by Jody Hedlund
As I righted myself in my saddle, the crowd erupted into wild cheering. I ambled to the end of the list before turning Roland around. At the sight of Lord Mortimer sprawled on the ground and his warhorse at the opposite end of the field without him, a relieved thrill of victory coursed through me.
We’d won.
Tears stung my eyes, and I was glad for the great helm hiding them. I wasn’t prone to fits of weeping or emotion. But this victory meant we could pay our debts to the physician. We’d already used his services countless times over recent weeks. Now he refused to come again until we paid him for his previous visits. With the diminished supply of the particularly rare and exotic powder that came from embalmed mummies, we needed the physician to bring Aunt Susanna more.
I glanced to where Mitchell stood and prayed I’d be able to convince my cousin of our need to ride out tonight after we were presented with our prize. Mitchell was never one to forgo a feast when available. But with the direness of his mother’s health, maybe he would listen to reason this time.
Lord Mortimer’s squires had begun to assist him to his feet. From what I could assess, he’d been stunned but hadn’t suffered any serious injury. Even if I didn’t harbor fondness for the imposing lord, I still wished him no ill on account of our joust.
The herald blew the bugle again, quieting the crowd. Before he could pronounce me the winner, a harried and breathless man burst through the onlookers. “Sir Mitchell!” he shouted.
I swiveled toward Mitchell, and then realized the man was speaking to me. That he, like everyone else, believed I was Mitchell.
The newcomer towered above the other spectators by several handbreadths. I immediately recognized the thin stature and earnest expression. Tall John, our steward. From his red face and the perspiration ring at his hatband, I guessed he had travelled strenuously and without stopping.
“I have news!” he shouted. “Urgent news regarding your mother, the Countess of Langley.”
My heart dropped into the base of my chest, leaving a painful empty void in its place. If Tall John had ridden several hours to find us, he surely didn’t bear good tidings. I feared the worst.
“She is on her deathbed,” Tall John called, heedless of the mass of people witnessing our exchange. “And she asks that you return home with all haste.”
Chapter
2
Adelaide
I sprinted ahead of Mitchell, my boots slapping against the long passageway of Kentworth Castle. Upon reaching Aunt Susanna’s chambers, I didn’t bother knocking. I threw open the door and raced inside, praying we weren’t too late.
I’d already sent Tall John straightaway to the physician’s home, giving the steward a portion of the gold Lord Mortimer had bestowed upon Mitchell in a short ceremony. Though Lord Mortimer was proud and overbearing in many ways, at least he had the kindness of heart to allow us to be on our way as quickly as possible.
Mitchell and I had ridden well into the night before reaching home. We were exhausted and had pushed our horses much too hard. But I was determined to fetch the physician and purchase the costly medicine for Aunt Susanna.
“Aunt Susanna!” I crossed the room, which was lit by a lone candle on the bedside table. A maidservant rose from a pallet on the floor at the foot of the bed. At the sight of me, she curtsied.
“How is the countess?” I pushed aside the thick curtain surrounding the bed.
“She was restless all day,” the servant replied, “but fell asleep a short while ago.”
I peered down at the dear face of the only mother I’d ever known. The past months of illness had taken their toll. Her once full form was now skeletal and sunken, her lustrous hair thin and dry, and her body weak and lifeless. Whatever the malady, it had ravaged her until only a shell remained of the lively woman she’d always been.
Her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell with the breath of life. Weak with relief, I gripped the bedpost to keep from trembling. As soon as the physician arrived with more of his medicine, she would begin to revive.
“Thank the Almighty she is alive,” Mitchell said next to me. We were still dressed in our armor, having removed only the most cumbersome of our attire and anything that might slow us down. Mitchell reeked of sweat and horseflesh and mud. If the room had been well lit, I had no doubt his appearance would match his stench. And I had no doubt I was his equal in my own filth.
