Chapter 4
Thorne
‘Quickly,’ I ordered with a bark, not waiting to see if she was keeping up. Her scent made me angry – but it also made me hungry in a primal, beastly way. Swallowing, I tried to rid myself of the desire – it wasn’t right that a woman could rule the way my body worked. Between Roselyn and my beast, I had next to no control over myself, and sometimes it infuriated me. My footsteps echoed loudly as I led my wife down the stone steps to the training courtyard.
Ravens circled through the grey sky above. It was a cold morning, despite the season, and my boots crunched over the frosted ground. The only region of Pirenti that ever climbed in temperature during summer was Yurtt, and that was because it was so far south. I smiled to myself, thinking of the region that had once belonged to Kaya – thinking of how I had conquered the land by making it flow with blood. One day I would conquer all of Kaya, and place the entire world at my mother’s feet.
My eyes went straight to Vincent where he waited in the middle of the yard. He was on the smaller side for a Pirenti man, and his eyes were an unnatural shade of black. I heard Rose stop behind me, not wanting to draw too close to him.
‘I’ll need you for the morning,’ I told my mother’s guard.
‘And the Queen?’
‘Can take it up with me if she has a problem with it.’
Vincent smiled the smile I hated – it dripped with smugness. ‘As you wish. How may I serve Your Majesty?’ My title on his lips sounded mocking, and were he not my mother’s personal bodyguard, I’d have had him sent to the prison isle for his disrespect long ago.
‘My wife,’ I said instead, ‘has a cowardly fear of water and I want it done with. You will fix her for me.’
Vincent’s eyes narrowed in interest, and his gaze flicked over towards Roselyn, who cowered by the pillar.
‘Come here,’ I told her. Her footsteps were tiny as she made her way to my side, keeping behind my large frame.
‘How exactly do you believe I will “fix” her?’ Vincent asked, his eyes glued to Rose. He had a slimy voice that was edged with a lisp, and I didn’t like the way his gaze sought out a person’s weakness before anything else.
My lip curled in distaste. ‘Your foul black magic.’
‘You hate my power, Prince,’ he pointed out. ‘You have since the day you came back from the mountain. I am surprised you would consent to its use on your very own wife.’
‘Can you take her fear or not?’
His head tilted to the side and he surveyed Rose. ‘I manipulate fear. I do not erase it.’
A frustrated snarl left me.
‘Fear is a funny thing,’ he went on more softly. ‘The only way to gain power over it is to change your perception of it. If a trauma occurs, it can change the patterns of a mind, and the only way to turn them back is to go through the same trauma again and come out of it differently.’
I had no damn idea what he was talking about, and I was starting to lose my patience.
Vincent moved towards Rose and reached out a finger to run down the length of her arm. She flinched in repulsion and I shoved him away.
‘You don’t touch her,’ I snapped.
‘If you want me to help her, I may have to.’ Unbothered by my anger, he moved towards my wife again. This time he addressed her directly, ‘Why are you frightened of water, my sweet?’
Rose didn’t reply. I watched her terrified eyes.
‘Can you not figure it out yourself?’ I asked.
‘I already know the answer,’ he shrugged with that same, discomforting smile. This was the only man I had ever met who made me truly uncomfortable. It was probably because he was the only man I wasn’t allowed to kill. Or perhaps it was because he saw far, far too much with those black eyes of his.
Vincent had been born in the prison on the isle, to a criminal who died during his birth. The conception of a prison guard’s rape, Ma had come across him there as a young boy and brought him home to the fortress. He’d been declared her personal bodyguard, even at such a young age, because it soon became clear that he had a dark and unfathomable power – the power to know a man’s fear, and manipulate it to his will. I hated him almost as much as I hated the Kayan warders.
‘Then why question her?’
Vincent and Roselyn were locked in some sort of trance, and neither answered me. While I watched helplessly, Rose let out a gut-wrenching scream and sank to her knees. Her hands latched onto the ground and she started to scrabble for purchase, as though she were sinking or slipping. Wild sobs left her, choked things without any air, and her fear around me was palpable.
My beast stirred to life, enjoying the scent of her terror mixed in with the scent of her filthy body. I stepped away quickly, turning my face upwind of her, but the sounds of her screaming brought a pounding rage to my knuckles.
‘Stop!’ I demanded. ‘What are you doing to her?’
Vincent continued to stare and Rose kept screaming until I couldn’t handle it anymore – I grabbed him by the throat and shook him until my wife’s sobs cut off. Then I threw him to the ground. ‘I said stop. What did you do?’
