Born to Rule Read online

  I hate myself for what I have done and yet I want to comfort myself and excuse my actions, because after all, I am me.

  This must be what it is like to go mad; opposing viewpoints both coming from my own head. It makes no sense and I hate it.

  I pace the room, my lovely receiving room, filled with beautiful things, arranged by the King. This was a kind thing he did. He made my rooms lovely, he was generous to me, he spoiled me.

  And he kills people for fun.

  I know this.

  And so, I am back to arguing with myself.

  I walk through to my work room. I am lowered to this; taking one of my own potions, like some village idiot who cannot get through the week without the aid of some crutch or other.

  I feel poisonous.

  I find a flagon of ale on the table and a cleanish goblet. I drink the whole thing down and then pour another one.

  I cannot decide which potion I need the most. A cure for stupidity or the opposite of a love potion. I feel addled and it’s not like me.

  I have been alone a long time and that can be enough to send some people mad, but never me. I thrived on the peace. I had my little rituals, my daily habits and they were all good for me.

  I have common sense and intuition – though granted that’s not working now. I usually have a clever mind, a sharp mind.

  I have seen good looking men, but I have never kissed one before the King. I wasn’t one for a foolish dalliance or a quick fling. I was sure that as I grew older I would meet a man who met all my requirements.

  A hard-working man. A kind man. A funny man. A good-looking man. A fit man. A family man. A man who wanted me to be equal to him in things that mattered – where we lived, how many children we had, how we spent our money. I have always wanted a life partner, never a King.

  And never a match that made me feel unclean, unkind and so unlike myself.

  I find several potions that might help and take them through to my bedroom. I will choose a tonic and sleep my worries away, even though it is not yet dark. Maybe I will wake up and find that this horror was a dream and that I haven’t turned into a selfish woman after all.

  I sink onto the bed, clutching the vials to my chest. It’s such a lovely room. So pretty and so comfortable

  And it’s a payment from the devil.

  He is the devil. He is an evil man, a selfish man, a man who relishes in the hurt he can do to others. He kills if he wants to, he has the power and he abuses it, in the most disgusting, despicable way.

  None of this is alluring to me.

  And yet when his lips touched mine, instead of images of blood and guts filling my head, I saw stars and swirls. And instead of flinching from his touch I wanted to move towards him. And when I saw him vulnerable and hurt I had to help him.

  I couldn’t not.

  5

  WILL CLIMBS OFF HIS bed and straightens his clothes, washes his face with some water from the flagon on the table and slips out of his room. There is no guard watching him anymore and so he can look for Everleigh without worrying about being spied on.

  He heads for the stables and takes a pick axe; he’s not a fighter, he doesn’t class himself as tough or particularly strong, but he needs to be able to threaten anyone who might threaten him.

  He must find Everleigh; he must apologise and he must make his Kingmaker safe again. If he wasn’t so slow and stupid, he would have got her to safety when they ran away. He cannot feel the pain of his injury over the pain in his heart. Lanorie dead and Everleigh missing; the two people he cares most about in the world. He can never get one of them back and so he has to try for the other one. He cannot continue being passive and foolish. If Millard comes back and realises that Will is on Everleigh’s side and not loyal to his King anymore then that’s fine. Will is ready to stand by his Queen, proclaim his fealty and damn the consequences.

  CERYN TETHERS PITCH to a tree and sinks on to the floor, resting her back against the trunk. It is starting to get dark, and she’s past fed up.

  Everleigh must be somewhere. And logic says she won’t be in the village. All the villagers know her. If someone tried to hide the Kingmaker in any of the villages that make up the Realm, they wouldn’t get away with it, never mind the one closest to the castle. She’s not nameless or faceless; everybody knows her.

  She’s either hidden at the castle, in which case Ceryn knows Weaver will find her, or she’s hidden somewhere else.

  No one would take her on Millard’s behalf and travel far beyond the castle. What would be the point? Millard still wants his sister dead, at worst, locked up, at best, so she must be close.

