Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 37 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Eighty-One

My vision is fading, my head foggy.

Meryliese. My sister. She’s alive…and she’s here in Darkfell.

Meryliese was supposed to be the one in the tower. Instead, she perished in a shipwreck and I was sent to her fate. I don’t understand. “H-how…you’re dead?”

She folds her hands at her waist and gives me a sly look. “Am I? I don’t feel dead.” She adjusts the cuff on one of her sleeves. “The shipwreck was a good story, wasn’t it? Such a tragic tale, too. All people on board died.” She clicks her tongue. “At least, all people that didn’t have a Fellian waiting to rescue them from the open water. I bet they never found my body.”

I stare. My eyes slide shut, and I have to struggle to force them open again. My limbs are cold, and I can’t feel my fingers. I reach for her, and she neatly sidesteps in a swirl of crimson silk.

“I love that after twenty years of my life was devoted to preparing me for the tower, they sent you in the space of three days. That must have been quite shocking for poor, pampered little Candromeda. So sad.” She mock-pouts, her lower lip thrusting out. “Did you stay inside like a good little Vestalin?”

I roll onto my back, but I can’t get up from the floor. Dimly, I remember her words. Poison? Someone poisoned me? I think of the milk I drank at dinner. How Ajaxi had paused when I skipped the wine. Was it him that poisoned me? I pant, trying to pull enough air into lungs that feel like ice. “Why…”

“Why what? Why is the curse upon us?” Meryliese leans over my dying body, studying me. “You did stay inside the tower, didn’t you? What was it, at least two years now? My, my.” She chuckles. “And all that time you didn’t wonder at the weather? It was Ivornath’s idea, you know. The Golden Moon Goddess brings a wealth of angry storms to show her displeasure, but the Fellians are safe underground. It was a simple thing to visit the tower the day of the solstice and step over the threshold and quickly leave again. With the curse activated, Lios and its fleet were doomed, and Ivornath and I were cozy here inside Darkfell.” Her face falls momentarily. “At least, until Ivornath went and died on me. But not to worry, his brother Ajaxi is an absolute cretin. He’s dancing to my tune already.”

I groan in pain, unable to believe what I’m hearing. It can’t be true. Meryliese deliberately sabotaged the tower before we ever stepped inside. She and Ivornath wanted Lios to fall, wanted all this misfortune. It’s horrible to think about.

“I hear you went and fell in love with your sweet Fellian. Is that true? Nemeth is not my type, you know. I like them more ruthless and vengeful.” She chuckles and leans down, pinching my cold cheek. “Don’t worry, little sister. I’ll keep him alive. I need at least one of First House if I’m to rule Darkfell.”

I want to bat her hand away, but I can’t move. My limbs are stiffening as if I’m a corpse. My vision has faded to a blur, and I’m only dimly aware of Meryliese straightening and turning.

“You should be downstairs entertaining your brother,” she says in a sharp voice. “Where’s Nemeth?”

“I knocked him out,” Ajaxi slurs in a wine-soaked voice. There’s a crash of dishes and the sound of furniture being shoved across a floor. “He’s…real real mad.”

“He can be mad,” Meryliese says impatiently. “It won’t make her less dead. With no one left, his loyalty will be to us.” She leans over me again, a blur of dark hair and green eyes. She slaps my cheek, and I don’t even feel it. “This one is taking a long time to die. Did you give her enough poison?”

“Lots. Lots and lots.”

“Hm. Well, take her to the root cellar. Dump her body there until we can figure out a better place to store it.”

I fade out.

I dislike death intensely. It’s cold and it smells like garlic and onions. Here I’d always thought death would be peaceful, but it’s oniony and someone’s arguing nearby and it’s all very irritating. I growl, and someone reaches out and slaps my face.

This one, I feel.

“Ow,” I manage. My lips feel heavy and tingly. “Not…spose…to slap…the dead.”

“You’re not dead, fool,” comes Erynne’s acerbic voice. “Wake up.”