His eyes flashed as he looked up at me. ‘I made her think she was drowning in the ocean.’
Rose was white as parchment, her lips drained of colour, hands shaking uncontrollably. I took her by the arms and drew her to her feet. ‘I thought she was strong enough for this,’ I muttered, ‘but it seems I was wrong.’ Shame clouded her eyes as I guided her from the courtyard.
‘Your Majesty?’ Vincent called out and I looked back over my shoulder. ‘It was not only your wife’s fear that you could scent here today – and it is not your wife’s fear that runs deep enough to crack this country in half.’
I made a vow right then and there. One day, I would kill this snake.
Ava
The thing that struck me – as we sat within the branches of a tree for a good six hours – was his stillness. I was so uncomfortable I’d been squirming and shuffling every few minutes, but Ambrose was like an inanimate part of the tree itself – his gaze focused on the watering hole below, his fingers unmoving on the bowstring.
I did my best not to look at him, but he was in my line of sight and my eyes kept wandering back to him, stunned anew by that unwavering stillness.
The two Marks on his chest were so obvious to me now that I had no idea how I’d missed them on the boat. Every so often I spent a few minutes contemplating them, only to discover that I was as fascinated by them as I was appalled. To kill one of our warders was like murdering a deity. Throughout history I’d only ever heard of a handful having been slain – it was no simple matter. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how Ambrose had achieved the murder of one, let alone two.
‘Who are you?’ I asked abruptly. ‘What is it that you do?’
He didn’t move, his attention solely with the lake.
Impatient, I struggled to find a new position. My stomach was so hollow that food had become the only constant thought in my mind. ‘There’s nothing—’ I started to say for the fifth time. And saw him stiffen, his jaw clenching.
I followed his gaze and spotted it. There, standing next to the water, its head ducked to drink, was an enormous white stag – antlers as long as Ambrose’s considerable arm span. I felt myself go as still as him – aware that this was a thing of beauty, but unable to feel it stir me the way it once would have. I felt nothing, just as I always felt nothing.
Ambrose was frozen, staring at the creature, and what I saw in his face had more impact on me than any animal ever could have, regardless of how beautiful. All the hard edges in him had melted away and the expression in those eyes was suddenly and inarguably stark. I felt a shiver of something strange pass over me and couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. Instead, I thought about how badly my ribs hurt every time I moved, and the brutality he was capable of.
Very softly I heard him speak. ‘A prince of wolves you are indeed.’
I stared, not understanding.
As if his mind was made up, he shook his head. ‘Not this one.’
‘We’ve been here all day. It’s the first thing we’ve spotted.’
He turned his head slowly to look at me. ‘That beast is sacred – I’ll not shed its blood.’
I blinked, astonished. I’d never pegged him for the superstitious type. But then again, in Pirenti they did have a lot of strange beliefs. I nodded, and he turned back to watch the creature. While his focus was pulled, I very carefully drew an arrow from his quiver, holding it so still that it didn’t make a sound. Once I had it ready, I moved quickly, snatching the bow from Ambrose’s grip. I wouldn’t have been able to do it, had he not been so awed by the stag – of that I had no illusions. As it was, I barely got the shot loose before he lurched for it. His fist connected with my shoulder just as the arrow sailed through the air and landed in the beast’s neck. I gasped, but it was nothing like the sound the stag made – it screamed in pain and crashed heavily to the ground. Blood stained its white pelt, and for a second the colours reminded me all too vividly of Migliori.
The rage in Ambrose’s eyes stunned me. We stared at each other for a long moment and I realised that what I’d thought was silly superstition was in fact something much deeper for this man.
‘If anyone is punished,’ I offered softly, ‘it will be me.’
‘You think I care about the punishment?’ he snapped, shaking his head and starting the climb to the ground. He’d taken the rope from our wrists and used it to scale the tree, knowing I couldn’t hope to escape him when he was awake.
I worked myself down this rope, arms like jelly by the time I reached the forest floor. Ambrose was standing over the carcass, and he didn’t look at me as I approached. ‘I’ll not have any part in this,’ he said simply, and then vanished into the trees.
Standing over the dead beast and peering at the contours of its body, I was confronted with the sheer size of it. I’d never skinned an animal myself, but I’d seen it done enough times to know how it worked. Taking a breath, I forced myself to get started. The first step was to roll the beast onto its back, which was struggle enough. I took a knife and cut from the genitals up to the sternum and let the guts fall out, helping them by cutting away the fat that held them. I carefully pulled out all the organs, trying not to puncture the bladder. Once they were all out, I had to start skinning it.
