Here we go fellas I'm so excited hohohohoho
Chapter 20 - Cindra
When I burst through the door behind the throne, I'm scared that I'm going to be too late.
The first thing I see is the queen cowering against the back wall, next to the door that leads her to her bedroom. A dark green uniform—Samn—catches my eye, and I see her standing in front of the desk, blocking the queen's body.
And just in front of me, in his bloody red uniform, Sir Cawle stands, Tigerclaw drawn, advancing on the queen.
I freeze in the doorway, unable to do much more than stare at the three of them, Sir Cawle with his back to me, Samn staring him down with murder in her eyes, and the queen, her sword still sheathed, just staring, face slack like she doesn't understand what she's seeing.
Samn's eyes flit past Sir Cawle to meet mine and confusion crosses her face, then she shakes her head as if to say Get out of here! Before I can backpedal out the door, Sir Cawle spins around to see me. I'm confronted with just how close he is to me as he looms over me, breath hot and eyes ablaze.
"I should have killed you while I had the chance," he spits.
I recoil, then catch sight of Samn over his shoulder. She's winding up to stab him. As though he could sense the impending strike, Sir Cawle dodges to the left and Samn's blade meets air. I have to stumble back to avoid it too. I have to get out of here!
Samn growls and pulls back Sandstorm to swing again, and before I know what's happening, an arm grabs my waist and another crosses my chest, a hairy forearm hooking under my chin. Sir Cawle yanks me backward, pressing me to his chest like a body shield.
I shriek with fear, trying to wrestle free of him, but his grip is like iron. My cane flies from my hands and clatters to the floor. I flail, trying to grab his arms and wrest them off of me, but he has them pinned to my sides. Tigerclaw dangles in his grip, half-forgotten.
A memory that I'd buried suddenly rises, choking me with fear I'd forgotten. I was in the nursery. How did he get in? Who is that? Is he—and then he grabbed me, covered my mouth so I couldn't scream. There was something in his hand, something that smelled sharp and strange. I dried up my mouth, made my nose sting, and then I was falling. I woke up in what I'd later find out was the Shodawes castle.
"I take it back. I'm glad you're alive, you may prove useful yet," he growls, and I can feel the vibration of his voice in my back. Panic swarms up me and I can hardly see, hardly think, overcome with the certain dread that I'm about to die. I've been caught again. Always a pawn, a hostage, a bargaining chip, a threat.
The arm around my waist releases me as he lifts Tigerclaw and lays it across his other arm, dangerously close to my throat. I stare at the silver blade, swallowing hard and fighting a scream. He's going to kill me—he's going to cut my throat and throw me to the floor—I'm going to be dead—I never told Fiyr—I'll never be a healer—I won't grow old—I don't want to die!
I have to save myself this time! I reach up with my now-free arms to try to yank off his arm around my chest, but he shifts it down, wrapping my shoulders in an immovable grip until I can only move my forearms and hands. Trapped. Trapped again.
Samn takes a step forward. "Let her go, Tigre."
I'm jerked as Sir Cawle steps back. "If you take another step, I'll cut her throat."
"Sir Cawle…" the queen whispers, but whatever she was going to say dies in her throat before it makes it out.
I press back a whimper. Samn's eyes widen and I see the calculations move through her mind. What's his plan? He wants to kill the queen. But Samn won't let him. But he's going to kill me, oh blessed Starlaxi he's going to kill me. A dry sob sticks in my throat and I swallow it back. Don't panic! Think!
I twist my head as best I can, locked in his grip like this, scanning the room for anything that could help. My life-force is surging inside me, whipped into a frenzy by the adrenaline and terror spiking through my veins. If I try to attack him, he'll just kill me. I need to get out of his grip first. What did Fiyr say about breaking grips? Didn't he teach me this? Basic defense. My mind is spinning out of control, no memory lasting long enough for me to search it for answers.