“Can’t,” I mumble. “Dead…just like Meryliese.”

“Yes, well, she’s not dead either,” Erynne retorts. “So quit playacting at being a corpse and wake up.”

Not…dead? Hm. Vague memories flicker through my sludge-filled brain. Of a woman dressed in scarlet who looks a bit like Erynne and a bit like me. Of Ivornath’s dead body, still marked with plague and stinking of rot. Of Nemeth at dinner.

It was the truth, but it was not all of the truth, Candra. I swear it.

“I’m not dead,” I manage, and I’m honestly surprised that I’m not. My mouth feels strangely tight and when I try to lift my head, I can’t. My neck is stiff. All of me is stiff. I can twitch a finger, but nothing else, and the realization makes me whimper. “Can’t move.”

“Stay still,” comes a kinder voice. Riza. A hand brushes my hair from my forehead. “Drink this and wait for it to pass.”

A warm vial of something bitter is pressed to my lips. I cough and sputter and some of it runs down my cheek, but I manage to drink most of it. Riza makes soothing noises and continues to stroke my hair and face. I close my eyes, drifting and dizzy.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Erynne whispers.

“I don’t even know how she’s alive,” Riza murmurs. “The cook said that they dosed her with enough to kill her twice over, yet she lives.”

“It’s our Fellian blood,” Erynne says. “That potion doesn’t work as well on us. I drank it when I got here. I was furious when it didn’t kill me. It’s because somewhere in our ancestry, someone married a Fellian. That blood is still in our veins.”

And I have more Fellian blood than most. I have Nemeth’s blood in my veins, too. Maybe that’s how I lived. Does he know what they did to me? Was he in on it? I have to think he wasn’t. He wouldn’t have given me his blood ahead of dinner if he’d known what had been planned.

What Meryliese had planned.

My bitch of a sister is alive.

“I hope that’s it,” Riza says in a low voice. “I don’t know what we’ll do if she can’t walk.”

“I can hear you,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

“You’re not asleep, then.” Riza’s tone is brisk as she pats my shoulder. “Good. That means you’re recovering quickly.”

“Cold,” I manage. Everything feels like ice.

A warm hand takes mine and rubs my fingers. “I know,” Riza says. “Not too much longer, and when you can walk, we’ll leave the root cellar together.”

“Is…that where we are?”

“Aye. They can’t exactly dump you with the rest of the trash or the humans will rise up. So they’re waiting to dump you when no one is looking.” Riza pauses. “Or to burn you in the ovens.”

Well that’s chilling. I try to move my feet, to hurry things along. My eyes feel heavy but I can keep them open with effort. “Meryliese,” I manage. “How…”

“I had my suspicions but nothing confirmed.” Erynne hovers over me, her face blurry. “I’ve been hearing strange things for a while. People kept saying they would see me with Ivornath when I was not. Or they would catch sight of a dark-haired woman. I thought they were tales, but then Ajaxi started to call me ‘Meryliese’ in bed and I put some of it together.”

Riza makes an unpleasant sound in her throat.

Erynne just laughs. “Oh, yes. It’s as bad as you think it is, but I’m just waiting for the right moment to kill him. Never fear.” She rubs my hand harder, as if she can work her frustration into my veins to warm them. “Our bitch sister brought down Lios by activating the goddess’s curse. She thought she’d be safe here in Darkfell, but I think the goddess’s wrath has followed her under the mountains. I’ve heard some of Ajaxi’s mumblings in his sleep. He’s wanting to overthrow Ivornath and claim the throne for himself, but he’ll have to get rid of both of his brothers first, and something tells me Meryliese doesn’t want that.”

I whimper, trying to sit up. “Nemeth⁠—”

“Safe,” Erynne says even as she puts a hand on my shoulder. “Ajaxi has him imprisoned in the palace. I don’t know how he managed it, because Ivornath wouldn’t approve, but⁠—”

They don’t know? I groan, trying to force my unresponsive body to work. “Dead. Ivornath is dead.”

