by L. Danvers
Daphne and Lillian watched in horror as Gregory and the final atrocitas circled one another. Gregory swung his sword, but the beast escaped his blow.
Daphne’s heart raced as she watched this dance between them—Gregory swinging and the atrocitas dodging—until the beast had had enough.
It crept forward with its amber eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. It let out a snarl, spraying Gregory with its bloody slobber.
Gregory gulped as he found himself backed against a tree.
The beast sprang toward him.
Daphne couldn’t explain what came over her in that moment.
She didn’t remember lunging forward or swinging her blade.
She didn’t remember burying her sword through the flesh of the animal’s back.
But she’d never forget the look on Gregory’s face as he watched the atrocitas fall, and her standing over both him and the beast’s lifeless body.
Gregory’s jaw dropped. He watched in amazement as the princess dug the heel of her boot against the atrocitas, using it for leverage as she withdrew Light of Vengeance from its back. She wiped the blade against the beast’s silver fur to get the blood off, then she tucked it back in its scabbard.
Daphne offered the outlaw her hand and helped him to his feet.
Chapter Seven
Thomas and Merek erupted in a fit of laughter. They clutched their bellies, laughing so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall to the ground. Daphne didn’t mind their reaction. She’d grown up with a brother. But Lillian wasn’t pleased.
“What’s so funny?” Lillian scowled. Her chest heaved up and down as she stood there with her arms folded, angry and trying to catch her breath.
“Gregory was saved by a girl,” Thomas said, barely able to get the words out between laughs.
“I would have come up with something,” Gregory said. He was looking at the body of the atrocitas that nearly took his life, avoiding making eye contact with everyone, but especially Daphne.
Daphne cleared her throat. “I think the words you’re looking for are thank you.” She cocked an eyebrow and smiled at him.
He scrunched his forehead. He patted his pockets like he was looking for something. He wasn’t, though. He was just buying time while he debated whether to protect his ego or show his gratitude. However, when the more sensible side of him prevailed, he looked at Daphne and said, “Thank you.” He didn’t smile back.
There was a collective sigh of exasperation among them as they examined the carnage.
Three massive, lifeless bodies were spread across the forest floor, blood pooling beneath them.
Daphne felt awful about leaving the animals there, but they were far too large to bury or burn. There was nothing to do now but venture onward, though it felt peculiar to go on about their business as if nothing had happened.
Gregory wasn’t saying much, and neither was Lillian.
Thomas and Merek, on the other hand, were still joking about Gregory being saved by a princess.
For the rest of them, though, there was a heaviness in the air. The trauma of the attack left them in a sort of trance. Daphne lost all sense of time, and their surroundings—or lack thereof—didn’t help. Every tree looked the same as the one beside it, and the one beside that. She was grateful to have Gregory, Thomas and Merek with her and Lillian. The boys knew the forest well. There was no way she and Lillian could have found their way on their own, especially since Gregory had smashed the compass.
Daphne pursed her lips just thinking about it, but the truth of the matter was she didn’t care how she caught up with Phillip, as long as she found him before it was too late.
Before she knew it, the end of the forest was within sight. Lush grass and rolling hills like the ones they had crossed on the other side of the woods waited for them beyond the tree line. Lillian took off running, her blonde tresses flying behind her. Daphne chased after her. She had no idea Lillian could run so fast. Daphne was gasping for air trying to catch up with her, and Gregory, Thomas and Merek hurried after them.
When Daphne reached the forest’s end, she found Lillian crouched down in the grass, which went halfway up to her knees. The maidservant ran her thin fingers along a green blade as if she had to touch it to believe it was real. It was the first time Daphne had seen her smile—really smile—in days. Lillian looked up, beaming, and said, “We did it. We made it to Nemoria.” The five of them had a long way to go, but to the girls, making it out of the silver forest alive was no small feat.
Now out from under the cover of the trees, with Lillian still on bended knee beside her, Daphne relished in the comforting warmth as the sun enveloped her very being.
She hadn’t realized until then how steep the hillside was. She was afraid to even crane her head forward for fear of offsetting her balance. The thought of walking down to the village made her dizzy, and now that they were out of immediate danger, exhaustion set in.
She yawned as she peered down at the villages of Nemoria. She had hoped one would be closer to them than the other so that choosing which way to go would be a matter of closest proximity, but they appeared to be the same distance away in opposite directions.
The boys came up behind her.
They had the same thing on their minds. Thomas and Merek were bickering about which village they should go through. It was surprising to see them arguing, but even the closest of friends could get under one another’s skin when suffering from the effects of fatigue, and these two were no exception. They fought like brothers.
“I’m telling you,” Merek said, “we should go to the one on the left.”
“No,” Thomas argued. “The one on the right.”
“Left,” Merek shouted, shoving his palms against Thomas’s chest. Thomas’s cheeks flushed pink. He was embarrassed that the girls had witnessed him getting pushed. Thomas shoved Merek back, not about to let his friend push him around, especially in front of Daphne and Lillian.
Gregory huffed and was about to break them up when Thomas and Merek managed to knock each other to the ground. They went tumbling down the hill, laughing with each roll.
