CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
THE GLINTING STEEL filled will’s vision. And one thought seared: Carpenter’s great betrayal had doomed them all. He jerked back in anticipation of the blade’s sinking into his skull, just as he sensed a flurry of movement and a sudden impact. His attacker spun away. The deflected blade ripped through the flesh above his cheek and tore into his tangle of black hair. Blood dripped on to the flags.
In agony, he stumbled back, wiping at the burning wound with his sleeve. His gaze fell upon Carpenter, who was sprawled across the stone floor, pinned down by Launceston. ‘Kill me,’ Carpenter pleaded, staring into the aristocrat’s pale, impassive face. ‘Do it now, as you vowed.’ When the Earl didn’t respond, Carpenter blinked away tears and wailed, ‘If you do not end my life, I will betray you again and again until I have slain you all. You will not leave this place.’
Will saw Meg hovering over Mandraxas with her dagger drawn, Grace and Jenny beside her, all of them gripped by Carpenter’s plight. Blood trickled between his fingers. He saw the truth in the treacherous spy’s words. Sooner or later, Carpenter would attack them again. With a surge of bitter regret for the friend he once knew, he drew his own dagger from his boot.
As he levelled the blade, Launceston caught his wrist to block the strike. ‘Let him live,’ the Earl said, his voice quiet but his eyes flashing a warning.
‘From his own mouth he has damned himself, Robert. We will never escape with a traitor in our midst.’
‘He is no traitor.’ The aristocrat pointed a wavering arm at the ghastly figures watching from the mirrors. ‘They have infected him with their vile magics.’
‘Is this true, John?’ As he spoke, Will winced in pain from his wound.
‘Some foul creature crawls inside my head,’ Carpenter replied, his voice a ragged whine. ‘It rides me like a Barbary mare, forcing me to do its bidding, and, God help me, I cannot resist. Whatever it demands, I must do – even murder my friends.’ He screwed up his eyes to hide the tears of shame and regret.
‘It seems our King has long since set his own schemes in motion,’ came Deortha’s voice. ‘The Caraprix can only work its spell when it has been accepted freely.’
‘They tricked me,’ Carpenter raged. His voice caught and he choked, ‘I am too weak. I wanted an escape from this life. I should have resisted.’
Will sighed. More than anyone he understood the manipulations of the Unseelie Court. ‘Robert, the outcome is still the same. John cannot be trusted. We cannot take him with us.’
‘No,’ the Earl spat, his face alight with a rare show of passion. ‘I will be his keeper.’
‘That burden may be too great, even for you, Robert.’
‘I will watch him like a hawk, and whenever that enchantment drives him to commit traitorous acts I will be there,’ Launceston said, his grey, blank eyes fixed on Will.
‘Take my life, I implore you,’ Carpenter begged again, his voice cracking. ‘I cannot bear to live this way, with a life that is not my own.’
The Earl peered into his friend’s tear-flecked eyes for a long moment. Will wondered what thoughts turned in that unreadable mind. He could barely hear when Launceston spoke. ‘You have saved me. I will save you. I can do no less.’ Turning back to Will, he added, ‘This is my burden now, for all our days if necessary. I am prepared. You must trust me.’
Will watched Carpenter in his torments and nodded. ‘You are a good man, Robert, for all your weaknesses.’
A sharp cry of pain echoed across the chamber. Will whirled round. He was a fool; he had allowed himself to be distracted for too long. Mandraxas had made his move and taken Meg by surprise, knocking the dagger from her grasp, and now his long fingers were clamped around her wrist. One touch, no more. But it was enough. The Irish woman’s face had drained of blood. Where the King’s hand gripped, her skin was marbling. Mandraxas smiled in triumph at Will, knowing he could never reach him before the graven transformation had spread to the point of death.
Will drew his sword as the beautiful Irish spy swooned. Yet he had barely moved when shock flared in the King’s face. Meg tumbled from his grasp. The Fay King staggered back, grasping at the dagger embedded in his thigh.
Ashen-faced, Jenny stepped back, her hand shaking. Mandraxas stared at her, a look of such sadness and disbelief that it could only have come from a broken heart.
When Will reached him, the King had barely moved, seemingly drained of all resistance by his love’s blow. One clout from the hilt of the spy’s rapier and he fell to his knees once more. ‘Stay back,’ Will warned Meg, who had staggered to her feet, shaking her head as she fought to gather her thoughts and rubbing furiously at the skin on her arm. ‘He is mine and mine alone.’
Yet the Fay’s gaze remained fixed on Jenny, weighted with infinite grief. Will hated what he saw there. He thought of Mandraxas and Jenny’s long years as consorts, of caresses and shared moments, of gentleness and intimacy and joy. And love. How much easier it had been when he had thought his love simply stolen. What a stew of confused emotion this was; how bitter it tasted. His sword at the ready, he circled the stricken King, imagining what it would feel like to skewer the one who had torn the heart out of his life so long ago. In his mind’s eye, he saw the gout of blood and the death-rictus on Mandraxas’s face. Hatred seared his chest. He wanted vengeance.
Around them, the chamber had grown silent. He could feel Deortha’s gaze upon him, willing him to complete their pact: execute the King who had betrayed his own people, for power, yes, but for love too.
‘Deortha. Once the deed is done, I would not wish to tarry here. Which way?’ Will called, his eyes not leaving the Fay King.
‘On the far side of the chamber there is a door,’ the sorcerer replied, triumph creeping into his voice.
Will’s hand shook. The tip of his rapier nicked the King’s flesh. For a moment, simmering rage hardened his face and then he sucked in a deep breath and calmed himself. Jenny turned away, sickened by what she feared was to come.
‘You can keep your worthless life,’ Will growled, putting up his sword. Mandraxas twitched. Incomprehension crossed his pale, refined features. From the corner of his eye, the spy glimpsed cold rage beginning to glow in Deortha’s face. ‘I am not you,’ he continued. A deep calm settled over him, and his sombre words were tinged with sadness. ‘Nor am I the man that others think me. Not England’s greatest spy, nor the rake driven solely by selfish urges. The truth is harder to define, even for me. More than anything under Heaven, I want my revenge for what you did. But that would sacrifice all men and women to the righteous fury of the Unseelie Court, and even as cold-hearted a knave as I could not plumb those depths. And yet . . .’ He waved his index finger in the air. ‘And yet . . . I saw an opportunity here for a clever man . . . or a reckless gambler, one or t’other.’
‘And you were always both,’ he heard Meg whisper.
Still clutching at the wound in his thigh, Mandraxas looked bemused. Will turned to Jenny, his voice growing more intense. ‘A slim chance to achieve the two ends to which I have dedicated my life – to save you and to deal the Unseelie Court a crushing blow that might set them back years, if not for ever.’ He took a deep, juddering breath and smiled at his love. Returning his attention to the Fay, he raised the tip of his sword and held it against the King’s chest. ‘If you are allowed to live and return to your people, the Unseelie Court will be riven by strife as factions battle for supremacy. Those who support you, and those, like Deortha, who wish to see the return of their true Queen. For how long?’ He shrugged. ‘For those such as you for whom time is meaningless, it may well be an eternity. Divided, you would have little time for your war against men.’