by Sarah Dalton
“All this for a diamond.” I shake my head.
“It’s for power. He is mad with the thought of it. Do you know of the Ember Stone? Do you know of the rumours? It’s Aelfen magic, Cas. It’s linked to Mae and everything that she is. The Ember Stone belongs to her, not our king. It grants everlasting life to its true owner.”
“Its true owner,” I repeat. “Father could surely never be its true owner. The magic would never work for him.”
“Would you take that chance? Knowing that if it did work, all the things he could achieve? An eternal rule over Aegunlund?”
I grit my teeth, imagining how our people would suffer at his hand. “No. We must stop him. But how?”
Mother leans in closer. “The Jakani sultan and his dignitaries are barely out of Cyne following the wedding. I can get word to them as they are on their journey. The king has many guards out in the areas around Cyne, it is a dangerous time to be travelling. The king is running out of options. His craft-born is gone and Beardsley is dead. Now is the time he begins to make rash decisions. We must try to pre-empt those decisions. First, we warn the Jakanis, then we try to turn the court against him. Soon he will try to take a vote on a war with the Haedalands and we must stop that from happening.”
Mother’s plan sounds simple as she speaks the words, and yet, I am all too aware of the danger that lies within. To go up against the king… I had always considered it suicide. But I nod along in agreement, all too aware of the consequences of that agreement. If we succeed, it will be me on the throne. It’s not excitement that I feel; it’s heaviness, an acceptance of my fate. There’s a weight settling around me, a shift in the air. Where is my White Hart? I need her strength. I never knew how much I needed her until now.
*
The first thing I notice when I set foot back into the castle is a strange cry, almost like a strangled cat, followed by a crack and a sickening slap. I hurry in the direction of the sound, Mother following behind me. The closer I get, the more I realise that the sound is coming from the Throne room. My heart sinks.
It is a young girl’s cry. Ellen. She has been little more than a shadow in the Red Palace since Mae left. Her lie has been exposed and she knows it. She has kept out of sight, hiding in her chamber.
I turn the corner. For the last few days I have been furious at Ellen. She tricked me. She wanted to be queen so badly that she went along with Mae’s plans. It was a particularly good bluff, because along the way she managed to make me believe that she was terrified of marrying me, that she was as reluctant as I. Oh, sure, at first I was a fool in love, a fool before I realised that love cannot be instantaneous, that it comes from a partnership with a person with whom your soul heals. I had hoped that we would love in time, that our destinies would ensure it. I was wrong. She was always the wrong girl.
And yet, as I rush into the Throne room, my heart goes out to her. No one should be treated in such a way, for my father has the girl on her knees, a whip crashing down over the ripped shreds of her dress.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demand.
“Come for your second dose of a good beating, boy?” The king sneers as he leans over his throne.
“Leave her alone.” I turn to Ellen—at one time my bride—and her clear blue eyes stare up at me, beseeching; brimming with water.
“You’re not king yet, boy. I won’t take orders from you. Get the hell out of here.”
I feel my hands tightening into fists as rage creeps under my skin, burning hot, boiling my blood. Before I know what I am doing, I dash towards the throne, only to be met with a spear at my throat. There are still enough guards for him. I force my gaze back to Ellen, only too aware of how powerless I am. No one can stop the king. The whip comes down and she screams in pain.
If I cannot stop it, I will at least watch. I will feel each stroke on her skin as though it is my own. I will share this experience with her. I will not turn my back on her. I stand aside and I remain in the room. I can at least do this.
“The girl manipulated you, Casimir. You should enjoy this as much as I do. No bitch will come into my kingdom and pretend to be the craft-born. Where are your birds now, eh? Your elements? Your fire? Bah!”
Each stroke is like a dagger to my heart, but I stay. We stare at each other and I nod to her, telling her she still has a friend. I remember what it was like to kiss her, to feel her soft lips against mine. Not my first kiss—that was with an eager daughter of a court baron, desperate to secure a union—but it was the gentlest. Yet at the same time it had felt unemotional. Chaste.
The ordeal goes on until Father grows bored and tosses her aside like a toy he no longer wants to play with. I follow the guards as they lead her down to the dungeons. Ellen is a prisoner now.
“Take her to her chambers,” I plead. “He will not know. I have twenty gold coins for your trouble. The door will be locked and he will never visit her anyway.”
A red faced guard turns back to me. “Ain’t worth it.”
“Thirty,” I insist.
He scrutinises me. “I see it first.”
I take a pouch from my waist and jangle it in his face. The bored man snatches it from my hand and opens the drawstring to take a peek inside.
“An’ he won’t check on ‘er you say?”
“He’s got other things to worry about.”
The guard bounces the coin pouch up and down on his palm. “All right, Your Highness. I’ll take her to her chambers instead.”
I follow them as he redirects Ellen towards her room, wondering what Cyne has come to when the crown prince of the realm has to bribe a guard to fulfil an order. Is this what it will be like as king? Ruling with bribes and threats? Or is this the kind of environment my father has cultivated?
“Leave us,” I say when we get to Ellen’s small chamber, a guest room that is rarely used. Of course, the Red Palace has been busy for the royal wedding, so many of the rooms are cleaner than they have been in years.