I wiped my sweating forehead and sat back on my haunches. A movement in the corner of my eye alerted me to the fact that Ambrose was standing a distance away, silently watching my efforts. When I met his eyes for a brief moment, he was expressionless – it made me strangely ashamed of what I was doing, but I clenched my teeth and got back to work.
I cut around the stag’s neck and then pulled the hide down hard with both hands. Some of the flesh started pulling away with it, so I had to cut the skin clear before I could continue to pull it off. Then I cut the meat from the carcass, piling it up carefully. There was no way we could eat our way through an animal this size in one go, and I wasn’t sure how to store the meat so that it wouldn’t go off, but I was so exhausted by now that I hardly cared. I’d completely lost my appetite – I could have been dying of starvation and I still wouldn’t have wanted to eat. I was covered in blood and guts, and the smell that had permeated my nostrils was making me nauseous.
‘Get in the water,’ Ambrose ordered abruptly.
Dark had fallen while I worked, so I shed my outer layers of clothing, leaving my undershirt and shorts on. I didn’t care anymore if I didn’t appear bulky enough for a boy, because as I sank into the cooling water and closed my eyes I felt some of the gruesomeness wash away. I scrubbed my skin until I’d cleaned off all the blood, then floated on my back staring up at the stars. It didn’t bother me that everything was so unfamiliar – everything in Kaya had hurt to look upon. Here I could pretend I really was Avery, just a boy with no past, and no pain – someone whole and real. In fact, it was wonderful not to have to be Ava anymore – she started fading from my skin, even as I lay there. I thought of Migliori and how it would feel to ride him up there amidst the stars. I imagined flying so high that I could brush my fingertips over the edges of them, imagined that they felt like fire and ice to the touch.
Ambrose started to sing softly. At first it was just humming, and I looked up to realise that he was cooking the meat. I wasn’t sure what I felt about that; it confused me. Soon there were words in his deep baritone voice – a beautiful voice – drifting over the water to where I lay.
Snow falls in the north, where beasts lie in wait, their bones growing strong like ice, their blood hard as slate.
I closed my eyes, almost able to feel the cold of the snow in his song.
Follow the sea as it flees its way south, south to the silver bays of teeth and grief. Calm water, rocky coast, and blood running veins in the distance.
I shivered, opening my eyes and swallowing. On he sang, and suddenly I wished he would stop.
After forest of deepest green sit rocks of all shapes, and a drop so bold it makes the heart break. Towers sparkle high in the sky, the only thing left are the countless ways to die. When she leapt from the top they say she never found her way to the sea. But her memory will forever be what makes love flee.
I tried to take a breath but it got stuck in my chest. I felt unimaginably sad, because I was here with a man who was singing of the towers of Limontae – the towers of my home, where my fiancé had studied for most of his life. And in Ambrose’s voice, for the first time since I’d met him, was something soft and gentle, and I wasn’t sure if he even realised it was there.
‘Food’s ready,’ he called.
The absence of music in the warm night was strange and empty and even sadder than the song. Slowly I waded from the water, trying to cover how the thin fabric clung to my figure, glad that it was growing darker with every moment. I huddled next to the fire, shivering with sudden cold.
Ambrose threw me his shirt. ‘Dry off with that.’
As he cut the meat, I found myself watching him, comparing him to Avery – which was stupid and nonsensical. Ambrose handed me the food, and I ate without taste. He ate none of it, sitting quiet and still.
‘Do you know what that song is about?’ I asked softly, my voice scratchy.
‘Sure,’ he murmured.
‘Then why do you sing it?’
He looked at me.
‘That’s a song about Kaya. You shouldn’t be singing about Kaya. How could you possibly?’
Ambrose sighed. ‘I’m tired, Avery.’
‘How could you possibly sing a song about Kaya?’ I pressed. ‘A song about the sadness and the love in those towers by the sea? Those towers aren’t yours.’
‘The song is about the world,’ he said softly. ‘The ice caps of Pirenti, where the berserkers live. The oyster farms along the coast where I live. And Kaya in the south. It was written so long ago that maybe the world was a different place. I sing it because I like to think of a time like that, and because it’s beautiful.’
I felt an aching in my chest. ‘You know nothing about beauty.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because you’re a monster, and a barbarian – all you understand is bloody slaughter.’
His eyes flashed in the firelight but he didn’t say anything. A kind of wild fury bloomed in my heart. My eyes scanned the ground for a weapon, anything I could use. I had to hurt him. I had to escape. Why was I going along with this situation? Why was I letting him take me to prison? For Gods’ sakes, I was behaving like the Pirenti women – cowed into obedience and constantly fearful.
