by Rebecca Grey
The reality of it was overwhelming. I was a prince again. Or would be soon enough. I was no longer going to be a nobody.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I turned and shouted to the sky as Ryker slipped her hand out of mine. “This is insane!”
“It’s a golden opportunity, really,” she laughed quietly.
“Oh my gods.” I ran in a circle at the bottom of the stairs, running up and grabbing her in a large hug. I pressed her slender frame to my body and spun around once. “We are going to win this fucking war!” Excitedly, I pressed my lips to her forehead in the briefest of kisses.
Ryker’s cheeks were tinted crimson as I set her back down and she looked at her feet. With one finger, I lifted her chin so I could see the slight grin she wore. Moonlight filtered through the clouds, illuminating her face. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to kiss her directly on the lips.
“You’re going to lead your people to freedom, Ryker. And I’m going to help,” I whispered.
Jesseline appeared next to us, “Good news, I take it?”
“Great,” I beamed. “Ryker, let me walk you back to your room.”
Ryker hugged herself as another breeze lifted her ponytail. Ringlets had fallen down around her face as we had worked, and they framed her in the most beautiful way. Her eyes drooped, dark, telling circles had formed underneath them as she shifted her gaze back to me.
“That’s a good idea after all this excitement.” She waved to Jesseline, who disappeared with a smile. Her hand fell back to her side where her arms swung as she started up the steps. I wanted to take her hand in mine again. Press more kisses to her skin.
“So,” she continued. “If you leave soon, when do you think we’ll see you again? Or maybe Jesseline will go with you and her and Slyke can message back and forth.”
If I leave, Ryker stays here. That didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to leave her again. Taking the steps two at a time, I caught up to her, trying to refrain from looking too deep in thought.
“Or I could come back and visit. We should still try to do what work we can on our powers.” My unspoken ‘and I want to see you again’ hung between us.
“Won't you be busy getting married?” She didn’t look at me when she talked this time. Her attention remained focused on the last few steps before we reached the doors.
“I don’t intend for that to be something that takes a lot of my time. Not if it isn’t the right person.” Not if it isn’t you. I wanted to scream.
Inside, the hallways were mostly empty. Nymphs were either in the dining hall eating or having a party of their own in their rooms. Maybe some were sleeping, likely just a few. Ryker led the way back toward our rooms.
“Are you going to share the news tonight?” She slipped her hands into the pockets of her shorts as we approached her bedroom door.
I chuckled and turned toward my door. “No, I think that will have to wait until tomorrow morning at least. I need a moment to just soak it in.” Carefully, I leaned forward, turning the knob of her door for her. “Here,” I offered, “Holler if you need help with any more expensive gowns. I’m just down the hall.”
“Not for much longer though,” she pointed out, stepping into her room.
“Have Jesseline come get me, and I’ll be here faster than you can say anyone else's name.” I leaned into the door frame, but she pulled the door closed just a little bit more.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Dace.” The smallest hint of a smile graced her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I sighed, as the door closed completely. What was I getting myself into?
TWELVE
Milo
No matter what I did, my eyes burned with the need for sleep. Red seemed well rested though, as she hummed a mournful tune with her lips turned down in a cranky frown. If I closed them even for one, slightly-longer-than-average blink, sleep threatened to take me under. But we were close enough now I could hear the calls of the capital that surrounded the castle.
The weather here was mild enough, similar to the Obtune Court. I was already beginning to think I’d never get out of these clothes and I’d die in a puddle of sweat. Leaves on the trees took on a different hue the closer we came to the capital. Green scalloped foliage faded into plum-y reds or sun-faded brown. Yet none of them littered the ground, like they would have in the shift of season back in Tierasia. It left me wondering if the city was spelled.
As homes and pedestrians came into view, I tested Red’s cuffs on both her ankles and her wrists. She wouldn’t be getting away this time. Sun glinted off the metal, making it even harder to keep my eyes open.
