Serpent in the Thorns

“I told you. No one looks twice at a woman servant. My bow is small enough to easily hide under me cloak.”

“I find it incredible that a woman knows how to shoot at all. Though you did say your father was an archer. . . .”

“And a damn good one, too. But without sons, there was no one to teach but us girls. And we learned right well.”

He eyed her pointedly. “Your Southwark speech sounds authentic. You are English, then?” She nodded. “And this is how you earn your keep? Only pretending to be scullions so that you may kill for money? If I were not so disgusted I might very well admire your audacity. But as it is, I find the waste of talent pathetic.”

“I don’t need your judgment. I get me gold. And that’s good enough. I make more wages than you do, to be sure.” She laughed. “I’d even consider paying you in full. But I don’t see what good it will do you now.”

“Then that performance at the Boar’s Tusk. The clothes strewn about the storeroom. The arrow strike you took. Staged?”

“Didn’t want you getting too suspicious. Grayce shot me. I told her to. I’m afraid it truly rattled what she’s got left of a brain. But we had to get out of there. It was just good luck you got us into exactly the place we needed to be: court.”

“What about Miles Aleyn?”

“That peacock? He’s more talk than show. He had but one task, and could he accomplish even that? No! Nearly fouled it all with his carelessness with them couriers. It ain’t Grayce’s fault she didn’t know what to do. She can only stick to the plan when I’m there to tell her.” She shook her head as if it were merely a bit of burnt toast she was worrying over. “Found Miles Aleyn at first strutting about the French court. My employer knew him well. Thought it a merry idea to use foreign arrows for a job I done several years ago.”

“The French noblemen, you mean?”

She shone her teeth in a guffaw, and slapped her thighs. “You are a one, ain’t you? How’d you know about that?”

“And you happened to have a few good English arrows left to take to England?”

“Aye. My employer seemed to know a thing or two about them arrows. Thought it amusing to use them. Do you happen to know why? You know everything else.”

“Yes. Because Miles stole them from the duke of Lancaster and they can be identified as his.”

She put her hand over her mouth and laughed into it. “That’s a pretty notion, that. Someone’s trying to be especially naughty.”

“Indeed. About that ‘someone.’ Just who is your employer?”

She put up one finger to her pursed lips. “Oh no. Mustn’t tell. Especially to the likes of you.”

“You know I am being blamed for this.”

“Aye. That’s the funniest part of all.”

Crispin made a grimace. “Strange. I don’t find it amusing whatsoever.”

Her taut shoulders drooped. She edged closer to him, leading with her hips. “Come, Crispin. Let us put our differences aside. Let us recapture the moment. Who would know? I’ll leave off killing the wretched king and disappear, if that’s what you want, and you can go about your business none the wiser and no one else hurt.”

“I would never soil my hands with you again.”

She stopped. Livith’s face soured. Her eyes narrowed “Very well,” she rasped. “Have it your way.”

Crispin was waiting for a move, but he didn’t expect her fist. She punched hard into his shoulder just at the point of injury; rapid punches, three, four times. It took his breath away, the pain so intense, so penetrating. He gurgled a protest, went rigid, and fell backward to the floor.

Livith cast the table into the air, upending it. She snatched the short-bow from its hiding place on the underside of the table and slammed an arrow to it. She straddled him, aimed the point of the arrow right between his eyes, and pulled back the string.

Supine, Crispin looked up at Livith’s eye taking aim down the arrow shaft. No time to think. He swung his legs up behind her and clasped them around her waist. The arrow shot forward, skimming the top of his bare head. He yanked his legs down, pulling Livith backward.

The same moment he released her, he rolled to the side. He managed to get to his knees just in time to feel the crack of the bow against his head. Stars, flashing light and dark. Pain bursting in his head. He sunk down, but knew if he succumbed he’d be a dead man.

She swung the bow from the other direction, and Crispin raised his good arm to block it. At least it used to be his good arm. He spun his leg outward and tripped her. She fell hard to the floor on her backside and swore.

Crispin was down on his knees again, trying to breathe, trying to get a fix on what was up and what down. His head was light. Loss of blood, a blow to the head—all of it was taking its toll. Wish I’d told Jack where I was going to be. Funny how that seemed to matter more and more these days. What Jack thought. Where Jack was. Maybe Eleanor was right. Jack was more to him than a servant, but it was too late to do anything about it now. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t think he was going to make it. Defeated by a woman! That was especially galling.

Crispin groped for his dagger and yanked it out. He fisted it tightly. That was all he had left. He hadn’t the strength for any more punches, no more kicks. Just the weapon. If she knocked it out of his hand, then he’d only have time for about half an Ave Maria, then all would be over.

Crispin heard a noise and realized that it was Livith, sobbing. “That hurt, you bastard! Me bum. You broke it.” Out of the corner of his eye he watched helplessly as she struggled to her feet. She rubbed her backside and drew her hand over a sloppy, wet nose. “I am going to take an arrow and burrow it deep in that hole in your shoulder. That should feel right good, eh Crispin? That’ll be like the fires of Hell, I should think.” She kicked his hand, and the dagger flew. Sorrowfully, he watched it go. She limped to where it lay against the wall and picked it up. She turned it in her hand. “Nice. A fair piece, this. I think I’ll cut off your ear first. Then the other. Then a few cuts to the neck —not the artery, mind. I want you to linger. I want you to see your blood flowing away.”

“After all we’ve been to one another,” he said.

She chuckled, deep and smooth.

Crispin watched her approach and forgot to pray. His mind was full of blasphemies instead, and he licked his lips to utter a few choice ones aloud.

Just then the door flung open. Livith turned. That’s all Crispin needed. He projected all his strength, all his weight forward and head-butted Livith in the belly. She flew backward into the arms of Grayce.

Crispin fell to the side, trying to roll to a sitting or crouching position. Livith lay on her back. Her knees jerked up like a dying crab. Crispin saw the knife across the room on the floor. So did Grayce. She was a slow thinker most of the time, but she had no trouble reckoning this situation. She dove for it the same time Crispin did.

Her fingers reached it first, but Crispin closed his hand over hers, trying to wrench it from her. He was weaker than he thought. He wasn’t getting anywhere. They rolled along the floor, Crispin doing his best to get the knife. He slammed her hands against the stone floor, once, twice. She leaned forward and dug her teeth into his wrist.

He cried out, but knew he couldn’t let her go. He gritted his teeth, sucked in a breath of icy air, and rolled again, this time slamming her head to the floor. That loosened her, and he did it again. She released the knife and he had no trouble rearing up and punching his fist into her face. Now there was blood on his hands, and it wasn’t his for a change. For good measure he took her head in both hands and slammed it hard into the floor. Twice. He heard a crack and then a blossom of blood oozed under her head. Her wild hair partially covered her cheek, and strands lodged in her slightly opened mouth and glaring eyes. If she were alive she’d move that hair off of her tongue and teeth. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be moving it.

A scream behind him. Livith had risen and stared at the specter of her dead sister. She raised her hands to her head and shrieked again. Then she focused her eyes on Crispin. The pain in her eyes turned to fury and she opened her mouth to emit an animal scream. She picked up the heaviest object within reach—the stool—and raised it over her head, ready to cudgel him.

He wasn’t entirely certain what happened next, but the stool seemed to be frozen in midflight, and many hands closed over Livith and dragged her backward. The stool hit the floor and cracked.

Crispin swayed for a moment. Not much left for him to do. Might as well fall to the floor and lose