The King's Daughters

by Nathalie Mallet

  "No. It's the queen, my lord."

  "The queen?"

  "She's dead, my lord. She passed away an hour ago."

  "What! She's . . . no! That can't be true . . . that's. . . . " I was too shocked to say anything more. I had expected the queen's health to improve now that Isabo wasn't there to feed her daily doses of poison . . . . This didn't make any sense to me, none at all. After most of my shock had subsided, I looked up at Milo who was wringing his hands nervously beside my bed. "Milo, have you seen your cook this morning?"

  Milo's face became void of all expression. "No. She found someone else."

  "Oh—I'm sorry."

  Milo shrugged. "Fine by me! It's not like we'd planned to raise a family."

  To be perfectly blunt, I didn't know what to reply to that, so I continued as if it hadn't been said. "Milo, when you went out this morning you saw other people, servants, guards, all sorts of people. I know I've told you to never spread rumors; however, I think we can make an exception for this time. What did you hear so far about the queen's death? What are the people saying about it?"

  Surprised, Milo stared at me silently for a moment, then cleared his throat. "That it's the witch's revenge. It's pretty much the opinion of everyone in the castle. Oh, and there's a mourning ceremony later today. You're expected to attend, my lord. And from what I've gathered, it would be best if you wore dark-colored clothes."

  * * *

  Fortunately, I had some dark-colored clothes. Dressed in midnight blue from head to toe, I made my way to the throne room where the mourning ceremony was being held.

  Although I arrived there with very little time to spare, the tense, gloomy atmosphere of the throne room felt so tangible that I found it hard to actually cross the entrance. It was as if I had struck a solid wall of despair. Right now, entering the room wasn't an appealing prospect. Choosing to delay my entrance, I just stood in the doorway and surveyed the dark gathering of nobles clustered at one end of the room. They resembled a murder of crows in their black garments. All those nobles bore solemn expressions, except for Baron Molotoff. The man's expression never changed, it seemed. He still had the same stoic cold air as always. Apparently the queen's death left him unmoved. I turned to Diego, who was standing nearby. His handsome face was disguised by a mask of sorrow. Considering what I knew of him, I couldn't help wondering if his grief was an act. Had he known the queen well enough to be this affected by her passing? Was he mourning Thalia? I knew Diego wished to be free of her; therefore Thalia's disappearance should suit him just fine. So why the long face then? That was strange, I thought.

  I directed my attention to the other end of the room, more specifically to the small raised dais. There stood the royal family . . . or what was left of it. Only three members remained: the king, Eva, and Lars. I observed that the king and Lars both wore broad black armbands over their dark purple coats. As for Eva, she was dripping in black lace. Even her head, which hung low, was hidden under a veil of black lacy fabric. The sight of this decimated family brought some unpleasant memories to my mind, memories of my own family, and how it had been decimated by an evil curse.

  Reluctantly, I made my way to the small dais and bowed in front of the mourning group. "You have my deepest condolences, Your Majesty. I do share your grief."

  To my utter disbelief, the king smiled kindly at me, and then he came down the dais and approached me. "I know you understand our pain. You've lived through something similar to this yourself."

  I thought it best to speak as little as possible. So I just nodded.

  The king shook his head. "I cannot believe that we nurtured that viper in our midst for all this time. And to think that if she hadn't been caught, I might have married her." Fists clenched, the king bared his teeth in a rictus of ire and disgust.

  "Were there signs of her evil nature?" I asked.

  The king regarded Countess Ivana, now standing at Eva's side consoling her as best she could. Regret darkened the king's face. "We were warned. But we didn't listen."

  Hushed murmurs coming from the assembled mourners made me turn. The two barbarians were entering the throne room. They marched directly to the king. Stopping right in front of him, the barbarians raised praying hands to their mouths then foreheads and finally pointed their hands toward the king's heart. Although the gesture was done in total silence, it was clearly an act of respect and empathy. I watched the pair as they walked in front of Eva and repeated the same gesture. Once it was done, they just turned around and withdraw from the throne room.

