“I’m sorry, Father. We were running, coming to warn the house. We did not realize he fell behind,” Prince Adair explained. He looked up at his father, beseeching.
“We have to send someone out to rescue him,” Jon said. He looked to the spattering of armed men that were about. They looked at their feet or at the walls, anywhere but at the duke.
“We cannot spare the men,” Hilliard said reasonably. As much as I regretted to admit it, it was true. Johai was one child, and I would not risk my entire household for one. “The prince’s safety is paramount,” Hilliard continued. “The prince heir and I will leave, and once I do, the gate will close, and no one else shall be let in or out. Even if we let someone out to find him, they would not be back in time before the gate closed,” Hilliard said and looked to the prince heir. I felt as if he had struck me. He’s leaving? Why risk taking the boy away from here?
“What?” His father bristled. “You said we cannot spare a single man to look for my nephew, but you would take my son out there in harm’s way?”
“The king has ordered me to protect the prince heir at all costs. I have to take him from here for his safety.”
My stomach sank. This is madness! The prince would be safer within the castle walls than defenseless outside them. But my fear clamped my mouth shut. I wanted to command him to stay, but what was one woman’s desperate order against the king.
“You’re not taking my son. If you leave, you will surely be killed. We are safe within these walls,” Lord Ilore began, but Hilliard interrupted him.
“If the prince and I flee, then everyone else may be spared,” Hilliard explained. “We can ride for help and send reinforcements.”
“And what if you are stopped?” I asked. “What if you are killed? Duke Ilore is correct; you would be safer here.”
“We’ll travel west, through the foothills. The barricades will protect you for a time, long enough for me to bring Duke Magdale’s force. He is supposed to be a few leagues from here. I shall lead him down here with reinforcements.”
“They are leagues away, and the Neaux are at our doorsteps,” Jon Ilore argued. His face had turned red.
Prince Adair was watching the exchange with wide eyes. His face was pale as new milk. He inched towards his father and grabbed onto the hem of his surcoat. “Father, I don’t want to go.”
“Hilliard, this is madness!” I shouted. Is he in Idella’s pocket? Is he taking the boy to kill him?
Jon Ilore knelt beside his son and spoke to him in low tones.
Hilliard pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “This attack is not coincidence. Someone is trying to hurt the royal family. I fear there is an assassin among us now; the prince is not safe here. I have to take him away. If the Neaux lay siege and the killer is within these walls, he may be slain, regardless. I swore to protect him, and this is the only way I know how.”
I wanted to confess to him that I was the assassin, that the boy would be safe from me, but with Idella here locked inside, the child might not be safe. If I cannot kill Idella, will I let this child’s blood be upon my hands, like Johai’s? How many children must die? I had no choice but to let Hilliard go. There was a chance they might get away and find reinforcements.
“Come,” Hilliard said and held his hand out for the prince. Adair took Hilliard’s hand hesitantly, with one last look to his father.
I watched the exchange, feeling numb. I thought he was going to protect me, but he has abandoned me like all the rest.
“I cannot let one child’s life be spared while another must be sacrificed,” Jon announced. “I need a sword.”
A fisherman’s son ran forward with a rusted blade and handed it to Jon. The scabbard was half decayed, and the belt was too big and hung loose as Jon buckled it around his waist.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“I’m going to find my nephew. He is out there alone and in danger. He is no less important than any of these here.” He swept his hand around the room.
“If you go out there, we will close the gates behind you,” Hilliard said.
“Father!” Adair shouted and tried to run to his father, but Hilliard held him back.
“I have to do this,” Jon said.
He strode to the door and pushed back the chairs and table that were in the way so he could slip through the crack into the dying light of the day.
“We have to stop him!” I said. I looked to the others around me. No one made a move to stop this madness. And that was all it could be called, Jon’s suicide mission and Hilliard’s; they were both mad to risk their lives, for what? If it was Layton, would you not do the same? my subconscious reminded me. But neither of these boys are their sons, I thought.
“We cannot stop him; his mind is made up. He’s going for Johai,” Hilliard said. He laid a hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. I did not understand it. Hilliard gathered some things, a cloak for Adair and himself, a sword for him, and a short sword for Adair. “You will not use this unless I give you leave, understand?” he said to Adair, kneeling so they were eye to eye.
The young prince nodded his head solemnly. Tears were gathering in his eyes as he looked to the door where his father had disappeared.
He turned to leave, and I grabbed his hand to stop him. “You will come back, won’t you?” I asked. Desperation made my voice thick. I do not think we will make it out of here alive, was what I wanted to say, but I dared not voice my fears lest the others went into a panic.
“Don’t worry, your grace. I have made more than one oath. I will not let you die here.”
He and Adair went out the same door that Jon had gone through. I watched them go through the crack in the door and out the gate. I could see the town below through the open gate. Smoke was rising on the horizon. I heard people screaming and children crying. I am in command here now. I took a deep breath. Goddess protect us. We will survive this.
“Bar the door. Close the gate. Let no one else in,” I instructed the servants. The servants closed the door and blocked it with whatever was left that was not nailed down.
