by Simone Pond
“Go to Sinead—she’s one of the chambermaids—and tell her where I am.”
Braxton bowed, then clanged the iron gate shut. Though he chained the bars, Evelyn noticed that he’d neglected to attach the lock. She closed her eyes and waited—it would be either death or Sinead. At the moment, death outweighed life by a landslide …
***
A sliver of light came from a minuscule fissure in one of the stone walls, making the tiniest speckle of gold on the dirt floor of the dungeon. The night had raced into morning, and Evelyn was still sprawled out on the pile of hay. The aches and pains from Prince Kieran’s beating were amplified. Breathing came in small spurts. Evelyn thought it would’ve been easier to cease altogether—anything to alleviate the torment crushing her chest. She tried to lift up her head, but it felt like her skull was full of sharp rocks. The prince had gone out of his way to leave her hanging by a thread. She guessed it was his way of intimidating her into revealing the location of the crystal stone. But she promised herself she’d die before she let that happen. For now it was safe with Aine and there was zero risk of the demon getting his overly polished and too smooth fingers on it.
Evelyn watched the spot of golden light shift to pale silver, then fade out completely. Nightfall had come again and still Sinead had not come to the dungeon with the healer. The only option for avoiding the morbid pain was sleep. And so Evelyn closed her swollen eyes and pictured her mother’s cottage. She thought about the goats. She even tried to remember the smell of cheese curds.
At some point in the middle of the night, a clinking sound came through the tunnel, making it impossible for her to stay asleep. She knew Doran was somewhere down among the prison cells—if he was still alive. But until that moment she hadn’t been inclined to call out to him. Breathing had been the main priority. A pattern developed in the clinking. Someone was trying to make contact. It had to be Doran! She dragged herself over to the iron gate and began hitting the bars with a stone. The clinking grew more intense and rapid. If there was a code, she couldn’t figure it out.
“Doran?” she tried to call out, but her voice caught in her parched throat.
The clinking stopped.
Evelyn dropped the stone and lay curled up next to the iron gate, too worn down to drag herself back to the pile of hay. She stared at the ground, hoping and praying Sinead would once again come to her rescue. But it was an exceptional favor to request. Evelyn rested her pounding head on the dirt and gave up all hope.
***
Evelyn didn’t know how many days had passed. She couldn’t feel her body anymore, having grown numb. If she could cry, she would have let the dam burst, but one of her eyes was swollen shut and the other was parched. Delirium had taken over and whispers echoed through the tunnels, haunting her.
“Same girl?”
“Yes,” a familiar voice replied.
Evelyn pried open her eyes, brushing the dried blood away with her working hand. She wasn’t sure if it was a hallucination—Sinead standing outside of the prison cell gazing down at her and holding a torchlight and a jug of water. Next to her stood a peculiar woman with long white hair and a silver robe. The healer … This was no hallucination; Sinead had gotten Braxton’s message and had come to Evelyn’s rescue once again.
The healer knelt down to get a closer look at Evelyn through the bars, her aquamarine eyes illuminated. “You find much trouble, yes?” she said.
Evelyn groaned.
The healer stood up and removed the chain from the bars, then stepped into the cell. Sinead quietly followed behind and set down the torchlight. She rushed over and carefully dribbled fresh water onto Evelyn’s cracked lips.
“What in all of Galicia did that monster do to you?” she whispered, shaking her head.
The healer sat next to Sinead and held both of Evelyn’s shoulders. The pain gripped each and every nerve ending, sending Evelyn into a state of paralysis. She cried out, then moaned from the pain of that.
“Shhh, you be quiet, now.”
The healer did her strange squatting position and positioned herself overtop of Evelyn, still holding her hands. She stared into Evelyn’s eyes deeply and with an intensity that was palpable. Then she began to hover her hands over Evelyn’s body, starting with the crown of her head.
