Renise tensed, seeing the movement all around her. Cowardice. Even now, Lady Lucina wouldn't be the one to send her to the great abyss. Cold sleep will take the Rimeaux family. Or lacking that, nameless retainers in full armour.
All against a girl in an uncomfortable blue dress.
“You represent the dynasty,” said Lady Lucina. “The lineage. And while I would dearly have preferred a way to dispose of you all without losing a capable commander, practicality ruled that no half-measures could be taken. Any notion of royal despots ruling the Smugglers Guild ends now. Apologies, but your family are the precedent.”
Renise took a step back, conscious of the shadows reaching from behind her.
As long as she spoke, they wouldn't strike. Not while they thought the ruler of House Tolent still had an explanation to give—and none of them to Renise.
From the moment Lady Lucina had stepped through the door, she'd never once spoken to Renise. Those sweet words of duty to the guild were for the gathered officers. For those who would still not look on.
She just happened to be in her direction.
“And who comes next?” asked Renise, spying the length of the shadows reaching from behind. She had only one avenue of escape. Even then, it was small. There were side doors to the garden and kitchen, but they were sure to be barred. The servants had not been allowed to escape those ways. “Will you invite the Red Widow and her battlemages to a glass of fae wine also? What about the Iron Captain and his dockside corsairs? They aren't kings or queens. But they will be. How will the Smugglers Guild react when royalty again rises in the shadows, and my father isn't at the helm?”
The effect of Renise's words surprised her.
Fidgeting. Then whispers. She knew instantly this was a question long on the minds of those involved in today's performance.
Renise smiled terribly inside. For all their ambition, many in Reitzlake had more. Plus ships. And magic. It would take all the members gathered here to hold their rivals in another War of the Streets. Only Copperbell Road and Pennywhistle Lane stood untouched in the city. They'd lost half the merchants in the Royal Promenade.
“Unfitting titles for unsuitable leaders,” answered Lady Lucina curtly. She heard more than a few gulps. Some shifted towards the nearest exit, just as Renise was. Only the ruler of House Tolent could call such powerful people unfitting. “But even they understand the limits of their authority. No, there will be no more blood in the capital. We are done with that.”
The first shadow was almost on Renise. She knew the owner was simply waiting for a nod. How she wished for her father's sword. But there was no time to leap for it. She had to use what she had.
Or what she could find nearer to her.
A glint of steel. Renise eyed the sword beside her fallen chair. Not from a guard, but from Lord Oliver Lepre. His borrowed sword, now lying where he'd left it after he'd stumbled and fled.
“You don't decide that.”
Renise nodded to her mother and father. She'd be back soon.
And then she bolted.
If she died, at least those present would stew on her words.
The shadow behind Renise cursed and reached out, a hand swiping at a shoulder that partially barged into him as she rushed for the sword. Incomprehensible shouting filled her eardrums as she leaned low and scooped it by the hilt, almost slipping as the force of her sudden run made her stiff muscles cry out.
Renise looked up and made for the only exit.
A single smuggler stood between her and the tower door, through which a stairwell led to their study rooms. On better days, it was where Renise's father had taught her to create paper doves. On worse days, it was where her mother took her to reintroduce court etiquette when she'd started dozing off.
Now, it was where she would escape. Or die trying.
Probably die trying, actually.
The smuggler in her path half-raised his dagger. As Renise came hurtling towards him with no method of stalling her momentum, his eyes flickered to Lady Lucina for confirmation that she could finally be stabbed. By the time he started fully raising his dagger, Renise had stabbed first.
It was a flailing lunge with no technique. And she felt as the tip pierced the hand of the smuggler even as he fell back to avoid it. He howled in pain, the dagger dropping as his eyes moved to the window of blood that'd opened up in his palm.
Renise barged into him as she shot past, mostly because she could feel herself about to trip over.
The tower door was before her, but she wasn't away. Not yet. And if this heavy door had anything to say about it, she wouldn't be. It wasn't locked, but it was ornate and cumbersome. Every damn door in this estate was unwieldy. And she had no time to stop.
Renise groaned.
Would she seriously die because she had to pull at a door handle? The shouts and the shadows were upon her. They were already too close. Hadn't she only just started running?
