Page 55 of The War Queen's Daughter

My first is to kill him.

“For Heald!” Mother leaps into the line of guards as though she’s dressed in full metal, moving like a mountain of violence and inevitability, and I’m right beside her. I catch peripheral glimpses of Aunt and Amber joining us, the four of Heald against all of the courage and might the Overking can muster here in this place.

The dining hall will be our battlefield, my attention tightening, focusing down even as it expands outward. I see and feel and taste and hear everything like I’ve stepped into a bubble, the men attacking moving in slow motion, hardly a contest despite their numbers. The man I’ve chosen to die first does with the blade from my wrist pocket in his throat, spitting his blood over my face, baptizing me in his ending.

But it’s just the beginning. His sword is a fine one, balanced and the edge true, strong even if he was weak, and the next in line proves it, cut through the neck in a single slice I deliver as I pivot and snatch his sword as he, too, falls, catching it before it touches the ground.

They keep coming and we keep killing them. They will run out of guards before we fail, I swear it to myself. Mother is laughing next to me, her own stolen swords a blur, and she spins and meets my eyes as I take down a towering guard who tries to pierce me through, the fool.

She’s full of joy and the monster when the first crossbow bolt strikes her in the throat, still laughing as she gurgles around the shaft. The second crushes through her right eye, spinning her away from me.

I’m screaming. Lunging forward toward her, dropping the swords in my hands and falling to my knees beside her, drawing her to me. She’s already gone, one single glorious eye unblinking, staring far off into wherever it is a warrior like her goes at the end.

My mother.

They drag me off her, throw me down, kick and punch me, but they don’t kill me.

Not yet.

I don’t fight back. There’s no point now. Her plans, our hopes, are dead with her.

It’s a blessing when a boot impacts my cheek and the darkness comes.

Chapter 28

Something’s dripping in my face, startling and cold, and I cough and swipe at it as I twitch awake. It’s dark and I’m freezing, shivering, body aching and on fire, disorientation stealing more moments before I cough and sit up, arm clutching cracked ribs when they protest.

Mother.

I think I said the word aloud. My ears are ringing, though, so I’m not sure if that’s true. Am I even really here? Maybe I’m dead and this is some place of penance the gods have dropped me to let me suffer an eternity or two.

But no, I’m not that lucky. Somewhere in the distance, the clang of a heavy iron door echoes toward me, the damp chill of the stone beneath me as real as I am.

I look up, my vision blurred and odd. My fingers explore my face, crusted and slick in places with what has to be blood. I fear at first that they’ve taken one of my eyes, too, because my reason for such distortion is that I’m only seeing through the left. But with a bit of rubbing and ignoring the pain I cause in doing so, my lashes part, peeling away from the stickiness that holds them together.

It's obvious they’ve decided to throw me in some dungeon cell for the time being, though why they bothered to spare me I have yet to be told. Perhaps they want to make a spectacle of my death, as Vae wants to.

Let them. I curve into a ball on the floor and cover my head with my arms, the remnants of my dress doing nothing to shield me or keep me from the cold of the stone floor. I’ve heard of soldiers catching their death from falling into such conditions while injured.

I should be so lucky.

No, it’s not like me to give in. The predator inside me has yet to rise. I wonder if she’s fled, left me to my fate. I wouldn’t blame her, not for a moment.

My mother, my queen, is dead. And it’s my fault.

The dripping that woke me continues, no matter where I position my face. I finally sigh and push away from the floor, testing my body for the damage they’ve done. Cracked ribs already acknowledged, I find a deep cut above my eyebrow that sealed my eye shut, still oozing but not life-threatening, aside from the blow to the head that could be. I’m bruised and scraped but surprisingly intact.

Which enrages me finally, and I allow a single, silent scream as I punch the air with both fists.

Enough, I hear her say in my memory.Assess, strategize, plan. Act.

I sniff, wiping at the wetness on my face with the back of one wrist. And do as I’m told.

First, assess. A single, high slit in the wall allows a sliver of weak light to penetrate, illuminating the rough-hewn stone floor and a narrow, hard cot. I might be able to jump up and reach it, but I already know it’s far too small for me to squeeze through.

There’s also a pit in the floor for waste, but the grate at the bottom proves it’s just a narrow pipe, no way out if I’m not shit or piss.

As for the bucket with a few inches of stale water, it and the cot could be converted into weapons, if needed.

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