Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 (7 page)

Alecia
shook her head. Vard Anton could never be anything to her but a
servant. He was years older than she and the wrong class. Her
father would never let her marry a soldier.
Marriage!
Her heart lurched at the
thought.

Deliberately, she turned her thoughts to her vendetta
against the mercenaries. It would continue; it must. Jorge would
not die unavenged. Her first attempt had almost led to disaster but
in the end, the target had lain dead
-- if not by her hand. She could still do this,
but it would take brains, not brawn.
Why did I not see that from the
outset?

Alecia pulled
a parchment with the descriptions of the five mercenaries from her
bedside drawer. The second on the list was the man already dead.
First was a tall, thin man with narrow shoulders and eyes set
close. The third was almost as tall and heavyset, with six earrings
on each ear. He was bald but sported a bushy black beard. Fourth on
the list was a man shorter than Alecia with close-cropped blond
hair and a red gem set in the lobe of his left ear. Last of all
came the one she had nicknamed ‘the Devil’. Jorge’s father had been
eloquent in his description of this man: of average height with
wild black hair balanced by a moustache and beard, cold green eyes
and a cruel laugh. The Devil was the leader and his sword had cut
down Jorge Andra as he tried to defend his parents. Well, he would
soon discover how it felt to be the victim of cold steel.

But how to
find these men? Her first assault had come on impulse. She had seen
the five men enter the tavern and realized at once who they were.
It was then a matter of waiting for one to come out. There had been
no plan, and the aftermath had shown her the folly of that. She had
heard The Dancing Lion referred to as a favorite watering hole for
mercenaries. Would the killers continue to associate there or had
her father ordered them to disperse? It was time to
investigate.

Alecia shed
her nightgown and donned a dark gray shirt and breeches, bundling
her hair up under a tattered black cap. Then she pulled on the
hood. She stuffed her nightgown with her spare blankets and placed
her nightcap over the top. By candlelight, when the covers were
pulled up, it would appear that she was still in her bed if anyone
should check.

She retrieved
five knives from a cavity inside the wood box and hid them about
her person. A puff of breath snuffed the two candles by her bedside
and she pulled the tapestry aside with a whispered prayer to Izebel
to keep her safe. The stone door swung open with a low rumble and
closed just as quietly. The trip to the trapdoor was uneventful and
she soon found herself outside the castle walls.

Alecia paused
in the stand of trees that hid the trapdoor. A three-quarter moon
floated in the sky. She kept to the shadows as she made her way
into town. The backstreets frequented by drunks, thieves and other
unsavoury types were well known to her but darkness made the narrow
alleys forbidding. After half an hour of creeping through the
putrid streets Alecia’s teeth ached from the strain of avoiding
notice. She stopped in an alley across from The Dancing Lion. Light
blazed from the windows and the sounds of a woman singing a bawdy
tune floated to her. The patrons were comfortable in their warm
retreat and none ventured into the street.

Open slats on
two windows at the front of the building and one on either end
spilled lantern light into the night. Alecia cast her gaze around
the streets and rooftops for signs of watchers but saw no movement.
She took a deep breath and sprinted across the street to the alley
beside the tavern, dropping beneath the windowsill. Her heart
raced, her breath coming in gasps. She waited until her body
settled, then peered above the sill.

The
crowd was not large. The four men she wanted were seated around the
room. Two talked together in a corner while the Devil and the blond
man rested on a bench in front of the fire. Alecia flirted with the
idea of boarding the place up and setting it on fire before she
caught herself. If she did that, she would be no better than the
mercenaries or her father. She slumped back to the ground under the
sill, her arms wrapped around herself.
What is happening to me?
First the incident yesterday
when she nearly died, then the captain unnerving her and now she
was contemplating killing innocents to attain her goal. She hugged
herself tighter, shivers of panic sliding over her
skull.

Massaging her temples with cold fingers, she took deep
breaths to stem the rising dread.
I can do this
. As long as she remembered she acted for good,
she could not fail. Tonight’s task was to discover if the
mercenaries still frequented the Lion. Now she could return to the
castle to plan her attack.

