Brood of Vipers, Maggie Claire [e novels to read .TXT] 📗

looking chair over to the window, content to watch the world wake.

She sits so still and quiet, so lost in her fearful musings that she doesn’t hear a servant girl bringing her a food tray. Helena fails to notice the kitchen maid until she is close enough to touch. The sudden proximity of another human being startles Helena out of her chair. She deftly twirls her fingers into a spiral, effectively creating a wind tunnel prison around the helpless servant. “Who sent you?” she snarls, preparing to attack.

“Please! I just brought breakfast. And I was told to stay and see if you needed anything for the king’s party tonight,” the pitiful child wails, covering her face with her hands. “This wind is cutting me! Please, make it stop!” Blood splatters on the floor under the servant’s feet, the red stains offering proof of her claims.

Regretting her hyper vigilance, Helena ceases the windstorm almost as quickly as it sprang to life. “Apologies, child. I will not hurt you anymore. But I would not sneak up on me again.”

The servant nods, staring at her toes. Small, stinging cuts crisscross the child’s arms. Her chin puckers as her mouth pulls tight. She wrings her hands and pinches the skin between her fingers to keep from crying. “D…d…do you need anything?” she asks with a sniffle, her knees wobbling as though they can barely hold her weight.

“Come here and sit down,” Helena declares softly, instantly morphing from fighter to mother at the sight of a terrified child. She holds out her hand to the servant, trying to force her face into a pleasant smile. “I truly am sorry that I’ve hurt you. Rest assured, it will not happen again. What is your name, child?”

“Amie,” the servant whimpers, shying away from Helena’s touch as she moves toward the offered chair.

Regrets burn deep in Helena’s heart as she watches the child cringe away from her. “And have you eaten breakfast yet, Amie?” Helena asks gently, pulling the table and tray closer. “The kitchens always send up more than enough food, and I’d hate to see it all go to waste.”

Amie’s stomach growls heartily in response, but the child does not move to take a single pastry from the plate. Her face loses all expression, her voice no more than a whisper as she challenges, “What do you want in exchange for this kindness?”

Pity swells in Helena’s heart at the wary look in the child’s eyes. This fear runs deeper than just me, I think. What horrors could a child so young have faced to make her so untrusting? “I want nothing—”

“Everyone wants something,” Amie interrupts, her legs bouncing nervously against the chair. Her stomach roars once more, the grip of the hunger pain so intense that Amie clutches at her midsection until it passes.

“Well, how about we make a trade? You eat your fill, and in return, you answer some questions about one of the guards,” Helena offers, her heart breaking as she watches Amie stare at the pastries, instinctively licking her lips.

“Really? That’s all you want?” Amie hesitates, her hand twitching at her side. She tightens her fingers into a fist to keep from snatching food off the plate before a bargain is finalized.

“Yes, Amie. All I want is a few answers. Now, please, eat whatever you like,” Helena declares, smiling wide when Amie lunges for the pastries, taking one in each slender hand.

Silence punctuated by smacking lips and sighs of contentment stretch between Helena and Amie. Only when Amie stops reaching for food, her eyes growing a little glazed at the intensity of the sugar rushing through her veins, does Helena begin her interrogation. “There is a guard in the palace named Andras. Do you know of him?”

“I do,” Amie replies, her eyelids beginning to droop. “What do you want to know about him?”

“He and I are getting ready to travel together, Amie. I need to know everything you can tell me about him. What’s he like? What are his strengths? Any weaknesses? Has he done anything wrong? Anything you can tell me that might be useful,” Helena presses, trying to lightly steer Amie’s thoughts toward the negative things that might be used as blackmail later.

“Andras keeps to himself most of the time,” Amie replies, rubbing her now slightly swollen belly while she thinks. “You know, this may be the first time I can say I am truly full since I got to the palace.” The pitiful child stretches her arms wide, her chin falling toward her chest as sleep drags at her mind.

“Amie, focus!” Helena cries sharply, reaching for the exhausted girl’s hand. “Come on!”

“Andras comes to the kitchen after every evening meal for a cup of coffee or an extra piece of pie. I think he’s sweet on one of the dishwashing maids, but he’d never tell her. He seems very shy,” Amie mumbles, her words beginning to slur.

“Has he ever been accused of doing anything wrong?” Helena presses, clenching her hands into fists and firmly placing them on her hips to keep from shaking the child.

“No, he’s good—” Amie’s head falls back against the chair, her soft snores pitifully finishing her sentence.

A half-hearted sigh of frustration sucks the air from Helena’s lungs as she slumps over to sit on a nearby infirmary bed, contemplating whether or not she should wake Amie. For surely, there has to be more to Andras than that, Helena muses, the bitterness of her cynicism burning on her tongue. “If Andras is so good, why does he stay here? What keeps him loyal to the king?” she wonders, leaning her head back on a pillow as she gets lost in the tangle of her thoughts.

Helena turns her head, eyeing the tray of uneaten pastries as her stomach roars in protest at its empty state. “Maybe the kitchen maid Andras is sweet on will be more forthcoming with information,” she decides, sitting up once more as she prepares to hunt down this supposed love interest.

The sudden realization that