There was nothing quite like the sweet release of laughter.
Daphne and Lillian caught one another’s glance. They held hands and leapt forward, rolling after them. Perhaps her utter exhaustion had made her delirious, but Daphne felt like a child again as she tumbled through the grass.
Memories of playing with her twin on the grounds outside of the castle flooded back to her, and somehow she felt both happy and sad at the same time. She hoped Phillip was alright.
The four of them rolled to a stop. They sat and laughed some more, and they urged Gregory to give it a try, but he wasn’t interested in such things.
“Come on, Gregory,” Merek called out. “It’s fun. I promise.”
“I prefer to walk, thank you.”
Thomas and Merek offered Daphne and Lillian their hands and helped them to their feet. They were filthier than before, if that was possible. King Edgar would have died had he seen his daughter looking like that—and in pants, nonetheless. Daphne had to admit, though, as she wiped her dirty hands against her thighs, that pants were rather comfortable.
She tilted her head to the side, watching in amusement while Gregory tried to keep his balance. His steps were sure and steady.
The sides of the princess’s mouth curved into a smile at the outlaw’s intense focus.
She bit her lip when he caught her looking at him, and she redirected her attention to Lillian, who was joking around with Thomas and Merek. Daphne was glad to see her happy again.
“We’ll head for the one on the right,” Gregory said in such an authoritative voice that no one thought to question him. Thomas quirked an eyebrow at Merek, who shook his head in amusement.
Daphne sighed. “I wish I knew which way Phillip went. I wonder if it was this way.”
“There’s a good chance, my princess—er, I mean... Daphne,” Lillian said.
“You’re really co
ncerned about him, aren’t you?” Merek asked as the group rustled through the tall grass. “Most sisters I know can’t stand their brothers—hate them, even. I can’t imagine one of my sisters even caring about where I’m going, let alone following me on a quest.”
“We share the same blood. There wasn’t even a question as to whether I’d go after him. He’d do the same for me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back home. I’ll never be able to live with myself if something happens to him.”
“We won’t let anything happen to him,” Merek said.
“Not if we can help it, at least,” Thomas added, combing his fingers through his messy hair. Daphne almost pointed out that he still had grass in it, but she figured it didn’t make much of a difference. They all looked dreadful.
It was dusk, and fireflies swirled around them, lighting their way as they approached the village. They passed tens of grazing sheep. They were busy trimming the grass with each mouthful they took. A couple of sheep had strayed from the herd, and a dog with fluffy black and white fur nibbled at their hind legs, steering them back to the rest of the group. The seriousness with which the pup treated his job made Daphne smile. She’d always wanted a dog of her own. She had begged her father for one for years, and at one point she thought she was getting through to him. They even talked about what breeds were best suited for castle life. But then her mother passed, and they never spoke of it again.
The group reached the outskirts of the village. There was a man standing there, his crooked back hunched to one side. He wore a tattered tunic and pants that had been patched so many times they looked more like a quilt of mismatched fabrics than slacks. The dog ran up to him, and he petted it, keeping his graying eyes on the mysterious travelers all the while, his wrinkles set in a perpetual frown.
Gregory wandered away from the group, approaching the old man. “Hello, my friend. Would you mind telling us the name of this village?”
“Fundum,” the stranger replied.
“Fundum,” Gregory repeated. Daphne wondered if he thought it sounded like humdrum, too. If the man’s temperament was any sort of indication of the temperaments of the rest of the villagers, she didn’t expect it to be an exciting place to visit. Gregory pressed his fingers to his lips, grinning as the dog licked his boots. He looked back up to the man and said, “And would there be any place around here where we could find shelter for the night? My friends and I are weary from our travels.”
The man pointed a bony finger down the cobblestone path and said, “That way.”
How helpful of him, Daphne thought.
Gregory, however, was more gracious than she would have been and thanked him for his assistance.
He took off along the path, which was overgrown with weeds creeping up between the stones. The stones were uneven, and Daphne hadn’t realized how sore her legs were until the lopsided walkway made her muscles twist in unusual ways.
She couldn’t wait to collapse on a bed and sleep off the pain.
The five of them passed homes and shops. Women stood on their porches, sweeping away dust and dirt, keeping watchful eyes on the strangers passing through their village. Children, smiling despite being covered in dirt, played barefoot in the streets. An old man waved his fist in the air, yelling at them to quiet down, but the children giggled and kept playing.
The group came upon a creaky wooden sign that jutted out from a building made of wood and hay. A candle had been painted on the boards, and underneath it read: The Melting Candlestick Tavern.
“This should do just fine,” Gregory said upon reading it.
They entered and sat at the only available table. Daphne had never been in a tavern before. It wasn’t what she had pictured. Most of the patrons were men. They were fat and red in the face from drinking so much. In the far corner, two of them were swinging their fists at each other, but they were so intoxicated they both kept missing. The fight, if it could be called such a thing, had to be broken up by their more sober comrades.
