Linnet and the Prince

by Alydia Rackham

  “Ealasaid’s daughter?” he murmured. “You are the one we were to rescue?”

  “I am Linnet,” I nodded, my heart beginning to pound. “Are you one of those my mother calls her ‘brothers’? Because as you can see, I do not need rescuing.”

  “Indeed you do not,” he said flatly. “As you did not fulfill the command your mother gave you.”

  “My mother did not know what I know,” I shot back. “But I still do not know your name.”

  “My name is Aedus,” he answered. “And you are lucky we are here to complete your task, before the prince resurrects the wicked king.” His eyes narrowed again. He canted his head, and his tone changed—lowered, deepened. “You call yourself a Rani now, do you?”

  “I am Rajak’s wife,” I snapped. “Where have you taken him?”

  He stared at me.

  “Why?” he asked. “You still wish to kill him before we do? That would be a good idea—your mother will be displeased otherwise.”

  “No,” I insisted. “You must not kill him. He is a good man—he will be a good king—and you must not.”

  He laughed. My fists clenched. He took three steps toward me, his cloak whispering behind him. I steeled myself and did not back up. He lifted his chin and studied my face.

  “If I did not know better,” he said quietly. “I would think that you had feelings for that Badi dog.”

  I lashed out at his face. Faster than I could blink, he caught my wrist in his hand and clamped down. I thought he would break my bones. I bared my teeth, but would not bend my knees beneath his grip.

  “I am still a princess of Hilrigard,” I gritted. “And I command you to set him free.”

  “Well, I am the leader of the Highland Bràithrean,” he answered, his eyes blazing. “And I do not take orders from you.”

  The next moment, he struck me across the head with something hard. It thudded through my skull, my eyes went black, I hit the ground and remembered nothing else.

  LLL

  I woke up with a headache that threatened to split me lengthwise. I sat up, holding a hand to the lump on my skull, and winced. I blinked over and over, trying to clear my eyes. When at last I succeeded, I had no idea where I was.

  I sat on the floor of a very small chamber—almost the size of a closet—that had three stone walls and one wall of bars. Beyond the bars stretched a narrow hallway lit by two torches. Upon the walls were hieroglyphs of a great battle. I listened. I heard nothing.

  Except one sound: the distant singing of falling water.

  It was my fountain in the harem.

  I got to my feet and fell against the bars, grasping the cool metal in my hands. How long had I been unconscious? Where had they taken Rajak? What would they do to him?

  How could I get out of here?

  I spun around, sweeping my gaze across my surroundings. The back wall was smooth, except for two straight, vertical cracks. The other two walls looked rugged, as if no one had bothered to sand them after the space was carved. I faced the bars. In the center of them was a low gate. I jerked on it. It rattled back and forth, the clanging noise bouncing off all the walls. It did not give. I reached into the pocket of my dress, then swore. Aedus had taken my key. My hand flew to my belt. Relief washed over me.

  He had not found my knife.

  I yanked it out, flicked open the blade, reached through the bars and rammed the blade back into the lock. I gritted my teeth as I tried to pick it, furious at myself for being so stupid, so inattentive. Aedus must have infiltrated this place days ago—how else could he know his way around these caverns so easily, and obtain the keys to this obscure little prison? I rolled my eyes. He had probably been at the dance just the other night!

  I almost had the lock—I could feel it. The latch was about to give…

  My vision swam. Pain throbbed through my head and my knees went weak. I fell down. Nausea swept through my stomach and my hands went cold. I managed to pull the knife back into my cell before I thudded to the floor and leaned back against the bars. I tried to get back up, but my balance defied me.

  “Get up,” I commanded myself. “Get up, Linnet—get up!”

  But I could not. I knew I could not—I needed to take a moment to recover. A moment Rajak did not have to spare.

  On the verge of tears, I threw my knife at the wall. Not hard—I did not have the strength. But it slapped against the wall and clanged to the ground. And a thin piece of the wall crumbled away. I stared. Then I rubbed my eyes, and looked again.