A light tingling spread down Evelyn’s forehead and temples, then into the sorest parts of her face muscles where Prince Kieran had punched her repeatedly. The healer lingered over Evelyn’s chest area for a while, and soon it was no longer like breathing through a pinhole. The left arm took a fair amount of time as the fractured bones blended and melded back together. But it was Evelyn’s back that required the most healing. The prince had kicked her vertebrae out of alignment and splintered her spine in a few locations.
After a while, the healer stepped away and bowed. “Done.”
Sinead helped Evelyn sit up. “Are you feeling better?”
“Words cannot express …”
“You much better,” said the healer. “But why you no keep the power with you? This wouldn’t happen if you listen to me.”
Was she talking about the crystal stone? And what did she mean by the power? Evelyn wanted to know more, but before she had a chance to spit out a litany of questions, the healer was gone.
“I hate it when she does that,” she said to Sinead.
“She did her job,” said Sinead. “Now, we must get you out of here and away from this castle before the prince returns.”
“How long have I been down here?” asked Evelyn, slowly standing.
“A few days. He’s due back in a couple. For the summer solstice ceremony.”
“I can’t go yet. Doran is down here. I need to find him.” Evelyn leaned against the iron bars for balance.
“I don’t know who you speak of, but I’m not spending one more second in this castle. It’s far too dangerous. We must leave.” Sinead turned to go.
Evelyn reached for her shoulder and nearly toppled over. “Doran is a friend of mine … and Aine’s. I can’t leave him behind.”
Sinead stared at the ground a moment, then handed Evelyn the torchlight and jug of water. “I’ll go ahead to the village and find Aine. If you don’t arrive by sunset tonight, I’m taking the girl and getting as far away from Verubri as possible.”
Evelyn knew that was the smart choice. Sinead could take care of Aine if anything happened. “It’s a deal. But you must promise to wait for me.”
“If you and this Doran lad aren’t in the village by sunset, I can promise you we won’t be there waiting. I want to be long gone before the prince returns.”
Evelyn nodded in agreement. “If I don’t show up, at least promise me you’ll take care of Aine.”
“I promise.” Sinead turned and headed toward the staircase.
Evelyn left the cell, taking the torchlight and the water with her. Doran would undoubtedly need it after days of dehydration. She planned to find him right away, make a speedy break, and get to the village within the next few hours. That was her hope, anyway. She hadn’t factored in the various split-off points in the tunnels leading in different directions; Doran could’ve been down any one of them. The spear of Gorias sure would’ve come in handy at this particular juncture, but the damn thing was still not responding to her call. So she held the torchlight at one of the crossroads and stared down each equally dark path, wondering which way to go. At this rate, she’d be searching for days …
Finally, she took a step to the tunnel on the right. The clinking sound returned—the same one from earlier. A familiar pattern resonated all around her, bringing back memories of a song her mother used to sing. She closed her eyes and listened, trying to discern the direction. The sound was coming from the left tunnel, and so she turned around and went that way instead.
As she trekked deeper into the dungeons, the clinking grew louder and the air colder. Panic struck that she might not remember her way back if she went too far into the darkness. She stopped and called out into the n
othingness.
“Doran!”
Someone’s dreadful coughing echoed through the shadows and she picked up her pace, running toward it.
“I’m coming!”
Evelyn ran until she came to the end of the tunnel and reached the last prison cell. Shock yanked her back—a withered man was chained to the stone walls, his skin sagging over his bones and his hair and beard long and matted.
This wasn’t Doran. It couldn’t be unless he had aged fifty years in the last few days.
The chains around the iron gates were locked, but the lock was old and rusty, so Evelyn used the long end of the torchlight to pound against the rickety old thing until it finally gave. She unraveled the chains from the bars and opened the prison gate. With slow steps, she approached the man and held the torchlight up to his face. As she leaned down and got a closer look, his emerald green eyes kindled with warmth. She recognized those eyes … they were the same as her own.
