Winterbourne's Daughter

by Stephanie Rabig

  "He's... I don't know," Lisette admitted. It had been more than obvious that Gennadi returned her feelings, after all. She could all too easily imagine trying to talk to Vasya about this, only to have him look at her like she'd taken leave of her senses. "It's not like it is with you. He's a little intimidating."

  "And I'm not?" he asked, faking offense. "Look at these arms!"

  He flexed his muscles and she laughed. "You smile far too much to be intimidating."

  "Ohh, is that what it is?"

  "Mmm-hm," she said, twisting one of his braids around her finger.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emeline lifted the goblet to her lips, years of practice the only thing keeping her smile in place. At the head of the crowd, King Nazar nodded in acknowledgment of the cheers and congratulations the loyalists were effusively sending his way.

  "A fine decision, my king," Loyalist Alexei said. Beside him, his soon-to-be-bride smiled. Emeline knew it might be wishful thinking, but she thought Jyotsana's expression looked uncomfortable. "A deathfight eight times a year instead of only five will make things so much more entertaining. But aren't you worried about running out of fighters?"

  "Not in the slightest," King Nazar said, "given that I'm also lowering the age of allowable participants from sixteen to twelve."

  The loyalists cheered again. Emeline remembered years ago seeing one of the younger fighters simply display her growing skills against quintains as preludes to the actual fight. Apparently the king had decided such spectacles weren't thrilling enough.

  "After all," Nazar continued with a grin, "so many brats out there are willing and eager to fight. It seems a shame not to grant their wish."

  It wasn't her imagination; Jyotsana looked distinctly uncomfortable. King Nazar had assured Lord Alexei that his and Princess Jyotsana's engagement celebration would be lavish and memorable, and thus far it had been―the armorharts they'd ridden earlier today had had every scale of their armor intricately painted; traders had been sent to Village-by-the-Sea to make sure the bride had plenty of familiar things to eat―but perhaps Nazar had chosen the wrong things to emphasize tonight.

  "You might want to be careful," Emeline said. "You don't want to start them too young. Remember how the match between Lisette and the Champion worked out?"

  The king laughed along with the crowd at the reminder of that particular fiasco, though Emeline didn't miss how his eyes darkened slightly.

  "Careful, Mother," Ilari said, her own smile knife-sharp. "One who didn't know you so well might think you didn't approve of Daddy's decision."

  "Then it's a fine thing we're so close," she said.

  "Indeed," King Nazar said. "And now, for your entertainment―Adventurer Kir, back from a three-month journey into Vedrana's Forest!" Four servants lit the enormous fire at the center of the Arena, illuminating a man who stood beside a giant covered cage. "Please feel free to move down into the Arena to get a close look at his discoveries."

  The loyalists, fighters, and everyone else up in the Arena's seating made their way outside, filing in through the separate door on the other side of the building to get to the Arena itself.

  Lisette stayed up in the seating, cleaning up some of the larger spills. Several loyalists had left their entire goblets, and she gathered them to take back to the kitchens to be cleaned.

  Then she caught sight of something on the floor and gasped.

  It was a blade, jewels in the hilt and a hooked end, absolutely beautiful. She snatched it up and tucked it into her skirt and then grabbed two goblets as a pretext and headed out of the Arena toward the castle proper. The bottlery on the lowest level also held her small cache of weapons―four knives from the kitchen; a pair of spiked metal knuckles that were sadly too large for her; and now this prize.

  She could trade it to one of the guards for his or her silence when it came to helping someone escape. Or, as long as she was fantasizing, might as well pretend she could get everyone out. Vasya and Emeline and Gennadi, the doctor, and all the servants who had been kind. They could use this knife to pay for a guide through Vedrana's Forest and come out the other side where they'd find a wonderful, peaceful kingdom or queendom...

  Such ideas were pointless, Lisette reminded herself. Nothing more than a child's fantasy. Even as she had these thoughts, the king was gloating over increasing the amount of deathfights per year.

