by Jody Hedlund
I shared what Gabriella had told me about her father’s discovery of the priests taking the young maiden’s heart to be used as an alchemy ingredient and how the jewels began to surface once the priests descended into the mines and performed their yearly blessing, which involved sprinkling the concoction they’d made from the maiden’s heart and the white stone.
The men listened intently, their unwavering gazes upon me. When I finished my tale, they were silent. No one moved. And surprisingly, no one ridiculed me.
“I suspect she intends to end the ritual once and for all,” I said more urgently. “And perhaps she even hopes by doing so to stop the jewel production and the need for slavery in the mines.”
Curly gave a grave nod.
“I must leave now in order to reach her by tomorrow’s ball and stop her.”
“She won’t make it there in time,” Curly said, as he had earlier. “And even if she does, she has no guarantee of being chosen by the queen, since only the fairest maiden can sate Grendel . . .”
I’d already spoken the truth to him when I told him that, even at her worst, Gabriella was still the fairest maiden in the land. Certainly, the queen would recognize that. And if Gabriella presented herself as a willing sacrifice, how could the queen turn her down?
The darkness penetrating the open door indicated I now had less than twenty-four hours to figure out a way to travel to her and convince her not to go through with her plans. And if she didn’t listen to me, then I would forcibly drag her from the ball, lock her up, and then go out and kill Grendel in her stead.
All along, I’d been telling myself that because I was a foreigner, the problems of this country weren’t mine to fix. And now, if I interfered with the queen’s sacrifice to Grendel, I would be overstepping. The queen might arrest me and hold me as her prisoner. I could very well find myself back in the mine forever and not just for six months.
On the other hand, how could I sit back and do naught? If Gabriella was willing to sacrifice her life to bring about change, shouldn’t I be ready to do the same?
Deep inside, I knew I could do nothing less. No matter the consequences, I had to do the right thing and put an end to the needless sacrifice, slaughter, and slavery the queen perpetuated. Maybe I even had a responsibility to do so. After all, Grendel was from Scania.
“Gabriella has already proven she’ll do whatever she must in order to fight Grendel. I have no doubt she’ll make sure she’s chosen.”
Curly stared into the dancing flames, his face rigid like flint.
I struggled against the men still holding me captive. “If you let me go, I shall seek her out with all haste.”
“Ye cannot do this alone.”
“Then you agree she’s in danger?”
“Aye. If she be intending to do as ye said, then she’ll find a way to be at the ball, even if she has to leave Alice and Benedict behind to get there.”
“And if she leaves them behind,” said another, “she won’t have to worry about anyone trying to stop her.”
They were right. If only Sir Lucan would intervene. But the knight had clearly been riddled with guilt for not previously protecting Gabriella. At present, he’d likely do anything she wished to make up for his mistakes, even unwittingly lead her to her death.
“How far from here to the queen’s residence?” I didn’t care anymore if I showed my ignorance.
“Twelve hours by foot and six or less by horse,” said Ernie from where he stood by the doorway.
“Can you lead me there?” Ernie would know the best way in, perhaps even through the kitchen.
Before Ernie could respond, Curly shook his head. “Not one person has ever escaped from the mine, much less two.”
I held back a frustrated sigh. “Then release me, and I shall make the escape on my own.”
Curly continued to stare into the flames, a battle warring across his features. “I know the back trails through the foothills. And if necessary, I can lead ye inside the palace grounds undetected.”
As a former huntsman for the queen, he would indeed know the way, keeping us far from the usual routes where we might encounter people who would easily recognize us as runaway slaves.
And yet, he’d just admitted the mission—especially the escape from the mine—was too dangerous. I couldn’t involve him any more than I could Ernie.
“You will inform me of the way, and I shall commit it to memory.” I hoped the authority in my voice would make him back down.
“Ye cannot fight the monster by yerself.” His voice turned equally hard.
“And who said I planned to fight Grendel?”
He met my gaze and held it.
“Even if I were planning to fight him, I couldn’t ask you to join in.”
“What if this is the chance I’ve been waiting for? The chance to redeem myself?”
Redeem himself from what? My unspoken question hung in the air between us as heavy as the smoke. But this was neither the time nor place to press Curly for more answers about his past life. We had more urgent matters at hand.
“Very well. How can two of us cross the bridge without detection?”
“We can’t. I told you, it’s never been done.”
A slave standing guard outside the hut poked his head inside. “One of the overseers is coming.”
At his hissed whisper, several lowered themselves to the ground and pretended to be asleep. The men who’d been holding me escaped out the back window, leaving me free to run away.
I could go right now and spare Curly. And what about Ty? If I left, he’d likely attempt to cross the bridge and put himself in grave peril too.
No, if I was going to fight my way free, I would have to do it alone.
Chapter
13
Gabriella
I knelt and kissed the duchess’s outstretched hand. The jewels from her rings brushed against my face and were as cold and hard as her fingers. Without lifting my head, I shifted and reached for Tilde’s hand. Although she allowed me the perfunctory kiss, she hastily withdrew from me, as if my touch made her dirty. Signe, two years younger, didn’t bother to extend her hand and instead tucked both behind her back.
