Winterbourne's Daughter

by Stephanie Rabig

  Startled, he took a quick step back.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, and then there was a flash of light at the door and she was gone, out of the room before he could make himself speak.

  *~*~*

  Lisette ran down the hall, away from Vasya and from the humiliation on top of the honest hurt she'd suffered today.

  Of course he didn't want you to kiss him, she thought irritably. He probably thinks of you like a stray cat that constantly needs rescue from underneath carriage wheels, and that's if he thinks of you at all!

  She couldn't believe she'd done such a thing. It wasn't as if she had such a wealth of confidantes in the castle that she could afford to go around alienating them.

  Perhaps she should go back and apologize?

  Her face reddened at the mere thought, and she kept on her current path.

  Whether or not he was disgusted with her, he still wouldn't follow her wishes. He wasn't going to strike her down and get out of here. Which just meant that Ilari would order someone else into the Arena with her, and they would finish the job, and Vasya would be trapped here until someone finally dealt him a fatal blow. And life in the castle would continue on, as if they were never there.

  "No," she whispered. The Champion would be remembered; no one else had ever fought so deftly and successfully.

  But she?

  She hadn't been able to free Gennadi, had barely been able to do anything against her second father all these years to repay him for what he'd done to the rest of her family. She hadn't even been able to protect Emeline.

  Earlier, she had gone to the supply closet nearest the dungeon stairs. There had been extra guards there, and she was sure there would be more of them downstairs as well. A rescue was impossible.

  She suspected the new queen had been referring to the Arena when she'd mentioned further punishment, but what she was thinking of now would solidify it. If she followed through with this, it would mean her life.

  But it would also mean that many people could continue theirs. Or at least that theirs might end on a more merciful note.

  She couldn't get Gennadi out of the dungeons. Grisha would keep him alive for weeks, perhaps longer―how many horror stories had she heard of people surviving for months down there before being allowed to succumb to death? Someone else would kill him faster, and though it broke her heart to acknowledge it, giving Gennadi that was the only mercy she could possibly grant.

  Lisette went first to the bondservants' quarters where many of the people she worked beside were getting as much sleep as they could. She shook the shoulder of one young woman.

  "Shura!" she whispered. "Wake up."

  Shura grumbled a curse and opened her eyes, sitting straight up when she caught sight of Lisette's face. "By the fires," she hissed. "What happened to you?"

  "It's a long story," Lisette said. "I know I'm supposed to get started on the uppermost hallways soon, but I'd really like to get cleaned up―would you do the scrubbing for me today?"

  "I... normally I would, you know I would, but I just got to bed a couple of hours ago myself."

  "What if I trade with you?" she asked. "Ferry Grisha's bathwater this afternoon?"

  Shura smiled. "All right. Do you need any help cleaning up?"

  "No, no," Lisette said. "But thank you."

  The first step was taken, she thought as Shura got out of her nightclothes and into her work dress. Now she just needed to make a trip to the bottlery.

  *~*~*

  Lisette put down a tub of water and then rapped on the executioner's door. "Hot water for your bath, sir."

  "Bring it in."

  She opened the door and picked up the tub of water again, carrying it over to the tub.

  "Well," Grisha said, laughing. "Ilari told me she sent you running. Didn't realize she'd hurt you that badly in the process. Learn something, did we?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good," he said, giving her a considering look as he disrobed. "Spared you once. I didn't kill you while the king was still fuming over that poor excuse for a deathfight." He smiled. "Don't believe you've ever said thank you."

  "Thank you, sir," she said, trying her best to sound shy instead of disgusted. The man climbing into the tub was responsible for scars on the faces of she didn't know how many servants. Other castle workers had disappeared and were spoken of again only in whispers, lest calling attention to the disappearance put the speaker next on the list. And her parents... to this day, she didn't know how much Grisha had taken care of and how much her second father had personally seen to. She hoped she never found out.

  The deathfights, she knew, had been Grisha's idea. He had been working here for over three decades, and that was far too long.

  He smiled at her now from the wooden tub, and the expression had her insides knotting. "Come here."

  She moved closer, keeping her eyes on his face lest she see something that would put her off her food for a week.

  Not that she was going to live that long.

  "Come here next to me, girl. Or boy. Such an interesting mixture of both, aren't you?"

  Lisette clenched her teeth. She wanted to tell him that she was a girl; she couldn't help how she'd been born, but she could help what she was now. She was simply herself, not some odd exotic thing to be stared at or worse for the novelty of it. But she knew the words would fall on deaf ears, and so she just silently knelt down.

  He snaked out a hand, grasping her chin and inspecting the marks on her face. "Hm. Considering your insolence, you're lucky you didn't get worse. Don't fret; you'll be pretty again soon enough, once the bruises fade."

  "Thank you."

  His other hand snapped out, hitting her cheek. Pain exploded in her wounded face, and it was all she could do not to cry out. "Thank you, what?" he asked.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "That's better." He let go of her face and she scrambled back. He smiled again, swirling the water in front of him.

  Could she really do this?

  Her answer came when he closed his eyes. Before she could think about it or could talk herself out of it, Lisette pulled out the knife she'd sheathed in the back pocket of her apron. Her prize. A hooked, frightening blade.