"Stay calm," I manage to choke to Samn, who has become completely stiff; the only part of her that moves is her eyes as they dart from side to side, like the lashing of a cat's tail. Trapped. Again.
"I'm going to walk out of here, now," Sir Cawle says, his voice softening. "If you try anything, she'll be dead within the second."
Samn doesn't move.
"Good." Sir Cawle steps back, and I stumble along with him, my legs near-useless.
My legs. My leg. I glance at the brazier next to the queen's desk. Then I look down at the blade that bobs so close to my throat. If I try to break away, I'll run right into it. But he's expecting me to lurch forward, that's why it's there.
And so as Sir Cawle takes his next step out of the doorway of the queen's room, still staring down Samn and the queen, I bring my foot up, thanking the Starlaxi for my injury. I focus on the brazier, the cinders calling out to my life-force, offering their service.
And stamp.
My knee buckles and I drop straight down, pulling my shoulders in as tightly as I can to make myself small, and plunge out of Sir Cawle's arms. He scrambles to grab me, and I answer the cinders. Now! I only need one. The hottest coal, no bigger than an acorn. It's perfect.
It flies like an arrow, straight and true, right to its target.
And Sir Cawle roars in pain as I plunge the cinder into his eye.
As if it's a part of me, I can feel what it feels as the cold jelly of his eye sizzles, the temperature change extinguishing the cinder. Your job isn't done yet. From my position on the floor, I reach my hand out and force it to burn again, brighter and hotter. My life-force ring flashes. As Sir Cawle claws at his face, reeling backward, I scramble forward, pushing myself to my feet, and limp back into the queen's chamber, desperate to get behind Samn. She has a sword.
I hardly make it behind the desk, though, before Samn flings herself out of the room, the rage that was strangled inside her when Sir Cawle had me hostage finally freed. She yells as she brings Sandstorm down on Sir Cawle, still grabbing his face and crying out.
The first strike sends him staggering back.
The second draws blood.
I watch, transfixed, and I'm almost surprised to see him bleed. This man, this shadowy threat who had never quite seemed real, bleeds red. Samn is still shouting, a ragged battle cry spilling from her as her sword moves like an extension of her arm. I'm almost taken aback, then I remember her history. Sir Tayle. Her rage for father, bottled up for years and years, finally released.
Sir Cawle puts up Tigerclaw, trying to fend off her blows, but he's still groaning, low and animalistic, at the pain of losing his eye. His strikes have the same strength that I've seen from him in battle, but they're just ever-so-slightly sloppier—an uncoordinated blow here, a mistimed block there. It doesn't take long before Samn knocks him down, and he falls backward, landing hard on his arm.
He growls, but he knows he's beaten. I'm a little chilled by the darkness in his eyes as he stares up at Samn. He'd kill her in an instant if he could. But he's missed his chance. She has her sword levelled at his throat and there's no way for him to slip away like I did, now. Battles rage all around them, but the mercenaries are occupied with saving their own skins rather than attempting to save Sir Cawle. It looks like Clowd found more patrols than just Sir Strommer's—the throne room is flooded with knights.
Wait, are those…? Sure enough, in silver and blue, their sashes and vests flaring as they move in and out of the combat, a dozen Rivien knights take on the mercenaries, sending them fleeing out the doors. I don't much care who they are, though, if they're going to help us.
I heave a breath, feeling my muscles that were locked up in panic and fear only minutes ago, finally relax a little. I feel stiff and strained, and I wasn't even fighting. Trusting Samn to keep Sir Cawle down, I turn to look at the queen.
"Your Majesty, are you—" I freeze when I see her.
She's dropped to the floor, her back against her wall and her skirts pooled around her. She stares straight ahead, eyes sightless.
"Are you alright?!" I exclaim, hurrying over to help her up.
She accepts my arm, but her eyes don't focus properly on mine. She shakes her head, mouth opening and closing, until she finally says. "He betrayed me. I… I failed. I couldn't save him, I couldn't protect Thundria—"
I shake my head. "No, my queen. He betrayed us all. And he chose his path. This was not your doing."
