Page 16 of Bloody Black

V enedria.

Its twisted streets teem with life–markets of all kinds.

Colorful. Overwhelming. Exciting. The buildings are a kaleidoscope of color, yellow and blue, pink and orange.

The bright colors mask how dangerous a place it truly is.

How its cobblestone streets hold many a shadow… plenty of places to kill a man.

Or, in my case, to kidnap and torture him for as long as I want.

Ben has a business. A smithery. He’d never mentioned it. Never told me that he had skill with the hammer in addition to the sword. Some traitorous part of me wants to believe there’s a reason he never told me. That maybe he meant to, one day.

Damn you, Ben. Damn you for pretending to be my friend.

Today, I’ll ask, once and for all, about his role that night. And once I have my answers… if he betrayed me… I’ll have to kill him .

If I don’t, he will surely tattle to William and tell him that I am still alive. He’ll put a target on my back, put the ship and my crew in danger, and I can’t let that happen.

Palm shadows stretch across the cobblestones as I approach the blacksmith shop. I follow a stone path past crates of iron scrap and rusted tools, the ground scorched here and there, the grass black. In the distance, seagulls shriek and chatter.

My knuckles rap against the soot-smeared iron door, hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.

Then I wait. I’m wearing Teach’s silk gown, a dress that is a bit too heavy for the tropical weather.

Mindful of the bargains, it has a high collar and is trimmed in snow-white lace.

The fabric is lush, thick, red… like most everything he wears.

Like my face. I’m waiting in the sun, not a hint of shade, and it feels like I’m boiling. I want to rip the dress from my body at the first opportunity.

There’s a boom deep inside the forge, half-lost beneath the ringing clash of steel. In the silence that follows, I pound on the door again.

“Coming!” his voice rings out. Strong and firm, just as it always has been.

Then, as if sensing the threat on his doorstep— “State your purpose.”

Coming to kill a man I once trusted.

“Visiting an old friend.” I nearly choke on the word.

“Annie?” Ben tears open the door, fumbling with the latch.

Hauls me in, against a soot-covered chest in a bearlike hug.

Every breath brings in his comforting scent.

Tobacco, vanilla, and something like cookies.

He hasn’t aged a day–salt and pepper hair, cleft chin, and a wicked scar that cuts across one side of his jaw like a split in the earth.

For one dangerous second, the sight of him makes me want to weep.

“You’re alive?” He’s dumbfounded. His mouth gapes, moving soundlessly as a fish pulled up from the sea. Like he can’t believe it’s me.

His scent slams into me again, this time unwelcome. I hate that my body still remembers him as safe, and hate that my first emotion is relief. I step back, knowing I should protect myself.

“Come in. Come sit,” he says, enthusiastically.

“Quite the collection,” I murmur, brushing a finger along the hilt of a half-finished sabre. “All these are yours?” I’m weighing which one I’ll stab through his gut.

Ben looks hopeful. “You still like swords?”

If only he knew. I spend more time with a sword in my hand than a book, than a brush. In fact, I’ve probably killed more men than I can count. If I step any closer, I might kill him before I have any answers.

Better than him killing you before you ask any questions.

He studies me too long, something cautious creeping into the lines around his mouth. “What took you so long?” he says, voice low.

I don’t answer. I let the silence do the work.

His gaze goes to my sword, my dagger, the pistol at my opposite hip. “You’re well armed.”

“You trained me to always be ready.” I smile sweetly. “Besides, what’s a sharp blade between friends? ”

That old soldier’s instinct flickers to life behind his eyes. “They said you died.”

“I did,” I say flatly, because it’s true. I never could lie to Ben, not about anything.

I follow him through another door, where molten heat gives way to a colder quiet. Warily, I consider every corner, my senses razor-sharp. Fully prepared for a trap.

“What is it you’ve been doing all these years?” he asks, prying open a bottle from the forge’s shelf, the glass gray with iron dust.

“Collecting debts.” I accept the amber liquid with a smile I don’t feel. “Mostly from men who thought I was dead.”

He flinches. “Anne.”

“Yes?”

He can tell I’m angry. He can tell that I’m not here for a friendly visit. Yet Ben doesn’t tremble. Instead, he calmly sets his glass aside. “Tell me where you’ve been.”

“At sea.” Best to keep my answers brief.

I take a slow sip of liquor. It’s the good, expensive sort, the kind we kept in the castle. He shouldn’t have the wage to pay for it.

“You sold me to William, didn’t you?” My tone is measured. Calm. Betraying none of my inner turmoil.

“Sold you?” Ben pales. “What the devil do you mean?”

His surprise is too feigned. Too perfectly timed.

I don’t believe he knew nothing; I don’t believe that he wasn’t involved.

Ben always had his pulse on everything, one of the few men that my father trusted with everything.

He knew every man in our army; he knew what every assassin was up to.

He is obviously lying to me, I just don’t know why.

“Did you even look for me?”

“I scoured every nook and cranny.” His voice rings with sincerity. “You were gone, Annie.”

There’s that name again.

“I had no choice but to conclude you were dead. William organized a funeral.”

“I bet he did.” I release the glass, otherwise I might break it in my fist. “And where were you the night they took me? You should have been there.”

