Ammey McKeaf

by Jane Shoup

  Ammey was the first to climb into the carriage. She realized she had talked back to her father, something she never did. Some of her anxiety was allayed when Tom, of all people, sat beside her and took hold of her hand. She looked out the small side window at the comings and goings of strangers and tried to hold back the tears that threatened.

  David sat across from her and let out a shaky breath. “I have never hated anyone as I hate her,” he said quietly.

  “Nor I,” Tom agreed just as quietly. “I wish she was dead.”

  Her father climbed in the carriage next and sat next to David. Anthony came last. Ammey kept staring out the window. They were jostled as the carriage started in motion.

  “We will not speak of this again,” her father said.

  Ammey chanced a look at him and found him watching her with a tender expression. “I should not have allowed you to come,” he said.

  She couldn’t speak without losing all control, so she shook her head and tried to silently convey how dearly she loved him.

  He sighed and looked out the window. “I should have known she was beyond reaching.”

  Ammey looked back out her window and swiped at the tears that refused to stay in check. Familiar looking men on horseback passed them, headed in the opposite direction. With a jolt of shock, she realized it was the Five. Vincent gave her a sad salute as if to bid her goodbye. She pressed a hand to the window, wanting to call out, but she had no voice.

  “There, there. It’s a nightmare,” a female voice said soothingly. “You’re having a nightmare. Quiet, now. Rest quiet.”

  It took great effort, but Ammey opened her eyes. She saw the same windows she’d seen in an earlier dream, large with a golden lattice. She was in yet another dream. She couldn’t wake. She kept passing from one dream to another, although what she had just experienced had been a memory for the most part. A woman was sitting next to her bed, her gown plain and stark, her hair pulled back into a cap. She was sewing something. “I can’t wake,” Ammey said in a raspy voice.

  The woman blinked in surprise and then leapt to her feet. Ammey realized this was not a dream. One did not feel so ill in dreams. The woman hoisted her forward and brought a cup to her mouth. “Here, drink.”

  Ammey swallowed, but it also dribbled down the side of her face and soaked into her gown. When she could drink no more, the woman eased her back, wiped her face and straightened her bedcovers. “Where am I?” Ammey asked weakly.

  “You’re safe. You’re in the palace.” The woman hurried to the bell-pull and tugged it. “I’ll get the physic.”

  Palace? What palace? Where had she last been? Suddenly, the memories of the attacks on Julia and Cael and Zenon came rushing back at her. She struggled for breath.

  “Shush, now,” the maid said. “Quiet yourself. You mustn’t get upset.”

  But it was all coming back. Vincent and Forzenay and the others. Draven. Tariq. Daleog. They’d been taken prisoner, marched for days on end, treated with no mercy. “Catherin,” she murmured. She tried to sit up, but couldn’t. “What happened to Catherin?”

  Marko Corin stepped into the room and saw the injured woman was awake and agitated. He came around and sat on the side of her bed, taking hold of her arms. “Calm yourself. You’ve stitches that could break.” He glanced back at the maid. “Fetch food and wine,” he said.

  She hurried from the room.

  Marko looked back at the patient, mesmerized by her unusual shade of green eyes. “I’m going to help you sit up,” he said soothingly. She was visibly trembling, but trying to calm herself. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her to a sitting position. He fluffed her pillows so she could be more upright, and then leaned her back against them.

  He lifted the cup of water to her lips and helped her to drink. It was peculiar to be caring for her. The only person he had ever waited on was his brother, and that was many years past. “That’s better,” he said. He set the cup down and leaned closer to examine the wound on the side of her forehead. The bruising looked terrible. It would require more leeches. “You were badly injured, but your wounds have been tended. They need more care yet, but you must stay calm. You very nearly died.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Let me ask the questions first,” he said gently. “Your job is to stay calm and to let us help you. You want to get well, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she replied barely above a whisper.

  “Good. What do you remember?”

  She looked lost for a moment. “I—” she began. “We were—”

  “Take your time.”

  “The village,” she said. “They attacked.”

  “Daleog?” She nodded slightly, careful not to move her head any more than necessary. He suddenly suspected she didn’t know who he was. She’d been so full of fire and hate, or so he’d been told, and yet here she was obeying his dictates and answering his questions. He felt no animosity from her. “Who attacked?”

  “Corin’s wolves,” she replied with such a flash of raw hatred, he knew for certain she did not realize who he was. A bizarre situation if he’d ever encountered one.

  He’d never before been in this situation, nor was he likely ever to be again. “Why?” he asked.

  She moaned softly and her eyes closed. “Because they’re evil.”

  Evil. The accusation stunned him.

  Her breathing grew more even.

  “Can you stay awake until you’ve eaten something?”

  She managed to reopen her eyes. “I’ve had such dreams.”

  He took her hand in his. She seemed so delicate and fragile when she was not full of animosity.

  She lost her battle to keep her eyes open. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s alright,” he replied softly. For several minutes, he sat brooding over the fact that she called him evil. Zino had said something about doing what was necessary to strike fear in the hearts of people. It was high time he learned the unpleasant details that had been withheld. He needed to know exactly what had been done in his name.

