Winterbourne's Daughter

by Stephanie Rabig

  Trying not to visibly shake, Gennadi left the room.

  As soon as he was back in his quarters again, Gennadi buried his face in his hands. Though he felt close to breaking, like he should at the very least cry, even now that he was alone he couldn't quite do away with the facade he'd built up over the past few days.

  A part of him still couldn't believe that the queen hadn't realized his lie immediately. He knew he wasn't the only one who had heard rumors of the Royal Mirror. Many believed that it was simply a story begun to discourage a coup; others weren't so sure.

  Mirror or not, he had felt sick as he'd spoken to the queen, and had been sure that his falsehoods were plain in his voice and on his face.

  But he was still alive. Whether or not the same was true for Emeline...

  You can't hold out hope, he told himself again. On the slim chance that she was alive, she was dealing with Vedrana's Forest all alone. Yes, he'd given her some basic lessons on what things were safe to eat, but...

  A sharp rap at the door had him on his feet. Ilari had gone to the Mirror, he thought. She'd asked it and had realized―

  But when he opened the door, the queen and her guards were nowhere to be found.

  "Lisette," he said, her name coming out raspy with panic. The queen, he could lie to. He could lie to Grisha as well, though he'd felt so very close to passing out every moment that the torturer was close by. The doctor had been easy to lie to as well, since necessity demanded it. But how could he lie to her?

  "I'm so glad you're safe," she said, stepping closer and holding him tightly. "You know what I have to ask."

  "The truth is I don't know," he admitted quietly. "One moment I was traveling with her, and the next she was gone. I do not know what stole her away and I wasn't able to find out."

  "You're going to search, then?" Lisette asked.

  "Not so soon. I want to, but I'm afraid if I run, they'll realize my lie and follow. The queen has already made mention of an expedition into Vedrana's Forest to see if a way through might be found. I'll be sent on that expedition. Once we're out there..."

  Lisette nodded. If he disappeared then, it would be assumed that one of the forest's scarier denizens had gotten hold of him. If he hadn't come back to the castle with news of Emeline's death, Ilari just would have sent more and more soldiers until she had the outcome she wanted.

  "Thank you," she whispered. Then she smiled. "Maybe I'll volunteer for that expedition as well. The Goddesses know Ilari won't miss me."

  "I like the sound of that." She returned to his arms then, and he buried his face in her hair. "I missed you so much."

  "And I you," she murmured. "I wasn't... I didn't know if you would be able to come back."

  "I've told you before," he said, smiling as he rested his forehead against hers. "You don't ever have to worry about me."

  *~*~*

  "I call to the Heart," Emeline whispered. "To ask for bravery and clarity in mine. There's a task set before me, but I fear I don't have the strength for it. If it be your will, Miona, please help." Opening her eyes again, she turned to Estera. "All right," she finally said. "If you're sure this will work."

  "Yes."

  "What do you need me to say?"

  "Just repeat my words," she said encouragingly. "Estera."

  "Estera."

  "Your act was weak and cowardly. You weren't worthy of the burial your brother gave you. You were never worthy of any of them."

  Emeline slowly repeated the words, her voice shaking.

  "You were a pitiful wretch," Estera said. "And no matter how despondent you felt, you never should've done such a thing." She paused for a few seconds, clearing her throat. Despite the attempt to calm herself, her voice wavered as she continued. "Your family is far better off without a burden such as you, but you should've relieved them by running away, not by disgracing them so."

  "You... you were a pitiful―no!" Emeline snapped. "I will not do this!"

  "But it's―"

  "It is not the truth. You're only using me to punish yourself further. And you don't need to," she said, grabbing Estera's hands. They were thin, brittle, like spun glass. "You were hurting. You were in pain and you acted rashly, doing something that you couldn't take back. That doesn't make you weak or a coward. It means you made an awful mistake."

  "My brother―"

  "Your brother loved you. And he didn't stop loving you after you took yourself away. Why else would he risk a burial? He loves you, and I am certain he misses you. You are worth missing," she said quietly.

