by E. D. Walker
Lady Noémi raced in ahead of them, and her shrill cry when she hurried inside made the rest of them redouble their pace. Llewellyn ducked through the doorway and stopped short at the sight of the princess’s body splayed out on the ground. An apple with one bite taken out of it lay near her hand.
“She’s dead.” Lady Noémi’s voice shook, and tears spilled freely down her round cheeks.
“Please, let me see her.” Llewellyn tried to move past the woman.
She shoved him away. “Don’t you touch her, you bloody Lyondi spell-caster.”
Llewellyn took a deep breath to calm his temper. “I am a healer. I set your friend’s arm, didn’t I? Bandaged your head. Maybe I can do something for your princess. You must let me try.”
Lady Noémi’s chin crinkled with emotion. At last, she curled into herself, crying softly, and turned away.
Llewellyn brushed past her and knelt beside the princess’s still form. “My king?”
“Here.” King Thomas hunched down next to Llewellyn.
Black spots swam at the edge of Llewellyn’s vision and he blinked, trying to banish them. Too many spells. He needed a rest, but there was no time. “What happened?”
“The blood witch in disguise gave her the apple.” King Thomas chafed his hands together, nervous, in pain. “Aliénor—the princess took one bite of the apple, choked, and collapsed.”
Lady Noémi’s lip curled. “And you didn’t help her?”
King Thomas’s nostrils flared, but his voice was calm, controlled. “I tried, but the blood witch attacked me. She bit me to get a taste of my blood, and after that I was powerless.” He swallowed, his gray-blue eyes shadowed.
Llewellyn touched his friend’s arm and moved closer to the princess. As he leaned over her face, her breath stirred ever so softly against his cheek. “She lives.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lady Noémi sobbed as they knelt beside Princess Aliénor’s still form. “The princess is still alive?”
“What?” The king moved Lady Noémi out of his way to get closer to the Princess Aliénor’s body.
Llewellyn ignored them both and hauled the princess into his own arms. She was light and so limp as to be practically boneless, cold as marble. “A bite of apple, you said?” As gently as he could, he tugged her mouth open with two fingers and felt inside, his knuckles brushing her teeth. The bite of apple was still there, resting against the back of her throat like the cork in a bottle. He tugged the bite free of her mouth and tossed it away. The princess gulped in a deeper breath, but her eyes didn’t open.
“Damn.” A flash of anger blazed through Llewellyn. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. “I’ll have to draw the spell out.”
Lady Noémi wrinkled her nose. “Draw it out? Like a splinter?”
“I need something small, sharp. Something to prick her with.”
The king moved to draw his dagger.
Llewellyn held his hand up. “Too large.”
Lady Noémi frowned, then fumbled in her hair, tearing at the coiled braids. At last she jerked out a small hairpin with a circular design like braided rope on the end. “Here.”
Llewellyn took the pin and tested its point against his finger. “Sharp, good. And silver. All right. Back up, you two.”
“What are you going to do?” The king took Lady Noémi by the elbow and tugged her to the wall of the hut.
Llewellyn shook his head. “Something stupid.” With a deep breath to steel himself, he stuck the hairpin into the tip of the princess’s finger.
Lady Noémi lurched in King Thomas’s hold. “How dare you—”
Llewellyn heard a scuffle behind him as the king struggled to keep Lady Noémi from charging across the room. Llewellyn himself suddenly had no time for such concerns. He had his eyes closed, the better to trace the dark web of the sleeping curse inside the princess’s body. He couldn’t really see it, per se, but he could feel it. Almost like a chill cocoon of mud slowly covering her body, ready to entomb the girl forever. And the longer the princess lay under this darkness, the harder it would be to drag her out.
Llewellyn ghosted his hands just over her skin, using his magic to push Mistress Helen’s curse down and out, channeling it all toward the silver hairpin in the princess’s finger. The sticky black muck of the curse was stubborn, clinging to the princess’s body like a stain. Llewellyn pushed harder, his hands tingling and then burning from the magic. He gritted his teeth, fighting the pain, ignoring the spinning sensation in his head. “Come on.”
