Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (21 page)

For a moment there was silence, except for her heavy breathing. Mariel’s would-be-rescuers remained trapped on the other side of the door, listening to what was happening within the temple, unable to help. The blood from the scratches and the chunk of flesh that had been bitten out poured hot and fast down her arm and over her fingertips to drip onto the flagstones.

The Assassin did not touch the knife with his fingers as he motioned it backward. He drew a horizontal, invisible circle slowly in the air and the knife began to revolve. It changed from being Mariel’s weapon, directed at the corrupted zreshlan, to the monster’s weapon, pointed toward the girl. Somehow she found the strength to back away, her eyes riveted on the knife. She forgot about the last weapon she had, which she had placed on the floor beneath her skirts.

He laughed. “Another one! I certainly hope that is not your last weapon you are leaving behind, or this will get boring very fast.”

Mariel did not register this comment, she was only aware of the threat hovering in the air in front of her enemy’s chest and the many spiders crawling up and hanging from his robes.

“Yes, the evraïsér I possess is incredible, is it not? Perhaps you would like a closer look?”

The knife shot toward her and stopped just in front of her. She stared at it in astonishment and stepped back. The knife that had long been her companion, followed. She moved back. Again, the knife pursued her. Her heels caught on her skirts and she screamed in pain as her injured left arm struck the hard floor. Her screams rose higher as the knife began to press slowly into her abdomen. Mariel thrashed and tried to pull the blade out, but the more she tugged the deeper it pressed into her gut.

As she struggled, she banged her head against the floor and the pins in her hair dug into her scalp. Even as the knife drove slowly deeper, her hair pins extracted themselves and then began to attack her head with a vengeance. Some pins tore her hair out as others created gashes in her scalp.

Mariel could no longer differentiate between the pain in her head or her arm or her torso. All she knew was she wanted it to be over. She wanted to die. She was oblivious to the second knife striking her other side. Her screams echoed in the temple, bouncing off the walls and reverberating into a deafening crescendo that was all those on the other side of the door could hear. But Mariel was only aware of the pain and the laugher.    

A blinding white light appeared in Mariel’s vision. It was a light that radiated warmth and comfort. She reached toward that light as it became even brighter. The corrupted zreshlan screamed in fury and pain.

The knives and hair pins pulled quickly out of Mariel’s body and dropped to the floor where they lay unmoving and covered with her blood. The pain was still intense, although not as severe as before. She struggled to her feet, determined only to get away from her attacker.

Mariel clutched the wall to keep her weak and bleeding body from falling. Memories of the past whirled in her mind. It was difficult to focus on the horrifying present, when she was reliving the painful, long-suppressed past.

The blinding light condensed into a small area between Mariel and the corrupted zreshlan. At the light’s center was a black fox. The fox crouched in a defending position and snarled defiance at the monster. With her remaining strength, Mariel used the wall to stagger to the altar at the front of the temple. The black fox walked backward with her, growling at the Brown-Spider-Man.

The corrupted zreshlan followed in pursuit. Hundreds of brown recluse spiders scurried in front of him, but the light emanating from the fox expanded. The spiders disappeared.

The temple spun and whirled in Mariel’s vision as she struggled to hang on to consciousness and focus on what was taking place in front of her. She was vaguely aware of people crying her name and a new, louder steady thumping on the door.

With a sudden burst of speed, the Assassin lunged toward Mariel. The black fox was faster, and it bit down on the corrupted zreshlan’s left arm. The creature screamed in agony. The fox dropped to the ground, prepared to attack again.

Burning blood began to trickle into Mariel’s eyes, and her body grew heavy. She held on to the marble robes of the large statue of the goddess Narel and made an intense effort to focus on what was happening. The thumping on the door grew louder. Flickers of forgotten memories spun by faster.

The monster clutched at his arm as maroon blood seeped through his robes and dripped to the floor. He snarled his fury, but the fox remained in a ready stance, prepared to defend the princess again. The Assassin backed away, his eyes riveted on his animal adversary as the temple doors crashed inward. Iyela stood on the doors, her bright eyes furious. James, the stable master, Sir Robert, Squire Derek, High Priestess, and several other priestesses stood behind the unicorn, staring in at the scene.

