Brood of Vipers Read online

  Brood of Vipers

  House of Vultures Book 3

  by

  Maggie Claire

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  World Castle Publishing, LLC

  Pensacola, Florida

  Copyright © Maggie Claire 2021

  Smashwords Edition

  Paperback ISBN: 9781955086165

  eBook ISBN: 9781955086172

  First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, May 18, 2021

  http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

  Smashwords Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Cover: Karen Fuller

  Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

  This book is dedicated to Diane Smith. Thank you for always supporting my work.

  You are greatly missed.

  Prelude (From Pack of Wolves)

  “On your feet,” the frigid as a snowstorm voice of the Déchets’ guard demands as he rattles the lock of a grimy cell deep in the palace’s dungeons. “You have a visitor.”

  A lithe form shifts in the darkness, a mass of frizzy dark hair covering her face. “Who seeks me now after all this time?”

  “You could have spent your days by my side had you chosen to share your memories with me,” a muffled voice replies as Alaric wipes his nose with a perfumed handkerchief to ward off the pungent odor of human waste and death. “I feel no sympathy for you, Helena.”

  “Majesty.” The woman scorns the word, her piercing eyes glaring at the regal intruder. “Have you come for that again? My answer is unchanged.”

  “You always were the most stubborn girl I had ever seen. But no, I have come to make a deal with you instead.” The king steps into the cell, ignoring the squelching of his shoes as he crosses into the dirt and muck. “A chance at freedom, at life outside this dungeon. After all this time, I am sure you miss the sunlight.” He stays a safe distance from the woman, just out of her arm’s reach as he continues. “Don’t you miss the feel of the fresh air on your face? Don’t you long to use your Windwalker abilities once more?”

  “What’s the catch?” Helena mutters as her fingers inch along the stone floor, desperately seeking a sharp knife. Even a rusty piece of the horrid iron bars would work—it would burn her skin to touch it, but pain would be worth it if she could jab out the king’s eye. No anguish could be worse than anything she’s already endured.

  “I’ll send you and one of my guards over the Devil’s Spine. My border guards report that a Windwalker was seen deep in these enemy lands using enough power to be witnessed for many miles. Yet no one of that strength has gone missing from Déchets in a long time.”

  “Why me?” Helena asks, trying not to let the snarl of hatred loose in her throat.

  “You know the land, the people, and their ways. And it will give you a chance to prove your usefulness once more. Fail, and you die. Refuse to go, and you’ll die slowly. The choice is up to you.”

  With immense effort and a curse as her stiffened limbs break free from their long underuse, Helena crawls up to stand by the cell door. Her body shows its bones under a thin coating of scarred skin, barely more than a walking skeleton. “You give me no choice, Highness; I will obey.”

  Chapter 1

  “Oh, Helena. There is always a choice to be made. You should know that better than anyone,” Alaric chuckles as he guides the prisoner’s frail body out of the cell, his fingers hooked around her thin shoulders as she slinks toward freedom. He grips her tightly to remind her that he can drag her right back into that hellish cell if he chooses, discarding her like the trash he considers her to be. “And aren’t you the least bit curious? Another rogue Windwalker living in secret in that horrible land. Don’t you wonder if it is someone you might know? Someone from your past?” He leans close to her ear, brushing her oily, matted hair out of the way so she can feel his breath against her skin. “Think of it! Freedom, using your powers again, sating your curiosity about this traitor…it’s all within your grasp. Help me find the Windwalker, Helena.”

  “I’m not surprised at all, Alaric. Surely I wasn’t the only one who grew bored of living under your rule,” Helena retorts, wincing and wheezing as the king’s elbow slams into her ribs. The blow feels like it loosened her vertebrae, causing them to shift and grind against each other as she doubles over to catch her breath. When she can speak once more, Helena hisses with hysterical laughter, “Really not the best way to get me to help you, Alaric.”

  “Stupid girl,” Alaric snarls into her ear, dragging her back toward the cell. “I can rescind my offer of freedom just as easily as it was given. There are plenty of other wastrels in this place that would kill for the chance to see the sunlight again!” Alaric pauses in front of the cell opposite the one Helena has called home for the last fifteen years. He shoves her hard against the bars, uncaring as her skin sizzles where it touches the metal. “Feel that?” he taunts, lifting one hand to catch her thin arm, pressing its entire length up against the iron.

  “Let me go!” Helena shrieks, struggling against the king’s hold. “I’m burning! Stop it!”

  “You were always so strong,” Alaric whispers, leaning forward to sniff the air around her arm, relishing the scent of scorched flesh. “All that magic inside you yearns to be used, Helena.” Grimy fingers from the cell’s occupants brush and claw at her skin, pawing at her frail body through the bars. Gleaming, wicked eyes rake their stares over her skin, murmuring and whispering their dark promises and demands.

  “Get off me!” Helena growls, cringing away from the unwanted touches, turning her hateful, wild gaze on the king.

  “Maybe I’ll throw you into this cell for a change of scenery. What do you think, boys?” Alaric announces, and immediately the prisoners holler and praise their glorious, merciful king. “What do you say, Helena? Is that what you want?”