The king traced a fingertip along her cheek. “Aliénor, please.” His voice broke.
***
Cold. And dark. Like the long, deep dark at the ending of the world. Like the black tide of the river rolling her in its waves. Aliénor gulped in one breath after another, thrashed, pushed, twisted, but she could not make her body move, could not open her eyes. Her throat burned and throbbed.
“Arrogant girl. Weak. Foolish.” Her father’s voice.
“Papa?”
“I should never have left my lands to you. I should have drowned you first.”
“Papa.” Aliénor curled into herself, heart hurting, but ghostly hands brushed across her skin, and more ghostly voices whispered in her head, the words like knives.
“Your pride led us here!”
A susurrus of voices rolled over her. Some she recognized. Her guard captain’s. Lord Ysen’s. It was like a thousand men crying out all at once, accusing her. Hating her.
“The quest was your idea.”
“Fool…”
“Harlot…”
“You’ve killed them all. Killed me.” Philippe’s voice. “Unnatural woman. He doesn’t want you. Who could? He left you at the first opportunity.”
Aliénor turned her face away, sobbing hard. She hurt inside. Everything hurt.
“Aliénor, please…”
“Thomas?” She twisted, looking for him, but there was only that same clinging, boiling blackness.
Or, no…the darkness was lessening, the black water receding. Aliénor felt life returning. Light. Something was pulling the consuming dark away from her.
“Slut. Liar. You’ll spread your legs for a Lyondi killer?” Philippe’s ghostly hand grabbed for her, trying to pull her back.
She flung him off and drew her shoulders back, walking toward the growing light ahead of her. “Good-bye, Philippe.”
***
With a grunt, Llewellyn plucked the last clinging strand of the curse away from the princess’s head and shoved it into the pin. He removed the pin slowly, cupping his palm over the end of it to plug the curse up inside. He carefully held the pin in one hand, point up and away from his body. “There.” With a deep drawn breath, he looked down at the girl.
Princess Aliénor’s face contorted with pain, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Lady Noémi bustled forward, drawing the princess up into her arms. With keen good sense, Lady Noémi immediately turned the girl onto her side as the princess retched.
“Poison?” Lady Noémi murmured.
“Magic?” the king asked.
“A bit of both.” Llewellyn held the hairpin up close to his face. It had an inky black aura around it now, tinged with yellow. He sighed. “A rather complex sleep spell, and the apple was what the blood witch used to carry it into Princess Aliénor’s system. You’re all right now, Princess.”
She gasped in a deep breath, and Lady Noémi helped her sit up, still in her arms. The princess had finished retching, but she shook like a leaf, frightened tears still leaking from her eyes. “Magician, what was that?”
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed with difficulty, shaking her head, her eyes haunted. “I heard voices. My father. All those dead soldiers. Even…Philippe. Was that real? Were they—?”
He gripped her hand and gave it a strong, bracing squeeze. “No, no. That wasn’t real.”
“Was the witch in my head? Controlling me?”
“No. Part of the nastiness of s
leeping curses is they place their victims in a perpetual state of nightmare. All their worst imaginings forever. But it’s not real. None of it. I promise you.”
Her shoulders sagged with profound relief, and Lady Noémi gave the princess a tight one-armed hug. “It was like being in the river again, drowning with no way to fight it,” Princess Aliénor murmured.
The king made a small, instinctual grab to take her from Lady Noémi, but stopped himself at the last moment, curling his hands into fists. Lady Noémi’s eyebrows climbed in surprise.
Llewellyn managed to control his own face a little better, but still felt a flash of exasperated resignation. The Lyondi knights did not need further complications on this trip. He held the hairpin aloft to distract everyone. “The curse is contained in this pin. Unfortunately, it is stronger now. It’s all tangled up with my magic, with the magic I had to use to draw it out of you, Princess.”
“We should dispose of it,” the king murmured.
