Chapter 11, Part 1

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  • Dedicated to Sir Terry Pratchett. Rest in Peace.
                                    

Varion was on his feet, naked as the day he was born; he could not have looked fiercer even in full armour and with a sword in hand. Aiden had slipped into the king’s bedchamber through a panel he had loosened in the wall; he was glad he had kept his heel hooked in the gap to hold it open. If the king called for guards, he could be out through the wall and away before they started dismantling the panelling. If the king decided to simply leap at him then things weren’t likely to end well. He didn’t think he could kill the king - Aiden had known the man his whole life - but he wasn’t too keen on dying either. There were worse things in the world than regicide, and Aiden was one of the few unlucky souls who knew about them. The king had just joined him.

“What did you say to me?” The king was shaking, and Aiden could hear it in the man’s voice.

“We cannot save your daughter. The men who have taken her intend to kill her.”

“Why would they do this? Isn’t taking the throne enough?”

“It’s not the empire, Varion. I found one of them. He’s some sort of priest.”

“Why did they take her, Baird? What do they want?”

“It’s a ritual of preparation. The priests…they believe they can remove someone’s soul, and summon another in it’s place.”

“And you believe this?”

“They will not treat her kindly, sire. There are drugs that bring on madness.” The priest had rattled off a list of potions and herbs they used on their victims. Aiden was familiar with enough of them to know they were poisonous, that the effects were debilitating, and lasting. If she survived at all, it would be a slow, painful march to an early grave. There were tortures, too, but he could spare the old man that knowledge. Both could be survived, but there had been something else in the priest’s ravings. Something darker. The man had been convincing enough that Aiden had put a dagger through the man’s heart rather than leave him alive. “The princess is gone, sire. If she withstands what they will put her through and we find her alive, there is no promise that the girl you knew will still be there.”

“And you want her dead, do you?”

Aiden took a deep breath. “When I came to you, I was a young man. You knew why I had come. You told me that you would not fight me, so long as I kept the Kingdom safe - keep its people safe.” Varion was silent, his gaze level. It was the closest Aiden had ever come to pulling rank over the man. “No matter the cost, you said. Keep them safe. And you asked that of me because you knew I would do it. You knew a day like this might come.”

“Not this, Aiden. This is too high a price.”

“Your majesty, please. Listen to me. This must be dealt with quietly. The marshes will fall. The Kingdom will fall with them. The last thing you want is for your people to die fighting over the scraps.”

“I want my daughter!” Varion bellowed the words and charged. It was enough warning for Aiden to slip away, bending forward and shifting his weight so he fell into the space behind the panel. The wood swung back into place with a click, and he ducked neatly as the king’s sword went through the panel at chest-height and into the wall behind it. Aiden looked at it, gauging how close he had come to being killed. It wasn’t close at all; Varion had been too angry to aim his thrust. If he’d thought ahead, he could have brought a bag of pig’s blood for the king to stab, and earned himself a minute’s grace. Aiden shuffled along the passageway, his mind racing with plans and possibilities. Varion’s emotions had failed him. If Morwen returned at all, it would destroy the king completely. The scramble for the throne would be ugly, and a lot of people would suffer for it. Aiden knew what he had to do. He would find the princess, and if she wasn’t dead already then he would kill her.

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