As the transformation left him, Vard squatted in the dirt of the alley. So, the prince had a warrant out for his arrest. How much did Alecia’s father know about the events of last evening? The notice claimed that Vard was wanted for treason and murder. It didn’t mention the princess. He clung to the belief that Alecia would have been mentioned if she were dead. Would she keep Vard’s secret?
It didn’t matter if Alecia had revealed Vard’s abilities to her father. The only thing that did matter was Alecia’s safety. He’d discover her fate and then leave Brightcastle forever. Some other champion could save the populace from Prince Zialni. Vard climbed to his feet and set about securing a disguise.
Chapter 18
Vard opened the front door of the two-storey shack that lay in the heart of Brightcastle, ignoring the tingle that Hetty’s warding spell always provoked. The filthy chimney-sweep costume had served him well, as had the soot covering his face. He’d walked freely through the streets to this residence but inside, he was unsure of his welcome.
He ghosted through the parlor and up the hallway to the kitchen. A glance through the doorway showed him the woman, seated on a stool by the fire and peering into the flames.
“That’s a clever disguise, Captain,” she said.
He leaped at the words, assuming the crouch of a street fighter, a knife with a chipped edge springing into his hand. Damn the old witch! How did she always manage to put him on edge?
Hetty cackled as she turned from the hearth. “No need for knives around old Hetty. You’ve nothing to fear…from me.”
Vard slowly rose and replaced the knife in his belt. Hetty peered up at him as if short-sighted, but Vard knew there was nothing wrong with her vision. He couldn’t detect an ounce of fear from her today; unlike the first time he had visited her. It irked him that the old witch could confront his powers with such equanimity. “Perhaps that’s so.”
“You’re wounded again. Is that what brings you to my home?”
Vard frowned. First Hetty knew him without even looking, and next she discerned his injuries. Well, if she could tell those things, perhaps she could tell him what he needed to know. “My wounds are my business.”
“It wasn’t so last time,” she said, her voice a harsh rasp. “If not for old Hetty you’d be dead meat, changeling.”
A shiver ran through Vard at the memory of the healing that Hetty had worked on him only days ago. He didn’t like to be reminded of it. “Something’s happened,” he said. “The princess may be in deep trouble.”
“Princess Alecia is in deep trouble, but it’s no concern of yours.”
“The princess was behind the mercenary killings.”
Hetty’s eyes narrowed. “Rumor has it that the culprit died last night. Let that be an end to this sorry chapter.”
Vard clutched the stone as rage ripped through him. “I must know if she lives! Don’t play your games with me. She was gravely injured and held in prison. I must know if she escaped.”
Hetty’s dark eyes trapped Vard’s and he felt a probing at his mind. He pushed against it, determined not to give in to her. Sweat oozed from his pores and the hairs stood on his arms. He couldn’t be sure of the witch’s power but if he died now, he’d never know if Alecia was safe.
“Do not fear, Captain. I’m not in the habit of killing men…or monsters.” Hetty turned back to the fire. “The princess’s wounds heal slowly.”
“Then she’s alive?” Vard knelt in front of the witch, hands bunched into fists, his eyes searching her craggy features. He almost flinched when her gaze snapped back to his.
“You truly are frightened for her.”
“Answer me!” Vard said.
The old woman’s dark eyes merely hardened. Vard had seen softer stares on street toughs. He swallowed his anger and took deep breaths to slow his racing heart.
“I said her wounds heal,” Hetty said, “it’s her spirit I fear for. Word tells that the princess has left Brightcastle but my scrying doesn’t support this.”
Vard slumped in relief, his face buried in his hands. “Thank the Goddess. I feared she’d been killed after I freed her from the cell. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I had…”
“This is exactly what I feared,” Hetty said. “You don’t know what you do when you are the beast. What was it this time?”
“The bear,” Vard said, his voice muffled through his fingers.
“You didn’t even know if the princess survived.”
Vard had no room in his mind for Hetty’s scorn. Alecia had escaped the bear! His relief was short-lived as Hetty’s words sank into his consciousness. “Left Brightcastle? What do you mean about scrying?”
