Seirsha of Errinton

by Shari L. Tapscott

  I shake my head, and we continue the game. My door opens. Uneasy, I look over my shoulder, expecting Dryal. Instead, Rigel enters, shutting the door softly behind him.

  My skirts brush against the board, and I knock a few pieces askew as I rush to him. “Rigel!”

  “Careful,” he says, his eyes bright. “Pippa may move your pieces behind your back.”

  I look over my shoulder and grin at the princess. “She’ll still lose.”

  Pippa laughs and then gives us a pointed look. “I think I’ve had enough sitting. I’ll take my leave now.”

  She quirks an eyebrow at me as she slips out the door.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say once Pippa’s gone. “I’m tired of hiding, of always meeting behind closed doors.”

  My fingers knead his tight shoulders. He pulls me to him, and I relax—but only for a moment. For Rigel to be here, my guard allowed him entry.

  I glance at the door and whisper, “It’s not wise to trust Dryal.”

  Rigel wraps a strand of my hair around his finger. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to see you.” His expression is warm, excited.

  He has news.

  I freeze, thoughts of my guard forgotten. “Have you found another bishop?”

  I don’t dare hope for it.

  “I spoke with Bishop Anderson, and he has agreed. After we wed, we will publicly announce our marriage, and I will take you to my lands. If it angers the king, let him start the war.”

  “What are you saying?” I breathe.

  His lips brush mine, not yet quite a kiss. “The time to act is now. I will not let him destroy Errinton.”

  I pull back, shocked. “You will fight for the throne?”

  “I will fight to keep Errinton free from darkness. I will fight to give the people a future.” He meets my eyes and kneels before me, a knight pledging his honor. “I will fight for my princess and future queen.”

  A sharp thrill runs through me at his words, at his confidence. There’s nothing proud in his face. He doesn’t crave power. He simply knows what’s right for Errinton, and he’s willing to fight to make it so.

  “Get up.” I yank his hands even as I fall into him.

  In one swift movement, he rises from the floor and lifts me in his arms. I toss my hands around his neck, and then our lips meet. He kisses me while he murmurs promises for our future. The moment is so exquisite; I will surely die. His lips travel to my jaw and then my neck. Perhaps we’re going too far, but I can’t bring myself to care.

  Then the doors swing open.

  Two knights enter the room followed by Father and Dryal. Rigel curses, but he doesn’t push me away. Instead, he nudges me behind him, his hand on my arm. He stands tall, protective.

  “This is more convenient than I could have hoped for.” Father turns to Dryal. “Well done.”

  My eyes bore into my guard’s. His gaze softens with remorse, but then he hardens. I look away.

  He betrayed us.

  “Not only did you speak of treason,” Father says to Rigel as a spiteful smile stretches across his face. “But you were caught seducing the heir to my throne as well.”

  Rigel looks back at me, startled. “Heir?”

  “Seirsha hasn’t told you?” Father clicks his tongue as if he’s disappointed in me. “So many things she’s kept from you.”

  My heart freezes.

  Father smiles at me and then looks back to Rigel. “Apparently you aren’t as close as you thought.” He turns to Dryal. “I believe she told her guard, though.” He looks back, a satisfied look on his face when Rigel’s confidence momentarily falters. “Interesting.”

  “I didn’t think to,” I whisper to Rigel. “He only mentioned it this morning—”

  “Seize Rigel,” Father says to his knights, who have both raised their crossbows. “If he resists, shoot Seirsha.”

  Rigel’s hand freezes on his sword. He glances at me, silently asking me to forgive him for backing down. He was defeated the moment Father uttered the threat.

  I wrestle away from him and step forward. “Father, please don’t do this.”

  “I have no choice. I can’t have you make this man king.”

  Rigel offers himself to the knights, letting them take him so they won’t harm me. Desperate, I go to my father, dropping on the ground in front of him. “I beg you—don’t do this.”

  Father turns to Dryal. “Lock her in here. Do not let her leave, and let no one in. Do you understand?”