Renise made the decision and threw her sword away. If she had more than a breath to think, she would have decided something better. But there and then, she opted to toss it aside. Her faithful weapon of mere seconds. It'd achieved its purpose and now she needed to run.
She could not fight.
Both hands on the handle, Renise wrenched it open and swept through.
Immediately, she heard the wind get knocked out of a smuggler as he failed to rush through the small gap after her. He was pushed into it by more of his friends. When the door flung open and light filled the stairwell, Renise was already leapfrogging steps, ripping at the seams of her dress as she did so.
The young woman's heart pounded as she traversed the long stairwell, but she never tired.
The sounds of footsteps resounded behind her. She only slowed to smack her palms against each door as she passed. Her skin burned with misery. Every hit felt like her bones were breaking, but the swinging doors worked in her favour.
She was light on her feet, and with each door, more pursuers would pause or split, wasting time down empty corridors or halting to listen to her footsteps continuing above.
By the time Renise reached the study, there were only four smugglers breathing up at her.
Four. All armed. All angry. And she didn't even have the strength to open this last door, let alone start beheading them with her nails.
Renise cursed the carpentry industry and their well-built doors. Her battered hands tried to grip around the handle, but her fingers wouldn't move. They were scarlet as the blood she would momentarily be leaking.
“Come with us, my lady,” breathed one of the smugglers. Torch light from the wall lit up his dark eyes as he appraised Renise for hidden weapons. She hid her bruised hands behind her back. “Your life is not forfeit. Lady Lucina declared it.”
That would be a lot easier for Renise to believe if he wasn't still creeping towards her with murder written on his face.
“Aye, my princess,” said another, the man closest. He lowered a dagger that failed to hide his fangs or his footsteps. “You've nought to fear from us, I swear it. Come and we'll ensure your safety.”
For a moment, it was all Renise could do to blink. She looked at his uniform and saw that he wore the smuggler's clothing of her estate, not those of another House.
My princess.
This man … This man who was trying to murder Renise.
He was one of House Rimeaux's.
Suddenly, her anger and fury reignited, and the pain was forgotten. Her fingers twitched and her hands gripped with all the force required to break this traitor's neck. This. This was betrayal.
And breaking his neck was far too kind a way to die.
Without thinking, Renise grabbed a nearby torch from the wall.
Every approaching smuggler stopped, the sudden wariness illuminated on their faces. Nobody wanted to be burned without reason. Not by a woman who was already caught and had her back against a door.
They assessed the fire uncertainly, taking stock of its reach should Renise strike forwards. She lowered herself and decided to give them something else to think about.
“The first to approach me will lose something precious. I will not miss.”
Renise gently waved the flaming brand, promising overwhelming regret for the first man to rush at her. Whatever grim expression she was making, it was enough to cause the closest, the traitor, to take a single step back.
A sickly satisfaction visited Renise as more of the men hesitated. She took a step forward and the group awkwardly shifted back.
She had to make enough room to run for the door and hurl it open. The traitor glanced behind, motioning with his chin for the one behind to join him in a charge. He received a firm nod in response, then a shove in his back as he tumbled towards Renise's flaming brand.
A cry of betrayal. The smallest of the night.
The shoved smuggler lurched to the side, a palm skidding against the wall as he twisted his head away from Renise's torch. He shrieked as the fire caught the side of his head, hair and ear singeing on the spot. He gave a wild strike of his dagger as Renise dived to the other wall, but the assassin's blade wasn't for her.
The man who'd shoved him recoiled in horror as a gash of red replaced where his brows had been.
Weapons and men dropped and rolled down the stairwell. The traitor with smoke protruding from a black ear headbutted his comrade, before giving another cry as the other two smugglers tackled him down more steps.
Further shrieks could be heard, alongside the sound of armour colliding with the ground. House Tolent's guards.
This time, Renise kept her weapon.
Holding it outwards, she retreated to the door, then clenched her teeth as she used the last of her strength to hoist open the door. She used her shoulder to ram it shut behind her, expecting a surge of bodies to beat against it.
None came. The sound of fighting resounded from the other side, but it wouldn't for long.
Renise spun around, searching for the fireplace with the light of her torch.
None of the servants were allowed in the study unless called for. It was the most unkempt part of the castle, with the exception being her bedroom, and was filled with unread books, quills, parchment and paper doves spilling onto the floor.
