by Katie Roman
Grace heard the jingle of keys followed by the catch of the door’s bolt. The guard opened the door, looking fresh after a good night’s sleep. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight bun and her uniform was perfectly pressed. She couldn’t have been much older than Grace, but she possessed an authoritative air as she brandished her baton at the two prisoners.
“Take your punishment like good girls and get up.”
With many grunts and groans, Grace managed to pull herself up off the mattress. She found her posture bent, but when she tried to straighten up, every muscle in her back screamed in protest. Seeing her discomfort, the guard was barely able to hide a smirk.
You’ll not get such satisfaction from me, she thought bitterly. Fighting against the pain, Grace forced herself to stand straight, with her shoulders pushed back and her head held high. Charlotte stood behind her, doing the same. With stiff legs, they followed the guard out of the cell.
None of the women in the prison seemed to be doing any better than Grace and Charlotte. Like the day before, the cart with a pot of rice and hard bread was set up close to the exit of the common room. Grace fell in behind Charlotte. The line moved slower than it did yesterday. No one felt much like moving today.
A large presence came up behind Grace. “Mornings like this,” Sal said, her voice making a croaking sound, “I wish they hadn’t dried me out. I could use my flagon of sweet wine. They always helped me through hard mornings.”
Grace turned to see a bedraggled-looking Sal. Her eyes were red and her face was ashen. The worst of Sal’s withdrawal from the drink had passed in their original prison, but it was clear that the woman wasn’t entirely ready to be sober yet.
“I hear you’re down in Traitor’s Bay,” Sal remarked. She coughed into her hand and cleared her throat.
“Ah, excellent, our little site has a lovely name.” Grace rolled her eyes.
“Well, the six that joined you, his majesty, and Charlotte ain’t traitors, but all those already down there are. If what the farmer guards say is true, you’re workin’ alongside the Duke of Actis and members of his personal guard; all arrested for tradin’ with Cesernan’s enemies.”
Grace looked forward again to stare at the back of Charlotte’s head. Did the former maid talk to any of the men yesterday? No, there wasn’t much talking of any kind yesterday. Charlotte said she was where she needed to be on their march. Grace scratched her head. She was now at the front of the line, and the cook pushed a clay bowl into her hands.
Cold, gray gruel slopped around unappetizingly in the bowl. She grabbed a piece of flat bread from the cart and walked to join Charlotte at a table farthest from the exit. With no spoon to scoop up the gruel, Grace used her bread to shovel it into her mouth.
“Did you know Nicholas of Actis was here?” she asked between bites.
“Of course.” Charlotte said nothing else.
Grace thought back to Katherine’s plans when she was staying in Arganis. People in Cesernan were going hungry and the king refused to acknowledge the problem. So, Katherine and others took it upon themselves to contact King Frederick’s enemies and obtain food to see the country through the winter. Katherine’s husband was just the first of many arrests. Given Katherine’s previous plans, Grace found it hard to believe that Charlotte had been arrested simply for visiting her mistress.
“She wanted you here, didn’t she?” Grace asked as she worked things out in her mind.
“Yes, but never you mind about that right now.” Charlotte finished the last of her gruel, adding, “There will be time enough for it later.”
~*~*~
At the midday meal, Grace noticed that Charlotte sat among the men who had been at their work site when they arrived. The six that came with them, the non-traitors as Sal said, stayed in their own group. Marcus and Grace sat apart, enjoying a bit of goat cheese and dried meat. They looked out over the water.
“I never thought I’d end up here,” Marcus said. “I always assumed some young upstart would kill me in my bed and seize my place.”
The waves of the sea lapped placidly onto the shore, just barely touching Grace's toes. The warm water felt good. She sighed heavily.
“I hadn't thought to be here myself,” she said after some time. “I have been a naïve little fool.” She put her food down, suddenly not hungry, though minutes before her stomach had rumbled for want of nutrients.
“What are you talking about?”
“In allowing myself to be named 'Death Dealer.'”