“He’s what?” Riza leans over me, her face full of urgency. “Tell us what you know.”

Even though my face feels numb, I tell them what I can of that dinner. Of Ajaxi sabotaging Nemeth with comments to make me angry. Of Nemeth attacking his brother. Me heading to the stairs—of course there are stairs, because Meryliese is there—only to find Ivornath’s dead body in his room and Meryliese lurking in the shadows.

Both Riza and Erynne make unhappy noises when I’m done.

“It makes sense,” Erynne says. “Ajaxi’s been getting bolder lately. He won’t let Nemeth live, though. As long as he’s alive, the throne passes to him. I know he was furious when Nemeth arrived, but at the time I thought it was because of the goddess’s curse. Now I know it’s because he wanted him to die. I have no doubt that Ajaxi didn’t send the shipment of food to the tower, expecting Nemeth to starve to death like a good, honorable prince.”

Except he didn’t, because he fell in love with a shameless, self-centered Liosian princess. I’m a little proud of myself in that moment. “He’s not with them,” I tell my sister and Riza. “We have to help him.”

“He’s safe for now. But if Ivornath is dead and Ajaxi is getting bold enough to poison Candra, we need to act quickly.” Riza’s face is full of urgency as she gazes at Erynne. “We must act soon. If he’s taking out his rivals, Second House is next.”

And that means Nemeth is in danger no matter what they say. “Then help me up,” I tell them. “Because the sooner I’m on my feet, the sooner we can take Ajaxi down.”

And the sooner I get my Nemeth back and we can talk about the secrets he’s been keeping.

It’s still hours before we’re able to leave the root cellar. No one wants to teleport me because they’re afraid that in my weakened state, it’ll kill me or harm the baby. So we wait, and then, extremities numb, I stagger between Erynne and Riza out of the root cellar and into the kitchens. From there, a human slave leads us down a twisting hall and a secret passage that takes us all the way to a storage shed. There, Second House meets us.

Plans are discussed, but the poison in my veins exhausts me, and with no Nemeth to give me his blood, I’m forced to rely on Riza to make me a potion. We’re missing some of the ingredients, so it doesn’t quite do the job I want it to, and I collapse into bed, fatigued and exhausted.

I’m missing the uprising, but I don’t have the energy to protest, much less carry a weapon. Erynne will be the figurehead they need for the humans. Which is fine, because I’m not much of a leader.

I just want Nemeth.

I’m so weak that I can’t get out of bed for what feels like forever. I’m vaguely aware of the others in Tolian’s home, of a cacophony of voices arguing over when is the best time to storm the palace. Of human voices mixed with Fellian. Of my sister Erynne speaking angrily, followed by Riza’s more measured tones.

Some hero I am. I sleep and can’t rise even to relieve myself. Someone has to come in and drag me to the nearest garderobe, because my legs are still numb and weak. The only comfort I have is that the baby in my belly bounces and dances against my bladder as if it has taken all my energy for itself.

I doze in and out of dreams of Nemeth, dreams in which I’m still in the tower. Dreams in which I’m oiling his wings as he reads his atrocious war poetry by the fire, and we’re so happy and content that it feels physically painful to wake up and find myself alone, muscles stiff and aching from my near-death.

At some point, I wake up to see Riza’s face near mine. She’s dressed in pants and a cloak, her expression worried as she presses her fingers to my brow. “You feel warm.”

“I’m fine,” I manage, even though I’m very clearly not. For the first time in what feels like days, the house is silent. Second House practically echoes with how empty it is, and something about that makes my skin prickle. “Where is everyone?”

“They’ve gone ahead,” Riza says. “Tonight is when we take over First House. Your sister will be overthrown. Ajaxi will be captured.”

“Nemeth,” I whimper, sitting upright. It takes a great deal of effort but I manage. “What of Nemeth?”

“They have instructions to leave him be. We’ve made it as clear as we can to the others that he’s not to be harmed.”

