Bound in Spirals

Chapter 23 - Dread

——Sam——

'Liar...' Sam looked at the woman—rail thin, dark hair, younger than Fenella had been, but the pale brown eyes were unchanged. The same amusement glittered there, noticeable to him even through her blank expression. "A delivery for Prince Hennel." She said, and held out a metal box.

Sam's eyes narrowed briefly at the box, but quickly returned to her. He felt an urgency—an anxiety of sorts. Something about her presence felt wrong here. She was an unpredictable element. He wasn't sure whose side she was on... Actually, he knew exactly whose side she was on, and it was her own.

That universal amusement in her eyes told the entirety of it; she was there because she wanted to be entertained. The problem was that he didn't know what would entertain her more, his failure or success. 'I should just kill her now and get her out of the way...' He felt his magic at the edge of his mind, just waiting for him to spring.

'Kill her. Kill her Sam. She'll only get in the way. She'll fuck it up just for the fun of it. Kill her now!' He was staring into his magic, feeling it all around him, filling his vision. It was dense and lethargic in its motion, tightly woven spirals moving so slowly it was hard to tell there was movement at all. It blinded him, encompassing him so completely he couldn't move. 'Do it!'

She set down the box. "Shall I give any message in return?" He heard her ask the prince.

"...Ah, no." Hennel answered emptily. "You may leave now..."

Sam fingered the leather handle of his sword, staring so intensely into her that he thought he might see into her true intent. Every single answer he thought he might've found just seemed another lie. So many layers that he thought it might never end. As she walked past their eyes met for a fraction of a second. She winked, and a sly grin slid into her expression. All the mounting violence drained from him, and she was gone in the next moment.

He let out his breath through his nose, slowly relaxing his jaw. He had a feeling he'd regret that later. Now that she was gone his gaze returned to the prince. Sam's eyebrows drew together in confusion at what he was seeing. Hennel was trembling and hyperventilating as he stared down at the box. He held the arms of the chair with a white-knuckled grip.

Sam glanced down at the box, then back up at Hennel. 'Is he going to open it or...' He waited another moment, then did it himself. He reached down, pried open the clasp and lifted the lid. He grimaced. A small man's hand appeared to have been tossed haphazardly into the box, splattering the inside of it dark red. It lay inside, stubby fingers half closed and pale-white—cut wrist oozing coagulating blood.

"Fiernil..." Hennel murmured in horrified recognition.

"What... is that?" The princess asked in a hushed tone. The frown lines on her face had deepened, but she seemed to have recovered somewhat from the shock of having been stabbed.

It was subtle, but something in Hennel's shaking changed from panic to anger induced, or a combination of the two. Sam waited in silence for an explanation to present itself, but none came.

"Should I know why a hand in a box was delivered to you?" He finally asked.

Hennel reached out a quivering arm, cane clattering against the box's lid as he closed it. His voice was strangled into evenness. "These boxes have been showing up every few days for the last couple months. Sometimes I recognize the hand, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I find out someone I know has gone missing, and that's how I find out." He met Sam's eyes. "Psychological torture. The queen has a penchant for it."

"Isn't this the sort of thing that gets people deposed?" Sam asked.

"I didn't tell anyone about it, and it's too late for it now."