by Jody Hedlund
“That’s rather severe, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Father Patrick fell into step next to me, his short legs scurrying to keep up with my long stride.
“Sometimes severity is necessary.” Father Patrick knew me well enough to realize I’d never carry through with cutting off our prisoner’s toes or fingers, that my threats were only meant to scare and nothing more.
“Sometimes mercy is even more important,” Father Patrick remarked.
My faithful priest had never been afraid to speak the truth even when no one else dared. He’d been a loving presence and faithful tutor while I’d been growing up in Warwick, and I’d been grateful he’d accompanied me to Mercia. But there were times like these when he didn’t understand the increasing pressure I was under.
His flowing brown habit billowed around his portly frame as he tried to keep pace with me. “You have a good heart, Your Highness. I can always count on you to do what’s right in the sight of God and man.”
What was right in the sight of God and man? Sometimes I didn’t know anymore—especially when the king’s deeds—deeds that seemed unnecessarily harsh or even selfish—didn’t settle well within me.
Of course, I’d always known the king was a ruthless ruler. Every time I’d visited him or he’d traveled to Warwick, he’d emphasized that a king must do whatever is necessary to retain his power.
I’d just never realized the extent to which he took his power. Now after a year in Mercia, I’d witnessed acts of lawlessness and cruelty I couldn’t condone, particularly his calloused attitude toward the many who’d suffered during recent years from failed crops and a shortage of food. He’d done nothing to ease their hardships. Even I, though I wasn’t yet king, had taken pity on the people of Warwick and had labored with other nobility to find ways to provide for all.
I could only pray the distress would ease in Mercia now that the drought was over. Already the hardships were lessening, and the land was growing more fruitful. The dissatisfaction would abate, especially when I found the princess and married her. And hopefully, all would be well with the king.
“Yes, you are a very good man, Your Highness . . . which is why you must make sure the prisoner suffers no more abuse, even during your absence.” Father Patrick looked pointedly at my brother before raising his brows at me. A ring of trim brown hair surrounded the large bald spot on the top of his head, which was shiny with a layer of perspiration. His cheeks were flushed too. And I sensed his reaction had more to do with witnessing the torture than with the summer temperature.
I stopped and faced my men again. Dante was in the process of cutting down our captive, and the others were gathering their weapons in preparation for our next mission. Only Magnus remained unmoving, watching the proceedings with disinterest.
“No one is allowed to harm the prisoner while I am gone,” I barked out. “We may yet have use of him.”
I threw back the flap on my tent and retrieved a cloak that would help me blend into my surroundings. If there was one thing I’d learned these past weeks of hunting for the princess, she was well-hidden. And now I understood why. An elite guard of the former king had been assisting her all these years. He was an intelligent man to have gone undetected for so long.
Backing out, I tossed the cloak over my chain mail.
“Your Highness.” Father Patrick was waiting patiently outside my tent, his forehead creased in worry. “Always remember we can accomplish more through wise strategy than through brutal force.”
Though my nerves strained with the need to be on my way, I clasped the priest’s arm gently and dropped my voice to a whisper so no one would hear my confession. “Father, you know I detest displays of torture as much as you do.”
He reached up and patted my cheek as he’d done when I’d been a boy. “God go with you.”
I squeezed his arm. “Make sure your prayer book is ready upon my return with my bride. I shall wed her ere the night is over.”
At least I hoped so.
Taking my swiftest men, we set out at a run. I led the way through the thick brush, following a deer path to make our movement easier. We traveled the long distance quickly, arriving in a new area of the forest we’d never explored.
A steep ravine separated it from the lower woodland, a ravine that lengthened in both directions and seemed impassable. If not for our prisoner’s instructions to locate a creek that trickled underneath, I might not have found the low cavern hidden behind hanging ivy. The cave narrowed into a passageway that led gradually uphill and opened on the opposite side of the ravine.
After traveling another half a league west, we easily located the rotted hawthorn our prisoner had indicated. So far I’d only spotted the prisoner’s imprint, although he’d been careful not to leave much of a trail.
Now we studied the area meticulously and finally discovered a faint, slender, human footprint that most definitely could belong to a young woman. Even after combing the surrounding woodland, we found only two more, and then the trail vanished, almost as if the person had never been there.
Curiously, fox prints covered the ground. From what I could surmise, the fox and the woman had been there at approximately the same time.
Crouched low, I traced the outline of the fox’s paw on first one print and then the next. They were close together, almost relaxed. If the fox had shown aggression toward the person, the paw prints would have been deeper and farther apart.
I stood and silently surveyed the unchanging landscape. Through the leaves overhead I gauged the condition of the evening sky, still hazy as always from the numerous charcoal burners who made the forest their home and were constantly burning wood.
Sniffing, I checked again for the thickening scent of woodsmoke that might signal a charcoal burner nearby. If only I could find an elevation high enough to look down on the forest and map out the various sources of the smoke. As it was, even from the highest of trees, I couldn’t spot any distant plumes.
“The footprints face south, Your Highness,” Dante said quietly from behind me. “Maybe if we split up, we can pick up the trail.”
