Fairytales Slashed: Volume 8

by Samantha M. Derr

"Thank you," Janos said, staring in bafflement at the tiny sheaf of papers. He'd expected to nearly be bowled over with the weight of at least a dozen books. Was there really so little information about the land they'd just taken over?

  "You're welcome," the King said. "Anything else?"

  "Not at the moment, no," he answered, and the King nodded and then strolled over to the bed, sitting down next to Mariska.

  "Up, I said. The ambassadors from Kaido aren't going to greet themselves."

  Feeling worse than awkward, Janos hurried from the room, retreating back to the safety of his own quarters, where he spread the papers out on his bed.

  Of the eight pages of information, three of them were maps estimating the range of the western lands, and one was an illustration of a village the writer had come across. Both the men and women were topless, wearing a dark, draping material around the waist that fell to just past their knees. He had heard that it was warmer off to the west—the soldiers who had been invited to banquets after the war's end always made a point of complaining about the unbearable heat they'd dealt with—but it was still jarring to see so much bare flesh. In the castle, a skirt cut too short or sleeves rolled up past the elbow would set tongues wagging for a week.

  Everyone in the drawing wore a multitude of necklaces, and Janos wondered at their meaning, if there even was one. Were they simple decorations that people wore for fun, or did each of them mean something specific in the way that flowers did here?

  It took Janos less than half an hour to read through all the information available, and when he was finished he leaned back against his headboard, feeling more frustrated than enlightened.

  Nothing truly useful. Simply notes from two explorers who had gone wandering into the western lands, one of whom wrote extensive and snippy notes about how barbaric and strange their unexpecting hosts were, while the other one wrote fawningly about how ‘charmingly backwards' their society was, and how fascinating it was to see ‘a culture so thoroughly removed from the trappings of manners'.

  The prisoner had spoken the mother tongue, Janos thought. Had neither of the explorers thought to talk to the people they were with? The notes were filled with their observations of customs and what they thought each might mean, but no direct quotes from the folk they were observing.

  "Ridiculous," he grumbled, gathering the papers up and setting them on his bedside table. He almost wanted to march over to the garden shed right now, papers in hand, and get some honest answers, but after last night, the thought of visiting caused an unpleasant tightness in his stomach.

  He would visit again, he was almost certain of that. But not for a good long while. Give the prisoner time to hopefully calm down, and give himself some time to get over this damnable fright.

  Janos already knew what gift he would leave once he gathered the courage to go back inside. A white rose, which meant ‘new beginning'. And he would leave a book on the meanings of flowers as well. If he could speak the mother tongue, hopefully he could read it as well. If not, the pictures of the flowers would hopefully provide a comfort; they always had for him.

  *~*~*

  Of all the people he might've expected to run into on one of his midnight visits to the library, Mariska was at the bottom of the list. Janos would've sooner expected to find one of the twins; their father was always getting after them to study more about tax laws and holiday customs among different villages and the like since one of them would take the throne someday.

  Mariska continued to stare out the window, clearly unaware that there was anyone else in the room. Janos rubbed the back of his neck and then moved slightly closer, clearing his throat.

  She turned to him quickly and then back to the window again just as fast, but not before he saw that one of her eyes was swollen shut.

  Forgetting propriety and the tense relationship the two of them usually had with each other, he scurried to her side. "Who did this to you?" he asked. "My father will—"

  And then he saw the look on her face and realized.

  It must have shown on his face, because she looked away again, her small hands clenching into fists. "Go ahead, laugh," she challenged. "I earned this, didn't I?"

  "No," he said solemnly. "No one earns such things."

  "It isn't always this bad," she told him. "It's because of that ridiculous war. I thought his mood would improve once we'd won, but those savages off to the west are far too confrontational. They've killed six of our soldiers this week alone! It'll get better. Once things calm down again, it'll get better."

  "Mariska." He swallowed hard, not daring to think too closely about this offer. "I can get you out of here."

  "I told you, he's…" She trailed off, something very close to hope dancing across her expression. "How?"

  "I know of a break in the outer wall," he said. "It's very small; entirely covered by vines. It was listed on a map done decades ago, one of the ones in my father's private files."

  "So he knows of it?"

  "Yes, but that doesn't matter," he said. "By the time he realizes you used it, you'll be long gone to… do you have somewhere to go? Family?"

  "I have family, yes," she told him. "Across the ocean."

  "You… you're from Pristaria?"

  "Yes. Which you would know if you'd ever bothered to speak to me." She sighed. "Pardon my manners. It's been a long night."

  "No, I understand," he said, suddenly feeling quite ashamed of himself. In the eight years that she'd been in this castle, he'd never once thought to ask where she'd come from, who her family was, who she'd been before she'd become the King's mistress. At first he'd been upset at the idea of someone taking his mother's place, however unintentionally, but he'd had more than enough time to get over that initial hostility. He should have reached out long before now. "I'm sorry."

  "It's all right."

  Janos looked out the window, to where the sun was just barely starting to peer over the horizon. "Tonight, as soon as he's asleep, grab whatever you need to bring with you and come to my room. I'll show you the way out, and hopefully he won't realize you're gone until morning."