The place smelled of fermented bread and ale. There was the clanking of tankards as patrons gave toasts and the slamming of their drinks against the tables after they’d chugged them. Steam from a whole chicken wafted the group’s way when the people at the next table over were served. Daphne’s mouth watered. She was hungry enough to eat her own boot.
“How will we pay?” Daphne asked. “We don’t have any money, do we?”
Gregory pulled her coin purse from his leather coat pocket and winked. “This one’s on you.”
A wench appeared before them. She had tightly wound ringlets and freckles that went from her nose to her chest. “Can I interest you in a drink?” The boys nodded, dumb smiles plastered on their faces. She set five tankards on the table. Gregory flipped her a coin and asked her to keep them coming. Something about the way he said it in that raspy voice of his made Daphne roll her eyes, but she hadn’t been as discreet as she thought because he leaned closer to her and said, “What was that about?”
She gave his arm a light shove. “You think she’s pretty,” she teased, trying to sound nonchalant about it, like she couldn’t have cared less.
He raised his tankard to his lips, watching her as he sipped. He set it back down and said, “Are you jealous?”
She stiffened, taken aback by the suggestion.
She laughed nervously, and she was trying to think of something clever to say when, to her relief, the wench returned and asked them what they would like to eat. Gregory slipped some more coins into her hand. “Two whole roasted chickens and a round of stew for my friends here.”
“Sure thing, honey,” she said, smiling as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
Daphne cleared her throat as she eyed the woman.
“As exhilarating as it is watching the two of you go back and forth,” Thomas said to Gregory and Daphne, “we have bigger things to worry about. Like what we’re going to do when we reach the other side of Nemoria. An entire sea separates it from Proelium.”
“Don’t worry,” Gregory said with a wave of his hand. “We’ll find a way to acquire a ship.”
Daphne crossed her arms. She looked at Lillian, then back at Gregory. “How do you expect to do that? I know we don’t have enough coins to pay for such a thing.”
“We are thieves, if you recall. We’ll steal one if we have to.”
Lillian gasped and said, “We’ll do no such thing.”
Thomas huffed. “How else do you think we’re going to get there? Swim?”
“I’m sure I can convince someone to lend us a ship,” Daphne said. “I am a princess, after all.”
Lillian looked around to make sure the other patrons weren’t within earshot. “But Daphne, your father will find out what you’re up to if you reveal your identity.”
As annoyed as Daphne was at first when the red-headed wench interrupted them again, she could have kissed her when she saw the food piled on the tray she carried. The wench spread the meal before them and refilled their tankards, then she left to tend to the other patrons.
“Anyway,” Daphne continued, “Father has to have realized I’m gone by now. I’m sure he’s already sent out search parties to look for me. If anything, he’ll be relieved to know I am alive and well.”
There was more she wanted to say, but she couldn’t repress her hunger any longer.
She sank her teeth into the buttery, herbed chicken leg. “Oh my god,” she moaned, forsaking all manners, speaking with her mouth full.
The five of them tore the chickens to shreds, not leaving as much as a sliver of meat behind.
When Daphne came up for air to reach for her tankard and wash the food down, she found three sets of eyes staring at her. “What?” She wiped the juices from the corner of her mouth. “I’m starving.”
“We can tell,” Merek laughed.
“Aren’t women supposed to be dainty?” Thomas asked.
“We’re not most women,” Daphne said.
“No,” Gregory said. “You’re certainly not
.”
Daphne pressed her lips together, trying to contain her smile.
When their bellies were stuffed, she realized how heavy her eyes had become. She wanted nothing more than to snuggle under the warmth of a blanket and sleep, but the boys were still chasing down tankards of ale.
She sat back and looked around the tavern, taking in the sights and sounds of this unfamiliar setting.
The men at the table across from theirs were about three rounds of ale ahead of them. It was a peculiar group: an elderly man with a wooden leg, a scrawny boy who couldn’t have been more than fifteen and three men with the bushiest beards Daphne had ever seen. She wondered if they were brothers. Their dark beards covered up so much of their faces that it was impossible to tell by looking at them. The group of men took turns belching. They were trying to figure out who could burp the loudest. Phillip used to do the same sort of thing with some of the knights’ sons, but they were five or six at the time. These were grown men. Their voices grew louder as they argued about something or other until one roared so loudly it was impossible to ignore him. “The king? He’s no king of mine. I hope he rots. He sits there in his fancy castle and pretends to care about his people, but he knows nothing about us, the people he rules. He doesn’t care about our struggles. He keeps raising the taxes higher and higher. One day, there’ll be nothing left for us to do but revolt. It’ll be that or starve. What kind of king does that, I ask? No, he’s no king of mine.”
Daphne wasn’t sure what to make of his rant. Lillian rested her hand on the princess’s arm, a silent act of reassurance. Daphne appreciated her kind gesture—she was always so thoughtful—but the truth was, she agreed with what the man was saying. Of course, she blamed much of the harshness of the laws—both the increase in taxes and the excessive punishments for small crimes—on Sir Hartley. But her father was just as much at fault. He didn’t have to listen to him. He was the king, after all.
“The people really do hate him, don’t they?” Daphne asked as the weight of the man’s words set in.