CHAPTER TWO

 

 

I met a man today,

Walking down the street

He stood to bar my way

He said it’s time we meet

Not now, I said, there are those who for me wait,

He laughed then, and told me I should stay

For the dead do not hurry—and they are never late.

—Avaress the Bard, known as “The Drunken Poet”

 

He drifted in a great black ocean, a black sky overhead. He could not move, could not swim, could only lie there as the water buoyed him up one moment and dragged him down the next, going from breathing to drowning, from living to dying and back again on the current’s whim.

Then, suddenly, he was drifting no longer. There was a break in the dark clouds overhead, a peek of sunlight, and within that sunlight, a face, one he knew.

“M-Maeve?” he croaked, his throat as dry as if someone had been at it with sandpaper.

“It’s me, Prince,” she said, her features twisted with concern. “Thank the gods, you’re awake. The healer…he said…he didn’t know…” She cut off then, turning away, but not so quickly that he did not see the tears in her eyes.

“She said…” Cutter hesitated, clearing his throat. “She said…her real mother.”

Maeve turned back to him then and, if anything, she looked even more worried than before. “Wait here, Prince,” she said, wiping at her eyes, “I’ll go get the healer and—”

He reached out, weakly grabbing her wrist as she rose from the bed. “W-wait, Maeve,” he said. “Wait. Matt…is…is he…”

“Matt is fine, Prince,” she said, the tears spilling freely down her face now. “The men, whoever they were…they didn’t come for him or, it seems anyone else in the castle. They came for you.”

“For…me,” Cutter said, blinking, feeling great relief that Matt was safe, feeling as if some crushing weight had been lifted from him.

“Yes,” she said. “To kill you, and they damn near succeeded. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before following men you don’t know into a castle storeroom.”

She must have seen some of his confusion in his face, for she gave an angry laugh. “Oh yes, Prince, we found the storeroom. It wasn’t all that hard—all we had to do was follow the trail of blood. What were you thinking following them in there? And without your axe? What were you—” She shook her head angrily. “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re okay, that you’re alive. Now, I’m going to go get the healer—you stay here. You’re alive and by the gods I intend for you to stay that way.”

Cutter wanted to stop her, but he did not have the strength, barely had the strength left to speak. She wondered what he had been thinking, but he realized the truth was that he hadn’t been. The men had told him Matt was in trouble, and that had been all he needed to know. He had not thought, after that, had only reacted.

A warrior without reason, without logic, is only a corpse. His father’s words, told to him long ago after one training session with his master-at-arms when Cutter had grown angry, when he had allowed his emotions to get the better of him and so had lost.

Words from long ago, yes, but true words just the same, and they were the words that accompanied him as he drifted back into the darkness, without Maeve to anchor him to the world.

The next time he came to he saw another figure sitting beside his bed. It was not Maeve, not this time, but was still someone he recognized. “Hello…brother,” he managed.

Feledias had been busy studying his hands, looking at them as if they belonged to someone else, and he glanced up with an almost guilty expression on his face, his eyes widening. “You’re awake. The healer said that he believed you had made it past the worst, said that he thought you would recover, but I confess I had my doubts.”

“What…what are you doing here?” Cutter managed.

Feledias cocked his head at him, studying him with a strange expression. Slowly, his eyes widened, and he nodded in realization. “Ah. You are wondering if I came to finish the assassins’ job for them, is that it?”

“Have you?”

His brother seemed to think that over then finally shook his head. “No. I will admit that I considered it. After all, though you helped to save the city, that does not change what you…what you did.”

“No.”

“I tell you that I considered killing you while you lay unconscious from your wounds and that’s all you have to say?” Feledias said, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What…would you have me say?”

His brother shook his head in a mixture of anger and amazement. “My brother, the hero, the legendary warrior. Too brave to feel fear, too stubborn to die, even when five assassins set their minds to it, and he is weaponless.”

“Not…too brave,” Cutter said. “I feel…fear, Fel,” he managed in a croaking whisper. “The truth…the truth is…I feel little else.”

His brother watched him in silence for several moments. “Well. At any rate, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve decided not to kill you—not yet at least.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Anyway, in all my imaginings of your death—and there were a lot, I won’t deny it—I never pictured stabbing you in your sleep or suffocating you while you were too weak to fight me.” His brother made a face as if he had just eaten something sour. “The thought didn’t sit well with me.”