All the long ride back to Langley, I’d been plagued with an impending premonition that the life I’d once known was about to end. No, we had not always had a peaceful or trouble-free existence. But Aunt Susanna’s piety and devotion to God had brought a sense of well-being to the entire household. Her counsel had been my constant companion, and I could not live without her.
As if sensing our presence, her eyes flew open, landing first upon Mitchell’s face and then shifting to mine. At seeing both of us by her bedside, she released a shaky breath, and her lips curved into a faint smile.
“You came,” she whispered.
I divested myself of my glove and groped for her hand. “We are here,” I replied. “Now you may rest easy.”
Her flesh was cold and clammy, but I tightened my hold to reassure her of my presence. “Adelaide . . .” Her expression was taut with sudden earnestness. “I must tell you the truth before I go.”
I shook my head. “You are not going anywhere. The physician is coming straightaway and will soon replenish your medicine.”
Her lids fell, and for a long moment I almost believed she’d gone back to sleep. But when Mitchell shifted his feet and his armor creaked, she opened her eyes again. “You need to know—
“There will be plenty of time for you to speak on the morrow,” I said.
“No.” Her tone was firm, and her eyes grew brighter with determination. “I need to speak now.”
I hesitated. Mitchell would acquiesce to whatever choice I made. It wasn’t in his nature to object to my stronger will. However, at a time like this, I wished I didn’t have to make the decision. For what if I made the wrong one?
Aunt Susanna glanced at the maidservant who was tucking in the coverlet more securely. I read the meaning of the glance and knew my aunt wished to be alone with Mitchell and me. I also realized she would not rest again until she’d unburdened herself with whatever news she was so desperate to share.
I sent the maid to retrieve food and drink. Once the door closed behind her, I leaned in and smoothed a hand across Aunt Susanna’s cheek. “Are you sure this cannot wait?”
She shook her head, a new weariness already casting a pallor across her countenance. “Sit, Adelaide, and please listen to me.”
I pulled up a stool next to the bed and gave her my full attention as Mitchell did the same.
“Your real name is Constance,” she said without preamble.
I’d been called Adelaide for as long as I could remember. But my aunt’s news didn’t come as a surprise. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the name Constance resonated, and I guessed I’d answered to it before coming to live at Langley.
The kingdom had been in turmoil during my infancy. King Ethelwulf of Warwick had invaded and conquered Mercia, uniting Mercia and Warwick into one nation now known as Bryttania.
During those dangerous days when the new king had set out to purge the land of anyone who might oppose him, many people had gone into hiding or changed their names. It only made sense I’d been given a new identity for my protection.
I didn’t know much regarding my real parents, only that my father had died in the Battle of Delsworth and my mother shortly after. At times during my childhood, I’d been curious about my origins, but my aunt and uncle had always told me they’d never met my birth parents and had seemed hesitant to talk about the past.
We’d always told visitors and neighbors I was Aunt Susanna’s niece, the child of one of her many sisters, and everyone had believed us. I’d never questioned the falsehood and suspected the truth of my origins would have endangered me.
/> Apparently, now that I’d had ample time to put my curiosity regarding my past to rest and find contentment in my situation, Aunt Susanna was determined to enlighten me.
“Very well,” I said softly. “Even if I was born with the name Constance, I shall continue to be called Adelaide since that is all I have ever known.”
Aunt Susanna shook her head with a grimace of consternation. “No, my dear. You are not just any Constance. You are the Princess Constance.”
Her statement was so absurd I couldn’t contain my mirth, and a short laugh escaped before I could stop it. I expected her eyes to alight with humor too. But at the somberness of her expression, my humor faded to be replaced with a strange trepidation.
“You are Constance Dierdal Aurora, the crown princess and true heir of Mercia.”
This time I couldn’t find even the smallest sound to respond to her incredible declaration. Next to me, Mitchell sat just as speechless.
“The princesses were murdered by King Ethelwulf,” I finally managed with a whisper. Even as I spoke the words, I reviewed what I’d learned about the Battle of Delsworth and swallowed hard. King Francis of Mercia had been mortally wounded. His wife, Queen Dierdal, had died giving birth to her newborn babes—twin daughters. The twins, along with their older sister, the heir to the throne, had disappeared.