  Ceryn chews on a blade of grass, spitting gobs of it on to the floor.

  If only she knew the area better. If only Finn hadn’t been so useless, then she might have had a hope.

  She unties Pitch and walks along with her. “Let’s go to the river, lady.”

  She always talks to Pitch as though Pitch can not only hear her but understand and answer too. For a long time, she was her only real companion.

  Until she met Weaver and Archer. Funny to think that it was three men that had changed her life. Carter, Weaver and Archer.

  She trudges through the high grass, kicking at it, eyes scanning the area, looking for Everleigh. She sees some children running through the woods, a dog chasing after them, their voices excited and shrill as they play. She sees a woman picking fruit, piling a basket high, and she sees one of the King’s men. She stops still; she recognises him.

  She knows many of the King’s men and doesn’t like any of them. This is one of the younger ones. He has bandages on his hands.

  Bandages on his hands.

  He was in the village when the horse was hit by a stone, and he was the one who chased after Everleigh and Will.

  She lets go of Pitch’s reins, knowing her horse will stay close. She walks faster, towards the man. As she gets closer she can see how bloodied and bruised his face is. She’s sure of it; this is the man who hit Will and took Everleigh. She runs at him, full pelt, and crashes into him knocking him to the floor.

  “Where’s Everleigh? I know you took her. Where is she?” She raises her fist and punches him in the face.

  The wind knocked out of him and fresh blood pumping from his lip Brett cannot answer.

  “Tell me.” She tries to remember what Ginata said about him; one of the King’s men chased after Will and Everleigh. A man with bandaged hands. A man called Brett.

  “Are you Brett?” Ceryn is screaming at him now, hands gripping the front of his shirt.

  Still not answering but nodding his head, Brett tries to push Ceryn off him, to get his breath, to explain, but she will not let him. She’s shaking him now. “Did you take Everleigh? Did you take her? Where is she?”

  She reaches for her sword. Kill first and ask questions later. She knows he is the one.

  “Did you take her?” Kill first, ask questions later.

  “Please!”

  Kill first, ask questions later. “Tell me!”

  “Yes, but-”

  He doesn’t get another word out before she runs him through.

  She collapses onto the grass next to him, his blood and her tears mixing.

  “Kill first, ask questions later...” She cries harder, realising that she cannot ask him where Everleigh is now. She lets out a scream of anger, frustration and fury.

  Pitch nudges at Ceryn with her head and Ceryn pats her. “You still love me, don’t you?”

  She stands up, spitting on the floor, straightening her clothes and cleaning her sword on the grass.

  Walking along, tears blurring her eyesight, upset with herself, but trying to justify her actions, she sees a group of three people ahead of her. And one of them is...

  Archer.

  She wipes at her eyes; she must be more upset than she thought because she can see Archer. Alive.

  Ahead of her, with a dwarf.

  She uses her palms to dig into her eyes, really rub them, until b
lack spots dance across her vision. But he’s still there.

  Archer.

  A Dwarf.

  And Everleigh.

  Everleigh. Safe. Her knees almost buckle with relief.

  They are ahead of her, walking towards her but bearing left; they haven’t spotted her yet. It is him without a shadow of a doubt. She lets go of Pitch’s reins and runs full pelt at him, only stopping a breath before knocking him over because she can tell from his gait that he’s in pain.

  “Archer.” She reaches up and touches his face, fingers spread over his cheek, tears pouring down her face. “You’re alive.”

  He nods and carefully embraces her, wincing from the pain, but holding onto her tightly. “Just about.”

  “Everleigh! What? How?” Ceryn laughs and hugs Everleigh and then Archer again. She rests her cheek on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. She breathes in the scent of him. “Whoa, you stink.”

  “And you’re still sweet.”

  She swats at him and then winces as she realises she might have hurt him.

