Book 3, Chapter 19: Bedroom
“Princess, what did he say to you?”
“Nothing! Nothing. It was what I said. I just need a bit of time, ok? Going to my room.”
I walked past Brin who looked at Morry, “I’ll go see to the princess. Girl time, not bodyguard time.”
“Lady Brin, I’ll have you know that I am a chef now.”
I stormed into my room, wanting to slam the door, but I angrily left it open for Brin. Mainly because I wanted her to come make me feel better. She, oddly enough, was the only person who knew half my secrets. Maybe a quarter.
I walked over to the table where a wine jug was waiting patiently for me to pick it up. Brin’s footsteps echoed as she entered the room, the wooden door being closed on its iron hinges.
“Cayce, what happened?”
“I don’t know where to begin. Maybe-”
“Cayce!” Her eyes wide as she shouted at me.
I turned to see a blade slashing toward me, so I dropped to the floor. It went over my head, into the table. The wine jug broke into pieces, pottery flying into my body, wine spreading across the floor.
A short man, he yanked his curved sword out of the table and thrust overhead to cut me in half. I rolled over as the blade came down, steel ringing out against the stone. He whipped it up over his head and stepped closer.
I yanked off the ring on my right finger, tossing it away. Tugging on my bracelet, I put my feet up to ward him off, but he slashed at my legs. I planted them on the floor and scooted back as quickly as I could. Then a chair crashed into his face, Brin screaming.
The man hit the ground, shook his head, snarled, then launched himself at me, sword overhead and coming down. As the bracelet fell away, blue and purple energy coursed around my right arm, I blasted him into the ceiling, red mist spraying against the stone from the impact. His body made a sucking sound as it came off, hit the table, rolled onto the floor. Tiny droplets of his blood wafted around the air, settling down on their own time.
The door flew open and Morry ran in, short sword in his left hand, murder and worry in his face.
I struggled to my feet, body barely listening. Brin was frozen, arms shaking. Wrapping my arms around her, “You saved me, Brin. It’s ok, it’s ok, we can calm down now.”
Morry shouted, “How the hell did you do that? How the hell are you doing that?”
I looked at the big man over Brin’s shoulder, a touch of blue light from my arm flickering against his face. “Shit, Morry. Just . . . damn.”
***
“Here, Cayce. Your bracelet.”
I put it back on my arm and the lightning subsided. “And the ring?”
“Just a moment, it’s a bit out of reach.” She was on her knees, reaching under the cabinet, “Somehow you tossed it pretty far.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t, I wasn’t really thinking about the ring at the time.”
“Of course.” Standing up, Brin took my hand and we both watched as the energy danced across my fingers, weaving in and out, then sparkling into the air, dissipating, as she slid the ring on.
The assassin had olive skin peppered with dark splotches, eyes like mine. Clearly, he was Laemacian. But that didn’t tell us who sent him.
“Are those marks on his skin burns? Like, scars from burns?”
“That or some disease,” Brin said. “Don’t get too close.”
“Well, how are we going to get rid of him?”
“We’ll get the servants to do it.”
“Brin!”
Morry strode into the room from checking out the rest of my apartments. “No one else is here. Looks like he entered through one of the empty rooms in the back. The window’s open and he had a rope secured for ready escape.”
“I guess we’re going to have to post guards in here,” said Brin.
Morry answered, “That or bar the windows, seal the doors to the rooms you’re not using.”
Brin added, “Maybe a dog or two?”
“That’s a good idea. Huh.” No idea why that never occurred to me. A dog would likely hear even the quietest of assassins. “But not one of those big, nasty ones.”
“Not those ones. Little loud ones might be best.”
Morry, for all his grim exterior, looked worried. He stepped toward me, “Let me get this straight, you can do magic?”
“I need a drink. A stiff drink. Goddamn that alchemist for messing up my whiskey!”
The big man narrowed his eyes. “There’s mead in the other room.”
“First,” Brin said, “facecloths. Look at you! Look at me. Blood all over us!”
She was right. Her face and hair, now Morry’s, were covered in a fine mist of blood. It was gross. More than that, the energy hit him into the ceiling so hard and fast that the blood bursting out of him was atomized. Not something I ever imagined possible and had worrisome implications. I was a serious danger to those around me. How could I control this better?