I bent again and studied the fox prints. The fox was no foe to the woman. What if the creature was a companion?
For the first time in weeks, the thrill of pursuit spurted in my blood. I’d landed upon the first viable trail. And now I needed to move into the mode of hunter closing in on his prey.
I stood, pulled up my hood, and drew the cloak around my chain mail. “We shall follow the fox prints. No sounds. All eyes alert.”
Understanding dawned in Dante’s eyes, but he said nothing and only lifted his hood, motioning for the others to do the same. We would become invisible wraiths, blending into the woodland, creeping forward undetected. This was no time for carelessness or amateur mistakes.
Soundlessly we moved through the forest following the fox trail, constantly surveying the terrain and checking every detail we passed. The prints led us to the border of a wooded copse—one we’d never been to before, unmarked on any of the maps I’d memorized.
I motioned for the others to stop, get down, and remain invisible.
My blood pumped harder. The fox had done well and had led us exactly where I’d wanted. The coppiced land with thinner growth and new shoots belonged to a woodcutter or charcoal burner. Though the air wasn’t any thicker with smoke, I suspected kilns awaited on the other side of the area. If so, a hut would also be nearby.
“Take half the men,” I whispered to Dante. “Stay wide. Circle around to the front of the living quarters.”
Dante nodded to three of the men. In an instant, they were gone.
Without a moment’s more hesitation, I led the other half of my men the opposite direction, using all the speed and stealth we could muster. If the fox caught wind of us, we’d lose the element of surprise.
As we crept through the woodland, a break in the brush revealed turf-covered kilns. Without a trace of smoke coming from any of them, I suspected the charcoal burner was between burnings
. With any luck, he’d be away at the market, leaving his wife and children unattended.
We skirted the clearing, remaining concealed. And finally, after long, tense minutes, I was rewarded with the sight of the backside of a cottage. From what I could tell, the abode was in good repair, tidy, and well-kept.
To the north of the cottage, Dante rose just slightly and signaled to me. I motioned for him and his men to stay hidden. My senses were keenly alert, taking in the silence and stillness of the place. Had the family learned of our coming and already fled? Were we too late?
I scanned the surrounding area for any clues as to what we might face. A lone mule was tied to a maple. A few chickens pecked the grass, and a goat lay in the shade of the home. A large fenced-in garden spread out behind, filled with leafy produce that would soon be ready for picking.
The cottage was quiet. The shutters of the window in the back were open, but I saw no movement inside the mostly dark interior.
I signed for Dante to take his men and attack through the front door while I led my contingent in the back window. I gave us twenty seconds. Any longer and the fox—if he was around—would sense our presence. Once the fox was alerted, his master would be too.
With quiet haste, we kept out of sight as best we could, crouching close to the ground, climbing the fence, and passing through the garden to the open window. My mental count landed at fifteen. Unsheathing my knife, I slid up the wall.
As I silently reached twenty, I hopped through the opening, alighting without a sound. At the same moment, Dante burst through the main doorway.
In an instant, he and his three men engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a large muscular man. The surprise on the man’s face told me he hadn’t expected the invasion. But the speed and agility with which he was counter-attacking confirmed his identity as Lance, the elite guard who’d been hiding Emmeline.
At a gasp from near the table, I wasted no time in lunging for the other occupant, a beautiful woman with long, dark hair and pale skin. She was young, but not young enough to be the eighteen-year-old princess.
Her eyes were wide with horror as I grabbed and spun her so that my knife grazed her neck. Of course, I didn’t press the blade into her skin. But I had to make the most of my advantage to bring Lance into submission and gain his cooperation. I suspected threatening this woman would do just that.
“Drop your weapons,” I said firmly. “Or I shall slit her throat.”
At the sight of my knife blade as well as the fear in the woman’s expression, Lance froze. That instant of taking his attention from Dante and his men was all the time they needed. Within seconds, they’d disarmed him and had his arms twisted and tied behind his back.
“Let my wife go!” He craned his head to plead with me. “Do anything you want to me, just let her go.”
I drew his wife closer, tightening my grip. At the movement, I could feel her stiffen in fear, just as I wanted.
“Please!” Lance’s voice turned desperate.
I nodded at Dante to shut the door. As far as I could tell, the princess wasn’t inside the cottage. We would need to wait for her return. If she didn’t realize we were present when she came home, we’d be able to capture her without having to resort to unpleasant tactics.
As my men quietly closed the door, I watched the elite guard, taking in every detail about his appearance, size, and skills. And I sensed I couldn’t underestimate this man.
“Lance,” I said.
This time he didn’t react, had schooled his face so it remained emotionless—void of surprise, anger, even fear.
“I am Prince Ethelrex of the united kingdom of Bryttania, eldest son and heir of King Ethelwulf, the rightful ruler of the house of Warwick and Mercia.”
Again Lance’s face was unreadable. His wife, on the other hand, trembled beneath my grip. I guessed she was Felicia, the noblewoman who’d been a part of sheltering Emmeline. I shifted her, making a display of letting my knife slip so that it poised above one of her major arteries.