17
Ciara and Kateline sat sipping red wine from goblets in Ciara’s modest but elegant stateroom on the ship. The journey south to Eshlan would take two days on the White Sea. This gave Ciara two days to figure out how to retrieve Evelyn’s journal from the abominable prince. The greatest obstacle was the prince’s obvious disinterest in Ciara. She’d have to find a way to seduce him into wanting to spend time with her. Perhaps a submissive approach would be best with the beast? But she didn’t want to go to him alone or unprotected; not after he nearly strangled the life out of her for a second time. He’d taken a sudden interest in Kateline, so maybe she could bring her into the equation. This, however, would make her totally reliant on Kateline, which was something she loathed. She’d rather not depend on anyone for anything, but this was merely a stepping stone to regaining her independence. Once she had the treasured journal back in her possession, the prince would no longer have the upper hand. She had a plan, but didn’t want to be obvious and thought it better to steer Kateline into “concocting” the strategy.
Ciara set her goblet on the glass table and leaned forward, taking Kateline’s slender hands into hers. She ignored the spark of heat that came from merely the slightest contact with the dark-haired beauty. “My dear,” she said, smiling. “I don’t want Prince Kieran to find me repulsive. I want to ensure a successful future as his wife. Though I don’t care for him, I would like him to pine for me as he did Evelyn. I don’t want to be his trophy queen. I’d like his respect. You’re quite clever, perhaps you can help me win back his adoring eye?”
The candlelight flickered in Kateline’s face as she gazed at Ciara. “Of course, my little fox. I would do anything for you. Let me think a moment …”
Ciara stood up and began to pace around the seating area, wringing her hands as the wheels in her mind spun. Kateline was beautiful, but so easily manipulated. She was like clay in her hands—just like all the May Day girls. Just like everyone she’d ever encountered. Now all she had to do was drop hints, nudging Kateline in the right direction. The end game was getting the prince alone in his room and locating the journal without anyone noticing.
“He seems to have a fondness for you,” said Ciara, resting her hands on Kateline’s shoulders. Again a ripple ran through her fingers and trickled down her spine, sparking her body to life. Was it the thrill of manipulation? Or something more?
“Regrettably, you are correct about that matter.” Kateline tilted her head back and grinned up at Ciara.
“And I offer you my most sincere condolences,” Ciara teased.
The two laughed for a moment, then Ciara began pacing again. The seed had been planted, and now she needed to let it germinate a few moments. She poured some more wine into each of their goblets and handed one to Kateline, only she faked tripping on the rug and the red wine spilled all over Kateline’s hideous gray chambermaid frock. She jumped up from her chair.
“Oh, pardon me! I’m so sorry! Let’s get you out of this immediately.” Ciara began to undo the tiny buttons along the front of the frock that went from the waistline all the way to the high neckline. It was a ghastly garment, Ciara thought as she tore through the last of the buttons and yanked the soiled frock from Kateline’s shoulders.
Kateline stood in her slip—no corset for chambermaids—and stared at Ciara with a crooked grin. “It’s my only frock, my lady.”
Ciara’s heart raced and her breathing was out of control as she took in Kateline. The slip was so thin she could see right through the material to every curve and line of Kateline’s supple body. She turned away and walked over to the trunk, mostly to gather herself before Kateline noticed her odd behavior.
“I’m sure I have something in here for you …” Ciara rummaged through the trunk of gowns and dresses.
Kateline ambled over to Ciara and knelt beside her, shifting through the dresses. “I have an idea,” she said.
Ciara stopped digging around and looked at Kateline, focusing only on her eyes to keep hers from wandering. “I’m all ears.”
Kateline removed a ruby red dress from the trunk and stood, holding the gown up against her body. “Since the prince is so taken by me, what if I could be your advocate? We could go together and ‘entertain’ him. Surely, the two of us can sway his decision …”
So far, the ploy was working in Ciara’s favor. She needed to play up the vulnerability aspect a bit more. “I think that’s a fabulous idea. And, it also ensures that I’m not alone with the monster …” She paused and stood up, clasping one of Kateline’s hands. “But I must tell you, I don’t like the idea of entertaining the prince. I don’t want him to take away my flower. Not now. Not ever.” She sniffled.