After cleaning up, we headed over to the outside rooms, leaving the body to, I don’t know, drain. I was cold, trembling, and sat on the stones of the fireplace right in front of the blaze. Morry poured me a full mug. Now that I think about it, it was the first time he’d actually poured for me, the princess. Imagine that.
“Thank you. Ok, no, I wasn’t a wizard before. It was after Bechalle cut this damned symbol into my back. Since then . . .”
“Princess, why didn’t you tell me?”
“She didn’t tell me either.” Brin sounded slightly pouty.
I stared into my drink. “I didn’t want you guys to get in trouble. The wizards, they kill people like me. You can’t be a ruler and a mage. Who knows what they’d do to my accomplices?”
Brin asked, “What are we going to do?”
“Hmm,” Morry sat back in his chair. “Who sent the assassin? Possibly the Laemacians. You didn’t have anyone trying to kill you before they arrived.”
“The dowager, Duke Barclay and Duke Bechalle, plus the Ketzillians don’t count?”
“In the last three months.”
“You think they’d be this obvious? I’m new to all this. . . assassining.”
“Assassinating,” said Brin. “That guy is clearly Laemacian. But I think you’re right, Cayce. It’d be foolish to be so obvious. Perhaps someone wants to implicate the Laemacians?”
“It’s not that convoluted,” said the big man. “His goal was to kill you.”
“Yeah. Alright. So, how do I handle this? I can’t see accusing the Laemacian ambassador being very helpful. They’ll deny it either way.”
“Say nothing. Make them guess what happened. In fact, we should keep this quiet.”
“From the council, too?” That somehow struck me as foolish, but I’d only lived in this world for a few months. The big man would know more.
“Yes.”
“If only I could control these powers, I wouldn’t have killed him. Maybe we could have learned who sent him.”
“You wouldn’t learn anything,” Morry said. “He was trained with pain.”
“The marks on his skin?”
“Fire. Lye. Trained to embrace pain, so torture wouldn’t work on him.”
“Is that true? I’ve heard children’s stories about assassins, but . . .”
“Yes, Lady Brin, it’s true.”
“That’s awful!”
“Wait,” I said, “you think we might have a larger problem than one assassin?”
“Your problems are large and obvious. The question of who sent the assassin isn’t. If we stay quiet, the answer might come to us.”
“Alright. I can do that.” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, unless he suspected that some of the earls would profit with my demise. If that were the case, it’d be best to keep them in the dark.
Brin smiled, leaning forward, “Dogs will help with security. Some adults and a couple cute puppies will cheer up the place.”
“About that, Brin.” I looked up from my cup, having thought it over, “It’s not a good idea. I don’t want to blast any puppies. I can’t always control it.”
“Don’t forget, you’d also need to house a handler.” Morry said, “For the dogs.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. We can’t have puppies.”
She scrunched up her face, but then got serious. “Of course, Cayce. Just like the girls have to sleep out in this part of the apartments. But I wanted puppies . . .”
“Your magic.” Morry placed his cup on the table, “This is what you talked with Etienne about?”
“No. I mean, yes. But, no!” I sat forward, the fireplace hot on my back, “Not the magic. I can’t tell him about that.”
“I see,” he raised an eyebrow. “What did the grand magister and you talk about that night, when he was alone with you?”
“You have to tell Etienne, Cayce!” Brin sat forward, raising her voice, “If not the grand magister, he’s probably the only one who can help you!”
I directed my attention to the big man. “The grand magister is the one who told me these scars are a symbol. A rune. They mean something, have magical ability. Or channel it. I don’t fully understand. Bechalle,” I shook my head. “He was trying to . . . steal the power of a deity.” Holding up my palm before he could speak, I added, “Wait. I don’t trust the wizard. He stole the knife Bechalle used. It’s magical and important and the only knife that can make these scars . . . work, I guess.”
“So, you asked Etienne to look into the symbols?”
“Yes.”
“And? Am I working for a goddess?”
“No, Morry. Just a humble princess.”
“Ha!” He picked up his mug, took a long draught.
