Home > Venom(7)

Venom(7)
Author: Bex Hogan

Damn.

I’m going to have to pop it back in.

Resting the palm of my hand against the wall, I take a deep breath, before forcing all my weight towards it, shoving the bone back into place.

I pass out for a moment and wake up on the floor, shivering and in pain, but I’ve done it. I make no effort to get up, exhausted. The agony was worth it: in the midst of the chaos I stole the key from the gaoler’s belt without the young guard noticing and I don’t even have to move far to conceal it in one of the cracks in the wall.

Though I don’t imagine the guards will try that again, it’s hardly made the arrival of food and water more likely. Their humiliation won’t go unpunished, so I can expect to continue starving until such time as the King decides to make his move.

And when he does, I’ll be ready.

 

 

Two weeks after my wedding day, the court is assembled in the palace’s central marbled hall, a space usually reserved for summer balls.

It’s taken the King far longer than I would have expected to pull this sham of a trial together, and I wonder what’s happened to cause such a delay. Perhaps the King had less support than he supposed and had to resort to blackmail and other threats to get the testimonies he required. Whatever the reason, I knew things weren’t going well for him when water started being delivered to my cell. He wants me weak, not dead. Not like that anyway – it has to be public. Official.

I haven’t heard from Sharpe since I saw him that first day, and I can only assume his silence means he’s been unable to leave Torin’s side. And so I’ve bided my time, wanting it to appear as if I’ve given up, all the while waiting, safe in the knowledge that no one has discovered the stolen key yet. Once I’ve found out what the King is up to, I will be ready to escape.

He had me dragged into the hall early this morning, still wearing the blood-stained shift that I wore the night of Torin’s near-death, and the murmurs of disgust were audible. I’m filthy and I stink. I can only imagine how I look, but it certainly isn’t imposing, threatening or any of the things the Viper should be.

Half the First Isle seems to be congregated in the hall; my once cheering wedding guests are now a jeering crowd.

I’ve been made to wait, sitting on my solitary chair, positioned so that everyone can gawp at me, which they do relentlessly, until eventually the King arrives and the show begins. It quickly becomes clear that this is going to be quite some performance.

‘My dearest Islanders,’ the King begins. ‘Thank you for coming today, though I deeply regret that such attendance was even required. My son …’ He trails off, his voice breaking with false emotion. ‘Forgive me,’ he continues, his hand pressed against his chest, eyes swimming with crocodile tears. ‘Prince Torin is gravely ill, fighting for his life, and all I want is to be with my child.’

Oh, please. I doubt the King’s been to visit Torin even once. Nevertheless, a spike of fear shoots through me. Is he telling the truth? Is my husband’s condition still so serious? Or is this another part of the King’s act? Perhaps I should just stand up, flee this hall, and fight my way to the healing room, leaving a trail of bodies strewn on the floor in my wake.

Only the knowledge that such an action would jeopardise everything we’ve all fought for – the stability of the East – stops me from doing exactly that. Instead I sit and force myself to listen to the utter bilge pouring from the King’s mouth.

‘It breaks my heart,’ he’s saying, ‘that this woman –’ and he pauses to point at me – ‘whom I embraced as my own daughter, should have betrayed us all in such a fashion. That she could be responsible for the possible death of my boy.’

Our eyes meet and I see no sorrow in his. Just a steely determination to destroy me. Whether or not he intended to have me killed that night is irrelevant now. This is my assassination.

The King looks away and resumes his attack on my character. ‘I wouldn’t have believed her capable of hurting Torin if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. The memory of her looming over his body, her knife in his chest …’ Again he pauses to collect his composure. ‘Well, you can all see his blood on her clothes.’

There’s a murmur of horror and disgust from the crowd, and I glance over at the jury to gauge their response. The King has assembled quite the council to judge me – it’s made up entirely of his advisors and governors from the other Isles. Men who belong to him. And from the look on their faces I’d say they’re enjoying the King’s performance as much as he’s enjoying giving it.

‘It grieves me to say this,’ the King continues, not sounding in the least bit aggrieved, ‘but our Viper is far from what she seems. She has deceived us all, and today it is sadly my duty to reveal to you her true nature.’

The proceedings continue with Braydon, which is to be expected seeing as he can give evidence that will align with what the King wants everyone to believe.

The King stands him opposite the jury, which means I’m looking almost directly at him, though Braydon avoids making eye contact.

‘Would you please tell the court what happened on the night of the attack?’ the King asks him, looking supremely confident before his council.

‘The accused left the wedding chamber in the early hours of the morning, wishing to return to her former quarters.’

There is a hum of surprise in the room at this, for why would a bride wish to leave her new husband on their wedding night? Instantly this is cause for suspicion.

‘And did she go alone?’ The King seems to be enjoying this rather too much for a man whose son’s life is hanging in the balance.

‘No, though she wished to. I insisted upon accompanying her.’

‘Why was that?

Braydon now looks over at me. ‘Because I’ve never trusted her. She’s a Snake.’

There’s a general nodding of agreement through the congregated court, and I fight not to roll my eyes given that these same courtiers were fawning over me not that long ago.

‘Indeed,’ the King says. ‘And what happened then?’

‘I escorted her back to her old room, where she insisted she would remain, for fear of disturbing the Prince if she were to return. I was reluctant, but it was not my place to question her, and so I bade her good night.’

‘And when did you next lay eyes on her?’ The King is coming to his triumphant climax now.

‘When I burst into the Prince’s chamber and discovered her crouching over him, her knife sunk deep into his chest, the window still open from where she’d climbed in.’

The cry of outrage that echoes through the hall brings a small smile to the King’s lips and a blow to my heart. They’re all so willing to believe me guilty and, this time, the pang of fear I experience is entirely for myself.

When the room settles down, the King addresses the jury once more.

‘This testimony on its own may seem evidence enough to condemn the accused, but I implore you to listen to the remaining witnesses to truly grasp the lengths this girl is willing to go to for power.’

I bristle at his use of the word ‘girl’. I’m the Viper. I did what no other dared do – stood up to Captain Adler and won. The King’s choice of words seeks to undermine that, to diminish who I am, and, despite my fear, I seethe.

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