Ambrose had already packed away the knives, so all I could see was the fire, and the hot coals sitting within it. A kind of savage recklessness possessed my body – amazing what desperate hate could make you do. I moved into a crouch that took me forward to the edge of the fire, and I plucked the largest coal from it.
‘Ave—!’
I flipped over the fire, springing off my back foot and twisting to land as close to Ambrose as possible. Then I jammed the coal into the nearest part of his body, which happened to be his bare calf. He grunted in surprise, but I held that coal there, pressing it as hard as I could, and it occurred to me slowly that it might be burning a hole through my hand. I didn’t feel it – I didn’t feel anything. And what was truly strange was that Ambrose didn’t try to stop me – he just sat there as I burnt his leg. After a few long moments I dropped the coal and started running. I didn’t know in which direction to head, but I was quick. Pirenti men, as a rule, weren’t particularly fast because of their bulk, so I was pretty sure I could outrun Ambrose, especially now that his leg was burnt to a crisp. I lowered my head and pressed myself into a sprint.
I got about a hundred meters before the brute caught me. I heard his heavy footsteps pounding behind me and try as I might, I couldn’t open any distance between us – the enormous, lumbering fool was fast. He grabbed me by the neck and wrenched me to the ground, pinning me roughly. My head spun as it cracked into the hard earth, but I didn’t give in to it. Letting my training take over, I instinctively jammed my knee into his groin. His hold loosened slightly and I jabbed him twice in the face with my fist. As I struggled to my feet, he stood slowly, as if it cost him nothing, as if he wasn’t the slightest bit rattled by my blows. We faced each other.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing?’ he asked, and I realised abruptly that he was enjoying this – there was a light in his eyes, and it danced across his gaze. It infuriated me.
I darted forward, sending a blow towards his chest. He blocked it easily, and continued to block all of my hits. I swung out with my leg, wanting to sweep him off his feet, but my kick didn’t even budge him. He just took it all without concern. What in the world? Ambrose grinned at my expression, so I did the only thing I could think of – I kicked the burn on his calf, hard. That finally got a reaction from him, a sharp and gratifying grunt of pain. Losing patience, he sent a punch into my sternum that knocked all the air from me. I flew off my feet and landed on my back, gasping breathlessly. Spots danced before my eyes, and then him – the brute, bending over me.
‘Don’t you get it yet?’ he asked calmly.
With a last bit of effort, I spat in his face. Again. But this time I didn’t get to enjoy his reaction, because I passed out.
When I woke it took me a few minutes to figure out that I was tied to a tree. The fire danced blurrily before me, a golden orange ball of light licking at Ambrose’s face. He was humming again, something different this time, something lighter. I swallowed against the pain. I’d acquired a veritable list of ailments by this point – my ribs ached from where he’d kicked me last night, my chest felt like it had been cracked open from that one punch, I had a pounding headache, my arm still stung from where he’d shot me with an arrow, and now my hand was damn near killing me from the pain of my own idiocy. What had possessed me to pick up a hot coal and think it would do more damage to him than it would to me?
Ambrose spoke without even glancing my way. ‘If I could somehow relive the moment when you picked up the coal, I would. I’d relive it over and over again, just to see your face.’ He started to laugh.
I could have killed him. Oh, how I wanted to.
‘You’re a complete lunatic – you know that, right?’ he chuckled.
I struggled against the rope. It was tied around my shoulders, chest, arms and stomach, so no matter how hard I pulled against it, it just dug further into my flesh. ‘Untie me!’ I yelled.
‘Now, now,’ he murmured, ‘There’s no need to get pissy.’
‘I hope you choke on that smugness and die in your sleep.’
‘You have anger issues, Ave.’
We sat in silence. I was uncomfortable and sore, but I didn’t want him to know it, so I clamped my mouth shut and stared into the dark forest. I needed to come up with some other way of escaping, since I clearly couldn’t fight my way out or run away. I wondered if there was some way I could trick him into letting his guard down, or perhaps I’d have to wait until he was asleep.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ambrose asked suddenly.
I blinked and looked over at him. He was staring at me from the other side of the fire.
‘I’m tied to a tree.’
‘No, Avery,’ he said slowly, something different in his voice. ‘I’m going to ask you something, and if you don’t answer, I’ll never ask again. What’s wrong with your soul?’
I froze.
‘From the first moment I saw you, I knew there was something wrong with you. I’ve heard myths about men who’ve had half of themselves torn away. Tell me why you hurt with each breath, and why you can’t smile. Tell me what it is that makes you so fearless.’