I turned to the captain of the guard who had escorted us to White Crest.
“I leave our defense in your capable hands.”
He bowed. “Your grace, I will see you through this, believe me.”
I smiled, but it was forced. I will be strong. Do not let them see your weakness. Death was at our door, but I would not let it see how much it terrified me.
Chapter Twelve
Boom. Boom. Boom. The ram knocked upon the gate below. I heard men shouting orders in foreign and familiar tongues. I held Layton close, he did not cry but trembled each time the ram made contact with the gate. He was trying to be brave, and for that I was proud of him. Let him live to be the rightful Duke of Florett as his father was before him, please.
Boom. Boom. Boom. The battering ram continued its ceaseless knocking upon the gate.
Florian was nearby sobbing and rocking back and forth. Her face was red and streaked with tears she did not even bother to wipe away. Idella sat on one of the few chairs in the room. Her hands were folded in her lap. She spoke with her daughter in low tones and jumped every so often when the ram creaked and the men shouted. Her daughter, Sarelle, was a miniature of her mother, though her hands shook and her eyes often strayed to the barricaded door. We had locked ourselves in the study. The doors were made of thick oak, and the desk and furniture were best placed to keep out intruders.
Inside, we were a motley group of women, from queen to kitchen helper. We arranged ourselves about the room, sitting in circles or alone as we chose, some praying while others stared at the doors. The windows had been boarded up, and we were left in near darkness. We lit a few candles but dared not light the fire in the massive stone fireplace, where once I had found the necklace. My hand groped for it in the dark and held on tight. Meet me beneath the old oak tree. That is where I will be. I rubbed the smooth back side of the pendant and thought of the inscription
in the locket. All that searching had led me to naught. I thought I wanted vengeance, but sitting here on death’s doorstep, I have lost the taste of it. Idella will die here along with the rest of us, and Artor and I will be together once more.
Boom. Boom. Boom. The battering ram roared out in protest. I tried to convince myself we would be safe, that help would come, but night had fallen, and the siege had come to the castle. It was only a matter of time before the battering ram broke through the gate and the invaders poured through. After that, there was little to stop them from slaying all of us. We were few in arms, and those we had were untrained. Inside awaited a motley crew of soldiers armed with antique swords and kitchen knives. On the landing outside our door were a few more soldiers, perhaps two or three dozen, better armed but no real match for a full attack from a Neaux army intent on pillage and rape.
We had been besieged for forty-eight hours before they built the ram and began the ceaseless knocking. The gate had held up this long, but I feared it would not hold much longer. Help is not coming. Hilliard lied. He took Adair because he knew that we were all going to die in here. I took a deep breath, trying to seem calm. I must be in control of my fears. Do not let them see how terrified you are. Be strong. Each boom of the battering ram seemed to ripple through me, and the dread slipped deeper and deeper into my gut.
Florian jumped up. “I’m going mad locked up in here. My husband is lost, and my son has been taken! They are both out there. I must go to them!” she shouted.
“Calm yourself, sister,” Idella said, her tone was more reprimand than soothing. “We cannot do anything for them now. Adair is in good hands, and your husband is a capable swordsman.”
Florian laughed, and it was the cackle of a mad woman. “He is a capable swordsman against a straw doll in the practice yard. My husband has no head for battle. He will die looking for Garrison’s goddess-cursed son!”
“Hush,” Idella reprimanded again.
The servants were huddled in one corner, looking at Princess Florian with wide, terrified eyes. Layton shifted in my lap and grabbed my hand. I wrapped my arms around him tighter.
“Don’t worry; we are safe here,” I whispered in his ear.
“We should flee.” Florian wrung her hands as she spoke. She continued to rock back and forth, now on the balls of her feet. She would stop only to pace back and forth the length of the room. Everyone watched, captivated by her movements. “We are trapped here like rats. Do you know what they will do when they find us?”
Boom. Boom. Boom. The battering ram answered. Someone cried out only to be hushed by another. Idella was staring coldly at the princess. The others only watched in mute terror.
“Nothing will happen. We have the best of the king’s army here to protect us,” Idella said. She placed a hand on her daughter’s head. Sarelle was crying and trembling like a leaf.
Even I could see the lie for what it was. We had old men who had grown fat in their lazy posts, men that were meant only to be here to keep a minor force around the royal family—no one had known and no one had suspected that we would fall under attack here, not in such a safe place.
“You can lie to yourself, but I will not sit here and wait to be used by some Neaux barbarian,” Florian declared. She walked over to the door and began pulling down chairs and dragging the desk away from the door.
“Stop!” I shouted, but she did not heed me. I stood up, intent on pulling her back, but a few of the servants got to their feet and beat me to it. When they wrapped their arms around her, she clawed, kicked and scratched at them.
“You cannot do this, Florian,” Idella said, her voice rising above the din. Panic was rising like the tide in the room. The servants were arguing; everyone was making for the door. “We are safe here. Once the king’s reinforcements come, we will be fine. We must wait.” Idella tried to shout above the noise, but her voice was drowned out. She made her way over to Florian, pushing back the servants, who were squabbling amongst themselves.
