Donning the robe, a deep royal purple with gold trim, he turned toward the other two guards, appraising the woman he’d captured, Fiera. She stood defiantly, a few feet away, her back to the guards, studying the castle. Her arms hung limply at her sides, but her hands were curled into fists.
Bartheleme cleared his throat to get her attention. When Fiera turned to him, her face looked as if a thundercloud had descended upon it. Her brows were knit close together, overshadowing her narrowed eyes. Her chin was jutted forward and her jaw was clenched tight.
She didn’t look like the others: cowed and afraid, he thought. Not even the men. No, she in fact looked quite determined…and livid. She would bear watching.
He pivoted on his heel and led the group into the castle, the tails of his robe bouncing against his legs and his bare feet slapping on the cobblestone. Not altogether dignified. He hated the human form.
* * * *
Between the guards, Fiera followed the royal prince into the castle. More guards dressed in white finery lined the halls and stood outside rooms. The walls were a gray stone with rich tapestries. Wide torch-dotted passages led off to the right and left. The first passage was narrow and close to the outer walls; it would be for the guards. She began counting the hallways as they passed. She planned to escape and didn’t want to get lost.
The vaulted ceilings fascinated her. Though she’d never been in a castle before, she doubted other castles entertained ceilings so high. But then, considering the occupants, they made sense.
The Prince, not looking back, motioned toward a long stretch of a hallway to the right.
Immediately, the guards gripped Fiera’s arms and turned her into the indicated passage. The floor was at an upward slant and, about halfway up, they rudely shoved her though a doorway. When she turned to berate the guards for their roughness, the door slammed in her face, followed by the sound of a bar sliding across it.
Frowning, she turned to see what kind of prison she’d been locked into, only to find herself pleasantly surprised. Instead of dingy gray walls with tiny barred windows and a rag on the floor for a bed, the room was bright and richly furnished. The bed was large and spacious, with deep blankets, a heavy mattress, and a canopy. Thick rugs adorned the floor. And an empty fireplace filled one whole wall.
Seven slits of open windows adorned the walls, letting sunlight flood into the room and it was to these that Fiera rushed. They were barely wide enough for her to stick her head through and she twisted sideways to wriggle her shoulders through as well, leaning far out to inspect her chances of escape. The outer walls fell away sharply to a wide moat below. Her room was probably a good hundred feet above the ground. Below her, more window slits dotted the castle. In fact, all around her there were nothing but slits.
For a moment she couldn’t understand the reason for the narrow windows, but then it dawned on her that she was now in a land of flying shapeshifters. The shape of the windows kept everyone out.
From the room behind her came a rasping sound and she pulled back inside, turning to see the door open to admit an elderly woman who bustled over to the fireplace.
Fiera eyed the open door, but the white uniformed guards glaring at her with sharp swords unsheathed quelled any desire she had to try an immediate escape. She turned her attention to the woman squatting in front of the fireplace. Her clothes were clean and neat. Though her whole body shook with the movements of starting a fire, she didn’t seem to be malnourished nor sickly. What was visible of her arms showed a fair amount of muscle. When the woman stood and turned around, Fiera discovered that what she’d originally assumed were age wrinkles were actually long jagged scars across her face.
Fiera startled, inadvertently stepping back. The woman ducked her head, blushing and mumbling apologies for her disturbance. She made to rush past and out of the room, but Fiera grabbed her arm. “You have no reason for apologies. It’s I who should apologize to you.”
The woman hesitated and then curtsied, her head still bowed. “Not necessary, miss. But I thank you. If you need anything, send a guard for Maybelle.”
“Who did this to you, Maybelle?” Fiera blurted, not letting go of the woman. She had to find out what kind of trouble she could expect. “Was it the master of this castle?”
The woman lifted her head, her face lit with surprise. The scars pulled and stretched her face into a mask of horror. “The King? Never! He’s been good to me. Took me in when none other would. I really must get about my duties.”