I closed my eyes. It hurt, that he could see me so easily – he could see everything. I drew breath into my lungs. I’d never spoken about this. For a few seconds I was determined to ignore him, or lie, then it occurred to me that I might be able to hurt him with the truth.
‘You know of the bond between lovers from Kaya?’ I asked.
‘Of course.’ He blinked, something kindling in his eyes.
‘I … I was bonded to a m— a girl called Ava. No Pirenti man or woman could ever imagine what the bond feels like – you see your other half, and you come to understand why it is that you’re alive in this world. All that you are is for them.’
My hands seemed to be shaking by my sides and I quickly clenched them together.
‘She died, didn’t she?’ Ambrose asked softly.
I nodded. I hadn’t cried, not once, and I wouldn’t now. There was something in his voice, though, that made everything harder – something that shouldn’t be there. He was just a brute from Pirenti – a big, sexist pig who didn’t understand about love. He had beaten me and tied me to a tree, and laughed at my discomfort. So why, then, could I hear something so painfully clear in his voice? Why was this the first time I’d felt like crying, when my own family hadn’t been able to move me even close to tears?
‘And half your soul died with her.’ He paused, frowning. ‘I thought Kayans died in pairs.’
‘We do – we cannot live without our other halves. At least, we shouldn’t be able to. No one ever has before.’
‘How long does it take? For you to die?’
I shrugged. ‘The longest I’ve ever heard of someone surviving alone was a month. But most kill themselves before they get to that point. It’s … unnatural not to.’
‘How long ago did Ava die?’
‘Two years.’
Ambrose frowned, confused.
‘I just … didn’t die,’ I told him miserably. ‘I don’t know why. I was so numb, so utterly destroyed that I wasn’t able to do anything, let alone commit suicide. The only thing I could think of was that there must be some reason for me to be alive …’
‘Assassinating your enemy’s queen? Why?’
‘Because, Ambrose,’ I said softly, meeting his eyes, ‘she was the one who killed my mate.’
He breathed out, closing his eyes. ‘Oh, shit.’
‘We were on a mission with a team of soldiers. We had three warders to get us inside the palace, but when Ava tried to kill the Queen, she was caught and murdered on the spot.’
Ambrose cracked his knuckles uncomfortably. ‘I think I remember that attack – I was there. I didn’t know a woman was killed, I thought it was just the man – the black-haired man.’
I froze, my breath catching painfully in my throat. He had seen Avery, watched him die just as I had. I didn’t know what to say, was too heartsore to try to cover the lie.
‘Can’t you move on?’
I laughed bitterly. Not a real laugh, more a kind of hacking cough. ‘You don’t understand, and that isn’t your fault – it’s impossible for you to comprehend. But trust me when I say there’ll be no moving on.’
‘Okay, but why could you not have a life? There are plenty of widowers in my country.’
‘What life?’ I asked, clenching the grass beneath my hands. ‘I can’t smile, I can’t laugh – I have no concept of pleasure or desire. I hate how sick and weak I am. I barely sleep. Sometimes I feel like my teeth and skin are aching, aching like they need to get free, break from me. My own family cast me out. I’m a freak of nature. Everyone I ever knew considers me an abomination. They don’t even treat me like a human being anymore. I have nothing left, Ambrose. Nothing except the drive for vengeance.’
He didn’t speak for a while, then he folded his arms, his glare heavy. ‘You call my people brutal, but I’ve never heard of anything so cruel.’
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I felt embarrassed at having blurted out my sob-story to him. I shifted against the ropes and flinched at the pain in my ribs – it felt like a couple might be broken. The wound in my arm was throbbing with heat. Something cold dripped against my face, and I looked up, realising that it was starting to rain. Huge, fat drops splattered down, landing in my eyes and on my lips. I licked at them, noticing belatedly how thirsty I was.
‘Gods damn it,’ Ambrose muttered, casting a look up at the sky. The stars were obscured by clouds now – heavy, black things that had stolen all the light from the world.
‘Looks like we’re in for a wet night,’ I said. I frowned, confused by how my words had come out all slurred. My head was pounding even more, and I suddenly felt really hot, like my skin might be on fire.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ambrose asked sharply.
‘I don’t … nothing – I’m not sure.’
He squatted in front of me and placed a large, extremely cold hand against my forehead. I sighed with pleasure at the coolness of it.
‘You’re burning up. Do you have any wounds?’
I would have laughed, if I could. ‘Plenty.’
‘Any cuts?’
‘My arm.’
