The two monarchs exchanged a look.
Had Lord Tove taken Prince Dahn? “I hope your sons are safe and well.”
Queen Greta said, “You don’t know, do you?”
“Forgive me, I’m not sure.”
“A week ago,” Her Highness said, “Lord Tove himself brought us our son’s body.”
“Which son?” But I knew the answer. “Prince Dahn died fighting the Kyngoll?”
“Perhaps.” King Einar stood. “Tove, the child murderer, took pleasure in his death. I heard it in his oily regrets.”
I believed that. My chest hurt. My former father would relish Drualt’s death, too. But my brother had abilities Prince Dahn had lacked, which might save him for a while at least.
Mama had taught me several Bamarre condolences. “When youth dies, joy dies.”
They intoned the rejoinder together, “Bamarre survives.”
King Einar took the lamp again. “Come.”
We followed him into the solar, where he lit a candle and seated himself at an oaken desk. A prepared quill lay next to a stack of parchment paper and a jar of ink. He spoke the words as he wrote:
“To my Suffering Subjects,
Mindful of the Troubles that have been brought down upon you by the Lakti tyrant, I Approve and Authorize any Rebellion you see fit to engage in. However, out of concern for your Welfare, I urge you to obey the Lakti when your life is at Risk. We hope for two Withdrawals as a result of the Revolt: of soldiers from the Eskern Pass and of the vile Beneficences that have robbed us of our young people. Your Queen and I will remain here to Rule those who choose to stay, but Prince Bruce will . . .”
Really? Promise of a king in the new land would make people more willing to leave.
“. . . head the Exodus and, when he is old enough, lead the Battle against the Monsters. I remain your Monarch.” He sighed. “Perhaps our son can be a real king.” He nodded at his wife. “And perhaps our baby can be safe.”
Queen Greta tilted the candle so that a gob of wax landed next to the signature and clotted there. King Einar impressed the wax with his ring, leaving his stamp—an entwined B for Bamarre and E for Einar. Then he and his wife repeated the process for the second letter.
He pushed back his chair and stood. “Greta, fetch Bruce.”
The king and I waited in silence. When she came back with the prince, the boy’s face was alert.
King Einar crouched to embrace his son, then looked up at me. “I wish I could remember when I heard you recite, Grandmother, but no matter. Take my son with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“BEG PARDON?” I said.
The queen cried, “Einar!”
“It’s his only chance, Greta. Son, listen to Grandmother Nadira.”
The boy nodded. “Yes, Father.”
How could I keep him safe?
King Einar stood. “What did Lord Tove tell you, Bruce?”
“He said that in a few years I would fight for the Lakti, too.”
His father nodded. “What else?”
“And I might die gloriously like Dahn.”
“Grandmother,” King Einar said, “Tove won’t wait years. He’ll lower the age for us Bamarre to fight or invent another strategy. He wants me to be our last king.”
The queen told me, “He tousled Bruce’s hair! I couldn’t stop shuddering.”
“Go now,” King Einar said.
“Wait!” Queen Greta rushed out of the solar, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”
After we’d stood awkwardly together for a minute, Prince Bruce asked, “Where do you live, Grandmother?”
Better manners than his father. “In the southeast, in a village called Gavrel.”
The king frowned. “You couldn’t have walked the distance.”
“I have a donkey. I left her down the road because I wasn’t sure where your house was.”
Queen Greta returned with a burlap bag, which she thrust at me. “He loves strawberries.”
I put the bag in the sack with my magic boot and the king’s letters, rolled up together and tied with leather lacing. Outside, King Einar and his wife watched us off. Prince Bruce didn’t turn. His face was set, and I thought I saw the man he’d be someday: serious, brave, steady. Kingly.
At first I matched my steps to his. Our progress slowed until I realized he was pacing himself with me. I added courteous to my list of his qualities and walked faster.
As we walked, I thought about how often in my experience children had been separated from their parents. But mostly, I worried about how we’d hide Prince Bruce from the Lakti.
