Blood Knot

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter 15

Locked in her chambers, Avoca paced up and down. She kicked a chair across the room to vent her frustration. The Llaams had been nothing but courteous, that was true. Instead of rotting in a dungeon cell she had been given a very comfortable room to share with Mirabelle. But what did Avoca care for comfort when she was trapped in there with her sister?

A great four poster bed was the precipice of the room, with fine linen hangings and a feather matrass. Mirabelle was sat there, reading a thick, leather bound book. An elaborately carved table stood in the middle of the room, laden with untouched fruits, cheese and wine. The equally elaborate chair that Avoca had just kicked had knocked a wooden screen over, which toppled to the floor with a crash.

Mirabelle peered over her book with her eye brow raised. ‘Calm down!’ She closed her book. ‘Do you think I like been trapped here anymore than you do? And do you see me raging like a mad bull?’

‘You’re used to being trapped within these walls,’ Avoca retorted. She stopped pacing and stood by the window. Mirabelle’s eyes narrowed. When she spoke, her voice was dangerously soft. ‘I do not care for being a prisoner in my own home,’ she said. ‘You think that, just because you are good with a sword and I am not, I am happy to sit here docile, while my mother and father, who raised me, who love me, are who knows where, and perhaps not even alive!’ Her voice was raising louder and louder. ‘There is absolutely nothing I can do to remedy this situation, so forgive me if I fail to express my anger by kicking the furniture around!’

Avoca looked closely at her twin. ‘No,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t realise…’ her voice drifted off. There was a pregnant pause. After a moment Mirabelle gave a quick nod and reopened her book. She was looking at the pages but her eyes were not moving.

Suddenly, Avoca strode across the room, from the window to the bed, and held something out to Mirabelle. ‘Take this,’ she said quietly. In her outstretched hand was a dagger. ‘It’s for thrusting,’ she whispered eagerly. ‘If someone is wearing armour, stick them in the joints or the eye slits.’

‘Why would I want that?’ Mirabelle said, eyeing it with contempt.

‘It could just save your life.’

Mirabelle tore her eyes from the blade and shook her head. ‘It would only be another weapon somebody could use against me,’ she said haughtily.

‘Very well,’ Avoca sneered. She walked off, back to the window.

The Llaams had thoughtfully put them in a room with a good view, which was very far from the ground. Four floors up, Avoca could see the rolling moors and thick clumps of forest that tantalised her. She opened the paned glass window wide to let a cool breeze in. She had to shove the window against the ivy to open it all the way. The sill was covered in moss and mould.

‘Don’t you have gardeners and servants to sort out this sort of thing?’ Avoca said in Mirabelle’s direction.

‘Hmm?’ Mirabelle didn’t look up from her book.

But Avoca didn’t reply. She was looking down; looking at the ivy that clung to the walls all the way down the tower. One tug of the ivy and a moment’s hesitation was all she needed.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Have anything with pockets in?’

‘A coat of mine has pockets, but why…?’ Mirabelle asked. Avoca strode over to the chest where Mirabelle kept the clothes that had been brought to her from her chambers by the Llaams. She flung it open and began rifling through, looking for a coat. ‘Which one?’ She demanded.