“Better make sure these are nice and tight,” I murmured. This would be my first encounter with King Windre, the man who supposedly broke the nymphs of their rebellious spirit. We would have to see for ourselves what this king was all about. This was like a side mission to my main mission, not that I was complaining. The entire point of me working with King Ottack was to waste time and avoid the true reason for my visit to Stylica.
Finding the fae who took my queen's token had become more of a pressing need for her as she spiraled, feeling out of control. She lashed out against her own lands, just to appease the need to know what she could command. The way this had shaken her gave me hope that she could get rattled enough that we could knock her from her throne, as she had done many years ago to the king and queen who had ruled Tierasia in peace for their entire reign.
Whoever held the token, held the crown. Atarah wanted that token. She wanted the chance at more than just her own average gifts. But all that the king and queen had really had was half of the token. She would have to find the other half.
Queen Atarah hadn’t wanted peace when she and her cult following ambushed the castle. The people didn’t need peace, the people needed power, she had said. I’d heard this story time and time again. Atarah had only given herself power, not the people. In her attack on the castle, she had been successful in killing the king, queen, and their son. And, even though she fought hard to stop the rumors, sometimes people still whispered about the possibility that the prince had gotten away. His body was never found or publicly displayed as his parents had been. His father's corpse was found in the fury of the battle inside the castle, but his mother’s, she had gotten farther. Her body had been carried back from the long expanse of forest behind the castle, along with the slew of men she had killed along the way. How far had the prince gotten? According to Atarah, not far at all. Perhaps the people were merely trying to hold on to the thread of hope that the rumor presented.
Along with her rule came a proclamation. The final words of a dying witch. Someone would come to Stylica, someone who wasn’t meant to be there, and they would take what the queen treasured most. A.K.A. the token.
Then, Randsin had appeared, dazed and confused, in the middle of a gods-damned court nonetheless. And then he stole the love of my life. I didn’t like Randsin, but I needed him alive. I needed the token to be protected or destroyed.
I sighed loudly. In my peripheral, buildings came and went, but I didn’t give them enough attention to differentiate between home and storefront. Maybe it was for the best that I was here, away from Eydis, anyway.
“Why are you sighing?” Red pulled me away from my spiraling thoughts. “It’s not like you're the one getting ready to be hurt.”
“You could always just keep your mouth shut and comply with everything you’re asked. That would probably help out your cause.”
Red rolled her eyes, her body rocking with the sway of the wagon as we passed over uneven roads. Her attention kept drifting to the pointed towers of the grey castle; we kept getting glimpses through the tree line and busy, merchant-filled streets. She would try to distract herself by chewing at her nearly-nonexistent nails, or wearily watching people try to sell items to us as we continued by.
“Buy this beautiful hand-quilted blanket, sir,” one offered, holding up a white cloth embroidered in
gold swirls.
“Yes, Milo, why don’t we stop for you to buy some souvenirs for this little trip. Maybe you can take one back to your queen.” She turned to look at me. There was clearly not much hope that she could get out of this deal King Ottack had put her into now.
“Don’t talk like that,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“I like it when your jaw cords like that.” Red actually managed a small grin.
“You like to drive me bat-shit crazy, is what you like,” I said as I fought to release the tension in my jaw.
Fae called to us and other passing pedestrians from their storefronts or wagon backs. Dark, blooming clouds overhead merged together to cover the sun. A few people, wise to the simple signs of an upcoming storm, plucked out umbrellas or scuttled back into their businesses. We did not have an umbrella.
Rain held off until we left the busy street and went through the small gathering of trees between the castle walls and the citizens of Caratona. Quiet grew where there was no longer the chant of sales to be made. Only the occasional caw of a bird as it took flight was left to listen to. In my humble opinion, that was a lot better than salesmen begging for my nearly-nonexistent dollar.