  She drove it into his neck.

  He made a horrible gurgling noise, and blood spurted onto her hand before she could move out of the way. She stared at it―a gruesomely bright shade of red―and then the quiet splashing from the bath ceased, and he lay still, most of his body submerged in water that turned steadily more crimson.

  Feeling sick, Lisette crossed to the other side of the room, where she heard an odd noise. A series of squeaks, or chirps.

  Desperate to distract herself from the body behind her, she searched for the source of the noise, blinking in shock when she peered under the bed and found a shallow box.

  Three kittens lay inside it, their eyes not even open. But their bellies were fat, and a soft towel lined the wooden box. She had always thought that Grisha had been the one to slice out the old gray tom's eye; that was the rumor. But no. He had honestly cared for the creatures.

  Lisette tried to imagine the man who'd done such wretched things to Gennadi gently caring for something this tiny, but she couldn't.

  Then again, not until today had she been able to picture herself killing someone in cold blood. When she had gone to the tiltyards to train, she had been imagining scenarios where King Nazar or Grisha or one of the other servants came at her, where she needed to defend herself.

  What she had just done wasn't self-defense. Grisha posed threats to so many people, and she knew the castle was better off without his influence, but in that moment he had posed no danger to her.

  She had taken a life.

  Emeline would hate that she'd done this.

  Lisette removed her apron and did what she could to wipe the blood off her hand. She picked up the box of kittens and carefully set it down in the middle of the bed, so that they would be quickly found and cared for. Then she sat down and w
aited.

  Another bondservant was the first one to enter the room. She took in the sight before her, screamed, and ran, leaving the door open. Lisette smiled faintly. It was time. And now she had finally, truly done something; she would not greet anyone in the next realm without having first done some good in this one, however much the act itself had turned her stomach.

  She only wished that she might say goodbye to her Champion, tell him that she was sorry for displeasing him so. Because as Ilari stormed into the room, fury etched into every line of her face, Lisette knew that today she would not be sent against someone who would spare her life.

  *~*~*

  Vasya wandered the halls and courtyards in search of Lisette but found no sign. Finally he returned to a small building in between the fighters' quarters and the castle proper, staring at it for several moments before he slowly made his way inside.

  He hadn't been to this chapel or any other in decades, not since the night he'd prayed for his nephew's life to be spared. He'd asked the Sister Goddesses for help and had even prayed to the Goddess of Luck to spare the boy.

  No one had answered.

  He thought of praying now, started to kneel, and then thought better of it. He had no idea how to even begin after so many years of silence. Besides, he would take care of this himself. He would go into the Arena tonight, tell Lisette that he hadn't meant his retreat in the way it had seemed. He would walk away for a third time and if the queen protested, still wanting Lisette punished, he would offer to take extra lashes. The king had always seemed amused by things like that; perhaps his daughter would be as well.

  He hadn't wanted Lisette to come to him out of gratitude. Hadn't been able to believe that she could show interest out of anything else, but he couldn't stop thinking about the look on her face as they'd danced, about the way she'd pressed up against him like she'd always belonged there.

  When he reentered the fighters' building, it was to the sound of excited voices. That was odd enough for him to break his usual silence to ask the nearest fighter―a new one, young, with braided blond hair and a gap between her front teeth―what was happening.

  "We're going home!"

  He arched an eyebrow. "Really."

  "Yes! Well, one of us, anyway, but the queen's letting as many of us as will volunteer into the Arena. All we have to do is kill some bondservant. And you look like you've already been here for a while, so maybe you don't mind staying longer? Give me a chance to―hey!" the kid yelped, as Vasya shoved past her and ran.

  It had already started. The loyalists surrounded the Arena, beaming at the spectacle in front of them.

  The Arena itself looked to be a free-for-all. Many of the fighters were battling each other, struggling for a chance to get at Lisette. She was currently fighting against two, trying not to get backed into the wall, her dark hair flying as she dodged a punch. The man who was punching at her wore a set of pointed metal knuckles.

  Vasya charged into the Arena, startling the closest fighter. Taking advantage of the man's temporary shock, he punched him in the jaw, kicked him hard in the kneecap, and then stole his sword as soon as he fell. Swinging up, he dealt another fighter a fatal blow to the neck.

  The loyalists were on their feet now, shouting and chattering and laughing. He thought again of how satisfying it would be to bring this sword into their ranks, to show them what it felt like to have skin sliced open.

  Some of the fighters had spotted him and had turned toward him instead. Others had run for the potential safety of the gate, clearly hoping that if they took themselves out of the fight, he might let them be.

  First he would take care of the ones who were still charging at him. But all of these people had been trained, had been in fights before, and yet they had agreed to go into battle against an unarmed bondservant. As long as he drew breath, he'd make sure none of them left this Arena alive.

  The first four to come at him were too eager, too intent on the prospect of winning the fight to keep their focus on what he was doing as they charged. They fell easily. Two died instantly; one screamed as she clutched at her severed arm; one choked on his own blood.