With incredible speed, despite his injury, the monster bolted passed them all and fled to safety outside of the temple and the convent.

“
Mariel!
” Those near the door screamed. Some of the priestesses cried out to the dead Priestess Maren.

Mariel looked toward the black fox who had been her savior, but the fox had vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

The room spun wickedly and Mariel’s knees buckled beneath her. She sank to the floor. Her bleeding left arm was numb, but the pain from her double wounds in her abdomen throbbed. Blood from her head wounds ran down her face and into her open mouth. Through her blurring vision she could see Iyela cantering toward her. Behind the unicorn, James was ahead of the group running at her. Their mouths moved, screaming her name, but the world had become devoid of sound to Mariel.

Her body shook and the world tipped precariously. As Mariel’s head hit the ground she silently thanked her mysterious black fox rescuer. Her sight went dark, and then the only thing she was aware of was the paradoxically warm blood pooling around her on the cold flagstones. She lost all sense of the world before anyone reached her.

She was drugged. It was the first semi-coherent thought Mariel had. Her mind and body felt heavy, not awake, but not fully asleep either. A dull, aching pain throbbed in her body, growing stronger as time passed. She began to discern the places where the pain was centralized: her head, her left arm, and her abdomen. In her right hand she could feel the weight of her dear friend Aracklin and was glad for her sword’s company.

Her eyelids were exceptionally heavy, but with the drug wearing off and enough determination she was able to open her eyes. The room was familiar, but only vaguely. It was one of the many guest rooms she had stumbled across while exploring the convent.

Mariel was not alone in the room. Her senses, although slightly dulled by heavy pain and sleep drugs, told her this. She turned her head slightly so that she could better see the figure sitting beside her bed. The injuries on her head ached as she turned it, making her wince.

A lean, muscular man sat beside her bed, one whose full-toothed smile was all too familiar, although it did not seem to touch his eyes.

James clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head in disapproval. “My, my Mariel. Being declared the heir to the throne has made you soft! You missed practice two days in a row and I was worried something terrible had happened, but here you are, napping like a lazy girl.”

She had been unconscious for at least two nights and two mornings? The thought of it unnerved her, but she refused to let her uneasiness show. She would not appear scared in front of James. She would not appear weak. But weak she was. Even Mariel could not deny it, not when the pain in her body increased every passing moment. She was lucky to be alive after the assassination attempt. She could tell that by looking at the blood soaked bandaging around her left arm and her abdomen.

Unwilling to let James think her any weaker than she already was thanks to her injuries, Mariel tried to block the pain and fear from her mind and raised one eyebrow. “Lazy am I? How do you know this isn’t a trick to lure you into the room unsuspecting and drive a sword through your heart and put an end to your mischief? See, I even have my sword in hand.”

He did not laugh at her attempt at a light conversation. Instead he looked at her in confusion.

“The total of attempted assassination attempts on me is now up to four.” Mariel tried to state the facts nonchalantly, but a shiver escaped, causing her wounds to twinge painfully and a cry to escape her lips.

James reached toward her, apparently wanting to help, but he quickly dropped his hand. Mariel was thankful that the dying candlelight did not reveal the blush that stole across her cheeks after she accidentally revealed the pain she was in. To conceal her embarrassment, and change James’s disconcertingly concerned expression, she continued on the thread she had been weaving. “Two assassination attempts in one day, do you think I hold a record now?”

“Why aren’t you terrified?” James demanded, angry and confused. “You should be sobbing, not joking.”

Mariel took offense. “I’m never scared.” She said it too quickly.

James’s expression gave way to concern again. “You’re crazy.”

Mariel smiled broadly, ignoring the pain it caused in her aching head. “I knew that already, Snake-Boy. How do you think I survived so many years as Mariel Quickwit? I have to be insane.”