Llewellyn recognized the vengeful gleam in Lady Noémi’s eyes. “It’s my hairpin,” she said. “I’ll give it to the princess. She can use it on that damned witch if the evil woman ever comes back.”
Llewellyn hesitated, his gut uneasy, but he finally handed the pin over to the lady-in-waiting. “Be very careful and mind that none of you ladies stick yourselves with it ever again. I’m not sure I could remove this curse from someone so easily again.”
Lady Noémi nodded and hauled out her canteen. She unwrapped the string keeping the cork tied to the jug and instead stuck the hairpin into the cork. “Good enough?”
Llewellyn gusted out a weary breath and leaned back hard on his hands. “I suppose.” The room spun again, blackness on the edge of his vision. He should not have done so much magic in so short a time.
“Please send in Lady Violette. We’ll see to Princess Aliénor now.” A cool dismissal from Lady Noémi. Never mind Llewellyn could barely keep himself upright, let alone stand, let alone walk.
“No.” Princess Aliénor pulled away her handmaiden’s hands. “We must move. We must get to Anutitum.”
“My lady—”
“No.” Princess Aliénor pushed to her feet.
Llewellyn flung out a hand to help her, though he was still a little dizzy himself. The king, Llewellyn noticed, had his hands clasped tight behind his back. Perhaps to keep himself from reaching for the lovely princess?
Said lovely princess flung a hand out against the rough wall of the hut, clearly still woozy. Yet her voice was forceful as she stared around at them all. “The Tiochene still roam these hills, and Mistress Helen means us all more mischief, I’m sure of it. The best thing we can do is get ourselves safe behind the walls of my cousin’s city.” Her gaze flicked to King Thomas. “Yes?”
“Yes.” King Thomas sighed. Llewellyn wondered if Lady Noémi, if the princess, could hear the sadness in the king’s voice.
The princess and the king looked at each other like no one else was in the room. Their gazes held, and Llewellyn looked away hurriedly in the face of such naked despair, staring anywhere but at his king, anywhere but at the princess. They will have to do better than that. If the two royals looked at each other like that in the city, it would set a scandal burning that could consume both their nations. Again.
“We should get you some food, Princess. Then we can be on our way.” Lady Noémi broke the silence as she bustled out the door and called for Lady Violette to bring the other canteen and some supplies.
Llewellyn and his king left the ladies to it, stepping just outside but no farther. Llewellyn dragged a deep breath of fresh air into his lungs, still dizzy, still weary.
“Sit down, you fool.” Thomas followed his own advice and folded his legs up beneath himself to lean against the side of the hut. Llewellyn gratefully followed suit, leaning hard against the rough wall of the hut and wishing he need never move again.
“Did you find Sir Godric?” King Thomas’s voice had a bleak edge to it.
Llewellyn winced. “No, my king. I’m sorry. We found some bloody rope farther down the hill, but nothing else.”
King Thomas punched the side of the building. “Damn. Send some of our men to look again, would you? I will not lose another man to this damned wilderness. Or to that damned witch. I will not.” A muscle ticked in the king’s jaw as he looked away.
“Of course, my king.” Llewellyn beckoned Ned over and sent him off with orders to summon their four best knights. “I could go with them.”
King Thomas glanced over with one eyebrow raised. “Certainly. If you can stand up.”
“Of course I can stand.” Llewellyn rocked forward and got his feet underneath him. Unfortunately, when he pushed to stand, his willful limbs refused to obey. He teetered on his heels a moment before sort of listing to the side. He was saved from another face-first landing in the mud only when the king caught his arm.
King Thomas hauled him back against the side of the building and pressed a hand over his chest to keep him there. “Stay still, you idiot. Rest, for once in your life.”
Llewellyn subsided with a small grunt, closing his eyes. “What did she want with you?”
“Hmm?”
“Mistress Helen? What did she want with you?”
King Thomas cleared his throat but said nothing.
Llewellyn forced his eyes open, gazing at his king’s discomfort in confusion. “What is it? What did she say?”