  “I’m fine, that’s not my bad side.” He laughs at the worry on her face and then lifts his top, showing off his war wounds.

  “Archer. How did you survive?”

  “That would be thanks to me.”

  The teacher steps forward and raising an eyebrow at Ceryn’s mask, holds out his hand in greeting. Ceryn rubs the dirt, sweat and – now that she looks she can see blood too – off her hands and on to her trousers and then shakes his hand.

  “I’m Ceryn.” Her voice changes under the gaze of a stranger, gruffer, harder.

  “Ceryn. This is the teacher. He saved my life.”

  At Archer’s nudge, she manages to smile. “Thank you. He’s my best friend. One of them.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  “We’re on the way to Ginata’s cottage.”

  Ceryn shakes her head. “No need. There’s no one there. We’re all at the castle.”

  “Why? Where’s my brother?”

  “Well he was tied up where I left him, drugged so that he couldn’t try to escape-”

  “What?”

  “When you ran away with Will, I followed Ginata to her room and I cracked him over the head. Twice. I tied him up and she gave him something to keep him knocked out. Addyson took the crown off his head.”

  Everleigh’s knees buckle. “It’s over?”

  “No. When I went back someone had rescued him. We don’t know where he is. Nor Wolf.”

  “Where’s Addyson?”

  “At the castle.”

  “We need to get there fast.”

  “She’s safe. She’s with Weaver.”

  “I’d stake my life on her being safe if she’s with Weaver. He won’t let anything happen to her.”

  Everleigh nods, visibly calmer. “I know. We still need to get there quickly. How’s Will? Ginata? Everyone else?”

  “Will is fine. Upset about Lanorie and probably because he lost you, but fine.”

  “He didn’t lose me. Brett knocked him out. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Ah, well I’ve sorted that out too.” She smiles – a little shakily, her hand going to her sword automatically, a reflex.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ginata recognised him, Brett, as the one who chased you, probably hurt Will. And I just saw him. I killed him.”

  “What?” Everleigh’s eyes fill with tears, devastation written over her face.

  “What? He took you. He hit Will. I killed him.”

  “He took me for Archer. He was on our side.”

  “Huh?” Confusion makes Ceryn slow. “On our side?”

  “Oh, Ceryn. What have you done?” Archer shakes his head, sadness and disbelief in his eyes.

  “I thought he was on Millard’s side. I thought he’d taken you, hurt you, maybe killed you.”

  “Well he didn’t. He helped me. He rescued me.”

  Ceryn’s hands drop to her side and she cries. “I didn’t know.”

  “Why didn’t you just tie him up or disarm him? Why kill him?”

  Archer is hugging Everleigh who shoots a look of pure disgust at Ceryn. “I’m just so sick of all this death, destruction, murder, hurt. Ceryn!”

  Ceryn shakes her head, feeling defensive now. “How the hell was I supposed to know? He chased you, he took you, he hurt Will. I had to kill him.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Since when do you have to kill someone? You could have checked, found out, asked him, maybe?”

  “I did, but he... he didn’t answer.”

  “I can’t believe you just killed him.”

  “I didn’t just kill him. I thought he’d killed you, hurt you, I didn’t know. And after I let your brother get away I swore I wouldn’t do it again. I had your brother, I hit him, I tied him up, the man I thought killed Archer, and everybody else and I let him get away. I swore it wouldn’t happen again. I swore...”

  She drops to the floor, crying bitterly, regret an actual taste in her mouth.

  “I know you didn’t know, of course you didn’t. I just feel so sick. So sick. Where is he?”

  “Not far away.”

  “We need to burn him, like we did with Lanorie. Or the wild animals will eat him. Where exactly is he?”

  Ceryn points back to where she killed Brett. “Just walk in that direction. You won’t miss him.”

  Archer gives her arm a squeeze, but nothing more, and then walks away with Everleigh.