When we’d gone perhaps half a mile, I stopped. “Your Highness—”
“You may call me Bruce.”
I doubted his brother, even at the age of five or six like Prince Bruce, would have given me such permission.
But I couldn’t omit his title. He was too exalted. “Prince Bruce, I have no donkey. I have this.” I took the magic boot out of my sack. “We’ll go very fast. I’ll have to carry you. May I?”
He looked at my feet and at the boot. “It’s too big.”
“It shrinks.” It probably would have fit him, too, but I didn’t say so.
“It’s magic?”
I smiled. “Yes. It’s the reason we’ll go so fast.” I put on my boot.
He just looked at me solemnly. Drualt would have been laughing and turning somersaults.
“May I carry you?”
“I’m too old, Grandmother.”
“These are special circumstances, begging your pardon. May I?”
He raised his arms.
I held him against my chest and stepped. He pressed his face into my shoulder. His hand gripped my upper arm and tightened.
When the boot stopped and I put him down, he pulled back his thin shoulders. “Begging your pardon, Grandmother, have we arrived in Gavrel?”
“Not yet.” We were in an orchard. A house must be nearby, and I wanted to leave before the residents could waken.
“How many more steps?”
“Just a few. Are you ready?”
He nodded.
“Which way would you like to face this time?” Perhaps he’d like this way of travel better if he could see ahead of us.
“As before.”
The last boot step left us within a mile of Gavrel. I took out the magic shell. No one was about.
“What’s that? Begging your pardon, Grandmother.”
I held the shell to his ear. After a moment his face lit up. “I hear my heart!”
This magic he liked, calmer magic.
“Can you walk a mile?” I asked when he returned the shell. He said he could, but he soon flagged, and I carried him the rest of the way. The village was asleep, though Mama and Poppi were still awake, as I knew they would be. Someday we’d be able to sleep through the night again. Annet hadn’t yet returned.
Poppi squinted and Mama let out a quick yelp when they saw the boy.
“I have the letters. This is Prince Bruce, who will cross the Eskerns with us.” If anyone managed to cross.
Poppi bowed and Mama curtsied.
Mama wouldn’t let the prince sleep on a pallet. She followed him up the ladder to the bed in the sleeping loft and, when she came down, said he’d fallen asleep right away. I told them what had happened to Prince Dahn, which dismayed them, of course. Then they read King Einar’s letter.
Shouldn’t Annet be home by now?
Poppi rolled the letter up again. “Listen to your shell, if you please.”
I didn’t hear footsteps in it. Mama said we should all sleep, but we didn’t move from the table benches where we were sitting, Mama and Poppi across from me. After a while, Mama unwrapped a loaf of bread and cut us each a thick slice.
I thought of putting on the boot and searching for Annet, but there was little chance I’d finish a step anywhere near her.
Had a Lakti caught her? Had she been attacked by wolves? Or had she just lost track of time?
Gradually, the cottage’s dimness brightened. Annet couldn’t have merely forgotten the passing hours for this long. Something had certainly befallen her. We’d have to go to the Ships’ soon, and how would we explain her absence?
When we heard Prince Bruce moving in the sleeping loft, Poppi brought him down. I cut him a wedge of hard cheese from our half wheel.
“Wait!” Mama rushed out and returned from the shed with a small gold salver, castle treasure, on which she placed his bowl. “We’ve never entertained a prince before, Your Highness.” She blushed.
“You may call me Bruce.”
I remembered the strawberries and took them out of my sack.
“Thank you,” Prince Bruce said.
Poppi said, “I wish Annet were here to see you.”
Mama looked close to tears. “She’s our oth—our daughter, Your Highness.”
“Is she fighting the Kyngoll, too?”
I said, “No. She should have been back by—”
Someone pounded on the door.
“A moment!” Mama cried.
Had some Lakti brought Annet home? Poppi scooped up Prince Bruce and rushed to the ladder. Mama took the gold salver and ran to the chest to hide it.
