by Terry Spear
Except for one thing. He"d never had a princess, or any other woman for that matter, under his care that he had to protect at the same time. And back home, he was familiar with his lands and that of the island kingdom, not like here.
Of all the times that he"d been faced with the dilemma of being stalked by his enemy, this was one time that he decidedly did not want to fall into the enemy"s hands.
“If the men are not common thieves,” he asked Ritasia, “who else might they be?” It was important to know who their enemy was.
“Duke Tully and his men who often take high ranked officials hostage for a ransom.”
“A duke?” said in surprise. “He works alone?”
“He is a dragon fae, and it is said his king receives a payment from Duke Tully"s reward.”
“Dragon fae,” King Tiernan growled. If he heard one more thing about the troublesome dragon fae…
“There,” Ritasia whispered, tugging him to a set of stairs, hoping it was a way out. “I see a scant bit of light through there. Do you see it?”
“It"s a different set of stairs.” But King Tiernan didn"t sound as enthusiastic as she did.
“Aye. It has to be a way out.”
He climbed to the top of the stairs and pressed against the trapdoor. When it didn"t immediately open, he thrust up with his back and the door creaked.
Ritasia"s heart nearly gave out as she knew the men who had been following them would have heard the creaking noise echo through the tunnels.
“What is it?” she asked, waiting for him to climb through the opening.
“A cellar. Wine cellar,” he said, offering his hand and then pulling her through the opening. He quickly lowered the trapdoor, which had the nerve to creak again.
She used her fae light to illuminate the small underground room filled with racks of dusty wine-filled bottles. The crazy notion came to her that the wine was so aged it probably was priceless. Though what good that knowledge did her, she didn"t know.
A rumbling sound behind her made her jump and whip around, expecting to see an army of men fill the cellar. But Tiernan was shoving a rack of wine over the trapdoor.
“We"re trapped,” she said.
“No. The archaeologists will find the tunnels. They will put out word about the men combing them, searching for us. Someone from your kingdom will find us.”
The sound of running boots caught their attention and both Tiernan and Ritasia stared at the trapdoor, hoping it would hold. A thud sounded against it. Then several more.
“They are up there, my lord. They have barricaded themselves in. But they cannot get out. At least we do not think they can.”
“Her people will be searching for her. If they discover the trapdoor into the tunnels, they will be down here in droves, Lord Tully.”
Someone paced back and forth down below. Then one of the men said, “We will have to leave. Some other time, my sweet,” he called out as if speaking to Ritasia.
“Duke Tully,” Ritasia whispered. At least she guessed that it was him speaking.
The boots clomped on the stone floor away from the trapdoor.
Neither Tiernan nor Ritasia said a word. Then finally she whispered to him, “Do you think they have left?”
“Mayhap.” Tiernan began to inspect the room. “"Tis also possible a man or two lies in wait in case we leave…” He broke off abruptly.
“What?” she asked, looking up from the trapdoor where she had been listening for any sound that might indicate a man had been left behind.
“Another narrow stairs. These most likely led into the kitchen. The other was the escape route into the tunnels.”
Ritasia hurried to join him, hope returning that they might find a way out yet. Once they pushed open the trapdoor and were able to leave the room, they could fae transport back to the castle.
Where her mother would kill her.
Ritasia watched as Tiernan tried to lift the door. It would give only a slight bit and then would open no further. “What is blocking it?”
“A fallen pillar, I believe,” Tiernan said.
But she wouldn"t let it make her lose hope. If there was one rule she strictly adhered to in life was that she never gave up. “Hold the door as far as it will go, and I will squirm through.”
“What if our enemy is waiting up there?”
“I will fae transport and return with soldiers to rescue you.”
She could tell from his expression that he did not like the notion. But it was the only solution she could think of.
“We should wait here,” he said.
“Nay. We must take the advantage. If Duke Tully"s men are in the tunnels, my mother"s guard could capture them.”
“I don"t like it.”
“We cannot stay down here forever.” Then she frowned at him, remembering—despite how commanding he was as if he was in charge—that he wasn"t. Not of her, in any case. “These are my lands, my kingdom, and you have no say in what I do.”
That brought an evil smile to his lips. But before he let go of the trapdoor and kept her from doing what she planned to do next, she began to climb through. He couldn"t very well let the trapdoor squish her. Even if he wanted to keep her with him by any means.
Cursing, he held it up for her while she wriggled and squirmed and was afraid she might get stuck. But then she finally managed to wiggle the rest of the way through, and when she fell onto the floor, she took a deep breath and flashed her fae light about.
“What do you see?” Tiernan demanded, angry with her, and she imagined angry with himself for not being able to stop her or follow her.
“A very ancient kitchen it appears. Fireplaces, iron cauldrons, wooden beams high above, cracks in the walls where some light is coming through. No windows though.”
“Is there a way out?” he called to her, sounding both exasperated and worried.
“I…do not know. Wait. I see a small door.”
“Ritasia, wait.”
“I will be right back.”
“I have got your dagger,” he said, sounding more than concerned for her.
