I could protest my innocence, point out that if I was the heartless killer I’ve been portrayed as, Torin wouldn’t still be breathing, but who would listen? The King has utterly succeeded in destroying me. If I don’t find a way out of this, I’ll be dead in hours.
Think, Marianne.
If it were Bronn in this situation, he would have a plan. Would already know every exit, every possible way out of the palace. I was here several days before the wedding took place, but never thought to map out escape routes. Some assassin I am.
Perhaps if I only had a handful of guards I could fight them and slip away. But considering what happened the last time they underestimated me, no one’s taking any chances. A dozen strong guards surround me. That would be a challenge even at my best – in my weakened state it would be impossible.
By the time I’m thrown back into my damp prison, it all becomes irrelevant anyway. Without the key I’m trapped here until they come to take me to the gallows.
I slide down the wall, fighting away despair. This trial has taught me nothing other than that the King loves power above all things, including his son.
Torin. Every time I think of him, my heart squeezes too tight, fearing the worst. What fate awaits him now? Will his father keep him asleep for ever? Or just for many years? Can his body even survive such an unnatural sleep when already weakened from his injury?
My mind drifts to my own fate. I imagine the rope against my skin … coarse, clawing, how it’ll tighten until it steals the life from me. For a moment I wonder if Bronn will storm the execution, rescue me before burning the palace to the ground. I almost smile at my own foolishness. He wouldn’t risk the lives of his crew for such a futile endeavour. And he wouldn’t attempt to save me alone. No point in us both being dead. Maybe he will come and watch so his face could be the last thing I see before the darkness claims me?
No. I will never see him again and my sob is a lonely echo in the night.
But if I am to die, then I will not let my sorrow show. I am the Viper, whether the King likes it or not, and I will be strong to the end. Silently I remember the names of all those in the jury who signed my death warrant. One day they will regret choosing the King’s side. Even if I can’t return from the grave to haunt them, then I’m certain Bronn will eventually find a way to avenge my death.
The sound of someone approaching brings me to my feet. It’s not dawn yet, and I can’t think of any good reason why I’m getting a visit.
A guard I don’t know strides up to my cell, a plate in his hand. ‘Last meal,’ he says, his voice gruff and clipped.
I frown at him, but walk over to take a closer look. ‘Why would the King waste food on a dead woman?’
‘Not sure I’d call that food,’ he says with a smirk, and I reach to pick up the bread roll he’s brought me. I bang it against the iron bars and it makes the same noise a rock would.
‘I can hardly wait,’ I say, moving to return it to the plate, but he steps away.
‘Don’t choke,’ he says, turning to leave. ‘Or it’ll spoil all the fun tomorrow.’
And then he’s gone, before I can ask the questions building inside me. There’s something about the way he cautioned me, something unnatural, that makes me suspicious, that almost gives me hope … and if there’s ever been a time to act on such feelings, it’s now.
I tear into the stale bread, which is no easy feat, until I stab my finger on what is concealed inside it. A needle.
Sharpe. He must have found a way to get this to me, that’s why the guard was unfamiliar. Silently I thank him. He’s given me a chance and I’m not going to waste it.
The gaoler and his two other guards are at the far end of the prison, sitting around a table, gambling. They’ve been drinking, eating, trying anything to stay awake through these long night hours, and are paying no attention to what’s happening in the cells they believe are safely locked.
Crouching, I stretch my fingers until they reach the padlock on my prison door, and as I do so a memory of Grace freeing herself from the King’s dungeons comes to mind. She picked the lock with a hairpin that day, but the needle works just as well, and her presence is so strong I can almost believe she’s standing beside me as the lock springs open. Slowly, quietly, I unravel the chain from round the bars, and loop it into my hands. It’s a better weapon than nothing.
I creep up on the guards from behind, taking advantage of the element of surprise, and swing the chain hard across the back of the gaoler’s head. He instantly slumps forward. The other two guards scramble to their feet, but they’re drunk and disorientated. I bring down the chain over the nearest man’s knuckles and his sword clatters to the ground as he cries out. Before he has time to think, I’ve whipped the chain back up and this time slash him hard across the face, knocking him to the floor. The third man is watching all this, frozen with fear, and now he looks at me with pleading eyes. I could let him run, but then he’ll raise the alarm. There can be no mercy. I stoop to pick up the fallen sword, ready to fight, but he raises his arms in pitiful surrender. I press the blade against his chest.
‘You have keys?’ I ask, gesturing to the irons still clamped round my wrists.
He nods.
‘Then free me.’
He fumbles as he searches for the right one, before eventually finding it, inserting it into the lock and letting the irons fall away. A swift blow to his temple with the sword’s hilt and he no longer presents a problem. I look at the three of them, so easily overcome, and shake my head. How much have they had to drink?
Still, their utter incompetence worked in my favour. Swapping the sword for a dagger from the gaoler’s belt, I think about my next steps.
Before I do anything else, I need to find Torin, to see him, help him if I can. The castle is asleep and it’s easy to slip through the shadows undetected. The passageways in the depths of the castle aren’t frequently used, even in the busiest hours. It lures me into a false sense of security, thinking that I’m the only ghost roaming the halls at night. But the moment I reach the steep spiral staircase that connects the main castle to the dungeons, I hear voices. Lots of them. Creeping up, I take a look and my heart sinks. While the King may have felt confident leaving only three guards on duty outside the cells, he apparently wasn’t taking any chances for the rest of the castle. No amount of stealth will get me past the regiment assigned to this doorway, and if I try to fight my way through, I’ll meet my death earlier than scheduled.
Cursing to myself, I flee back down the stairs. There has to be another way out. I hastily retrace my steps, but every door I try is locked, so that the only path to take is the one that leads back to the cells. And then I see it, right before the entrance to the gaol: a narrow hallway off to the left. There are no torches on the wall this way, but I can see a sliver of light like a beacon in the distance, and so I run towards it. It’s only when I reach the end that I understand why the King hasn’t bothered to waste guards down here. Moonlight shines through a small window on the west side of the castle. Beyond it is nothing but a sheer drop down a perilous mountain. It’s not a way out; it’s certain death.
‘Prisoner on the loose!’ The words bounce down the stone walls to reach me and I swear under my breath. I should have killed those guards rather than just knocked them out. They know I’m here somewhere, like an animal in a trap. I look again at the window. If I don’t want to be captured, this is my only chance.