No one knew what had happened to them. Rumors abounded that Ethelwulf had swiftly put the three princesses to death. In doing so, he’d assured his right to the throne. Whatever the case, they’d become known as the lost princesses.
“You were brought to us by a friend of mine,” Aunt Susanna continued. “Sister Katherine. I knew her from the days when I was a postulant at St. Peter’s.”
Aunt Susanna had been sent to live in a convent as a young woman and had considered taking her vows but had married Uncle instead.
“Sister Katherine was a nun?” I asked.
“Yes, she went to live at St. Cuthbert’s, an abbey hidden high in the eastern Iron Hills. After King Ethelwulf invaded Mercia, someone brought you to St. Cuthbert’s for safekeeping.”
My mind whirled as I attempted to grasp what Aunt Susanna was revealing. Though I wanted to protest, deep in my earliest memories, I had the vague recollection of standing in Kentworth Castle’s great hall and clinging to the flowing gray habit of a woman with kind, blue-gray eyes. Had I been saying good-bye to Sister Katherine after she delivered me to Aunt Susanna and Uncle Whelan at Langley?
“What became of Sister Katherine?” Even as I asked, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Aunt Susanna’s eyes filled with pain, from her illness or her memories I knew not. Her lashes dropped, and she seemed to gather inner strength before opening her eyes and meeting my gaze head-on. “Whelan learned that King Ethelwulf captured and tortured Sister Katherine. We feared for your life and prepared to move you. But Sister Katherine was strong to the end. She never revealed your whereabouts, though I have no doubt King Ethelwulf did everything in his power to tear it from her.”
My chest expanded with an air of strange anxiety. I surmised without Aunt Susanna having to say so that she and Uncle Whelan had put themselves and their sons at great risk to harbor me. If Sister Katherine had given away my location, their entire household would have been punished. Most likely by a traitor’s death of being hanged, drawn, and quartered.
What had they been thinking to take me in under such dangerous circumstances? Even now, my very presence at Kentworth Castle was putting them at serious risk.
I stood then, the stool tipping to the floor with a clatter.
“Adelaide,” my aunt said reaching for me.
“No, I should not be here.” I moved away from her and paced across the woven rushes to the window. “I will not allow harm to befall you on my account.”
“No one knows,” Aunt Susanna said, her voice pleading with me to come back to her. “Only your uncle and I. And once I am gone, just you and Mitchell.”
“You are not going.” I spun, my feet spread, my hand at the hilt of my sword. I was ready not only to fight any of King Ethelwulf’s army that might come to hurt my family, but I was ready to battle death away from my aunt too.
Aunt Susanna didn’t reply except to let her hand drop listlessly to the bed.
Through the scant candlelight, Mitchell watched me as though seeing me for the first time. His eyes were especially round in his angular face, filled with questions and doubts that mirrored my own.
“What if you are wrong about my identity?” I asked, hating to contradict this wise and loving woman who’d apparently sacrificed more for me than I’d realized.
“I saw Queen Dierdal once,” Aunt Susanna said. “She was the most beautiful woman in all the land. And you resemble her so closely.”
My cousins’ friends, as well as neighboring lords, had always remarked what a pretty girl I was. But I’d been too busy attempting to be just like the boys to pay any attention to my appearance.
I shook my head. This was all too impossible to believe. “There could be any number of women who look like Queen Dierdal. Having a resemblance to the late queen is not proof enough I was her child.”
“Of course not,” Aunt Susanna said gently, beckoning me back to her side. Though the anxiety in my chest still raged, I crossed to her bed once more and took her hand.
She pressed something against my palm and squeezed my fingers closed over it. I took the item and inspected it in the candlelight. A ring. And not just an ordinary ring. It was a signet ring with the royal emblem that had belonged to the house of Mercia—two golden lions standing rampant as though holding up the ruby at the center.
