The crowd cheered in delight.
Andronicus slowly sat back down, still holding the fresh corpse in his lap, reveling in the games. They were going even better tonight than he had expected, and his spirits had not been this high in he did not know how long.
“My liege, forgive me,” came a voice.
Andronicus turned to see one of his messengers standing beside them, whispering in his ear.
“Forgive my interruption, master, but I bring important news.”
“Speak it then,” Andronicus snarled, still looking straight ahead, trying to ignore the man. Andronicus had a sinking feeling that whatever it was would interrupt his mood. And he did not want it interrupted.
“News has spread that the McCloud army has invaded the other half of the Ring. Our spies tell us that the MacGil’s kingdom may be overrun within days, and that the McClouds will control the Ring.”
Andronicus slowly nodded, taking in the information with a seething rage that he did not show—then he reached over, grabbed the messenger with both hands, stood, and hoisted him across the room with a superhuman strength. The messenger, a small, frail man from the Hinterlands, went flying through the air, shrieking, and the crowd watched, transfixed, as he cleared the fence to the arena and landed inside with the wild animals.
The two animals, startled, took a break from smashing into each other and turned towards the messenger. Together, they charged him, and the messenger turned and ran, screaming, trying to flee. But there was nowhere for him to go. As he climbed the wall, trying to get out, one of the animals pierced his back with its thick horn, pinning him to the cage.
The messenger shrieked, blood gushing from his mouth, grasping the wall with his fingernails as he died.
The crowd rose to its feet, screaming in delight.
Andronicus pondered the news. It had put him in a very bad mood, indeed. That McCloud king had defied him, had not accepted his offer, had not acceded to his wishes to let him cross the canyon, to attack the MacGils together. That McCloud king was more hard-headed than Andronicus had anticipated. He was out of Andronicus’s reach. And Andronicus hated things he could not control.
Andronicus had expected a moment like this. The Ring had been nothing but a thorn in his side, in the side of the entire Empire—the only free territory left in it, for as long as his ancestors could remember. He was determined to change that. He had conquered virtually every corner of the Empire, and his victory could not be complete without invading the Ring, making the entire land subservient to his will.
Andronicus had a backup scenario in mind for news such as this, and now it was time to employ it.
He suddenly rose, the entire room dropping to its knees and bowing down as he did, and threw off the lifeless corpse, now cold, of the young girl. He marched across the room, as hundreds of his followers bowed low to the ground, and was followed his entourage of loyal advisors. The advisors knew better than to question where he was going, knowing to obediently follow until he told them otherwise.
Andronicus left the chamber, and his men followed close as he entered the corridors of his castle.
Andronicus marched, fuming with rage, deep into the bowels of his castle, working his way down towards the torture chambers. The corridors were shaped in wide circles, and he went around and around, the walls lined with torches, until finally he reached a square, metal door, iron spikes protruding from it. At the sight of him, three attendants hurried to yank it open, bowing their heads low.
Andronicus marched in, his men close behind.
In the chamber stood two prisoners, members of the McCloud kingdom, men they had captured years ago off of one of the McCloud ships. Andronicus examined the men, chained against the opposite wall, hands and feet bound, and decided that they looked ripe. They had kept these men chained here for years, starving them, torturing them once a day, breaking them utterly, completely, for a moment such as this. For a moment when McCloud had defied him. Now it was time for Andronicus to use them, to extract the information he had been needing to know for a lifetime. He only one had shot at this, and he needed to get it right.
Andronicus stepped forward, grabbed a long, sharp hook off the wall, came up close to one of the men, and held the hook under his chin. He began to lift it, under the most tender and fragile part of his vocal cords, until the point pierced the skin.
The man’s eyes flooded with tears, and he shrieked out in agony.
“What is it that you want?” the man shrieked.
Andronicus smiled down at him.
“The Canyon,” he growled, slowly. “You have one chance to give me the answer. How do we breach it. What is its secret? What is the energy shield? Who controls it?”
The man blinked several times, sweating.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I swear it—”
Andronicus was not in the mood: he lifted the weapon high and the man shrieked in agony as it severed his throat, then his head. A moment later, his head rolled off his body, onto the floor.
Andronicus turned and looked at the other prisoner, chained to the opposite wall, the other McCloud. The man blinked several times, staring; he started moaning and shaking as Andronicus approached with the hook.
“Please!” the man squealed, “please, don’t kill me! Please, I beg you!”
McCloud got close to him, and held the hook to his throat, leaning in.
“You know the question,” Andronicus said. “Answer if you choose. If not, join your friend. You have three seconds. One, two—”
He began to lift the hook.
“Okay!” the man screamed. “Okay! I will tell you! I will tell you everything!”
Andronicus stared at him closely, trying to see if he was lying. He was expert at that, having killed so many people in his lifetime. As he stared deeply into the man’s pupils, dilating, he saw that he was telling the truth.