“Trying to get to you! But I found out too late. Believe me, there isn’t a single day gone by that I haven’t wished that I’d ignored your advice. If I hadn’t approached Alfr that night, hadn’t drank all that wine…”

Alfr? For a moment, I draw a blank. Then I remember the wedding. Pushing him to dance with her.

A readymade excuse. “That’s convenient.” I roll my eyes, then study his face like I might a coin, testing the weight, the feel. Trying to sense the truth . His hands are too steady. His pulse doesn’t leap. And that’s what makes me doubt him most.

“The way I see it, Ben? Thanks to you, King William has taken my throne. He wears my crown.”

“So you blame me? Instead of your father, who sowed those seeds?” He shakes his head. “I’m surprised at you.”

“I expect answers, Ben.”

“You won’t like what I have to say.” Ben grits his teeth. “If he hadn’t thrown himself in front of you–if you hadn’t stupidly fallen in love and pursued. You want someone to blame? Blame yourself for believing, for not seeing through his charade. ”

“Oh, I do.” I laugh. “That girl paid the price for her foolish heart. For being a gullible female when every day of her life she was trained to be smarter than that.”

“And the woman who is left?” He’s studying my face. “What about her?”

“She’ll have his head on a pike and his heart on a plate. Drown him in the sea and pluck out his eyes.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“Ha. On the high seas, we call it justice.”

Ben gentles his tone, trying to placate me. “I’m sure if your people knew you were alive–”

“Come now, Ben. You can’t fool me.” I cut him off. “I’ve sailed every corner of these oceans. I know what my father did. What kind of man he was.”

I know the truth.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, actually. My father had been so poorly regarded, widely hated across the kingdoms. Kept cloistered in the castle, I’d never known what a tyrant he was. Never heard of his legendary cruelty. He was just my father.

But William… William was a commoner. A hero who had won the heart of the princess, then nearly lost his life trying to defend her.

He’d been crowned king a fortnight after my father’s and my deaths.

They’d removed our family crest from the flags and replaced it with one of his own design–a golden snake and a black rose for me, his stolen queen.

Bloody liar.

“Anne.” Ben reaches across the table for me, and I move, withdrawing before his fingers graze my skin. “My hands are clean. ”

Clean indeed. The hands that trained me, should have fought beside me.

A flash, a hint of teeth, and I have his wrist in a vise-like grip. “Are they really?”

He has the sense to look afraid, and winces, trying to wrench away. “I didn’t—Gods, I didn’t know.”

“You should have,” I snarl. “You were my shadow. My sword. You were the hand that served the king.” Though Ben tries to pull away, my old mentor is no match for my newfound strength. “And you failed me. Failed us.”

“Mercy,” he gasps. “Anne—please—mercy.”

An interesting word to choose. It makes me think of the witch, back on the ship, the one who was so broken she could barely lift her head. Still so broken that she could barely bring herself to speak.

For fear of men.

What horrors they did. And Ben might be one of them, no matter how innocent he claims to be.

“You and my father were always goading me about a political marriage. William was a nobody. A nothing. Why would my father allow me to marry him? Why not block me? Why not, I don’t know, simply have him murdered like he did so many others? ”

I tap my chin, pretending to think it over.

“The boy from Rivelle wandered into our army, turned our own people against us, met me, courted me, and you had no suspicions? My father had none? None of it seemed strange to you?”

There’s a flash of guilt, a pain that twists his features, and it is unmistakable .

“I think you did. I think you both knew it was a ruse. And you let me marry him, just to see what would happen next.”

“Your father bit off more than he could chew!” Ben exclaims. “He thought he had him handled. He didn’t think you’d fall in love with him!”

He might be willing to tell me more, but I’ve already heard enough. I draw my blade, quick, across Ben’s thumb. Severing skin, tendon, and bone. Screaming, he stumbles backward into a coal bin.

It splinters through me, sharp and human, and for one brief second, I remember what it felt like to be fully human. Fragile. Before my bargain with the demon.

I shove my sympathy down deep, where it can’t eat me from the inside out. Softness, after all, will get you killed.

“You deserved that,” I tell him, following close behind, knife still drawn. “For letting me serve as bait for whatever schemes he had planned.”

Without his thumb, he’ll never grip a sword again. Not well, anyway. Ben whimpers and curls in on himself, cradling his ruined hand like a child might clutch a broken toy. “What’s happened to you?”

“I became what our enemies made me.” I wipe the blade against my thigh. “If you stood aside… If you helped him that night…”

“I swear I didn’t!”

“Pray to whatever god you believe in that I never learn otherwise.” I resheath the knife. “I’m letting you live. For now. Not because I believe you, but because I don’t have any proof. The moment I do—”

He trembles faintly, swallows hard. But Ben still looks me in the eye. “I didn’t betray you, Anne.”

I continue as if he hasn’t spoken. “I didn’t crawl out of that grave to be a pirate. I came back for my kingdom. For my crown. I’ll have my pound of flesh from every man who wronged me. Including you.”

I hesitate in the doorway, my silhouette outlined in gold. Back in the forge, I can hear him groaning softly. “I’ll be back, Ben. Next time, I won’t knock.”