The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Halfway through the day, Flora appeared to check on her back. It was much the same. She cleaned it again, an activity that exhausted Bethany. When she awoke, she set about the task of thinking up new ways to torment the royal family. If Féderic’s wedding took place soon, she could easily ruin that in some way. Bethany wracked her brain for ideas, but each one was dismissed for one reason or another.

  She began to wonder if she was rejecting her own ideas because she did not want to be caught again. The fire burning through the flesh on her back made that seem rather likely. Late in the evening, Sir Caldry returned with a well-cooked chicken leg. He made a face as he pulled the marinated meat from his pouch. It left a sticky coating to the leather. He rolled his eyes at the state of his pouch as he handed it to her.

  Bethany’s eyes grew as wide as buckets. She hadn’t tasted fresh, evenly cooked meat in six months, much less eaten an entire chicken leg. She pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the pain in her back, and began gnawing on her feast. The knight sat down on the bed and began cleaning her wounds again. She had to stop eating until he had finished for fear of choking. It was still extremely painful.

  When she returned to her food, Sir Caldry came to sit on the stool next to his bed.

  “Sorry I haven’t been able to sit with you today…”

  Before he could say more, the door opened and the prince hobbled in on one crutch. Bethany immediately dropped back to the mattress in an effort to look worse than she really was.

  “Ann! By the love of the Main Land,” he cursed in a breathless voice as he took in the state of her back. He turned towards the knight, his face turning a shade of green. “Damn, Cal! You live in the ass crack of nowhere. It took me an hour to find this place.”

  Sir Caldry rose and bowed to the prince before offering him a seat near the fire.

  “No, no. I’ve come to see my Ann,” he said as he waved aside the offer and hobbled to the stool Sir Caldry had just vacated. “How’re you feeling?”

  She tilted her head slowly, keeping her eyes half lidded and her mouth slack. She’d never been a very good liar, but she had to try. It helped that the warm food made her sleepy and the aversion to the prince made her nauseated.

  Bethany could see him swallow a few times as his eyes flickered to her bare back. She wasn’t sure what it looked like now, but if it was even close to what it had been yesterday, she understood his repugnance. She slowly closed her eyes and refused to open them again, despite the prince’s repeated inquiries. Finally, Féderic turned to the knight.

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  Sir Caldry played along beautifully.

  “My lord, her wounds are badly infected. Flora and I are cleaning them regularly and keeping her fever down. That’s all we can do. It’s up to her now … if she has enough fight left in her. Being so underfed isn’t helping.”

  “Are you bringing her food?” demanded the prince as though Sir Caldry hadn’t thought of that.

  “Yes, my lord. I bring her something from each meal. What she can get down will help. She’s very sick.”

  “There must be something we can do.”

  Sir Caldry hesitated briefly. Bethany struggled not to smile as she listened to the drama unfold.

  “Well, my lord, herbs would help fight the infection.”

  “What herbs?” demanded the prince.

  Bethany heard a scuffle against the wooden floor. She suspected the prince had tried to stand in his excitement.

  “I can get herbs.” He sounded thrilled to have a task of his own.

  Bethany would have laughed had she felt better, but the truth was the longer she had her eyes closed, the worse she felt. Perhaps they weren’t exaggerating as much as she had initially thought. She felt a hand gently touch the shoulder that hadn’t been struck by the vicious whip.

  “Ann?” It was the knight.

  She slowly opened her eyes, but found them so covered in gunk she couldn’t see clearly.

  “Ann, what herbs could Prince Féderic ask for that would help fight the infection?”

  She had to stop and think about it for a long moment. “Lavender,” she finally croaked. “Olive leaf…um… aloe vera… and goldenseal.”

  “What will people think when I ask for all those herbs?” the prince asked.

  Bethany shook her head and tried to prop herself up again. She didn’t get very far. Why was she feeling so much worse?

  “All those herbs will also help fight swelling. Tell the apprentice you need some herbs for your ankle. And ask for a variety so you don’t have to go back. He’ll give you loads, for fear of not doing enough. From those, we can pick out the ones we need.”

  The prince nodded once before hobbling out of the room.

  It was a long while before Prince Féderic returned with the herbs. Cal began to wonder if the daft man had forgotten his one chore, especially as Ann grew worse with each passing hour. Her fever returned, and he was forced to fetch Flora. She brought the water, and they began dribbling it across her back and covering her with cold rags.

  When the prince did return, Flora bowed and left as quickly as she could. Cal suddenly felt loathe to wake Ann. He knew she needed to sleep, but they wouldn’t know what to do with the herbs without her expertise. He expected her to want to make a poultice like they did for the prince, but he didn’t know which herbs to use.

  He carefully knelt beside her head, which still hung off the edge of his bed, and gently brushed her hair away from her face. Cal knew he was showing a tenderness for her in front of the prince, but, in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. She looked so peaceful and carefree while sleeping.

  “Ann,” he said in a voice choked with sudden emotion.