  After she'd dropped off the goblets and made sure her new knife was safely hidden, Lisette went back to the Arena. Adventurer Kir was grinning as he spoke to the teeming crowd.

  "I present to you―a silver-striped leopard! The first of its kind ever captured alive!"

  Kir ripped the cover off the cage, and the beast within hissed and spat at him, snarling around at the crowd.

  Lisette gave the creature a passing glance, but though she was usually fascinated by the animals people managed to bring back from Vedrana's Forest, tonight she couldn't spare any thought to the impressive predator. Though loyalists were approaching the cage and oohing and aahing at the furious animal within, most of the fighters, when they thought no one else was looking, appeared as displeased as Lisette felt.

  She caught sight of Emeline, whose mouth was pressed into a thin, tight line even when she smiled at a passing loyalist.

  Lisette thought of how small she'd been when she'd first been sent to the Arena. With the king's new declaration, children close to that age could routinely be sent to participate in deathfights.

  Moving through the crowd, she headed out into the open night and stared at the stars for a moment, trying to catch her breath. If she'd stayed in there for one more minute, trapped amongst the press of too many bodies and the chaos of too many thoughts, she might well have screamed.

  *~*~*

  The banquet hall was as crowded as Lisette had ever seen it. Everyone wore masks, even the servants, as Lady Jyotsana had requested. The wall-length table along the south side of the room was piled high with foods Lisette was familiar with and ones she'd never seen before, and the amount of wine seemed enough to get everyone in attendance drunk twice over.

  Lisette remembered the grand celebrations from her childhood and let herself briefly wish that she could go out onto the dance floor again, give in to the spectacle and simply enjoy herself for a night.

  Instead she poured wine into waiting glasses, smiling at the variety of elaborate masks. Of course, her mask was far from jewel-covered―she and the other servants and the fighters largely wore simple black or brown masks, tied around their faces by strips of scrap fabric―but the loyalists had spared no expense for the celebration of their friend's engagement. Once it was time for the wedding itself, this week-long celebration would pale in comparison. Some loyalists' wedding parties had lasted nearly a month, with the crowds moving back and forth between the banquet hall for exotic treats and the courtyards for traveling shows and jesters' performances.

  And of course, they attended matches in the Arena.

  The loyalists hovered around many of the fighters, talking excitedly to them about various battles from the past and ones they would like to see happen. They seemed to think the fighters were happy to be there talking to them; were they really so dense as to not see the tension in most of their frames, especially after the king's announcement earlier?

  Lisette wasn't anywhere close to relaxed herself, given that she was in men's clothing tonight. The king had ordered it, telling her he didn't care what she wore when she was scrubbing floors but that this was a wedding. "You look ridiculous in dresses," he'd said. "You don't have a woman's curves."

  At least he hadn't ordered her hair shorn off again. Though she would've preferred it loose, it was pulled back in a tight ponytail.

  She looked around at the other women, their floor-length gowns and glittering jewels, and felt a familiar pang of envy.

  Then she spotted Emeline and smiled, handing her a glass of wine as a pretext to quickly talk.

  "There you are," the Royal Mistress said. "I'm quite
sorry about all that," she said, gesturing to Lisette's clothes and hair.

  "It's all right," Lisette lied. "Only for one night, after all."

  "If it helps, you're far from the only one here who must want to commit violence," Emeline said. She nodded to the corner of the room where the Champion stood, a group of loyalists all talking to him at once. "I'm rather surprised he hasn't flung all of them away. Now that's a fight I'd pay to see," she said. Then she paused, taking in the look on her friend's face. "Oh, Lisette."

  "What?"

  Emeline smiled softly and then nudged her in the back. "Go on."

  "I don't know what you're―"

  "You know very well. There's to be a deathfight after the feast. Any one of the fighters could be gone then, including him. You feel something; you know that. So go let him know, as well."