  I brought my attention back to the king. "What will happen to Isabo now?"

  "Now? Nothing. For the next three days, all activity in the castle will cease as we mourn the queen. Even Isabo's execution is being delayed. The witch will burn after our last farewell to the queen."

  Supported by Countess Ivana on one side and by Lars on the other, Eva slowly made her way to us. She extended a pale, trembling hand to me. I gripped it in mine. Her palm felt cold, her fingers icy.

  "Why?" Eva sobbed. "Why hurt us? We've only been kind to her."

  This fact was bothering me too. I looked at the king. "I'm asking myself the same questions. Why would Isabo attack the princesses? What did she want to accomplish by committing those crimes? What was her goal?"

  Lars snorted. "Pf, stupid question! Evil doesn't need goals."

  I thinned my lips. "Evil always has a goal—always."

  "You're right, Prince Amir. It does," agreed the king, which made Lars red with anger. "Think I know that goal. I was the goal, or more exactly the Sorvinkian throne was the goal."

  I waited for the king to say more, but he stayed silent. I turned to Eva. She was clutching my hand so tightly, it was as if she feared losing me if she let go. She had lost so much already. My eyes met Countess Ivana's. Her gaze was tired and empty; clearly those were the eyes of someone who hadn't slept for days.

  "I should have figured it out," The countess said in a remorseful tone. "If only I had put it together before, the princesses would still be with us. I knew Isabo heard the king tell our beloved queen that he would only remarry if he had no children. But as he had beautiful ones, he saw no need to remarry. I knew Isabo heard this because I was there too."

  The king emitted a bitter chuckling sound. "The worst in all this is that my dear departed wife had finally convinced me to remarry. I consented to it two days ago. Isabo didn't need to harm Thalia. She had won."

  Lars blanched. He had just realized how close he had come to losing his position as the heir to the throne. Because if the king had remarried, chances were good that he might have had sons.

  Straightening himself, Lars approached the king and snapped to attention like a good little soldier. "Have no fear, Uncle, as long as I breathe the Anderson name will rule Sorvinka."

  Grasping Lars by the shoulders, the king kissed his nephew on both cheeks. "Yes. You're right. I do have a son in you, Lars."

  Now feeling secure in his position, Lars beamed at us. And when the king returned to his throne, Lars trailed behind him like a puppy.

  My thoughts turned to Isabo. Obviously, she didn't know about the king's decision to remarry. Otherwise she would still be free and Thalia would be with us. This brought a new question to my mind. Where were the kidnapped princesses? Perhaps they were still alive and held captive somewhere. The chances of that were slim, yet I thought I should look into it. But first I tried to comfort Eva. I wished I could do more than just hold her hand. I wished I could take her in my arms and gently rock her to sleep. I stayed with her as long as conventions permitted me, and then I left for the garden where Isabo had been arrested.

  * * *

  The ground around the castle and its courtyard had been trampled by too many feet to provide any valid clues. However, once I reached the edge of the forest the bear's tracks became clear and undisturbed. I followed them to the collapsed shelter Eva and I had visited a few days ago. By the quantities of tracks visible in this area, the bear had wandered
in and out of the shelter several times. I also noted that a group of people had gathered here and held some sort of meeting. At least six different footprints marred the snow. So, Isabo has accomplices. Now it all made sense. Isabo had led them inside the castle with their trained bears. While the bears created diversions, the accomplices abducted the princesses. Yes, it had to have happened that way. Isabo simply couldn't kidnap the twins all by herself. Neither could she subdue Thalia, who was much bigger than she was.

  I peered inside the half-collapsed shelter. The bears had gone on quite a rampage in there. Fir branches were strewn about, the heavy stone cup was toppled over, and ashes from the fire were scattered on the snow like black rain. The destruction was so complete, I questioned if the beast had not turned on its master.

  "This animal was enraged," I said aloud. I wondered why. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised that an animal behaved like . . . well, an animal. I shrugged and returned to the castle's ground.