James nodded in agreement. “True. Part of the Resistance since age ten. Earned the name Quickwit by age thirteen. And a girl on top of that. Insanity is the only plausible theory. Especially with all that you were talking about last night. Black foxes and the like.” He puffed out his chest and sat up a little straighter. “I hope the fox you were thinking of is a dashing fellow with dark hair and skin that glows in the sunlight. Not to mention the fact that all the ladies swoon at the sight of him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Only in
your
dreams, Snaketongue. It was a black vixen in mine.”

Mariel paused and wrinkled her brow. Why was she so sure the fox was a female? And what fox was she talking about? But she was sure, just like she was sure there had been a second assassination attempt on her.    

She released her loose grip on her sword and carefully touched her fingers to her bandaged head, prodding.

“What are you doing?”

“Searching for a bump.”

“Why?”

Mariel stopped prodding her tender head and looked at James again. “
Why?
” she repeated his question in disbelief. “I want to find the lump on my skull where that assassin knocked me out.”

James’s eyes narrowed to such small slits Mariel wondered if he had shifted his eyes into their snake-form. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Why would she joke about something like this? She was angry enough at herself for letting someone sneak up on her. Had she been so absorbed in her thoughts as she knelt on the temple floor that she had not heard the approach? Or was the person who had attacked her able to move quietly enough that she did not hear? Whoever had been the attacker must have snuck up behind her and struck her over the head, then caused these incredibly painful wounds to her body.

But she did not remember feeling any pain before unconsciousness and she had not been in the temple alone, Priestess Maren had been with her. If there had been an assassin in the room, why had the priestess not cried out or moved? Unless it had been the priestess. But no, the only people Mariel knew who could move that quietly were zreshlans—who would never attack her—and serpentramels.

Mariel eyed James warily. The expression he wore was one of genuine concern. She had known James for years. She knew that if he wanted someone dead and he could get close enough, all he had to do was sink his poisonous viper fangs into his victim. If James had wanted to kill her he would not have even needed to knock her out, and he was certainly not cruel enough to rip apart her flesh while she was unconscious. However, not all serpentramels were like James and all of them certainly hated anyone possessing de Sharec blood.

Mariel was almost afraid to ask, but she had to hear him say it, even if she did not believe the answer. “James, I want you to be truthful with me. It wasn’t one of your people was it?”

“What wasn’t one of my people?”

“The assassin, idiot.”

James rocked back in his chair as though someone had punched him. His face glazed with shock and he mouthed the words “my people” and “assassin” over and over.

Mariel’s heart thudded nervously at this unexpected reaction. She watched anxiously, afraid to say anything, until realization crossed her friend’s features, followed closely by pity and fear. To Mariel, the pity was worse than the fear.

With a softened expression, but a tense body, James leaned toward her, so close she feared he might kiss her, and she was in no state to be able to fight him off. But he did not kiss her.

“What is the last thing you remember before waking up this morning?”

He spoke in a soft, soothing voice, the voice he used with Cara during exercises. She had heard him use that voice the other night when he had spoken to the horses in the stable. It was the voice he had used when he had found out she was the princess and she cried in frustration and anger. By using that voice, James sent the message that he thought her delicate and weak. She needed to prove him otherwise.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Mariel released her hold on Aracklin and used her uninjured arm to try to push herself into a sitting position. The wound on her abdomen protested the movement, sending such agonizing pain through her body that the world went red momentarily. A scream ripped from her throat, as she collapsed back on the pillows.

A callused hand stroked her cheek, soothingly. “Sssshhhh.”

There was dampness on her cheek, but that same gentle hand wiped away the tears of pain. She was
crying
! How humiliating.

“What have you done?” growled an angry male voice from across the room.

The angle at which James now stood above her, made it impossible for Mariel to see who stood in the door, but the voice did not sound like any of the few males who worked at the convent.

“If you’ve hurt the princess . . .”

“I would never hurt her,” James snapped angrily. “She hurt herself, trying to move when she shouldn’t have.”