  It had to be the injury to my head. Because I could swear that a bit of stone had fallen away to reveal the letters “ne.”

  I crawled forward, fighting to focus my eyes. I used the wall to support myself, and got to my feet. I ran my fingers over the indentations—and found that my sight had not deceived me. It was indeed the letters “ne.” And as my fingers explored the wall further, I realized something that sent a jolt through my body:

  The smooth bit was not stone. It was plaster. But the letters were carved in stone.

  I snatched up my knife and began to pry away the plaster. Bit by bit, it tumbled, as if it was just waiting for someone to scrape it off. I mouthed the words as I uncovered them, fighting my dizziness, my heart hammering, until I finally unburied the last letter, fell back and sat down hard, and stared up at the words lit by the dim torchlight.

  Only dust comes forth from mines

  And conquest brings but strife

  Tis truth that makes his kingdom shine

  And love that gives him life

  I gaped, my poor mind reeling. It was the same style of writing as the other riddle, the one Rajak had been trying to decipher all his life. And he had said that there was another riddle—one that no one had ever been able to find! I breathed harder, then swallowed. Could this be it? Could this be the other half of the ancient prophecy? Straining my memory, I recited the other one under my breath.

  “First son of a third son

  After three corners fall

  From death shall rise the shining one

  Behind the prison wall.”

  My eyes flew to the bars. I went cold, then hot chills raced all over my skin.

  “Behind the prison wall,” I whispered. And then my gaze drifted to the vertical cracks beside the riddle. I forced myself to my feet again.

  I pushed against the space between the cracks. I almost broke my knife off trying to stab between them. I shook my head. There was something else, something missing. But if I could figure it out, then I could prove to my mother, my sister, and all the Bràithrean, that Rajak was not going to resurrect Akhtar, and therefore did not need to be killed.

  I returned to the riddle, tracing the words with my fingertips, straining to think of its possible meanings. In the first two lines, it declared that mines brought forth dust, and conquest brought strife—Akhtar was both a miner and a conqueror. That proved that the prophecy did not mean him. It implied someone who did not find value there—but was a king, after all. It mentioned a kingdom, but not one ruled by fear. He was a king who sought truth, a king who loved his subjects and was loved in return—

  A piece broke off underneath my forefinger. A large piece. I fell to my knees so I was eye to eye with what I had uncovered. But it was not a new letter. It was a picture.

  On the left side stood a man, his back to me. His left hand stretched out to the side, and his face turned that same direction. To the right stood a woman with her back to me, her right arm stretched out to meet the hand of the man.

  It was the same picture as the one on the massive doors of the wedding hall.

  Only this time, instead of the door separating their hands, it was a small slot—one could slip a coin through it. Only the slot was slightly larger at the top and thinner at the bottom, like the lock belonging to a skeleton key. However, I knew by looking at it that my key would not have fit, even if I did have it.

  I rubbed my thumb across the ruby of my ring, thinking. I could try to stick my knife in the
re, but I did not want to risk breaking it again if I was not sure. It was my only means of escaping this trap. I rubbed the ruby again. Perhaps the knife would fit if I closed it, and used the handle. Or maybe the buckle on my belt…

  My thoughts trailed off as my thumb paused atop the snake head of my ring one more time. My breathing slowed. I held it. And then I stared down at my ring.

  “By the command of Rajak, Prince of the Upper Regions and Iriy River Valley, this marriage shall be conducted in the fashion of the ancient kings, before the fall of Raj-Shahzad, according to the vows of Harith and Kanta…”

  I narrowed my eyes at the picture. Harith and Kanta—the ones who had begun the tradition of marrying one spouse, for true love’s sake. The riddle had mentioned love—mentioned it as a life-giver. And Rajak had said something about coming out of the water and beginning a new life, as king. But how did Harith and Kanta come in line with…

  Rajak’s wry look, his bright eyes and serious voice came to me from the shadows of my memory.