Hetty folded her arms under her scrawny bosom and tilted her head to one side. She reminded him of a sparrow; or perhaps a raven would be a better match. “I have a talent,” she said. “I can ‘see’ people I know, regardless of where they are. More clearly if I know them well. Mostly I use fire to do it, but water can be manipulated in the same way. With concentration, I can view those I’ve met, see whatever circumstances they find themselves in. It’s easier if they’re in danger or troubled.”
Vard realized his hands were bunched into fists and he slowly relaxed them. Hetty’s lips twitched as she watched him. “Show me Alecia…if you please,” he said.
“What if I don’t please?” she said.
Vard leaned forward and reached for the woman but stopped himself before he touched her. She watched him, eyes narrowed, a smirk about her lips.
“You’d be wise not to lay hand upon me. I’m no use to you dead.”
Vard rose and strode back to the doorway. Leaning on the doorjamb, he closed his eyes. The old woman knew how to get under his skin. He gripped the amber stone, seeking the void of the wolf’s mind, the coldness and clarity, stopping himself on the verge of transformation. All would be well.
He opened his eyes and walked back to Hetty. “That should prove that I can control myself,” he said. “I have to see her. Then I’ll leave Brightcastle, never to return.”
Hetty frowned. “An almighty effort in control that was. I’m somewhat impressed.”
“You said you feared for her spirit. Why?”
“There is some dire threat she dreads. I’ve scried her twice in the fire. Her face… I haven’t seen her like that before. She fears…herself. The ring Lord Finus gave her…she turns it round and round on her finger so that it has worn the skin away. I think the danger has to do with him.”
“She promised me,” Vard whispered.
“Promised what, Captain?”
“That she wouldn’t hurt herself.”
Hetty snorted. “Promises don’t sustain us in the dark moments,” she said. “I don’t think she can bear this burden, whatever it is.”
“She doesn’t wish to marry Finus,” Vard said. “She’d rather die.”
Hetty’s eyes widened and her hands gripped her apron. “I’ll find some way to help her.”
Vard took a step forward. “Don’t be foolish, Hetty. I’ll aid the princess. Show me her face. It might give me a clue.”
Hetty nodded and beckoned Vard to the fire. He knelt beside her. The old woman reached her hand out and threw a green powder into the fire, muttering strange words.
“Acthar scena morundi kabahl,” she said.
The harsh accents sent a shiver through Vard. The flames swirled, tongues of fire twining around each other.
“Findi behlal tedung mortunda.”
Alecia’s face appeared in the flames. She was somewhere dark and she stared unseeing, her hands clasped before her. Bruises covered the right side of her face and made a ring around her throat but it wasn’t her injuries that caused Vard’s breath to catch. He was unprepared for the despair that cloaked her form. As he watched, her hands moved and she began to twirl an elaborate amethyst band on her left ring finger.
“The ring upsets her,” Vard said. “Why doesn’t she take it off?”
“Hush.”
&
nbsp; Vard glanced at the witch. She seemed entranced by the picture before her. Perhaps she channelled feeling as well as vision through the scrying. Whatever the truth, the old woman seemed almost as unaware of him as Alecia was of them. His eyes returned to the princess, searching for clues that would help him find her. She wasn’t in her chambers. The small section of wall behind her was rough-hewn, even more so than the room he’d occupied when housed in the palace. Perhaps there was a cellar or dungeon?
If she were locked up, that would explain some of her despair.
The face in the flames disappeared and Hetty slumped on her chair. Vard reached out and steadied her. Her arms were skeletal beneath her dress.
“Take your hands from me,” Hetty said. “I don’t need your help.” She shook his fingers from her and stood.
“Where was she?” Vard asked.
“In the palace.” Hetty rubbed her arms as if chilled. “Somewhere cold, perhaps a dungeon. It was a close scrying. Sometimes I can discern mood and other hints, and this was one of those times. Princess Alecia is a prisoner in her own home. She has lost hope. I fear she’ll do something foolish. There’s no telling the treatment she suffers. I’ve heard rumors of how her betrothed touches her.”