Fiera let her go and sat on the bed, staring at the fledgling fire. Nothing was as she’d expected. After being hunted by the fat man for days, then being tricked and forcibly brought to this land of dragons, she expected harsh treatment and a dungeon prison. True, there were guards to keep her locked away, but her accommodations spoke more of a guest than a prisoner. Also, those very same guards were dressed in clean white uniforms. Neither they, nor the maid, had smelled of brew or body sweat. They were well cared for and respected their master.
She flopped back on the bed and stared at the canopy. Nothing made sense.
* * * *
Efar, still as a griffin, slowly woke in the arid heat of midafternoon. His whole body hurt, as if being rolled over by a giant boulder. The most pronounced was a deep ache in his left leg that rolled his stomach. Probably broken. His left collarbone, too. Beneath him, against the ground, his left side stung as only a fresh burn could.
He struggled to his feet, keeping most of his weight on his right side. During his slow return to upright, he discovered one or two broken ribs as well as something that pinched in his wing every time he moved it. The broken ends of the bones in his leg ground together as he moved. He could immobilize any broken bones. Real birds had fused collarbones anyway. It was the burn that worried him; if he’d lost too many feathers, he wouldn’t be able to fly for a very long time. It would take much longer to reach Fiera.
The effort of being fully upright on injured limbs sent shocks of pain curling throughout him and was almost more than he could stand. He craned his neck and lifted his wing, wincing at the white-hot lance of pain that shot through him and inspecting the damage to his left side. From mid-thigh through his underarm and up under his wing was charred black with giant, angry red blisters raised around the edges. In the center of the black was what looked like a thick braid of leather. He’d never seen a burn so bad. It would leave a scar. Strange it didn’t hurt except at the very edges.
As far as his feathers went, it was hard to tell which were actually burnt to brittleness and which were still usable.
Bark snapped in the underbrush behind him, and he pivoted on his right front eagle’s claw, staggering, neck stretched and wings spread in aggression, hissing and clacking his beak.
Captain’s long equine nose poked through the leaves, blowing hard. Then the rest of his body followed, accompanied by Marie and Gwen. A short fellow came last, leading two more horses.
Efar sank to the ground in relief as he shifted to human. Marie unfolded a blanket and covered his hips. The pain from his broken bones echoed all the way to his fingertips and toes. His stomach rolled violently. Through clenched teeth, he asked Gwen, “How did you find me?”
“We were all packed and ready to leave as you instructed, but a bat appeared. It flew right up to us, then flitted away, always in the same direction. After a few times, he,” she paused in her task of making a prayer circle around him and pointed to Captain, “started walking after it and we followed.”
Walking? Efar frowned. “How long ago was that?”
“Yesterday morning. Once we realized the bat was probably sent by Fiera, we picked up the pace.”
While the short man tended the two horses, Captain wandered nearby in the woods, grazing and waiting his turn. Marie squatted beside Efar, laying a large leaf on the ground in front of her and flipping open the pouch she kept tied at her waist.
Opening two small packets, Marie poured the whole of the powdered contents toge
ther on the leaf. After a brief hesitation, she pulled out another packet and added its contents as well. She stirred the powders together with her finger and then handed the leaf to him, pantomiming what he was to do.
His tongue numbed the very second he licked the bitter mix. Potent stuff. He’d need it. Finishing off the painkiller, he lay back so that his injured left side was facing up. Euphoria settled over him as Marie cleaned and doctored his burns. Gwen’s chanting soothed Efar’s anxieties. His eyelids grew heavy.
Snapping his eyes open, he tried to rouse himself to wakefulness. He didn’t need to sleep. Fiera needed his help. The fog that had descended over him refused to leave and his body no longer obeyed his commands. Gwen’s words became nothing but garbled nonsense from a great distance.
His last thought before drifting off to sleep was how Marie had betrayed him by putting a sleeping agent in the painkiller.