“Fel…the assassins…do we know who they were?”

His brother shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve got my captain of the guard—or, I suppose I should say Matthias’s captain of the guard looking into their identities, though. It’s only a matter of time before we know everything there is to know about them from the names of their favorite pets to the names of their mothers and fathers.”

“Their real mothers,” Cutter said.

Feledias frowned. “What’s that?”

Cutter winced. “Tell me…Fel. About Layna—”

“No, brother,” Feledias interrupted in a growl. “No. I will not kill you, but neither can I forgive you, and I will not speak to you of her. Do you understand?”

Cutter nodded, his breath catching at the pain even so small a movement caused. “I understand.”

His brother sat back at that, nodding. “Only what, five, six men? And look at you,” his brother said, glancing over Bernard, his eyes taking in his naked chest—naked, at least, save the bandages wrapped around him almost anywhere visible. “There was a time when I would have given you odds against twice as many. So what’s changed? Is it age finally catching up with you, brother, or is it something else?”

Cutter recounted the way he had charged after men, giving no thought to why the guards would have come to him instead of rousing the entire castle, no thought to why Matthias himself might not have come if he wanted him and there were assassins pursuing him. “I acted like a fool,” he said, “and while a man might act a fool for free—”

“There is always a cost,” Feledias finished, giving him a wry smile. “One of Father’s favorite sayings.”

“He had many favorites,” Cutter agreed, giving a smile of his own.

“Yes, yes he did.”

The two sat in silence then and for a few brief moments Bernard felt that they were closer than they had been in many years, closer than they had been even before his betrayal, since before the Skaalden had invaded their homeland.

“Bernard—” Feledias began, and then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. His brother cut off. “Don’t get up,” he said with a smile as he examined Cutter’s bandaged form. “I’ll get it.” He moved to the door then paused with his hand on the handle, glancing back. “If it’s assassins should I just let them in, or would you prefer them to lead you to an area of their choosing? Maybe a dark storeroom or some back alley?”

“Not going to live that down, am I?”

“Make many more such senseless decisions, Bernard,” Feledias said, “and you won’t live at all.”

“Which, of course, would get you all choked up.”

“Positively bereft,” his brother answered. He opened the door then, and Cutter saw that Maeve and Chall stood on the other side.

“Eh…Prince,” Chall said uncertainly.

“Mage,” Feledias said dryly.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds until Maeve and Chall looked past Feledias to Cutter lying in the bed. “You’re awake!” Chall said, rushing forward and burying Cutter in a massive hug which made him let out an involuntary groan.

“Sorry,” the mage said, quickly pulling away. “Too tight?”

“Only…when I need to breathe,” Cutter said, giving him a grin to show that it was a joke—which, of course, it wasn’t.

He glanced at Maeve and saw her looking at the mage’s back with a rare, unguarded expression of love. “Maeve,” he said.

The woman started then flushed, lifting something which he realized, in another moment, was his axe. “I got this for you. Thought maybe if you meant to be getting in many more life or death fights you’d best keep it on you—you know, like someone who isn’t a complete fool.”

Cutter winced at that. “Thanks,” he said as she propped it against the wall.

Maeve raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t mention it.”

“So, how do you feel?” Chall asked, then winced. “Sorry, stupid question. I guess you probably feel like a man who got stabbed—like, a lot.”

“Just a sec,” Cutter said, then glanced past them at Feledias who still stood by the door, watching them with an unreadable expression on his face. “Hey, Fel. Thanks…for coming, I mean. And for not killing me. If you stick around, maybe we can talk more about—”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” his brother answered quickly. “We will talk later.”

And with that, he retreated out of the room at a quicker pace than was strictly necessary.

Maeve and Chall watched him go then turned back. “And what was all that about?” Chall asked. “He come to finish what the assassins started?”

Cutter grunted a laugh and immediately regretted it as a fresh spasm of pain ran through him. “I hear he considered it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be overly worried about that, Prince,” Maeve said, smiling, “I’m fairly sure we all have.”

Cutter smiled. “It is good to see you both.”

“It’s good to be seen,” Maeve said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Now all you’ve got to do is to avoid following assassins into shadowy alcoves for a little while and we can do a bit more seeing.”

Cutter grunted. “So I’ve been told. Anyway, what news of the castle?”