  The knights pull Rigel from the room.

  I rush to the door, trying to go after them, but it slams in my face.

  “Dryal, let me out!” He doesn’t answer, and I beat on the door. “Dryal, you traitor!”

  I’m answered with silence.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Dryal moves his pawn and then sits back in his chair, watching me. I cross my arms and stare back at him.

  “You played with Pippa.” Dryal matches my posture. “Surely you’re bored all alone in this room. You’ve been here for almost a week now.”

  I raise an eyebrow but say nothing.

  “Your father was watching me. He expected information. What did you want me to do?”

  I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “You say ‘no.’”

  “This was the only way.”

  “Why didn’t you fetch the king the first time you admitted Rigel to my room?”

  Dryal shakes his head, leans over the board, and moves my queen. I watch him, unamused.

  After he takes my turn, he sits back, taps the table as if thinking, and then moves his own pawn. “You were broken, torn apart by Bea’s death.”

  I glare at him.

  “Contrary to what you think, it is not my intention to hurt you.” Again he moves my queen and then looks up. “It had to be this way.”

  “Why?” I demand.

  He leans forward, his forearms resting on either side of the wooden board. “Because the people were angry—they were scared, but they were not yet mutinous. We needed to push them over the edge. The king locking Rigel in the stocks and announcing his execution accomplished that.” He smirks like he thinks he’s clever.

  “But who will lead them when Rigel is dead!”

  Tomorrow Rigel will be put to death by public beheading. Father has commanded I attend.

  Dryal points to my queen. “She is in danger, what are you going to do about it?”

  Whether I want to or not, my mind is already working. I look up, irritated. “There is no escape for her in the position you put her in. She will die.”

  “Wrong.” With a swift movement, one of his black knights knocks over the other black knight, which was putting my queen in peril.

  “You can’t save my queen with your knight.”

  “I don’t play by the rules, Princess. I’m Errintonian; I do whatever I want.”

  With pieces of both black and white, he surrounds the players that threaten my king. One by one he takes them out.

  “You judge people by their colors,” he says. “But you have more allies than you believe.”

  From his pocket, Dryal pulls a small silver container and offers it to me.

  “What is it?” I ask, my voice wary. I flip it open and find a fine white powder. I hold my hand away, careful not to breathe in the dust. “Poison?”

  “Sleeping draught.” He flashes me a grin. “You’ve been invited to dinner in your father’s chambers.”

  ***

  My hands tremble. I clench the napkin in my lap to still them.

  Somehow, I must slip the draught not only in Father’s drink, but Zander and Rovert’s as well.

  “How is your meal, Seirsha?” Father asks.

  I meet his eyes.

  “You won’t speak with me? That’s fine. Silence is an admirable trait in a woman.”

  I bite my tongue. I will not rise to the bait.

  “I released Rigel from the stocks this afternoon.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “That should make you happy.” He watches m
e, waiting for an answer. “Don’t you want to know where I’ve placed him?”

  I already know Father has taken him to the dungeons, so I don’t answer.

  “Very well.” He smiles, emptying the last of his wine. He turns to Rovert and asks if the draft is almost complete for the final regiment up north.

  I eye Father’s empty chalice. Rovert’s is nearly empty, and Zander’s is as well.

  “More wine?” I ask, rising.

  Father looks at me sharply. “That’s uncharacteristically charitable of you.”

  “Fine.” I fix a haughty expression on my face. “Fetch your own.”

  “It’s too late for charming. No matter what you do or say, Rigel dies in the morning.”

  “And you think, after that, I will do as you say? That his death will curb my defiance?”

  Irritation crosses his face. “You will do as I say because you are my daughter—and my heir.”

  “I didn’t choose to be either.”

  Father leans forward. “I had hoped you were ready to be reasonable. I see, however, you are not. Perhaps spending a little time in the dungeons will improve your mood.”

  I pause, unsure. Father can’t send me to the dungeons—not tonight. My hesitation brings him satisfaction. He holds out his chalice and flicks his head toward the pitcher of wine on the sidebar.