After spending the entire day and well into the evening doing my best to erase the past months of the mine from my skin and body, I still had more work to do before I would meet noble standards. I’d likely need to alternate between bathing and oil treatments for most of the coming night before I took my leave in the morning for Kensington.
The servants who remained from my childhood had been delighted to see me again. They’d paid visits to my chambers off and on throughout the day to welcome me home. Their tears of joy had been a balm for my aching soul, although the reunion was also bittersweet in knowing I would leave them again so soon.
After I departed on the morrow, they would realize all too clearly, if they hadn’t already, the reason for my release from the mine—that the duchess was sending me to the Choosing Ball in Tilde’s place. Every household must send their fairest maiden, an unmarried woman between the ages of eighteen and twenty. No one was exempt, not even the duchess.
“You may rise,” the duchess said.
Sir Lucan at my side aided me up, and as I straightened, I was again keenly aware of how my beauty had faded. My hands were callused and my fingernails gritted with dirt that now seemed permanent. My red hair dangled in long waves but was coarse and dull. My gown, which had once highlighted my womanly form, now hung listlessly on my too-thin frame.
Did I have a chance of being chosen for the sacrifice? I held my breath as the duchess assessed me and hoped she wouldn’t find me overly lacking.
The duchess would have to send Tilde if she didn’t send me. And the duchess would do whatever she could to keep her daughter at home. After all, no young woman, whether fair or not, wanted to go to the ball and risk being chosen. In most households, the day before Midsummer’s Eve was filled with great solemnity. At dawn on the day of the ball, the young women
were ushered away with much lamenting, as if they were leaving for their funerals instead of the queen’s festivities.
“The mine has not been kind to you.” The duchess stood from the golden chair that had once belonged to my father. Inlaid with colorful gems, it was worthy of a king or queen. The entire hall was exquisitely crafted befitting royalty. From the colorful mosaic tiles in the walls to the dome overhead inlaid with gold plate and engraved with intricate patterns, my father had created it as a tribute to King Alfred and his family, hoping that when they visited, they would find it admirable.
On the few occasions Queen Margery had come to Rockland Castle, she always expressed her appreciation. But part of me couldn’t keep from wondering if she’d been calculating how to do away with my father in order to claim the land and wealth for herself.
Of course, after my father’s untimely demise, she’d been too diplomatic to swoop in and take possession of Rockland in her own right. As many of her council already suspected Father’s death had been no accident, such a move would have placed greater suspicion upon her. Instead, she’d used the duchess as her pawn to oversee the estate while at the same time having access to whatever she wanted of my father’s holdings and coffers.
A mocking smile tugged at the duchess’s lips. With her dark hair swept up into a severe high coif that was covered in dangling jewels, her fleshy face was powdered into an unnatural white. Of medium height, she was large boned and bulky like her brother, Ethelred, who had married Queen Margery and seemed to love her ardently until he passed away. Their only son and the heir to the throne, Prince Ethelbard, was of stocky build, as was the young Princess Ruby. Only the oldest daughter, Princess Pearl, had inherited Margery’s slender beauty.
I’d met Princess Pearl during one of the queen’s visits to Rockland. A year different in age, we’d bonded well. I’d longed to have her for a friend, but the queen had never allowed Pearl to return to Rockland. Early last summer, the beautiful young woman had died during a hunting accident.
Some speculated Pearl’s death hadn’t been by chance. They said that since Pearl had turned eighteen, the queen had staged Pearl’s death and then sent the princess into hiding to save her from having to be sacrificed to Grendel. With her dark hair, green eyes, and flawless skin, Pearl had easily been the fairest maiden in Warwick. The queen would have had no option but to pick her own daughter at the Choosing Ball.
Other rumors hinted at more sinister reasons behind Pearl’s death. Everyone knew the queen had been jealous of her daughter for outshining her in not only beauty but in charm and poise. The simple truth was that people liked Pearl more than Queen Margery. Some had even begun to proclaim that Pearl should be the next queen. There were rumors of rebelling against Queen Margery and making Pearl the next leader, even over Prince Ethelbard.
“I told you that you wouldn’t be pleased, Your Grace.” Lord Query leaned in toward the duchess and whispered loud enough that everyone near the front of the hall could hear.
“Mother.” Tilde’s voice wobbled, her eyes filling with tears. “You said I wouldn’t need to go to the ball.”
“And you will not.” The duchess patted Tilde’s arm, her rings clinking together.
“But she’s ugly, Mother. Simply deplorable.”
“Of course, no one can compare to you and Signe.” The duchess eyed me again critically. “But we shall do our best to make her presentable.”
Tilde sniffled noisily, her face splotchy and her eyes red, likely from the worry of the past week of waiting for my arrival. I wanted to feel sorry for her and the distress I’d inadvertently caused her, but all I felt was emptiness.
When Tilde and Signe had first moved to Rockland, I’d hoped we could be like sisters. If nothing else, I’d been excited at the prospect of companionship, especially since I’d been lonely and missing my father. However, after the months of hurtful criticism and petty accusations, I learned my hope had been in vain. The Scripture imploring us to pray for those who persecute us had taken on new meaning.