  Tears streamed down Estera's face now, white as the mark on her neck. "No, I'm not."

  "I think that's what you need to confront," Emeline told her. "That your act didn't make you worthless. That you were never worthless."

  Estera shook her head. "My brother was an amazing hunter. He shot anything he aimed at. And my mother and father were excellent at preparing food; they could take the scarcest ingredients for broth and make it taste like a meal you would be served at the king's castle. They had other talents, too, so many, and I never had one. I could keep the cottage clean, but a child could do that. And I was sad all the time, even on days when absolutely nothing had gone wrong. Who would want that around?"

  "You don't need to be doing something useful every minute of every day to be worth loving," Emeline said. "Now I want you to repeat after me this time. 'I am not worthless.'"

  "It's not going to―"

  "You were loved in life and you're loved in death. Even if you did vex the Goddesses by taking your own life, it still doesn't change that fact. 'I am not worthless.'"

  "I..." She glanced up, tugging one hand away from Emeline's to rub at her eyes, and Emeline nodded encouragingly. "I am not worthless."

  She smiled, whispered the words again, and then the entirety of her turned clear and bright, shattering into a thousand stars.

  Emeline turned in a circle, looking for any sign of her, any sign that that had been what was supposed to happen. Was that how it looked when a rusalka was freed?

  Before she could call out, she found herself hip-deep in water.

  Home. The rusalka had sent her back to the river.

  "Gennadi!" she called. When there was no answer, she ran back to the cabin.

  Empty. The fire in the hearth was nothing but cold ashes.

  How long had she been gone?

  Chapter Sixteen

  "So what is it this time?" the Mirror asked, its voice lazily amused. "Still fretting over your mother?"

  "No, no! Emeline has been taken care of. Now I can rule for the rest of my days," Ilari said. "My line will live on for―"

  Until that precise moment, she hadn't known that mirror-spirits could yawn. Ilari narrowed her eyes. Magic or not, this thing still needed to show the proper respect. "And what was that all about?"

  "Nothing," the Mirror said. "Merely a response to idle chatter engaged in by someone who hasn't done a single thing to ensure their hold on the throne."

  "I... you're wrong," Ilari sputtered. "I did exactly what you instructed! I sent the Huntsman after Emeline and he brought me back her heart; I ate it that very night."

  "You did indeed eat a heart," the Mirror said. "Just not the heart you were expecting."

  "You are saying that he lied to me."

  "My deepest congratulations on your finally understanding."

  Ilari turned and stormed away.

  "What, no goodbye?" the Mirror called, its laughter growing deeper as the queen slammed the door, curved fangs showing in its smile as it faded back into the shadows of its home.

  *~*~*

  Ilari approached the dungeon, stopping short when two unexpected figures came out, their gazes respectfully dropping as soon as they caught sight of the queen.

  "Loyalist Yelena? Jyotsana?" Ilari asked. "What are you―?"

  "Simply tending to these unfortunate people," Loyalist Yelena said. "As I am sure you are also doing?"

  "Yes," Ilari said, holding back a smile. "Yo
u may go."

  "Good day, Prin―good day, my queen," Loyalist Jyotsana said.

  Ilari watched as they made their way back up the stairs and then turned to see that Grisha had moved into the doorway. "What was that about?" she hissed. "You allow loyalists to come down here and give things to the prisoners? When it isn't even Visitors' Day? What of your talk about causing pain?"

  "Loyalist Yelena and her new friend give them the one thing I can't. Hope."

  "But why is that―"

  "And just like hope, they're useless. They doesn't see their faces change when that door opens again and it's me. They makes them believe, for some brief futile moments, that maybe it'll all be all right. The two of them do more damage than I ever could. And they thinks they're helping."

  He smiled at her then, and her heart swelled at the sight. Whatever foolish feelings he might have held toward her mother, Emeline never would have come to this place. Had never had her strength. Grisha belonged with her.

