Brood of Vipers Page 12

  “Then the king died without warning, and Alaric assumed the throne. We suspected that our king was murdered, but Alaric would not hear our cries for an investigation. Rumors began to circulate that Alaric might have killed his own father to take control of Déchets. That was when Alaric stole our Ddraigs from us. He—he slaughtered them all.” Lady Vatusia’s voice fades to a soft, wheezing gasp as she speaks of the loss of her Ddraigs, a wound that is still fresh in her heart.

  “That’s not the story our Ddraigs told us,” I interject, my mind alive with the ramifications of this new information should Lady Vatusia’s tale be true. If the Vibría despise the king of Déchets, will they truly stand with us when we fight? Their change of allegiance would come as a huge surprise to Alaric. It might just be enough to help us defeat him.

  “Your Ddraigs probably heard the lies circulated after Alaric destroyed our Ddraigs. That tyrant will not allow himself to be cast as the villain in the eyes of his people. He commanded that his guards and his court spread the story that we, the magicians, killed the Ddraigs ourselves in order to become immortal.” Lady Vatusia snorts at the thought, pacing toward us and mumbling under her breath, “He doesn’t realize that all the people see through the lies anyway. Most of the people fear him; those that don’t are doe-eyed fools.”

  “So, if he killed all of your Ddraigs, how did you become Vibría?” Cyrus questions, skeptical of the woman’s story. Every time she moves or steps closer to us, Cyrus’s body tenses as though he’s preparing for a fight.

  “I’ll explain it all, if you’ll let me,” Lady Vatusia snaps, baring her teeth at Cyrus. “During the days when Alaric took the throne, I was the leader of the magicians. He blamed me for our dissenting opinions about his father’s death. So, Alaric tied me to a pillar in his throne room and forced me to watch as he slew each Ddraig. Can you imagine what it was like? I watched every one of my kinsmen’s most beloved creatures die. Alaric saved mine for last; I still hear the sounds of his roaring, grieving all the senseless, meaningless destruction.” Lady Vatusia’s eyes flow with tears, her scaly hands trembling as she reaches up to wipe them away. “Alaric got so lost in the murder and macabre of it all that he left me unguarded. While Alaric killed the Ddraigs, I cast a spell to keep their hearts beating. I had hoped I would be able to find a way of rebirthing the Ddraigs through the combined magic of my people. At the time, I thought I was doing good, finding a way to salvage all that we had lost.”

  “But you said he turned you into Vibría. How?” Cyrus demands, and I grip his hand tightly, urging him to be quiet. “What, Iris? You’re not buying this—”

  “Let her tell her story,” I hiss, ignoring Cyrus’s reply as I turn back to Lady Vatusia, intent on hearing what she has to say before I make a judgment. Something about the rawness of her expression, the agonizingly painful details of the tale, makes me believe she is telling the truth.

  “I took the Ddraig hearts back to my people. We spent the next weeks in mourning, weeping and broken, completely inconsolable. Of course, when Alaric discovered what I had done, he was furious. He originally intended to kill us all, but something stayed his hand. Instead, Alaric blackmailed my second in command, Xanti, threatening to torture me and the rest of the female magicians if Xanti didn’t follow his instructions. Xanti cast a spell that tied our life spans to the beating hearts of the Ddraigs. I know he did it to spare me and the other women from a death sentence, but Xanti’s actions damned us all.” Lady Vatusia clenches her fists so tightly that I fear her claws will slice into her palms. Her eyes glitter with malice as she announces, “So, if you truly intend to take Alaric down, you will have the support of the Vibría .”

  “You won’t fight against us?” Cyrus questions while I try not to imagine how terrible it must have been to watch the Ddraigs die, completely helpless to save them.

  “If Alaric demands that we attack you while we are in his presence, then I am sorry to say the Vibría will obey him without mercy,” Lady Vatusia explains, her visage glimmering and fading at the edges. Whatever power she’s using to appear before us must be draining away rapidly. I suspect she has only a few more moments before she disappears from view.

  Cyrus doesn’t seem to notice, renewing his outraged outbursts. “Why? Why would you openly support a man you privately despise?”

