Well of the Damned (42 page)

“We
don’t care why. Kill her!” someone said.

“You’re
no nun,” Brawna said. “You’re only dressed as one.”

“You
speak the truth. I’m no nun,” Cirang said loudly, looking
around at the spectators. “I’m an impostor. I’ve
committed heinous crimes for which I deserve execution.”

“Kill
her!” the voice in the crowd cried.

To
Brawna, Cirang said more softly, “I have important information
the king desperately needs to hear, but if you were instructed to
slay me without hesitation, I submit to the king’s will.”
She knelt on the hard stone street. Her robe soaked up the rainwater
on the ground, and the cold seeped into her bones. The day was
dreary, but her life was dismal. Never had she felt uglier or more
worthless. “Though I don’t deserve your mercy, I beg you
to give me a quick death.”

“Kill!
Kill! Kill!” two voices chanted. Then three. Then more.

Cirang
clenched her eyes tightly shut, waiting for her third and final
death. The sound of rain falling drowned out all but the pounding of
her heart. She deserved this death, but like the coward she was, she
feared the instant of pain before her life ended.

Instead,
a hand gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet, to the crowd’s
grumbled dismay. “You
are
an impostor,” Brawna
said, “not the Cirang Deathsblade I know. You’ll answer
to the king for your deceit.” She picked up the knapsack and
weapons. “Let’s go.”

They
marched wordlessly to the Good Knight Inn and entered the office. The
innkeeper came out of the adjacent room, his one hand on his hip.
“What’s goin’ on here? Doma, are you all right?”

“She’s
no nun,” Brawna snapped. “It’s Cirang.”
Recognition rounded the innkeeper’s eyes and mouth. “I
need you to bring my horse and an extra. I’m taking her to King
Gavin.”

“You
and your friend took the white horse back with you last night,
remember?”

“Then
I need to borrow one,” Brawna said. “If I don’t
return it, you can take the matter up with King Gavin. You two are
old friends, right?”

He
stepped outside, put two fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly.
Moments later, the stable hand came running around the corner. “Fetch
the First Royal’s mount, and bring Lizzie too.”

The
boy looked at Cirang with the slack jaw of youth. “Saddled?”

“Yes,
saddled. Run, boy,” the innkeeper said.

“When
you see Calinor, tell him I found her and took her to the king.”
Brawna said.

“I
will,” the innkeeper said.

“Calinor’s
alive?” Cirang asked. “Oh, praise the light. He’s
alive.” Her knees weakened with relief, and she let herself
sink to them. “He’s alive.”

Brawna
gaped at her. “Who
are
you?”

“King
Gavin left maybe an hour ago,” the one-handed man said. “Didn’t
say much, but I could tell he was fumin’. You don’t know
what happened to get him so red, do you?”

Brawna
shook her head and looked at Cirang. “It’s probably your
fault, whatever it is.”

Cirang
hung her head, recalling the talk in the tavern. “It is. It’s
my fault.” Adro would probably be imprisoned. Or worse.

Brawna rummaged through the
knapsack, pulled out the dirty tunic and trousers and tossed them at
Cirang. “Put these on. I won’t let you milk sympathy from
anyone by wearing those robes a minute longer.”

Cirang
presented her side to the innkeeper so he wouldn’t glimpse her
private parts when she pulled the trousers up over her hips. Though
she had her corset on, which covered her breasts, she turned her back
to him to pull off the robe and quickly pulled the tunic over her
head. Once she was dressed, she tossed the robe back to Brawna, who
stuffed it into the sack.

The
stable hand yelled that he was back. Cirang put the cloak back on and
preceded Brawna outside to find a saddled horse waiting, a spry black
mare. She approached the animal cautiously, hoping it wouldn’t
object too much to her presence. The mare stood still while she
mounted, even looked back at her as if in greeting.

“This
is Lizzie. Be kind to her and she won’t buck you off,”
the boy said, handing the reins up.

“Give
them to me,” Brawna said. “She’s my prisoner. I’ll
have the horse returned by morning.”

Cirang
reached forward and rubbed Lizzie’s neck. “Thank you,”
she said to the innkeeper. The words felt foreign on her tongue,
having not spoken them in perhaps years, but the gratitude was
genuine. With her head bowed, she followed Brawna through the gloomy
city, hoping the king would hesitate long enough to hear her warning
before he struck her down.

Chapter 48

When
Adro and the other battlers reached the lordover’s property and
had the horses and carriage seen to by the stable master, they
accompanied Feanna to the guesthouse. No one said a word until they
were inside. All Adro could think of was the feeling of her lips on
his, her arms around his neck, her breasts in his hands. His thoughts
were like arrows, focused on their target and striking with deadly
accuracy. She was his. All he had to do was form a plan to get her
husband out of the way.

“Adro,”
Feanna said as she tugged off her gloves and removed her hat and rain
cloak, “I want to speak with you privately. The rest of you can
wait out here. Do not, under any circumstances, permit any
interruption.”

“Your
Majesty,” Tennara said, “considering Adro’s
behavior at the temple, I think a chaperone is wise.”

“If
I want to know what you think, Tennara, I’ll ask.” Feanna
went into her guest chamber and beckoned Adro with a finger. The grin
on her face was both wicked and lusty. He started to follow, but
Tennara gripped his arm.

“Mind
yourself,” she whispered fiercely. “You’re going to
have to answer to King Gavin.”

He
jerked his arm out of her grasp and shut the door in her face. He
barred it from the inside. When he turned around, Feanna was sitting
on the bed, unlacing her boots.

