I skidded to a stop, almost losing my footing in the snow, bending to catch myself at the last moment.
That’s when Egin stepped forward from behind Parz, or maybe Parz had never been there at all, and it was just part of Egin’s sorcery, because when I blinked, Parz was gone.
Egin pointed his blade at my neck until a half dozen of his men melted from the trees.
“Hello, Mathilda,” Sir Egin said. “You—horse! Stay back, or she dies.”
chapter 26
I HAD BEEN BACK IN MY TOWER PRISON AT THORN Edge for about an hour before the door lock clicked and Frau Dagmar stepped through alone, bearing my crutch.
I couldn’t help myself. I ran to hug her. She’d tried to help me in her own prickly way. She had given me The Sworn Book of Hekate, too, at some personal risk.
She hugged me back, then pushed me away at the shoulders to look into my face. “I’m sorry to see you’ve returned,” she said, but when she tried to say more, whatever magic spell choked her set to work, and she strangled on the words until she stopped speaking.
She leaned over, hands on her knees, panting as though she’d run a long race. I stood at her side, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry, too, but I’m glad to see you hale and hearty after my escape—you weren’t punished?”
She shook her head and tried to wink one streaming eye at me.
“What happened to Lord Parzifal when Father Ripertus escaped?” I asked.
She shook her head again.
On impulse, I reached behind my neck and untied the horsehair necklace. I held it out to Frau Dagmar. She looked horrified and raised her hands to ward it off.
“Don’t go giving me your things, Illustrious. It’s not over yet. Not nearly over.”
“Just take it, for a minute.” I hoped it would overcome her enchantments long enough to let her speak clearly, as it had helped me think clearly around Sir Egin.
Dubious, she took it, holding it pinched between her fingers.
“Now—where is Lord Parzifal? And my servant Judith?”
“In the dungeons,” she said readily. “Don’t you worry. I’ve given them extra blankets and good food to shore them up against the cold and damp.”
Frau Dagmar took better care of the prisoners in Thorn Edge than Sir Egin took care of his own people here.
I loved Frau Dagmar in that moment—not in a full, complete way, the way I loved Judith or my mother—or Parz; but there’s a kind of love that comes from gratefulness for help that is given to your loved ones. It struck me, then: this was one of the reasons people might love their rulers. It comes from trust and belief and faith in them, that they will take care of the people you love, in ways you cannot.
She had spoken about the dungeon before she thought, but now a look of wonder came over her face, and she clutched the horsehair necklace tightly.
“I’m under a spell,” she whispered. “I cannot speak of Egin or any of his doings. I cannot tell you that my words burn unspoken in my throat whenever I try to speak of him!”
Her broad, ruddy face had drained of color, and she groped for my stool and sat down. “Princess,” she said, catching my hand. “You’ve broken the enchantment!”
I stared at her. I had known I could think more clearly when I wore it, that I had avoided Sir Egin’s persuasions when I wore it; I hadn’t been certain it might break the sorcery on the servants. “No,” I said slowly. “It’s the necklace, not me.”
“You gave me the necklace, and I can speak freely again—for the first time in years.”
“You once indicated you were a prisoner here, too.”
“We all are, all the servants. When we try to talk of leaving, we can’t. When we try to talk of anything he would not want us to talk about, we can’t! And when we try to leave, we grow confused, and . . . forget to leave. All we can do is dream of leaving—dream in silence.” She stroked the necklace. “Did you find this cure in the book? That’s what I hoped would happen, that you’d find the way—”
“No—no. The book was about something else, not his sorceries. The Wild Hunt, mostly, and a little about dragons. I’m sorry you risked so much for me and it came to so little. But thank you. Thank you for the risk. Thank you for helping Judith and Parz.”
She nodded.
“Do you know—do you know when he’s going to kill me?” I asked.
“At the dark of the moon, like all the others,” she said.
“All of them?”