  Behind Grisha, the man chained to the wall groaned. She took a few steps closer, fisting a hand in Gennadi's long hair and tilting his chin up. He already had a black eye; apparently he hadn't gone with the guards willingly. "You should have known better, Huntsman."

  Pathetic. He could have been a loyalist someday, could have even petitioned her for her hand.

  Grisha moved up behind her, and she instinctively leaned back against him. "Now," he said quietly. "Suppose I told you to hurt him. What would be your first move?"

  Her gaze and then her hand went between the prisoner's legs, and Grisha nodded once. "A classic choice, if unimaginative." At the look on her face, he chuckled. "Now don't pout, darling. Do you want to be just another pain-giver, or do you want to be feared?"

  "Feared," she whispered. Gennadi's dark eyes were open now, and for a moment they latched onto hers. She didn't see fear there. She saw a plea, a request for mercy, one that he should know she wouldn't grant. But he didn't know. Not yet. "Teach me."

  "It will take more than one lesson," he said. "But you've proved to be a quick study in... other areas, so I have high hopes for you. I've made hardened warriors weep simply by showing them a tray of my instruments," he said, moving away from the prisoner to open a cabinet. It was full of shining silver tools, hooked or jagged or smooth, all of them so very sharp.

  "The anticipation," he said, trailing his fingertips over the metal, "is often so much more interesting than the action. More frightening, for one in his unfortunate position. Once I choose a blade, once I've hurt him, then that pain is what must be dealt with. But until he feels that pain, during all the moments I'm still deciding, there's an infinite amount of hurt I could dole out. The terror in that has broken far more prisoners than spilled blood ever could."

  She grinned. When she looked at Gennadi again, she no longer saw a plea. Just resignation. He knew now that there was to be no escape from this room. From her.

  "The body has all sorts of interesting points, besides the obvious," Grisha said. "For instance. A quick slice across the back of the ankle, here?" he said, drawing his blade very lightly across the prisoner's skin. Gennadi gritted his teeth, ready for pain that didn't come, not yet, and Ilari had to order herself not to clap her hands like a giddy child. This was so much more interesting than just slashing away at someone.

  "And the hands are quite the target," Grisha said. "The space between fingers. That slight webbing? Excruciating." He snatched up a pair of scissors from his tray and wrenched apart two of the Huntsman's fingers, snipping at the skin between. Gennadi let out a cry of pain, and Ilari laughed.

  "The same goes for the space between the toes," Grisha said. "But hands are, I think, my favorite. I once had a woman here―for the first ten days, I would just insert four needles into one of her fingertips or under a fingernail. One finger after another after another," he said, smiling wistfully. "After the sixth day she started screaming at the mere sight of me."

  "What about the eyes?" she asked.

  "A particular treat," he said. "We save those for last. As I said, anticipation. Oh, but there's so much to be done with them. There's the blades, of course, but fire does remarkable things to a person's eyes. And I promise, you've never heard such screaming. But here I am chattering away," he said, "and I'm sure you want to put your first lesson to good use." He handed her the scissors. "Today, you get four cuts. Choose wisely."

  *~*~*

  "Why are you here?" the guard asked, staring down at her. "The queen did not send for you."

  "No," Lisette said. "But I would request an audience."

  The guard laughed. "Leave."

  "I would request an audience," Lisette said again, raising her voice.

  "What is it?" Ilari asked, opening the door. When she saw Lisette, she frowned. "What are you doing here?"

  "Says she wants an audience with you," the guard said. "Should I send her―"

  "No, no," Ilari said. She smiled. "Come in."

  Lisette walked into the room―her old room―and spoke quietly.

  "I have an―"

  "Did I say that you could speak?"

  Lisette bit her lip, holding in words it wouldn't be wise to say. She shook her head.

  "Exactly." Ilari waited a long moment, mirth in her eyes. "Now you may speak."

  "I have an offer to make you, concerning the Huntsman."

  "Really?" Ilari asked. "And what is your interest in him?"

  "I don't want to see an innocent man punished," she replied. "He has done nothing to deserve Grisha's attentions."