Slowly, he smiled, relaxed. Finally, the Ring would be his.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Gwendolyn stood on the upper parapet of the castle on the cold Fall day, the wind blowing back her hair, and looked out at the brilliant countryside. The rolling farmlands were filled fall harvesters, dozens of women gathering fruits into baskets. All around her, everything was changing, all the leaves a myriad of colors, purples and greens and oranges and yellows…. The two suns were changing, too, as they always did in the Fall, now casting a yellow and purple hue to the day. It was a magnificent day, and looking out at the vista before her, everything seemed right in the world.
For the first time since her father’s death, she felt a sense of optimism. She had awakened before the dawn, and had waited with anticipation the tolling of the bells, announcing the return of the Legion. She waited and watched the horizon for hours, and below her, as the day broke, she could see crowds already beginning to form in the streets below, preparing for the parades to welcome them back.
Gwen was overjoyed with excitement. Today was the day Thor would return to her.
She had been up all night, counting the minutes till sunrise. She could hardly believe it had finally come. Today, Thor was returning. All would be right again in the world.
She also felt a sense of joy, of accomplishment, that Kendrick had not been executed. Somehow, her meeting had gotten through to her mother. She hated the idea of his wallowing in the dungeon, and every day she thought of ways to get him out, but for now, at least she had kept him alive.
She was determined to prove who murdered her father, but had been unable over the last hundred days, despite her efforts, to find any new leads. Godfrey, too, had reached a dead end. They were both blocked at every turn. Gwendolyn felt increasingly threatened under Gareth’s watchful eye, his multitude of spies; she felt less safe in the castle as days went by. She winced as she thought of the scar Gareth’s assassin had left on her cheek; it was light, hard to see except in direct sunlight, looking more like a scratch—but nonetheless, it was there. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw it, and she r
emembered. She knew she had to make a change, and make one soon. Gareth was becoming more unhinged with each passing day, and there was no telling what he might do.
But now that Thor was returning, now that the Legion would be home, including her younger brother Reese, she no longer felt so alone with all of this. Change was in the air, and the status quo would not remain the same. She felt it would only be a matter of time until she found a way to release her brother. And most importantly, she could now be with Thor permanently. She had not spoken to her mother since that last fateful meeting, and she suspected she would not talk to her again; yet at least she was no longer an obstacle between her and Thor.
Gwen watched the horizon. In the far distance, beyond the Canyon, she saw the faintest glimmer of the ocean, and looked for any signs of sails. She knew it was overly optimistic to be able to spot them from this far away, and even once they landed, they were still a half day’s ride away. But she could not help but watch. All around her, the bells tolled. She had worn her finest white silks for the day. A part of her wanted Thor to take her away from here, from all this, from all this castle maneuvering, to a place where they could be safe. To have a new life somewhere. With him. She did not know what or where. But she knew she needed to start again.
“Gwendolyn?” came a voice.
She spun, jolted from her thoughts, and to her surprise saw a man standing there, a few feet away. He had snuck up on her, and worse, it was a man that she despised. Not a man—a boy.
Alton. The very face of duplicity, of aristocracy, of everything wrong with this place.
He stood there, looking so arrogant, so self-assured, dressed in his silly outfit, wearing an ascot even in the fall, and she despised him more than ever. She was everything he hated in a man. She was still furious at him for misleading her, for telling her all those lies about Thor that nearly broke them apart. He had made a fool of her. She had vowed to never set eyes on him again—not that she liked him to begin with.
Thus far she had been successful. Months had passed since she had seen him last, and she could not believe he had the audacity to come out of the woodwork now, to be standing here. She wondered how he’d even got up here, how he slipped past the guards. He must have used his nonsense line about being royalty, and they must have believed it. He could be very convincing, even in his lies.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He took a step closer to her, one step too close for her. There were only a few feet in between them, and she felt her body tense up.
He smiled, as if not detecting her hostility.
“I’ve come to give you a second chance,” he said.
She laughed aloud at his absurdity.
“Me? A second chance?” she asked, incredulous. “As if I ever wanted a first chance to begin with. And who are you to be giving anyone chances? If anything, it would be I giving you a second chance. But as I said, there are no chances. You’re nothing to me. You never were. You never seem to accept that. You live in a world of delusion.”
He snorted back at her.
“I understand that when a woman’s feelings are so strong for man, she can sometimes live in denial, so I forgive you your rash words. You know that you and I have always been meant to be, from the time we were children. You can try to resist it, but you know as well as I do that nothing will tear us apart.”
She laughed.
“Tear us apart?” she mocked. “You really are sick. We were never together. We will never be together. There is nothing to tear apart. Except for your lies. How dare you lie to me about Thor!” she yelled, her voice rising, growing indignant.
Alton merely shrugged.
“Technicalities,” he said. “He is a commoner. Who cares about him?”
“I care—very much. You spouted lies about him and made a fool of me.”
“If I took liberty with the facts, it makes no difference. If he’s not guilty of one voice, surely he will be of another. The fact is, he is a commoner and beneath you, and you know I’m right. He will never be good enough for you.