But the door burst open before the prince could climb. His Master-ship stamped in. “I came— Who’s that?”
Mama put the salver behind her back.
“Begging your pardon, Master,” I said, before anyone else could speak, “he’s Bruce, my youngest grandson. His mother sent him two weeks ago.” Before the Beneficences required permission letters.
For a moment His Master-ship was silent, probably searching for a flaw in my explanation. Finally, “I see.” Then, “Where is your daughter, Shoni?”
“Begging your pardon, Master, she stepped out to the privy.”
“Fetch her. I want you all to hear my words.”
Mama nodded. What else could she do? Managing to keep the salver from His Master-ship’s sight, she started for the door.
In his piping voice, Prince Bruce said, “Beg pardon, Master. Do you like shiny things?”
“What”—His Master-ship’s voice started out angry and turned careful—“shiny things, child?”
I wondered if the prince had seen King Einar offer shiny things to any Lakti. He was a wily child, to have picked this up.
“A golden tray.”
I didn’t know how this would go or what to prepare for. Mama, who could do nothing else, revealed the salver.
His Master-ship snatched it from her, turned it over, walked to the window, and inspected it, an inch from his nose. “Where did this come from?”
Poppi said, “It’s our relic from old Bamarre, from before the Lakti came, begging your pardon.”
“You’ve kept it here?”
I saw what was coming but didn’t see any way to prevent it.
“Yes, Master,” Poppi said.
“Then it’s mine, since the cottage is mine.”
His because of the Beneficences, although they had mentioned nothing about belongings.
Prince Bruce’s face was red. I thought I understood. He’d tried to save us and had only made us lose something valuable.
“Annet should have returned by now. Perhaps she heard my voice and fears to enter.” He sounded pleased. “Fetch her, Shoni.”
Mama nodded and left.
Annet, where are you?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
POPPI INVITED HIS Master-ship to sit.
He lowered his bulk onto the fireplace bench. “You think Shoni will not return quickly?”
“Begging your pardon, Master, my daughter has the gripes. If you tell us what you came to say, we’ll inform her, too.”
He considered this, and I held my breath.
“No. I want you all to hear at once.”
We waited in silence. His Master-ship ran his fingers around the edge of the salver. Minutes ticked by. I turned an idea over in my mind.
“I’ll see what’s keeping your goodwife, Adeer, and that won’t sweeten my words.” He stood.
“Master, we have three gold coins,” I said. “They’re hidden. Not here, begging your pardon.”
Three gold coins were a substantial sum, even for the Lakti. A horse sold for two.
“Three . . . gold . . . coins. Give them to me.”
“First we must agree on terms, begging your pardon, Mas—”
“I’ll have you flogged!”
I shrugged. “I’m an old lady and haven’t many more years.” I added, thinking fast, “I’m the only one who knows where the coins are.”
He’d been thinking, too. “I’ll have the boy flogged, not you.”
No! I’d just give him the coins.
But Poppi squinted. “Apologies, Master. Do you believe the village will let you whip a child, whatever the consequences to us?”
He was right. We wouldn’t. There were enough of us to best the Ships, the widow, and the two soldiers.
“When King Canute sends troops . . .” He stopped, thinking about it. When the soldiers came—if they came—he would only lose by mentioning the coins. “What do you want?”
He agreed that he wouldn’t concern himself about the whereabouts of anyone in my family and that no one else in Gavrel would be flogged by his order. He said he couldn’t speak for the widow.
His conditions, to which I agreed, were that I would turn over the coins and our cooking would be as it had been before the rebellion. Left unsaid was that the rest of the revolt would continue and he wouldn’t rescind his appeal to King Canute for aid. I promised to bring the coins when we came to cook.
Before leaving, he said, looking canny, “If there happen to be more coins or another salver, I may be disposed to help again.”
That bloodsucker!
I asked, “Beg pardon, Master, what had you come to tell us?”