“Well,” Chall said, “they’re considering remodeling some of the bedrooms, but to be honest, I don’t really care for the proposed look, seems a bit too…you meant about the assassins.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “It’s only been a few hours since last you and I spoke,” she said to him. “Not much has changed since then. Despite Feledias’s confidence in his guards’ investigations, they haven’t found out anything of note about the assassins so far except that they were alive and now they are dead.”

“Very, very dead,” Chall said, his face paling. “Gods, Prince, but if you are nothing else, you are thorough.”

“And what was he supposed to do?” Maeve snapped. “Not kill them? Just let them go on about their bloody work?”

“Of course not,” Chall said. “He had to kill them, I understand that. Only…” He glanced at Cutter. “Did you have to kill them so much?”

“Sorry, Chall,” Cutter said, “I was a bit busy to take time to clean up after myself. I’ll try to do better next time.”

“Thank you,” the mage said with relief, “that’s all I’m saying.”

Cutter shared a glance with Maeve. “Anyway, what of Priest? I would have thought to see him.”

Maeve grunted. “He hasn’t left Matt’s side, not since the attack on you. He knew that you’d want someone to protect the boy—sorry, the king—and he insisted on taking the duty himself, won’t even dream of letting me or Chall spot him for a while so he can take a break. I think he’s scared he’ll fail you again.”

“He didn’t fail me the first time.”

“Maybe not,” Maeve said, “but that’s not the way he sees it.”

“Anyway,” Chall said, “he sent his regards but…” He paused, making a show of patting at his nightshirt. “Wouldn’t you know it, I must have misplaced them.”

Maeve rolled her eyes again. “Well, keep checking. I’m sure you’re bound to find them in that tent you call a nightshirt sooner or later.

“And…Matt? How…how is he?”

The two shared a look at that. “He’s fine, of course,” Maeve said. “Maybe those assassins meant to come for him after they dealt with you, but thanks to you I’d say their assassinating days are well and truly over.”

Cutter nodded. “Good. That’s…good.”

The two shared another troubled look, and this time it was Chall who spoke. “Prince, Matt—that is, the king—wants to come by. Only, with the assassination attempt and everything, he’s been busy. I’m sure that as soon as things calm down, he’ll—”

Cutter held up a hand, surprised by how much effort it took, how much pain it caused. “It’s…fine, Chall. Really. He’s busy—I understand that.”

The two nodded in unison. “So,” Maeve said. “What do we do now? Cutter?”

He realized that he’d allowed himself to become distracted thinking of the boy and grunted, meeting their eyes. “I’ve got some ideas about that. The man who led the assassins—he was the same man who worked for Belle, the one that got us into the dungeons.”

They both looked shocked at that, Chall letting out a low whistle, and Cutter frowned. “Surely you knew that. After all, you would have recognized him.”

Chall gave him a sickly smile. “You were…quite thorough, Prince. I’m fairly certain that, after what you did to those men, their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them.” He frowned. “Anyway, if that’s true, and the men really were led by Belle’s assassin then…what does it mean? That is, Belle’s in prison, isn’t she? Do you think that she’s, what, somehow managed to talk to her men? And that she’s ordered those men to assassinate us? Not liking a job left unfinished?”

Cutter gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Either way, I mean to find out.”

He moved to get out of the bed, and Maeve put a hand on his chest. “No, sir. The healer said you need a week of rest, a week at least, I believe were his exact words. You tell us what you want to ask the woman, and I’ll go myself.”

Cutter grunted. “Don’t you get it, Maeve? Those men who attacked me—at least some of them—they were guards.”

Maeve frowned. “I don’t know what that’s got to do with you getting better. I told you, Prince, Matt’s taken care of—Priest is looking out for him, and we’ll keep an eye on him too, just as often as we have them to spare.”

Cutter sighed, shaking his head. “You’re all talented, Maeve, I know that and there isn’t anyone I’d rather have beside me in a scrap than the three of you. But there’s no knowing how many of the guards are corrupted. Whether by Belle or by the Fey, it makes little difference. The three of you, however skilled, wouldn’t stand a chance against so many.”

“I’d like to see them try,” she hissed angrily.

Cutter rubbed wearily at his eyes. “You’re assuming you’ll see them coming.”

Chall frowned. “What do you mean?”