“The ring belonged to your father, King Francis. Sister Katherine brought it with her when you came to us. And I have kept it hidden all these years.”
Turning it over, I studied each detail. It looked authentic. Nevertheless, I couldn’t shake my doubts.
“May I examine it?” Mitchell asked.
I handed the ring to my cousin, and he scrutinized it as carefully as I had. “It is indeed the royal ring,” he said after a minute. “Long ago, when King Alfred divided his kingdom between his twin daughters, he gave them each a ring, one with a ruby and the other with an onyx. They are identical in every way except for the large gemstones at the center.”
If anyone would know the authenticity, Mitchell would. He was a brilliant scholar with a mind that soaked in details like thirsty ground did a spring rain.
“We cannot be certain the ring was meant for me,” I said.
“I have one other item. It will convince you that you truly are the Princess Constance.” Aunt Susanna reached to her side, to the pocket she kept tied underneath her shift. She fumbled for a moment before pulling out a golden key.
At the sight of the object, Mitchell sucked in a sharp breath.
“What does it mean?” I asked as my aunt held it out to me.
“I see Mitchell already knows the value.” Aunt Susanna studied her son’s face.
“I have heard about the legend of King Solomon’s treasure and the keys that unlock it.” Mitchell’s voice was low with awe. “But I did not know if the rumors regarding such keys were really true.”
I fingered the length of the key, which was larger than my hand. It had an oval bow and a long, thick shank that ended in an elegant collar and pin. The bit on the end contained a pattern—what looked to be a pomegranate cut into two pieces with its seeds spilling out.
Though I was ignorant of the keys, I had learned about King Solomon’s wealth during history lessons the same as Mitchell. The account came from the Holy Scriptures when God had appeared to King Solomon in a dream and told the young king he could ask for whatever he wanted. Instead of asking for wealth and a long life, King Solomon had asked God for wisdom and discernment as he governed his people so that he could distinguish right from wrong.
God had been so pleased with the king’s answer He decided not only to give Solomon wisdom but promised to bestow on him wealth and a
long life as well. The king had amassed so much that he’d ended up with thousands of chests of gold and jewels and other priceless treasures. Most of it had eventually been squandered by the kings who came after Solomon. But rumors had abounded of chests that had been dispersed and hidden for safekeeping.
I had no idea what a key to a rumored treasure might have to do with me. “Just because we have a key to a legendary treasure does not confirm I am the crown princess.”
“Explain it to her, Mitchell,” Aunt Susanna said, her voice faint, her gentle features lined with weariness.
Our conversation had taxed her as I’d feared. “Perchance later, Aunt dearest. For now, you must rest.”
She shook her head, her eyes bright again. “There is not much left now. Prithee, Mitchell, carry on.”
Mitchell hadn’t taken his gaze from the key. “The kings of the Great Isle going back even further than King Alfred the Peacemaker have been charged with being keepers of the keys.”
“Keys?” I interrupted. “So more than one exists?”
Mitchell nodded with excitement. “I have heard there are three. The ruling king was supposed to have the three keys in his possession at all times until his deathbed when he would pass them on to the next chosen keeper.”
“If the rulers of the realm have been charged with being keepers of the keys, why have they not sought the treasure?”
“Perhaps they have,” Mitchell continued. “I suspect the royal family’s feuding over the decades has had more to do with finding the keys and treasure than uniting the land.”
I’d been tutored alongside my cousins and had learned the lengthy history of Mercia, including the time when King Ethelwulf’s grandmother, Queen Margery, had attempted to gain Mercia’s throne away from her younger twin sister, Leandra.
Their father, King Alfred the Peacemaker, had no son to inherit the throne and hadn’t wanted to choose one twin daughter over another to become the next ruler. Therefore, he’d divided his kingdom of Bryttania into two smaller realms, Mercia and Warwick. Upon his premature death, he’d given the succession of Mercia to Leandra and Warwick to Margery.