The duchess lifted her chin, her flesh wobbling slightly. “Take her away and work harder to make her the fairest maiden in the land.”
Vilmar
As one of the overseers stepped into the doorway of Curly’s hut, I forced myself to remain in my place in front of the fire. I would have to wait to make my escape until after the overseer retreated.
The burly man squinted through the haze until he found Curly. “You know you ain’t supposed to have gatherings of more than five.”
“Aye, we know.” Curly wiped at the blood still flowing from the cut on his face. “We be trying to calm Vilmar. He’s taken Gabi’s leaving hard.”
The overseer’s attention shifted to me, and he nodded, his expression almost sympathetic. I guess he’d seen me with Gabriella oft enough to assume, like everyone else, that we cared deeply for each other. “We’ll miss her, aye, that we will. She was a rare jewel, that one.”
“She was indeed.” And now I needed to find a way to rescue my rare jewel.
Was she mine?
The claim had entered my thoughts unbidden. But once there, I couldn’t dislodge it. We hadn’t made promises to each other. In fact, we’d put all thoughts from our minds of a future together. Why, then, did I feel as though, in her leaving, I’d lost a part of myself?
The overseer leaned against the doorjamb. “I remember the time back a few months when good ol’ Paddy had a heart attack and she nursed him back to health.” The overseer seemed intent upon recalling each and every instance of Gabriella’s kindness. While the reminiscing was a fine tribute to her memory, every minute of delay could mean the difference between her life and death, and I grew tenser with each passing moment.
Finally, the overseer straightened. “She’ll be missed around here, that she will. But can’t say I’m sorry, since she gets to be in a better place.”
If only he knew the truth. A truth I wished I’d discovered long before now.
“See that you keep to the limit in here,” the overseer said amiably. “Or next time the guards might insist we start locking you up.”
While congregating outside was permitted, large gatherings within the dwellings were prohibited to prevent us from plotting rebellion. It was a foolish rule, since if we wanted to plan an uprising, we could do so underground while we worked.
I sat forward and didn’t dare glance at Ty sitting beside me for fear he’d see my thoughts. Plotting rebellion. Plan an uprising. Was it possible for me to lead a rebellion here? Tonight? A bolt of energy raced through me, but I forced myself to remain as nonchalant as possible until the overseer sauntered away.
Even then, I stared at the hearth fire, a dozen plans formulating all at once, even in light of the tales of past failed revolts, of slaves rising up only to be slaughtered by the guards with their superior weapons and armor.
I certainly didn’t want to put lives needlessly at risk. If such a rebellion was doomed to failure, I shouldn’t even think about starting one. And yet, what if I could succeed and set every slave in this horrible place free?
My mind warred with itself. Already I was overstepping my bounds in planning to escape and kill a berserker. But if I led a revolt amongst the slaves in the mine pits, I’d be involving myself irrevocably in this country that didn’t belong to me and in problems that weren’t mine to solve.
I couldn’t barge into Warwick’s problems and assume I could make them better. In leading such a revolt and in killing Grendel, I risked angering the queen and making things worse for the people. I also chanced making an enemy for Scania.
I buried my face in my hands. I couldn’t plan an insurrection, and not just because it might make things worse for everyone in Warwick, but because doing so would likely put an end to my Testing. There weren’t many rules regarding our Testing, but one regulation was clear enough. If we abandoned our Testing, we would forfeit any claim to the throne. Of course, a provision existed for leaving temporarily. If we had to go away from the p
lace chosen for us, at the very least we must return and finish the Testing.
But if I led a revolution and freed the slaves, there would be naught to return to. And even if the queen kept her mine operational after a revolt, how would I be able to come back? The queen would surely want me captured dead or alive.
At footsteps in the doorway, I glanced up to see Molly enter. With only one arm, she attempted to carry several of our buckets after standing in line with our diggings to receive food rations.
She fumbled with the containers, and at the sight of the empty sleeve where her arm should have been, a low burn flared in my gut. I’d been working at keeping the anger under control these past weeks. I’d labored as the slave of all and was doing what I could for the people while I was here. I’d thought that was enough. But what if I was capable of doing far more for them?
Curly jumped to his feet to assist Molly, taking the buckets and glancing inside to the food she’d brought us.
Why should any more people here have to lose their limbs to the rats? Or catch fevers from the fumes? Or suffer hunger because they were too exhausted to meet their daily quota?
I could feel Ty watching me. With his uncanny insight, I couldn’t keep from wondering if he was able to see inside my head and read my thoughts. At the very least, he was proficient in reading my face. The other men who’d pretended to slumber during the overseer’s visit had arisen and were beginning to disperse for their own evening rations, and I needed to do the same before I went through with my idea.
As Curly bent and gave Molly a tender kiss, I couldn’t avert my gaze. Suddenly, all I could think about was how the two deserved to be free, to have a home of their own, a place where they could raise a dozen wee infants.
This love. These people. They were more important than anything my Testing could accomplish. I had to stop holding back and start doing whatever I could to truly help them. And if I lost my chance at being king because of it, so be it.