Kateline let the gown drop to the floor and reached out to embrace Ciara. “Oh, my dear friend. Don’t you worry about that.”
Her warm breath on Ciara’s neck felt comforting and something more. She allowed her hands to wrap around Kateline’s slender waist, grazing her fingertips on the curve of her back. She quivered so intensely, Kateline squeezed her tighter.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let him touch you,” cooed Kateline, either misunderstanding Ciara’s response or wanting to explore it further.
Ciara pulled away; it was time to lay the hammer on the final nail. “That’s right. He won’t touch either of us.” She gave Kateline a wicked smile and knelt back down next to the trunk, then she took out a small brown bottle.
“What is it?” Kateline grinned.
“A tincture. Passionflower.”
“And what does this passionflower do?”
“Let’s just say it takes the flame out of the fire …” Ciara chuckled. “Or rather, the steel out of the sword. Especially if mixed with a hearty supply of wine.”
Kateline laughed. “You wicked little fox!”
“It’s something my mother told me to keep around for emergencies. She wasn’t fond of my father … Or any man for that matter. Let’s get you fancied up, then we’ll visit with him for a bit and hopefully our ruse will win him over. And just before anything actually happens … he’ll either pass out or will be so mortified that he can’t perform that he’ll send us away.”
“I simply love the way your mind works,” whispered Kateline, pulling Ciara over to her.
The flames of desire were impossible to deny and for a split second Ciara allowed herself to melt into the moment. She gazed at Kateline and a silence echoed all around them. This is wrong, she told herself. She started to pull away, but Kateline cupped her face and kissed her. Soft and tender, the wet kiss sent Ciara’s heart into a cataclysmic eruption. Their moans grew louder as their hands began to explore each other’s bodies. Ciara wanted more. She wanted all of Kateline.
But she had a plan.
“We must not,” groaned Ciara.
“Why? No one will ever know. It will be our secret.”
Ciara didn’t like secrets, especially those that could be used against her. She stepped away and picked up the red dress, then handed it to Kateline. “We must go to him tonight. I’d like to
win him back by the time we arrive in Eshlan tomorrow.”
18
Evelyn leaned the torchlight against the wall and knelt next to the old man. He was like a baby bird as she dribbled cold water into his parched mouth.
“You and I have the same eyes,” she murmured.
He nodded and waved for more water.
Evelyn gave him enough so he was able to clear his throat and whisper something. She leaned closer to his mouth.
“Lugh of Gorias …” he said, gasping.
It felt like the ground had dropped out from underneath Evelyn, and all the air from her lungs evaporated in an instant. She couldn’t speak.
“Lugh of Gorias?” She managed a whisper.
The chains around his bony wrist made a crisp clang as he reached for her hand. “Been here eighteen years … I’m …”
“My father,” said Evelyn.
Lugh attempted to smile but it looked more like a wince. “Yes … the prophecy … What is your name?”
“Evelyn. Daughter of Deirdre, from the hamlet of Ocelum.”
Lugh began hacking and coughing again, nearly passing out. Evelyn gave him some more water. He was so faded and fragile she was afraid he’d break and turn to dust.
“Why are you here, daughter?” he asked.
“Well, it’s a long story … but I was chosen by the prince to be a lady-in-waiting. But when he learned of my true background, he wasn’t too pleased.” Evelyn grinned. “Honestly, I’d found out only recently myself. I was raised to believe I was a May Day baby. But before the prince brought me to the castle, Mother told me that I was meant for a far greater destiny. And she told me about my legendary father, Lugh of Gorias, the dragon slayer.”
He was able to crack a slight grin. “Not much of a legend.”
“Your name still lives on. And the spear … it found me,” said Evelyn.
“Making it your time to carry on the legend …” He paused to catch his breath. “Deirdre?”
“She’s alive and well in Ocelum. One of the wealthiest landowners. She exports her wine all over Galicia.” Evelyn tried to gauge her father’s reaction, but he was so lifeless. She realized he was waiting for more details—the most important ones. “She never married. Many male suitors came, but she turned them all away. You were her one true love.”