The guard bows before he leaves, but I see the glint in his eyes as his head bends low. Insolence. Pure insolence.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Ellen says, her voice tight with anger. Her hands shake as she rearranges her dress to cover the wounds on her back. There is dirt and dust on her face. Her tears run through them, revealing the pure white skin beneath the grime. “If the king finds out what you’ve done he’ll kill us both.”
“He won’t,” I say. “At least, he won’t kill me for this. He might kill you. Or try to, anyway. I won’t let that happen, though.”
She turns to face me, and I am relieved to see that her spirit has not been crushed. She remains haughty even now; an ambitious girl always, a girl who would never give up, who would fight to the last. I wonder if Mae realises how similar she is to Ellen? The only difference between them both is Mae’s pure but broken heart.
“Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t have to marry me anymore. I’m no longer your betrothed. I lied to you. I… It was unforgiveable what I did to you.” She slumps down on the bed, her hurt body almost folding in on itself.
“Don’t pretend you’re not relieved,” I say, my voice sounding harder than I intended it to. She looks at me sharply. I approach the bed slowly. Only a few nights ago I would have broken out in a cold sweat at the terrifying sight of Ellen on the bed before me, petrified by the thought of my husbandly duties. “I’m sorry. What I mean to say, is that I could always tell your heart wasn’t drawn to mine. We were never meant to be.”
She sighs. “I think you might be right. I tried. Casimir, for what it’s worth, it was never my ambition to manipulate you or seduce you into making me queen. It was my father. He instigated the entire thing, from finding an amulet to learning the trick of blackening ivy. And when you and Mae came to find me in the Borgan camp, I thought it was all over, that I had been found out. But then Mae gave me an opportunity and I took it. She covered for me and I never knew why. She seemed so torn up inside, so pitiful. She had this hard
shell that made me think she could not love or accept love. She didn’t want to be queen, she wanted to be alone. And that is when she gave me her blood so I could perform the ceremony.”
“So that’s how she did it. I had no idea. Mae never did hold me in high esteem. Now I know exactly how much it took to trick me, and it would seem not a lot.”
“She tricked everyone, Casimir.”
I find a speck of dirt beneath my fingernails and concentrate on picking it out, determined to not let my emotions take hold of me. “I will consult the queen about the most trusted servants to tend to you while you hide here. I will tell them to knock softly three times so you know it’s them. If you hear loud footsteps, hide the best you can. I will do everything in my power to protect you.”
“It is more than I deserve,” she says.
I shake my head. “We all deserve more than this. Do not say that.”
Chapter Six – The Betrayal in the Palace
Casimir
Restful slumbers are a thing of childhood. The court members of Cyne do not sleep. We toss and turn, sweating out our nightmares. The last time I slept without dreaming of my father was in the Waerg Woods with Mae. Now I dream about him, but I dream of her, too.
I thought she was the sister I had always wanted. I was wrong, so wrong. Perhaps it is too late for us now. Too late for what we might have been. I have remorse for that, for not chipping away at her hard exterior and making her realise what is there for her to take. If we are reunited. If.
After the hustle and bustle in the castle leading up to the wedding, the absence of the guests make the palace seem hollowed out—a dry husk devoid of life. Of course, it is partly due to her absence. I never realised how much life she gave me. My chess set sits forlornly in the corner, tipped on its side. It misses her too.
I wash, dress, slip away from my bodyguards, skip breakfast, and head to the gardens. It is a blissful morning; the northern sun cool but bright; the flowers in bloom, neat and tidy thanks to the wedding preparations.
Mother’s handmaiden, a pasty girl with plaits sitting atop her narrow face, hurries towards me and places a small piece of parchment in my hand.
“Clara?” I say. “Is something the matter?”
She does not answer; instead she hurries away, her feet shuffling and her shawl falling away from her shoulders.
I unroll the paper, my heart beating faster.
Meet me in the bell tower at noon.
Yours,
Mother
I frown. Why not the maze as always? Something seems amiss. I head back to the castle, determined to find out what could be troubling her. I go to her chambers but she is missing. Quizzing the guards yields little useful information. Neither the king nor the queen is at court today. Some say the queen is out riding, others insist she has gone to visit the sick in Cyne. My father is presumed hunting. But there would have been more fuss around the palace if he had gone hunting. The cooks would have been preparing the food for his party. The guards would have rushed to gather as much wine as they could carry. There would be much bother regarding the opening of the gate into Cyne and beyond. I would have noticed all this happen.
I decide to track down Mother’s handmaiden. She has to be the only one who knows what is happening at court today. It is strange for Mother to be without her most trusted maid. Clara is always by her side. She only leaves when we meet in the labyrinth. I’ve always felt that Mother should have a more capable handmaiden than Clara, who is little more than a mouse of a girl. Despite being my mother’s maiden for at least ten years, she still seems just as young as the first day she came to the palace. Sometimes I think that Mother has an eye for the vulnerable yet strong. She takes them under her wing and nurtures them. She could have helped Mae if the two of them had been together for longer.