“Alecia told me as much that night in the cells. I can’t leave her to his mercy.”
“Leave her rescue to me, Captain. I don’t trust you anywhere near her.”
“You’ll not be able to do what needs to be done. I’ll go to the palace, find Alecia and bring her out.”
Hetty stepped forward and pushed her craggy face up at Vard. “How many more times will you place the princess at risk?”
Hetty’s words hit Vard and his determination faltered. “You’re right. I can’t trust myself around her.”
The witch held out her hand. “Give me your amulet.”
Vard frowned. “What has that to do with Alecia?”
“Just hand it over, changeling. I think I can help.”
Alecia trusted Hetty; perhaps it was time he did as well. Slowly he removed the stone from the leather cord and handed it to the witch.
Hetty dropped the talisman into the pot over her fire, which immediately began to bubble. “Now, let’s see. Oh yes. Claw of bear, feather of hawk and tooth of wolf, skin of human…” As Hetty listed ingredients, she dropped each one into the pot and as she did, noxious orange fumes swirled from the pot.
“Ferund moribun wolfin moria.”
A sizzling began, building to a crescendo as the orange fog turned to red.
“Torbulen vico contrale verdu.”
There was a popping sound and the crimson fumes settled, the sizzling died and the pot went quiet. Hetty hauled the mixture from the flames and removed Vard’s talisman with wooden tongs. She lowered it into a bowl of water, dried it and held it out to him.
He frowned. “It’s changed color. If you’ve destroyed it…”
“Place it around your neck,” she snapped.
Vard threaded the leather thong back through the stone’s setting and tied it in place. Had he been wrong to trust her? This stone was the only thing that enabled him any control over his transformations. Lose that and he might as well kill himself.
Hetty regarded him with a knowing smile. “Test it.”
Vard gripped the stone. Calm instantly enveloped him, a calm he’d never known. He stared at Hetty, who cackled out loud.
“Now the transformation.”
Vard closed his eyes and sought the hawk, the ripple of feathers sprouting along his arms bringing memories of his first flight. He snapped back into human form and embraced the wolf, his fingers morphing into paws and his heightened senses already on the hunt for danger. He locked the wolf away and turned to Hetty, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks, years. “I’ve never had this control.”
“The bear, Captain. You must master the bear.”
Vard frowned but the witch raised her brows, not a trace of fear apparent. He closed his eyes again and morphed into the bear, revelling in the power and savagery of the beast. His limbs lengthened, shoulders expanded and the enormous strength of the bear flowed through him until he could contain no more. Vard held himself on the verge of complete transformation and then shut the brute away. Just like that, with a thought, the beast is gone!
“It works,” he said, his words barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
“Watch the amulet. When the color fades to amber, you must return to me and I’ll renew the spell. Your search for a mentor must continue -- for only he can bring you fully into your gift.”
Vard froze, his heart thundering in his ears. He’d never told the witch of his search. “How did you know?”
“I’ve my secrets, Captain. I’ll not reveal yours.” Hetty pushed a large calico bag into his hands. By the smell, it contained bread and cheese. “Tell the princess I’ll always come if she calls. I’ll lend her strength, no matter what happens. You tell her that.”
Vard nodded. “I’ll find a way to get word to you of what transpires, Hetty.” He turned and left the witch’s house by the back door.
As Vard stepped into the alley behind Hetty’s house he was seized by an almost overwhelming desire to storm the palace and rescue Alecia. Perhaps as the bear it would work, or perhaps not. His luck must run out sometime. He forced himself to head across town towards the forest and the cave that had provided refuge for him twice before.
Chapter 19
Alecia jumped as the tray of food scraped across the rough wooden table just inside her door. It was the only way she had to tell the passage of the hours. The arrival of her three meals each day reassured her that time did still pass in the outside world. The two days of her imprisonment felt like weeks. She had nothing to look forward to, and her wedding to dread.