Cutter shrugged. “Only that if I were a corrupt guardsman looking to kill a famous assassin and an equally famous mage, I wouldn’t bother doing it while they were awake. I’d wait until they’d gone to bed for the night then let myself in their rooms and slit their throats.” He met the woman’s eyes. “Everyone has to sleep, Maeve.”

Both of their faces grew pale at that. “You mean…” Maeve said, “that you don’t think the guards you fought were the only ones who were corrupt?”

Cutter met her eyes. “Do you?”

The woman winced, clearly not pleased by the thought. “No,” she said finally, “no, I don’t. Which, I suppose, means that you can’t stay here.”

Cutter shook his head. “I don’t look forward to a knife in the throat any more than you do.”

She sighed. “I still don’t like it.”

“What’s to like?” Chall asked. “Fire and salt, but I would have thought things would have got less complicated after Matt became king, not more.”

Maeve grunted. “Why in the name of the gods would you think that?”

Chall sighed. “I don’t know. Just a fool, I guess.”

“You’ll get no argument here,” Maeve said. “Anyway, if you can’t stay here, and we can’t trust the guards…what are we supposed to do?” she asked Cutter.

“I’ve got an idea about that,” Cutter said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Well sure,” Chall said. “I haven’t liked pretty much anything up to this point and that’s led us to exile, a price on our heads, and nearly being killed by…well, to be honest I’ve lost count. Anyway, why change now?”

“What do you intend?” Maeve asked.

“We’ve got a lot of questions that need answering,” Cutter said, “and as far as I can tell, there’s only one person that can give us answers.”

She blinked. “You mean to go see Belle.”

He nodded. “I do.”

“The same Belle who, if you’re right, ordered your assassination?”

“The same Belle who, thanks to Feledias, spent a full day and night being tortured before Matt took over and ordered it stopped. I doubt she’s in any shape to threaten me, Maeve.”

Maeve hissed. “She’s not the problem, and you know it. A woman like that, she doesn’t bother getting her own knife bloody—she’s got plenty of hirelings to do it for her. And for all you know those same hirelings are working in the dungeons.”

Cutter grunted. “If that were the case, I doubt she’d still be wasting away in some cell, don’t you?”

She frowned. “Still, you don’t know.”

“No, I don’t know, Maeve,” he said. “What I do know is that I’m not in any more danger here than I will be there.”

“Which is to say mortal peril,” Chall grumbled.

Maeve shook her head, heaving a heavy sigh. “Fine. When should we visit this Belle?”

“I’m going alone.”

“What?” Maeve snapped.

“You heard me, Maeve. I’m going alone.”

“Fire and salt I bet you aren’t,” she growled.

“It’s the way it has to be, Maeve.”

“But why?” she demanded.

“For one, I don’t think Belle would be as willing to talk to me if I showed up with a small army.” She opened her mouth as if she would say something, and he held up a hand. “Let me say my piece, Maeve. I know Belle—or, at least, I know her type—and she’ll be a lot more likely to talk to me if I’m alone, if she thinks she can work some sort of deal to her favor.”

Maeve frowned. “What sort of deal?”

He shrugged. “A deal like letting her loose.”

Maeve snorted then blinked, her eyes going wide. “Wait. You’re serious.”

“I promised her a boon, Maeve.”

“Yeah,” she snapped, “but I think that sort of ran out the same time she ordered assassins to come into the castle and kill you.”

“We don’t know that she was behind that.”

“But we do know that she was behind telling Feledias where we were and trying to get us all killed. Or have you forgotten that little tidbit?”

He sighed. “You know I haven’t.”

“Then why?” she demanded. “Why put yourself at risk and walk there by yourself? By the gods, Prince, are you even sure you can walk?”

He gave her a small smile. “I think I remember how.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I’ll be fine, Mae,” he said softly. “And it isn’t as if we have any choice. Besides, I can’t have you there—I need you and Chall to look after Matt. If things really are as bad as they seem, he’ll need you more than me.”

She glanced at the mage. “Well?” she demanded. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

Chall winced. “I…I think he’s right, Maeve.” She made an angry sound at that, but he spoke over her. “Look, you’ve dealt with people like this, you know how they are. Criminals, all sneaky and shady. Anyway, he’s right—she’s locked in a cell, Maeve. She can’t be too much danger there.”

She hissed, rubbing at her temples as if a headache were beginning to form there before glancing back at Cutter. “I don’t like this, Prince. Not any of it.”

“I know,” Cutter said quietly. “But what choice do we have?”