I turn a corner and head towards the library. My thoughts swirl around my mind, filled with panic for Mother. The doors to the library echo in the empty space. This place needs dusting and cleaning. The rugs need to be aired. I live in a shambles of a royal palace, and a shambles of a royal family. We’re weak and divided. Father should be more concerned about civil war than a measly magical diamond.
The stacks are empty and silent. I continue through the palace checking each floor and wing in systematic order. It’s then that I have an idea. Once, Mother told me all about a secret passageway that leads from her room to outside the castle. Perhaps she has hidden herself in there. My muscles tighten. That would mean that she suspects danger. I stop and stand still in the great hall of the palace, turning my body left and right. There is the distant sound of footfall, and then a pause. I turn behind me but there is no one in sight.
I am being followed.
I take a deep breath and continue, walking with a nonchalance my clenched body struggles to emulate. I have to slip this follower if I am to find my mother. Every nerve in my body is on edge. My instinct is to run, but where to? My hand rests on the hilt of my sword. At least I armed myself this morning, prepared for another fight with Lyndon.
Wind softly filters through the windows as I stroll down the corridors, tickling the drapes and making them dance ever so slightly. I walk quietly, listening for footsteps. Did they grow up in the castle as I did? Do they know these walls as I do? I take a sharp right and hurry down one floor to where Ellen’s chambers lie. There is a connecting door between two guest rooms. I can use that, and then double back on myself and hide in Ellen’s room. I move swiftly, taking advantage of being on the staircase alone. My follower hangs back so as not to reveal himself.
I duck into one of the guest rooms and hurry through the connecting doors, before turning down the corridor in a loop. I hide behind a corner, listening to the sound of my follower heading in the wrong direction. When he has passed, I slip down the hall and knock softly on Ellen’s door three times. When I open the door she turns to face me with skin as pale as milk.
I put a finger to my lips.
“What is it?” she whispers, moving towards me. She wears a new dress, one that is very plain and dull in comparison to the attire she usually dons. A servant’s dress.
“I’m being followed,” I reply. It’s only then that I notice the sheen of sweat lining my forehead. “There is something amiss in the castle. I cannot find the king or queen anywhere.”
“Do you think he’s kidnapped her?”
My stomach flips. “No. No, he couldn’t. What purpose would it serve? My mother’s handmaiden gave me a note to see her in the bell tower at noon.”
“And?” Ellen prompts.
“Mother never requests the bell tower. We take walks in the gardens, it is much less conspicuous. Something is wrong. And now I am being followed. Come on, I think we should leave.”
“Why?” she asks, her eyes wide with fear.
“Because if we need to leave the castle in a hurry, I might not have time to come back and get you. And if my father finds you he will kill you.”
I head back to the door with Ellen at my heels. I glance back to check that she is capable of being strong if I need her to be. I see a set jaw and a wilful expression in her eye, but beneath that hard exterior there is a frail girl still in pain from her injuries. She walks with a stiffness that wasn’t there before. I must be smart if I am to get through this.
My mother always trained me for this. She said that one day my father would become the megalomaniac he has been in training to be since birth, that the power would go to his head. She used to show me—and Lyndon—how to escape. And then it was just me. She lost her faith in Lyndon. He became a pawn for my father to use.
I listen for the footfalls of my follower but the castle halls are still and quiet. I take Ellen by the arm and hurry her through the corridors, taking a winding route to protect ourselves. More than once I slip through rooms and connecting doors until I come to the royal wing where mine and my mother’s chambers are. Here, there are combinations on the doors, complicated mechanisms that Mother had Beardsley install. She was
right to be cautious.
I have already been here once today, so I know not to expect my mother as I open the door to her chambers. But then, I get to work with the inner combination, moving the rings into a different position which I know will unlock the secret door in the washroom.
“What are you doing?” Ellen asks.
The last notch clicks into place. “Follow me,” I reply.
Together we step into the bathroom where the large mirror has opened up to reveal a passage of dark stone. Ellen gasps and steps towards the open door, letting the breeze catch her hair. Once more I am reminded of her beauty, but it does not take my breath away as it once did. Instead I feel utterly unmoved.
“Come on, we have to find Mother.” I step through the door and pull the heavy iron lever to close the opening behind us. I grasp a torch from the sconce on the wall and light it with a box of matches from my satchel. I thank the Gods for being prepared today.
Through the shadows we walk; two faded spectres hiding amongst the secrets of the old building. My heart is so swollen with fear that it could be beating in my throat.
“Is this the queen’s secret passageway?” Ellen says in a low, breathy voice.
“If she is in hiding, it is the only place I can think that she would come to.” I don’t turn back to check if Ellen is keeping up with me. I stride on, determined.
“Why would she be in hiding?” Ellen asks.
“My father. He is planning something—an attack of some sort. He wants the throne all to himself, and I am in the way. So is Mother.”
“But… Why would he get rid of his heir? He needs an heir to the throne. There would be war if he died without an heir.”
“There would be Lyndon,” I remind her.
“No one would ever take Lyndon seriously,” she says. “The people would revolt.”
“They take my father seriously. Besides, who says he has any intention of dying.”
“What do you—?”