Her mouth twisted. “He’s says, ‘It’s a lucky time to get married.’ Every time. And kills them on their wedding night.”
I stared at her, thinking. At the dark of the moon . . . “Take the necklace,” I said on impulse.
“What?”
“Take it. Don’t try to figure it out, just use it. Take that necklace and see if it breaks the whole enchantment on you. See if it lets you leave Thorn Edge.”
Dagmar looked stricken. “No. No, I can’t.” She held it out to me. “There’s no way you can escape again; he has guards posted everywhere, and they’re armed to shoot you on sight. You should keep it, to help resist him.”
“He’d kill me that easily?”
“The guards aren’t to shoot to kill; just to wound you.”
I laughed helplessly. “Well, you see? In the end, will it matter if I’m under his enchantment or not? He’ll still kill me.”
“It might! Maybe his plan—whatever he’s killing all these women for—won’t work if you aren’t willing. All the others were willing.”
“No,” I said. “Willing or unwilling, I’ll be dead all the same. You—you take the necklace. Use it to free yourself.”
“I won’t,” she said staunchly. “I won’t leave you.”
I knew then the exact thing that would get her to take it. She thought like a ruler—a good ruler. “Then try it on one of the others who lives here and is trapped,” I said.
She pursed her lips, her eyes narrow. “That wasn’t subtle.”
“I know.”
She embraced me again, and left.
I went to the window and stared out. The moon was not yet dark, as The Sworn Book of Hekate described for summoning the Wild Hunt. But . . . why were there full moons on the book’s cover?
I went to bed, and fell asleep, mulling it over.
NO ONE CAME TO bring me food or to take my night pot the next morning. I paced anxiously, toying with the dragon claw and wishing I had the Handbook or at least a wax tablet. I wanted to write down what I had observed of dragons during my time with Curschin.
Hours later, a disheveled and angry Sir Egin brought in a tray of food and a dress. He dropped the tray onto the table and threw the dress of gold and white wool at me, and I caught it, holding it close to my chest.
“Where’s Frau Dagmar?” I asked.
“Gone,” Egin said. “She and all of the servants left last night.”
I stared at him. “All of them?”
“All of them. If you want a servant, you’ll have to put up with a soldier from my guards.”
I shook my head absently to that, wondering: How had Frau Dagmar freed all the servants with just one necklace? Had she left the castle and tossed the necklace back through the gate to the next person—or was the power of Joyeuse and Durendal’s hair so strong that she unwove the necklace and each hair protected a different servant?
He took a deep breath, smoothing his hair, and turned on his charming smile.
“I hope you’re ready for our wedding day,” he said smoothly. “Darling.”
I gave him a steady look. “We both know that you aren’t going to marry me,” I said.
“What are you talking about, darling?”
“Tell me, Egin: Why have you killed seven women on the dark of the moon?”
His charming smile contorted into an evil snarl. “You,” he said, the word dripping with anger and contempt. “You’re the one who took my book.”
“The Sworn Book of Hekate,” I said. “I’ve read it now. But I’ll ask
you again: Why did you kill seven women at the dark of the moon? Why do you plan to kill an eighth on that night?”
“If you read the book, you know why. Immortality. The Hunt will give me immortality.”
I shook my head. “I don’t mean your reason. Seven times you failed to call the Wild Hunt. Seven times, and you never truly varied the timing of the ritual. The eighth time, and again you’ve made no plan to vary it.”
“The fault is not the ritual, the fault is in the women. In my wives. I married among the Illustrious, daughters of princes, but they were never sovereigns. Never true rulers like you, never girls who had sat in judgment of others or given things up for people they barely knew.” His lip curled, as if to say he had nothing but contempt for true rulers.
“You know nothing of what makes a true ruler, Egin.”
“Oh, spare me your preaching. You’re not going to redeem me, make me see the error of my ways, turn me into a noble and good—”
“I’m not trying to redeem you!” I said. “I’m trying to gloat.”