  “I think I understand. The king still has possession of your Ddraigs’ hearts, doesn’t he?” I surmise, wringing my hands while I consider her predicament. “That’s why you will obey him, right? He’ll kill you if you don’t comply.”

  “Yes and no, child,” Lady Vatusia answers cryptically, her words growing more agitated and forceful as her visage flickers brighter and brighter. “Xanti might have been the one who tied us all to the Ddraigs, but it was Alaric’s decision to turn us into the monsters we became. It took only a day before we noticed the changes in our skin. The scales of our Ddraigs began to glimmer on our own arms and legs, our nails turning as black as flint and just as hard. Next, it was our eyes. The first time I looked into a mirror after my eyes changed, I screamed loud enough that my neighbors came to see what was wrong. I thought I’d gone mad because I saw my Ddraig’s eyes staring back at me in place of my own. My reflection is a constant reminder of the things I’ve lost. Then the shapeshifting abilities began. It might have been an amazing time in our lives if we hadn’t been dealing with such terrible losses.” Lady Vatusia shivers violently, and I cannot tell if it is because of the horrifying memories she’s recalling or she’s over-exerted her magic. Her mouth bleeds a little at the corners, but she carries on with her story. “After Xanti completed the spell and the damage was done, Alaric hid our Ddraig hearts somewhere in his palace that only he knows. It was a cruel move, effectively assuring that we cannot even kill ourselves if we tried. Until he deigns to return the hearts to us, we cannot die. But Alaric can make our lives a living hell if we do not follow him.” Lady Vatusia winces, lowering her voice to a faint whisper. “He can make us beg for death a thousand times over when he throws a temper tantrum. You have no idea what that monster is capable of doing.”

  “Why didn’t you fight back? Or refuse to follow his orders?” Cyrus wonders, giving voice to a question that I must confess I am longing to ask myself.

  “We tried a few times to protest and rebel against him,” Lady Vatusia whispers, clenching her fists at her sides. “The first time we refused to fight, he destroyed our homes. Then we ‘lost track’ of key information that would help Alaric discover the Ddraigs on your side of the mountain. So, Alaric chose random members of his court to publicly execute. At each execution, he proclaimed that the death he dealt to his court was directly tied to traitorous dealings with citizens of Cassè, all of which were facilitated by the Vibría. We watched innocent men and women die, and still, we fought against him.” Lady Vatusia’s hands begin to shake, her breathing growing shallow as she says, “Then we showed mercy to some prisoners from Cassè that he brought before us, and he murdered our children out of spite. I learned that day that there are far worse things than watching your Ddraig die right in front of your eyes. Can you imagine what it’s like to watch your own children die? Can you comprehend how completely helpless and broken we were as we buried their tiny bodies, knowing we cannot join them in death until the king decides to dispose of us? The only way to prevent any more tragedy was to obey.”

  “That’s horrible,” I whimper, my body shivering from the depth of the sorrow I feel coursing through my blood. Cyrus leans closer, his arm wrapping tightly around my shoulders. When I try to move away from him, Cyrus only pulls me closer, forcing me to stand still. “What are you doing?” I hiss, struggling in his grasp.

  “Keeping you from doing something stupid,” Cyrus snaps, seemingly unfazed by the dagger-like stare I aim at him. “I know how your heart bleeds at sob stories like this one, but you don’t seriously believe anything this monster says, right?”

  “You think she’s
lying? Who would make up such horrifying details?” I reply, even as doubt splinters my certainty, poking holes into my opinion of the unusual lady.

  “She’s Vibría! You remember what one of her kind did to me, right? How could you think she would tell you the truth?” Cyrus growls, keeping one eye on Lady Vatusia as he argues with me.

  “I have spoken nothing but truth to you. Why would I seek you out only to deceive you? Do not call me a liar again,” Lady Vatusia warns, pointing her clawed hand at Cyrus. “You know nothing of suffering, child. But if you insult me again, I will make sure you taste despair before the next sunrise.”

  “What about him? Cyrus was tortured by one of your kind and managed to kill him. How is that possible if what you say is the truth?” I ask, turning a skeptical eye back on the unusual woman glimmering before me.

