The fear that Damaris had been caught by the inquisitors and was being held by them in either the palace or one of the towers scattered throughout the hills for political prisoners threatened to choke him. He had to keep looking for her. She had to be alive somewhere. He just needed to find her.
After taking the time to calm himself once more, and ensure any hints that he was not human had vanished, Tancred joined Sir George in leaving the inn where they were staying. The king was too unpredictable and quicksilver in nature to make either of them comfortable staying in the palace. Even so, Tancred noted the spy following them at a distance.
He murmured a warning to Sir George who gave a quick nod. “My uncle was . . . not himself when I went to see him today. He was talking about the need for heirs and strong marriages.” He paused and added in an even quieter tone, “He married my aunt for love, but now claims she was forced on him to make an alliance between their families.”
“Rewriting the past usually bodes ill for those who participated in it,” Tancred said softly. He glanced in the polished silver of a mirror. “Our friend is falling further behind.”
“Let us keep our appointment then,” the knight stated. “I told my uncle I intended to visit Mary since I had not seen her in recent years, and he agreed I should do so. Perhaps, he’s merely attempting to confirm my story.”
“Then, he should consider it confirmed.” He nodded to the baroness’ house in front of them. “She’s waiting for you.”
“For us.”
“The lady only had eyes for you, George. She’s waiting for you, trust me.”
Despite his own reservations and the impossibility of it, Tancred found himself feeling disappointed that the baroness’ handmaid was not present during the dinner. The meal was wholesome, but far poorer in choices than meals in most noble households, especially in the cities. Small game hens, a medley of vegetables, and brown bread. She provided them with tea instead of wine.
In the early evening with the sunlight still streaming through the windows it was easier to see the places where tapestries and painting had once hung, but they had been removed. And, fewer servants were seen with the housekeeper herself bringing in dishes for the meal. After the housekeeper bustled out for the final time, the baroness lowered her tea in order to study first Sir George and then Tancred himself. “My father used to say that the Earl of Silvermere never involved himself in politics. He also used to say that should Silvermere ever be stirred into coming down from his mountain, we should all listen to what he had come to tell us.”
Tancred bowed his head slightly. “I am honored. But, I have already spoke my piece on this matter.”
The baroness nodded. “Yes, and I have listened.” She licked her lips and then raised her chin as she stated quietly but steadily, “I will stand with you, George.”
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
“How do you know Sir George? He is a little older than you, yes?”
There was a telltale darkening of the baroness’ cheeks as she turned for Damaris to fasten her laces. “I . . . We used to play together. He was always a kind boy and then when I saw him as a young man, he was always courteous. He . . .”
“You fell in love, didn’t you?” she asked knowingly.
Mary nodded. “Yes. Well, I did. George . . . He was quite taken with the Marquise of Carabas before she married. She was brave and different from the ladies of the court. And, I was . . . a shadow.”
“He sees you now.”
“I’d stopped writing him. And, then . . . He acted as though he were the one at fault, the sweet man.” The baroness smiled more to herself than at Damaris. “Demi, he’s so kind. And, earnest and sincere.”
“You only spent the entire evening talking two days ago, and he came to see you again yesterday afternoon.” Damaris finished tying the laces of her russet bliaut then added, “At this rate, he will come and see you for breakfast.” She laughed softly. “And, you’ll have a proposal by sunset.”
“Demi! That would be far too soon.”
Damaris clicked her tongue. “I believe you should seize happiness when it finds you because it might be gone in the morning. Let the man propose, no matter how soon it is, if he makes you feel happier than you’ve ever been.”
“You sound as though you’re speaking from experience, Demi.”
She frowned as she reached for her memories. The words she’d just spoken had felt so . . . familiar. Yet . . .
A scream was startled out of Mary while Damaris’ throat closed fast as the bedchamber door was broken open. Men in black tabards charged inside. Damaris wrapped an arm around Mary to steady her. The older girl had turned ashen and her voice shook as she demanded, “What are you doing? How dare you break into my home and my bedchamber?”
The leader of the squad of royal guards never so much as acknowledged her. Instead, he pronounced, “Baroness Mary Guise, your presence is required at the palace. King Stephen commands it.”
Mary stepped forward though she clutched Damaris’ hand. “I have not finished my morning ablutions. I wish to appear my best when summoned before his majesty. Please allow me a half hour, and then I will go with you.”
The commander shook his head. “The king commands you to come before him now, without delay.”
Two of his men stepped forward and seized the baroness by her arms. She didn’t scream again. Instead, she merely raised her chin as she released Damaris’ hand and somehow managed to look regal even with her escort. The guards pulled her from the room almost as swiftly as they had entered.
Damaris didn’t hesitate. She ran after them, following a few steps behind the last set of guards and trying to keep Mary in sight. The only sound of distress from her mistress came when they swept downstairs to find Opal sitting on the floor with Vernon’s head in her lap, and her apron pressed against his head with a growing patch of red. Damaris’ steps slowed, but Opal jerked her chin toward the retreating guards and she quickened her pace once more to keep up.