“On the plus side, if I am a goddess . . . if I have the power of a deity, I can’t imagine the Laemacians or the Ketzillians would be much of a threat.”
“That’s,” Brin said, “not a good path to be thinking on. Especially with what the grand magister told you. You’d have all the mages after you.”
“Yeah. Maybe. We’re facing a bloody spring either way. If I could somehow stop the wars . . .” She had a look of horror on her face, so I switched topics. “Maybe, I wonder, I just wonder if it’s possible to get the scars removed. Or crossed out. Interfered with so I don’t have this energy coursing around me all the time.”
“I can give you a beating if you want, Princess, but I don’t think adding new scars is going to help much.”
“Uh, I think the magical knife is required for the effects to change.”
“Perhaps just a spanking then.”
If not for the twinkle in his eye, I’d have barked out something angry. Instead, I fluttered my eyelids at him, “I have been a rather naughty princess lately.”
Brin spit out her drink, “Cayce!”
“You see, Brin? This is why I prefer armor to dresses. No one can spank you in a suit of chainmail.”
“Honestly, I think you’re safer without the armor. You can take the jewelry off faster and blast anyone who attacks you.”
“And you’re terrible with weapons,” added Morry.
“I’ve successfully killed like so many people with weapons!”
“Enemies. They were enemies, not regular people.”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks. Safer with the armor against magic, safer without it against regular weapons. Why is life this complicated?”
“Because you’re the princess, Princess.”
Moving a little further from the fire now that my back was warm, I hoisted my mug high and smiled at my friends, “To becoming a farmer.”
“To farming.” We all drank.
“I’ll, uh, get some servants on that body,” Brin said, rising, “and don’t worry, we’ll do it discreetly and safely. With a rug. They can toss a rug over it. Can’t let the Laemacians know what happened with this assassin. Keep them guessing.”
“Honestly, you can use any of those tapestries. The ones about famous wars or people.”
“Cayce! Those are works of art. They’re using a rug. An old rug. An old, dirty rug!”
I smiled as best I could and didn’t tell her what I was thinking, that this castle could use a vacuum cleaner, certainly a mop and some liquid detergent. And all the rugs were old and dirty, Brin, all of them.
***
After Brin and I had a long bath, washing away the sweat and fear and remaining small droplets of blood, after I let her dress me for bed and do more toiletries than normal, she fell asleep holding me as she used to and I lay awake, staring at the ceiling as I used to.
I kept the energy, magic I guess, bottled up inside by this rare iron. I feared releasing it – how easy it was to kill a person! – and how would others react? Not so trusting as my companions. Downright murderous if and when the mages’ conclave found out. Would they all come for me?
Yet a part of me wondered. Perhaps I should remove these iron bonds. See what happens. If Bechalle really summoned the power of a deity into my body, it could be one more weapon, an awesome, unrivaled weapon, to secure my future here. My kingdom.
And how much easier it was to use than a sword.
Perhaps too easy. I wasn’t trembling or worried that I’d killed that man. His eyes didn’t plead for his life in my mind over and over again, unlike the wizardess I’d slaughtered on the battlefield. Both were trying to harm me and mine, but how little I cared for tonight’s kill. Easier to dismiss an assassin, perhaps.
A scratching at the window. Tap, tap, tap. Stronger now.
I untangled myself from the trusting girl, made my way across the room to the window, pulling off my ring and bracelet just in case. As my arm lit up, I wondered if that was a mistake – I was outlining myself in blue light for anyone to see, pulsing and reflecting off the window.
A large, black bird tapped its long black beak against the window. The raven from earlier? I opened it. The bird hopped in and cawed loudly. Bowed its head, its black eyes staring down.
Something compelled me, I don’t know why, I petted the little beast. He cawed softer, with a rolling sound not unlike purring, if a raven could purr. Then it jumped up into the air of the room, its wings making a whooshing sound as it circled the area, over the bed, past the fireplace, over my head and out the window.
It was long into the night. Light snow began falling. I shot purple light into the darkness as high and far as I could, then slipped gold and shadow bracelet onto my wrist, the ring onto my finger, snow swirling into the room through the window.
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