  "I can't―what are you doing?" she squeaked, watching as Emeline moved away from her. Lisette wanted to run, even considered faking a swoon; lying down in a quiet room for a while by herself suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea, anything but standing here and waiting, her eyes feeling far too wide and her heart thrumming too fast.

  Emeline spoke a few words to him and he looked up, looking for her. When he met her eyes, color rushed to her cheeks and a smile came completely unbidden and oh, Goddesses, what was happening? She had a job to do, far too many things to focus on already; she had no need or want for something like this, especially with someone whom she could guarantee didn't return her feelings.

  Feelings that she most certainly did not have in the first place, she tried to tell herself, but then he stopped in front of her and held out his hand, and she lost all ability to lie to herself.

  "Our Mistress told me that I looked like I needed rescuing," he said, clearly trying not to smile.

  "Is that so?" she asked, resting her hand in his.

  "Given the way she was grinning, I think she just wants to see us embarrass ourselves."

  "Wouldn't put it past her."

  They moved out among the other dancing couples as the musicians in the corner continued to play, something soft and beautiful. She rested both her hands on one of his shoulders, and he kept one hand on her hip and the other hand at his side, and they slowly spun, his eyes on hers and neither of them saying a word.

  There was some hesitancy in his gaze at first, but after a moment his lips curved up, and she returned the smile with one of her own. She let herself edge closer to him, sink into his arms just a little. In return, his hand moved from her hip to the small of her back, and her eyes drifted closed.

  For a moment, Lisette thought. She knew that soon the loyalists would be asking for stories; she herself would be called to pour more wine; the king would make yet another speech and everyone would have to stop and listen. But just for a moment, she would have this, and let herself pretend it was more than it was.

  "I do have one question," she asked softly. "What is your name?"

  He laughed against her shoulder, and she pressed closer to him as he answered. "Vasya."

  Chapter Twelve

  Emeline sat frozen in her thickly cushioned chair, staring down at her cup of eldermint tea.

  It smelled of apples.

  It was a very fortunate thing that she'd actually listened to Alain's chattering over the years; solely because of that, she knew that some of the nastiest poisons gave off that particular scent. She had prayed she was imagining it and had sniffed it again, only to recoil.

  For an instant, she dearly wanted to fling the cup across the room, to have the satisfaction of seeing the cup shatter and spray the liquid ineffectually against the wall. But whoever did this might well be lurking outside the door even now, waiting for the sound of her body falling.

  Her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. What was she to do?

  There was no secret passageway in her quarters. There was nothing for it now; she would have to leave. Steal the key to the Silence from Nazar's rooms for a second time, make her way down, and run.

  What of Lisette? Emeline thought wildly. Of Vasya, of Gennadi? Alain, Jyotsana, all the handservants and bondservants? It was up to her to release three people every year, up to her to try and talk her husband or her mother down when they were tempted to either order violence or commit it directly. If she left...

  There was no other choice. Someone―and, sadly, she suspected she knew exactly who―wanted her dead. If the tea didn't succeed, they were sure to have a secondary plan in place.

  She would come back. There were villagers who would be sympathetic to her plight, surely. Once she'd gathered aid, she'd return.

  Or, once she was out, she could send word to the king of what had happened. The poisoned tea was not his doing; his history had more than proved that if he wanted someone dead, he was quite hands-on about it.

  But before she could put any of those plans into action, she had to leave the room.

  Emeline crept up to the door, listening for any footsteps or other sounds outside. She heard nothing, but that didn't mean someone wasn't standing directly outside the door, a dagger at the ready.

  A dagger!

  She scurried back to her dresser and opened the lowermost drawer, taking out her fighting dagger. The king had insisted that both she and Ilari train to fight, to defend themselves if necessary, but her heart had never been in such lessons. Even now, if someone was outside her door, she doubted she would be able to raise the blade against them.

  Still, she kept it in her hand. After all, even if she didn't want to hurt another person, there were the rats to consider. Rats had been cleared out of the Silence several times, but they never stayed gone for long.