Her face was less painful today but her throat still ached when she swallowed. She had tried to starve herself, but her promise to Vard held her tighter than she would have imagined. She thought of him only fleetingly. There was too much pain down that path; the pain of loving and having that love choked by Vard’s rejection; the fear of knowing that he was not human and that their lives could not be shared.
But Alecia could not subdue all of her feelings. At times, her desire for Vard rose up within her and she allowed memories of his hands on her body to heat her blood. Even now, her pulse quickened at the thought of his lips and the hard strength of his arms. As she battled with the need to surrender to her desire, someone cleared his throat by the door. She rolled over on her bed but it was too dim to see anyone.
“Father?” She sat up and pushed her hair from her face. Perhaps he had changed his mind. Perhaps he too remembered the times he had read her bedtime stories and taken her for picnics, just the two of them. They could still repair their fractured relationship.
“It is your betrothed, Alecia dear,” the hated voice said.
Cold settled in her gut. She froze, unable to speak, as Lord Finus came to her bedside. His hand gripped her chin, turning her head this way and that.
“Come, Alecia, you heal too slowly.” He dropped his hand from her face and sat on the edge of the bed.
Alecia leaned backwards until her spine rested against the bed head.
Lord Finus placed one hand either side of Alecia’s legs and swayed towards her, his eyes on her mouth. “I am anxious for us to begin our life together.” He wrinkled his nose. “I will have water and a tub sent so you can bathe.” His left hand caressed her throat and Alecia gasped as it slid downwards to cup her breast through the fabric of her nightgown. His thumb caressed her nipple and she managed to free her hand enough to slap his face. Lord Finus chuckled. “I like my women with a bit of fight.” He secured her arm and returned his attention to her nipple. Every muscle in her body tightened in revulsion.
He stood and leaned over her, his cold mouth capturing hers. Alecia couldn’t move. She had no alternative but to wait until he had finished with her. The lord’s hand slid behind her head and his kiss deepened. His tongue
probed her mouth. Alecia tried to push him away but one hand held her while his other hand left her hair, tugged on the ribbon that gathered the neck of her bodice, then plunged inside the material to squeeze her breast. His lips left hers and moved to the line of her jaw and then leisurely down her throat.
Shuddering with revulsion, she wrenched her hands free but he recaptured them in both of his and forced them down either side of her. He is so strong! Her breast was bared in the struggle and Finus licked the nipple, his tongue encircling the delicate tissue. Alecia flung her head and body to the side, trying to wrench her breast from his mouth. “I do not want this.”
“It is mere days until our nuptials, my dear,” Lord Finus said. “I can feel your desire. I knew you would warm to me. Am I not a considerate lover?” He lay fully on top of her, his bulging manhood thrusting into her belly. “No one will disturb us, beloved. You cannot refuse me now.” His lips returned to her mouth as he released her hand and hauled the skirt of her nightgown towards her waist then grasped her pantaloons. Alecia writhed under him, clutching at her undergarments. He will rape me!
“Take your hands from the princess,” a voice said from the doorway.
Lord Finus tore his mouth from hers and rose from the bed to face the intruder. Alecia collapsed against the pillows, panting, and shoved her skirts down to cover herself. A tall woman in an ill-fitting servant’s dress stood in the shadows. The bodice strained across her shoulders but was not filled at the chest, and the skirt was too short. A sword belt hung from her waist and she wore boots.
Finus drew himself up to his full height. “Leave us, woman.”
The servant stepped forward, sword in hand, and Finus gasped. “You!” His weapon flew from its scabbard as he stepped away from the bed.
Alecia stared at the swords and then at the woman. There was something wrong… “Vard!” In other circumstances, she would have laughed out loud at the sight of the powerfully built captain in a maid’s dress -- wherever had he found one that would even half fit him? She pulled her bodice up over her breasts and leaped off the bed, hauling her pantaloons back up beneath her skirts. “You should not be here.” He had come for her! He did care. Perhaps…
Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 Page 17