  Helena groans in defeat, dropping her head as she whispers, “No, Your Highness.” As much as she may hate this man, the alternative offered by him is a far worse fate. “I would be pleased to accept your offer of freedom, Your Highness.” Each word burns like bile on her tongue.

  It cannot be this simple, Helena warns herself, turning a skeptical glance toward Alaric as he pulls her out of the clutches of the prisoners. He says nothing else as he urges her to move, her knees buckling under the weight of her fears. After all these years, there’s got to be more to his plan than just sending me over to Cassè as a spy. He must be desperate; that’s the only reason he would come for me. That thought brings a tiny, rebellious smile to her lips.

  Howls of screaming prisoners assault them as they leave, mostly insults aimed at the king. Helena lowers her head as she moves toward the exit, forcing herself to keep her eyes away from the cells. A shiver dances over her shoulders as she steps between the guards that line this part of the prison’s walls. The worst prisoners are kept here, close to the exit, she recalls, wincing as a burly guard on her right bangs his sword through the cell closest to him, slicing at the occupant to shut his mouth.

  It had taken Helena a couple of years to figure out why Alaric put the worst offenders in this part of the prison. Why not house them deep in the depths of this place, where no light or fresh air can be found? With nothing more important to do, she’d spent the greater part of
her days trying to understand the king’s reasoning, to no avail. It wasn’t until one of the prisoners from the first cells was drug down into the heart of the prison and housed beside her that everything made sense.

  She never knew that young man’s name. By the time the guards had plopped him into the cell, he was screaming and groaning unintelligibly. “What’s going on?” she demanded, risking the guards’ wrath as the prisoner’s haunting cries burrowed into her mind. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Gouged out his own eyes. Couldn’t stand to face another day glimpsing freedom, knowing he’d never stand unshackled in fresh air again,” the guard replied grimly, shaking his head as he sighed. “The king’s ordered no treatment to be given to him. Might be days, might be weeks, but eventually, he will die. Going to be a long, horrible thing to endure until it’s done, Helena.” The guard had the wherewithal to look guilty and shaken by the experience, his face the color of a birch tree’s bark.

  Freedom. The word rang in the air like the peal of a bell. The worst criminals are close to the exit, where they are constantly reminded of the lives they could be living. Fresh food on the guards’ plates, fine ale and camaraderie, cool breezes when the doors open…yes, that would be a constant, terrible way to torture the minds and hearts of us all. Helena looked around her darkened cell with a fleeting sense of gratitude. At least here in this gross, unlit hole, I can allow myself to forget the things I’m missing. I can let the darkness swallow me and make me a forgotten memory in the lives of those I once loved. Not that there is anyone out there on either side of the Devil’s Spine who cares anyway.

  It had taken the young man eight days to succumb to his injuries, and by the last day, Helena’s nerves were raw from the sounds of his retching and incoherent, fever-driven outbursts. Eight long days for the stink of rot and infection to permeate the cells. Helena’s nose wrinkles at the memory. I can still smell his death. Her fingers drift up toward her shaggy mane, rubbing the oily strands before bringing them close to her nose. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to remove that awful odor from his demise. It stains me even now, four years later.

  As Helena and Alaric make the last turn toward the outer doors of the prison, Helena notices a small circle of four other offenders waiting for their approach. Each one of the prisoners is still bound, the shadow of a guard towering behind them. Before Helena can ask any questions, Alaric wordlessly shoves her into the circle’s remaining empty space. A palace guard immediately falls in line at her back.

  “A minor detail I neglected to mention, dear Helena, is that your freedom is not a guarantee.” Alaric drawls, a cruel smile upturning his lips as what little color is left in her cheeks slowly drains away. Sauntering around the circle of captives, Alaric’s face beams as he announces, “You are five of the most notorious traitors of Déchets. Normally you would rot in my cells until your bones crumbled to dust. However, I am a gracious, merciful king. And I am offering you a chance to earn your freedom by tracking down an unknown Windwalker that will take your ranks in my prisons.” Murmurs arise from the other four prisoners; whoever pulled them from their cells must not have shared the king’s plan. Alaric shifts, changing the direction of his path as he continues his explanation. “However, before I let you go, you must prove yourself to be worthy of such a gift. You will be given a week to heal and train with your guards. Then you will run the tunnel.”

  Outraged cries ricochet off the close walls at the mention of Déchets most infamous, mysterious torture. No one who runs the tunnel has ever lived long enough to speak of what horrors it holds. None who have attempted it have ever survived. Fear dances along Helena’s nerves, and she tries to disguise the quiver of her lip by yawning as though she is bored. “How does running the tunnel accomplish anything?” Her words sound shrill to her ears, her voice raspy from years of silence. “Are you so devoid of sport that you’ve come here to handpick us for death? Is this your strange way of ensuring our speedy execution?”

  Alaric’s iron gauntlet cracks hard against Helena’s mouth, causing blood to burst from her bottom lip. She stumbles back into the guard behind her. She finds no comfort against his hard chest. Instead, the guard shoves her back into her place in the circle. The king continues laying out his expectations, never stopping to answer her question. “Whoever completes the tunnel proves themselves to be strong enough to be my emissary into Cassé. You track down and bring that traitor to me, and you earn your freedom. Simple as that.”