  "Or afternoon, even," she said. "I can tell him that I'm going to take a tour of the villages come tomorrow morning."

  "Good idea."

  He started to continue, to ask her the questions he should have asked years before this, but she suddenly backed away from the window. "I need to get back," she said. "If he realizes I left the room looking like this…" She shook her head, and then gave him a faint smile. "Good night, Janos. And thank you."

  *~*~*

  When he heard the soft knock on his door, Janos leapt up from where he'd been sitting on the end of his bed. Mariska stood there in a long traveling coat and carrying a small bag, and despite the yellowing bruise on her face, she looked as happy as he'd ever seen her.

  "Are you sure about this?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said, leading her into his room. "We'll go down the servant hallways to the Royals' private courtyard," he said. "Those halls should be pretty deserted this time of night; morning kitchen shift won't be getting up for another hour or so. The courtyard opens up into the main grounds over on the northern side. From there it's a straight run to the opening in the barricade."

  "What if someone sees us?"

  "Well, if it's before the barricade, we just tell them that we're taking a walk around grounds because neither of us could sleep, and you've got everything ready to go for your village tour at daybreak," he said, nodding to her bag. "If it's at the barricade itself… you run. Have any coin in that bag?"

  She shook her head, and he went to his bedside table, unlocking the drawer with a key he kept under his mattress. He took out a large handful of blue and silver coins, and dropped them into her bag as soon as she opened it. "There," he said. "That should give you enough to let you hide if need be, or buy passage on a boat that the King doesn't have on his charter."

  Mariska nodded once, nerves clearly starting to overtake her, and he headed for the door.
She took a deep breath and then hurried out into the hallway as well, walking beside him, her head high.

  They made it down the servants hallway without encountering anyone—given that the workers here had gotten no break in their duties after the intensity of the end-of-war celebration, it was no surprise they were taking any chance they could to catch up on their sleep—and then they were out into the Royal Courtyard. The only folk allowed here were himself, Mariska, the twins, and his father. His father was asleep, and if his brothers were up and about at night, it was to some Lady or Duchess's bed, not here.

  Which was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a cheerful "Hello!" from across the courtyard. Looking to the side, he saw Marek, one of the gardeners, busy trimming up a hedge.

  "Good evening," Mariska said, when Janos didn't say anything, just blinked as he felt his throat close up with fright. "My, you gardeners work late."

  "Best to get it done out of the sun's heat, Mistress," he said with a bow. "Sorry to interrupt."

  "That's quite all right," she said. "Janos here is just keeping me company during my insomnia. I can never sleep the night before I tour the villages. It's always so wonderful to see the people and how they're getting along."

  "And I'm sure they're always glad to see you, Mistress. Our Valeria used to do the same thing, you know. Tour the villages. I do want you to be careful, though; she likely never would've caught the Rat's Disease had she not ventured too close to some poor ill citizen. Visit all you like, but keep a safe distance, all right?"

  "I will."

  "Grateful to hear it, Mistress. Have a good night," Marek said, and then he turned and got back to his work.

  Janos and Mariska walked around one of the winding hedges out of the man's sight, and Janos finally felt his breathing start to even out again. "Sorry," he gasped. "Not… not good under pressure, I suppose." Hadn't he always suspected as much?

  "That's quite all right," Mariska said. "It's over and done with." She reached the narrow entrance out to the main yards, and hesitated. "When they realize that I've gone, that gardener will tell the King that he saw us."

  "Don't fret about it," he told her. "I'll just say that we went for a walk, you headed back up to your quarters, and I didn't see you after that."

  "What were you just saying about your skill under pressure?"

  "I'll be fine," he said firmly. "If they even realize I had something to do with this, father will roar and stomp around and threaten me, then he'll act like I don't exist for at least a month's time, and then things'll go back to normal. That's how it's always played out whenever I've proved myself a disappointment."

  "You're far from a disappointment," she said, giving him the first fully genuine smile he'd ever seen from her. "You know, back in Pristaria, I was in love with the palace chef. She was stunning, and so absurdly talented for someone so young. I'm sure she's long wed by now, and hopefully happy. But I—well, there's no sense in not finding out, is there?"

  "None," he said, and then he took her hand, intending to lead her to the covered spot in the barricade. To his surprise, before they left the shelter of the gardens, she pulled him into a tight hug.

  Glancing around again for any sign of the guards, he ran to the spot in the wall that had been marked on the map, and that he'd investigated a time or two before when he'd been a child. Grabbing a fistful of the thick, yellow-leafed vines, he pulled them to the side enough to allow her a small gap through.

  She nodded in thanks and gave him a quick grin, and then she was gone.

  Janos let the vines fall back into place and scurried back to the Royal Courtyard, sitting down next to one of the hedges and waiting until the snipping sound of Marek's hedge-trimmers finally stopped and he heard the gardener's footsteps heading back for the castle. Then he went back inside himself, hurriedly changing out of his outdoor clothes once he was back in his room.

  On impulse, he went to the window instead of climbing straight into bed. Guards wandered along the base of the First Castle, some leaning against the walls, some talking to each other. On the third story, a candle was lit in one of the windows, and a figure stood beside it.