  She flinched slightly before blinking sleep from her eyes.

  “We have the herbs. You were right, the apprentice sent up a large supply. But we don’t know which ones to use or what to do.”

  The slave girl lifted her head and looked around. Cal brought the basket into her line of sight. A few minutes later she had pointed out the herbs to use and reminded him how to make a poultice. He did it as quickly as possible while the prince took over the task of mopping the patient’s forehead. Cal tried not to glance over his shoulder at them. He didn’t want the prince’s help. Not when it took away his chance to be near her.

  Damn! What are you thinking, old man? You’re going to get yourself into trouble, or worse.

  He couldn’t fall for a woman, especially one enslaved to a man like Féderic, much less one Féderic found appealing. He might as well fall for a married empress. Besides, the minute Wolfric freed his sister, they would be seeking refuge elsewhere. Maybe they would brave the treacherous seas and move to the mainland, where Wolfric could not reach them. It would never do to tie himself down to a woman here, even if it was only by inclination. He needed to remove himself from the equation, but that was not easy when the prince demanded his assistance in healing her. Well, once she was well and back to her duties, he would stay clear of her.

  Cal returned with the poultice and applied it to her back.

  In the few places the lash had not marred her skin, it was clear and smooth. In fact, in many places it looked as though it had never seen the light of the sun. As he saw more of her body, while still trying to honor her modesty, he noticed how preserved it was, as though hard labor was very new to her.

  She had to be the daughter of noble, he thought as he finished packing the wounds with the sticky herbs. Maybe a lower level noble who had either been killed during the war or sold his daughter to pay his debts. Either way, Cal felt convinced she was once well cared for.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It took four more days before Bethany was able to return to work. They used the herbs liberally—both in her food and in her wounds. Sir Caldry continued to bring her generous portions of food, which she gobbled down with greed. She gained a few pounds back and, by the last day, was even walking around the room to build her strength.
Prince Féderic visited every evening, and Bethany did her best to keep him in the dark as to her real feelings and intentions.

  The four days by herself gave her plenty of time to think. She came to a resolution. No matter how bad things got, or what he promised, she would not accept his offer. If she did, it would mean she had lost all hope of ever returning home. She had to maintain that hope in order to continue, and she couldn’t hope to return home if it would be in disgrace. Though she doubted they would accept her back into the family, maybe they would let her work in the castle. It was still something to hope for.

  On the fourth day, as Bethany was walking up and down the room, using the furniture for extra support, the prince entered. He immediately moved to the chair near the fire. Though his ankle was vastly improved, he continued to favor it and expected sympathy from everyone. The real cause of his continued pain was his broken ribs. Strangely though, he didn’t complain about them to anyone but Ann. She tried to listen with apparent sympathy, but her own pain made it difficult.

  “I have some bad news,” he said, once he was settled in the high back chair.

  Bethany watched his stiff movement, noting the way he kept his rib cage up, rather than slouching back into the chair.

  “Mother has suggested bringing you back into service. It seems your respite is over. Though, I’m sure Cal will be glad to be rid of you,” the prince added in a louder voice as the knight entered the room. “I told her I’d send for you tomorrow. Didn’t want to seem too anxious. Besides, this gives Cal time to take you back there late tonight,” he added with a smile as though he had been extra clever.

  Bethany forced a smile to her lips.

  That night, Cal led her down the many flights of stairs and into the slave dormitory. By the time they reached the main floor, she was shaking with fatigue. The others were fast asleep when she shed her slave frock and climbed back into the pit. Her back was not healed enough for her to not fear the grime that lined the floor and walls. She did her best to avoid letting her back touch any of it, but as the hours wore on towards morning, she found herself slumping. Eventually, she gave in and curled up on her side.

  It seemed as though mere seconds had passed when she woke to a bright light shining through the hole. The room was empty when Bethany emerged. It was likely just after the slaves had been sent to work—the best time to remove a slave that looked surprisingly well for having been in the pits for weeks. Flora used the last of their herbs, packing them onto her wounds, and wrapped her back in bandages before helping her slip the frock back on.

  She was immediately sent to the queen’s room.

  “Ah… you…” sneered the queen.

  Bethany knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  She had heard of other slaves being forced to seek forgiveness after offending their owners. Now it was her turn.

  Bethany dropped to the floor, the hard, wooden slats bruising her knees, and bowed until her head touched the floor. It hurt her back, stretching the healing skin.

  “Please forgive me, my lady. I have seen the error of my ways,” she pandered, choking on every word.

  The queen waited a long time before speaking. “You may return to my good graces. But if you ever try a stunt like that again, I’ll have you thrown to the dogs… alive.”

  Bethany swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t doubt the queen’s sincerity.

  The rest of the long, tiring day was spent in mending garments for the entire family, under the watchful supervision of the queen. Eventually, Mirabelle joined them. She sneered at Bethany and took her seat near her mother. They stitched away at delicate embroidery that served no purpose and gave no pleasure to the eye.

