by M. Lynn
Edmund wasn’t finished. He knelt in front of her. “I’m going to get him back. Him and Alex.”
“How do you know the same woman took Alex?” Camille asked, handing her mother a glass of wine. She turned her stony eyes on Edmund.
Edmund didn’t look at her, his eyes still trained on the queen mother. “I’ve been searching for information on where they’d take Tyson. There are taverns known to be frequented by travelers and guards from Dracon. I never found any information on the young prince, but instead I stumbled upon the brother of a man who’d been sent on an important mission. He boasted about it to any who would listen. He didn’t know what the mission was, except that it involved journeying to the palace of Gaule.”
“That’s why you came back.” Etta took a seat and rested her elbows on her knees. “You knew he was in danger.”
“I was too late.”
Catrine reached out to touch his shoulder. “You risk a lot by being here.”
“I won’t be here long.” He got to his feet. “I’m headed to Bela.”
Silence echoed across the stunned room.
Etta joined Edmund. “I’m going with him.”
Duchess Moreau smiled tightly. “As much as we could use you two here, there are no others I would trust with such a mission. No others who would give their lives for our king.”
Amalie loosened her arms around Catrine. “I fear I must go too.”
Etta shook her head. “I’m sorry, lady Amalie. This is no mission for a lady of court.”
“Alex has been kind to me and Tyson… he’s the only true friend I’ve ever had. Don’t I have as much right as you to risk myself for them?”
Duchess Moreau beheld her proudly even as she issued a final order. “No, Amalie. If you were to go into Bela, I fear you would not return to us.”
Etta held a grudging respect for the young girl who was willing to risk everything as she was, but she still couldn’t have her come. “Amalie, this isn’t like us saying farmer’s wives can go to war. We won’t be among an army or facing unskilled warriors. La Dame is the most powerful magic woman in the world. There’s a very real chance we are all going to die.”
Amalie crossed her arms, but nodded in understanding and didn’t utter another word.
Walking toward the table where the wine sat, Etta tried to loosen some of the tension in her shoulders. She reached for the wine, her hand pausing in mid-air as memories came back to her. What if the wine was drugged again? What would happen to them then?
Nausea churned in her stomach as she stared at the pitcher. It was the cause of all their current misfortune. Without thinking, she knocked it to the ground. The pitcher shattered and burgundy wine splattered onto her legs and spread across the floor.
The chatter in the room stopped abruptly as they stared at her in shock. As if none of it had happened, Etta strode to the couch and plopped down, crossing her legs.
Simon went in search of servants to clean up the mess as Edmund sat beside her. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Of course she’s not okay.” Camille’s voice was grating. “She’s insane.”
“Camille,” her mother warned.
“No, she needs to hear this.” She crossed the room to stop in front of Etta. “You can’t stand in a council meeting intimidating our nobles. You can’t make threats. You can’t throw pitchers of wine. Persinette Basile is seen as the enemy. Magic folk are seen as the enemy. I’m still not sure they’re not, but I will always choose my family’s side. But you, Etta, need to stop making this so much harder for us.”
“You’re out of line, Camille,” Edmund growled.
“Says the man who lied to us for years.”
“Enough,” Catrine snapped.
Duke Caron took his wife’s arm and pulled her away.
“We have too much to deal with without you two at each other’s throats.” Catrine glanced to the wine and back to Etta. “Are you alright?”
“Just tell me what happened in the council meeting after I left.” Etta ran a hand over her braid to calm herself.
Catrine sighed. “As soon as we gave the council ruling powers, every decision must be put to a vote and the result would stand. They chose to release the imprisoned nobles and to reinstate penalties for magic. We were helpless to stop the momentum once it began. As soon as the votes were announced, the guard began to fracture. We sent runners into the outer palace to offer protection for magic folk and then closed the inner gates. Part of the guard stayed, but a greater part began following orders of others on the council. They haven’t attempted to gain entrance to the inner castle, but it’s only a matter of time. We are prisoners, I’m afraid.”
“There are other ways out of here.” Etta leaned forward.
“There are too many people within these walls. As long as our supplies last, there is no safer place for us.”
“How long will supplies last?” Edmund asked.
“Six months at least.” Catrine’s forehead creased. “More if we cut rations. When the wards came down, Alex began preparing the castle for possible siege.” Her voice grew quiet. “We just didn’t expect we would need to barricade ourselves against our own forces.”
“Why aren’t we considering surrender?” Camille planted her hands firmly on her hips. “Surely that’s preferable to any sort of fight. We can’t outlast them.”
To Etta’s surprise, it was Camille’s new husband who gave her the answer she didn’t want to hear. Duke Caron turned his grim face to his young wife. “And what of the people we’re protecting here?” He shook his head. “None of us imagined there were so many magic folk living right alongside us in secret. They were our friends, served in our households, and even took up positions guarding the kingdom. We cannot allow the tragedies of the purge to begin anew.”