Now she wished her mother had scolded her harder for the mess.
Renise scampered over to where the fireplace lay, filled with ash and spent wood.
Moments. It's all she needed. A few precious seconds to clear the debris and open the hatch. She'd be hounded and chased, but it'd be the next act of her escape. She had to keep moving.
There was not enough time.
Renise kneeled down to clear the debris. But the sounds of fighting had already ceased. As she swiped away charred logs and felt the soot blacken her torn dress, the door crashed open. In walked two smugglers, their thin clothing bloodied. Renise suspected it wasn't their own.
The young woman's choices were limited. In a world where she was faster than a bounding hare, she would have made it here with enough time to escape through the fireplace hatch. In this world, however, she only had the window. Below was a sheer drop, and past it, the lake.
She didn't need to see outside to know it was hopeless. If she survived the fall, she would not survive the deep lake.
The two men started towards her, their faces filled with death and fury. Renise stood up and held the torch with one hand, a fistful of soot in the other.
Already, the flame was paling, but she knew that even if it was freshly burning, they would still strike at her. There was no thought behind those grim eyes other than to finish the irreparable staining of her dress.
Renise clenched her improvised weapons.
She wasn't planning to die. Not while a queue consisting of every traitor in the Smugglers Guild waited before her. She could blind one and rush the other. And if they were intent on barrelling into her, then she would aim for their exposed faces. Perhaps their daggers would still find her. But she had no choice.
No choice and no time. Because now there were more than two.
Footsteps from behind the men's backs.
Renise instantly stepped forward, flinging the soot into the nearest man's face while she thrust her torch at the other. Both attacks were startlingly ineffective. The soot came at too great a distance, causing little more than a wince.
The man she aimed her torch towards was either too prepared or too furious to care. He viciously slashed upwards, catching his blade in the head of the torch and tearing it away from Renise's weakened grip. Torch and dagger alike flew across the room, and multiple shadows danced as the flame was left to catch on a pile of parchment. The fire began spreading at once, eagerly fuelled by the spots of ink on the floor.
The study. The etiquette lessons. The paper doves. For a brief moment, memories of happier times coalesced in Renise's thoughts. And then she readied herself to hurl into her enemies, just like the losing brawlers at the docks.
She readied herself to die with a fist in someone's face.
The weaponless man stepped over a pile of books, his face a snarl. Renise launched herself at his legs, intent on bringing him crashing to the floor.
He did. But not because of her.
The man's body tipped as Renise tackled his shins. But it was the heavy tome to the back of his head that made him lose all balance. He crashed without even a groan as the book was swiftly withdrawn, its wielder smashing it into the windpipe of the other smuggler as he turned. The man's expression, mildly blackened by soot, was of shock as the book was then smashed into his temple like a backhanded slap. He dropped heavily, crashing onto his back.
Renise looked up at the figure who had brought down the two men. He stood tall and proud, his keen eyes lit up by the growing flames. It felt like an hour passed before she recognised who this face belonged to.
“Lord Oliver Lepre.”
Renise's feeble voice called out his name. The name of the drunk. The fool. And yet that was not the person who now stood above her. His eyes were alert and his expression hard.
“Renise, we have little time,” he said, leaning down to lift the young woman. He did so easily. “Do you know of the escape path? It leads from the fireplace to the lakeshore beneath the estate.”
Even his voice had changed. There was no slur, no indignation. It was low and clear. The smell of alcohol, Renise noticed, was not on his breath. It was on his clothes.
“I … I do … but Lord Oliver, how do you … ”
“Take the path. Quickly. I will cover the hatch with ash and inform Lady Lucina and Baroness Marion that their men killed each another for the right to claim your life. You fled through the window and perished.”
“Lord Oliver, I …”
“The soldiers believe you to be barricaded elsewhere.” He strode towards the fireplace, his arms sweeping clear the debris until the makings of a hatch could be seen. “But they will see through my ruse quickly. I know you are frightened. But you must depart at once.”
“Lord Oliver. Why are … ?”
A new emotion. Bewilderment. Hate was easy to understand. But not this.
Lord Oliver opened the hatch. Dust and an echoing wind shot up. The man, gallant and true, beckoned Renise over with a nod.