  “And this is your wedding ring. I meant to give it to you after the feast, but you did not look well.” He paused. His brow furrowed. “It was my mother’s. And my grandmother’s. And my great-grandmother’s. It has belonged to the queen since the days of King Harith and Queen Kanta...”

  I pulled off my ring, dashing my doubts aside. I pushed it up to the slot. And the fit was so perfect that it slipped out of my fingers, through the slot and into the abyss.

  I gasped and scrabbled at it. But the next moment, a deep thud issued that shook the floor. And then came a mighty crack. I jumped up.

  The vertical slits in the door spouted dust. And the rock between them sank back, then stopped. I stepped toward it. To the left, a small crack had appeared, about a finger’s width wide. I rammed the fingers of both hands down into it and heaved toward the right.

  The door gave. For it was indeed a door. And I was shocked that it moved. I should not have been able to budge it—but perhaps there was a mechanism inside that allowed it to roll.

  It rumbled as it moved, but at last I had pushed it aside enough for me to fit my head and shoulders through. The sound of water falling against stone rose up, and the icy spray touched my cheeks. Coolness washed over me, and a faint blue light waited inside a great chamber. I blinked, and allowed my eyes to adjust…

  I stood for a full minute, taking in what I saw.

  And then I turned, took up my knife, rammed it into the lock and opened that barred gate. I strode out of the prison, up the hall and into the harem garden, vowing to kill any brother that got in my way. The light coming down through the holes in the ceiling had changed color—the beams were now soft with the dawn.

  The Bràithrean had infiltrated Nazre, and the prince had been kidnapped. There was only one man who had power to change any of that. I pushed the gate aside and set my jaw.

  I was going to see the king.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I was terrified. More so than the day I had come here—more than the day Niro had first arrived. I looked like a mess, for one thing, and so the guards had to glance twice at me to recognize my face. And I was charging, unbidden, into the inner sanctum of the most murderous king who ever lived.

  I strode down the hallway that I had always assumed led to the men’s section of the caverns, but I knew I would soon get lost. I caught sight of a guard and called to him.

  “Rakshaa.”

  He turned and faced me. For an instant, I had the sickening afterthought that the Bràithrean had also infiltrated the ranks of the guard, and I was about to be killed this time. But then he bowed his head to me.

  “Rani Linnet. How may I serve you?”

  “Take me to King Niro.”

  He blinked.

  “But the king has retired to his quarters—”

  “This is a crisis,” I cut him off. “Please do as I say.”

  He hesitated, nodded, and led the way.

  We wound down several corridors, most of which were filled with busy manservants carrying loads of laundry and other necessities unpacked from Niro’s journey. Many of them saw me, however, and stopped and bowed.

  At last, we arrived at tall, scarlet double doors flanked by ten guards. Those guards recognized me, and repeated what the denial that first guard had given me.

  “I must speak with him,” I insisted. “This concerns the safety of Prince Rajak, as well as the lives of the people of Nazre. It cannot wait.”

  The guards glanced at each other, then opened the great door. Steward Jahin stood inside the huge tapestried chamber beyond, giving instructions to a servant. He gasped when he saw me, his eyes going wide.

  “Rani Linnet! What are you doing here? You must not—”

  “I must speak to the king,” I repeated. “It is a matter of life and death.”

  “Whose?” Jahin demanded.

  “The prince’s.”

  Jahin stared at me a moment, then motioned.

  “Come with me.”

  We passed through the large chamber, up a set of wide stairs, and to another great door.

  “Wait here,” Jahin said, and opened the door and slipped inside. I stood where I was, sweating, trying not to fidget. The door swung open, and Jahin stood aside.

  “Princess Peliar Linnet Ealasaid to see you, my king,” he announced. I braced myself, and stepped inside.

  Niro’s quarters overflowed with shining, shimmering goods. The floors were covered with vibrant rugs and huge cushions, and the walls were hung with silks and satins. Niro himself stood at the far end near a bed and in front of a great mirror. He wore a long red cloak, and he was sliding silver rings onto his fingers. I heard the door shut behind me.

  “How dare you come here?” He asked, his voice low, not turning to me. I took a deep, shaking breath.