“Send a runner to the border.” Duchess Moreau sounded exhausted. “Alexandre sent a sizable part of the guard to the garrison near my lands.” She pulled an emerald ring from her middle finger and extended it to Etta. “When you arrive at my estate, make sure this gets to my steward. He will call my people from the fields to take up border patrols as the guard returns here.”
Etta slipped the ring into a pouch at her waist and stood. “We shouldn’t wait any longer.”
Queen Catrine rose to face her. “Persinette Basile, this kingdom has not been good to you or your family. You will never know how much I regret what has happened. We have had our differences, but go now with our sincerest gratitude and all the hope we can muster.”
Etta inclined her head and Catrine pulled her into a hug. Etta stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Next, Catrine moved to Edmund. “We’ve never deserved you.”
Edmund smiled sadly and Etta envied him. He didn’t hold back, didn’t retain grudges. He hugged Catrine as if the past had never happened at all, as if he hadn’t been imprisoned and run off.
Etta turned away. Would she ever truly be able to forget the past?
Amalie gave her a tearful goodbye and Simon escorted Etta and Edmund back into the hall. A heavy silence hung in the air.
They didn’t look at the people they were leaving behind as they walked. Would the palace be able to withstand a siege?
As they reached a familiar door, the curse tugged at her and she breathed deeply, willing Maiya’s healing to last longer. On the other side of that door was an unused chapel with the entrance to a short tunnel through a part of the castle where the inner and outer walls connected. It let out on the far side, away from the gates. Etta used it once before—to sneak Alex back into the palace after their trip through the forest.
Etta put a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “This is where I leave you.”
His eyes widened and Simon began to protest. “You must leave this way.”
Edmund nodded in understanding. “Meet me at the edge of the forest. We’ll be able to take a direct path this time so it should only take a few hours to get to the village.”
“You can’t be serious.” Simon scowled at t
hem. “What is more important than getting out of the palace?”
Edmund clapped him on the back. “She has someone else she needs to get out, but only one person can ride him fast enough to get through streets teeming with traitors.” He pushed open the door behind the altar and stepped through without another word.
Making sure the door shut securely behind him, Etta headed back the way she’d come with Simon on her heels. There’d be no secret tunnel for her escape. She’d have to flee through the streets of the outer castle.
“When I tell you to,” she began. “I’m going to need you to open the gate enough for me to slip through.”
“This is suicide, Etta,” he growled. “Think of Alexandre.”
“I think of little else. If I’m going to save him, I need to do this.”
Verité lifted his head when she stepped into the courtyard and Simon grunted.
“This is about the blasted horse, isn’t it?”
She ran a hand down Verité’s neck. “He isn’t just a horse. He’s a part of me and if I’m going to go up against La Dame, I need to be whole.”
She climbed onto the saddle and nudged him around. Jerking her head toward the gate, she looked down on Simon. “You may want to tell your men what to do.”
His eyes held all the concern his words lacked. “Persinette, all the hope of Bela goes with you and that of Gaule. If you perish, the king does as well and that can only mean darkness for all of us. Bless you, my queen, and keep you safe.”
She reached down and touched the top of his head gently. “I won’t let our people down.”
He walked briskly to the gatehouse and had words with the guards there. Before the gate opened, he climbed the stairs to the top of the wall with a bow in hand. Three other guards joined him, knocking their arrows, and aiming them onto the street below.
The gate opened slowly, wide enough for Verité to slip through. She held one hand in the air as guards surrounded her and the gate closed with a thud. Verité growled, but she held his reins tightly with her free hand to keep him in check.
“Stop right there,” the order came from her left, but she didn’t turn. A sword scraped as it was pulled from its scabbard. A man pointed it up at her.
“Get off your horse slowly.”
She narrowed her eyes, waiting. Her opening would come. The rest of the guards began pulling their weapons and Verité reared up, kicking wildly.
Someone made to grab for the reins and the horse snapped his teeth, drawing blood. “Bloody horse,” she screamed.
They began to charge and a volley of arrows sailed over her head. Her chance. The crowd broke apart to duck for cover and she kicked her heels into Verité’s flanks.
“Come on, boy,” she whispered as he leaped forward.
His hooves thundered through the streets, people ducking out of the way to avoid being trampled. Guards and citizens alike ran in pursuit, but they were on foot. An idea occurred to her as she came upon the stables. Most of the horses roamed in the pen.
Pulling Verité to an abrupt stop, she drew her sword and hacked through the rope that kept the pen closed.
Flattening her palm, she pulled at her magic before curling her fingers into a fist. An array of vines and weeds shot from the ground, wrapping around the iron bars of the long door. She jerked her hand, and it yanked open.
Verité ran into the pen and sprinted around the outer edges, agitating the horses and herding them toward the door.
Free of the pen and chased by Verité, the horses ran wildly through the streets.
Etta glanced behind her where two guards had caught a couple of the horses and struck out in pursuit of her.
“Close the gates,” people yelled toward the gatehouse at the edge of the outer castle gates. Unlike the humble inner gates, the outer gates were massive wooden structures that couldn’t be shut in an instant.
The gap between them began to narrow.
“Come on, Verité,” she yelled, exhilaration rushing through her. The wind whipped the hair from her shoulders and she still held her sword aloft as she charged the gates like a wild woman.