"I told her I'd save him," the queen whispers to herself.
Uneasiness weaves through me at her state of despair. This has shaken her hard, I know that much. I can't help thinking of what Lady Fennen's told me about the fragility of the inside of people. The world's been pulled out from under her. She's reeling. She needs time to recover. But she will recover, won't she?
"The battle's almost over. Rivier came to help," I tell her, retrieving my cane and then gently guiding her out of her chambers. "The mercenaries are fleeing but you're going to need to deal with Sir Cawle."
She closes her eyes. "Are my children here?"
I falter at her words. She's speaking so openly about them! Darting a glance around to make sure no one is within earshot, I answer, "Yes. They're both helping Thundria."
The queen lets out a breath. "Then we'll be alright."
Is the strength of Thundrian knights not enough to reassure her? I wonder, then immediately come upon the answer. Not after Sir Cawle. I wouldn't trust our court either, in her place. Then again… We tried to warn her!
I watch the last of the battle from the doorway of the queen's private quarters, supporting the queen, and wait until the final mercenaries are driven out the doors by Riviens and Thundrians fighting side by side. I'm relieved at the sight. Sir Cawle has failed and his treachery is exposed. Despite the queen's state, I can't help feeling that an immense weight has lifted off my shoulders. There is no way she can deny it now; Thundria can drive him out and we'll be safe in our own territory again.
Cheers fill the throne room as the last mercenary flees, blood trailing behind him from a wound in his leg. I cast my eyes over them all, taking in Brindellia Faise with her hand on the back of her summoned stag, who stands shoulder to shoulder with Leaparra. Next to her, two summoned leopards lower their heads, panting, their maws stained red. I see Frostialla Fuor, with Frostfur dripping blood at her side and Sir Strommer, breathing hard and bloody but alive with the energy of the battle. Snow is piled around him, beginning to melt from the heat of the torches and his concentration no longer being focused on it. Meistya and Stowen lean on each other for support. Stowen's undershirt is soaked by some unseen wound. Briatte's summoned dog gives a short yip, then lays down and fades into the stone.
I breathe out. It's over. It's really over. Then I remember. Where's Braukkin?
"I—I have to go," I stammer to the queen. "Healer's wing. Lady Fennen. Braukkin."
The queen stares straight ahead like she hasn't heard me and I hurry off the dais and run as best I can into the healer's wing. I'm terrified of what I'll find there, my mind flashing through images of Lady Fennen being stabbed by Braukkin or worse, but none of it comes true when I skid to a stop in the spacious wing.
Lady Fennen stands by her desk, as if she's been waiting for me. Next to her, bound by thick ropes to a chair, is Braukkin. At first, I think his mouth is bloodstained, but there's no wound. I cross the wing toward them, made nervous by Braukkin's presence, but realize quickly that he's out cold.
"He can't hurt anyone anymore," Lady Fennen murmurs.
I stop in my tracks, reassessing his limp body. "Did you kill him?!"
She shakes her head, but there's an odd grimness to her poise and expression that makes me wonder if that's completely true.
I peer at him, taking in his dirty clothes, the brutal scarring that stretches over the bridge of his nose and eye sockets, the red that drips from his mouth. It's juice. Berry juice. I check the Trace, a sudden certainty filling me as I connect the clues of the juice and Lady Fennen's words. Sure enough, I feel the pulse of Braukkin's life, see the light of his heart pumping blood in his chest, but…
She took away his life-force.
Amortal berries. That's what the juice is.
He's not dead, but he's not going to survive, either. "How long do you think he has?"
Lady Fennen's jaw tightens. "He is strong in body, but his spirit has always… lacked. Nine months. More, perhaps… or less. I cannot say. But he will never hurt you, or anyone else, ever again."