Finally, finally, I had surprised him. “Gloat about what?” he asked. “I wouldn’t think that’s in your nature. A princess doesn’t gloat—she is gracious in victory. Or some nonsense like that.”
“Don’t confuse my training with my nature. I wanted to tell you—it’s not your wives, Egin. The fault is yours. The time to summon the Wild Hunt is any time but the dark of the moon.”
“The book is explicit about the timing of the ritual.”
“The book is wrong! I told you my own story, and I’m sure Judith told you the same one if you asked her: we met the Wild Hunt near the full moon. Not on it, but near it. You never even considered after you heard this that the book was wrong—that some scribe long ago changed something because he didn’t like the material, or that the original writer may have decided use a code to hide his secrets. The front of the book is etched with full moon, for example. You’ve studied the book for years, but never once did you think to try to vary the timing?”
He stalked over to me and grabbed the dress that trailed loosely in my fingers, pressing it more tightly into my hands. “Get dressed,” he barked.
“What—what’s happening?”
“I am going to vary the timing,” he said through clenched teeth. “Tonight.”
He left, locking the door behind him.
Air no longer wanted to come into my lungs all the way. I pressed my hand to my suddenly panting chest, trying to calm my gasps, but it didn’t calm my breath.
I was going to die tonight.
chapter 27
I SUCKED IN ALL THE AIR I COULD, THEN HELD MY breath by plugging my nose and putting my palm over my mouth. My lungs rebelled after a few seconds, and my breath exploded out, but I’d regained control of my breathing.
“I am not going to die tonight,” I said aloud.
But I didn’t believe it. I didn’t eat from the tray Egin had left.
I did think to put on the dress he’d brought, though; it was considerably warmer than the dress I was wearing, and far cleaner. I washed the best I could with the little water I still had, then pulled the dress over my head.
As I thrust my hands through the sleeves, something scratched my right arm. “Ow!” I furiously turned the sleeve over to find a pin stuck in it—holding in place my necklace. I stared at it, puzzled, even as a small line of blood welled on my skin from the scratch.
“How did you do it, Frau Dagmar?” I wondered, and put the necklace on. I couldn’t guess.
But I did know, now, how I had resisted him throughout our confrontation. I had been holding tightly to the dress, and thereby holding tightly to the necklace.
I wished I had a knife—any knife—but all I had was the long claw I’d taken from the cave at Mount Lorelei. Egin might take my blood for his sacrifice, but perhaps I would take some of his first.
When the door lock clicked, I didn’t get off my bed until it was insultingly obvious that I wasn’t going to curtsy. Then I stood to face Sir Egin, crutch under my arm.
“Where’s the priest?” I asked, making a great show of peering out the door.
His sneer was amused. “Not coming.” He grabbed my arm and pushed me ahead of him down the stairs. “We’re not getting married. It’s unnecessary . . . there is no father coming to save you, no brothers to ride to your rescue. So strange that you are so unprotected, when you are the first one to see through my beguilements, my first unwilling girl. The previous seven came to me as docile as lambs to slaughter. But you, my eighth, are my most difficult.”
“I’m not difficult,” I said. “I’m just not insane.”
“Oh, unfair, unfair!” he tutted as he kept pushing me down the stairs. We were well below the surface of the castle now, and I wondered if he was taking me off to some cellar or dungeon for his ritual. “They weren’t insane—just beguiled. Bespelled. They wanted nothing more than to hold me in their slender arms, stroke my hair so tenderly, and call me husband. Now. Go. Through there.”
He pushed me through a doorway into a dank, dark passage that smelled of rock and water. There was barely enough light to see by, and I stumbled.
“No tricks, or I’ll gut you here and now!” To show he was serious, he pressed the point of his dagger into my stomach. Not far—less than the width of a fingernail—but far enough that warm blood spread across my belly.
I was frightened then. I had been frightened before, but this was when true fear took me. I let him push me forward, and stayed upright thanks only to my crutch.