She sighed. “Seems I’ve been asking myself that my entire life. Fled Daltenia, left the bodies of my husband and child behind for those frost demons, the Skaalden, to do with what they would. Told myself I had no choice. Killed countless people over the years, countless creatures, and always I told myself I had no choice. That, deep down, I was a good person, just a person without any choice. But did you ever wonder, Prince, if maybe it just seems like we don’t have a choice? That in fact there is another option, another way, but maybe our souls are just too stained to see it? Did you ever wonder if maybe we’re not the bad guys after all, and all that telling ourselves there isn’t a choice wasn’t anything more than an excuse so that we could sleep when our heads hit the pillows at night?”

“Yes,” Cutter said. “I’ve wondered.”

She sighed again, seeming to somehow shrink. “That’s it then.”

“That’s it.”

She nodded. “Suppose you’ll be careful?”

“As careful as I can be.”

She met his eyes and for several seconds neither of them said anything, each of them thinking their own thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” Chall offered, “I’ll be careful too.”

“Oh don’t you worry your pretty little head none, Chall,” Maeve said. “You’ll be with me, and I’ll be careful enough for the two of us. Now, come on. Let’s go find the king.”

 

***

 

Chall waited until they’d stepped outside of the room and closed the door, until they had walked down the hallway, away from the prince’s quarters, before he turned and glanced at Maeve. The woman looked troubled—but then, she always did. He wondered what she would think if he ever told her the truth, if he ever told her that so much of his jokes, his mocking demeanor was just because he wanted to see her smile.

It was a fine smile, the best he’d ever seen, at least he remembered it as such. It had been so long since he’d seen it last—sometimes it seemed to have been a lifetime—that it wasn’t easy to know for sure. Probably, if he told her the truth, she’d laugh at him, and sometimes he thought maybe that would be okay. Better laughter, after all, than that terrible expression of worry and fear, and more than that, too. Pain, pain of the heart, as if she were grieving for some terrible tragedy, one that had yet to occur.

But then, they had both had more than their share of tragedy in their lifetime, and who was to say that she wasn’t grieving for one that had already come to pass? “Maeve?” he asked softly, thinking that maybe he would tell her how he felt after all, that maybe he would tell her that he loved her, that he had always loved her.

“What is it, Chall?” she asked, turning to him with a weary expression on her face, weary and grieving all at once.

Probably she thought of her late husband, her daughter. No, he decided. Now is not the time. But then, that was the most damning part of it. He’d been waiting to tell her the truth for years, had mulled over what he might do, how he might say it, always waiting for the perfect time. Turned out, though, that there never was a good time to tell someone you loved them. Maybe there never was a good time for the truth at all. “Do you think…” he said, then seeing the grief on her face, the pain, decided he could not say it, not now, and changed what he’d been saying. “Do you think that we should have told him?”

“Told him what?” she asked, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

“You know what,” he said. “I mean…Maeve, the gods know I’ve told my share of lies, mostly to farmers’ daughters or farmers daughters’ fathers, but not to the prince. He…doesn’t he deserve to know the truth?”

“What truth?” she spat. “The truth that his son, the one who he has saved from so many terrible deaths over the last fifteen years that I’ve lost count, acts as if he doesn’t even care that he nearly died? Do you mean that his son who he would do anything for—the one he has done everything for—can’t even find it in his busy schedule to come visit him? That when we ask him about it he acts annoyed and tells us to leave his presence? Is that the truth you mean?”

Chall winced. “That’s the one.”

She shook her head. “No. The prince has enough trouble on his plate already without us adding to it, Chall. Better if we wait to tell him later.” She sighed. “Assuming any of us survives the night.”

And with that grim pronouncement, she quickened her pace. Chall watched her go, feeling pretty damned grim himself. At least, that was, until he noticed the way her hips swayed slightly as she walked, the way her hair swayed with her steps. Beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and time had done nothing to change that.

And what do you imagine she might say? he asked himself. What do you imagine she might do? Declare her own undying love for you, and the two of you might run off into the sunset, leaving the kingdom and the corpses behind?

He gave a soft, derisory snort. He’d always told himself that he’d only been pretending the fool in order to make her laugh, to see her smile, for it was a smile that was well worth the effort. Now, he decided that, having played the fool for so long, he’d quite gotten the hang of it. With a sigh, he followed her.