, my voice burning with rage.
"Curse you and all who come after you," I said through my tears.
Then I turned and ascended the steps toward the throne.
"You wanted drama?" I asked coldly.
The devil gave a playful nod and gestured to the soldier with the tray, who stepped forward and presented the cup.
"Drink," she said lightly.
I raised my hand and struck the crown from her head. It clattered upon the floor, and spun to a halt. Gasps erupted from the gathered crowd. Soldiers surged forward, but the vile creature stilled them with the smallest wave of her fingers. Her smile remained fixed, as if painted.
I seized the cup and flung its contents directly into her face. She recoiled, and at last, the smile vanished from her lips. I threw the cup aside, snatched the crystal wineglass from her hand, and shattered it upon the floor. I then pressed the ring into her palm.
I grasped both her shoulders and leaned in close, my voice low and seething. "A ring, in exchange for my life and freedom."
Then I caught her jaw tightly with my right hand and glared into those golden eyes.
"Where," I hissed, "is Alethea, you heap of trash?"