“It was not a name you chose, but it provided hope to many plagued by wicked men. Your actions gave rise to others who would not sit idly by while injustice was done. That is not a foolish thing.”
Grace smiled, but continued to stare out at the sea. “I mean that in adopting the name, I invited violence and death into my life. It was never my intent to take lives, no matter what my opponent had done. Now look what a fine mess being the Death Dealer has gotten me into.”
Marcus scratched his bald head, and then put an arm around Grace and pulled her close. “You are not responsible for this mess. All these men and women would still be stuck on Nareroc, and who knows what fate you would be suffering in Arganis. One girl with a sword isn't the reason for an entire kingdom's chaos.”
Grace wanted to shrug his arm off. She didn't feel any better thinking of whatever evils had befallen her family in Arganis, though he was right. If she wasn't the Dealer, her uncle would still have been planning treason against the crown and her home would still be burning. The only difference would be where she found herself imprisoned. She felt tears in her eyes and she leaned her head against Marcus's shoulder. She was glad to have his friendship again.
Soft footsteps in the sand brought them both to their feet, but it wasn't a guard come to set them back to work; it was Charlotte with an older man, tall and muscular. Like the rest, he was bald, but from his eyebrows Grace could tell he would be going gray if he had hair. He had a nose with a noticeable bump on the bridge, a sign it had been broken before. His face was red from the sun, except for a long white scar from his left eyebrow to his jawline. He carried himself straight and proud, not bent like some of the other prisoners.
Grace curtsied, as befit a duke. “Your Grace,” she said. She cut her eyes to the guards, who went rigid at her show of respect for a traitor. They didn't make any moves toward them, though.
“No need to stand on ceremony here, Miss Hilren.” Nicholas took Grace by the shoulders and straightened her. He stood a head and a half taller than she. “I understand you are the reason my wife still lives free.” He took her hand and kissed the top gently. “You have my thanks, and should we survive this ordeal you may pick your reward.”
Actis was a rich land. It had been the duke's gold that bought food from the country of Sera. It was also rumored that the duke's gold always helped fund the king's annual tournament. A reward from Nicholas would be a rich one indeed, enough perhaps to rebuild Arganis.
“You are too kind, Your Grace.” She gently took her hand back and smiled. “Marcus, this is the Duke of Actis.”
Marcus, not a man for ceremony, shook the duke's hand as though they were equals. Charlotte looked taken aback by the display, but Nicholas smiled wide.
“And how does a commoner end up on Traitor's Bay?” Nicholas asked.
“By being King of Thieves, I suppose.” Marcus shrugged.
“Ah, so you are the perpetual thorn in the sides of Glenbard's magistrates!” Nicholas laughed, a throaty sound full of mirth. This time the guards did not leave the matter alone, they began to hurry over.
“Your Grace,” Charlotte warned. “You mustn't draw so much attention.”
“They watch us like hawks. I'll always be drawing attention,” the duke countered.
“You – back to work,” Smythe ordered. “You've been allowed more than enough time to eat. All of you!” she bellowed. “Back to it.”
The small group disbanded and returned to their posts.
Fo
ur
Captain Kay Lansa spent much of her life trying to avoid entanglements with kings. Certainly there were many who wanted such a notorious pirate captured for pillaging their ships, but she had never gone out of her way to spar with royal ships. In fact, she'd done the exact opposite. She went far out of her way to avoid attacking any ship with royalty aboard. If she was ever caught she'd swing from the noose for sure, but if she was caught with a prince she'd be tortured and quartered too. Now, there she was, with the prince of Cesernan in her cabin along with his fellow conspirators. The gold offered was too much to turn down, but Kay must have lost her mind to allow traitors to King Frederick on her ship.
Kay stood on the quarter deck of the Fearless Dawn and watched the horizon. Her thick black hair was pulled into a braid she piled on top of her head. She hated to have it loose when she sailed. It became an untamable mess when left in the wind. Around her, the crew went about business as usual. No one wanted to mention their royal guests for fear of rousing her notorious temper.
“His Highness wants to know when we'll reach port,” a voice said.