  It’s too perfect. I glance at the chalice and then look back at him.

  “Well?” he says.

  I snatch it out of his grasp and turn away. My back is toward him, but I can feel his scrutinizing gaze. Somehow I must slip the draught in his wine while he watches. I set the chalice on the sidebar, careful to place half of it off the edge. It tumbles to the floor with a horrible clatter.

  I glance over my shoulder, knowing he will be furious at my clumsiness. Quickly, keeping my back to Father and his men, I stoop down for the cup. At the same time, I slip the silver pot from my bodice. I attempt to open the catch with my thumb, but it’s not as easy as I had hoped. Finally, the latch gives, and the top pops open. Instead of sprinkling a little of the powder in each cup as I had planned, I add the whole thing to the entire pitcher of wine.

  With a shaking hand, I fill the chalice. While hiding the pot in my palm, I turn back to Father and offer him the wine.

  His gaze drops to my hand. “You’re shaking.”

  I take a deep breath, visibly controlling myself. “I do not wish to spend the night in the dungeons.” I drop my eyes to the floor and whisper, “Please forgive my insolence.”

  He studies me for a moment and then accepts the wine. “Better.”

  I turn back to the sidebar, slip the pot in my bodice, and then take the pitcher. “May I?” I ask Zander, motioning to his empty cup. I fill his and then move to Rovert’s. Without meaning to, I watch intently as Zander brings the wine to his lips.

  “Wait.” Father narrows his eyes. He holds his chalice to me. “You drink first.”

  “What are you insinuating?” I try to sound affronted, but my voice shakes.

  “Drink the wine, Seirsha.”

  I accept the chalice and lift it. I can’t pause; he’ll know what I’ve done. The liquid touches my lips, but none enters my mouth. After pretending to swallow, I raise an eyebrow, waiting.

  Father doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he motions for me to be seated.

  As if spooked, none of them drink the wine. I pick at my food, eating only as much as I can. They continue to discuss their plans to exterminate the feral dragons, and I wait impatiently for them to reach for their drinks. It’s only a matter of time. They will forget.

  Zander is the first. While arguing with Father, he takes a sip. I avert my eyes. If the draught works too quickly, they will find me out. Not long later, Rovert drinks his. Father, more cautious, watches them. When neither keels over, he holds his chalice in the air to me in a mock toast and takes a long gulp.

  Time goes by, another bell rings, and the men are still alert. The draught must not have been potent enough, or perhaps it was too diluted in the entire pitcher of wine. Then Zander yawns. Like a chain reaction, Rovert yawns as well and then Father follows. I watch them, careful to look disinterested.

  Zander falls out of his chair.

  “Zander, what in the…?” Father’s eyes whip to me.

  I open my mouth, searching for something to say, but am saved when Rovert crashes face-first into his plate.

  Father attempts to stand—ready to throttle me, I’m sure—when his eyes roll in his head. He takes one step forward, reaches for the table for support, and then crumples to the ground.

  His hand catches his chalice, and the remainder of the red wine spills. It pools on the table and slowly drips from the edge onto his lifeless form.

  I sit as if frozen, completely stunned. It was a sleeping draught and not a poison, wasn’t it? I stand, hesitating only a moment, and kneel by Father. I press my fingers to his throat. His pulse is slow but strong. I yank my hand away. Though they are sleeping, I feel like a murderess.

  I wipe my hands on my gown and then go to the desk. I try a drawer, expecting it to be locked but hoping it will be open. I don’t want to search Father for the keys. To my surprise, and relief, the drawer slides with no resistance. There are a great many things of interest—letters, several seals that don’t belong to our family, and a miniature portrait of Mother and Father. My finger slides over it. She’s just as beautiful as I remember. Her hair was down for the sitting, and the dark curls cascade to her waist. Father stands behind her, his hand on her shoulder. They look happy, in love. Of course, that expression could have easily been painted on by the artist.

  Still, I want to imagine them this way—especially when, after tonight, Father will hate me as he never has before. If we’re caught, I don’t doubt he will kill me.