  I might not have learned much by following the bear's tracks, but what I did learn was very important: Isabo had accomplices. Now, I just needed to find who and where they were.

  * * *

  I was approaching the stables when I heard the shrill neighs of horses in distress. Sure enough, Lars and his friends were inside the enclosure, tormenting the wild ponies. I couldn't say I was surprised by what I was witnessing; however, I was certainly annoyed by it and rather aggravated. Their behavior was despicable.

  March on, Amir. This is none of your business. March on. Of course, that's not what I did. I let out a heavy sigh, and despite the voice of reason in my head telling me I was a damn fool to meddle in something that didn't concern me, I walked up to the horse pen anyway.

  "LARS!" I shouted. "LEAVE THOSE HORSES ALONE!"

  Shocked by my commanding tone, he and his friends nearly seized up. Quite frankly, I was shocked too. That wasn't how I should have addressed the situation, or Lars, for that matter. I shook my head. I used to be so careful about those things. What was happening to me? Was I losing my head or just my manners?

  Regaining his countenance, Lars glared at me. "What is it to you? These horses aren't yours."

  "True. But they're not yours either, Lars. And why are you scaring them like that? Surely you and your friends can find a more dignified activity to distract yourselves."

  Folding his arms over his chest, Lars raised his chin. "You're right, Prince Amir. We need something more entertaining. Your people are known as great horsemen, and your desert breed as the fastest of all horses, isn't that a fact?"

  I winced. I could smell a trap from where I stood. But I had no idea what direction I should take not to get caught in it though. "Yes," I risked. "Our horses are known for their speed and agility."

  "Would you care to test this knowledge?"

  Aha, there it was! That was a poor trap; the setup was rather clumsy too. Then again, Lars wasn't a genius. "No thank you. I have other things on my mind at the moment."

  Lars grinned like a monkey. "Uh-huh, that's what I thought. It's a tale. Like the ones you told at dinner."

  "My dear duke, I know what you're attempting to do. And believe me, I won't let myself be caught in your argument."

  "Pf, pitiful excuse! You're just afraid your horses won't be able to run in the snow."

  "If our horses can run in sand, they can run in snow."

  With a side-glance to his friend, Lars declared, "Then the fault rests in your ability as a rider."

  "I'm an excellent rider."

  "Prove it."

  Lord, why won't he stop, I thought, rubbing my temples. Lars was like a dog on a bone with this. I was wondering what was wrong with that boy, which was a lot in my opinion, when I noticed the subtle glances Lars kept throwing at his friends and how these young noblemen where watching him with semi-bored expressions. It was then that I realized that Lars was trying to impress them. I winced internally. Not a good sign for a future king. Kings should never behave that way; it was the nobles who should try to impress the king, not the other way around.

  I looked at Lars, and despite myself I felt pity for that insecure, and oh so tenacious, boy. Perhaps I should just accept his challenge and get it over with. It's not like those heavy-footed Sorvinkian horses of his could beat mine in a race anyway. In addition, losing face might do Lars some good. I smiled. "How do you suggest I prove this, Lars?"

  "By competing in a Sorvinkian race against me."

  "Fine! All right then, I'll do it."

  Lars's friends cheered loudly, while Lars rubbed his hands together in jubilation as if he had just played me a good trick.

  A sudden anxiousness came over me. Maybe I should have thought this through before accepting. At the very least, I should've asked what was involved in a Sorvinkian race. I shook my head. Here I was, worrying again over nothing. All races were more or less alike. This one couldn't be that much different—it just couldn't.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After Lars and I had both agreed to delay the race long enough for us to change out of our mourning clothes, I hurried to my room. Choosing my most comfortable riding clothes, a loose-fitting, dark tan ensemble, I changed rapidly, then grabbed my coat. I was ready to return outside when I heard someone knocking at the door.

  Milo rushed to see who it was, then came back. "It's Prince Diego. I can tell him that you're not here, if you wish," he said, sounding very eager to do just that.

  I thought about it briefly, and said, "No, let him in."

  Milo's shoulders sagged. With a grim look on his face, he opened the door.