***
After hearing of the blood witch’s plan to wed and bed herself forcibly to the Lyondi king in order to steal his crown, his magician insisted that Thomas keep two of his knights with him at all times. At least. That way, if the blood witch compromised one man, there would be another left to defend the king.
Thomas hated the fact that he needed constant watching like an infant, but he resigned himself to it. He hadn’t liked being under the blood witch’s control, after all. As king, his personal safety was more important than his personal preferences. He had let himself forget that. Aliénor was right—they had to get to the safety of the city with all possible speed. The blood witch had too many possible traps she could lay for them—for him—in the wilderness.
He’d dispatched four knights to find Godric, and now the rest of their party was limping down the hill to where the horses had been left. Llewellyn leaned on sturdy young Ned to get him down the hill. Foolish magician to spend his magic again and again without worrying about the cost to his body. Still, Thomas couldn’t help but be grateful.
Aliénor walked behind, crushed between her two handmaidens as if they meant to provide a bulwark against the world for her with their own bodies. He remained uncomfortably aware of the princess. His ears seemed trained now to listen for her voice and perk up hopefully whenever she said anything to anyone. He was half-distracted, infatuated with her. Had been for days.
Llewellyn was right, though. Aliénor was too young for him, and his people would never accept a Jerdic princess as Queen. Not after living so long with the beloved memory of his late Queen Rosamund. Anyway, it wasn’t fair to Aliénor to ask her to give up her home, her friends, everything to travel to a strange land just to marry him.
Was it?
Marriage. Thomas shook his head, angry at himself. Aliénor didn’t even want that. Not again. And who could blame her after Philippe?
I could make her happy. I do. An arrogant thought and a foolish one. But Thomas couldn’t seem to help it, couldn’t stop his mind from daydreaming. Couldn’t stop his heart from hoping.
They reached the small clearing where they had camped—had it only been last night? Two knights had been left to guard the supplies and horses. The men breathed sighs of relief as they caught sight of Thomas and the others.
“Everyone eat and rest a bit. We’ve all had a long night. We’ll leave when the men searching for Godric return.” He wiped a weary hand over his face, scrubbing hard at his chilled skin. He wanted to find Godric, to save him, but not at the expense of every other person in their party. At so
me point, they would have to move on.
***
The spell was fading. After almost a day or more out of the witch’s power, Godric at last felt like himself again. Some weak, fumbling version of himself, anyway. The world seemed vague still, sort of fuzzy around the edges, and his limbs fumbled often when he walked—as if they weren’t used to taking orders from him anymore. Nevertheless, each hour that passed he felt better, more sure in his movements, more certain in his mind.
King Thomas had almost found him a few hours ago, and then a few of his brother knights had come looking later. Godric had tried to call out, but the damn spell still had its grip on him—slackening, yes, but still strong enough to keep him from rescuing himself.
It was good Godric hadn’t seen the princess. The compulsion was still on him to grab her and bring her back to the blood witch. He could fight it a little, but probably not if he actually saw Princess Aliénor.
Unable to reach for rescue, fighting not to return to Mistress Helen, he’d sat in the woods and waited, hour after hour, imagining he could almost feel the poison of her spell dripping out of him. At last, when the desire to find his king trumped the compulsion to chase Princess Aliénor, he’d left his hideout among the trees. They might still be in camp. I might still reach them. He scurried down the hill, rushing, falling occasionally, just praying all the time that he would not be too late.
Voices. Up ahead. Voices in the direction their camp had been last night. Please, oh please. A branch whipped at his cheek as he ran past, cutting his skin. He barely noticed—the witch had been cutting on him for days. What did one more scratch matter?
Please. He stumbled and skidded a few feet down the hill on his bum, but he thought he could pick out distinct voices ahead. The king. Master Llewellyn. Men were calling out to each other. The jingle of harness sounded. “Move out!” King Thomas yelled.
They were leaving. He stopped his downward slide and braced to push to his feet.
“Hello, Godric,” her husky voice whispered behind him, syrupy and sweet.