They marched through the winding streets of the capital and then up to the palace. Once inside, they walked down three different corridors before royal guards barred her way with their spears. “You cannot go that way. It is the king’s private wing.”
Damaris stopped and watched, praying they would let Mary go. Instead, she was taken around another corner and out of sight. When the guards threatened to summon an inquisitor, she forced herself to hurry back the way she had come. She needed to find Sir George. He would be able to do something to help.
She ran into the gardens only to smack into a man. She looked up into dark eyes and a lean face framed by unruly hair. She abruptly realized she was clinging to his tunic and took a step back, cheeks warming. “My lord. Do you know where I may find Sir George?”
“Why?”
“My mistress has been taken to the king’s private wing. I was not permitted to accompany her.” Damaris took a breath to steady herself and then continued, “I fear the king means nothing good toward her. His men injured her steward when they broke into the house.”
“Stay here. I will find Sir George.”
She nodded and sank onto a bench by the roses as she watched the earl stride away. Reaching up to touch the chain of her necklace, she could only pray the men wouldn’t be too late.
* * *
The earl still hadn’t returned by the time the sun rose to high noon. Nor had she seen a hint of Sir George’s golden head. She stood and paced the gardens, hoping to find someone who could tell her what was happening.
“Demi girl.”
She stopped in her tracks and whirled in a circle until she spied a cloaked figure peeking at her from around the corner of the hedge maze. “Eve?”
The figure nodded. “I know where they’re keeping your mistress and how to smuggle her out of that madman’s hands.”
Damaris drew closer to the woman and lowered her voice to a whisper as she asked, “How?”
“I’ve my ways. Come on,
put these on.” She tossed a long hooded silver cloak and two fine gloves to her. “They have her walking with a keeper in a different section of the garden. You switch places with her, and I shall get her out of the palace grounds.”
She didn’t hesitate to obey. Once she settled the cloak around her, hiding her simple kirtle, Eve darted down one of the side paths. She moved swiftly for a woman old enough to have white hair, although Damaris was glad for it.
They slowed twice to avoid guards. The second time she had been certain they would be discovered only for the guards to turn down a different path just before reaching them. The third time they stopped, Damaris nearly called out in relief when she saw Mary garbed in the same cloak and gloves. Her keeper was an older woman garbed in the black robes slashed with silver of the inquisitors. The inquisitor turned and sat down on a bench, dabbing at her brow with a handkerchief, and failing to notice that Mary had drawn even with the next path. Or that she stepped inside.
Damaris lowered her hood just enough to let Mary see her. The older girl wrapped her in a fierce embrace before she reluctantly stepped back. “Demi, are you certain?”
She nodded. “It’s better this way. Go with Eve, she can be trusted.”
“You are too free with those words, Demi girl,” the woman murmured. “Although, you’re right this time.”
“Baroness!” came the sharp bark.
Damaris pulled her hood up and quickly walked into the inquisitor’s line of sight. The woman sniffed and fussed over her wandering. She made her walk for another hour before she nodded to the palace. “It is time. Do not forget. There is only one answer you may give and keep your servants’ necks safe from the sword.”
She didn’t say a word, merely bowed her head. Fortunately, it seemed to be enough for the inquisitor. The woman led her into the palace, but not toward the king’s private wing. This time they walked into a throne room filled with nobles and soldiers. King Stephen stood on the dais. He was of the same height as his nephew, but he looked almost frail. His hair was thinning and almost completely grey with a few patches of light brown attesting to its original color. His face was haggard beneath the circlet of gold set with a myriad of precious stones. For a man who had ruled just under seven years, he looked as though taking and sitting on the throne had aged him decades beyond his three and fifty years.
There was a smaller empty throne to the left of the king’s throne, but his queen didn’t stand beside him. No one did . . . until the inquisitor prodded her up onto the dais. Damaris peeked out over the throne room as King Stephen raised both hands. “My lords and ladies, I have gathered you today to announce that I am to take a wife, a queen who will provide me with a true heir of my bloodline. Baroness Mary Guise is to be my queen.”
“And what of Annise, your current queen and lawful wife,” Sir George’s voice rang out in challenge as the murmuring crowd parted before him. “Do not pretend you can take two queens, Uncle.”
King Stephen’s bloodshot blue eyes narrowed as he spat, “I pretend nothing, boy. Annise was a liar and deceiver. I will divorce myself from her today because she failed to provide me with a true heir.”
“Your son—”
“Was not mine! Or he would not have died before he saw seventeen years of life! She lied about the boy’s parentage! She is a dragon lover, and she will be justly punished.” King Stephen waved a trembling hand toward Damaris and shouted, “Baroness Mary Guise is young and healthy. She is no friend to dragons, and she will provide me a son to inherit!”
He leaned over and grabbed Damaris by the arm pulling her forward as he continued shouting, “You, my nephew, will go to the tower for your treachery!”
