Damsel Knight (34 page)

Julius sees her and lowers his bow, though he keeps the arrow in it notched and ready. "It's over Boone. I'm sorry but I can't let them break the wall. I know the system is flawed, but it's always been this way. We can't destroy the whole system just to change things."

The hooves are close. She catches a glimpse of horses and soldiers. Angus is among them.

This is the system she's a part of. One that wants to kill her for no other reason than the way she was born. One that will bully Alice until they break her into nothing. One that killed Timon for saving a life, and destroyed what was left when he only wanted to live.

Destroying it suddenly sounds like a good idea.

She lunges toward the hole, and before she can change her mind, shoves her dead arm inside.

And her dead arm feels for the first time in weeks. Every nerve ending lights up. Freezing cold rushes like a torrent of water from her fingers to her shoulder, up her neck, and across her cheek.

It hurts. It hurts so much. Her blood feels like chunks of ice, cutting her up from the inside with their razor sharp edges. Her brain lights up like a hundred bonfires.

Her thoughts deteriorate to one word: stop. Stop. Stop! And eventually it does, and so does she.

Chapter 35

She's dead. She knows she's dead because of the voice in her ear, and the arms cradling her limp form.

Her mother sings a song she'd half forgotten, about a fair maiden waiting for a man to rescue her and claim her as his own. It's a sad song. Various suitors find something ill in the girl's manner and reject her at the last moment. She spends the rest of her days sitting in a chair, staring out the window for the next suitor to come, her life having no purpose.

Boone's mind shifts in and out of focus. People talking. Figures standing close by. Those arms firmly around her, and that song crooning in her ear.

A sucking sound. Her and the arms drift downward. Blinking open her eyes enough to glance around her, the light burns her eyes. The images she'd gathered tumble around inside her head. Daylight. Her mother above her. And all around them peculiar patchy looking grass.

Something strange about the grass. Something Mrs Moore had told her the first day she'd moved into their home. Something Neven had demonstrated later with one of his inventions.

Her muddled mind wades through the sludge to form a thought. It's not just grass.

She tenses, and her muscles scream. Everything hurts. But she's still sinking. She tries to struggle, but her mother's arms only tighten their grip around her.

They sink together into the quick mud, her mother murmuring reassurances into her ear.

***

"The men don't like it."

"What would you have me do Jack?" A woman's voice. "Send her back there? They were going to kill her. I won't allow it."

"Here might not be much safer." This time she recognises the rough voice. Jack, the trader who took them to dragon island.

Her head pounds, and her muscles ache like she'd been running for days straight, but her mind is calm. She knows the other voice too. She thinks part of her always knew.

She opens her eyes to see the barbarian woman sitting at her bedside, war paint scrubbed from her cheeks. Her mother.

***

"Don't try to move. You suffered quite a shock." The woman - her mother - tucks some of her fiery red hair behind her ears, looking nervous. "You should be dead, absorbing that much energy. I've never heard of anyone doing such a thing without an object like crystal to channel it into."

Her mother knowing about magic. Casting it too, to judge by her illusions. It's strange. It doesn't match up with the strict way she'd followed conventions, and tried to get Boone to follow them too. The mother from back then would've killed herself before playing with magic.

Yet it is her. She has the same delicate features Boone herself inherited. The long lashed eyes they share, only a pale almost grey instead of Boone's bold blue. And the wild red hair she always spent hours taming until it was silk smooth, instead of frizzy like it is now.

She's the same, but different. Wilder. With the tan uniform of a barbarian soldier.

"I didn't recognise you at first. Not until that day you stopped us going through the gate. Even then I wasn't sure. And then that woman - Moore contacted us, telling us they were going to execute you." Her mother reaches out, as if about to stroke her hair, then draws back.

Jack takes that as his cue to leave the room.

It's more a cave than a room. Small. Just enough room for a makeshift bed and a few people if they don't mind being crowded. A curved dirt ceiling slopes above them, and a torch sticks out of the wall.

Boone forces herself up on her elbows. Her head reels, but soon steadies. "Where are the others?"

