Page 22 of The Heir and the Spare

“ I ona. Iona wake up.”

Taut fingers slapped her cheek, and an odd metallic scent filled her nostrils. The cooing voice at her ear shifted into more sinister tones. “Come on. It’s no fun if you sleep through it.” A hand twisted into her hair and yanked.

On a gasp, Iona opened her eyes. Lisenn loomed over her like the proverbial cat who had caught the canary, the smile on her lips eager and bloodthirsty.

The younger princess tried to wrench away, but her arms were strapped down at the wrist, stretched perpendicular to her body. Her legs, too, had bindings at each ankle to prevent her escape from the low wooden platform on which she lay.

“What are you doing?” Her voice trembled, the answer too apparent. She recognized the ceiling of her sister’s private tower, a small circular room attached to her broader bedchamber. In their childhood the area had held nothing more than a couple of chairs and a rug for the young princess to play on. Now it was crammed full of tables and deadly contraptions .

Lisenn, immaculate in her wedding gown, straightened. “Just taking care of a small problem before I embark on the next chapter of my life.” She turned away, the cream-colored silk rustling. “You didn’t think I’d leave Wessett without telling you goodbye, did you?”

Had the wedding already occurred? Iona fixed her attention on the one small window in her view, but the accoutrements around it made her blood run cold: deadly hooks, branding irons, spikes. The sunlight that glinted off them cast morning shadows. She had not lost more than a few minutes, maybe a quarter-hour at most.

But that had been plenty long enough to give Lisenn the upper hand.

“Oh, I had so many fun things planned for you,” her sister said, rifling through the metal instruments. “I can’t do anything that might get blood on this dress, though.” She paused to cast a mocking glance over her shoulder. “That’s a shame. Still, I think we can have some quality time together.”

She tossed a rusted blade to one side. It clattered across her metal countertop, teetering near the edge when it stopped. “So many options no longer allowed,” she said with an irritated sigh. “You know, I used to fantasize about dragging you up here and making you scream until your voice gave out. Those four years you were away were absolute torture .”

She spun, contempt in her eyes as she leaned against the counter.

Iona swallowed against a dry knot in her throat. “Lisenn, please—”

“And you were in Capria, of all places, and our Caprian friends were having all the fun with you while I was stuck at home. I can’t fault them for picking on such a pathetic weakling like you, but it still annoys me. Well,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully, “but they’ll learn their place in the pecking order soon enough.

“Have you ever heard of a breaking wheel, Iona?”

The words, spoken in such a light and careless tone, sent a shiver up the younger sister’s spine. Lisenn, not waiting for an answer, sauntered around her with a bounce in her step. She caressed Iona’s cheek with the back of one hand, the nail of her index finger digging at the end.

“In the old days they used to tie people to the road and then run a cart over their limbs until everything was broken.” A grin spread across her lips, her exuberance a sharp contrast to the blood draining from her sister’s face. “And then they realized, why bother with the trouble of a cart in the middle of the road? So the method changed, and they tied their victims to a platform instead. And then they use spacers like this”—she dragged a curved wooden frame from a shelf—“and they place them under your limbs like this.” She angled the frame under Iona’s right calf, the bindings just loose enough to allow for this addition. The curves at top and bottom elevated her leg two inches from the platform, suspending the lower half.

Iona’s breath, already shallow in her lungs, quickened.

“And then,” Lisenn said, enjoying every second of her explanation, “they take a wheel, like this”—she grasped a cartwheel tipped against the wall and rolled it closer—“and they hold it high over the chosen limb, and… they… drop it .”

She slammed the iron-banded wheel into the platform, gouging the wood. Iona flinched, her hands clenched against a flash of imaginary pain.

“And the beauty of it is,” her sister continued, “it breaks the bone, but the body remains basically intact. We start with the shin, and then the thigh bone, and then do the same on the other leg. Then, we’ll move to the arms below the elbow, and then above, and when all of your limbs are destroyed, I’ll undo your restraints and flip you over, and break your spine. And if you’re lucky, you get to live through the whole blissful experience, right up until the moment I toss your battered body off this tower and you meet your rightful end.

“I’ll probably have to stop to get married somewhere in the middle there,” she added in a stage whisper. “You won’t mind waiting, I’m sure.”

Iona fought against the tears that stung her eyes. “Why are you doing this? ”

“Because it’s the perfect opportunity to watch you suffer.”

“This isn’t like the river, Lisenn. Everyone will know what you did.”

A blood-chilling laugh escaped her. “No, they’ll all attribute it to suicide. You’ve already shown yourself to be volatile—throwing yourself in a river, destroying your art and your instruments. You’ve even written a confession explaining why you’re killing yourself on my wedding day of all days. You’re lovesick for my prince, did you know? And you can’t bear to see him marry someone else. And that’s not even false, which is the best part. Oh, don’t think I haven’t spied on you.” She shook her head, warding off her sister’s instinctive protest. “Poor Iona. Your preference for him is plain as day, and pathetic. Did you really believe someone could want you instead of me?”