He had her boots, too, she belatedly realized. But while he held up the trapdoor, he couldn"t have slipped either her dagger or boots to her.
“I will be all right,” she assured him.
She crossed the short distance to the door, and when she carefully opened it, the hinges creaked in protest, giving her heart a jump. If anyone was in the vicinity they would know she was here.
Taking a deep breath, she peered into the room and found a great hall, no sign of any inhabitants for centuries, except for a trail of little prints in the dust coating the floor—rats, she thought and gave a little shudder.
She stared at the place in awe, though. Ancient fae had once dined at the long trestle tables and wooden benches as her people now dined in their castle"s great hall. But there were no tapestries on the walls, only sconces for torches long since extinguished, the black scorches from the flames evident on the stone walls, and cobwebs hanging in corners like great spun silky decorations, also coated in dust. No tapestries on the cold floor either. Just thick layers of dust.
She hurried through the room and found a winding staircase blocked by debris. She squirmed her way through the dirt and timber and over a fallen pillar until she found a passageway to doors leading to a number of bedchambers, she assumed, if it was anything like her castle.
She opened the first door and stared at the room that looked as though it had been preserved for the fae queen herself for all time. A small light streamed through an arrow slotted window. When she looked around, she saw three more for defending the castle, but no window bigger than that, and no way could she fit through one. She hurried to the closest one and peered out, wondering why they couldn"t have seen the tower from the dig site.
She realized then that the tower was built into the rocky cliffs. The rest would have towered above this and shown up above where now stood broken pillars. No one could venture close to the cliffs bec
ause of the coral reef barriers that prevented ships getting near the treacherous rocky shore.
She turned and glanced around the room. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, of course, but even so, she could see how regal the furniture was, every piece intricately carved hard woods, and opulently decorated mosaics painted on the walls and ceilings, the muted golds and silvers revealing that no expense had been spared.
The bed curtains and linens were the richest velvet fabrics of forest green and all the material was embellished with golden flowers and leaves.
She wondered again where all the people had vanished to. What tragedy had befallen them?
An overwhelming sense of sorrow shook her to the core. She didn"t think that seeing something like this would mean anything to anyone but those who were fascinated with the past.
But that was because she"d never viewed an entire room that looked just like hers, except tons dustier and decorated differently. It wasn"t just a bone left buried under rubble, or a half rotted golden slipper, but a place where someone actually had lived.
Chill bumps erupted over her arms as she stared at the closed curtains over the bed.
Would someone still be in there? Long ago dead?
Barely breathing, she moved toward the bed, her heart thundering. She couldn"t shake loose of the fear, despite knowing nothing could hurt her. Not someone that had been dead for centuries. But she was afraid to look, not wanting to see a corpse and remember the queen that way forever. Yet she couldn"t avoid looking either.
She had to know. Was the queen in the bed?
Her hand shaking, Ritasia reached for the curtain, gripped it, fortified herself, and slid it slowly aside, the wooden rings lightly scraping as they slid across the wooden pole.
The bed was empty. The bedcovers had been pulled back as if the queen"s maid had prepared it for her, waiting for her mistress to return to bed. But there was no one there. Just once fresh red rose petals and purple lavender now wizened and muted in color. And a strand of dark hair on a lumpy pillow resting at the headboard. It reminded her of the comb and the dark hair.
She took in a deep breath to steady her nerves, relieved that she hadn"t found an emaciated body in the bed.
“Ritasia!” King Tiernan shouted, sounding a million miles away. Yet his voice made her jump.
“I am all right!” she yelled back, hoping that her voice would carry that far.
She turned and studied the table, a gold hand mirror lying on top, lace doilies, a jeweled brass goblet and a silver tray, both badly tarnished. She crossed the floor to the table and peered into the goblet, expecting to see it filled with wine or ale, but if it had been, any remnants were long gone and now it was only filled with dust.
The comb she had in her pouch was the kind decorated in jewels that a lady wore to keep her hair secured. Ritasia looked again at the mirror, and decided then that the comb belonged here with the ghosts of the past. Not tucked away in some vault of the dark fae kingdom. It belonged here with the ancient fae that once had flourished in all its glory.
But then a glint of something silver caught her eye, the object half-buried under one of the lady"s lacy doilies, distracting her. She lifted the dusty once pale blue fabric. A medallion she had never seen before lay on the table, a snake curling around a scepter engraved on it. Her mouth dropped a little. This was a fae that none of their people knew existed. Their scholars would want to know that another fae had lived here once. Is this what her mother had been searching for? To discover who the ancient fae really had been?
And yet, she thought…a silver medallion meant it belonged to the unseelie fae.
So that she wouldn"t lose it, Ritasia pulled the chain over her head, then caught sight of a golden box. She moved closer and lifted the lid. Inside were dozens of jeweled rings, bracelets, necklaces and hair ornaments.
Unlike all the rest of the jewelry, one small ring stood out, its simple design of a Celtic knot catching her attention. Something about its simplicity made her wonder what significance it had to have been sitting with all the other jewelry that was truly dazzling, when this one was not.
King Tiernan yelled again for her.