The emptiness between the rest of the world and the castle felt almost ominous in the shadows of the sagging trees. Through the last of the brush, the sound of water lapping against rock became apparent. Wood and plants met in a short bridge over the small, flowing river. The wagon jostled over the worn planks of the bridge.
And there it was. The outer wall that surrounded the castle was grey, tall, and spiked. Whether it was to keep people from coming in or from attempting to escape, would be determined. Two guards were posted at the gate. Their brown uniforms were trimmed in the same gold as the blanket the merchant had offered.
One man pulled himself away from the wall and stood directly in front of our cart, as I pulled the horse to a stop. “Name, and reason for visit?”
“Milo Piercing, I’ve traveled from the Obtune Court with a nymph King Ottack would like to place in King Windre’s care.” It made it sound like she was here for a vacation, and not the punishment she would undertake.
The guard grunted and motioned to his friend to open the gate, “Men will greet you at the door and bring you back to King Windre.”
I mumbled a thanks, slapping the reins and urging the horse forward. Red had grown particularly quiet. I dared a glance at her. Her face was white, her arms folded over her chest, nails digging into her skin, and her legs were crossed. On top of that, her bottom leg began bouncing against the wagon floor. Red seemed to have lots of nervous ticks. She turned to me, not nearly as confident as she usually was.
The courtyard before the castle was filled with lots of miscellaneous devices, none of which looked like a lot of fun for the participant. Beams were nailed into the ground, ropes splattered with red lay between them. Even the grass near some of the other torture devices was stained with blood. It gave me an oddly familiar feeling of being home in my queen’s own torture rooms. All different methods were available before we even made it into the castle. A few racks for stretching a victim's body, quite a few knee splitters, more than ten pillories to secure waiting victims, and even a tall, wooden box with its doors open and fitted with a number of spikes to penetrate the sufferer.
“There’s still time to turn this cart around. You don’t have to do this,” her voice was hoarse and she spoke quickly. “Whatever it is that you want me to do, I’ll do it. You want me to cry? I can fake a tear. You want me to beg? Hell, these knees have grown used to being pushed to the ground. We can turn around, right now.”
“No, we can’t.” I turned forward, refusing to meet her red-rimmed stare. This wasn’t like Red. Red didn’t beg, she didn’t bargain. She must be truly terrified.
“Fine,” her pleas turned into a snarl. “Then what kind of price do you think King Windre would pay to hear that you’re King Ottack’s spy. Not only that, but you have an alliance with a far-away queen, and now you’re here to sniff out his court. What would he pay for that information, Milo? What would he pay?”
And there she was with her quick and spiteful tongue. If sugar couldn’t get her far, she knew that her menace could. But it wouldn’t do the trick on me. My back practically cracked all the way up my spine with how fast I twisted, and my fingers dug into her cheeks as I pulled her to my face. Our wagon rolled to a stop in front of the waiting steps. A guard had already descended to meet us.
“You listen here, you’ll shut your fucking mouth right now if you know what’s good for you. Keep your tongue tamed and you won’t make it worse than it already has to be.” She didn’t flinch as I spoke, but I could see the slightest tremble in her lip and water already building along her eyelids. But Red wouldn’t cry. She would find a way to suck those tears right back up into her head and use the moisture to spit at us.
Pushing her away from me, I turned to the guard. “We are looking for King Windre, he should be expecting us.”
“Right this way.” The guard offered me his hand to help me out of the cart.
Already irritated, I waved him away and pulled Red forward. She stumbled out of her seat, the wagon tilting as all the weight shifted to my side. I didn’t bother to be gentle with her now. The time for coddling her was over.
“Move it.” I pulled the chain through my hands, stepping down and dragging her with me. To her credit, Red didn’t say a word. I’d expected more of a fight, but maybe she was waiting a little longer for that. Only time would tell.