“Your father entrusted me to ensure your safekeeping should he and your mother be lost. I am afraid that I cannot fully hold to that promise. I cannot shelter you, nor can I contact you. By being the last witness to your death, I now join the oldest dance with my feet already upon the precipice. My House and my holdings, even my servants, will be watched. This, I fear, is all I can do.”
Renise kneeled at the foot of the fireplace. She peeked inside the hatch and saw darkness. Lifeless and cold. And yet the warmth of the lord beside her helped brush some of that night away.
“Be careful. There is a ladder, but no light. You must feel your way to safety. Follow the sound and scent of the wind. The tunnel does not split. As long as you continue moving forwards, you will eventually reach the shore. Go slowly. The ground is uneven and there are many small stones.”
Renise crawled into the fireplace.
The ash choked her as she shuffled through it, even as much of it fell down the bottomless darkness. She reached out and felt the edges for the start of a ladder.
“What do I do?” croaked Renise as her fingers touched something colder than ice. “Where do I go … ?”
“There is a pouch of crowns wrapped in a cloak. Lift the star-shaped rock at the end of the tunnel. There is also a small boat moored on the shore. Do not use it. The water is being watched, as are the city gates. Make your way into the city and lodge at the Hounded Hare. The innkeeper asks no questions. Go swiftly and speak to no one.”
Renise awkwardly raised herself and sat up. She felt the gap with her shoes until she found the first rung.
Then she began shuffling forward, feet sliding down until she found the next. As she proceeded to sit on the edge of the gap with her legs supported by the ladder, she turned and looked imploringly at Lord Oliver.
“Do I hide? For how long? Will you … will there be aid?”
Lord Oliver nodded, his expression grave as his eyes glanced at the door.
“In time. Offer payment, and the innkeeper will find a means to take you away to safety. But do not reveal who you are. Not yet. The Smuggler Princess of Reitzlake is dead.”
“Take me?” Renise gasped, not wanting to hear the words. “To leave the city? I cannot leave. This is our city. My home. We … I must protect my mother and father.”
The tears clogged up her eyes. She had to save them. And yet she was also fleeing. Hiding.
“I will ensure that no more harm comes to them,” said Lord Oliver quietly. “Worry about yourself now. Do not be deceived by the silence when you leave the shore. The Smugglers Guild you know is gone. Those that ply their trade in the shadows no longer protects you.”
A shudder ran through Renise. Her body grew numb with pain. And understanding.
She didn't know what was happening outside the estate, but she knew Lady Lucina's coup wouldn't have stopped at just these walls. How many more had she stolen with her purse strings? How many left could still be trusted?
“The wine … did you know?”
“I suspected. That is all. I regret I was not able to destroy the glass meant for your mother. But this was inevitable. Your family was marked, Renise. Either it would be a sleeping draught today, poison in a week or assassins in a month. I believe Damien and Sabilla knew this, but not that it would happen so soon after the war. At the victory banquet, no less. They were caught unawares. As was I. Fae wine, of all things. An expensive ruse.”
Renise shuffled forwards, forcing her unwilling hands to grip the top of the icy ladder.
She had so many questions, so much bitterness. But she had to go. She had to go now. If she didn't, Lord Oliver would die. She would die. There would be nothing left but the ashes in this room.
“They think you are a fool,” whispered Renise, regretting everything. Too little and too late. The darkness began enveloping her. The orange glow from the flames lit the cold stone behind the ladder. It was still black. “You are brave. A knight among lords.”
“I can be both. I do not fear the coin of Lady Lucina Tolent. But I fear Damien and Sabilla's scorn. Your mother, in particular, will no doubt haunt me even in my dreams should I fail you.”
Renise stopped just before her head sunk beneath the surface.
She looked up and saw a hatch waiting to close. And the face of a man who wore a small smile wrought with pain.
“I'm sorry I slapped you,” said Renise.
He chuckled.
“Don't be. It was a marvellous strike.”
Then the hatch closed. And all the young woman saw was darkness.
Slowly, carefully, with her hands warmed by nothing more than her breath, Renise began her descent. All the while, the memories of the evening played through the black canvas. Her mother's eyes closing. Her father gripping her hands. The castellan with a dozen wounds. The guards who had surrendered, as betrayed as the family they served.
And the faces of those who had made it happen.
Renise's father had told her to live. And she would.
But the others?
They would all die.