My heart twinges at the memory of the pressure in my chest when he tried to kill me. The crashing wave of fear, the realization that I was going to die… Good. The queen gave him a second chance, kept as a prisoner, and he fought to kill us again. He's proved that he's too dangerous for us to try to keep as a prisoner.
"Go fetch as many bandages and rolls of gauze as you can carry," Lady Fennen tells me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "We must treat the court. I know that during the attack, you…"
She trails off, eyeing me as if waiting for me to break down. I grit my teeth.
"He attacked me, but I'm fine now." I press back the memory of Sir Cawle's sword, so close to my throat, the all-too-familiar feeling of being trapped… "The court needs us, like you said."
Lady Fennen dips her head and I think I see a gleam of respect in her eyes. "Yes."
And with that, I turn on my heel and march over to the supply room. I let out a shaky breath once I'm away from Lady Fennen's gaze. Without even really registering that I'm crying, I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. As I scan the shelves, I suddenly can't remember why I'm in here.
I stare blankly at the walls of the storeroom, feeling numb. I can't stop my mind as I relive the moments of being grabbed, being helpless, trapped. My breath comes quicker, my hands begin to sweat, but I'm rooted to the ground, just trying to breathe and remember where I am.
"Cindra?"
The voice sounds like it's coming from far away. The word is foreign. Who am I?
"Cindra?"
My name. The world rushes back into focus around me and I stumble back, disoriented.
A hand is on my shoulder. I jerk away. Not again!
"Cindra, you're alright." It's Lady Fennen's voice. I freeze, then exhale.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," she rasps. "I can help you. We need bandages and rolls of gauze."
Right. I feel ashamed for forgetting such a simple instruction. What's wrong with me? "I… right. I'll get them."
I can feel Lady Fennen's eyes following me as I reach into the back shelves, loading up my arms with the downy white gauze, the brown bandages. I feel grounded for a heartbeat. She taught me how to apply these. People are hurt and I can help them.
"Come on," Lady Fennen grunts, and then takes some from me to help me carry them back.
I follow her, trying to steady my breath. The battle's over. Sir Fiace is dead. Sir Cawle is going to be thrown out of the kingdom. I'm going to be okay. Many members of the court have gathered by the entrance of the healer's wing, clutching bleeding limbs or curling their arms protectively over wounded stomachs.
"Leur bataille est terminé et le nôtre commence," Lady Fennen murmurs, almost to herself. I glance at her, the familiar irritated and amused feeling that's provoked in me by her speaking Old Shodawes washes over me.
"What does that mean?"
"Their fight is finished, and so ours begins," she answers. "Something my mentor used to say… Nevermind that. We will help them now."
As I move through the court, checking people over and sending the worst injured to the cots, I note that a few Riviens are hovering by the entrance, looking unsure. They cover wounds as well, a cut brow here and a cradled wrist there.
I glance at Lady Fennen for her guidance, but she's occupied with Fiyr, whose eye is swollen shut. Concern for him pierces my heart, but I turn my eyes away. Lady Fennen can handle it. Looking back at the Riviens, I realize I'm going to have to perform the triage, and that means figuring out whether or not we should treat them. We're not exactly running low on supplies. And they did get those wounds fighting our battle.
I clear my throat. "Sir Feur, Sir Peyelt, and uh…" I peer at the round-bellied man whose scraggly brown hair looks like it's been slicked with blood. "You."
"Sir Baley," he tells me, his voice raspy.
"Right." I wave them over. "You're all worst injured, so we're going to have to treat you first. Go sit on the cots closest to us."
I see a few distrustful looks from Sir Styrp and Sir Teyl, but I ignore them. They have hardly a scratch between them.
"Does anyone think they're well enough to wait for treatment until after everyone else?" I ask.
A few hands go up—Mostly Riviens, I note—and I beckon them over to quickly check that their self-assessment is warranted. Sure enough, they seem mostly uninjured, save for one, a young man whose breathing rattles like wind through a dead bush.