  "He lied to me!"

  "He refused to kill the Royal Mistress!"

  Ilari laughed. "Is that not crime enough? He disobeyed an order."

  "But Emeline is your mother," Lisette pleaded.

  "Honestly, I doubt that is the case. And even if she is, the fact that she pushed me out years ago does nothing to earn my affection. Not when she has stolen our king. And now she's probably trying to raise an army against me."

  "I can't imagine why," Lisette snapped, and then she stumbled and fell, her nose streaming blood from the force of Ilari's blow.

  "You will not speak to me in such a way!"

  "You're right," Lisette said, holding up a hand. "I apologize. Will you hear my offer?"

  Ilari gave a sharp nod, and Lisette went on.

  "You have thought ill of me many years," Lisette said. "I am sure that blow is not the only one you wish to strike. Let him go, and I'll put myself in his place. I will not fight. I will not call for help from those who would help me. You―"

  "He is the Huntsman," Ilari said quietly. "He might well have been a loyalist in a few years' time. And you dare think yourself equal to that?"

  Before Lisette could reply or retreat, Ilari lashed out again, aiming a sharp kick at her midsection and hitting her again in the face when she doubled over, gasping for breath that suddenly wouldn't come.

  "You are not a princess anymore!" Ilari shrieked, her fists hammering down. "You don't have the power to do anything!"

  Lisette finally managed to get to her hands and knees and reach up, pushing the door open. Ilari kicked her again and then finally fell back, panting and grinning.

  "Did you think I would not realize why you came to plead for him? I will see Grisha slice your lover into pieces. And perhaps you will see it as well! Your punishment is farfrom over!"

  *~*~*

  Last night's, at least, hadn't been a deathfight. Vasya hadn't had to take a life, but he had beaten down a young man, one of the ones he'd sparred with countless times and essentially had helped train.

  Vasya didn't know his name.

  When he finally got back to his room, anticipating only a drink of water and whatever sleep would come, Lisette was there.

  She sat in the dark, barely visible in the dim light from the hallway. When he closed the door behind him, she became nothing but another shadow.

  "Why me?" Lisette asked, her voice barely loud enough to hear.

  Vasya didn't pretend n
ot to know what she was talking about. "You were a child."

  "I'm not anymore."

  "I know." He rubbed the back of his neck and gave a tired sigh.

  "So why me? Every person you've killed in that Arena was a child once."

  "I know that, too."

  "They're going to send us in again."

  He smiled. "Now what did you do?"

  "I want you to strike this time."

  The smile disappeared. "No."

  "The queen may well offer you your freedom for this. Take it. That way at least one of us will get out of here. I planned to get you out. You and Emeline and Gennadi. I wanted..." She sounded close to tears, but then paused, breathing hard, and when she spoke again her voice was a snarl. "Why won't you just do your job? There's no reason for you not to! I have not done one single thing to justify your sparing my life, and it would've been far kinder for you to have killed me back then!"

  Her words and the tone of her voice chilled him. He lit his small lantern, raised it toward her face.

  Her nose had been broken, blood dried on her upper lip. One eye was swollen shut, and her cheek was mottled with a bruise.

  "Turn that off," she ordered, her good eye blinking in the sudden light. She turned away, her arms crossed tightly. "I went to Ilari. I pleaded for Gennadi's life. And..." She vaguely motioned at her face, and then her hand dropped back into her lap, limp. "She said my punishment was not over. I can only assume she'll send me into the Arena again. You may as well gain a way home."

  Vasya extinguished the lantern and went to her in the dark. Reaching out hesitantly, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Lisette..."

  To his surprise, she turned quickly at the sound of his voice, pressing herself against his chest, small hands fisting tightly into the back of his shirt.

  He felt her hair brush against his chin as she moved her head, and then she gave him a light kiss on the cheek. He thought it was just a gesture of gratitude―though for what he didn't know; he hadn't been able to do a thing to help her―and then she adjusted her position and pressed her mouth against his.