* * * *
Fiera squeezed her head out the narrow slit of a window and surveyed her handiwork. The once smooth stone castle wall below her was now adorned to halfway down with thin ledges and tiny hand holds. The rising sun cast long shadows of the steps across the face of the stone. She glanced around the castle grounds It would be easy to spot her work in this light.
It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d been brought as a captive to the land of the dragons. During that time, no one had visited her except Maybelle, who silently brought her plates of delicate food, tended the fire, and quickly retreated.
Not that Fiera minded; it gave her plenty of time to work on her escape.
At first, she’d thought to trick her guards into leaving with a horde of rodents, but the castle seemed strangely devoid of mice and rats. Her next idea was to magic a hole in one of the walls or the floor, but not knowing what, or who, was on the other side had quickly led her to dismiss that idea.
That left her with a window that was too high off the ground to let her jump safely. Hence the stairs. It had been slow progress, forging steps the right distance apart. She’d had to widen the stone window, climb out and test each ledge. The first ones were so narrow that she slipped off and, if not for the handholds she’d had the foresight to make, she would have fallen to her death on the boulders that bordered the moat.
She wished to just climb out the window and stay perched on each ledge as she made the next, but she felt sure someone would either notice her absence from captivity or spot her clinging to the side of the castle. Instead, after each step was made and tested, she’d had to climb back into her prison and narrow the window again before she could make the next rung in her escape ladder. It was truly exhausting work, but she pushed her magic on and on.
Fiera yawned, shaking with the fierceness of it. She eyed the bed, but then turned back to the window, ignoring the tray of food. She wouldn’t rest until she was well away from this place. Until she was safe by Efar’s side. He just had to be okay. Their relationship couldn't end there.
* * * *
When Efar woke again, the sky was in its last throes of sunset. Brilliant hues of yellow, orange, and purple covered the clouds in ripples, washing the leaves in the trees with a gentle golden light.
Marie lay sleeping, curled up beside him, still within the circle Gwen had built. Candles sat atop mounds of fresh earth in the four directions all around him. Outside the circle, Gwen and her male friend were talking quietly by a small campfire, a huge pile of tree leaves beside them.
Efar gently shifted his leg beneath the blanket, testing the break. Immediately, Marie was up and beside him, frowning and lifting the blanket to check his injuries.
Gwen stood and walked toward him, carefully stopping outside the healing circle.
With gritted teeth, he asked the tall witch, “How long this time?”
“Since yesterday. You needed it.” She motioned to Marie. “She’s a good nurse, but she’s still healing from her own injuries. That’s why I left her inside with you.”
As Gwen began walking the perimeter of the circle, softly praying, Efar turned his attention to Marie. She was a smart one. And yes, he had needed the rest. But now he needed to get moving again. He smiled down at the girl, his heart swelling with how fond he’d become of her. “Well, Nurse, am I fit for travel now?”
The girl scowled and violently shook her head, pointing at the bindings that held his bones in place.
Efar said, “I understand it’s broken, but that won’t really stop me from going after Fiera, will it?”
She bit her lip and rocked back on her heels.
Gwen said, “Your collar bone will keep you from flying. You’ll have to ride Captain.”
Efar growled to himself and shook his head. “There’s no time.”
The short man joined the group. “I rather thought you’d say that. I have an idea.”
“And you are…?”
“Laurence. I assist Gwen.” He motioned to Gwen and the circle.
“How about you tell me your idea while I figure out how to stand.” Efar bunched the blanket around his hips and reached his right hand toward Marie for help.
She crossed her arms and looked away, a dark scowl once again covering her face.
He sighed and gently said, “You understand Fiera’s in trouble, right? I’m the only one who can get to her in time to save her.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.” Gwen, finished with her prayers, stepped within the confines of the circle, the male witch right behind her. While the tall witch took Efar’s outstretched hand, Laurence clamped Efar’s left arm against his fractured ribs and lifted from behind.