I don’t trust it. I’ve seen how incensed Erynne can be around Fellians. And if Second House wants to take over, they have to get rid of First House. What’s to stop any of them from harming Nemeth? They can say it’s an “accident” and no one will be the wiser. That something happened during the uprising. Ajaxi could decide he’s safest if he kills Nemeth before he can fall into the wrong hands.

Nemeth needs me. If nothing else, so I can shield him from the other humans. So I can warn him to be wary of his poisonous brother and my vile sister Meryliese.

So I get to my feet. Or I try to. I stumble and flop onto the floor, breathing hard.

“Princess!” Riza gasps, bending over me. “You must rest!”

I shake my head. “Nemeth needs me. We have to go find him.”

“You’re not well⁠—”

I manage to pull myself off the floor, clutching at her clothing. “Do you think anyone’s going to wait for me to feel better?” When she hesitates, I have my answer. “I don’t care if it takes me all day and all night to get to Nemeth, I have to. I’m the only one that can stop them if they’re determined to hurt him.”

Riza hesitates, and then purses her lips at me. “Wait here. I’ll get a cart.”

Chapter

Eighty-Two

If I ever doubted Riza’s loyalty, ever, I need to be smacked upside the head. My former servant and forever friend tirelessly hauls my cart through the empty streets of Darkfell. She’s panting and sweaty, but doesn’t complain, and I hold her weapons in my numb arms and feel grateful for her loyalty. If I could hug her, I would.

The palace rises in the distance, and as it does, so do the voices. There are shouts of anger, followed by crashes of what sounds like pottery. Colorful hangings are on fire, ash drifting through the still air as we approach the mob of human slaves and the Fellian defectors.

I can’t help but notice there aren’t many Fellians with us.

I also can’t help but notice that every door we pass has a red mark on it, the mark of the plague. It’s terrifying and it makes me even more afraid for Nemeth. I can protect him from an angry mob, but if the plague is in the palace…

“Make way,” Riza cries as she carts me closer. “Make way for Princess Candromeda! We must get inside!”

A Fellian wearing a bright red scarf over his horns storms towards us. “Riza! You cannot be here. Tolian wants you safe⁠—”

She shakes her head, pushing past him. “Tell Tolian Candra needs my help. He’ll understand. Where’s the princess Erynne? Where is my mate?”

The Fellian glares at me as if I’m the problem (and I suppose I am) before following behind Riza. “They are deep inside the palace, hunting for Ajaxi and his whore.” He glances at me again and then growls, taking the handle of the small, rickety cart I’m seated in. “Let me do that for you.”

“We need to get to the dungeons,” I tell him, my words slurred because I’m exhausted and it’s taking all of my strength to stay upright. “Can you take us there?”

He looks to Riza, and she nods.

“Follow me,” he says. “And arm yourselves.”

We push into the fray inside the building, and everything is chaos. Many of the Fellians are wearing the bright red scarves over their horns, and they battle with others with bare heads and fight on the ground, their wings tightly protected behind them. The human women surge through the halls, destroying everything they can reach and shouting obscenities I’ve never heard coming out of women’s mouths. I don’t blame them, though. I’d be mad as shite too if I’d been enslaved. They attack everything with a vicious enthusiasm that tells me they’re avenging more than themselves. They fight for the memory of every person that was destroyed in Lionel’s awful war and the Fellian vengeance that followed.

Even if they free themselves, we haven’t won. No one wins in any of this. We’re all coming out of this battered and shaken, the world far more grim than it was two years ago.

Me, I just want Nemeth back. Even if I have to spend the next five years back in the tower again, I’d do so gratefully. I just want him whole and well. I want to talk to him and understand the machinations behind what he did. I want to hold him close and know that we’re all right.

But as Erynne, my once-gentle sister attacks a guard with a wild, vicious light in her eyes, two other human women spattered with blood at her side, I wonder if anything will be all right ever again.

“Over here,” Riza calls to the Fellian pulling my cart through the madness. She points at a side door, and he shoves his way forward, the cart rattling as he pushes fighters aside—both Fellian and human—with his shield.