  Whimpers break out among the four other criminals, some in delight and others in terror. Alaric’s eyes flash with excitement, certain he’s baited the trap well enough that they will comply. After all, who could resist the potential reward of their freedom? Alaric’s satisfied smile reminds Helena of a fat housecat toying with five scrawny mice, more interested in killing the frightened rodents for cruel amusement rather than food.

  Helena takes a moment to examine each of the other prisoners, sizing up her competition while she stands close to them. The first is a burly, broad shouldered man named Bryn. He wears a gross, dirty patch over his left eye, but his shoulders are still broad and muscular. It appears he’s kept up with his workout routine, finding ways to maintain his strength even from the depths of his cell. She faintly recalls Bryn’s transgressions against the court—the destruction of a local tavern that was a favorite among the guards. It was the guards’ retaliation to take one of his eyes. Helena had never understood why Bryn had earned a long stay in the prisons for such a thing, but his time on the inside had not managed to break his defiant spirit. Bryn stares hatefully at Alaric, harsh unspoken curses screaming from his hateful gaze.

  The second, a young girl, looks like she can barely stand up straight, her mousy brown hair draping over her face. Whatever her crime, it must have been after Helena had earned her cell. She looks to be barely fifteen! Helena’s gut clenches at the thought of a child locked away in this place. What could she possibly have done to deserve this fate? The girl peeks through the curtain of her hair, her burnished caramel eyes landing squarely on Helena’s outraged face. She seems to shrink into herself under Helena’s scrutiny, and Helena forces herself to inspect the rest of the prisoners, hoping to ease the girl’s fear.

  The third is a notorious thief by the name of Ellis. Helena remembers him well; she’d watched his trial and sentencing, marveling at his flippant, borderline defiant personality. He’d been caught sneaking out of a princess’s chambers with her tiara when he was only seven years old. He smiled all through his trial, and he practically skipped toward the prison guards, waving and blowing kisses in the air to all who watched him disappear. Looking at him now, Helena estimates his age to be around eighteen. His rail thin body and tired eyes are the only signs of prison life. Catching Helena’s eye, he smiles and winks, proving his spirit remains unbroken.

  The last is another child, barely thirteen years old and hardly fit for such a task. His voice wavers as he addresses the king. “But no one’s ever survived the tunnel, Your Majesty. So how can one of us do it?”

  Helena holds her breath, awed by the child’s bravery. She might be crazy enough to endure the punishments for speaking out of turn, but she had not expected a boy to follow suit. Watching Alaric’s eyes cut in the direction of the boy, Helena wishes she could grab the child and shield him. He shouldn’t be in a place like this! What could the boy have done that was so wrong? Her hands rattle the chains around her wrists as she instinctively reaches for him. But when her feet lurch forward, the guard behind her drags his hands across her waist, securing her in place before she can offer aid to the child.

  “Well, just because nobody’s done it before doesn’t mean you can’t survive the tunnel! And I’d say that whichever one of you can accomplish it will prove to be worthy, wouldn’t you?” the king responds as he kicks the boy’s knees out from under him. He moans as they crack against the tiles, tears pouring from his pain widened eyes. “And if the tunnel kills you�
�well, that frees up a cell for another traitor, doesn’t it? Now, speak out of turn again, and I will not let the healers work on you. Think you’ll survive the tunnel without their aid?” He ignores the boy’s shudders as he addresses the group once more. “The guard behind you is your trainer. They will oversee your healing and progress until next we meet.” The sharp strikes of Alaric’s boots clatter on the stones as he strides to the exit. “Oh, and Helena, I chose your guard especially because I know you and he have such a good history. Enjoy your reunion, however short it may be.” He laughs to himself as the steel outer door screeches on its hinges.

  Helena waits while the other prisoners and guards disperse to the infirmaries and kitchens. She can barely force her breath from her lungs as she listens to the sounds around her. Surely Alaric wouldn’t be that cruel? Even as she thinks the question, she scolds herself for being naïve. What am I saying? That bastard thrives on twisting needles of guilt, regret, and agony into the hearts of his victims. He practically lives on suffering more than other food and drink.

  “Turn around,” a heartbreakingly familiar voice commands as calloused fingers brush her elbow.

  A flood of memories spring to life as Helena flinches from the innocent touch. I am going to die, she declares to herself, facing the man who had once been the center of her world. He loved me so much, and I betrayed him. And the way I left him behind…. If the tunnel doesn’t kill me, seven days with Ithel certainly will. Helena shuffles in place, unable to raise her head and meet the guard’s eye. Her heart thrashes wildly in its ribbed cage, the force so strong it causes her shoulders to quake. “I am so sorry, Ithel. I never—”

  “Save your apologies,” Ithel growls as his fists clench at his sides. “We have seven days to get you ready before the tunnel.” He guides Helena toward a hidden exit on the left side of the stone walls, completely enshrouded in shadows. A mirthless chuckle erupts from Ithel when Helena stubbornly keeps her eyes focused on his shoes. “If we survive this week, then we will talk about the past.”