Page 44 of Crowning of the Sword

In a fury, she slapped Ember across the face, sending her flying to the ground. Her face felt as though it had grown to twice its size, and Lissa’s voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away. “Stand down,” she was shrieking at the guards. “Stand down!”

She held more status and power in the castle than Ember, and none of the guards moved a muscle as Lissa viciously kicked her in the ribs. The wind was knocked out of her, and she gagged, trying to draw a full breath, but Lissa kicked her again, screaming, “Traitor! Filth!”

“Stop,” Ember tried to say, but nothing came out. She rolled away, staggering to her feet, and clutched blindly at her equipment table. She seized a palette knife and brandished it weakly.

Lissa laughed with derision. “What are you going to do, paint me to death?”

As Lissa took aim with a balled-up fist, Ember slashed out at her, catching her across the wrist. Lissa shrieked in surprise, although the knife’s edge was blunt, and at most, had merely scratched her.

“You saw!” she shrieked at the guards, utterly undone. “You all saw she drew a weapon on me!”

She had lost all reason, deep within the grip of a jealous madness. She seized Ember, her hands tangled in Ember’s hair, and dragged her over to the pool. Lissa threw her down and forced Ember’s head under the water. Ember struggled and fought, but Lissa’s grip was firm. Black spots danced in her vision; she was growing weaker by the second …

A face appeared in front of hers and she blinked, trying to focus, but she couldn’t see much, other than two eyes, like sparkling sapphires. The face vanished and the grip on her scalp abruptly ceased. She dragged herself from the water, coughing and spluttering, retching with pain and shock, and then eyes widened, her mouth dropping in horror.

The forest was fighting back. A carpet of moss crawled up Lissa’s and the guard’s legs, trapping them in place. They tried to yank their legs free, but it was hopeless. They were caught as if in quicksand.

Vines swung down from the canopy, entwining them in knotted ropes, and Lissa screamed and then gagged as a thick vine coiled around her neck. Her face turned a livid purple as she scrabbled helplessly at the plant, as all the while the moss crept up and up her body. A guard on his knees was almost completely smothered, a living statue of soft green.

Trees creaked and cracked, swinging heavy branches, ripping at armour and tearing at flesh. Ember scrabbled back, but the forest paid no attention to her. When the last guard had drawn his last breath, the trees flexed themselves as if stretching sore muscles, and then settled back to their original, silent splendour. Moss completely covered the bodies, and the only clue they were there was a glint of silver armour here and there, a lock of pale hair peeking through the green. A sigh rose from the forest that seemed to come from every living being, and then there was nothing but the sound of birdsong throughout the canopy.

Chapter 36

Strength depleted, Ember fell back onto the moss, her breathing ragged and tired. She thought she might have cracked one of her ribs in the vicious beating she had endured. Half-dazed, she thought she heard a rushing of wind through branches and wondered if the forest had come to life again to swallow her up. Surprisingly, she found she didn’t care at all. The rustling noises separated themselves into a babble of voices and a horrified screeching. Something grabbed her and jerked her to her feet. She cried out in pain, and then her knees collapsed.

There was no guard safely cradling her in his arms now. Two guards on either side forced her through the forest, yanking her to her feet every time she stumbled, hustling her without mercy. She sobbed under her breath, wanting to wipe her streaming nose, but they had her arms in too firm a grip, and she couldn’t. Along the corridors they went as passing fae stared and whispered.

They dragged her through a doorway and forced down onto her knees. She looked up, tangled hair dripping around her face, eyes streaming with pain and humiliation.

Cole sat on his throne, his face drawn and paler than usual. He looked diminished somehow. Rage and disgust oozed from every pore, and the grey shadow around him pulsed and vibrated ominously.

“What have you done?” he said, his voice barely controlled.

For an instant she thought he was referring to her painting of Ashe, but he surged to his feet and shouted, “You have murdered my champion!”

The unfair accusation straightened her spine, and she looked him full in the face. “I did not.”

“You have killed her, my Lissa, my chance, my rulership, you have killed her, you have killed her for him!”

He was incoherent, gibbering in his rage, and the shadow gathered force, billowing forward to engulf her. She choked on it as it surrounded her, but apart from the smell, like rancid clothing and wet rotting food, it didn’t hurt. She’d expected her flesh to peel back, her bones to crumble, but there was nothing.

It withdrew, and with its absence, she became aware of another presence standing beside her. Alena. She looked as matronly as ever, clad in her usual shimmering green, her skin glistening as though wet, but there was a heat rolling from her, a tangible aura that Ember recognised as power, in its most base, true form. Alena held as much power as the princes, Ember realised, perhaps more. She was smiling, yes, but there was a savage glint in her eye, and Ember was profoundly glad that it wasn’t directed at her.

Cole was shaking, his mouth working, clearly attempting to control himself. The mist had withdrawn to hover about him, somewhat lessened than before, more white than grey.

He drew a deep breath. “Alena. This is no business of yours.”

“Your information is incorrect,” said Alena in the smooth, vaguely dismissive tone that Ember knew so well. She gave Ember a fleeting glance and in it, Ember saw the shadow of a wink. “This is more my business than anyone else’s. It occurred in my rooms, after all.”

“This … human … murdered my champion. She has destroyed any chance I have of winning the tournament. Teams must be complete. I will be the Blade by default! I have lost! And she was his hand.”

“Your Highness,” said Alena.

Her tone was icy, reproving, and Cole sank back into his throne, a white knuckled grip on the throne’s arms, as if they were the only thing preventing him from launching into a physical attack.

“This human did nothing. The castle itself murdered your champion in defence of the innocent. Are you to defy its decision? Might I remind Your Highness that you are here at the castle’s discretion. Your presence is by permission, not by right.”

Ember didn’t know what to make of this. The castle was its own entity, and the princes lived here because it chose to let them? She tucked that nugget of information away as Alena continued.

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