Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (39 page)

“You may not trust her, but I do.”

It was a slap in the face, one that stung far more than the physical slap King Vincent had given her on the day she arrived at the capital. She had never experienced James being this angry with her. Knowing that she deserved his wrath and the guilt of watching Cara cry, cut her deeply.

“I’m sorry,” Mariel whispered, not meeting the eyes of anyone. She felt a wave of sympathy and calmness wash over her directed from her unicorn friend outside. Climbing off of James’s chest, she sat on the dirty floor next to him.

Cara looked up, tears streaking her face. “Do you really think I would . . . I would . . .” She left the sentence unfinished, too innocent even to speak the idea.

“No,” Mariel said miserably. “I didn’t think at all, that’s the problem.”

Captain Clemens stood erectly near the wall, his observant eyes rapidly moving between James, Mariel, and Cara, his mind processing all that he saw. Meanwhile, Tristan stood with his large hand still resting on the closed door, looking uncomfortable seeing his long-time friend and boss acting vulnerable.

“Why does he have to threaten Papa’s life?”

Silence met Mariel’s statement, and she realized with horror that she had spoken it aloud. Curse words fell from her lips at her stupidity.

Cara sniffed. “That is the reason you agreed to be princess, isn’t it?”

“Sharing time is fun,” James joked in an effort to lighten the mood. He stood and handed Cara his handkerchief.

“If Dreyfuss or the king find out I told . . .”

“They’ll kill Darren. Which is why no one in this room will breathe a word of this to anyone.” James glared at each of the three witnesses in turn until they swore to remain silence.

Mariel shut her eyes. She wondered if wherever her papa was now he was still furious with her. Would he ever forgive her for choosing a life he hated and disapproved of? Images of him on the frozen ground leaving a trail of blood behind him as he struggled to crawl away from some enemy with his head split open flashed across her vision. But that wounded man she saw in her mind was not him. The man was too fat and he wore the clothes of a noble.

“Squire Derek!” she exclaimed, startling everyone in the room.

Leaping onto the bed, she was careful to avoid landing on any of the knives or knocking Cara off, as the vision repeated.

“My cousin?” Cara asked in confusion.

Mariel stared out the window into the night. At the edge of the forest she saw her unicorn friend standing above a dark spot on the ground that she knew was Squire Derek.

She had barely registered this when she was unceremoniously pulled from the bed and flung to the floor. Captain Clemens and Tristan knelt on the bed staring out the window. Cara was still on the bed, but her hands were over her mouth and her eyes were wide.

James was the one who had moved Mariel and he held her head in his hands and looked into her eyes in concern.

“I need you to stay with me. Don’t lose yourself.”

She pushed his hands away. “I’m
fine
. I didn’t see anything except Iyela and Derek, who is wounded.”

“You didn’t see the spiders?”

“What spiders?”

Captain Clemens launched off the bed and held up a piece of torn, bright red fabric. “Someone marked this window.” He turned to Tristan. “Come, we have to help the wounded squire.” He looked at James. “Stay here with the princess and Lady Cara.”

“Wait!” Cara cried.

“I suggest you get dressed, my Lady, and stay here with Captain Alecsson. We will take care of your cousin.”

“Don’t trust the magicians,” Cara warned.

“Thank you for the information,” the two men bowed and left the room.

Cara was left standing, shivering in the thin ratty blanket and chemise, while James helped Mariel to her feet. But Mariel had not heard the end of the conversation. When Tristan and Captain Clemens had moved from the bed, they had revealed the windowsill upon which a dozen brown recluse spiders had been crushed.

It was a breaking. A breaking in the mind and in the heart that had so carefully been armored with thick iron. The fear crept beneath her skin like an illness, an illness that would lead to madness.

Brown recluse spiders. They always came first. Always. They scurried over her bed sheets waking her to a nightmare. The spiders inched across the courtyard. Rocks, temple floors, and grey robes. Nothing stood in the way of these small monsters with their six eyes and sticky eight legs. The distinct violin marking on its head and midregion was far from musical or comforting. The brown recluse spiders. They came first. And
he
followed.

The argument between Cara and James about the serpentramel male helping the modest girl dress was nothing but incoherent talk to Mariel. She stood swaying, her whole body shaking from the cold air in the room and from the fear. Her breath came in short, labored gasps, her chest restrained by the corset that still bound her and the memories that threatened to surface.

Laughter. Sweet, beautiful laughter. Mariel heard it.

The small monster crept across the windowsill.

A familiar voice that could shatter hearts with its perfection began to sing.

The spider scrambled over the arsenal of weapons and the quilt.

The singing in her head rose to a glorious crescendo.

Her hand rested on the bed and the creature began to climb her. Its many small legs brushed her gooseflesh covered arms.

The singing cut off abruptly.

“Don’t stop singing, Mother,” Mariel muttered. 

The spider continued to climb.