The cart rocks and I let out a yelp, only to have Riza come to my side. She grabs a short sword from the bundle of weapons I’m clutching and uses it to stab at a Fellian hand that grabs at the cart. I cry out again as she chops at the Fellian’s hand as if it were a vegetable and not attached to a person. Hot blood splashes my face and I flinch backward.

Our guard moves away from the front of the cart and sinks his axe into the back of the Fellian attacking us, then kicks his corpse away as I stare.

“We can’t let anyone stop us, my lady,” Riza says in a hard voice, kicking at the dead man. “If we stop now, you’re dead. Understand? We won’t be able to carry you out. Not in this mob.”

I swallow hard, looking around. It’s madness everywhere, but no Fellian is using his wings or teleporting. Those things must be too dangerous. I nod at Riza. She’s seen too much of war and I haven’t seen enough, perhaps.

The guard straightens our cart again and then hauls it down the side hall, surging forward until we come to another door, and then a staircase heading down. “The dungeons,” is all he says. “Now I must rejoin the fight.”

“Thank you, Raxus,” Riza says in a sharp voice. “If you see Tolian, tell him to be careful.”

He grins, showing the tusk-like teeth of the Fellian men, and adjusts his shield and axe, then runs down the hall back towards the chaos.

Riza studies me, pulling out another weapon, a dagger. “Can you walk?”

No, I want to complain. My legs still feel shaky and weak, and I’m pretty sure my toes remain numb despite everything. But if Nemeth is in the dungeon, that’s where I need to be. “Aye.”

It takes far too long to get to my feet, but I manage. Weaving unsteadily, I take the blade she offers me and tuck it between my breasts, like I used to with my enchanted dagger. It doesn’t want to remain in place, thanks to my filmy Fellian-make dress, so I hook the crossguard on the neckline of my dress and wrap my shawl tightly around my shoulders, winding it twice so I won’t have to hold it in place. Just those small tasks make me feel utterly exhausted, but I force myself to stand straight.

Riza nods at me and heads down the stairs, her blade in hand.

I follow behind her. The stairs wind down, narrow and circular, and it’s pitch black inside. It reminds me of my days in the tower when I was desperately preserving wood and matches for fire. I lean heavily against the inside wall, my hand pressed to the stone to guide me, and I move down slowly, counting steps.

When we get to twenty-three, there are no more steps. Riza grabs my arm, and I hear the rustle of her clothing. “I’ll find a lamp of some kind. Wait here.”

She moves away and I wait in the darkness, my eyes closed. Again, I’m reminded of my time in the tower, and as I hear Riza’s clothing rustling as she searches for a light, I think of all the times I got by with nothing. I think of how I recognized Nemeth by the sound of his wings as he moved, and the heft of his steps upon the floor. Can I find him now?

I take a step forward, and my slipper-covered feet encounter straw on the stone floor. Rushes, I realize. Rushes that are meant to keep the floor warm and somewhat clean. The straw here smells moldy when I step forward, though, and something drips on me from above. It’s cold and wet and damp in here, and I think of Nemeth and how much he’d hate it here. He loves a warm fire.

A light flares somewhere behind me and Riza sighs with relief. “There we go.”

The dungeon is horrifying. It’s far more cramped than the rest of the rooms above, with multiple doors clustered tightly in a row, all of them seemingly too small for the large Fellians and their wings. I suppose that’s part of the punishment, but I shiver at the sight. Each door has only a small hole to look inside, and these dungeons seem far worse than the ones I was kept in. More than that, it’s foully dark down here, the ceiling low and oppressive and the walls damp. Between that and the gross straw, I want nothing more than to leave.

But if Nemeth is down here…

I stagger towards the first cell. It’s small, no bigger than a garderobe. Riza shines a light into it and shakes her head. “Empty.”

I peer inside just in case, but she’s right. I don’t see anyone inside. “How does one keep a Fellian prisoner if they can slide through shadows?” I ask her, trying to distract from the fact that I’m near to collapsing with exhaustion. “Won’t they just leave?”