"Are you a short-breath?" I ask him, pressing my ear to his chest to listen closer. He seems taken aback by my sudden closeness, but answers after a beat.
"Uh, I don't think so."
"Do you usually get out of breath after fighting or running?" I ask, checking the Trace for clues. Briatte doesn't have regular short-breath symptoms either, but when she gets her blood pumping she seems to run out of breath. Maybe it's the same thing.
He shakes his head, but I think I've already deduced the cause. An elementalist, maybe…? The lingering trace is sweet, like the air before a storm.
"Did you fight Sir Fouhte in the battle?"
"I—maybe?" He blinks. "It all happened so fast…"
I stop myself from rolling my eyes and concentrate on his breathing. It's still irregular. "I think he may have caused you some lung trouble. Go lie down with the others so we can make sure it isn't permanent."
He shrugs and ambles off and I'm glad that Riviens are at least less eager than Thundrians to self-martyr.
I continue to work my way through the crowd, sending the healthier knights to fetch water, meat, and fruit to get everyone's energy back up. Once Lady Fennen and I have separated everyone into 'needs immediate attention' and 'can go a few hours before treatment,' we begin to address people one by one. I stay at her side for this, wetting gauze and cleaning wounds while she stitches deep cuts, sets wrists, and binds broken fingers. No one has any life-threatening injuries, which is a huge relief.
I can't deal with another death. I already have a feeling in my chest like broken glass. I don't want to imagine what another tragedy on top of this all would mean.
We work until late in the evening. The queen comes in to speak with Lady Fennen and I continue checking up on the people we've already treated, getting them an extra pillow or a cup of water or ice for smaller bruises and scrapes. I watch the queen out of the corner of my eye, though, while attending to the court.
On the surface, she seems normal, placid, and steady in her movements. But the longer I watch, the more I notice the tiny things that seem off about her. Her undershirt has come untucked and hair escapes her braid, but she pays no mind to either of them. She waves her hand as she says something, then leaves her arm hanging in the air, forgotten. It unsettles me.
I look away, then something occurs to me. Sir Cawle's going to be exiled. And he was captain of the guard. So who's going to be our new captain?
I survey the court, the familiar faces blurring together. Sir Strommer, maybe? Would people see that as nepotism? Lady Fuor? We've never had a woman as the captain of guard, or at least it was so long ago that I don't remember. I guess Queen Bluelianna must have been captain once.
How would the court take it? I know that just about everyone thinks that Queen Bluelianna is a member of the Starlaxi that walks on earth, but it's a very different thing, respecting a monarch and taking daily orders from a woman. Would they worship her the same way if she was telling them to go out on supply runs every morning?
"All those who are able, come to the throne room for a court meeting," the queen announces, her voice commanding the attention of every person in the wing.
The queen turns sharply on her heel and strides out. I watch her go, feeling strangely tense. She'll be fine. She has to be.
I glance at Lady Fennen, who nods at me. After giving Sir Baley a last once-over, I follow the queen out into the throne room.
Sir Cawle stands on the dais.
Tigerclaw is nowhere in sight. His hands are bound in front of him, and the remains of his captain's uniform hang off him in tatters. Really, only a strip of maroon fabric lays across his shoulder and over his chest. What's left of the Thundrian emblem is a shapeless yellow patch. His good eye darts from side to side, watching carefully, and his mouth is twisted. His other eye is just a hole that dribbles blood down his face; he has nothing to cover it with, and doesn't bother attempting to.
Samn stands next to him, looking icy cold. She is completely expressionless, but her grip on Sandstorm makes me certain she's more than ready to cut him open if he tries anything. As the court filters out of the healer's wing, assembling in the throne room, the queen tears her eyes away from Sir Cawle and addresses them.
"Thundria is indebted to Rivier. Your courage has saved us from many unnecessary losses today," she says, her gaze landing warmly on Meistya and Stowen.