Kay clenched her fists and whirled around to find Donald, Grace's annoying friend, standing by. He'd somehow managed to sneak up from the cabin without Kay's notice.
“Tell His Highness that we'll dock when we dock.”
At least Donald was useful. He had worked on a merchant ship and could help her men. He was the only passenger she had actually wanted to take on. After the Arganis wedding, Donald asked for passage to Nareroc, where he planned to meet his own ship for passage back to Glenbard. He was also the fiend who convinced Kay to take on the prince and his band of treason makers.
“His Highness also wants to remind you that you'll be paid handsomely for your time.”
“Donald, I swear I will throw you overboard,” Kay said through gritted teeth.
The young man shuffled his feet and looked sheepish. At least he had the decency to look guilty. “Look at it this way – if we're captured by the Cesernan navy we'll all swing, even His Highness.”
Kay laughed mirthlessly. “This is a fine mess isn't it, young Donald?” The young man nodded grimly. Kay turned back to the sea without another word.
~*~*~
‘A fine mess’ puts the current predicament lightly, Donald thought as he headed back into the cabin. When he first bartered for passage on the Dawn, he wasn’t expecting to share the journey with Prince Drake, Sir Tristan of Escion, or the Duchess Katherine of Actis. He also wasn’t expecting to be their errand boy. Donald had been a manservant to nobility before, but now he was plenty happy being a simple sailor. His change in fortunes was not for the better. Serving the traitor prince would likely be the death of him.
Donald entered the cabin where the traitorous nobles were, bent over Kay's desk looking at something. Donald cleared his throat to get their attention. “The captain says we'll dock when we dock.”
“Can't she give a better answer than that?” Tristan demanded.
Donald didn't like the young knight, not since he had mistreated Grace. Still, he couldn’t lash out at his betters, no matter how much he wanted to. “I must say, we've been lucky we haven't been delayed by storms yet,” Donald said.
Tristan grunted. “We'll never make it back to Cesernan by the spring at this rate.”
“Be still, young man,” the duchess scolded. “It is dangerous to travel in the winter at all, and I'd rather arrive in one piece rather than floating on debris in the middle of the sea.”
“Our allies in Nareroc won't move without our say-so, anyway,” Drake added. “We must get to Nicholas first. Then we'll worry about making it to Cesernan in time.”
“And Charlotte,” Katherine said. “My maid is with Nicholas.”
“What about Grace?” Donald offered.
The three must have thought the manservant left again, because they all seemed surprised he was still in the cabin.
“We don't know if Grace is with them,” Drake said quietly. “She ran for Arganis and she may well be headed south with those arrested at the castle.”
Donald bristled. Grace had saved the prince's life, and he didn't even have the decency to feign worry for her. He clenched his teeth.
The prince moved away from the desk to come near Donald. “If Grace is on Nareroc we will get her, but if she's been taken to my father's castle in Ursana, we can only free her when we mount our own offensive. If she had stayed with us she'd be safe now, but I can't risk everything to return and look for her.”
There was a part of Donald that understood this. The prince planned a daring attack on his father, and if he strayed from his plan even a little, he would lose his life and that of many others. However, Donald also selfishly wanted his friend back. The prince had dragged her into his plot, and by all rights it was his responsibility to get her out of it.
“We owe Grace a great deal,” Katherine offered. “She will be rewarded richly, one way or the other.”
Donald knew, though the duchess didn't say it aloud, that the other way was a lavish funeral should Grace already be dead. He desperately wanted off the Fearless Dawn. He could make his own inquiries on Nareroc; inquiries that wouldn't have to wait on the rescue of some duke and a maid.
~*~*~
The top levels of Redbank Prison were for well-to-do prisoners. There was a fireplace, a desk, and a mattress filled with hay. It was a vast, kingly improvement upon the coffin-like cell Jack had previously been in. There was only standing room in the coffin cells, and he stood for three days. He was given water and nothing else. Then his father's man, Gillam, had come and escorted him to the top levels. No explanation was given before he was locked inside his new cell.