“Uncle, you have reneged and forsaken every oath you took when you claimed the crown seven years ago,” Sir George countered. He didn’t shout, but his voice carried throughout the room as the crowd fell silent. “You have persecuted innocents, executing them and dividing families for no reason save your own fears. You have pushed your inquisitors into torturing false confession out of innocents. You have closed our borders and broken our trade agreements with our sister kingdoms. Now you would falsely accuse your queen, the mother of your son, and execute her in order to force the daughter of the very friends you had imprisoned and executed on false charges to marry you. I will not stand by any longer. King Stephen, your reign is ended and you will abdicate the throne.”
“No!” Stephen yanked down her hood as he shouted, “Bow before your queen, Mary Guise!”
“That is not the baroness!” a voice shouted from the crowd.
“No, it is her handmaid,” Sir George confirmed. “Uncle, look.”
But the king was already staring at her in horror, one eyelid twitching rapidly. “No. No, I chose Mary Guise. I killed her father to have her! Where is she?”
He lunged for her only to stumble over his own feet and fall to his hands and knees. He screamed like a man in torment then fell to his side, foaming at the mouth.
Sir George shouted for a healer, and the guards help restrain his uncle as Damaris scrambled further away toward the edge of the dais. The older man kicked and flailed until finally he went limp though he still breathed. Sir George spoke with the healer in a low whisper and then rose to his feet. “My uncle has had an apoplectic fit. He will not be hale for some time, if ever.”
Damaris stumbled off the dais as a baritone filled the room from directly behind her, “Long live King George.”
She bumped into a solid mass and then looked up into the Earl of Silvermere’s eyes as his hands came up to steady her. The rest of the nobles took up the call, shouting. The earl’s brow furrowed, and his gaze dropped to her neck. She realized her pendant was hanging out of her gown, most likely due to her struggle to get away from the mad former king. Then he spoke again, his voice only loud enough to reach her ears, as he asked, “Damaris? Is it . . . you?”
“I have to find my mistress,” she mumbled before pulling free of his lax grip and ducking into the crowd. How could he know her proper name?
* * *
Tancred pushed his way through the celebrating crowd. He had found her . . . or at least a clue. The baroness’ handmaid still looked nothing like his Damaris save sharing some Kushite blood, yet she’d had the glass orb with the silver filigree rose around her neck . . . that he had never found in his search for Damaris.
He made it to the gardens only to be forced to stop when a cloaked figure stepped in front of him. He clenched his fists and barely kept from breathing smoke as he snapped, “Move!”
“I’m disappointed, Tancred.”
He stiffened at the voice he hadn’t heard in over ten years. Then, he bowed his head. “My king,” he said softly. “Why would you risk coming here?”
The dragon king huffed, “I received two very concerned letters from Alastair and someone in your keep about your behavior over the last two months. What happened to your companion?”
“I do not know. Yet. She came this way.”
The dragon king was silent for a long moment, his expression shadowed by his hood, and then he nodded. “The girl who was cursed. I wondered why I could see a working on her. She went that way.”
Tancred immediately started running. He looked over only once in surprise to find the dragon king keeping pace with him. Yet, he didn’t spare the precious moments to try to argue against it.
They reached the far corner of the garden just as a voice cried, “Demi!”
Increasing his pace, Tancred rounded a flowering bush. His steps slowed when he saw Demi, or was it Damaris. “Damaris!”
The women turned to look at him. The baroness bobbed a curtsey. “My lord Silvermere. What has happened?”
“Sir George is being declared king.” He paused, realizing what he smelled, and then continued casually, “You should go and present yourself. I’m sure it will ease his mind as well as those of the court to see you are indeed alive and hale.”
“Yes, of course.”
She started to turn
to Damaris, but he raised his hand. “I have some questions for your maid. It is better to hear the answers now while they are fresh in her mind.”
The baroness looked at him quizzically for a moment before she nodded. “Yes, of course. Demi, come and find me later.”
As soon as the baroness had retreated out of range of human hearing, Tancred grasped Damaris by the hand and pulled her away from the second woman who had kept her hood up. Damaris struggled against his hold to no avail. He shushed her. “Be still, Damaris. Trust me.”
“I do not know you! Eve! Find someone to help! Please!”
“She is not your friend, Damaris,” Tancred hissed. “She is a dragoness.”
“And she has been working magic throughout these gardens,” the dragon king stated quietly. “Now, I am curious as to the reason behind your different workings. Protection, hiding, and diverting of attention. They surrounded both of the women. Yet, this Damaris is the only one you’ve cursed. Tell me why.”
The cloaked dragoness reached up with gloved hands and dropped her hood, exposing her face. Emerald eyes flashed with defiance. “I told you, Demi, not to thank strangers or to trust so easily.”
“Why did you treat them differently?” the dragon king’s cool command floated on the air. His magic as king compelling and demanding obedience.
The dragoness flinched before she shook her head. “I am barely a part of your court anymore, o king of dragons. You cannot compel me to do what I do not wish. However, I cursed this woman because of the fool holding her. He has broken all faith with his own people, with you, because he decided he wanted to make a human his mate. A human! After everything they have done to us, all the lives they murdered and destroyed, and this young fool wants to make one of them a part of your court. And, you would allow it?”
Dragon's Maid Page 17