The corners of her vision blurred. “There is nothing between Jaoven and me.”

“And there never will be, because you’ll be dead and he’ll be wrapped around my pinky finger until I get tired of him.”

The malice wouldn’t end with Iona’s death, in other words. She should have undermined the treaty, should have warned Jaoven away from the start instead of relishing in his union with her wicked sister. But, in petty revenge, she had chosen satisfaction in someone else’s misfortune instead of sparing him that grief.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said as a tear spilled down the side of her face, into her ear. “I’m no threat to you.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Lisenn asked. “That I would sail away from Wessett’s shores while you yet lived? To let you undermine my position here while I’m off conquering Capria? No, Iona. I’m not leaving until you’re good and dead. And you won’t be good and dead until I’ve seen you suffer for all the years you’ve been a thorn in my side.”

She hiked up the cartwheel by its spokes, a manic glint in her eyes and a grin upon her face.

“Please,” Iona said, more tears leaking into the grooves of her ears. “Please, Lisenn. I don’t want the throne. I never have. Please don’t do this. ”

“Ohh.” Her sister made a face as though cooing at a puppy. “We’re so far past me caring what you want.” She hefted the wheel above her head. Iona squeezed shut her eyes, steeling herself against the coming snap of pain.

“Lisenn!”

She jerked.

Their father’s voice sounded from the doorway, the top of his head barely visible beyond the tables and racks in the intervening space. Iona’s heart spasmed, relief flooding through her. Lisenn quickly lowered her torture implement as he strode into the room. He looked from his elder to his younger child secured upon the low platform.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

Lisenn’s response killed Iona’s fledgling hope. “Exactly what we agreed.”

“I said after your marriage.” King Gawen snatched the wheel from her grasp. He spared his younger daughter a glance upon the floor—as though looking at a piece of debris someone had left there—and then wagged a finger in the crown princess’s face. “This ruins everything. How do you explain her absence when half the kingdom is here today?”

“She’s going to throw herself off a tower in despair,” Lisenn replied. “She’s always been an over-dramatic little pest, and seeing her beloved prince of Capria marry someone else is her final tipping point. Oh, don’t rebuke me. It’s no worse than what you did to your brother.”

Cold shot through Iona. His brother, her uncle—?

“I let him die with dignity,” the king said, steel in his eyes.

Lisenn waved a negligent hand. “Poison is for the faint of heart. Just because you couldn’t stand to get your hands dirty doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have my fun.” She glanced at her sister, at the horror on her face, and said with a peal of laughter, “Oh, Father! I do believe she thought you’d come to rescue her!”

“Enough, Lisenn,” he said. “I agreed to let you kill her early, but not like this, not before you’d even secured the alliance with your wedding vows. ”

Every word he spoke drove a spike of despair deeper into Iona’s heart. Lisenn she could comprehend, but her own father…?

The crown princess angled her head, the better to peer into her sister’s eyes. “Did you hear that? I’m only killing you early . Ordinarily, the elder sibling has to wait until they’ve secured the line of succession before they can kill their spare. That was the bargain he made with me: the throne of Capria for your life. I think I win on both counts, don’t you?”

King Gawen, more aloof, said simply, “It’s nothing personal, Iona. You’ve served your purpose in this world, and you’ve done it admirably. Letting a second heir survive only leads to conflict, as happened when Wessett and Capria split, and as Capria only recently proved with their civil war. Never in the history of Wessett has a second heir survived into adulthood, except where circumstance required them to inherit the throne.”

“Even then, Grandfather killed his older brother to get it,” said Lisenn. “The poor fool never suspected his junior would get the better of him first. I vowed I wouldn’t make such a stupid mistake.”

Generations of murder and intrigue stretched before Iona’s eyes. Had it always been like this, one sibling killing the other for control? The bird among thorns forever hunted by the snake? The lyrics flitted through her mind: Orran of Wessett had learned of the pattern. He’d written the song about himself, and as a warning about Lisenn and Iona.

A whimper escaped her throat.

Her father made an impatient sound. “This is why I told you never to form attachments, child. You would not face so many regrets now had you heeded my advice. And you,” he added to Lisenn. “You could have allowed her to enjoy your ceremony at least, one last carefree day.”

“I let her enjoy the royal ball,” Lisenn said with a sniff. “And anyway, it’s too late now. If I loose her, she’ll only run away or cause a scene. ”

Annoyance flashed across his face. He glanced at Iona bound upon the platform and made a disgusted noise. “It can’t be helped. Leave her here and come back when you’ve met the terms of our bargain. I want Capria beneath my thumb, a tributary to the crown of Wessett.”

He caught her upper arm and pulled her to the door, but she dug in her heels.

“Wait. She’s not likely to escape, but the chances plummet if she has a broken leg.”

Iona’s insides wrenched into knots. King Gawen contemplated his elder daughter in silence, a hard furrow between his brows. Then, grudgingly, he tipped his head toward the platform.

“Be quick about it.”

And Lisenn, a rapacious light in her eyes, snatched up her iron-banded wheel.