He grinned. “That you would eat a portion of whatever you prepared for us, but now I don’t want you to. What will you cook for our dinner today?”
Annet returned half an hour later. On her last step coming home, the magic boot had landed her in a wagon rut in the road, and she’d twisted her ankle. She’d hobbled four miles and twice had had to hide in bushes to keep from being seen by parties of traveling Lakti.
As soon as she showed us the swelling, I left to fetch Goodman Walde, though I wanted to learn how she’d fared before her accident.
Instead, I witnessed the goodman’s astonishment and joy over the prince. He was too awed to touch him, but he embraced the rest of us. “Bamarre’s future; Bamarre’s freedom. Maybe I’ll still be alive when we win it.”
Annet had to cough to remind him her ankle needed tending.
Word spread. While Mama and I were cooking, people visited our cottage to see Prince Bruce for themselves. They were sad about Prince Dahn’s death and even more worried now about their own children, but the little prince still gave them hope.
They’d also been delighted with the king’s letter, which assured them that what we were doing was right. Only old Goodwife Petina had asked how we’d come by the letter and how the prince had reached us.
Annet chuckled. “I told her she was safer not knowing and recited the good luck saying.”
I knew that one:
Good fortune flies
And won’t come back
If asked how or why.
That evening, Mama and Poppi argued which of them should wear the boot in Annet’s place. Each wanted to be the one to go into danger.
How the Beneficences had changed the Bamarre!
I broke in. “Mama! Poppi!”
Prince Bruce turned a startled face to me because of my Lakti-like interruption.
“Begging your pardon . . .” I curtsied to the prince. “Poppi should go, in my opinion. I’m leaving, and someone will have to cook.” Meaning that if anything befell one of them, it should be Poppi.
Had I chosen death for him?
“Begging your pardon, where are y
ou going?” Annet said from her pallet.
“To the Kyngoll.” And then to Lord Tove.
I spoke over their protests, surprising the prince again. “The Kyngoll can help us. They’ll be glad to know about our rebellion, and I’ll ask them to look for Drualt.”
My parents stopped arguing. Drualt, the child they’d raised, was more precious than I was.
Prince Bruce chimed in. “Why does the grandmother always have to go? She should rest. Beg pardon, but you’re as bad as a Lakti to her. Goodwife Shoni can travel to the Kyngoll.”
I had to grin.
Everyone else seemed frozen in surprise.
Finally, Annet said, “It’s her lot, Prince Bruce, begging your pardon. Aunt Nadira has always been in servitude for us, more than anyone, even when she didn’t know it.” She added softly, “And I didn’t know it, either.”
“I don’t want to stop!” I blinked back tears.
Annet held her arms out to me. I knelt by her pallet, and we hugged.
I left in the morning, carrying the magic shell in my purse and a satchel containing a magic boot, the magic tablecloth, and half of Prince Bruce’s strawberries, because he wanted the Kyngoll to have a gift from him. Perhaps the tablecloth’s return would soften Sir Lerrin toward me.
If he was still alive.
Although Drualt would be unlikely to be headed there, because it was so far west, I decided to return to the front where I’d been before, where I knew the terrain, and where Sir Lerrin’s command had been.
The Kyngoll would know how to locate Lord Tove. I wondered if Sir Noll continued as his close adviser and if Willem might be with him. Willem, are you fighting again?
Keep up your shield! Don’t forget the power in your back leg!
But he could be anywhere, and I might never find him.
The boot took me into the barrens and landed me just a few yards from the tower that had been my prison.
I walked north through an empty landscape, prepared to don my magic boot if the shell carried any alarming sounds. But, unless the war had suddenly ended, the Lakti had taken the fight north into Kyngoll. They were winning.
Suspecting that a boot step would take me to the battle more quickly than hiking would, I donned the magic boot again. In a blink I passed the town Willem and I had been taken to. Then I careered through a clash of swords, arrows, and spears and sped on.
The Lost Kingdom of Bamarre Page 19