As Alecia
stood and made ready to leave, a commotion at the front door drew
her attention. She peered around the corner of the building and saw
the Devil push another patron onto the cobbles fronting the tavern.
The big mercenary pulled the other man to his feet and turned him
about. A sharp crack echoed up the street as the victim’s neck
snapped and Alecia’s heart leapt so hard she gasped and grabbed her
chest. Allowing the body to slide to the cobbles, the Devil
turned.

Even in
the dim light of the moon, the murderous glare of the big man
heralded his intent. He started towards her, slowly, deliberately
and for crucial moments, Alecia froze. He was too big, too fierce!
She would end her life in this dirty alley and this man would add
another murder to his crimes.
No!
She
could not let that happen. Taking a deep breath, Alecia felt for
the knives hidden about her person but her chilled fingers fumbled
the task. Finally, one came into her hand and she threw it. The
mercenary flung his arm up and the blade glanced off his leather
guard.
Harder, faster!
Her second knife wedged in his left shoulder.

He
howled like a wounded animal then pulled the blade from his
shoulder, tossed it aside and started towards her once again.
Alecia yelped as her back bumped up against the side of the
tailor’s shop, and her attacker smiled. She fought the terror that
clawed at her and inched along, her back scraping over the rough
wooden boards.
A little more space is all I need. He is slow and I have
the cunning of the fox.
The trouble was, Alecia’s brave words did not ring true in
her heart. As she backed up, the Devil came on like a winter
avalanche.

Another of her
knives sprang into her left hand and she threw, gratified to strike
the Devil’s chest this time. He clutched at the hilt and a gobbet
of blood spilled from his lips. Six strides separated her from the
mercenary. Calm descended upon her as he closed the distance. She
would not die a frightened mouse. Alecia found her last knife and
threw it, the blade flying true to its target. Moments later, his
huge hands closed on her shoulders and his face loomed over hers as
he bore her to the ground.

The air
gushed from her lungs as his massive bulk settled. Alecia battled
for breath and braced herself to fight those meaty fists but the
man did not move. The handle of her last knife protruded from the
right side of his neck and blood pumped onto her chest.
His
blood
. The sticky, warm
liquid oozed onto the skin of her neck and bile rushed up her
throat. She pushed at the Devil’s shoulders and kicked her feet
under his legs. It was no use. She was pinned beneath this man
mountain, barely able to draw breath. The body felt heavier by the
second and the air she managed to suck in reeked of stale sweat,
sour wine and the metallic stench of fresh blood.
How can this be
happening again?
There
would be no Captain Anton to save her this time. The best she could
hope for was for one of the other patrons to find her when the
tavern closed. Without warning, the dead weight shifted as the body
rolled off her. She found herself staring up at Hetty.

Alecia rolled
over onto her side, coughing. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask
you the same thing,” the witch said. “Get up and come with me
before that man’s friends come looking.”

Alecia
scrambled to her feet and glanced at the tavern. The body of the
other man still lay in the street. As her eyes swept across the
Devil’s still form, she spied two golden spots, like eyes, at the
far end of the alley. A shiver of unease swept through her.
“Hetty,” she whispered. “Do you see that?”

“I see nothing
but darkness,” Hetty said.

The golden
points had vanished.

Hetty tugged
at her sleeve and Alecia jogged along behind the old woman, tensing
each time they passed a side street, anticipating ambush from the
mercenaries, or worse. She had not imagined those eyes. They gained
Hetty’s two-storey shack without incident and entered.

When the door
closed behind her, Alecia turned to her friend. “I saw the glow of
eyes at the end of the alley. What do you think it was?”

“Could have
been anything, Princess. Might have been your imagination, after a
shock like that. Now, tell me what you were about. Not on your
vendetta again, are you?”

Alecia
frowned. “I was just having a look. Then the Devil stormed out of
the tavern and broke that man’s neck. He saw me and I had to kill
him.” Dizziness swept over her and she staggered to a bench near
the small fire in Hetty’s sitting room, both arms wrapped across
her body to halt the shudders. “I do not feel well.”