Once up, it took a moment for Efar to steady himself with most of his weight on his right leg. The ache deep in his left leg was nothing compared to the excruciating spike of pain in his ribcage whenever he breathed too deeply. The left side of his collarbone had a dull throb in it as well, but he’d yet to feel anything from the burn that covered his side.
He hobbled toward the campfire with Gwen’s and the short man’s help, wincing with every step. Marie followed. He said to Laurence, “Suppose you tell me your plan.”
* * * *
Bartheleme lounged in his chair while a servant distributed roast potatoes onto his plate beside the game hen. His twin, the royal princess Cecily, sat across from Bartheleme, impatiently waiting her turn. When her food arrived, she dug in with gusto; she was no delicate flower.
Guards entered the room at the far end, escorting Fiera. Her hair stuck out in all different directions with giant knots in it; dark circles underscored her eyes; and she shuffled with the lifeless dull gait only the exhausted shared. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since he’d brought her to the castle and it didn’t look as if she’d slept any of it.
The guards stopped her beside his sister at an empty place setting.
“I’m King Cynan. But, I suspect you already know that.” The king stood and walked over to Fiera. Without waiting for a response from her, he continued, “Your maid, Maybelle, tells me you aren’t eating. Is this true?”
This time he waited for a response, but when met with only a bitter pursing of her lips, he took the chair and pulled it out from the table. “Sit.”
With narrowed suspicious eyes, she lowered into the chair. While the king returned to his place at the head of the table, servants rushed to fill Fiera’s plate with steaming meat and potatoes. As they finished, the King motioned to her food. “Eat.”
When Fiera made no move to comply, he sighed and said, “Eat. Please. We’re not your enemies.”
With that, Fiera’s bitter expression turned dark. “Am I not your prisoner?” She looked directly at Bartheleme.
He smiled back, picking through his food. He would not be baited by her.
The king shook his head. “You’re a guest.”
“With guards?” She raised her eyebrows.
He lifted his hands to ward off her anger. “Only temporarily.”
Bartheleme watch
ed the solid ridge of her jaw turn hard. He could tell already the way this would go. His appetite suddenly lost, he pushed his plate away. A servant sprang forward and cleared it from his sight. Another servant offered a sweet, but he waved that away, too, instead holding up his half-empty cup of mead. It was immediately filled.
He settled back in his chair and watched as the inevitable events unfolded. Glancing at his sister, he saw she knew how the conversation would turn as well as he, but she continued eating, though slower. Of the three of them, only their father, the king, seemed oblivious of what was to come.
Fiera said nothing. She neither ate nor drank. She stared at the king as if willing him to finish his half of the tragedy.
* * * *
Fiera glared at King Cynan. Between them sat a woman Fiera could only assume was the princess, judging by how similar she appeared to Prince Bartheleme: same dark hair, same sculpted cheeks, same intent gaze, though hers was focused on the full spoon she lifted to her mouth in a regular rhythm.
Across the table, the prince watched Fiera with narrowed eyes and a wry twist to his mouth.
The king’s voice filled Fiera’s head. The guards will be removed as soon as you agree to our terms.
She continued her glare. The first time a human, Prince Bartheleme, had spoken in her mind, she’d been caught unaware and had given herself away. Not so this time; she gave no indication she’d heard.
The king sighed again and set down his utensil. My son has never lied to me and he wouldn’t start with something as trifling as you. He tells me you can hear our thoughts and I believe him.
Across the table, the prince’s wry smile turned to a smirk.
“Why have you kidnapped me?” Her spoken words rang harshly off the stone walls, ineloquent after the king’s smooth voice in her head.
King Cynan dabbed his fingers in a bowl of water and wiped them on a towel offered by a servant. “Because you can hear our thoughts.”
“You kidnap everyone who can read your minds?”
He nodded his gray-haired head. “Yes. Then they decide to live here the rest of their lives. We give them coin, clothing, food, work, a home, and land if they wish.”
Birthright Page 12