Renise tensed, seeing the movement all around her. Cowardice. Even now, Lady Lucina wouldn't be the one to send her to the great abyss. Cold sleep will take the Rimeaux family. Or lacking that, nameless retainers in full armour.
All against a girl in an uncomfortable blue dress.
“You represent the dynasty,” said Lady Lucina. “The lineage. And while I would dearly have preferred a way to dispose of you all without losing a capable commander, practicality ruled that no half-measures could be taken. Any notion of royal despots ruling the Smugglers Guild ends now. Apologies, but your family are the precedent.”
Renise took a step back, conscious of the shadows reaching from behind her.
As long as she spoke, they wouldn't strike. Not while they thought the ruler of House Tolent still had an explanation to give—and none of them to Renise.
From the moment Lady Lucina had stepped through the door, she'd never once spoken to Renise. Those sweet words of duty to the guild were for the gathered officers. For those who would still not look on.
She just happened to be in her direction.
“And who comes next?” asked Renise, spying the length of the shadows reaching from behind. She had only one avenue of escape. Even then, it was small. There were side doors to the garden and kitchen, but they were sure to be barred. The servants had not been allowed to escape those ways. “Will you invite the Red Widow and her battlemages to a glass of fae wine also? What about the Iron Captain and his dockside corsairs? They aren't kings or queens. But they will be. How will the Smugglers Guild react when royalty again rises in the shadows, and my father isn't at the helm?”
The effect of Renise's words surprised her.
Fidgeting. Then whispers. She knew instantly this was a question long on the minds of those involved in today's performance.
Renise smiled terribly inside. For all their ambition, many in Reitzlake had more. Plus ships. And magic. It would take all the members gathered here to hold their rivals in another War of the Streets. Only Copperbell Road and Pennywhistle Lane stood untouched in the city. They'd lost half the merchants in the Royal Promenade.
“Unfitting titles for unsuitable leaders,” answered Lady Lucina curtly. She heard more than a few gulps. Some shifted towards the nearest exit, just as Renise was. Only the ruler of House Tolent could call such powerful people unfitting. “But even they understand the limits of their authority. No, there will be no more blood in the capital. We are done with that.”
The first shadow was almost on Renise. She knew the owner was simply waiting for a nod. How she wished for her father's sword. But there was no time to leap for it. She had to use what she had.
Or what she could find nearer to her.
A glint of steel. Renise eyed the sword beside her fallen chair. Not from a guard, but from Lord Oliver Lepre. His borrowed sword, now lying where he'd left it after he'd stumbled and fled.
“You don't decide that.”
Renise nodded to her mother and father. She'd be back soon.
And then she bolted.
If she died, at least those present would stew on her words.
The shadow behind Renise cursed and reached out, a hand swiping at a shoulder that partially barged into him as she rushed for the sword. Incomprehensible shouting filled her eardrums as she leaned low and scooped it by the hilt, almost slipping as the force of her sudden run made her stiff muscles cry out.
Renise looked up and made for the only exit.
A single smuggler stood between her and the tower door, through which a stairwell led to their study rooms. On better days, it was where Renise's father had taught her to create paper doves. On worse days, it was where her mother took her to reintroduce court etiquette when she'd started dozing off.
Now, it was where she would escape. Or die trying.
Probably die trying, actually.
The smuggler in her path half-raised his dagger. As Renise came hurtling towards him with no method of stalling her momentum, his eyes flickered to Lady Lucina for confirmation that she could finally be stabbed. By the time he started fully raising his dagger, Renise had stabbed first.
It was a flailing lunge with no technique. And she felt as the tip pierced the hand of the smuggler even as he fell back to avoid it. He howled in pain, the dagger dropping as his eyes moved to the window of blood that'd opened up in his palm.
Renise barged into him as she shot past, mostly because she could feel herself about to trip over.
The tower door was before her, but she wasn't away. Not yet. And if this heavy door had anything to say about it, she wouldn't be. It wasn't locked, but it was ornate and cumbersome. Every damn door in this estate was unwieldy. And she had no time to stop.
Renise groaned.
Would she seriously die because she had to pull at a door handle? The shouts and the shadows were upon her. They were already too close. Hadn't she only just started running?