  “His body disintegrated into a black puddle of ooze, yes?” Lady Vatusia nods dismissively, exclaiming, “You didn’t kill him, just his body. He regenerated back in Déchets; he’s probably swapping stories about all the horrible things he did while he was in your lands.”

  “Convenient,” Cyrus sneers, his eyes turning black as his truth reading gift takes hold. “Yet I see nothing false about her statements,” he begrudgingly adds, looking a little disappointed to find her telling the truth.

  “So why did you come here? Why tell me your story at all?” I wonder, shielding my eyes from the way Lady Vatusia’s image flickers. A strange buzzing sound fills the air, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

  A wicked smile lights up her face, and her eyes gleam like tiny golden suns as she watches Cyrus squirm under her inspection. “I came at a sort of crossroads in your future, child. I know you’re preparing for war with Déchets. If you wait for Alaric to come across the Devil’s Spine and attack you, I can assure you that you will fail.” Lady Vatusia lifts her clawed hand toward my head, and immediately visions of the future she’s described spring to life in my mind.

  Gasping breath wheezes from my throat as I give voice to the images in my mind, relaying each one to Cyrus before he can attempt to attack Lady Vatusia again. “I see a battlefield painted in blood, Cadogans and Ddraigs alike. I see the king standing over my broken body, laughing maniacally as he swings his sword at my head. I see Suryc and Siri captured, weeping over us, Cyrus. The images keep changing, but each one ends the same.” Tears flood down my face as I watch the litany of death and destruction, helpless against the inevitable fate we face. These images from the Lady Vatusia only confirm what I’ve foreseen in my own mind’s wanderings. “I can’t allow this to happen. There has to be another way.”

  “There is.” Lady Vatusia smiles, and the sight of her gleaming white teeth brings me no comfort. It’s like standing before a hungry viper that’s just seen its next meal skitter across the land. “You must bring the fight to the king in our lands, child. That is the one thing he will not expect.”

  “No! No way will we venture into Déchets on the word of an abomination like you,” Cyrus bellows, pushing me behind him as he faces off with Lady Vatusia. “We’d be spotted by the border guards and captured before we ever made it to the king. You’re only trying to trick us!”

  Lady Vatusia says nothing, her eyes still focused on me. A searing pain streaks through my mind like white-hot lightning. In my ears, I hear the creature’s voice, and I know by Cyrus’s lack of response that the lady is only in my head. I don’t mean your whole group must come to fight the king. Only you, child. You asked me why I came here today—it was to offer you my help. You have a place in Déchets and a title to your name. You will be harder to kill if you are standing by the king’s side, pretending to support his throne. When you see I am right, when you decide to follow my advice, I will be in the fortress to assist you. The only real question is this: How long before you recognize the truth of my words? How many will you allow to die before you step up and fight the battle yourself? You weren’t born into this war, but you can be the one to end it.

  I offer her a shaky nod, too overwhelmed to speak. The very idea of waltzing into Déchets, pretending that my own allegiance has changed to support the king, is repulsive to me. I couldn’t pass myself off as such a wicked, fickle traitor.

  “My time with you has long passed. The spell holding my spirit here is fading.” Lady Vatusia coughs, blood spewing from her mouth. The strange buzzing sound in the air grows so loud that I must cover my ears, my spine shivering involuntarily. The light surrounding Lady Vatusia brightens until I must shut my eyes against its blinding brilliance. A howling scream erupts from the center of the light as Lady Vatusia’s ethereal body explodes and fizzles in the air. Only a streaky spot on the stones shows any sign of her presence as the light fades and the noise disappears.

  My body sags until I fall to my knees, shock and relief at war in my veins. Cyrus falls right beside me, catching me before I tip over and fall on my face. I let him hold me close, whispering his words of comfort into my aching ears. I barely hear them. My mind is far away, lost in a hopeless future that sees me forging myself into a ruthless, brutal weapon and traveling alone to my enemy’s lands to bring down a tyrant king.