Ambrose pushed the ropes aside and then tore the sleeve of my tunic off. I felt his fingers prod the aching wound. ‘It’s infected. Why didn’t you tell me about this?’
My arm was gouged open and still oozing dark, puss-filled blood. ‘Because you’re escorting me to prison, and I assumed you probably wouldn’t care much if I got scraped up on the way.’
He started to untie me.
Now I’ll escape, I thought.
Ambrose laughed, and I realised I must have said it out loud. ‘You could try, but I doubt you’ll get far, unable to stand.’
He was correct. My legs wobbled beneath me and the Pirenti pig scooped me up, carrying me straight into the lake.
‘What are you doing?’ I groaned. ‘Let me go.’
‘Shut up for a minute, will you? I have to get your temperature down before I deal with the wound.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why deal with the wound? Why not just leave me here to die?’
‘We’ve been over this,’ he sighed. ‘The punishment you were handed by my queen was not death. So I’m taking you to prison – alive.’ He reached up to my cap, which was still miraculously secured with pins.
‘Don’t!’ I gasped.
‘What?’
‘Don’t take my cap off – promise. Promise you won’t take it off – promise.’
‘Fine, you freak. Just relax.’
My mind started to float away as a feverish sleep took hold, but something moved against my skin – something … strange. It took a moment for the sting to come, and with it arrived a pain so sharp I jerked awake and screamed.
My arm! My arm was on fire – it was being hacked off, torn apart with razors. There was poison running through my veins and I couldn’t stop screaming.
‘Avery!’ I heard, deep and clear. ‘Listen to me,’ this voice said. ‘I need you to stay calm. There’s a sea wasp wrapped around your arm, and I have to get it off, so you need to stay still.’
The absurdity of this made me giggle, mad, sick and delirious. It was the first time I’d laughed since his death. How funny that all I had left was this twisted, dying giggle – the laugh of a woman who was in the process of losing her mind.
I seemed to be out of the water now, but there were drops falling on my face, and I tried to focus on these instead of the agony in my arm. It hurt so badly – such an angry pain, a new, ferocious kind of torture. A set of pale blue eyes floated above me, concerned and focused, but I couldn’t remember who they belonged to. It seemed hilarious that I’d been in the water to help my fever, but that healing effort had caused me to be stung. How pathetic, to die from a sea wasp sting – how amusing.
‘You’re not dying,’ a voice said gruffly.
‘Of course I am,’ I sighed. Whoever the voice belonged to was either very stupid, or very blind.
Roselyn
Thorne and I lived in a small wing of the fortress that we had to ourselves. In our dining room, above the fireplace, there was a painting of him and his brother, made several years ago. I constantly found myself staring at the picture – something about it fascinated me. The brothers had their arms around each other and were grinning as they stood on the bloodied battlefield of one of their victories. Dead Kayans were strewn on the ground around them. I always wondered if it was a real likeness – whether the painter had actually been there at that very moment, or whether he had simply draw it from his imagination. But if he had imagined it, how could he possibly have captured that look in Ambrose’s eyes – the one that seemed to describe two entirely different feelings at the same time? That was an expression Ambrose only wore when he was with his brother – which meant that the brothers must have really stood in that field, grinning while surrounded by death, and such a thing had always been unfathomable to me. I wish to know what they are thinking. I wish to know if it is real or not.
‘Why do you constantly stare at that bloody thing?’ Thorne barked, striding into the room, clearly in a foul mood. He’d shoved me into our chambers this morning after my miserable failure with Vincent, and hadn’t returned until now. I wanted to explain to him what had happened to me to make me fear water so, but the words wouldn’t come. If I let them come, the memories would follow, and the tremulous hold I kept on my sanity relied on my ability to keep those memories out.
‘I’m about ready to get rid of it.’
‘No, please!’ I exclaimed. ‘Forgive me. I simply wondered …’ I’d never asked him before, and it occurred to me belatedly that this was a very easy way to grant myself a wish. ‘Did that really happen?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then you were really standing there together in the middle of that battlefield?’
‘Yes, Rose,’ he sighed.
‘Then why were you smiling?’
‘Because we won, obviously. Why else would we be smiling?’
I nodded quickly, dropping my eyes. It seemed to me that there were very different expressions on the two boys’ faces. I peered at the painting again. Sometimes having it here in my home made me feel like Ambrose was close by, like he could actually be standing next to me. I wished he were.
‘Was that one of the days Ambrose killed a warder?’ I asked impulsively.
Thorne frowned and moved to stand next to me, staring up at the painting. ‘Actually, I think it was. Why?’