“I am okay!” she shouted again, glanced down at the ring in the palm of her hand and meant to put it back in the box, but couldn"t. What was there about the ring that seemed so…intriguing? It felt almost…warm to the touch, as if it belonged to her. Which was bizarre.
She"d take it back and show it to Malathon and ask him why this plain silver ring would have been placed with jewelry that had to have been worth a fortune.
So as not to lose it, she slipped it onto her finger, then hurried out of the queen"s chambers and headed down the hall. Surely there had to be a way out of this castle other than through the tunnels and that one trapdoor. One of the rooms had to have a window…
Wait. She stopped abruptly. She was above the iron ore rock walls of the tunnels. She should be able to fae transport, although she was afraid she wouldn"t know how to find the cellar again.
Hating to leave Tiernan behind, she knew she had to get help. With that thought in mind, she attempted to fae travel. Nothing happened. She just stood there. Going nowhere. She tried again. Again no luck and this time she swore under her breath.
She stared at the walls, then ran her fingers over the roughly-hewn stone. Were they filled with iron ore also? No one in the castle could have fae transported to the outside then. But then again, no one could have breached their defenses with fae travel either.
She hurried to the next door, figuring one of the walls might have collapsed to one of the rooms, and she could get out that way. But when she pulled the door open, she heard the most awful grinding sound.
And felt the floor beneath her feet give way just before she screamed.
***
Heart drumming with fear, King Tiernan heard the racket from far away right before Ritasia screamed.
Something had collapsed.
“Ritasia!” he yelled. He envisioned the whole ceiling above her had fallen in, and she was buried alive. “Ritasia!”
He shoved at the trapdoor above him, but he couldn"t budge the pillar blocking it, nor could he crawl through the narrow opening like the princess had done. She had barely been able to herself.
“Ritasia!”
He hoped to the goddess, she"d return and assure him she was all right. But no matter how much he prayed it was so, or called out her name, she made no answering call back.
He cursed to high heaven and then when he was through with dealing with the self-recriminations, he acted. If any of the men in the tunnels thought to take him hostage, they"d best think again. He ran down the narrow steps, stalked through the cellar where he found his boots and slipped them on, and tucked Ritasia"s under his belt. Then he shoved the wine rack out of the way and threw the trapdoor to the tunnels aside. If anyone was waiting for him, he did not see them.
He hurried down the stairs and quickly moved into the tunnel, intending to locate the area where he thought the ceiling above Ritasia or the floor beneath her must have caved in. Just around the bend, two men waited for him, arrows knocked and ready to shoot. Both were dressed in green tunics and leggings, their boots brown, their hair blond and disheveled from the wind.
Both eyed him with speculation, measuring him for his fighting potential.
“Something has collapsed somewhere in that direction, and I fear that Princess Ritasia may have been injured,” Tiernan said scowling, jerking his hand toward the south. Not that he knew that was what had happened. It very well could be that a floor above her had collapsed and buried her, or that the one she had been standing on had given way. Or just a wall had fallen over. Or that she was knocked unconscious and not buried at all. Any scenario he could come up with gave him heart palpitations.
“Either you help me to locate and save her, or I kill you. Both.”
Tiernan took a menacing step forward, and the men"s smiles faded. “Who are we addressing?” the tal
ler of the two said. They did not look intimidated, but Tiernan wasn"t backing down.
“King Tiernan of the hawk fae. Niceties aside, the lady could be in grave danger.”
Neither man lowered his bow.
“Fine,” he said and charged toward them with murder in his eyes, Ritasia"s dagger gripped fiercely in his hand before he even realized he"d drawn it out.
“Wait,” the one said, still standing his ground. “I"m Lord Larkin and this Sir Olaf. Show us where the princess can be found.”
“We cannot go that way,” Tiernan said, motioning to the stairs to the cellar. “A pillar blocks the trapdoor that leads into the kitchen.”
“Maybe with the three of us shoving at it—,” Lord Larkin said.
“No, the space on the stairs has only enough room for one man to stand at a time.”
Lord Larkin looked speculatively at Tiernan. “If we rescue the princess, what will we get out of the deal?”
“You shall live,” Tiernan snarled, and shoved past the men. He had no time for mercenaries or thieves.
Lord Larkin and the knight chuckled. But Tiernan was serious.
“Where are you going?” Lord Larkin asked.
“In the direction I heard something give out.” Tiernan glanced back at Lord Larkin. “Do you work for Duke Tully?”
“Aye.”
“Dragon fae,” Tiernan sneered. “If you do not help me…”
“I know. We shall die,” Lord Larkin said. But he sounded more amused at the notion than worried, and Tiernan assumed he might have to make his point clearer at some point before long.
Footfalls behind the two men made them all turn to see who had arrived now.
Four more men headed for them, all wearing forest green clothes, no doubt to blend in with their surroundings before they pounced on unsuspecting prey.
“Where is the princess?” one of the men asked in a brusque and annoyed toned.
Tiernan suspected the man was Duke Tully. He had a jovial look about him, not at all like what Tiernan would have depicted for a nobleman who took highly ranked fae hostage. He had expected someone harder, more cynical, more sinister.