  “Iris? Are you listening?” Cyrus gently brushes my cheeks, turning my face toward his own. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m tired,” I confess, leaning heavily on his chest as I struggle to put weight on my wobbly legs. My heart is burdened by the heavy weight of a purpose I never wanted. I just don’t think I’m strong enough to endure much more. While I whisper the words in my secret heart, I keep them from Cyrus, determined not to add to the troubles he already carries. Instead, I pull on Cyrus’s arm, saying, “Let’s go find Siri and Suryc. It’s time they hear the truth about the Vibría, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 7

  “Are you ready?” Ithel asks for the seventh or eighth time as the medics leave the infirmary after their final examination before the big event.

  “Enough, Ithel. I’m as ready as I can be. It’s hard to imagine it is already time,” Helena barks as she lifts her head from her hands. Seven days of maniacal, ruthless training completed, it is now time to face the tunnel. “I spent years in that prison cell waiting to go mad, wishing I would just die and get it over with. And now I’m here, nearing the one day of which I never dared to dream.” Helena rubs her hands through her hair, still reveling in its silky texture and clean scent. “Now that I’m so close to escaping those cells for good, I can admit how badly I want to be free. I can almost taste it, Ithel,” Helena confesses, crossing her thin, toned arms as she asks the question she longs and dreads to utter aloud. “Do you really think I have any chance of surviving the tunnel?”

  Ithel rises from his perch on the armchair by her bed, moving until he stands right in front of Helena. His fingers walk down her cheek as he watches the bobbing of her throat. Softly he recalls the way it felt to brush his lips across her forehead, the tip of her nose, the hollow at the base of her throat. He groans at the memories, wishing he could pull Helena close. His hands clench by his side as he imagines placing them on the small of her back, holding her tightly to himself. He’d never let her slip away again. No, Ithel scoffs as past mistakes taint his memories. I cannot let her break my heart again. He’d keep Helena like a cherished locket, close to his heart at all times, but always on a chain, easily removed from around his neck. His fingers tighten on her chin, keeping her locked in place as he whispers, “I can’t really believe no one has survived the tunnel. It’s possible that every one of the spies Alaric’s used in the past went through this same trial. Our king is not creative enough to use more than one means of determining a prisoner’s mettle. Only the strongest will make it. And in my opinion, if anyone has a chance, it’s you, Helena. You have the drive and endurance to face what lies in the tunnel. I have no doubt you will succeed.” Then, before allowing himself to act on his romantic fantasy, Ithel drifts away on the breeze, mumbling, “Get dressed. I’ll return whe
n you’re ready.”

  Helena’s hands are cold as she reaches for the lightweight pants and sleeveless shirt Ithel chose for her. Her fingers tremble as she reaches up to brush her cheek, tracing the places Ithel had touched. Shivering as her eyes drift close, she can still feel the kiss of the wind he’d created as he fled from her presence. “Oh, Ithel….” Her voice fades, racing on the breeze as if it could somehow catch her former lover and drag him back to her side. I wish you knew everything in my heart.

  After about a half an hour, Helena stands before the mirror one final time. “You can make it through this,” she tells her reflection, her jaw setting as a determined fire flickers to life. “You have to—this isn’t just about survival.” This is about revenge, about making recompense for a litany of wrongs caused by Alaric, perpetrated by his soldiers, and silently condoned by all the citizens of Déchets who did not speak up when they should have done. This is about protecting my daughter and Ithel and the Ddraigs and keeping the Carreglas from Alaric’s greedy clutches. This is about saving another nation from ruination, even if it means I must bring down my own.

  Ithel returns to the infirmary with the sunlight blazing through the open windows behind him. Gulping once, Ithel moves closer and wordlessly ties a blindfold around Helena’s eyes. His fingers graze the back of her neck as he tightens the thick material into her snarled hair. Her shoulders tense and pull toward her ears. Ithel is a distraction I do not need right now. Ithel lightly grips her elbow, silently urging her to move forward. Calm, quiet, patient. Helena breathes the mantra over and over with every step, her lower jaw beginning to tremble. Yet despite her resolve, Helena hesitates at the doorway and pleads, “Don’t come with me, Ithel.”