Renise made the decision and threw her sword away. If she had more than a breath to think, she would have decided something better. But there and then, she opted to toss it aside. Her faithful weapon of mere seconds. It'd achieved its purpose and now she needed to run.
She could not fight.
Both hands on the handle, Renise wrenched it open and swept through.
Immediately, she heard the wind get knocked out of a smuggler as he failed to rush through the small gap after her. He was pushed into it by more of his friends. When the door flung open and light filled the stairwell, Renise was already leapfrogging steps, ripping at the seams of her dress as she did so.
The young woman's heart pounded as she traversed the long stairwell, but she never tired.
The sounds of footsteps resounded behind her. She only slowed to smack her palms against each door as she passed. Her skin burned with misery. Every hit felt like her bones were breaking, but the swinging doors worked in her favour.
She was light on her feet, and with each door, more pursuers would pause or split, wasting time down empty corridors or halting to listen to her footsteps continuing above.
By the time Renise reached the study, there were only four smugglers breathing up at her.
Four. All armed. All angry. And she didn't even have the strength to open this last door, let alone start beheading them with her nails.
Renise cursed the carpentry industry and their well-built doors. Her battered hands tried to grip around the handle, but her fingers wouldn't move. They were scarlet as the blood she would momentarily be leaking.
“Come with us, my lady,” breathed one of the smugglers. Torch light from the wall lit up his dark eyes as he appraised Renise for hidden weapons. She hid her bruised hands behind her back. “Your life is not forfeit. Lady Lucina declared it.”
That would be a lot easier for Renise to believe if he wasn't still creeping towards her with murder written on his face.
“Aye, my princess,” said another, the man closest. He lowered a dagger that failed to hide his fangs or his footsteps. “You've nought to fear from us, I swear it. Come and we'll ensure your safety.”
For a moment, it was all Renise could do to blink. She looked at his uniform and saw that he wore the smuggler's clothing of her estate, not those of another House.
My princess.
This man … This man who was trying to murder Renise.
He was one of House Rimeaux's.
Suddenly, her anger and fury reignited, and the pain was forgotten. Her fingers twitched and her hands gripped with all the force required to break this traitor's neck. This. This was betrayal.
And breaking his neck was far too kind a way to die.
Without thinking, Renise grabbed a nearby torch from the wall.
Every approaching smuggler stopped, the sudden wariness illuminated on their faces. Nobody wanted to be burned without reason. Not by a woman who was already caught and had her back against a door.
They assessed the fire uncertainly, taking stock of its reach should Renise strike forwards. She lowered herself and decided to give them something else to think about.
“The first to approach me will lose something precious. I will not miss.”
Renise gently waved the flaming brand, promising overwhelming regret for the first man to rush at her. Whatever grim expression she was making, it was enough to cause the closest, the traitor, to take a single step back.
A sickly satisfaction visited Renise as more of the men hesitated. She took a step forward and the group awkwardly shifted back.
She had to make enough room to run for the door and hurl it open. The traitor glanced behind, motioning with his chin for the one behind to join him in a charge. He received a firm nod in response, then a shove in his back as he tumbled towards Renise's flaming brand.
A cry of betrayal. The smallest of the night.
The shoved smuggler lurched to the side, a palm skidding against the wall as he twisted his head away from Renise's torch. He shrieked as the fire caught the side of his head, hair and ear singeing on the spot. He gave a wild strike of his dagger as Renise dived to the other wall, but the assassin's blade wasn't for her.
The man who'd shoved him recoiled in horror as a gash of red replaced where his brows had been.
Weapons and men dropped and rolled down the stairwell. The traitor with smoke protruding from a black ear headbutted his comrade, before giving another cry as the other two smugglers tackled him down more steps.
Further shrieks could be heard, alongside the sound of armour colliding with the ground. House Tolent's guards.
This time, Renise kept her weapon.
Holding it outwards, she retreated to the door, then clenched her teeth as she used the last of her strength to hoist open the door. She used her shoulder to ram it shut behind her, expecting a surge of bodies to beat against it.
None came. The sound of fighting resounded from the other side, but it wouldn't for long.
Renise spun around, searching for the fireplace with the light of her torch.
None of the servants were allowed in the study unless called for. It was the most unkempt part of the castle, with the exception being her bedroom, and was filled with unread books, quills, parchment and paper doves spilling onto the floor.