“Let her go,” Lance said again, his voice harder.
Dante shoved the hilt of his sword into Lance’s back. “Show proper respect to His Royal Highness.”
Lance didn’t move, not even to lift his chin, which told me this man—unlike our prisoner earlier—would not be swayed. Not by words, not by threats, and not by any form of torture. He was the kind of man I respected.
In this case, however, too much was at stake. I couldn’t afford to give him any respect or leniency.
“I have come for the Princess Emmeline,” I continued. “If you cooperate in handing her over, I shall spare your wife. If not, I shall cut her apart piece by piece.”
Father Patrick’s words from earlier resounded in the deep places of my mind, the warning that I needed to use wise strategy rather than brute force. I prayed my threat was a wise strategy and would convince Lance to do my bidding since he obviously cared more about his wife’s life and safety than he did his own.
He looked at his wife, and I sensed I had him right where I wanted him.
“Do not even think about cooperating with the enemy,” Felicia said, her trembling ceasing. “Do whatever you can to break free and take Emmeline to safety.”
“Where is the princess?” I asked, moving Felicia’s arm behind her back and forcing her down to her knees.
“You will never get her!” Felicia cried out, pain and fury in her voice. “She will never turn herself over to you. Never!”
Lance closed his eyes and dropped his head, but not before I caught a glimpse of the indecision there. Would he let his wife suffer to save the princess? I hoped I didn’t need to find out. One thing I did know is that they were both strong. And my battle with them for the princess had only just begun.
Chapter
3
Emmeline
Bede whined softly at the base of the tree. Again.
From my comfortable spot high in the branches, I sighed. Above me, beyond the canopy of leaves, the sky had shifted to a darker hue of blue, the sign evening was growing late.
And the sign Father, Mother, and I must be on our way . . .
For the past hour, I’d slowly resigned myself to Father’s decision. As much as I hated the prospect of leaving my woodland home, in the end, I trusted and loved him enough to do as he wanted. If he truly believed we must go this time, then how could I defy him?
I sat forward and swung my legs over the branch.
Bede peered up at me with sad eyes, almost as if he knew I’d made my choice and that it would mean the end of everything we’d both loved. He darted a glance around, his ears pricking, before whining again.
“Be patient, Bede. I’m coming.”
I’d half-expected Father to follow me into the woods. In my haste and in my frustration, I hadn’t covered my tracks. But even if I had, he was well aware of my favorite hiding spots. He’d easily find me if he set his mind to it.
But I suspected he’d held back, hoping a little time away would allow me to see the wisdom in his decision and to accept the inevitable. Truthfully, I’d always known that someday my time with Lance and Felicia in Inglewood Forest would come to an end. They’d been frank about my identity as a princess, their role in my life, and what my future held.
In recent years, they’d even tried to convince me to stop calling them Mother and Father. But I’d insisted they were the only parents I’d ever known, that they’d always be my mother and father, that nothing would change our relationship.
Of course, they’d exchanged a glance as they always did when I said something they didn’t agree with. But at least they hadn’t protested any further.
In all his arguments, Father never failed to remind me that through the hidden books, I’d been given incredible amounts of knowledge regarding the labyrinth. He emphasized that with such knowledge came great responsibility. Deep inside, I knew I couldn’t shirk that responsibility.
“I shall go to Norland,” I said as I started the climb down. “I
’ll deliver the key and map, tell my sisters everything I know about the labyrinth, but then I shall return here. Eventually, I’ll come back.”
I paused on a low branch. What if Mother and Father didn’t want to return to the forest? What if they longed for the comforts and luxuries of their old lives? What if they resented the loneliness and hardships that came with living here?
Whenever I’d asked them if they missed having a normal life, they always responded that they wished for nothing more and that raising me had been the greatest privilege of their lives.
Nevertheless, what if now I could give them the opportunity for more?
I hopped the rest of the distance and landed on my feet. Remorse hit hard at the bottom of my chest. I’d been childish and selfish to insist on staying, thinking only of what I wanted and not of what would be best for them.
Bede turned and trotted in the direction opposite of home. When I didn’t follow, he halted and cocked his head at me, as though beckoning me to come along with all haste.
“While I’d love to see whatever it is you have for me, it’s time to head home. Otherwise, Father really will come after me.”
He was a determined man, always had been. And that strength had been the reason we’d survived, especially during the first few harsh winters. Although I couldn’t remember the difficulties of starting out in the cottage since I’d been but a newborn, Father and Mother liked to reminisce about those early years when they’d come to the forest as newlyweds.
If only I had a fraction of my parents’ inner fire.
Maybe this trip to Norland was a chance to develop some strength, to face unknown siblings and an unknown future. Whatever the case, I couldn’t put off heading back to the cottage any longer. I had to help finish packing. And I wanted to enjoy one last eve together. After all, Mother had worked hard to prepare my special birthday meal, and they’d still want to give me my yearly present.
“This way, Bede,” I called as I started forward.
When Bede didn’t immediately follow, I paused and looked back at him. “I know you don’t want to leave either, but we have to trust Father.”