“My
queen,” he said, approaching. “Permit me to assist you.”
When she extended her boot towards him, the skirt of her gown fell
back to reveal her leg to the lower thigh. He could barely contain
himself as he pulled the laces and tugged her boot off.

“You
mustn’t tell my husband I let you kiss me,” she said. “Or
undress me. Or have your way with me.”

His
body reacted to those words in a most profound way. “I wouldn’t
tell him,” Adro said as he began to unlace her other boot. His
voice came out hoarsely. “He’d have my head. Run away
with me, Feanna. We’ll go where he won’t find us.”

She
scowled. “And forfeit my wonderful life at the palace, with
cooks to feed me and servants to wipe my arse? Though your dimples be
charming and your tongue delicious, they aren’t worth giving up
my opulent lifestyle, dear Adro.”

“But
how can we keep this secret when those wenches out there saw what
they saw?”

“Don’t
worry about that. I’ll swear them to secrecy. They’re
sworn to obey me. If they dare tell the king, I’ll have you
execute them for treason.”

He
grinned. “And the king?” Adro pulled her boot off and
tossed it away. “If he finds out, he won’t let me do
this.” He let his hands explore her shapely calf, wondering
whether she’d always shaved her legs or if she’d only
started since becoming queen. Her skin was soft and smooth from her
ankle to her knee. “Or this.” He bent his head and kissed
her ankle, her shin, her calf, her knee.

She
giggled and lay back, spreading her arms over the satin bed cover.
“Once my prince is born, we won’t need Gavin any longer.
I’ll rule as regent until my son comes of age.”

“And
what role do you see for me?” Adro asked. He slid one hand up
her skirt and trailed it along the inside of her thigh as he
positioned himself beside her on the bed.

Feanna’s
arms went around his neck and pulled him to her while she hooked one
leg around his hip, trapping his hand between their bodies. “You’ll
be my personal assistant. And I’ll need a lot of assistance.”

He
covered her mouth with his own and let his fingers work their magic.

“Gavin,”
Daia said, trying to keep up with his much longer stride, “you’re
angry, and rightfully so—”

“You’re
damned right I’m angry,” he shouted. He didn’t care
who overheard him as he stormed from the stable to the guesthouse. He
wasn’t sure who he would lash first — Feanna or the
traitor who dared to kiss her. “That bastard will lose his
right nut for this.”

“Let me deal with Adro. If
you kill him, even accidentally, you’ll have a hard time
explaining it.”

“And
who the hell would I need to explain myself to? I’m the bloody
king, and he attacked my wife.”

“Gavin!”
She ran ahead of him and stopped him with a stiff arm against his
chest, surprising him once again with her strength. “Stop for
just a moment. Listen to what I’m saying. You can’t kill
Adro for kissing your wife. That’s not a crime punishable by
death.”

“I
ain’t planning to kill him.” He pushed her out of his way
and kept walking. “Death would be too easy.”

“Please
don’t rule by your anger. Let me arrest him and give you time
to consider a proper punishment.”

He
shot her a hard glare. Though he understood what she was trying to
do, he wasn’t interested in approaching the situation with
logic and restraint. It wasn’t only Adro’s lapse he
needed to address but his own. A husband was supposed to protect his
wife. He’d failed the first time, and today, he failed again.
As he neared the guesthouse, he heard shouting.

“He’s
not in his right mind,” a woman yelled.

“She
said no one’s to disturb them,” another hollered.

“Lila,
you should be leading us, not her.”

“Yeh,
kill her and take her place.”

“You
deserve it. We’ll say she—”

Gavin
flung the door open and stepped inside. The five battlers were
huddled in front of Feanna’s door, faces red and bodies rigid.
Lilalian and Tennara turned at the sound of Gavin’s entrance.

“What
the hell is going on here?” he asked. “Is she in there?”

“Yes,
my liege,” Tennara said. “Adro’s with her, and he’s
turned knave.”

“So
have these three,” Lilalian added.

Tennara
and Lilalian stepped aside when he advanced, but the others did not.
“She commanded us to let no one enter,” Hennah said. “And
that includes you,
my liege.
” She blocked his path with
her hand on the hilt of her sword.

Daia,
Tennara and Lilalian drew swords. Mirrah and Anya started to draw as
well, but sword tips at their throats stayed their hands. Hennah,
Anya and Mirrah backed into the sitting room at sword point.

Gavin
tried to open the door to Feanna’s chamber, but it was bolted
shut. He pounded on it with the underside of his fist. “Open
the door!”

“Gavin?
Is that you?” Feanna asked from inside. He heard rustling and
footsteps and sounds he couldn’t identify.

“Open
this damned door,” he hollered.

To
his left, Daia was confiscating weapons, and Tennara was binding
wrists.

“Just
a moment,” Feanna sang.

“Now!”
He squared his shoulder to the door and rammed it. It cracked but
held. He hit it twice more before it gave way.

Feanna
was in bed, naked, clutching the bed covers to herself. The window
was open. “Gavin, I was getting up to answer the door. You
didn’t want me to answer it naked, did you?”

“Where
is he?” he demanded, advancing on her.

“Where
is who?” Her expression was the picture of innocence, but there
was something terribly wrong with her. Her presence filled him with
repugnance.

“What
the hell’s the matter with you?” He took her by the arms
and looked into her eyes, searching for some indication of
wrongdoing. Guilt. Something to explain why her—
No. No, it
can’t be
. Her haze was black and turbulent like that of a
beyonder.