  Some of the others proved more difficult. He took down three more before he himself was wounded, a knife grazing him in the side. Vasya turned the blade back on its owner, gutting him, and then someone leapt onto his back, an arm snaking around his neck. He pulled the knife out of his previous adversary's stomach and drove it down over his shoulder into the other fighter's throat.

  He looked around, searching for Lisette, making sure she was still safe. She had gotten a knife from a fallen opponent and was fending off the new fighter, the gap-toothed kid he'd met outside his quarters. Lisette didn't look terrified anymore, just furious, and the thought that his arrival had heartened her brought a smile to his own face.

  Barely turning, he lashed his fist out at a scrawny fighter who was running at him from the side, knocking him flat.

  Lisette jabbed at the new fighter, and the blonde girl lost her balance and fell. Lisette glanced up, looking for him, smiling brightly when she saw that he was still standing, and Vasya yelled to her, trying to warn her, to tell her the only time a fight was over was when the one you were fighting was dead.

  Her opponent grabbed a fallen fighter's spiked metal knuckles and punched her hard in the upper leg. Wincing, her face scrunched up in pain, Lisette started to lash out at her. Then her mouth dropped open in shock as blood spurted from her wound. It spread down her leg fast, far too fast. She sat down, trying to press the wound closed again.

  The shouts and cheers in the Arena were deafening now. The young fighter snatched the knife from where Lisette had dropped it, shoved her back, and drove the knife into her chest. For Vasya, all sound ceased.

  The fighter who'd struck her down leapt to her feet, a wide grin on her face as she turned to the queen. "I did it!" she shouted triumphantly. "I'm going home! I win, I―"

  Then she doubled over, gagging, as Vasya ran her through. Shoving the dying woman away, he dropped to his knees next to Lisette, pulling her into his arms. He cradled her, whispering endearments and apologies, as well as pleas to deities who had never once listened to him.

  He finally looked up. Ilari was smiling.

  The queen turned and left the observation level. Vasya gently set Lisette down into the dust, and then got to his feet and ran, heading back into the fighters' building and taking Emeline's passage into the castle proper. She had surprised him by coming to visit a second time; he wouldn't have guessed she would ever voluntarily speak to him again once she was sober. But she'd come to his quarters multiple times over the years, and every time he had kept an eye on her as she went to her passage, making sure she reached it safely.

  He stalked out of the small candlery the passage led him to and moved down the hallway. "You there," he snapped when he caught sight of a Page. "Where are the Queen's Chambers?"

  "N... next level up," the boy stuttered. "Furthest room on the left. Branyx stone inlay on the doors."

  The guards at her door tried to stop him, getting their heads soundly knocked together for their trouble. He shoved open the door to the Queen's Chambers, slamming it behind him.

  Ilari turned, the smile still on her face but a hint of fear in her eyes now. Good.

  "You're finally going home," Ilari told him. "Since you defeated the one who would've taken the prize... would you like someone to help pack your things?"

  "Your Mirror."

  "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Word spreads through this castle faster than you and your family might like. You have a Mirror. It tells you things you need to know." The queen's gaze flicked to the wall on the right, and he looked to the side, seeing an ornate mirror. "How do I ask it something?"

  "You don't. It only works for me."

  "Then come here," Vasya said, voice deceptively mild. The queen took a quick step back.

  "I'm not a simpleton like my father," Ilari said. "You touc
h me and every fighter in that Arena, every member of their families, will be killed."

  "I know," he said, taking a step forward. "What you need to think about is how much this will hurt."

  "It won't work," she stammered. "I swear it. It only awakens at the touch of someone's lifeblood."

  "That I've got," he said bitterly. He walked forward and pressed his palms to the Mirror, wet with blood from Lisette's leg and from her heart.

  The Mirror changed colors, glowing, and then the barest hint of a face appeared in the darkness. "Well. You're new."

  "How do I bring her back?"

  "Depends. How long has she been dead?"

  "Moments."

  "Ah, good. You don't want to know the ritual for those who've been dead months or years. They―"

  Vasya growled, pressing his hands harder against the glass, and the thing inside of it huffed indignantly.

  "The king hid a book behind the others, on that third shelf there. Find the verse on the seventeenth page and read it over the body. Then take her to the glass coffin in Vedrana's Forest. I believe the Dwarves still have it for now. Place her inside, and ask the coffin to return her to herself. That last part? Very important. Otherwise you won't like what she comes back as."

  Vasya pulled his hands away from the glass and moved to the bookshelf, flinging half a row of books to the floor and pulling out the enormous one that was hidden behind them. He started to leave, and the queen―clearly in a fit of suicidal stupidity―followed.

  "What are you doing?" he asked. "Do you really think I'm going to let―"

  In the end, he couldn't strike her. She bore too much a resemblance to her mother. Instead, he grabbed her arm and shoved her inside her enormous wardrobe, then pushed one of the room's three huge, plush chairs in front of it.

  "Let me out!" she shrieked, pounding on the door.

  More guards would come―though how many and how soon, he didn't know. Given the talk from some of the other fighters, the new queen hadn't done much to endear herself to them.

  Ilari listened to his heavy footfalls walk away and let out a furious shriek, then sat down at the bottom of the wardrobe.