Rogue Legacy - Jeffrey L. Kohanek (dark academia books to read TXT) 📗

wasn’t a brilliant plan, I just wanted to be clear that it was her idea.” Donte smiled. “As was the idea to poison you.”

“Poison?” Tallinor grimaced and doubled over. “Why, Donte?”

“Why do people do what they do? Power? Money? Revenge? Jealousy? Perhaps all, perhaps none.” Donte shrugged. “The why doesn’t really matter. Only the results matter.”

Donte turned toward Lyra. “I must thank you, Lyra. Mother’s distaste for you helped me convince her to accelerate her plan, rather than waiting another two years.”

Lyra stared at Donte, unable to speak, finding herself trapped within a nightmare.

Jessibel’s eyes grew wide, her face pale as she bent over the table, her breath coming in rapid gasps as her stomach cramped.

“Sorry, Mother.” Donte shrugged. “While it was your plan to make me king, Uncle Berrilon provided a better offer. Accordingly, rather than poisoning the food, he convinced me to taint the wine instead.”

Jessibel turned toward Berrilon, rising to her feet. “You would turn my own son against me?”

“You’re letting your emotions get the better of you, Sister,” Berrilon sneered. “Which is nothing new. In fact, our new young king here was convinced that your emotions would be his downfall.”

“You hunger for power, Mother.” Donte stared at Jessibel with a look of disgust. “You might have been willing to make me king, but the price was for me to be your puppet. Uncle here only asks to be Grand Duke of Northern Kalimar, ruling Yarth and Vinacci after we invade and dispose of Queen Iglesia.” Donte smiled. “My life, and Kalimar, will be my own without you around.”

“You ungrateful…” Jessibel dove toward Donte, her fingers clamping around his throat.

Donte gripped her wrists while one of the guards pulled her away from him. Jessibel stumbled backward and tumbled to the floor, curled up on her side as she heaved and gasped and foamed at the mouth.

Berrilon chuckled as he stared down at his sister. “I’ve always said that you drink too much wine, Jess. You must watch your intake because it might kill you some day. Oh, I guess today is some day.”

“Kill anyone else who tries to touch me” Donte commanded as he circled around his mother to stand beside Duke Berrilon.

The people seated around Lyra and Tiri began to foam at the mouth, shaking violently as sweat poured down their face. Tallinor slumped face-first into his plate, and his crown slid off his head to roll across the table, settling before Donte. Baroness Lamona shrieked and gurgled as Clavelle did the same. Garrett’s chair tipped backward and crashed to the floor, the man rolling to his side in a curled ball as he coughed and heaved. Desperate, Lyra reached for the lute hanging from the back of her chair.

“Stop her!” Donte shouted.

A guard grabbed the lute strap, pulling it so hard that Lyra’s chair almost toppled over before she let go. The man then tossed it across the room to land in Donte’s hands.

“I’ve learned what you can do with this, Sister. I’ll not be your fool.” Donte sneered. “You have played it for the last time.”

He spun around, swinging the lute to smash it into the wall. The drum shattered and wooden shards rained down as the ringing of the strings echoed in the room. Donte turned back toward her and raised his hand, revealing the neck and strings of the broken instrument, dangling like a man on a noose. Lyra’s heart sank as hope fled.

Rionelle’s eyes were wide, the man shaking violently as he choked on his own vomit. Hamilton’s body hung limply in his chair, the man already dead. Clavelle and Lamona lay face down on the table, dead as well.

Garrett rose to his hands and knees, attempting to stand. The guard beside the door kicked and Garrett twisted to grab the man’s foot as a dagger appeared in his hand. With a slash, Garrett sliced the guard’s inner thigh open, the wound gushing blood from the severed artery as the man screamed and collapsed.

When Garrett dove toward Rainer, the man dodged the blow. Garrett fell to his knees, his faced wracked with pain as he clutched his stomach with one hand and supported himself with the other. Blood oozed from his bulging eyes, foam covered his mouth and chin. Lurching forward, Rainer stabbed Garrett in the back. The former captain collapsed to the floor, twitching.

Lyra grabbed Tiri’s hand and yanked her to her feet, both girls leaping over the dying guard to dart out the door.

The two girls ran down the corridor and burst into the throne room to find a pair of guards standing near the Emblem Throne.