“A likely story,
outlaw
,” the man grumbled.

The unknown man’s words made Mariel’s stomach contract in fear, causing more pain. The man knew that James was an outlaw, which meant that he probably knew he was the infamous, elusive Snaketongue who had a hefty price on his head. How had James been discovered, and by who? And why did he appear unconcerned when the other man accused him of being an outlaw? Why was he not running?

“What is going on here?” a familiar voice asked angrily.

Mariel stiffened at the sound of that voice. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and all pain was forgotten for the moment. “No,” she muttered in denial, just before the man swept into the room bearing a candelabra before him.

The archmagician’s flaming red hair was easily recognized by Mariel. “You!” she shrieked. A string of ugly names in a variety of different languages followed the single word. “What in Throvim’s Realm are you doing here? Get out of this room now!”

“Shut the door,” Dreyfuss ordered the astonished guardsman. When the door was securely shut he peered down his long nose at the furious princess. His lips curved up in a slight smirk, but the words he spoke were directed at James. “You have not informed her, Snaketongue?”

Mariel’s eyes narrowed as she shifted her gaze from her enemy to the man she thought was her friend. “What haven’t you told me?”

To his credit, James looked ashamed. “You were dying Mariel. The injuries you sustained from the assassination attempt were extensive. The priestesses here have some magical training, although not enough to save you. High Priestess sent me to the City of the Gods for help and . . .”

James fell silent, apparently unwilling to confess the rest, but Mariel already knew.

“You found Dreyfuss and you brought him back
here!
” she yelled, ignoring the painful protest of her wounds. “You asked
him
to help
me
?” The string of curse words that she had screamed at the archmagician only moments before were now directed at the serpentramel, who stared at the floor guiltily.

Mariel felt betrayed. James had run to Dreyfuss for help, the same cruel magician who had threatened the life of her papa unless she agreed to become King Vincent’s heir. How could he turn traitor on her so suddenly? Or had he been working for Dreyfuss all along? Was that who James’s employer was? Dieter Dreyfuss? Her drugged brain did not allow Mariel to see reason and she convinced herself that James had never been her friend. He had always been a spy, one who worked for the enemy. James could not be trusted.

“Well this is entertaining,” Dreyfuss commented smugly, only to receive a piercing glare from Mariel. “We shall get down to business now. Your Highness, I have heard the accounts of witness from those here at the convent who attempted to help you, but it appears that once they were able to break into the convent with the help of a
horse
of all things, the assassin in question fled before anyone caught a good glimpse of him.”

Fear tingled through Mariel. She did not even want to think of what had happened to her, let alone try to contemplate the evil man behind it. But she would not—could not—show her fear before these two men. “What exactly do you want me to tell you?”

Dreyfuss stared at her in disbelief, but the sadness and concern in James’s eyes was far more disconcerting.

“I want you to tell me who it was.”

“How should I know?”

“This man tried to kill you, and he almost succeeded! Yet you refuse to disclose his description?” Dreyfuss demanded.

Mariel was about to open her mouth again, but James beat her to it: “I don’t think she remembers.”

“
What?
” Dreyfuss and Mariel said in unison and then exchanged horrified looks that they had shared the same thought.

“You don’t think I would remember someone trying to kill me?”

“No, I don’t think you would.” James fell silent, obviously struggling with something, but soon he spoke again, in his soft, comforting voice. “He was the same thing that killed your mother.”

An unintentional cry escaped Mariel’s lips. Fear devoured her momentarily. The feeling was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving Mariel confused and unnerved by the sudden sweep of powerful emotion. She did not remember her mother’s killer because her mother died during the gap in her memory. But Mariel was not about to take James’s word for it, she reminded herself that she did not trust him, and that he could not know who had killed her mother because he was not there.

“What makes you believe the man who tried to kill me the other night, is the same one who killed my mother?”

Dreyfuss laughed cruelly. “I saw Princess Carolina’s fatal wounds first hand, your Highness, and they are very similar to yours. How many killers strike at women of royal blood and bite their victims?”