  I tuck the painting into my bodice and go through the rest of the drawers. No keys. I hold a hand over my mouth, trying to keep the panic from rising. Where else could they be?

  A shuffling noise comes from outside the door, and I go still. Three sharp raps echo through the chamber. My heart jumps to my throat when the door opens.

  Dryal’s eyes land on the men. “What is taking so long? Have you found the keys?”

  I clench my hands, breathing deep after the scare. “I thought they would be in the desk, but they aren’t here.”

  “Did you try his bedchamber?”

  Entering father’s room makes me feel more than a little uneasy. I shake my head.

  “I’ll check the cabinet and the bookcase.” He’s already searching through drawers. “Try the bedpost and any chest you may find.”

  I shift in place, my eyes again falling on Father. What if the draught is too much for his heart? He’s already aged ten years.

  When Dryal sees I haven’t yet moved, he growls, “Go.”

  The tone of his voice brings me back to my senses, and I rush into the bedchamber. I search the bedside table first but find nothing. They don’t hang from the bedpost either. I try every cabinet, chest, and drawer. There are no keys to be found.

  “Any luck?” I call out to Dryal.

  “Not yet.”

  I scan the room, racking my brain for a clue, when my eyes settle on a tapestry. There is nothing special about it; it doesn’t stand out in any way. But I wonder. I stride across the room and whip the fabric aside. There, in the wall, is a tiny cabinet. I glance behind me, feeling as if Father will wake at any moment and punish me for discovering his secrets. With little time to waste, I dismiss the thought and pull the door open. I peer in the cavity. It’s too dark to see anything.

  I clench my hand into a fist, stretch my fingers out again, and close my eyes. I truly don’t want to reach into that dark space. Just as my fingers pass into shadow, the memory of the large spider jumps unbidden to my mind. I yank my hand back like a coward.

  No. I can do this. I grit my teeth and thrust my hand in. Instead of keys, I find a rolled parchment. I yank it out. I don’t have time to read it,
but there’s something about it that intrigues me. Not having found any multi-legged creatures the first time, I am more confident when I reach in again. My fingers brush against something cold. Keys. I wrap my hand around them and pull them out, clinging to them tightly.

  I begin to slide the parchment back in the cubby, but I stop. Instead of replacing it, I slide off the ribbon and unfurl the paper. My eyes quickly scan the document. “Dryal!”

  My guard races into the room, his sword already drawn. “What is it?”

  I hold the paper out to him. “Look.”

  He rips it from me, irritated I scared him. His eyes go wide as he reads it.

  I snatch it back from him, not trusting him with something this precious.

  “I’m the first surviving first-born female since my great-great-grandfather’s time,” I tell him as I clutch the parchment to me. “The ones before me didn’t die at birth.”

  Dryal meets my eyes. “They were murdered, and this is why.”

  All those poor first-born baby girls, every one of them dead—every one of them but me. Why didn’t Father have me killed?

  ***

  I know what to expect this time, and the dungeons do not alarm me. My mind is too fully on Rigel and the document to care about anything else. We finally reach the bowels of the castle.

  The same guard stands on duty. His expression shadows when Dryal and I step into view. “He’s not here,” he snarls.

  Dryal steps forward, keeping me back. “Where is he?”

  The guard shrugs. “How should I know?”

  Panic rises in my chest. Father wouldn’t have executed Rigel early. He will wait to make a show of it. Where has he locked him away?

  Dryal draws his sword. Before the jailer realizes what’s happening, the knight has the blade pointed at the man’s throat. Short on both patience and time, Dryal asks again, “Where is he?”

  The jailer glares at the knight, but he holds his hands up in surrender. “One of the towers. I don’t know which one.”

  I race up the stairs, not waiting for Dryal. He’ll catch up. I don’t know where exactly Father is keeping Rigel, but there are only so many towers he could be in.

  Now that we’re out of the dungeons, we must be careful. If anyone were to discover Father, we would be in grave danger.