The princess swung around and broke free of the cook’s thick arms. She rushed forward, back to the door. Idella managed to get in her path. Florian stopped. Her hair was a tangled mess, the strap of her gown was torn, and she was red-faced and heaving for breath.
“Stop this madness,” Idella said to Florian.
Florian reached back and slapped Idella across the face, as I had once done in the garden. The sound rang out across the room, and the chaos seemed to fade away.
“Don’t stop me, or I will kill you and then escape.” Florian stared at Idella with murderous intent in her gaze.
She has lost her mind, I thought. Why would she want to go out there?
“She will get us all killed,” one of the servants wailed.
“I agree with the princess,” said a villager. “We are trapped here. We should escape while we can. There’s still the servants’ stairs. The soldiers won’t want anything with that; they’ll be after the tapestries and silver. We can go out through the kitchen and run for the foothills.”
“You will be killed the moment you leave this room. Did you not see what they did to the village?” I said. I gestured in the direction of the village, though they could not see it through the dark and the barred window.
They ignored me. “The prince and his guard escaped, and so can we,” someone replied.
Three servants joined Florian in pulling the blockade down, despite our pleas. They would hear nothing of it. When they had all but the massive oaken desk pulled back, they stopped. Florian looked up.
“Do you hear that? The pounding has stopped. We are saved.” Her face was flushed as she and the three servants grunted as they pulled the desk back and ran out.
The sound had stopped, and there was silence. They would have come for us if we were safe. Why have the soldiers not come?
“Wait!” I ran to try to grab the princess, but she slipped through my fingers, following the servants. I stopped in the doorway and looked out onto the landing. There was something dark red puddled on the ground. Florian ran through it before stopping and examining the substance.
She screeched in terror. It was blood covering the landing; it lay in dark puddles all over. Then I saw the bodies bristling with arrows. Men shouted and steel rang out. Someone was begging for mercy, but no one came to his aid. A man came up the stairs, an axe in hand, with olive skin and dark hair. He saw Florian and smiled a salacious smile. She tried to run but slipped in the blood. I tried to run out and save her, but before I could get out the door I was pulled backwards violently and the door was slammed shut. Florian screamed.
“Hurry, put back the blockade,” Idella instructed. It was she who had pulled me back into the room.
Florian’s screams filled my ears.
“Please don’t!” she cried. “Ahhhhhh!”
This cannot be real. I must be dreaming.
Idella and the others piled the furniture back in front of the door. I stumbled away from the door, listening to Florian beg and plead with her attacker. He grunted and groaned as she cried out for us in turn, asking us to save her. I wept, and it was Layton who wrapped a small arm around my waist and coaxed me into sitting down. I should have stopped her. I could have saved her. We all huddled together. The men outside were shouting, and the women who were being raped screamed and cried, begging for mercy. All the soldiers are dead—all our supposed protectors—and we will be next.
I kept thinking the same line over and over. This was a safe place—we should have been safe.
The men tried to get into the room, but their efforts were minimal. Eventually Florian’s cries halted, and I feared the worst. No one dared check the door even after the sounds of the attack faded away. The soldiers were looting the manor. We heard glass breaking and men shouting to one another. Layton grasped my hand, and I held him tight. Princess Sarelle cried quietly. The candles burned out, and no one move to relight them. We waited and waited for the end to come, for them to tire of their looting and to break down the door.
<
br /> Then the sound of looting died away. Someone cried out in alarm. We heard a scuffle outside our door before the sound fell away. I dared not hope, but I listened as the foreign invaders shouted and booted feet ran up and down the landing. For a long time we heard the sounds of fighting, and I was not sure if our invaders had turned upon one another or if our salvation had come at last, but many hours later, when everything had gone quiet, there was a knock at the door.
“Your grace, the fighting is done. You can come out.”
I could have wept just from the sound of his voice. I instructed the servants to remove the barricade one last time, and we moved everything aside. Hilliard stood in the doorway, covered in gore but smiling. He had a tooth knocked out in the fighting, and his lip was swollen. There was a cut on his shoulder, which was bleeding copiously.
I fell into his arms, and without thinking, I kissed him on the mouth. He was stunned for a moment before pulling back.
“You came back, and I owed you that.”
“I promised you I would, and so I did.” He smiled, and it was strange against the gore on his face but so welcome. So very welcome.
Chapter Thirteen
The aftermath was in many ways worse than the actual battle. The bodies and the blood I was spared as much as possible. They could not hide Florian from me. She had survived her ordeal, but the magiker that rode with Duke Magdale’s infantry had to sedate her. The man who had raped her beat her black and blue, and her clothes were torn to shreds. She had a black eye and a motley of bruises all over her body. She slept in her chamber alone.
Jon’s body was found along the shore. He had taken hundreds of sword wounds to the torso and legs. There was one small mercy, Johai had been found alive. They found Johai alongside Jon’s body. JohaiH was covered in blood, but none of it his own. The magiker examined him and found no injury on him. The boy would not tell him where the blood had come from.
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