I held my tongue on the other two names that fisted my heart, not wanting to alert anyone to their presence if by some miracle David and Lilliana were still safely hidden in the trees.
Without a glance my way, Nathanial mounted his steed.
“Nathanial,” I shouted, “don’t you dare leave.”
He left, riding off with his escort in the direction from which he’d arrived. Unaware or uncaring of my eyes blazing into his back.
Bastard.
“Every man on this field will be treated with the respect deserving of a soldier,” a deep baritone rumbled to my side. “The wounded and the dead.”
I glanced at the burly figure, lifted my eyes to his face, and dread twisted my insides. Somehow I’d missed him in the heat of the battle, General Sunderland, the man who headed the King’s army and executed his dirty deeds. A face I’d never forget.
What have I done?
“Do not touch me,” I hissed as he came a step closer.
“You have nothing to fear, m’lady.” He threw a hand up and stayed put. “I do the King’s bidding, and he wishes you very much alive and unharmed.”
That much I’d already surmised. Still, I backed away. The mere thought of this man’s touch, of breathing the same air as him, made my skin crawl.
To my relief, he gave his orders and put some distance between us. I only had time to glimpse the body wagon rolling up before I was led off. Any joy at finding Arandite waiting for me was overshadowed with loss and failure. Nathanial’s trap had been meticulously planned and executed. He’d been two steps ahead of us from the very beginning. The Battle for River Grodden had been lost before the first log had been strapped down for the dam.
My hands were left unbound so I could ride. My mounted guard, which included the general, hemmed me in, the King’s foot army marching at our backs. It was a farce, a show of arrogance. Their orders compelled them to not harm me, and how could I even attempt to flee while the King held my men hostage?
When we kept left at the fork in the road, the full extent of my naivety sank in. Not only a handful of my men, he’d taken my entire mountain hostage. The woodland and the base of the craggy slopes were alive with flaming torches and the infestation of menacing shadows.
I spurred Arandite into a gallop, breaking free from my guard in a direct line to the largest cluster of mounted torch-lit shadows. Nathanial reined his stallion about and met me halfway.
“You mean to attack,” I called, my voice hot with boiled emotion.
He cantered around me so our horses where neck-and-neck. “I sincerely hope it will not come to that.”
I felt his pointed look on me and understood, finally.
“I won’t be your bartering chip,” I said, taking a leap of faith that my life hadn’t been spared only for this purpose. He wanted—needed?—the High Chancellor alive. “Whatever you threaten, Nathaniel, I know you don’t want me dead.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “That’s exactly why I planned for this, you down here, by my side and safe from any crossfire.”
Again, I was that step behind him. How does he intend to use me? That was the one thing I was one hundred percent certain of. He intended to use me, one way or another. He hadn’t spared my life out of an act of compassion.
“It will be a bloodbath,” I said. “You’ll lose half your men, if not more.”
“You’ll lose every last one of yours,” he countered grimly. “And I can’t guarantee some women and children won’t get caught up in the fighting.”
My eyes strained for glimpses of the mountainside through the trees. All was dark and blessed still, although I had no doubt my men were spread out and strategically positioned, armed and ready. I’d done one wise thing this night, leaving Markus behind to protect our home.
“What do you want, Nathanial?”
“Give the order to your people. Bring them down from the mountain. Surrender and no more blood needs to be spilled.”
Perhaps I’d completely lost my mind, but I seriously considered it. If I were up on that mountain, I’d likely defend my home till my dying breath. But how could I sit down here, safely cocooned by the enemy, and expect my people to fight to the death?
I swallowed hard, tasting bile. “Will my men be charged for treason?”
“No.”
I tipped my head to meet his stare, rain running down my cheeks and trickling beneath the collar of my shirt. How far could I trust him? “Will they be pardoned?”
He looked at me a long moment before answering, secret intentions creasing the corners of his eyes. “That depends on what arrangement you and I can reach.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not tonight.” He shook his head, that intense stare never wavering. “The only decision you have to make right now is call your people down from the mountain or watch them die.”
“That’s not much of a choice.”
“It isn’t any choice at all,” he said, holding out the speaking horn.
I snatched the horn, a fire burning in my blood, incinerating all those feelings of uncertainty, failure and weakness into ashes. Nathanial might consider our surrender a declaration of defeat, but for me the fight had only just begun.
- 6 -
I’d never been down to the dungeon. As a child, I’d explored almost every crook and cranny of the castle, but the dungeon was a damp, dark place of phantom echoes and nightmares that had never tempted me. The tower was usually reserved for detaining nobles and court officials, but I suppose that was too good, too lofty for a traitor. Fine by me.
The entrance was around the side, a squat, arched door squashed into the seam where castle wall met the overshadowing mountain. Down two flights of rough steps and along a narrow passage lit with burning torches. For grim effect? The castle and town had electrics powered by the solar sheets. Not magic, my father had once explained, but science, the only advanced technology brought into the Silver Valley from the time before. Not for our convenience, but for the preservation of natural resources.