“Help!” Lyra cried. “The King has been poisoned and men are after the Princess.”

The two men turned toward Lyra, staring at her with unfamiliar faces. She noticed a man lying on his back behind the throne and realized that the real guards were dead. The two men drew their weapons.

“Run!” Lyra ran out the other door and down the stairs with Tiri close behind.

They ran down a hallway with several open doors, past the startled servants who lived in the apartments. At the far end, Lyra paused and lifted her dress so she could draw the dagger strapped to her thigh. She then began to cut away Tiri’s skirt.

“What are you doing?” Tiri shrieked.

“We need to move faster. No time to worry about impropriety.”

She yanked the bottom half of Tiri’s dress off, leaving the girl’s torso covered by the top half of her green dress, only her white shift covering her from her waist to her thighs. Lyra did the same to her own dress, tossing it aside as she pulled Tiri up the stairs.

As they reached the next level, a guard leapt from the upper stairwell to land in the corridor before them. A humorless smile twisted his face as he turned toward Lyra. At six-feet tall, he doubled Lyra’s weight. The man had deeply tanned skin and a shaved head, marked by an angry white scar from his brow to the top of his scalp, reinforcing an image of ferocity. He pulled his sword from its scabbard, the ring of steel accompanying the clanking of the metal plates adorning his leather armor.

Lyra released Tiri’s hand and strode toward the man, his grin widening just before his sword sliced toward her. Shifting sideways and twisting to avoid the sword, Lyra redirected it with her dagger as she dropped to the ground. The man began a motion to chop downward. In a sweeping kick, Lyra’s foot struck the back of the man’s heel as hard as she could muster, the pain of striking his boot making her wince. The kick knocked his weight-bearing leg from beneath him and he fell, landing hard on his back and striking his head on the stone floor. Lyra then lunged and swiped her dagger across the back of his raised leg, opening a gash across his hamstring.

Hearing a ruckus from behind them, Lyra turned to find men emerging from the doors at the top of the stairs and others shouting from the corridor below. She grabbed Tiri’s hand and pulled her down the hallway, past the guard who lay on his side, groaning in pain.

The two girls reached the end of the corridor and found themselves in a storage room, closing the door behind them. A frantic glance about the room revealed wooden crates and wine barrels along one wall, while rows of shelves occupied the other half of the room. There were two ways out: the door that they had just closed and a narrow window, high above.

“Help me block the door.” Lyra shifted behind the nearest crate and pushed hard, the object only moving a few inches. Tiri stood beside her and they pushed in unison, the crate moving a full foot this time. Four additional pushes pinned the crate against the door and left them gasping for air.

A thump hit the door, followed by shouting from the corridor.

“They’ve locked themselves in here.”

“Is there another way in?”

“No. It’s a storage room. Only one door.”

Lyra pulled Tiri over to a wine barrel. They both heaved and it tipped over with a crash, rocking and rolling unevenly. The two girls positioned themselves behind the barrel and rolled it until it was tight against the crate that blocked the door. Lyra then upended a sack of potatoes and wedged it beneath the barrel so that it wouldn’t roll.

“There.” She gasped for air. “Hopefully that will hold them for a bit.”

She turned toward the window, perhaps a foot tall and three feet long, tucked up against the high ceiling.

“Come and help me push the shelf over.”

“What? Why?” Tiri complained.

“If we can lean it against the wall, we can use it as a ladder to get to that window.”

Standing beside the shelf, the two girls pushed but it didn’t move.

“Let’s empty the lower shelves.”

A massive thud sounded against the door.

“Hurry.” Lyra grunted as she pushed a bag of apples off the bottom shelf.

Another thud sounded and small splinters sprayed into the room.

“They have an axe.” Tiri said in a frightened voice.

“Just help me.” Lyra pulled a wooden box filled with carrots from the shelf.

A thud sounded and splinters rained into the room, the axe leaving a hole two inches wide.

“Now push!” Lyra leaned against the shelf with Tiri beside her. The thing tipped a few inches and then rocked back down. “Rock it until it tips!”

They pushed and pulled in unison. Each time, the shelf tilted further. Backward it tilted, hanging in a moment of equilibrium as Lyra’s gut twisted at the thought of it tumbling the wrong direction. It then tipped forward again and she lunged into it. The shelf crashed into the wall,