  Emeline gritted her teeth and then pulled the door open, revealing an empty hallway. She let out her breath in a rush and then headed down the hall. It took every bit of her self-control to keep from racing toward the king's chambers, but she managed to walk just as she might on any normal day, glancing at some of the paintings on the wall, nodding to the guards. She slid the dagger into one of the pockets in her dress and opened the door to her husband's quarters, sighing with relief when she saw they were empty.

  The key to the Silence was in the same place it had been when she'd retrieved it to try and save Roz; she'd managed to put it back without Nazar being any the wiser.

  The thought of the older fighter made her heart sink, and Emeline curled her fingers around the key protectively. If she didn't hurry, she might well join Roz in whatever life came after this one.

  She didn't want to go back to the Silence. Though she reminded herself that she'd spent hours waiting in it once during the attempted coup, her head still swam with all the rumors she'd ever heard about the place: stories of ghosts of dead servants, demons that the Goddesses had cast to earth to test their believers, darkness so complete that it stole one's mind.

  Not giving herself time to think, she turned the key in the lock as soon as she was outside the Silence, carefully opened the door, headed to the opposite wall and then searched for the brick that would open the door. She removed the dagger from her pocket, praying that nothing would scurry over her foot.

  "And what do you think you're doing?"

  Emeline jumped, trying to stammer out an answer as King Nazar walked further inside.

  "You see?" Ilari said, grinning as she moved up behind him. "I told you what she was plotting. I overheard her talking with several of the bondservants, planning to let rebels in."

  "I was not―"

  "Then you'd best have a very good explanation for this, Emeline."

  "There was poison in my tea," Emeline said quietly. "I grew frightened. I wanted to leave."

  "Why did you not come to me?"

  "Because I doubted you would wish to hear who the poisoner is," Emeline said, sadly meeting her daughter's eyes.

  King Nazar caught her meaning, and laughed. "Ilari? Come now, Emeline, surely you have not grown so paranoid over the years as to suspect your own daughter. Most likely it's a servant or a kitchen
worker. I'll speak with them. Someone will confess."

  She had no doubt of it, if he sent them one by one to Grisha.

  "Mother," Ilari said, smiling far too sweetly as she moved closer. "Come back upstairs. We'll settle this."

  "Please don't," Emeline said, searching her daughter's face for some sign, any sign, of the little girl she'd known once. Ilari just smiled, and then her hand snaked out, wresting the dagger from her grasp. Before Emeline could even gather breath for a scream, Ilari whirled around, driving the dagger into King Nazar's chest.

  He made a horrific choking noise and fell to his knees. Ilari yanked the dagger out of his chest, and drove it in again.

  Emeline pressed back against the wall, a high, thin keen escaping her mouth. Then enough of her senses came back to let her realize that if Ilari was willing to do this to the king, then she would be next. She turned, patting frantically for the correct brick.

  The brick gave with a painful creaking, scraping sound. Then that sound was echoed louder on the other side of the wall, where half of the stones slid forward, revealing a passageway.

  In ducking down to fit into the short, narrow tunnel, Emeline's crown fell―a gleam of light out of place in a dusty hall. She looked up, her hand on the second brick that would close the door again, and found her daughter crouched over Nazar's body, smiling at her.

  Then she opened her mouth and let out a horrified wail.

  "Help!" she screamed. "Help, guards, she's murdered him!"

  Emeline slammed her hand against the brick, sending a quick prayer to the Sister Goddesses for the others' safety, and then she turned and ran.

  "Oh, Father!" Ilari cried, calling up a few tears for the benefit of the guards who now surrounded her. She rested her hands on his lifeless body, her palms getting soaked with his blood.

  The Mirror would be pleased.

  "Princess," one of the guards said. "What happened? Who―"

  "My mother," she sobbed. "She murdered him. It's her dagger in his heart. I found out... I told her that I knew. That she wasn't my true mother at all. She stole me from my father's mistress, stole me so she would have a claim to the throne. I confronted her and she―she would have killed me! But Father got between us and she..."