‘He seems sad.’
Thorne glanced at me as if I was crazy. He searched his brother’s face, clearly trying to find the sadness within the smile. ‘He seems happy,’ Thorne said finally, folding his arms and daring me to argue with him. ‘Why would he be sad?’
I shrugged. He observed me more closely and I started to feel self-conscious. ‘Is that who you gaze at when you stand here all the time?’ he asked softly, slowly. I could sense the atmosphere of the room change, but I didn’t know why. ‘Do you stand here staring at Ambrose?’
I didn’t know what to say, but I could see his temper rising. ‘Answer me, Roselyn!’ he snarled suddenly.
‘Yes. Sometimes I do. I find his expression … interesting.’
‘You stare at him like a dog in heat!’ Thorne hissed. ‘I’ve always thought you must be looking at me that way, but now I find out it’s him?’ He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and shook me. It became clear to me that a whole lot of things were clicking together in his mind, building to create something huge.
‘It’s so obvious! You stare at him like you stare at the damn oyster farms. Have you—? Oh, Sword.’ He broke off, letting go of me and pacing the room. He looked tormented, ravaged – his hands were shaking with fury.
I didn’t know what to do – I was stunned by the suddenness of this, by how quickly this idea had taken hold of him. I feared the beast in its cage, could feel it roaring to get out. ‘Thorne,’ I tried, ‘that’s not right.’
‘It’s always been like that between the two of you, hasn’t it? You’re obsessed with him – you always talk about him. I’ve been so blind.’ He advanced on me and I cringed in fright. ‘Have you been with him?’
‘No!’ I whispered, horrified. ‘Of course not!’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Things were starting to unravel – I could feel the carefully defined lines of my life changing shape. I started quickly making wishes. I wish the painting didn’t exist. I wish Thorne had gone hunting this afternoon. I wish for someone to come in and interrupt us. I wish for him to believe me. I wish I were somewhere different. I wish I were someone different.
The wishes weren’t working, because none of them were coming true – instead of calming me, they only unsettled me further. Breathing heavily, I began counting the floor tiles.
‘Look at me!’ Thorne snarled.
But I couldn’t – if I did I would stop counting, and if I stopped counting … Well, I didn’t know what would happen, but it would be something terrible. He grabbed my chin and forced my face up towards his. I was stunned to realise that there were tears in his eyes. ‘You can’t escape this,’ he told me. ‘You can’t just disappear and hope this will too. Be present and tell me the truth – how do you feel about my brother?’
I wish Thorne wasn’t crying. I wish I was invisible. I wish he loved me.
‘Roselyn – focus! Tell me the answer!’
‘I … I’m not sure what the answer is,’ I told him desperately.
‘Try to think,’ he coaxed me urgently. ‘Focus on the question and express it in words.’
I did as he said and imagined Ambrose – his beautiful, pale eyes as they looked at me without … and then I had the answer. ‘He’s the only one in the world who doesn’t pity me,’ I told my husband. ‘He doesn’t treat me like a child, or a fool. He doesn’t get angry with me.’
Thorne was frozen still, staring inside me. I’d never seen him like this – I thought that maybe I’d broken him somehow, by telling him the truth.
‘How do you feel about him, Rose?’
He was painfully close to my most secret wish. The wish I’d vowed never to tell anyone: I wish I was married to Ambrose. I shut my mouth and closed my eyes.
‘Answer me!’ he screamed, and then he grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the ground like a rag doll. I didn’t see it coming, and it shocked me as only severe pain could. Agony sheathed into my neck and head, making me faint. My breathing was cut off and I started to choke – tears streamed from my eyes. Even now, so overcome with anger, Thorne was careful not to draw blood.
He let go of me abruptly, dropping me to the ground, and started throwing things around the room – smashing plates, glasses and chairs – screaming all the while about my treachery.
I hadn’t told him my wish, and yet he seemed to know. What he didn’t realise – what I was unable to explain to him – was that even though my most secret wish involved Ambrose, my biggest, most important wish was completely different – I wish my husband loved me.
Thorne
I could taste the bitterness in my mouth. The filthy stench of betrayal permeated my nostrils, and those together made me feel like retching. Roselyn was huddled on the ground, covered in bruises – weak from how badly I’d choked her. I could see that she was shaking, but my eyes were veiled with a sheen of fury. I couldn’t comprehend that her shaking meant she was truly hurt, or that she needed a physician – I could only understand that she had taken my generosity and my kindness and sullied them both with her whorish desires. For a moment, I wanted to kill her, and what’s more, I wanted to kill my brother – my beloved Ambrose. I could see them together, his hands all over her, making her cry with pleasure … a wave of fury unleashed itself upon me and I screamed pure torture. She had humiliated me again, but this was a thousand times worse than ever before.
