…until Wren seized me from my tower and introduced me to a world of possibilities.
“Rapunzel, please. You must wake up.”
It’s the urgency in the voice has me bolting upright in bed. Disoriented, I frown into the darkness.
I gather the linen blanket to my bosom. Swivel left and right, scanning the darkened room. All the air leaves my lungs when I spy a shadowy figure that seems birthed from the darkness. It moves toward the bed, pressing me back against the pillow.
Not the demon. It’s much too small…
“Eleanor!” I rasp, keeping my voice low so the night guard outside my chamber won’t hear me. “How did you get in here?” I whip a petrified glance at the door. “If anyone catches you—”
The smoldering ash in the hearth casts barely any light. However, I vaguely see her extend a slender arm as she points to an open secret wall panel across the room. “The Queen’s Passage,” she whispers. “We have little time. I spoke to Sir Walter. He will help us. Hush, Rapunzel,” she scolds when I attempt to speak. “I trust him and ask that you trust him as well. §He’ll find Quinn and tell him where to enter the keep.” She grabs my hands, forcing me to drop the blanket. “We won’t fight John alone. Walter said there are men in the garrison who despise John. They’ll clear the way for my brother to get inside Newkirk. Together, we’ll do whatever is necessary to kill this bastard.”
“I suspected Walter was on our side.”
She gives my hands a gentle squeeze before dropping them. “He may not be a born son of Rygard, but he’s bled for this kingdom.” There is a note of pride in her hushed voice. “He’ll be loyal to you because you obviously love this kingdom to sacrifice everything for it.”
“He will be rewarded for his loyalty,” I assure her.
Excitement is a lightning strike in my veins when I realize how close we are to finally taking John’s throne.
Eleanor flicks a nervous glance at the wall panel. “John is sick, Rapunzel. He’s dying. That’s why he was desperate to find you.”
“Yes, I suspected as much.”
“He’s gotten worse. Much worse.” Her whole body shudders. “He came to me tonight to do his…business. While he was on top of me, he began coughing. Then spitting up blood. Then he collapsed. I had to call for his physician.”
I notice the spatter of blood on her white sleeping gown. When I return my gaze to her somber face, I finally look hard enough through the dim light and note fresh bruises darkening her fair flesh. “Eleanor…”
She waves a hand through the air. “Even when at his weakest, John enjoys inflicting pain upon others almost as much as he relishes power.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner.”
“No matter.” She touches her fingertips to her cut bottom lip. “We’re going to kill him, and that’s enough for me. Thank God for the rule of hereditary succession, for I’ll be glad when the crown is no longer mine.” Absently, she touches her head, and I can almost feel the lifting of her burden and the weight of it transferring to me. “But we must act quickly because his health won’t hold, and he’s growing desperate.”
God forgive me, but if ever a man deserves his death, it’s King John of Rygard. “Can Sir Walter get to Quinn tonight?”
Eleanor thinks for a moment, then nods, “I believe so. The physician gave John a sleeping tonic. That will give us a few hours before he wakes.”
“Perfect.” When Eleanor rushes to leave, I clamp a hand around her arm to stop her. “I need yarrow, comfrey, woad, a pestle and mortar, and shears. And vials. Three of them. How fast can you get those for me? Can you get those to me?”
“Yes… We should have plenty in the apothecary… It won’t be easy, but it can be done. Sir Walter will get them and pass them on to me. I’ll deliver them to you.” Then she gives me a peculiar look and whispers, “Whatever do you need them for?”
“Your brother taught me that all is fair in battle. I plan to give our men the upper hand.”
No matter the cost.
No matter the pain.
No matter their refusal.
ChapterNineteen
“Company’s coming.” Quinn’s quiet announcement breaks the hush of the night.
“Some men seem to want to die,” Dax drawls beside me. He pokes a stick into the small fire in the center of our tight camp. We’re hidden deep in the forest outside Newkirk, yet well within the shadow of the fortress. “How many?”
Quinn sniffs the air. “Two.” He inhales again. “No, one.”