A large hand appeared in her line of vision and swept down her bare arm. Mariel watched in fearful fascination as the spider tumbled to the ground. A silky strand shot from it as it fell, but it was not enough to save it. The spider hit the floor and righted itself, but a booted foot crushed it before it could run at Mariel again.

“He’s here,” Mariel whispered in a trancelike way. “He will get me.”

Sharp, unexpected pain spread across her cheek, causing her to gasp. With the pain, the madness receded and the memories were locked away once more.

Mariel rubbed her cheek where she had been slapped and shook her head to clear the last of the fogginess.

“Thank you,” she told James who stood close with his hand still raised.

“Do I need to do it again?”

“No.”

Cara stood in the corner of the small room with wide eyes, still clutching the blanket around her to conceal her bare flesh as she wore only a chemise.

“Face the wall, James.”

“Why?”

“Cara and I need to dress.”

“I’ve seen women dressed in less,” he muttered, but did as he was bid.

Mariel located Cara’s corset. With some skilled persuasion, she managed to convince the modest girl that James would not turn around until he was told to. When Cara finally let the concealing blanket fall, Mariel wrapped the corset around her middle and began to lace it as quickly as possible.

Mariel strapped on the sheaths to her many knives in various places on her body before she finished dressing. She threw a cape over her shoulders and buckled on her sword, while giving James the signal to turn.

As the trio left the room, they could hear voices downstairs, but Mariel turned away from the landing and proceeded down the hallway. Her lock picking skills worked fast and efficiently and soon the last door in the hall sprang open.

The two fully dressed guards threw back their blankets and grabbed their weapons as they leapt to their feet.

“It’s the princess,” Mariel said, aware that the men could not see who she was in the darkness. “The Assassin is here. Go downstairs.” The guards rushed off, while Mariel proceeded to the broken-down bed where she shook Hallie and Isabel awake.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Isabel pulled the pile of blankets closer around her and turned her back to Mariel. “I’m sleeping. We can depart at a decent hour.”

“Die then,” Mariel said without mercy. “I’m leaving.”

As she turned to rejoin Cara and James in the hallway, she heard Hallie say, “Get up, you arrogant prig.”

The sound of movement and voices floating up from downstairs grew louder. Mariel paused on the landing outside the open door she was to have slept in. Dizziness swept over her as she glanced into its dark recesses. She felt faint and her eyelashes fluttered. Cara’s scream sliced into Mariel’s consciousness, saving her from passing out, as James slammed the door.

The room had been moving, wriggling in the night. Spiders, thousands of them had been in there, shifting, looking for her. In her head, she could hear Captain Clemens’s voice as he stood in the room clutching a ragged piece of cloth that looked almost as though it had been soaked in blood:
“Someone marked this window.”

No one knew the roundabout road her entourage had taken in an effort to keep her safe, except those in the party. Someone in her group had betrayed her. The magicians? They had been missing almost since arriving here. Had they been lured away to leave the princess naked and vulnerable to magical influence or were they the betrayers? It could have been one of her guards. Or was it Isabel? No. Not Isabel. She was arrogant and snobbish, but her cruelty was mostly superficial, she would never make a deal with a monster.

Fear began to squeeze a noose around Mariel and she gripped her waist as her breathing sharpened. Warm, comforting arms wrapped around her and the faint scent of cinnamon reached her.

“Be brave,” Cara whispered to her. “You are strong. You can do anything.”

Cara was right, Mariel was not weak. She would not let him win. Not without a fight. She did not know who the traitor was, whether he had already left the inn or still lurked within its walls. What was important was to escape the Assassin and to keep everyone alive.

“Quickly,” Mariel said, strength returning to her voice as she gently pushed Cara away. “We don’t have much time.”

Gathering her skirts in her hands, she rushed down the stairs that groaned and complained about their use. In the main room, she saw her entire retinue of guards gathered around a table. The landlord that had fawned and fretted over having such important guests staying at his tavern wiped his sweaty brow with a grimy handkerchief. Behind him, three underfed children with bags beneath their eyes peered fearfully out from behind the door that led to the kitchens.

After clearing her throat to make sure that her voice came out strong, Mariel stood as straight as she could and said, “Prepare the carriage and the horses, we must leave immediately. Clear the room, except for those who feel it is necessary to stay.”

No one dared to disobey her orders, and nearly all the guards flooded out from the tavern, except for Captain Clemens, Tristan, and Zeke.
Is one of them the traitor?
Mariel wondered, but was quick to shove the thought from her mind. She needed to keep her mind focused on the plan that was forming in her mind.

On the table that the guards had surrounded lay a large body with its pig-like head cracked open. The skittish serving maid from earlier in the evening pressed dirty rags to his head, as tears of fright streaked down her cheeks. Taking note of blood on the girl, the discarded rags, and the red liquid that continued to drip from his hair onto the dirt floor, Mariel knew that the bleeding was not stopping.