  The teacher sits down next to Ceryn and puts a hand over hers. She snatches it away. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

  Ceryn

  “I DON’T.” THE DWARF closes his eyes and I want to poke him or punch him. Why doesn’t he feel sorry for me? I do. Something amazing has happened: Archer is alive, but I cannot even get my head around it because something terrible has happened. I’ve killed someone, someone who didn’t deserve to die. Someone who was on our side. Someone who rescued Everleigh.

  I feel sick.

  I feel sorry for myself. Stupid dwarf.

  I watch Everleigh and Archer walk away, fingers entangled, heads together and I want to throw something at them. I feel so far removed from everything.

  I thought something was wrong with Archer and that’s why we came to the castle. I didn’t want to get involved in a battle between brother and sister, a battle for a crown I care nothing about.

  I want to hunt and sleep and eat. That’s what I do.

  But here I am and even the dwarf doesn’t feel sorry for me.

  “You should feel sorry for me.”

  “You are a contrary little thing, aren’t you?”

  I scowl at him, sending pure hate at him. Then I close my eyes and lay down on the grass. It’s not his fault. It’s my fault. It’s always my fault. Everything. I always mess things up.

  “To clarify, I don’t feel sorry for you, because nothing you have done invokes pity. I think you are a strong woman, obviously able to protect herself, to kill if necessary. Why would I feel sorry for you? I’m actually pretty impressed by you.”

  I open my eyes and lift myself up on my elbows. “Really?”

  “Really. But you don’t need to sound surprised or root around for compliments. I can’t imagine that’s something you usually do.”

  “I’ve spent so long feeling sure that people hate me or fear me because of my...I’ve got a mark on my face, under this mask. The devil’s mark, though that’s utter tripe. I tell myself I don’t care what people think, what people say. But I do. Especially Archer. He’s my best friend. And Everleigh. I don’t know her very well, but already I want to serve her, protect her.”

  “Strange that, isn’t it? She makes me feel the same way. I knew she would be Queen when I met her, because of that very feeling. As for you, I can imagine it’s been a hard road. You seem to cope very well, though. You have made friends, alliances, a way for yourself.”

  I pause and mull over his words. He’s right. Despite my mark and what most
people think of me because of it, I have made a way for myself. I am a fighter, a battler, someone who helps those who need it most.

  “You could have hidden away from the world, blamed your mark and lived a life of solitude. And yet here you are. Brett wasn’t a good man, not that I’m saying he deserved to die, but he had lived a life full of bad choices. He would hurt others indiscriminately, he would revel in the upset of others, he wasn’t a nice chap. He changed his tune towards the end and he did rescue Everleigh, but there’s no way you could have known that. Everleigh, when she is Queen, needs an army willing to die for her to live. She needs people like you. People who will do anything to keep her safe. She might not see it now, but you will be one of her biggest defenders. And not because you’re in love with her, like your friend Archer. Love can blind someone to faults.”

  I feel better.

  I could listen to this man all day long.

  “You have battle in your blood, I can see it and feel it. You are loyal to a fault and stronger than you could ever know. One innocent man dead for the safety of the Queen. Is it worth it, is she?”

  I close my eyes again. I haven’t ever thought of myself the way this man has described me. Loyal, a fighter, a battler. And yet I do battle. I battle people who love me sometimes. I am so used to rejection, to being turned away. I guess I’m always looking for trouble. Or making it first. But I can be good, do good.

  I sit up and smile at him. “Thank you.”

  “See why I don’t feel sorry for you? You have done well and Everleigh and Archer will realise that soon enough. You defended your Queen, which is exactly why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  A little bit of peace comes over me and the snakes in my stomach and heart settle down. Maybe I’m not an evil person after all.

  “In a battle, in a war, you cannot take the time to ask questions of the enemy, perceived or actual. To do so would mean certain death for you. You must be strong, resolute, sure of yourself. I think you’ll make a very good Queen’s man. Woman.”

  I grin. I don’t mind being called a Queen’s man. It’s what I feel like.