“I, on the other hand, am ready to accept you as my wife. I’ve come to you to confirm that you want me to make arrangements before I do. After all, weddings are expensive. My family is going to pay for it.”
Gwen looked back at him in disbelief. She’d never met anyone so out of touch with reality, so pompous. She could not believe that he actually seemed genuine. It made her sick.
“I don’t know how many ways I can tell you, Alton: I have no love for you. I don’t even have any like for you. In fact, I have the utmost hatred. And I always will. So I suggest you leave me now. I would never marry you. I would never even be your friend. Besides, I have other plans.”
Alton smiled, undeterred.
“If by that you mean your supposed marriage to Thor, you can think again,” he said, confidently, a mischievous smile at his lips.
Gwen felt her blood run cold.
“What are you talking about?” she hissed.
Alton stood there, smiling, reveling in the moment.
“Your lover boy Thor is not returning. I have it on good source he will be killed on the Isle of Mist. Quite a fatal accident, I’m afraid. So you can stop pining for his return home. It won’t happen.”
Gwen saw the confidence in his face, and she felt her heart crash. Was he telling the truth? If so, she wanted to kill him with her on their hands.
Alton took a step forward, staring into her eyes.
“So you see Gwendolyn, destiny is meant for the two of us after all. Stop resisting it. Take my hand now, and let’s make matters official. Let’s stop fighting what we already know to be true.”
Alton held out a hand, his smile widening as he stared at her. But she could also see drops of sweat forming on his forehead in the sun.
“Still no response?” he said. “Then allow me to add one more point,” he added, as he held his hand out there, trembling. “I’ve heard it on good rumor that your family plans to marry you off soon, like your older sister. After all, they can’t afford to have an unwed MacGil roaming around. You can choose my hand now in marriage—or if not, allow yourself to be assigned to some stranger. And I might add that it might be a brutal stranger, a savage from some corner of the Ring. You’d do far better with someone like me, someone you know.”
“You lie,” Gwen spat, feeling her entire body tremble. “I cannot be married off. Not by my family. Not by anyone.”
“Oh can’t you? Your sister was.”
“That was when my father was alive. When he was King.”
“And do we not have a King now?” he asked with a wry smile. “The King’s law is the King’s law.”
Gwen’s heart was racing as she contemplated his words. Gareth? Her brother? Marry her off? Could he be so sick, so cruel? Did he even have the right to do so? After all, he may be king, but he was not her father.
She did not want to ponder any of this anymore. She was revolted by Alton. She had no idea what to believe. She took a step closer to him, and put on her firmest face.
“Let me make it as clear for you as I can,” she enunciated slowly, her voice as cold as steel. “If you come near me again, I will have the royal guards—the royal guards of the true royal family—imprison you. They will throw you in the dungeon and you will never get out again. I can guarantee you that. Now get out of my presence, once and for all.”
Alton stood there, staring, and slowly his smile collapsed into a frown. Eventually his face started to tremble, and she could see his face change, boil over with rage.
“Don’t forget,” he hissed, “you’ve brought this on yourself.”
She had never heard him so angry before, as he spun on his heel, stormed off the parapets, and down the steps.
She stood there, alone, trembling inside, listening to his footsteps disappear for a very long time. She prayed to the gods that she never see him again.
Gwen turned back to the parapets, walked to the edge and looked out. Wa
s anything he said true? She prayed not. That was the problem with Alton—he had a way of implanting the worst thoughts in her head, thoughts she could not get out.
She closed her eyes and tried to shake the memory. He was an awful creature, the epitome of everything she hated about this place, the epitome of everything she felt was wrong with the world.
She opened her eyes, looked out over King’s court, and tried to make it all disappear. She tried to get back to the place she had been before Alton had appeared, to thinking of Thor, of his arrival home today, of being back in his arms. If anything, seeing Alton just made her realize how much she loved Thor. Thor was the opposite of Alton in every way: he was a noble, proud warrior, with a pure heart. He was more royal than Alton would ever be.
It made her realize how much she wanted to be with Thor, how she would do anything for it to be just the two of them, far away from this place. And she felt more determined than ever to let nothing come between them.
But as Gwen stood there, trying to recapture her peace, to picture Thor’s face, the shape of his jaw, the color of his eyes, the curve of his lips, she could not. Anger burned in her veins. Her peace had been shattered. She could not think clearly anymore, and she wanted to think clearly, before Thor arrived.
Gwen turned on her heel and crossed the parapet, leaving the roof, entering the spiral staircase, and beginning her descent. She needed a change of environment. She would enter the royal gardens, and take a long walk amidst the flowers. That would change her mindset—it always did.
As she descended, going down flight after flight, traveling the well-worn stone staircase that she had since a child, something felt wrong. She felt it before she saw it. It was a chill, a cold energy, like a sudden cloud passing over her.
Then she saw it, out of the corner of her eye. Motion, darkness. A blur. It all happened so quickly.
And then she felt it.
Gwen was tackled from behind, coarse hands grabbing her around the waist, driving her down to the ground.