“This is positively appalling!” The disgusted outburst announced the arrival of Isabel and Hallie.

“What happened to him?” Hallie asked.

“Ogres,” croaked a man Mariel had not noticed before crouched in the corner of the room. His fine clothes were caked in mud and blood, which also smeared his face. Beneath the grime Mariel could see the sickly green-tinge to the man’s skin. He shook and looked exhausted and frightened. Recognition registered with Mariel.

Cara knew him too. She placed a shaking hand on Mariel’s arm. “One of the magicians.”

Mariel glanced at James to see his reaction, but his gaze was locked on the magician, and she could not read his expression.  

“Where have you been?” she asked the magician.

The tired man looked up at his princess. She did not look like a dainty maiden, even though she wore an elegant gown in the latest fashion. Her strong chin jutted out as she waited for a response. Her thick, curly hair hung loosely about her face and her dark green eyes flashed dangerously, warning the magician to answer her. Mariel’s hand rested on the pommel of the sword strapped to her waist.

“They were beautiful,” the magician croaked.

“Who was beautiful?”

“The women. They had hair the color of wheat fields and skin like ivory.”

“Ain’t no women like that ‘round ‘ere,” the tavern owner said.

“I know that now.” The magician groaned, holding his head in his hand.

“Are you telling us that three blonde women are working for the Assassin?” Captain Clemens asked.

“No,” James interrupted. “They were illusions.”

Isabel laughed. “You are fools. Have you never had a conversation with a magician? Why do I even ask? You are too inferior to speak with rich and powerful magicians.”

“What’s your point?” Zeke hissed.

Isabel’s smile broadened, pleased to have everyone relying on her information. “Illusions are exceptionally challenging to create. Only the best magicians are capable. Yet, even then, they are always flawed. Illusions are only good at a distance.”

“He’s in league with the Assassin!” Tristan drew his broadsword and leapt toward the weakened magician.

“Wait!” Mariel cried, stopping Tristan before he decapitated the other man.

Illusions. She remembered a very-real looking and feeling brown recluse spider climbing her arm. The fear had resulted in her tumbling into the river, and laughter had greeted her when she surfaced. Anoria’s illusion had been flawless, but she had spent nearly a century studying magic. No human could be as skilled. Unless the Assassin was not human.

Mariel felt as though she was stepping back in time as she heard Dale telling her in the tavern in the City of the Gods that there were rumors of a striped monster wandering the land, eating people. She subconsciously rubbed her hand over her upper left arm where a scar still remained beneath the fabric of the gown, betraying where a chunk of her flesh had been bitten out. Traveling further back in time, she clung to the frightened horse who had spooked after the stabbed man had fallen against him, and as the horse ran from the courtyard, she looked back toward her mother’s screams. She should not have looked back . . .

“
No!
” Mariel cried. “Don’t think about it, don’t remember! Forget! Forget!” She clutched the hilt of Aracklin as though she meant to break it. “Forget!”

The fear erupted in her and she struggled to fight it back. The memories fought to break free and she was losing the battle to suppress them. Brown recluse spiders. Grey robes. Pale, sickly striped skin. The fear was taking over. The madness was threatening to devour her whole. And meanwhile the Assassin waited somewhere outside, prepared to kill her at last.

Stinging pain flashed across her cheek. It was exactly what she needed. The fear could be mastered and the memories shoved back into the recesses of her mind.

“You’re going to bruise me if you keep that up,” she told James, but her voice revealed gratitude rather than anger. But there was something she knew now, something that she could not deny. She did not want to ask, she did not want to talk about it, but she had a burning need to know. “The Assassin is a zreshlan.”

James did not reply, no one did, but she saw the answer in their eyes. The memories threatened again, but she forced them back. Now was not the time to lose control, to let the madness take her.

“What did the illusions do?” Mariel asked the magician.

“They seduced us. They promised . . .” he coughed glancing at the three other noble girls near Mariel and she understood what he implied.

“But they didn’t give themselves to you?”

“We followed them deep into the woods and then they vanished.” The magician began to shake all over and cry. “Then
he
appeared . . .”

“Stop,” James ordered.

Mariel understood why the serpentramel had interrupted the frightened man. James feared that Mariel’s already strained wits could not listen to talk of the Assassin any more than necessary. She was humiliated by her weakness, but seeing the magician as terrified as she felt, made her feel slightly better.

“You escaped him,” James continued. “I did it. So I know it can be done, but what happened then?”

The magician choked on a sob and forced himself to continue. “I ran and ran. I was disoriented. I didn’t know where I was. I wandered for a while in the woods and then I heard them.”

“Them?”

The magician lifted his shaking hand and pointed toward Squire Derek stretched out on the table, the wide-eyed waiting girl still applying pressure to his bleeding head. “Him and his knight-master.”

“You saw the Assassin attack them?”

“Ogres. Hordes of them.”