“Magic,” Riza says. “Everything is always magic with Fellians. Tolian told me that the king’s dungeon is enchanted so that all magic is nullified down here. No one can teleport in, no one can teleport out.”

Makes sense, even if it makes things harder.

Riza shines her light into the next cell, and then shudders. “That one is dead. Recent, too.”

“How recent?” My voice is hoarse with terror. Before she can answer, I peek inside, because I’m unable to stand it. There’s a dead Fellian all right, curled up on the ground, his limbs twisted. An ugly dark rash covers his chest and face, but it’s not Nemeth.

I bite my lip, because I saw that rash on another dead man. That’s the plague. It’s not safe for him to be down here. We have to get him out, and soon.

Riza surges ahead and I follow after her. Most of the cells are empty, though a few have dead men—all Fellians—inside them. I’m horrified that the dead have been left to rot down here, forgotten, but I think of Ivornath’s body above and wonder if that’s Meryliese’s awful doing. I hate her more with every moment that passes.

If we’re lucky, Erynne will find her and stab her once or twice or twelve times and save me the effort of killing her myself.

In the second to the last cell, there’s a large Fellian with his back to the small viewing hole in the door. His wings are wrapped tightly around himself, as if he’s using them as a blanket, and his entire body quakes.

“Nemeth?” I call, my heart racing.

No answer. Whoever’s in the cell can’t hear me, either by magic or by the fever that has him trapped.

“Is that him?” Riza asks. “Can you tell?”

I open my mouth to speak, when the figure turns slightly, and a long, ragged scar is revealed on one wing. A whimper of agony escapes me. It’s Nemeth all right, and he’s sick with the plague. “Oh gods, we have to get him out of there, Riza.”

She thrusts the light into my hands, the magical globe held in place by a large wooden base with a finger-hole, much like an oil lamp. Riza tugs on the door as I hold up the light, my arm trembling with exhaustion.

The door doesn’t budge, and she casts a look around. “Locked. The key has to be here somewhere. Wait here, Candra.”

“I won’t leave.” I’m not going anywhere without Nemeth. I stare in at the sight of my poor mate. How long has he been down here? How long has he been sick? My heart aches and aches, and I fight back a surge of panic. Even if we get Nemeth out, how do we cure the plague? If there was a cure, surely Darkfell wouldn’t be so empty?

I’m terrified that I might lose him after all.

Riza checks a guard station by the door, digging through a desk and then searching the rushes on the floor. She goes over the first few cells again, but all their doors are locked as well. Lips pressed together with frustration, she glances up at the stairs. “The key might be above.”

“Go,” I tell her. “I’m not leaving Nemeth.”

She hesitates, and then nods. “Be safe. I’ll return as swiftly as I can.”

I watch as she races up the winding, narrow staircase again. I’m alone in the dungeon with my sick mate, and I turn back to gaze at him, watching with helpless frustration as he quakes, his wings shivering, and then he claws and scratches at his neck.

“Hold on, Nemeth,” I tell him in a low voice. “I’m here. I’m going to save you. I promise.”

He stills at my words, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to turn and look at me. To speak. Something.

“When we get out of here, we’ll go wherever you like,” I promise him. I think he likes the sound of my voice. Perhaps it comforts him, even in fever dreams, so I keep talking. “I don’t care if we stay or if we go, just as long as we’re together. Everything works out better when we’re side by side. It’s the world that keeps pulling us apart. We won’t let that happen anymore. You and I will raise our child somewhere safe and quiet. I’ll even let you read war poetry to him or her, though you know I hate that drivel. You can teach our baby Fellian poems and magic, and I’ll teach them Liosian dances and our holidays. More than anything, we’ll just be happy because we’re together.”

“So sweet,” coos a hard-edged voice. “A baby, you say? You’ll have to tell me if I’m invited to witness the birth of the next Vestalin.”

And Meryliese steps from the last cell in the dungeon, a smirk playing on her hard, beautiful face.