I stormed from our wing of the fortress and pounded up the stairs. ‘I want her dead!’ I snarled.
My mother looked up from stroking the fully grown male wolf at her feet and stared at me. The wolf growled in the back of its throat and its hackles rose. ‘Shhhh.’ She calmed it until it sank back onto its haunches. Vincent was there, standing in the shadows as he always was. He eyed me even more closely than the wolf.
‘Truly?’ she asked me.
‘Yes.’
‘Why now?’
‘My reasons are my own. I just want it done.’
‘Fine – I’ll need a reason to give the people, though.’
‘Tell them she will die for treason and adultery, then.’ I could feel the words flooding from my mouth, propelled forth by my hot, fevered blood, and I didn’t seem to be able to stop them. Some far, distant part of me knew I should, but right now the rage was all-consuming.
Ma nodded slowly. ‘We’ll wait for the summer solstice and do it then. An execution of this nature needs to be public.’
‘I’ll tell her myself when the time is right.’
The Queen peered at me, then shrugged. ‘It’s up to your discretion.’
‘When will Ambrose return?’
‘He’s been gone a week, so I wouldn’t expect him back for another three.’
Not even in time for the solstice, which was two weeks away. My mouth felt dry. I imagined what my brother would do when he found out I’d killed his lover without even waiting for him to return. A vicious streak of malice swept through me – it would serve him right. It would feel good to watch him suffer. He’d always thought he was too good for this place, and now he’d gone and stolen the one thing that belonged to me – the one thing that was my very own.
I pounded back down the stairs, all the way to the dungeons. There would be no one in the training yard at this time of night, but there were rows and rows of cells full of criminals down here in the bowels of the earth. I searched until I saw a man big enough to give me a proper fight. I definitely wanted a Pirenti – there would be no point in fighting a Kayan, it would just be like beating a woman and I had my very own wife waiting in my room if I wanted to do that. Storming into the cell, I began to lay into the man, punching him over and over again. My beast wanted free, and the bars of the cage that held him at bay were growing very weak.
‘Fight back!’ I yelled at the prisoner, so he swung at me, hitting me in the jaw. It was deeply satisfying – I revelled in the pain. We fought a while longer, scuffling and hitting and kicking. When I was done, I spat out a mouthful of blood, patted the woozy, semi-conscious man on the shoulder, and locked his cell once more. The other prisoners were watching on in stupefaction but I ignored them and dragged myself back to my room. Reaching around blindly in the darkness, I poured myself a jug of ale and downed it, then stumbled to light some lamps.
The room blinked into life, the dim lighting casting long shadows over everything. I rubbed my eyes wearily, and then I spotted her. In my delirium of violence I’d completely forgotten about the state in which I’d left Roselyn. She was curled up in our bed, brown eyes unblinking as she stared at me, an ugly purple bruise around her throat. It made me sick, that bruise. We stared at each other for an interminable amount of time. My brain was fuzzy – all the rage had been doused by the fight, and had been replaced with something I didn’t know how to name.
‘What happened to you?’ she asked softly, her voice cracking, dry and raspy as if she’d never used it before.
‘You,’ I muttered, glaring into her eyes. ‘You happened to me.’
‘I did all of that?’ she asked, confused.
Roselyn climbed stiffly out of bed to get the aid hamper. She looked at me questioningly, so I nodded and sat down at a table, offering her my bloody hand. She took it gently and began to wash it, her touch gentle and calming. I couldn’t bear to look at her.
‘Thorne,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t … he never touched me, and I never touched him, and neither of us ever wanted to.’
I closed my eyes.
‘Is that what you’re angry about?’ she asked.
It had been – I’d been obsessing over it. I’d thought it would drive me mad, until this very moment, when she dispelled my fears. I believed her, but what was strange was that I didn’t feel any better. If anything I felt worse.
‘Is it?’
‘No,’ I muttered, surprising myself. ‘I thought it was, but …’
With everything gone from me, all the anger and the images in my mind, I was left with only one thought to face. I’d poured every ounce of my patience into caring for this woman. Every ounce of kindness and tenderness I possessed had gone into her, and it still wasn’t enough – she still wanted someone else. I was amazed by how much that hurt. The truth, the honest truth was that since I’d met Roselyn, not once had I looked at another woman, but she’d been looking elsewhere all along. And the knowledge was like to destroy me.