Brood of Vipers by Maggie Claire (good books for high schoolers .txt) 📕

his head, his mouth hanging open in an unvoiced gasp. He convulses, the king’s spell sucking every last breath from his lungs in an effort to save the child. Finally, the guard’s body crumples to the ground, turning to dust as it hits the rocky floor.

I should have kissed Ithel and told him I loved him one last time, Helena laments, tears streaming down her face. I should have told him about his daughter. I should have explained that I took her into those lands to teach her about Cassè, to train her to be a weapon we could use one day to bring down Alaric. Now I’ll never get the chance.

“Great gods of old, some kind of monster attacked that boy! Look at those deep gashes and burns!” Bryn mutters his eyes on the darkness above him. “What is up there that could cause such wounds?”

“You’re about to find out,” the announcer says as he pushes Bryn forward. Kicking and screaming, it takes four men to push the stocky prisoner up the tunnel’s ladder.

“What is your name?” Helena whispers to the shivering waif beside her, using the chaos of Bryn’s protests to steal a moment with the child. The girl’s hair appears silver in the dim light, her blue eyes seeming to glow with their own defiant light. You could almost pass for my child, Helena shudders, grateful her daughter isn’t in Déchets. No doubt if she had been, Alaric would have forced her to watch her mother’s trial and subsequent demise.

“Evaine,” the girl whimpers, sidling closer to Helena for comfort.

“And what great ill did you do to the king?” Helena wonders, wishing she could smuggle Evaine out of this place.

“I loved his son, Antero,” Evaine whimpers as tears glisten down her cheeks. “But I am low born. I was the kitchen maid that used to take him a tray when he worked in his room. It was a very common thing, and somewhere along the way, we fell in love. When the king found out….” Her words die as she sobs and wipes blood from her chin.

“I can imagine. I am truly sorry.” Helena answers by patting the girl’s shoulder. Guilty of love. How terrible to face this horror for such an innocent crime. Dai, Bryn, Evaine—Helena will remember these names until her final days. She will chant them like an anthem to keep her going when she feels defeated. “Good luck, Evaine.” May the forgotten gods look upon you with favor. It takes Helena a few moments to realize she’s already counted the girl among the dead.

Bryn makes it thirty minutes in the tunnel, a staggering, unexpected feat judging by the king’s bewildered expression. None of us are expected to survive this. Helena shudders as the realization settles in her mind. Was he even serious about using us as spies? Or has Alaric grown bored and needs a diversion from his one-sided battle with Cassè? Either, she knew, was possible.

Suddenly a sharp crack of stone radiates above them, and the wailing of the falling man heralds his descent. Judging by the sound of the impact, Helena is certain his body has no bones left unbroken.

This time Helena covers her ears, turning her back as Bryn’s bodyguard dies. What a waste! Helena wishes to scream at the king. What nonsense that you would kill us all for sport! Glancing at Alaric, she finds him staring straight at her, smiling widely as he enjoys the sight of her torment.

Evaine’s fingers, as icy as if death had already claimed her soul, grip her wrist as a guard tries to pull her away. “Remember me, Helena! I beg you, do not forget this place! When you return, tear it apart in my honor!” She moves to stand in the only circle of light in the room, her hair catching its beams and gleaming gold. “Promise me, Helena! Destroy it in the name of the girl who died for love.”

The shouts and prods of the guards force Evaine to move into position, but she makes no attempt to step onto the rope ladder. Her eyes stay fixed on Helena, waiting for a response. One guard pulls his sword, approaching her from behind with death in his eyes.

“Evaine! For the love of the gods, move!” Helena shouts, her hands gripping her chest, watching helplessly as the guard inches closer.

“I have no fear of death, Helena. My love already waits for me.” She smiles wistfully as she repeats, “Promise me, Helena.”

“Yes, now go!” Helena screams, clawing at her own hair as she watches the guard’s sword raise.

Evaine nods in acceptance and turns to face her executioner. The blade falls, and her head rolls gracefully off her shoulders. Her guard-slave’s body seizes, his death just as sudden as hers.

The king, however, yawns as he waves a hand. “On with it then, Helena.”

“You are a monster,” Helena cries, grief roaring to life in her, erupting from her chest in a low growl.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me in a long time.” Alaric simpers at her words as though Helena’s just offered him a glorious compliment. “At long last, we might find some common ground, Helena. How nice it would be to be on friendly terms again!”

Helena’s feet trudge through Evaine’s blood, leaving crimson trails. Her mind is numb as she stares into the darkness. The ebony void above her seems to reach down with midnight fingers to tangle into her hair. How much can I endure in that emptiness before I go mad?

“Speak truth, Helena! Whatever you do, speak—” Ithel’s voice stops abruptly with the sounds of a struggle.

Her ears dimly register the words Ithel shouts, but she hardly cares about their meaning. She deftly maneuvers the rope ladder, and all too soon, Helena feels the bolts that connect the rope ladder to the rock. Patting the hard surface, she finds crevices to catch and pull herself up; her feet are slick from the muck on the floors. Helena slips off her bloody shoes,