  It was dark outside when Ammey next woke. The maid attending her was slumped in a chair fast asleep. There were two candles left burning on the table and one was nearly down to the nub. Ammey had to relieve her bladder. She sat up slowly wondering if she could make it to the water closet in the corner.

  She maneuvered her feet to the floor feeling strangely detached from her body. Her wrists were bandaged, and there was a sturdy wrap around her left ankle. She stood, carefully testing her weight on it, and then clumsily limped to the closet and made use of the chamber pot. It provided relief, but she felt so terribly weak.

  She’d been told she was at the palace. But what palace? Obviously, they’d been rescued, but by whom? She remembered being marched, but then nothing else. There were only three palaces in the country, plus the castle of Qaddys. N’awllah was the most logical answer since it was the closest city to Daleog, but how long had they marched? And they had gone north.

  She made her way to the window. Once there, she gasped and her head swam from the shock of the great height she found herself. She reached out for the wall and the glass, reeling from the sensation of being at such a height. N’awllah’s palace was flat. And they had gone north. She felt a tightening in her stomach as the obvious conclusion dawned. But she was being cared for as if they’d been rescued. As if she was a guest. She could not be in Bellux-Abry. It made no sense. Unless they knew who she was and wanted to trade her back to her family at some terrible cost, perhaps her father’s and brothers allegiance. Was that it?

  Light snaked into the room and she turned to see the physic standing in the door, having come to check on her again. She saw him glance at the sleeping nurse before coming toward her with a worried expression. He was exceedingly handsome with dark hair and deep brown eyes. More importantly, he had a kind, caring manner. She had to appeal to him.

  “Are you well enough to be up?” he asked quietly.

  “Where am I?” s
he asked in a shaky voice.

  “Bellux-Abry,” he replied, watching her closely.

  She closed her eyes and bowed her head. The answer was the one she’d most dreaded hearing. “Wha—” She had to know and so she opened her eyes. “Why am I here? Please, tell me. Please! Tell me the truth.”

  The question seemed to bewilder him for a moment. “Because a party, which included the king, came upon you. He took mercy.”

  “Corin?” she practically spat. “He knows no mercy!” The physic was taken aback by her outburst. “Please,” she begged. “Help me. I must get away from here.”

  “You very nearly died. You are not thinking clearly. You have to get back in bed, rest and recover your strength. You will feel differently in the—”

  “It would be better to die than to be held by Corin!”

  He shook his head, baffled by the declaration. “Why do you say such a thing?”

  He was sincere. Probably because Corin had been good to him. It was possible. Even monsters had pets. Perhaps the physician did not know of the atrocities committed outside the city walls. “Corin,” she uttered softly. “He’s been good to you?”

  He hesitated. “Why do you hate him so?”

  “He is evil,” she breathed, desperate to have him on her side. Who else could help her escape? “His men murder and rape. They destroy villages for no reason. They destroyed Wydenyl.”

  He seemed stunned. “That’s a lie!”

  She shook her head slowly. “I saw it. I was there. Two of my friends were killed there. His men, his wolves, attack innocent people everywhere,” she continued, talking quickly. If she could just keep talking, keep explaining, maybe she could win him over and he would help her. “My closest friend was raped and murdered by his men. They ravaged her and then cut her heart out.” He backed up a step into shadow so that his face was obscured. She knew she was shocking him, but he had to know. She had to get him on her side.

  The nurse’s snoring stopped abruptly. She sniffed, looked around and got up. “Oh, sire,” she said, dropping at the waist.

  Ammey frowned with confusion because the woman’s utterance made no sense. Then it did and the truth hit like a vicious slap. She gawked with wide, disbelieving eyes. The nurse had remained cowed and she was whimpering apologies. Ammey swayed, sickeningly lightheaded. Corin stepped close enough again that moonlight once again illuminated his face. His eyes were so compelling, so full of concern. It wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t possible!

  He reached out and caught her as she slumped into a dead faint.

  Zino recognized that this was the first of his moments and he had been preparing for it his entire life. “Wydenyl was destroyed,” he confirmed. “It is true.”

  “Are you mad?” Marko Corin demanded, his voice shaking with fury. “What have you made me?”

  “Feared and respected.”

  “Respected? Don’t you mean detested?”

  “The vanquished will always resent the victor. But do you not see? Your name commands respect. Your army commands fear. A parent must have the attention and the respect of the child before the child can be ruled.”

  “By destroying a sacred temple? An entire village?”

  “We will rebuild anything you wish once it is one country under your control. Bigger than before. Better than before. Marko, Azulland needs a strong leader, and there should be one king. How many kings does France have? England? This is your destiny!”

  Marko turned away and ran his hands through his hair, unable to think. It was always this way around Zino. The man had held too much control over his affairs for too long. “And ladies being ravaged and murdered? What of that?”

  “I know nothing about that, but soldiers sometimes lose control.”

  Marko turned back to him, incredulous. “Lose control?”

  “It’s terrible, I know,” Zino said, quickly. “But, in a fortnight, we will march our forces into Shilbridge and set up camp. It will not be a siege. We’ve already sent emissaries to negotiate an annexation.”