My pair of escorts hedged me in as we walked, one in front, one behind. They were props rather than guards. I’d ridden myself here and I now walked myself into the belly of this enemy fortress because, as Nathanial had said, there wasn’t any choice at all. The King didn’t need guards and cuffs, he already had my heart and soul chained to all those I’d been forced to leave behind in his care.
Another bolted, arched door at the end of the passage opened into a stone hewn cave. A drip, drip, drip echoed in the recesses, the gargle of underground water spilled from a grated drain I had to step over, shadows scurried, the damp cold of my rain-soaked clothes suddenly seemed that much colder and wetter.
The prison guard was already there, of course he was. Nathanial had known exactly how this night would end. A young man with reddish curls and a tentative smile. He fumbled with the key ring and the lock to the single, large cell barred into the back of the cave, casting furtive glances my way.
My step slowed as I approached, as I took in my new accommodations. Seriously, Nathanial? Deerskin rugs covered the floor. A cot heaped with woollen blankets. Lanterns hung from the walls. A small table held a jug and glass, a platter of breads and smoked meats.
“We’ve, um, made it as comfortable as possible, m’lady,” the redheaded guard stammered.
I raised a haughty brow on him, dropped it just as quickly. He was just following orders. Nathanial was the one playing games. Toss me in the dungeon, but dress it up a little first?
“We’ll be right outside,” one of my escorts said. “If you require anything, anything at all, just let Tremaine know…” A quick glance at the redhead, back to me. “We’d like to make your stay as pleasant as circumstance allows.”
I backed into the cell while staring him in the eye, silent and unblinking, until the man inclined his head respectfully and retreated with his partner, out into the passage beyond. I listened, didn’t hear the bolts shooting into place.
Irritat
ion prickled bone-deep. Out in those mountains, I was the High Chancellor, a respected leader, but I was also simply Rose Welsh. I was not m’lady and I did not want this special treatment, not while I had no idea how my people were being received.
When Tremaine turned from me, leaving the cell gate slightly ajar, I lost it.
“I’m a prisoner here.” I yanked the gate closed with a loud clang that spun him about. “Let’s not pretend this is anything other than that.”
“M’lady, I’m sorry.” His face flushed. “I didn’t think that would be…proper.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I sighed, fisting my hands to contain the tidal storm of emotions. I’d severely underestimated Nathanial and everything that had happened, all those deaths, were as much by my hand as his. Tremaine was the only blameless person in this dungeon. He didn’t deserve my wrath.
I peered at Tremaine closely, trying to place him in my youth. “Did you grow up at the castle?”
“No, m’lady, my family are millers.”
My curiosity peaked. Millers were a coveted trade, mainly because the miller families were housed in a cluster of beautiful cottages along the river falls just outside town—by necessity. The churning water turned the wooden mills that ground the wheat into flour. If there were no children available or willing to continue the trade, however, the family would eventually be forced to give up their cottage and relocate to the town.
“Are you a younger sibling, then?” I asked.
“I’m the oldest, m’lady,” he said. “But I have a younger brother who has already started apprenticing with my father.”
“You gave up your spot?”
A grin split his jaw, chasing off the flushed, stammering boy from earlier. His chest plumed and passion lit behind his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to be a King’s man. If I hadn’t gotten through the trials, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“But you did,” I said with a soft smile, genuinely pleased for this boy—young man—who’d managed to step outside his given role, well aware it was no small feat.
The army intake was by nature prejudiced toward the sons and nephews of King’s men who’d started training since their first breath. That was the way of our society and it functioned well. Seamstresses and tailors taught their children to cut patterns and sew. Bakers taught their children to bake. And so on, and so on.
The King raised princes—or princesses, I supposed, although there’d always been a male heir to the throne.
The High Chancellor raised…well, me.
I gave Tremaine another smile and turned to face the walls of my prison, turned away from the man who’d challenged his fate and won. A luxury that would never be mine.
The tragic events of this night swarmed me, clawed at the pit of my stomach. As soon as I’d called Markus down from the mountain and given the order to surrender—an order that had set his face in stony mutiny—Nathanial had sent me off with my escort. And I’d left, afraid my presence would rally my men to battle. With me gone, the King’s prisoner, they would surrender like lambs to the slaughter.
I wiped a hand across my brow, sweaty with worry, damp with rain. Dear Lord, had I doomed them or saved everyone?
That was the question that ate away at me as I lay on the cot, staring at the mouldy walls, shivering until self-preservation compelled me to crawl beneath the blankets. I drifted in and out of sleep and my worries followed, blood staining my dreams.
I’d asked Nathanial once, so many years ago, why his father needed an army. He’d already moved onto proper training by then, but he still took the time to play fight with me and my wooden sword.
He’d let me cut him off at the knees and we’d fallen onto the grass, him groaning in fake agony, me giggling, and then we’d sat there, watching the training in progress on the field. The clash of steel resounding in the air. The elegant stances and dips. It had all seemed so heroic and glorious but, even at the age of ten, I’d known how irrelevant it had to be. Our world was contained within the shield that had spared this small valley of humanity. The world out there was barren wasteland and empty. There’d never be any wars to fight, any enemy to conquer.