  Cal stared at the short letter from the man he had hired to track down his sister. It was simple and to the point: Though he had a new lead, he had not procured the location of Cal's sister.

  The knight's hand folded into a clenched fist, wrinkling the small piece of paper. What was he supposed to do now?

  Cal slipped away from the great hall, where the family was spending the fall evening together. He was in no mood to answer their questions or attend their tedious conversations. Thankfully no one noticed his quiet exit. Besides, he needed to write his contact and send more money to continue the search for his sister.

  He will find her; he will find her, he chanted to himself as he climbed the steps up to his own room.

  It had been nearly eight months since he last knew the location of Catrina, his sister. Cal collapsed onto his bed, the hilt of his sword digging uncomfortable into his hip. He wanted to stay there and give in to the depression that threatened to crush him.

  Eight long months without even one positive word from his searchers. Was she even alive?

  Cal closed his eyes and forced the doubts down into the pit of his stomach. He would not give up, not ever.

  He forced himself up from his bed and moved to his small writing desk, where he quickly penned a response, ordering them to continue the search. He added a few coins and closed the letter.

  Giving up wasn't an option. He had to find her. What else did he have to live for?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Bethany knelt on the floor of the great hall, working with the other slaves to scrub the large, grey stones while muddy boots continually tracked in new dirt. Despite being able to read and write and sew extremely well, after the first day out of the pits, the queen had put her to the most disgusting and arduous tasks, no doubt still punishing her for the incident with the infected bathwater.

  Prince Féderic, to whom she technically belonged to, chose not to argue. Either he didn’t actually care, or he realized, like Bethany, that it would be worse in the long run if he did intervene. She knew she just needed to let the queen get her anger out, and then life would return to normal.

  Or what had become normal of her.

  The captured princess was using a few choice curses she had learned from Féderic, directed at the newest boot print, when the king burst into the room with a loud hoop of excitement. The royal family gathered around him from their separate corners of the expansive room; each one expressed their desire to know the good news in their own, loud way. Soon, the castle knights followed, drawn by the exuberant cries. Bethany began to doubt she would hear the information, when Wolfric raised his hands for silence. His family immediately obeyed, quieting down until the entire room sat in a hushed silence.

  “I have just received word from the front. There is a rumor that King Middin Kavadh is dead!”

  Bethany sucked in a loud gasp, thankfully covered by the joyous outcry from the royal family. Each one took their turn to thump the king on the back and give each other overjoyed hugs while Bethany tried to work through what she had just heard.

  It is just a rumor, she told herself, but her brain couldn’t accept either idea—dead or alive. She felt a numbness drift from her hair to the very tips of her toes. Her brain quickly shut down, refusing to process any thought at all.

  Quietly, while the other slaves watched their masters’ frivolity, Bethany slipped out of the great hall. Without making a conscious decision to head in any one direction, her feet lead her to the small storage room she had cried in before. There she sat, her mind unable to wrap itself around any thoughts as her breathing slowly turned into frantic gasps.

  And there she remained.

  It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. She didn’t know.

  As it turned out, it had been hours before she dazedly crawled out of her hiding place. She had just made it to the slave dormitory, when a fat fist took hold of her hair and slammed her against the doorway. If she hadn’t been dazed before, she was now. Lights flashed before her eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to see who had grabbed her.

  Bainard stood over her, his red, puffy cheeks pulled down into a deep glower. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  In a rush of clarity, Bethany realized she had been assigned to serve at the dinner
table. No doubt, she had missed it. Bethany couldn’t think of a realistic excuse for her unexplained absence. Based on the number of slaves already lying on their piles of straw, wrists chained to the wall, Bethany knew it was late into the night. She must have been hiding for a very long time, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember a single minute of it.

  Bainard grabbed her by the arm, and hoisted her to the far end of the slave dormitory. Bethany could feel the eyes of the other slaves on her. There was no pity in their depths.

  The slave master didn’t bother chaining her to a solid structure. He left her on the floor, kicking her as he passed to fetch a whip and a flattish stick used to beat the slaves without breaking the skin. Bethany tried to role with the kick, but it still hurt as his hard boot caught her rib cage. As she jerked, she banged her face against the stone floor and felt hot liquid quickly cover one side of her face; she couldn’t tell if it came from her lip or her nose. Both hurt. The slave master didn’t ask anyone to hold her as he, changing from one torture device to another, beat her—the room spun too badly for her to climb to her hands and knees.

  In the end, he chained her to the nearest ring embedded in the wall and left her on the cold stone floor to sleep the night through. Bethany didn’t remember falling asleep. In fact, she might not have. Her mind was still frozen, despite the sudden and intense pain she had just suffered.

  Though Bainard had beaten her until he gasped for breath, and his pudgy arms shook with exhaustion, she hadn’t cried. She was barely aware of the pain.

  She spent the night fighting against one pervasive thought: My father is dead.