Jack sat on the floor in front of his fireplace; his mind equally on fire with plans for revenge. Up here in the nicer cells they would feed him, let him truly rest, and he would be able to plot his escape. Bars on his windows, guards on his doors, these things would not stop him. He would ride north, find Grace, and they would take back Glenbard.
He watched the flames dance, his brow creased in concentration. He ignored the sound of keys jingling outside his door. He ignored the wooden door being opened and the footsteps coming into his room. His mind was entirely bent on the flaming log. The orange flames devoured the wood, dancing around it, enjoying the fuel. At the center was a blue flame, small but hot. In his chest, Jack felt that heat being pumped through his veins.
“Stand at attention, son! Your father has entered the room.” Robert of Escion was never a patient man, and in his voice Jack could hear what little tolerance he had was worn down.
Jack turned himself around slowly, but did not rise. “Your Grace.” He dipped his head just a little. He could see Gillam standing behind his father.
Robert liked to use Gillam to do the dirty jobs he didn't want his own hands to do. As a child, if Jack or his brother acted up, it wasn't Robert who thrashed them, it was Gillam. It took one solid blow from Gillam to never act out again. Jack sometimes felt sorry for his father's manservant. He wasn't a bright fellow or a particularly kind one, but he was fair. Or had been.
“Must you show such disobedience to me? I saw to your release from the cells below us,” Robert said. His face was a cold, stone mask, unwilling to give away his true feelings.
“You were the reason I was down there to begin with. I must assume you have something else worked out for me, since you're having me fed and housed here.” Jack waved his hand around. It wasn't much, but it did have a real bed and a fireplace.
“I came to see if this stubborn streak of yours was over.”
“And?”
Robert looked Jack up and down. “And I have come to make a deal with you. I will free you from this cell and let you wander north.”
“And?” It couldn't possibly be that simple.
“And you have lived here for years. You know your way about the city. You can lead raids into all the rat holes and root out discontent. And when you do, I will allow you to go to
Arganis to find the girl you 'love'.”
Jack noted the tone of disgust in his father. “We'll take a blood oath?” Those who broke an oath writ in blood were severely punished by the gods in the next life. Even Robert wouldn't dare make them angry.
“If you wish it,” Robert said.
“Let me think on it.”
“I will return to hear your answer in a few days. Think well. Gillam, give Jack his food.” Robert turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
Gillam came in bearing a tray with some bread, cheese, and a mug. Jack held out his hands and took it. Without looking to see if Robert was watching, Gillam put a hand in his tunic and produced a piece of paper. “A cloth to wipe your filthy face,” he said, and pressed the paper into Jack's hand. He then turned and left. The door shut behind him and the lock clicked back into place.
Jack looked at the paper. At the top was the king's royal stamp.
The following persons have been found guilty of treason against the crown and are hereby sentenced to hard labor on the Nareroc Islands
Jack scanned the list. Nicholas of Actis. Marcus Hunewn, the Thief King, a few knights loyal to Nicholas, and at the bottom was the name Grace Hilren. Robert would release Jack and let him go north, but the duke knew he'd never find Grace. Gillam was as loyal as a hound, so why did he give this to Jack?
And Grace doing hard labor? She was strong, no doubt, but hard labor could destroy even the hardiest folk. What had she done to get herself caught and accused of treason? Grace was no traitor. Jack felt tears sting his eyes and bit his lower lip, trying not to think of her being whipped, beaten, and suffering on Nareroc.
Jack crumbled the paper and threw it into the fire. You will burn, Robert of Escion, he thought as the fire consumed the notice.
Five
“Prisoner, move faster!” Smythe followed behind Grace, snarling like a rabid dog.
Grace's feet moved on their own, although her body protested moving the barrow to the cart. Her mind wandered against stagnation. Behind her Smythe carried a whip, unafraid to use it if Grace faltered. Twice the guard had struck Grace's sunburned flesh with it. She didn't want the guard to do so a third time, so she picked up her pace as best she could.