  Diego marched in like a man on a mission. "Amir, I heard a disturbing rumor. Is it true that you're going to race against Lars?"

  "It's not a rumor. I'm on my way there right now."

  Clutching his head with both hands, Diego lamented loudly, "OH, for the good graces of the gods! Have you completely lost your mind?" Normally, I tend to ignore Diego's emotional outburst, but I had to admit that the look of distress on his face scared me a little. Then I recalled the mourning ceremony and thought this was just another one of his acts.

  I stared at him coldly. "Diego, you can stop your charade. I know you care as much for me as you did for Thalia. Your acting might fool the king—doesn't fool me though. So stop it!"

  Diego recoiled in shock. "How dare you question the honesty of my feelings? I do care about Thalia's well-being."

  "Really? Two days ago you were ready to break her heart."

  Diego's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "And I still would do it. I'd break her heart ten times over if you'd let me. But hear this, Amir, no matter what people say, nobody has ever died from a broken heart—that's a fairy tale. However, what kidnappers can do to a young innocent girl is another story. Thalia cannot withstand such abominable treatment, Amir. She's not like your Eva. She's not strong."

  I watched fear replace anger in Diego's eyes, then anger return with a vengeance. "That witch, that evil witch. Oh how I would love to strangle her." Raising clawed hands in front of him, Diego mimicked strangling someone—Isabo I presumed.

  I had to say that if Diego was acting, it was the best performance I'd ever seen. He certainly had me convinced. Even Milo, who openly disliked Diego, seemed to believe him.

  "Diego," I began, "I'm sorry for having doubted your feelings. I apologize."

  Diego waved a hand around in a dismissive manner. "I've played a role for so long that sometimes I don't know when to stop. Honestly, Amir, Thalia's kidnapping affects me more than I'd like to admit. There, I said it! I, Diego Del Osiega, Prince of Pioval, have grown fond of that fat little brat."

  Brat? I wrinkled my nose in confusion. That was an unusual way of speaking about a loved one—again, Diego was an unusual man.

  Diego produced a sad smile. "Not many people here like me. As you know, I have very few friends." He paused and gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "It upsets me when one of them goes and puts himself in peril without reason."

  "I'm not in peri
l, Diego. It's only a race. I—"

  "It's a Sorvinkian race."

  "And?"

  "You will lose."

  "Why? I'm an excellent rider. Why is everybody questioning my riding skills? That's becoming insulting."

  Exasperated, Diego let out a long hissing breath. "You won't be riding, Amir."

  "OH—what will I do then?"

  "Drive a troika."

  The corners of my mouth dipped downward. "What's a troika?"

  "Come, follow me. I think it's best if I show it to you."

  * * *

  A small crowd was gathered outside the stable. By their sparkling eyes, excited demeanors, and animated conversations, one could hardly believe they'd just come from a mourning ceremony.

  "What are those people doing here?" I asked Diego, who was walking ahead of me.

  "They came to see the race. News travels fast in the castle. And a Sorvinkian race is always an event."

  An event! I didn't like the sound of that.

  "Ah, there it is!" exclaimed Diego, pointing ahead. "Your troika!"

  I frowned, puzzled by what I was seeing. "Are you serious? That strange contraption?"

  The thing in front of us looked like an open carriage with no wheels. It was set upon long strips of metal that curled up at the front end. Strangest of all was the harness: three thick, bell-covered horse's collars lined side by side. A large inverted U-frame, garishly decorated with multicolored geometric motifs, stood above the central collar.

  Diego threw an arm over my shoulder. "As you see, Amir, a troika is a sleigh drawn by a team of three horses abreast. Sorry yours is such an ugly shade of yellow."

  Speechless, I watched stable boys attempt to harness three of my Telfarian horses to the sleigh. I began worrying immediately. Unused to this type of drawing arrangement, the horses were rearing, kicking, pulling left and right; their erratic behavior seriously threatened to topple the troika, if not controlled soon. Concern now tightened my stomach. Clearly, handling a troika wasn't an easy task. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the crowd had left.