  Marko gave him a withering look.

  “I swear it,” Nafino Zephyr pledged. “I have withheld unpleasant details from you, but I have never lied to you.”

  Marko turned away again, but he was listening.

  “At that point, we’ll control the entire northern region,” Zino continued. “N’awllah will capitulate easily. It’s what they do best. And when they do, we will control nearly half the country. There is some strength in the southern region, but will they be willing to face civil war? Even if they were, they could not win.”

  Marko paced and then doubled back to sit in his throne. It was his to rule from. It had been his father’s and his father’s and his. He thought best from here. He remembered who he was from here. No woman, no matter how beautiful she was, would sway him from his destiny or control what he thought or what he did.

  “A year from now, you will be king of Azulland,” Nafino Zephyr pledged. “Three of the four royal families will be given titles of nobility. We can create a new class of nobility for them, if you wish. The temple of Wydenyl can be rebuilt, bigger and better than before. Whatever you wish. My only purpose in life is to serve the great house of Corin and to help fulfill your destiny.”

  Marko continued to scowl.

  “I know you are burdened,” Zino remarked after enduring all the silence he could. “What can I do to help you?”

  “Leave me. I need to think.”

  “Allow me send for Eskarne or one of your other women, perhaps. Some distraction and wine and everything will look clearer on the morrow.”

  “I wish to think in peace!”

  Zino bowed and backed away, relatively certain the first of his moments had been a complete success. “As you wish, sire.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ammey stood at the window as the sun began to set. The height she found herself at had frightened her at first and it still gave her an odd, springy feeling in her stomach. How remarkable it was to be able to watch people going about their lives when they had no idea that she watched or even existed. She could see beyond the city to farmland with neatly planted fields squared off into different crops. If only she could wish herself there.

  She pressed her forehead against the glass and thought of Dane. Could he sense her from this distance? He’d often been able to when they were at home. He’d always known when she was in danger or hurt. By now, her family would have received the letters she and Forzenay had sent, so they would think she was well and safe in Daleog. Or had they come for her only to find her gone? She turned toward the room with a sigh, crossing her arms tightly. She had to stop dwelling on it. There was no possible way to know how or where her father and brothers were, or what they were thinking, feeling or doing.

  There was a knock at the door, and then it opened. A maid entered and curtsied. “The king says you are to join them for the evening banquet,” she said with a smile. She stepped further in and other maids followed bearing gowns, slippers, accoutrements and accessories.

  Ammey was flummoxed “Why? What is this?”

  The maid who’d first spoken blinked nervously. “The king said these were to be brought to you,” she replied haltingly. “That you are to join them in the great hall when you are sent for, my lady.”

  Obviously, the maid did not understand she was a prisoner.

  “Shall we dress you now?”

  “No,” Ammey replied.

  “Later, then.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I will not require help dressing, because I am not going.”

  The maid looked shocked. She curtsied again and quickly left, as did all the others.

  In the silence that followed, Ammey stared at the door and then started toward it, limping slightly because of the stiffness of her ankle, although it was mostly healed. Every day, for more than a week, she had tried the door and it was always locked. Surely the maids had noticed that. What kind of a guest was l
ocked in her room all hours of the day and night?

  She reached the door and turned the knob. Her breath caught to find it unlocked. Her heart picked up its pace as she carefully pulled it open, but a guard was standing there with key in hand, ready to slide it into the lock. He gave her a hard look, shut the door and locked it. She turned and leaned against the door with a disgusted sigh.

  She went to inspect the items in the wardrobes. Running her hands over the fine silks and velvets, she wondered about Corin’s motivation in sending them. She hadn’t seen him since the night she discovered who he was. He had seemed kind at first, but then she had called him evil to his face. Since then, he had ignored her. For ten long days. And now gifts?

  She pulled out a gown of black velvet with delicate gold embroidery. The wide V-neckline plunged low over a sheer gold linen partlet. It was elegant and highly sensuous. She hung it back up and pulled out another, a square-neck, red silk. The sleeves were fitted at the top and hung wide open at the bottom. There was a luxurious slate-gray gown with light brown silk trimming. The bodice was tightly fitting and cris-crossed with strands of tiny copper-colored beads. She held it against herself and saw the skirt was cut to reveal folds of brown silk underneath. She’d never had anything so fine.

  She hung it back up and looked over the others, more than dozen of them. It occurred to her that they all looked fitted and they all looked like they would fit. Had she been measured when she was insensible? The thought made her shiver with repulsion.

  What did Marko Corin want with her? Whatever it was, she would never give it to him.

  ~~~

  That evening, Marko was bored with the conversation and agitated that she had not yet shown. He saw the servant he’d sent to fetch her and waved the man over. “Where is she?” he asked when the man bent close. He asked it quietly, barely moving his lips.

  “She says she is not well enough to come, sire.”

  With a flick of his fingers, the servant stepped away. Not well enough? The reports he’d received indicated otherwise. Eskarne and her troop of dancers moved into the room to visit and tease and tantalize before their performance began. He had no interest in watching, so he finished his wine and left the hall.