"Bonnie." Her mother hovers above her, hands out as if wanting to touch, but restraining themselves at the last minute. "Sweetheart."

"That's not my name anymore." She adds a steel edge to her voice. It takes a moment of fumbling to find her boots, but when she does she moves to pull them on. "My name is Boone."

"Boone." Her mother drops her hands to her sides. "We need to talk."

The second boot won't go over her foot. She tugs it once, twice, then throws it across the room in frustration. "I thought you were dead!"

Her mother flinches at the noise. For just a moment there's a glimpse of the frightened, nervy woman she remembers, always looking as if she's expecting a blow to fall. Then it's over, and while she looks troubled, she doesn't look like she's teetering on the edge of a breakdown. "That's what I thought too." Her voice is soft. "I couldn't get anyone official to see me, but everyone I managed to talk to said the same thing. The dragon got loose and killed my family, and soldiers too. And the hate people showed. My friends and neighbours, all because of that dragon. They said such hateful things about you and Cadeyrn. I feared for my life. I remembered Cadeyrn mentioning some relatives beyond the circle, so I went there."

"Gelert didn't kill them."

"What?"

"Gelert. Didn't. Kill. Them." She tries to swallow her anger, but it's difficult. It feels like it's burning her up from the inside.

"Oh." Her mother blinks. "That's what you called the dragon, isn't it? How do you know?" Her eyes sharpen. "Do you know who did?"

Boone opens her mouth to say Julius's name, and stops. But she can't admit Gelert did it either. She doesn't know this new version of her mother, and she has an army. There's no telling what she could do. "The soldiers who arrived that day killed my father. Gelert killed them."

An unreadable emotion passes over her mother's face. "I always knew they had more to do with it than they let on. They said he wouldn't be harmed." She shakes her head. "And Gelert? That's what the boy Innes said the dragon was called."

Boone walks the few steps needed to retrieve her boot, then tugs it on. This time it slips over her foot easily. "Don't you recognise him? He's bigger, but his eyes and scales are the same."

Her mother frowns. "I fuel my magic through memories. I don't have a mental picture of what the dragon looks like, so I must have traded all of those ones."

It's a strange thought. Giving away your memories. How many had she given away? How many could she give away before she wasn't her any longer?

"I thought you needed something physical for that. Blood, life, teeth, something you made." Like Neven's metal shooters. They hadn't been on his wrists when he was running. She's sure that's what he sacrificed to fuel the spell that enabled her and Ness to walk through the fire and smoke.

"You need something of value. Memories have inherent value, particularly the ones you treasure. Happy times, people you love." She gives a wistful sigh. "Of course I keep the ones that matter to me the most. I still have your birth. Those times we baked cakes together. When your father brought me pink and red roses from beyond the circle."

Cakes had been the only thing she baked that didn't have her bored out of her mind. The anticipation of a sweet treat was just enough to keep her focused. Boone wonders if she has memories of the other things they'd cooked together that hadn't gone so well.

Boone grits her teeth, trying to think of something to get them off this topic. Something her mother said niggles at her mind. "Moore told you we were going to be executed? You mean Mrs Moore?"

"Yes. One of my customers at one time I believe, or so she tells me. Your father was proud of the clothes I made. He used to give them away to anyone he felt might appreciate my work. A friend used to help him. The one Mrs Moore married. Anyway, she recognised my stitching on the dresses the soldiers showed her. She used a spell to reach out to me. A bad idea. If I'd been dead the cost would be much higher. But it worked. It was badly worded. A giant information dump I had to sort, but because of it we got you out alive."

"And Mr Moore. You knew him?"

"Your father knew him. I'm not sure if I did." Her mother secures her short sword to her hip. Her mother carrying weapons. She'll never get used to that. "But it explains why Jack took you down there to them. Mr Moore owed a debt to your father. He-" Her eyes grow distant. "Some kind of scandal I think. He helped."

"Wait." Boone glances around for her weapons, but doesn't see them. "If Mrs Moore knew what was going on, then where is she?"

"Inside the palace."

"No. She's not." She'd read that letter a dozen times before she'd burned it. ‘I am gone far, far away.’ "She left days ago."