A small whimper escaped me, but I clamped down on my emotions, pretending giant iron bars came around my body, squashing my heart and my lungs and my stomach in all together. I didn’t have to feel anything as long as the iron was there—nothing except the squeezing.
Something cold and damp touched my face, and I almost screamed. I forced myself to breathe deeply and slowly, because if I did anything else at all, I would lose control utterly. And if I lost control of myself, I would never get free.
I took another breath, smelling marzipan and sweet wine on Egin’s breath. The wetness on my face—it was a hanging vine of some sort. Egin had pushed me through a cave and outside, onto a small promontory. The cliff was encircled with trees, whose bare winter branches blotted out patches of stars.
Ahead of me, I saw a wide, dark stone altar. Underfoot, my shoe crunched on something.
On bone. I remembered from the dragon’s cave what bone felt like underfoot. I let out a shrill gasp of fear.
This was it. This was my last chance. The words of the dragon summoning came to me then from The Sworn Book of Hekate. Could I find aid in this moment, a frail hope for survival?
I yanked the dragon claw from my sleeve and turned, slashing wildly at Egin’s neck, crying out the words from the book, calling forth the dragon from the deep.
I caught him under the chin, and his blood rained down on me.
The blood burned. I screamed.
chapter 28
I SCREAM. I ROAR. I BURN.
Every inch of my flesh is on fire. Every bone and tendon is ignited from within. My brain burns, my liver burns, my heart. I roar.
There is a little creature in the place with me, and he is a lie. He glows with a lie. He has one shape around him and another shape underneath, and I can see both shapes for what they are. Both are ugly.
He is bleeding. He presses one hand to his throat, to hold in the blood. With his other hand, he holds a weapon. An edge. A sword. Thoughts are not so much words anymore, though I can’t think why thoughts should be words. Thoughts are images. Thoughts are smells.
He is waving the edge. The sword. The edge? I can’t remember the word! I lift my great hand and push him aside. I feel he should meet the wall. And he does. Hard. He falls to the ground in a heap. The edge bothers me, gleaming and bright, and I pick it up in my hands and snap it in half.
I am strong.
And I don’t belong here, in this place of death. I can smell the b
ones of humans all around me, even over the stench of the man who wants to kill me and the stink of his metal.
In the distance, I hear horses and thunder, and I know I do not want to face them.
Also, there is something I meant to do. I can’t think what it is, though. All I know now is that I must get away. I cast about me on all sides, looking for escape, but my body is uneasy with itself, and I cannot imagine climbing rocks straight up and down—not just yet.
So I go back the way I came, sliding into the cave as easily as a fish in water, and run the length.
The cave is not darkness to me. I can see the light in the stone here, but too soon I come to a place where the cave is not cave anymore, but human fashioning—a squareness where there should be no squares.
I break through the doorframe, leaving a small pile of stones behind me. I broke the stonework. Which is as it should be. Rock is not meant to be square. Rock is meant to be rock.
I climb stairs, up and around, up and around, and then burst through another doorframe, shattering it with happiness and satisfaction.
I am outside again. There is sky above me, but still there are walls all around, square walls. I have wings—I feel their unused weight on my back, and their untested muscles sing to me—but I don’t know how to fly. I barrel straight for the great gate.
The door is barred to me. It is a door made of iron. I try to push it down, but I guess I’m not strong enough. This is a little surprising to me. But then I look at my hands and understand that they are hands, meant for delicate work, and that my tail is the source of my strength. I whirl about and slam my tail into the portal. It flies out. It falls down.
I leave the castle at a run. There are scores of men around the castle. I am confused. I do not remember there being scores of men around the castle before, when I had a girl’s face. They shout with their weak lungs, and possibly it is supposed to be a roar, but it is no roar that makes sense to me.
These men have edges. One comes at me. I lift a hand and swat him aside, and it is satisfying to watch him hurtle through the air. I could kill him. I don’t, but I could.
Handbook for Dragon Slayers Page 17