‘Alive.’ Sharpe squeezes my hands tightly. ‘For now.’
My relief is palpable. ‘Thank goodness.’
Sharpe shakes his head. ‘He’s unconscious, Marianne. He’s not waking up.’
‘Don’t worry, that’s fine. His body needs time to rest – probably the healer gave him something to keep him asleep.’ I can feel the weight of the night lifting from me and am keen to reassure Sharpe that all is now well.
But his face remains like stone and he won’t stop shaking his head.
‘You don’t understand,’ he says. ‘I’m certain the healer is keeping him asleep. But not just so he can heal.’
I finally realise what Sharpe’s telling me. ‘They don’t want him to clear my name.’
Sharpe bows his head. ‘I’m sorry. The King wants the trial to happen immediately. He already has every important advisor here for the wedding, every ally at his disposal. He’s making his move to be rid of you.’
I can’t say I’m surprised.
‘There’s more,’ Sharpe says. ‘He had your chambers searched.’ And his fingers tighten round mine.
‘He took the document, didn’t he?’ Of course the King would have wanted to destroy the evidence that he was willing to step aside for Torin.
Sharpe nods. ‘He will not want you left alive, Marianne.’
No, he won’t. But what will he do about his son?
‘And Torin?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sharpe says, his voice clipped with worry. ‘Maybe the King hopes without you Torin poses no threat. Perhaps he’ll wake him once …’
‘Once I’m dead.’
‘I fear for him,’ Sharpe says. ‘But I don’t think the King would murder Torin.’
And yet I’m beginning to suspect that he may have already tried to.
‘You know I didn’t do this, don’t you?’ My question is barely a whisper; the answer matters so much to me.
‘I wouldn’t be here if I thought for a second you’d done it.’ And he actually gives me the smallest hint of a smile, the first I’ve seen from him in months, and if he’s offering it as a sign of friendship and comfort, it works.
‘Thank you.’
‘I will do anything I can to help you,’ he says, though we both know there’s little that can be done.
‘Sharpe, can you get word to my crew? I don’t know how they’re going to react to this, but tell them to sit tight. The last thing the Isles need is us declaring war on the King the day after our alliance.’
The gaoler is returning now, so Sharpe just nods. ‘Be safe,’ he says and squeezes my fingers one last time before dropping them.
‘Look after him,’ I call out as Sharpe walks away and then he’s gone, leaving me alone once more.
My blood runs white-hot with fury. Could it really be true? Is it possible the King hired someone to murder Torin just to keep his power? All it would have taken was a nod from Braydon that I wasn’t in the room and he could have sent an assassin to ensure there was no one left to force him to abdicate. Or did he intend to have us both killed? To turn our wedding bed into our death bed?
I see no one else for the rest of the day. No food or drink is brought to me, and by the following morning it becomes clear that none will be. Perhaps this is the King’s tactic. Starve me, weaken me. What he’s forgetting is that I’ve been on rations for months – as have most people. While he commandeers far more than his fair share of supplies and continues to keep his belly full, the rest of us have grown used to surviving on very little. I can withstand a few days’ fasting. It won’t be the first time. And as for being alone – well, I almost prefer it.
But after I’ve watched the moon rise and fall four times through the cracks in my wall, my isolation is disturbed. The gaoler approaches, accompanied by three other guards. The way their eyes greedily devour my body tells me instantly what they’re here to do, and though I’m tired, I’m also angry.
I don’t move from my corner, where I’ve been huddled for the past two days, making the most of my own body heat, and watch as they come into my cell, locking the door behind them.
I say nothing as they haul me to my feet and then circle me, as if I’m a mere object for them to play with.
My hands are still in irons, and this is making the men foolhardy. Believing me to be restrained, they inch closer.
‘Not so tough now, are you?’ It’s the gaoler who speaks first. ‘Without your men to make you look strong and keep you safe.’
‘And there’s nothing safe about us,’ another says.
The youngest of the guards reaches to grab my chin and pulls my face towards him to inspect it. ‘She’s just a girl.’ He sounds surprised and a little relieved. Perhaps my age and gender reassure him that I can’t hurt him, despite the fact that I’m the Viper. Perhaps he thinks that I earned the title by way of cheating or lying. As if just anyone could claim it. Or perhaps he simply thinks I slept my way to the top.
‘Please,’ I say softly, playing up my apparent vulnerability. ‘Don’t do this.’
They laugh and the gaoler comes nearer. ‘There’s no point begging,’ he says, his voice suddenly devoid of humour.
I raise my eyes to meet his and this time when I speak, there’s no hint of weakness. ‘I wasn’t. I was giving you a warning.’
And I make my move, before they have a chance to make theirs.
With the flat of my hand I smack the gaoler hard in the forehead, throwing him backwards. In the split second he’s dazed, I spin to duck the blow coming from the guard on my right, and land a punch of my own into the chest of the man on my left, which, with the weight of the irons behind it, cracks his sternum, making him drop to the floor with a shriek.
The first two are coming back for me now. I lunge at the gaoler, lifting my shackled hands over his head and using his body as an anchor to raise myself up so I can kick the other guard hard in his throat, rendering him unconscious. It’s all happening too fast for the gaoler, and he has no time to react as I fling my body round so I’m on his back, pulling the irons hard against his neck. While his hands flail wildly to try to stop me, I pull harder until he can’t breathe any more and passes out.
That leaves the youngest guard, who’s standing in the furthest corner and looking like he might wet himself.
I untangle myself from the body now lying on the floor and make my way to him, grabbing his collar to slam him against the wall.
‘You tell the King he continues to underestimate me,’ I say, my voice sounding more like a growl than anything human. ‘Tell him the next time he sends men to my cell, they’ll be carrying them out dead, understand?’
The guard nods, his brow dripping with sweat.
‘Good.’ I release him. ‘Now get these pigs out of here.’
Broken-sternum-man is already crawling towards the door, and the young guard drags the other two bodies out, nearly forgetting to relock my cell in his haste to be away from me.
It’s only after they’ve gone and the blood stops careering round my body that the pain starts to make its presence known. Somehow, during the fight, I managed to dislocate the shoulder that the assassin struck earlier.