"No. That was in the information dump too. She must have known I couldn't communicate back through the palace walls, so she included as much information as she could. She's hiding in the cellars, among the women."

It's a clever idea. There are so many women, and they are kept in the cellars all day and night. It's the perfect place to hide. A locating spell would see through it, but only the head druid or the King could cast one, and they would need to see her face or have something of hers first.

"Does Neven know?"

That nervous look comes back into her mother's face. "Innes said he was the one who helped his mother send the message. She was the best chance since she'd seen my face."

"Ness said?" Cold suspicion creeps through her. "Why didn't Neven tell you himself."

"Sweetheart." Her mother makes an aborted move to touch her face. "Neven's not here. The King came. Neven distracted him so the dragon could get away."

***

Ness is at the end of a long table made of packed dirt. It's slightly raised from the rest of the large cave-like room. His arms are cuffed in front of him, and he stares unseeing at the untouched bowl of fruit set before him.

Boone freezes in the doorway.

The room is big, but looks tiny compared to the amount of people packed into it. There have to be about two hundred pressed together in the lower part of the room. They sit around thin dirt tables, designed to take up as little space as possible.

The moment she enters, every eye in the room swivels around to look her. There's something dark in their gazes that makes her insides shiver. So she stands up a little straighter, and stares right back.

To think, she had a better reception at her execution.

"Boone!" A small boy with dark skin runs up to her, a giant grin on his face.

It takes too long to recognise him. Then the bottom falls out of her stomach. "Timon? How?"

The boy stops inches away from her, arms raised, then quickly lowered as he remembers what happens when he touches. The smile doesn't diminish. "I don't know. One moment I didn't know who I was, then I was back again. And look!" He bends down to scoop up a handful of dirt and lets it trickle through his fingers.

He's back. All of him. That means a spell took place, and it would have a big cost. Suddenly she realises why Claudia didn't escape her execution. That was her payment for this.

She gives him a somewhat watery smile. "That's great Timon. I'm glad."

He gives her an unsure look and shrinks from ten years old to five.

Her mother is already at the raised table. "Why is he in handcuffs? He's a child. Take these off him at once."

Three older males sit at the opposite side of the table to Ness. One is fascinatingly overweight, the other two paunchy and slim respectively. Their features differ, but they all wear at least a trace of arrogance in their expressions.

"See here Porcia," says the slim one. He's unquestionably handsome, with blond hair brighter than Boone's own and steel grey eyes. Magic for sure. No one could look so beautiful living under a pile of dirt without it. "He's a prisoner. We've given him food and water, but there needs to be some precautions."

"That's Major to you Captain."

"I suppose Major. If it's important to you." The Captain inclines his head toward the pudgy man.

The pudgy man hurries down the length of the table and unfastens the cuffs. He's by far the oldest man among them, his blond hair turning grey. Scanning the room of dark glares, she notes that she can guess the status of each individual by their appearance. The more handsome and youthful they are, the higher their rank must be.

Not everything about the barbarians is different to the circle.

Her stomach churns uneasily, hoping enough is different for her to have chosen the right side. Escaping to save her own life is one thing, but joining the opposite side is another. Trying to portray confidence, she passes Timon, stands by Ness’s side. The boy doesn’t move.

“How does the palace fare?” Boone asks, projecting her voice throughout the large room. She’s dizzy with the amount of turns the situation has taken, but she needs to stay in control. Neven is counting on her. She won’t let him down.

“Who’s this?” The slim man leans back in his chair, looks her up and down. “Your daughter, Major Ceana?”

Her mother takes a position halfway down the table, looking between them both. Her body tenses. “My daughter. She’ll be a great asset to our battle.”

“So you keep telling us.” The overweight man speaks for the first time. His voice is deep and commanding. Tight platinum curls of hair surround a not unhandsome face, along with a darker stubble of beard. The golden chest plate over his tan uniform looks big enough to use for a boat. Rich. A man it would be unwise to get on the wrong side of. “I have yet to see it. And to answer your questions, child, the palace is not secured. We lost men trying, and we have too few left to lose. If we had attacked at night like I suggested, maybe that wouldn’t be the case.”