  “Your majesty, I have come to tell you that your son has been kidnapped.”

  “Oh, really?” he said, as if I had just told him it was raining out. “Kidnapped by whom?”

  My fists closed.

  “A group from the Highlands called the brothers. They are the most skilled assassins in the world, and—”

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  “I met one of them in the hallway outside my chambers,” I replied, fighting back a shiver.

  “And how is it that you are still alive?” Niro asked, picking up a large gold necklace and fastening it around his throat.

  “He hit me over the head and locked me in a small room in the back of the old harem.”

  “And how did you come to escape?” His tone was different now, like the growl of a lion. I hesitated, my resolve shaking.

  “I…I had a knife in my belt, and I picked the lock.”

  “Ah.” King Niro turned around, and his lightless black gaze buried me. “For one of the most skilled assassins in the world, he was certainly careless, wasn’t he?”

  I swallowed hard.

  “No, your majesty—the knife was hidden in my belt—”

  “Certainly,” he said, turning back to his vanity and pulling out a long wooden box. “What are you playing at, little girl?”

  I took a step back.

  “Playing? I am not playing—Rajak is—”

  “Just this morning, I received word that my son left before dawn to follow Lord Mahanidhi down to the wine country to apologize for his rudeness, and to invite Abhishri to be his special guest during the Water Gathering.”

  “Mahanidhi’s sons cut him on the arm!” I cried. “Ayah had to give him a sleeping draft for the pain,

  and—”

  “That is ridiculous. Mahanidhi’s sons would never do such a thing,” Niro said, fishing a key out of his pocket and fitting it to the lock on the box. “Could it be that you simply wish for me to charge out into the open to look for my kidnapped son so that I may be pinned to the ground by the arrows of your skilled Highland bowmen?”

  I stopped. My blood turned to ice. Niro looked at me.

  “Oh, yes,” he nod
ded. “I know. I have seen the Highland army approaching. I have been out readying my troops these past days. My eyes and ears are everywhere, little girl. My army will meet yours out in the midst of the desert, where the sun will burn and the wind will whip—and the vultures will pick clean the bones of your kinsmen.”

  Terror pulsed through me—my heart raged against my ribs. I believed him—there was no doubt in my mind that he spoke the truth. But there was still time. I had to make him see—I had to make him realize I was not lying about Rajak—

  “Niro, you must listen to me!” I cried. “There are assassins in Nazre and they have come to kill your son!” “I know,” he nodded. “You have looked at that assassin every day in the mirror.”

  My fists went limp.

  “What?”

  “I told you my eyes and ears were everywhere,” he said, and opened the lid of the box. “I have heard for many weeks now of the Highland queen’s plot to marry an assassin to the prince of the Badi, so that he could not resurrect Akhtar, the Shining One.” He reached in the box, and pulled out a slender, pearl-handled knife. My blood ran with frost.

  “I sent Thanatos, my best soldier, to kill you for me, but Rajak and his misguided affection for you got in the way.” Niro took four steps toward me, his gaze holding me paralyzed.

  “And so I spoke to Mahanidhi and his sons,” he purred. “And they agreed to protect my son from himself by killing you, in exchange for making their sister the future queen. But apparently, none of them succeeded.” He eyed me, like a specimen in a jar. “You are far more efficient than my son could imagine.” He stopped in front of me and fixed on me, towering over my head. “But as the old saying goes: ‘If a great duty needs to be performed, it is best to give it to the king.’” And he lashed out with the knife. The blade flashed toward my throat. My vision turned scarlet with fury.

  I kicked my head back and grabbed his wrist with my left hand. My right hand darted out and jabbed his eye. He yelped. I reached under his arm with my right, bent my elbow and jerked it back toward myself, snapping his elbow. He screamed and dropped the knife. I pulled my right hand back and struck his jaw with the heel of my hand. I kicked his knee out from beneath him. He tumbled backward. I twisted his arm as he fell. He landed on his face. The next moment, I was on top of him, his own knife pressed to his back.