Now she wished her mother had scolded her harder for the mess.
Renise scampered over to where the fireplace lay, filled with ash and spent wood.
Moments. It's all she needed. A few precious seconds to clear the debris and open the hatch. She'd be hounded and chased, but it'd be the next act of her escape. She had to keep moving.
There was not enough time.
Renise kneeled down to clear the debris. But the sounds of fighting had already ceased. As she swiped away charred logs and felt the soot blacken her torn dress, the door crashed open. In walked two smugglers, their thin clothing bloodied. Renise suspected it wasn't their own.
The young woman's choices were limited. In a world where she was faster than a bounding hare, she would have made it here with enough time to escape through the fireplace hatch. In this world, however, she only had the window. Below was a sheer drop, and past it, the lake.
She didn't need to see outside to know it was hopeless. If she survived the fall, she would not survive the deep lake.
The two men started towards her, their faces filled with death and fury. Renise stood up and held the torch with one hand, a fistful of soot in the other.
Already, the flame was paling, but she knew that even if it was freshly burning, they would still strike at her. There was no thought behind those grim eyes other than to finish the irreparable staining of her dress.
Renise clenched her improvised weapons.
She wasn't planning to die. Not while a queue consisting of every traitor in the Smugglers Guild waited before her. She could blind one and rush the other. And if they were intent on barrelling into her, then she would aim for their exposed faces. Perhaps their daggers would still find her. But she had no choice.
No choice and no time. Because now there were more than two.
Footsteps from behind the men's backs.
Renise instantly stepped forward, flinging the soot into the nearest man's face while she thrust her torch at the other. Both attacks were startlingly ineffective. The soot came at too great a distance, causing little more than a wince.
The man she aimed her torch towards was either too prepared or too furious to care. He viciously slashed upwards, catching his blade in the head of the torch and tearing it away from Renise's weakened grip. Torch and dagger alike flew across the room, and multiple shadows danced as the flame was left to catch on a pile of parchment. The fire began spreading at once, eagerly fuelled by the spots of ink on the floor.
The study. The etiquette lessons. The paper doves. For a brief moment, memories of happier times coalesced in Renise's thoughts. And then she readied herself to hurl into her enemies, just like the losing brawlers at the docks.
She readied herself to die with a fist in someone's face.
The weaponless man stepped over a pile of books, his face a snarl. Renise launched herself at his legs, intent on bringing him crashing to the floor.
He did. But not because of her.
The man's body tipped as Renise tackled his shins. But it was the heavy tome to the back of his head that made him lose all balance. He crashed without even a groan as the book was swiftly withdrawn, its wielder smashing it into the windpipe of the other smuggler as he turned. The man's expression, mildly blackened by soot, was of shock as the book was then smashed into his temple like a backhanded slap. He dropped heavily, crashing onto his back.
Renise looked up at the figure who had brought down the two men. He stood tall and proud, his keen eyes lit up by the growing flames. It felt like an hour passed before she recognised who this face belonged to.
“Lord Oliver Lepre.”
Renise's feeble voice called out his name. The name of the drunk. The fool. And yet that was not the person who now stood above her. His eyes were alert and his expression hard.
“Renise, we have little time,” he said, leaning down to lift the young woman. He did so easily. “Do you know of the escape path? It leads from the fireplace to the lakeshore beneath the estate.”
Even his voice had changed. There was no slur, no indignation. It was low and clear. The smell of alcohol, Renise noticed, was not on his breath. It was on his clothes.
“I … I do … but Lord Oliver, how do you … ”
“Take the path. Quickly. I will cover the hatch with ash and inform Lady Lucina and Baroness Marion that their men killed each another for the right to claim your life. You fled through the window and perished.”
“Lord Oliver, I …”
“The soldiers believe you to be barricaded elsewhere.” He strode towards the fireplace, his arms sweeping clear the debris until the makings of a hatch could be seen. “But they will see through my ruse quickly. I know you are frightened. But you must depart at once.”
“Lord Oliver. Why are … ?”
A new emotion. Bewilderment. Hate was easy to understand. But not this.
Lord Oliver opened the hatch. Dust and an echoing wind shot up. The man, gallant and true, beckoned Renise over with a nod.