Hetty stared
for a moment and sighed. “Wait here, I’ll get you some tea.”

Alecia
closed her eyes, praying that the room would stop spinning.
I have just killed
the Devil! It was in self-defence but still I killed him.
A surge of nausea hit her and
she breathed deeply to prevent her stomach from emptying. By the
time she had battled down the nausea, Alecia was trembling so hard
her teeth chattered. She couldn’t give into this. She had to get
back to the castle before word spread of murders in the town. In
that moment, the thought of the trip back to the castle was too
much to bear.

Hetty returned
with a mug of steaming tea. “Drink this.” She gave the brew a last
stir.

Alecia took
the tea and breathed deeply of its aroma. It smelled a little
different. “What is it?”

“Plain tea
with extra honey. Oh, and owl’s blood for intelligence.”

She stared at
Hetty. “You jest.”

“Do I? When I
think of all those years I tried to teach you common sense… Do you
believe you can even the score like a man would?”

“It is the
only language they understand; violence and cruelty. Even my
father.”

“Especially
your father, Princess.”

“He too is a
victim.”

“Your father
is no more a victim than that mercenary. He is the cause of all
this strife. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll end the
misery.”

“You know
nothing. Father is the victim of manipulation by his advisor.”

“And happy to
be manipulated.”

Alecia stared
at the witch, who glared right back. She could not accept Hetty’s
words but the stubborn set of the old woman’s whiskery jaw told her
arguing was pointless. “How can I deal with my father’s mercenaries
any other way?”

“It’s your
father who must be stopped. Permanently. You must discover the
means. Violence against the mercenaries will only end in grief for
you and I can’t bear to see you harmed.” Hetty sat and placed her
bony arm around Alecia’s shoulders.

She looked at
the old woman. “How did you move the mercenary? One kick should not
have been able to budge him.”

“I’m stronger
than I appear,” she said. “Are you injured?”

Alecia looked
down at the blood congealing on her shirt and neck and shuddered.
“No, just a little bruised.” She took a sip of the sweet tea and
found it was just an ordinary brew. Or was it? One could never tell
with Hetty. She took another mouthful and warmth blossomed in her
belly. Perhaps it would give her enough courage for the chore
ahead. “I must go before I am missed.”

“First, I wish
to ask about the captain,” Hetty said. “Rumor says he is now your
protector.”

Alecia
frowned. News traveled fast. “Captain Anton has been given the task
of ensuring my safety,” she said, stiffly. Her eyes met Hetty’s and
Alecia lifted her chin.

“Not doing a
very good job, is he?” Hetty said.

“He does not
know what he has taken on,” Alecia said, her voice rising. “If he
thinks he can imprison me, make my life a misery in my own
castle…”

“Does he know
your secret?”

Alecia dropped
her eyes and her voice. “No.”

“You’ll tell
me if you need help. Tell old Hetty and she’ll come to fetch you.
You see if I don’t.”

“I would not
allow you to expose yourself so.” Alecia straightened her shoulders
and looked at the witch. “Whatever my father and the captain have
planned for me… I will deal with it.”

Hetty studied
her for a long moment, her eyes full of pity, a frown deepening the
creases in her brow. She opened her mouth but Alecia raised her
hand. “Do not say it, Hetty. If you show me an ounce of sympathy, I
am not sure what I will do.”

Hetty nodded.
“You need to change those clothes. Come, I have a shirt and hood
that will suffice.”

Alecia left her clothes
in the passage and stepped back through the hidden stone door into
her chamber. Eerie shadows from her candle danced on the walls. It
was all too easy to imagine hidden assassins in every corner. Her
heart raced from the trip back to the castle. The night watch had
been difficult to elude and she had used all her skills to navigate
the streets without raising the alarm. She used the candle she held
to light the two by her bed and then walked around the room,
lighting every other candle she had. Three stout logs soon had the
fire blazing and chased the last of the night chill and the shadows
away. The chores helped to ease her frayed nerves. Better that than
think about what had transpired tonight.