Her restraints rattled behind me as I led her through the tall black door and into the silence of the castle. I watched the guard’s back as we trailed him, not bothering to make myself familiar with the castle just yet. He pushed through a final door, revealing the man I assumed to be king, reading while he ate some fruit, and a nymph sitting in the corner sobbing. I noted the way the nymph didn’t have chains on his arms and legs, but rather around his scabbed neck.
“King Windre,” I bowed low, dragging Red down with me.
The pages of his book slammed shut loudly, the nymph in the corner flinching. “You’re late,” he lifted his menacing stare to me.
I shifted under his scrutiny, “My apologies, someone tried to make a few escapes.”
“No wonder King Ottack needs my help,” King Windre spat. He stood, revealing a long braid down his back, and he shrugged into a long, auburn jacket. “You can’t even keep one nymph tame enough to get here in time. King Ottack said in his letter that you should have arrived this morning. I don’t like to be kept waiting,” his voice dropped an octave, and that alone made me feel like my stomach was being filled with stones.
Expectantly, I pressed my lips together. King Windre was going to have to lead this show. I would take my own advice and keep my mouth shut.
“Let’s get on with it,” Windre sighed. “Step one, take responsibility for every time they step out of line. How many attempts did she make at escape?” His gaze traveled up and down Red’s fragile body in disgust.
“Two,” I said quietly. It was embarrassing, quite frankly. I should have been able to contain her. Somehow, in the kitchen, I had learned to let my guard down with her. I liked the way she entertained me with her quick wit, almost as much as I hated her unruliness.
“Twenty-five lashings then.” He pointed at the guard still waiting at the door, “You may leave.”
“Here? Aren’t you worried you’ll get blood on the carpet?” My boot kicked at the rug in the middle of the room. Shelves were filled all around us by various books, even those were in range to get some sort of splatter. And that looked like a very expensive carpet.
“Don’t worry. She’ll get it cleaned up after.”
Windre pulled a whip off of his belt, looking at it a moment before he handed it to me. His whip felt different, but familiar, the handle surprisingly not as worn as I had expected. He must have seen it in the twitch of my brow.
“My whip is replaced monthly, if not qu
icker. I like a sturdy handle.” Windre tilted his head, running his finger along his short beard. “Sit the nymph down.”
I pulled at the chains, but Red didn’t move. Her legs were stiff and her arms held close to her body like a statue. The only thing that moved was the rapid up and down of her chest as panic clearly raced through her mind.
It was better if she learned now. With more force, I wrenched her toward me. My hand met the back of her sweaty neck and I pushed her down to her knees.
“The shirt,” Windre reminded sternly.
I took a breath. This was what I was good at. This is what needed to be done. So why did it feel so bad to do it? Maybe Red deserved it. But maybe, she really didn’t. Either way, I needed to find a way to disconnect myself from the feeling.
The thin, flimsy material of her shirt tore easily as I ripped from the collar down and pushed the material aside. She was all bone. I had known that from the small glimpses I had when her clothing lifted, but looking at her back was almost scary. Every vertebrae, every single rib could be counted easily. It would take nothing to split her skin open right to her bone. Damn it.
Floorboards creaked as I took steps away from her, letting the whip fall loosely next to me. When someone screamed it was always my favorite part. A small thrill ran through me in anticipation that it would drown out the tiny taste of guilt that was souring my tongue.
Windre pushed his red jacket behind him, his hands on his hips as he circled Red like a hawk. A shiver ran down Red’s spine as he lowered himself to her level and lifted her chin to him.
“Every time the whip hits you, you count. If you do not count, then our good friend Milo must start again, until he gets to fifty.”
“I thought you said twenty-five?” I paused.
“Oh, it’s twenty-five per escape attempt.”
My fingers held the whip firmly, gripping it until I thought my hand might cramp. Windre stood and took a step back. His eyes flickered back up to me and he mouthed the word “go”. I glanced behind me, the nymph in the corner had curled further into himself and his sobbing had quieted as he watched with wide eyes and gaping mouth.