After an endless pause, Nathanial had turned to me with a dimpled smile and a shrug. “Every King needs an army, Rose.”
I hadn’t really understood at the time.
Now I did.
- 7 -
There was no daylight down here in the dungeons, not a crack, but I was accustomed to living in the caves and my body clock didn’t need sunlight to alert me to the arrival of morning. I was wide-awake, sitting on the edge of the cot, when the summons came. My escort, not one of the men from the previous night, took me through a warren of torch-lit passages that eventually opened into what appeared to be the service halls. We walked through a reception area and along a corridor of closed doors, our booted footfalls echoing on the flagstone floor in the silence. Not a soul in sight or hearing, as if Nathanial had cleared the entire wing for my transit.
To where?
I didn’t ask. I’d been raised by my father, after all, and knew how to handle myself and the situation. Nathanial was the one with the answers and the power. That’s where my questions and demands would go.
Once we reached the double-volume foyer with the cherub fountain, I knew exactly where we were.
To my right, the wall of lavishly engraved oak doors that opened onto the summer courtyard.
Ahead, a magnificent archway that fed into the state reception hall.
To my left, a winding stairway that led to the royal living quarters in the west wing. Not the grand marble one, but the service stairs Nathanial and I had often used for quick access to his bedroom.
The setup was replicated at the east wing, for the High Chancellor’s living quarters. My home. Not anymore, not for a long time, but that was the last place we’d been a family. My mother, father, me. So still a home of sorts, in my sacred memories.
Our route to the royal quarters was via the narrow spiral stairway. No surprise there. I was being kept hidden from prying eyes, that much was clear. With good reason. My shirt was bloodied, my hands caked with death, my face streaked with grime, my hair falling ragged from what was left of my ponytail. I was a thing of nightmare and horrors, a blight to innocent eyes.
Nathanial’s boyhood bedroom was on the second landing, but now we turned right on the first landing into a wide passage. Plush carpets. Wainscoted walls in pale cream, dotted with oil landscapes and softly shaded electric lights. I’d missed all this at first. Then I’d hated it. Now I felt nothing for it at all.
My father had once said that people made the room. A warm smile, witty word, infectious laugh, tender caress. A cruel sneer, hard look, treacherous heart.
He was right.
These were just walls, a carpeted floor, a lit passageway.
My focus was on the man who’d summoned me and the supposed agreement we could reach that would set my people free.
The doors we passed were closed, but if this wing were truly a replica of the High Chancellor’s wing, that would be the family sitting area, study, library…the passage curved and a pair of guards came into view, standing to attention in front of a door. I recognized the uniform of the King’s personal guard. Black pants and boots, wine-red jackets with golden sash, gleaming swords hanging from their hips. No capes.
They opened the door as I approached and stepped aside.
“This is where I leave you, m’lady,” my escort said. “Please await the King inside.”
Expecting to step inside the King’s chamber, I realized my mistake at once. The room was decorated in lavender and cream. A poster bed with silken curtains, a seating arrangement by the window, a vanity dresser that held a variety of items I had no interest in.
The room also came with a willowy blond, crease lines around the eyes indicating middle age although her skin was as flawless as her beauty.
“My lady.” She curtseyed low, then rose with a winning smile that faltered
as her blue eyes skimmed my state of disarray. “I was summoned to help you adjust to your new accommodations and prepare for the day. My name is Mary.”
“And my name is Rose,” I said, walking deeper into the room. “Please use it.”
The door clicked closed behind me.
I turned, but no one had followed me in. Okay, Nathanial, I’m here. Where are you?
“I’ll draw you a bath.”
Mary’s voice spun me around again, a heated protest bubbling to my lips. I didn’t want a bath. I bit down on the protest as my thoughts reeled. My new accommodations? Did Nathanial intend to re-instate me, as High Chancellor, in the castle?
Were my father’s sins forgiven?
Perhaps, but the King’s sins would never be forgiven, not in a million years.
I couldn’t do it, couldn’t reset our lives and pretend the past hadn’t destroyed everything good and decent about this place.
I couldn’t…
Not even if it meant my people were forgiven, too?
If their very lives depended on it?
Useless conjecture, but this I did know. If Nathanial wanted to play diplomatic games, he would do so with the High Chancellor, not a mountain urchin with a dirty face.
Mary brought out her winning smile again. “My lady?”
“Rose.”
The smile stayed. “Very well, Rose.” She cocked her head, wrinkled her nose. “About that bath?”
“I’m quite capable of attending to myself, thank you.” The bathroom door stood open and I started in that direction. “Oh…” I glanced back to find she hadn’t moved. “Actually, if you could arrange a clean shirt, that would be great.”
“Already taken care of.” She crossed to the panelled wardrobe and threw open the set of double doors.
I walked over to take a look. My gaze skimmed over the three evening dresses that hung there and I pulled one of the many white cotton shirts from the hanger.
“If it needs any adjustments,” Mary said, “I’ll send for—”
The Traitor's Daughter Page 5