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Blanchette cried out, but it was too late.
“Thomas! Are you mad? Stop that! I command it!”
Grandmother flayed and cried out, victim to the man’s brute force, her eyes wide with sudden horror.
This was Thomas, her dear friend, a man she’d trusted with her very life?—
He unsheathed a dagger and swung it down in an arc. Blanchette screamed and shot forward, the world barely visible through the surrounding chaos. She yelled. Felt the sounds leave her throat, yet she was deaf to the world. Deaf to everything but that blade whilst it thundered down, down, down and pierced Grandmother again and again.
Blanchette screamed once more, her voice a raw clap of thunder in her throat. She fought to wrestle the dagger from Thomas, that dear old friend, that servant who’d once taught her to fish and played tricks on Governess Agnes…
The dagger flashed down and sliced Blanchette’s cheek. She barely felt it.
This is what Father always boasted about at his feasts.
This is battle fever.
Meanwhile, Thomas laughed and sobbed in a frenzy while he continued to rain half-hearted gouges upon her grandmother’s motionless body.
He’s mad.
He’s mad, and I am lost.
We are all lost.
Blanchette threw herself between them, knowing it was too late even through the hazy chaos.
Grandmother had already taken her last breath.
She was gone from this world.
I shall kill him for this betrayal. Thomas will pay for this treachery before I leave this privy.
Something dark and dangerous stirred inside her. Blanchette flew at him like a loosed arrow and battled for the dagger with every fiber of her being. Blood made the hilt slick and slippery—like a fish, she thought with mad irony—and she dreamily felt its metal slice through her palm. The battle fever ran high indeed, and she paid no heed to the pain. Instead, she saw red and heard her own blood rushing in her ears. They danced like that for a minute—three minutes, seven minutes?—she could not say. Could not think. Could barely gather a coherent thought apart from I will kill him.
Thomas tried to grab her throat, but he seized her necklace instead. He snapped the cross from its silver chain.
It fell from her neck and out of sight.
Into darkness.
Finally, the dagger squirmed out of their hands and clattered onto the stone floor. Blanchette dropped and raced toward it, the red riding cloak dragging behind her.
You’re wearing the riding cloak I made for you three winters ago…
Thomas made a similar dash. She grunted and kicked the dagger with her foot. It slid part way under Grandmother’s bed.
She scrambled backward frantically, her eyes never leaving the monster before her.
Thomas rose from the floor, slow and steady, only three feet away. He advanced on her with deliberate, horrifying ease. Blanchette felt as the cut on her cheek seethed. Warm blood curled around her chin. She swiped at it with her forearm, spreading it across her face like war paint.
“How? How could you?” she sobbed, her breaths coming short, shaky, shallow. Inversely, her anger came in powerful waves. She could taste her blood on her lips. “In God’s name, how? Answer me! You monster!”
“Monster? Your father’s the monster. He always has been.” He prowled forward, inch by terrible inch. “I shall drag you before the Black Wolf by your hair if I must. But first, we are going to have some fun, Princess.”
His words fueled her.
I promise.