“Your father entrusted me to ensure your safekeeping should he and your mother be lost. I am afraid that I cannot fully hold to that promise. I cannot shelter you, nor can I contact you. By being the last witness to your death, I now join the oldest dance with my feet already upon the precipice. My House and my holdings, even my servants, will be watched. This, I fear, is all I can do.”
Renise kneeled at the foot of the fireplace. She peeked inside the hatch and saw darkness. Lifeless and cold. And yet the warmth of the lord beside her helped brush some of that night away.
“Be careful. There is a ladder, but no light. You must feel your way to safety. Follow the sound and scent of the wind. The tunnel does not split. As long as you continue moving forwards, you will eventually reach the shore. Go slowly. The ground is uneven and there are many small stones.”
Renise crawled into the fireplace.
The ash choked her as she shuffled through it, even as much of it fell down the bottomless darkness. She reached out and felt the edges for the start of a ladder.
“What do I do?” croaked Renise as her fingers touched something colder than ice. “Where do I go … ?”
“There is a pouch of crowns wrapped in a cloak. Lift the star-shaped rock at the end of the tunnel. There is also a small boat moored on the shore. Do not use it. The water is being watched, as are the city gates. Make your way into the city and lodge at the Hounded Hare. The innkeeper asks no questions. Go swiftly and speak to no one.”
Renise awkwardly raised herself and sat up. She felt the gap with her shoes until she found the first rung.
Then she began shuffling forward, feet sliding down until she found the next. As she proceeded to sit on the edge of the gap with her legs supported by the ladder, she turned and looked imploringly at Lord Oliver.
“Do I hide? For how long? Will you … will there be aid?”
Lord Oliver nodded, his expression grave as his eyes glanced at the door.
“In time. Offer payment, and the innkeeper will find a means to take you away to safety. But do not reveal who you are. Not yet. The Smuggler Princess of Reitzlake is dead.”
“Take me?” Renise gasped, not wanting to hear the words. “To leave the city? I cannot leave. This is our city. My home. We … I must protect my mother and father.”
The tears clogged up her eyes. She had to save them. And yet she was also fleeing. Hiding.
“I will ensure that no more harm comes to them,” said Lord Oliver quietly. “Worry about yourself now. Do not be deceived by the silence when you leave the shore. The Smugglers Guild you know is gone. Those that ply their trade in the shadows no longer protects you.”
A shudder ran through Renise. Her body grew numb with pain. And understanding.
She didn't know what was happening outside the estate, but she knew Lady Lucina's coup wouldn't have stopped at just these walls. How many more had she stolen with her purse strings? How many left could still be trusted?
“The wine … did you know?”
“I suspected. That is all. I regret I was not able to destroy the glass meant for your mother. But this was inevitable. Your family was marked, Renise. Either it would be a sleeping draught today, poison in a week or assassins in a month. I believe Damien and Sabilla knew this, but not that it would happen so soon after the war. At the victory banquet, no less. They were caught unawares. As was I. Fae wine, of all things. An expensive ruse.”
Renise shuffled forwards, forcing her unwilling hands to grip the top of the icy ladder.
She had so many questions, so much bitterness. But she had to go. She had to go now. If she didn't, Lord Oliver would die. She would die. There would be nothing left but the ashes in this room.
“They think you are a fool,” whispered Renise, regretting everything. Too little and too late. The darkness began enveloping her. The orange glow from the flames lit the cold stone behind the ladder. It was still black. “You are brave. A knight among lords.”
“I can be both. I do not fear the coin of Lady Lucina Tolent. But I fear Damien and Sabilla's scorn. Your mother, in particular, will no doubt haunt me even in my dreams should I fail you.”
Renise stopped just before her head sunk beneath the surface.
She looked up and saw a hatch waiting to close. And the face of a man who wore a small smile wrought with pain.
“I'm sorry I slapped you,” said Renise.
He chuckled.
“Don't be. It was a marvellous strike.”
Then the hatch closed. And all the young woman saw was darkness.
Slowly, carefully, with her hands warmed by nothing more than her breath, Renise began her descent. All the while, the memories of the evening played through the black canvas. Her mother's eyes closing. Her father gripping her hands. The castellan with a dozen wounds. The guards who had surrendered, as betrayed as the family they served.
And the faces of those who had made it happen.
Renise's father had told her to live. And she would.
But the others?
They would all die.