  He was leaning out the window slightly, looking down at the guards, and Janos wondered if he was trying to decide whether a jump from that height would kill him. Then the man looked up, straight at him, and Janos felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he ducked out of sight.

  What are you doing? he scolded himself a moment later, once the jolt of adrenaline had worn off. It isn't as if he can do anything from all the way over there.

  But then, what was he supposed to do if he moved back into sight? Wave?

  In the end, Janos just crawled into bed, his mind overcome with flashes of dark, battered skin and strong arms and the smell of leatherleaf soap.

  *~*~*

  It was late that night before the King realized that Mariska was truly missing. He asked one of the other carriage drivers if he knew when his coworker intended to come back from the tour, and the driver had said he knew nothing about a village tour today.

  The King went first to the stables, and saw that all of their horses were accounted for; none had been harnessed to carriages to lead Mariska away.

  After that, he checked her favorite places in the castle—both libraries, the Royal Courtyard, the seamstress's quarters—believing he may have misheard her about the carriage ride; perhaps she was here, he thought, and was leaving on her tour tomorrow.

  When the search didn't reveal her, then the questions started.

  Janos sat in the throne room along with his brothers and watched the questioning go on with the same puzzled, curious expression that the twins wore, right up until the moment when Marek assured the King that he had seen Mariska out in the Royal Courtyard with Janos very late the previous night.

  "Janos," the King said, turning on him slowly. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

  "I didn't think it mattered," Janos said, hoping that his face was the picture of innocent confusion. "Neither of us could sleep, we went for a walk, and then she went back upstairs. I thought nothing of it."

  "And I wouldn't think anything of it either," the King growled, "if you hadn't been courting someone."

  "Wh… what?" Janos stuttered, and now he didn't have to fake the confusion on his face. "No, I—"

  "You've been gathering roses. Squirreling gifts away. Every time I catch sight of you lately you're staring out some window or other with an addled look on your face, and now I find out you've been taking midnight walks with my mistress?"

  "That isn't what happened!"

  "Then you'd best have a believable explanation."

  What could he say? Janos wondered frantically. He couldn't explain what he'd actually been up to—not only would they block off his passageway to the First Castle, but they'd probably punish the prisoner for not letting the guards who brought him his food and water know that someone else had been inside. Saying that, yes, he and Mariska had been having an affair still wouldn't answer the question of where she had gone—

  It had been nearly a full day since he'd led her to the barricade, Janos thought. It was four hours' walk to the ocean, and that was if she hadn't rented a carriage the moment she'd gotten to the closest town. Even considering possible delays, there was almost no chance that she wasn't already on a ship heading home.

  He'd done something. No, it hadn't been a valiant act in battle like what he'd once imagined, but he had done something.

  "She's gone," he said simply. "You can't lay a hand on her again."

  The King's face darkened with anger. "My quarters. Now," he ground out, and Janos followed. He knew he should be terrified, but he couldn't seem to call up any emotion other than a quiet satisfaction. His brothers followed behind him, asking questions that it didn't sound like they honestly expected answers to and muttering about how much trouble he was in.

  The King slammed the door behind them all, pacing from his bed—Janos remembered the last time
he'd been inside here, Mariska lying on the bed, half-hidden under the covers—to the window.

  "What has ever led you to believe," King Lorand finally snapped, "that the relationship between me and my mistress is any of your business?"

  "You hit her."

  "And you cannot tell me you've never been tempted to do the same! She spoke disrespectfully and was punished for it." Janos said nothing in reply, just watched him pace, and the King finally stopped in front of him. "Well? Apologize, boy, if you want any hope of getting out of this unharmed yourself."

  "Father," Ambrus said. "Don't hurt him. He was just—"

  "He was trying to help," Abel finished. "A foolish decision, yes, but he—"

  "I did not ask either of you!" the King roared, his gaze remaining on his youngest son. "Apologize."

  Feeling like he had sunk so far down into quicksand that there was no point in trying to pull himself out, Janos tilted his chin up. "I will not."

  "How did you get out?"

  "I'm not going to—"

  "How?" Lorand screamed, and Janos flinched back.

  "In the… in the wall. Close to the Royal courtyards. There's an old passage hidden behind the vines."

  The King's hands clenched into fists, and then he looked around the room as if searching for something to throw. Instead, his gaze landed on the papers about the western lands that Janos had returned to him three days ago, and a smile crept across his face.

  "Well," he said. "Maybe I should give you a chance to talk with an expert about everything you've learned. Guards!" he yelled, as he grabbed Janos's arm and dragged him out into the hall. Abel and Ambrus followed, protesting, but the King didn't even spare them a glance as the guards surrounded them.

  "Prince Janos has committed treason," he said, snatching the crown from his son's head. "He is heretofore stripped of his title, and I order him to be imprisoned in the First Castle for two months. If he survives that, he will be allowed back into this home as a member of the serving staff."

  "Father—" Janos murmured, as the dazed feeling of unreality and calm shifted and let panic edge its way through. "You can't—"