A line of guards formed, some staring with a look of disbelief etched across their faces. Others stood in grim determination between her and the gates. She couldn’t stop now.
“You can do this, boy,” she whispered, gripping the reins in one hand and his mane with the other. “Show them you’re more than the temperamental bastard they think you are.”
They didn’t slow as they neared the guards. Fear developed on their faces as they realized she wasn’t going to stop.
“Not yet,” she said. “Wait. Wait.” Closer and closer still. “Now!”
Verité leaped.
His legs dangled as they flew through the air and Etta held on tighter than she ever had before. It was a moment she’d never forget. Everything seemed to stop. No sound. No movement. Verité’s hooves came so close to the guard’s heads, they had to duck as he sailed overhead.
He landed with a spine-jarring force and ran through the barely open gates without missing a beat. The gates closed with finality, cutting off possible pursuit until they could open again. Verité exploded down the grassy hill and over the road, not slowing until they were crossing the path that would take them to the forest.
Etta leaned forward against Verité’s neck and laughed as she tried to catch her breath. “Well, that was something, my friend.”
They made it to the cover of the trees and she slid from the horse’s back, falling to her knees as the rest of her body vibrated with adrenaline.
She rubbed a hand across her face and gaped at her horse in wonder. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
He snorted and she used her magic to pull grass from the earth for him to eat.
She leaned back against a tree, letting the sounds of the forest calm her frantic heart as she waited for Edmund to arrive.
The woods darkened before she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
“Etta,” a voice called.
She jerked upright, taking a moment to recognize the soft timber of the words.
“Edmund.” Standing, she brushed the dirt from her pants before calling, “Over here.”
A few moments later, he appeared in front of her. She threw her arms around Edmund’s shoulders and he stumbled back. “I was worried you hadn’t made it.” Even she hadn’t realized how scared she’d been. Going into Bela alone struck fear in her heart.
He squeezed her and let her go. “Me? What about you? How’d it go?” His eyes flicked to Verité.
She patted the horse’s rump. “He got me out of there.” She didn’t elaborate as the day’s events played in her mind. Exhaustion warred for supremacy, but there was too much yet to do.
“I’ve been searching for you along the edge of the woods for the past hour,” he said.
Her body had needed the rest she’d taken, but no way did she admit that. She shrugged and walked by him. “We need to get to the village and collect Maiya so we can be gone before the sun rises.”
As much as they each wanted to drop where they stood, they couldn’t give in. They had to push. For Alex. For Bela. Even for Gaule.
Maiya launched herself at Etta when they barreled through the door into the relative safety of the old healer’s residence.
Etta sagged against the younger girl, too tired to protest, as her pain worsened once again. Pressing her lips together, she pushed Maiya subtly and held her at arm’s length, trying to hide the way each movement hurt.
She was too anxious to get moving again to stop for a moment to heal. Maiya’s magic had lasted less than a full day before the curse returned in force.
Releasing Maiya, Etta stepped back.
“Did you get what I asked for?” Edmund ran a hand over his tired face and through his bright hair.
“Sort of.” Maiya walked to the door. “I could only get one horse, but I did manage something else.”
She took a candle from its place on the wall
and led them to the alleyway. Edmund sighed. “A cart? How are we to travel swiftly with this?”
A scrawny horse was tied up next to it and Edmund glared at it.
“There is nothing in the village to be bought,” Maiya claimed defensively. “It wasn’t for lack of trying. At least with Verité, we can tie them both to the wagon and pass as ordinary travelers on the road.”
Etta snorted and they both turned to look at her. “Sorry, I’m just imagining the look Verité will give me when I tell him I’m tying him to this broken-down heap.” She suppressed the laughter attempting to break through. “But, honestly, Edmund and I are some of the most recognizable faces in Gaule.”
“I’ve thought of that too.” Maiya led them back toward her old shop. “Come with me.”
Back inside, she picked up a blade from the table and handed it to Etta. Etta studied the engraved steel and lifted her eyes to her friend. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Make yourself invisible.”
As the meaning sank in, Etta’s eyes widened. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and ran her hand over the intricate loops and twists. Her hair was who she was. When she was killing, it made her feel human. When all she felt was the curse, it grounded her.
“No,” she said, walking past Maiya to sit in front of the looking glass. She dropped the knife on the table.
“You can’t ask her to do this,” Edmund whispered.
“Not just her, Edmund. People know you for your looks as well. We don’t have much time.”
Etta unraveled her braid, letting her fingers sink in to the silky strands she knew so well. Her eyes drifted shut as she pictured Alex stroking each lock. It’d made her feel like a woman when little else had.
Edmund appeared behind her, brush in hand, and dragged it through her hair. Her eyes met his in the looking glass. Could she still be Persinette Basile without the well-known golden mane?
He rested his chin on her head. “For Alex.”
She nodded. “For Bela.”
He reached out and took the knife she’d dropped. After gathering her hair, he sawed through the strong fibers. When he was finished, her choppy hair rested at her ears.