Leaparra seems a little taken aback at the queen's praise, but she recovers quickly and dips her head. "You're welcome. Thank you for treating our knights."
The commendation doesn't seem to flow from the Rivien captain with the same ease that it did the queen, but the queen nods graciously anyway.
"If any are too injured to travel, they will be looked after by our healer and novitiate until they are able to return to your noble court."
I see eyebrows raised at the queen's adulatory word choice, but no one speaks. Leaparra inclines her chin again, looking a little uncomfortable.
"I don't believe any of ours were so badly injured," she answers. "We'll depart as soon as we can."
Lady Fore signals to Sir Clah, who ducks back into the healer's wing to round up the Rivien knights. I watch them go, unable to help myself from feeling that there's a darker current in their aid. The queen said we were indebted to them. Are they going to call in that debt by asking the queen to give up Graie's children? My heart twists. She can't! He needs them.
But she says nothing as she leads her knights out. Just gives the queen one last, long look, and then pushes the doors open and leaves. A little bit of tension leaves my body when they're gone. No matter that they were fighting on our side, they can't be present when the queen deals with Sir Cawle.
The doors close.
The queen looks down on her court, steeling herself for the announcement.
"During the battle with the mercenaries today, Sir Cawle attacked me in my private chambers," she says.
Shocked cries immediately erupt from the court. He planned it well, I think, feeling cold as I regard him, his unrepentant look firmly on his face. If the queen had died, there would have been no witnesses. He could have said it was a mercenary. He didn't account for Samn being there.
"He couldn't have!" Liang shouts.
I look at him and expect to feel angry at him for his willful ignorance. But the anger doesn't come. I just pity him for being so naive, so willing to swallow Sir Cawle's lies. Sir Cawle tried to kill me, and he was willing to jump into the gorge to save me but not believe that Sir Cawle had meant for me to fall. Loyal but so, so stupid.
"He did," the queen says. Her voice turns to a flat monotone as she continues. "I was warned of his treachery, and I ignored it. I have been a fool, and I have put you all at risk."
Samn shifts uneasily and the queen motions for her to speak. Samn looks at her, brow creasing, then says, "Sir Cawle killed my father."
Confusion and uproar abounds. I watch it all, feeling strangely detached. I see Lady Peilte turn to Lady Fuor, disbelief on her face. I see Lady Faise's face ripple with the dredged-up pain of her husband's death. And I see Sir Strommer stare at Sir Cawle, looking utterly betrayed.
"Oeak Hahrte wasn't responsible for my father's death," Samn announces. "Sir Hahrte was killed in a cave-in during the battle. Sir Cawle then attacked my father and killed him, then lied to us all."
The queen is quiet, her eyes trained on Sir Cawle. After many moments, she speaks. "Do you deny it?"
He doesn't speak, just watches the court. I feel a shiver as his dark eye runs over each of us.
"Do you have anything at all to say?" the queen presses.
And then he laughs, a low, ragged sound. "I have nothing to say to a queen like you but this: You have made Thundria weak. Begging at the hand of other kingdoms. You have failed us, again and again, and I saw my chance to make us strong. So I took it. Can any of you fault me for that?"
No one speaks. I don't see a single sympathetic face in the crowd. Only Sir Styrp looks anything other than disgusted and outraged. He looks like he's been torn in half. Like his whole life was a lie. Because Sir Cawle tried to kill the queen? Or because he failed?
"Then you will be exiled," the queen says, her voice soft. There's an odd glow in her eyes, though, that makes me a bit fearful of her next words. "And may the Starlaxi have mercy on your soul."
The way she spits 'Starlaxi' sends a shiver of unease up my back. Lady Fennen's as blasphemous as they come, but the queen always seemed a little more reverent. She holds his gaze until Sir Cawle looks down, his jaw set.
And when the queen looks back up, her eyes dull and cold, I think I see the first crack.
Was it everything you hoped and more?
~Akila