by Anne Wheeler
After a few deep breaths, the darkness—and the knowledge of what was to come—became his friend. It would get worse when they removed the hood, that he knew. The denial of sight was only until the chip read and stored his biological operations—once it aligned itself to his pulse, respiratory rate, and brain waves, the guards could use it to do any number of things: paralyze him, blind him, create hallucinations, cause him pain. It wasn’t something anyone in the Fleet had a problem with until it was under their skin. He hadn’t thought anything of it before now, just like he hadn’t thought anything of most of his life.
He had to think of something else, anything but what was coming, anything but how the rough fabric of his new uniform rubbed his overly sensitive skin.
The mountains.
Lina’s raspberry tarts.
Fresh snow.
The way Mother looked at him on those rare mornings she still knew who he was.
Anything to keep his mind of what was coming. But as the burning of the injection faded into a minor annoyance, he couldn’t focus on any of those. He rolled to his side, the metal cutting into his wrists as he did, and thought of how much he wanted to run his fingers through Ryllis’s hair.
Chapter Sixteen
Dim light flickered down the passageway, and Ryllis pressed herself against the cave wall, behind the large boulder. If it wasn’t Lina with the prince, there probably wasn’t any way to hide herself, but it was the only thing that made her feel safe, even if her back was now covered in dirt. She shivered again, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. She’d meant what she’d told Kresten—she couldn’t handle the cold anymore.
“Ryllis?”
Lina’s voice echoed through the chamber, but Ryllis didn’t move from the wall. She was earlier than they’d agreed, wasn’t she? It was so hard to tell without the sun and moon, and idly, Ryllis realized she should have brought a clock. It could be a trap. Those Fleet officers that had taken Kresten away could have forced Lina to lead them to her.
“She said she’d be here, Your Highness,” came Lina’s voice. The light flickered around the chamber, casting eerie shadows on the rock. “Ryllis?”
“For pity’s sake, Kresten,” the prince hollered, “This isn’t funny. You’re supposed to be headed to Dannerth, and I’m supposed to be on my way to Carilles for some much overdue relaxation. If you’ve had me dragged me back to this cave as some sort of prank, so help me—”
Ryllis stood and blinked in the light. The prince was cleaner than he should have been after his crawl through the tunnel, but a smear of dirt marked his cheek. His face went pale, then red with rage when he saw her.
“You. What’s going on here? What have you done?” He twisted toward Lina. “If you’ve brought me here to to—well, I can’t even imagine why you’ve brought me here. An escaped slave? Where’s my brother? Dead?”
“No! Your Highness.” Ignoring all sense of reason, Ryllis darted from behind the rock and stood in front of him. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. I need your help. Your brother needs your help. They’ve taken him, and . . . it’s my fault.”
“Well yes, they’ve taken him. He’s headed to Dannerth for two solar cycles—and you were supposed to be with him.” He whirled toward Lina again, like she was responsible. “You knew about this? That she escaped—or whatever she’s doing here?”
Lina put her hands in front of her, trying to placate him. “Your Highness, my lord, that’s not where he is. Ryllis saw them take him away. I can’t begin to guess where he is right now, but it’s not Dannerth.”
“You’re crazy,” he said, pointing at Lina. “And you—” This to Ryllis. “I’ll be notifying the Eradication Council of your whereabouts. Whether they decide to send you to Dannerth with him or execute you isn’t my business.”
He turned to go, leaving Ryllis wondering which version of him was worse—the prince who’d grabbed her or the one who was ignoring her plea and his brother’s predicament.
“Wait. Your Highness, please.” She ground her feet into the cave floor. “Do you love your brother?”
The prince froze, his back to her. Ah, there was the mud. He’d slid through the passageway on his back for some reason.
“Because I do, too. And he’s in this position because he loves me. You may not believe me, and I wouldn’t blame, but you even if you don’t—I have information the Fleet would be interested in. Consider this a chance to return an escaped Fleet prisoner to where she belongs. That’s all I’m asking. You won’t be involved in anything untoward. Just leave the Eradication Council out of it for now, please. The Fleet is who took him, and that’s who’s looking for me. You have nothing to lose by turning me in to them.”
She held her breath as he stood there in the dim of the cavern. If only she’d decided on this course of action while the Fleet had still been roaming the hills searching for her. If only Kresten would do the right thing and tell them where to find her—for surely, he had must have some idea. If only his brother would listen.
“You’re serious about this.”
“If I turn myself in, they’ll let him go—but they’re gone from these hills as far as we can see. Short of walking to Arvika, I have no way to do that. And even then, they’d be wary. I need a way to get to them without arousing suspicion.”
“Whereas if his brother happened to come across you while he was helping to secure the lodge after his departure, no one would be wiser,” he said to the low ceiling of the passageway.
“No, Your Highness.” Her voice cracked. The prince was going to agree, and the Fleet would . . . she couldn’t think of what they would do to her. “They would not.”
The prince turned around and looked at the cavern floor as she held her breath. “I will do this for you.”
Her heart leapt.
“But not out of the goodness of my heart.”
“I—” Her legs began to shake. “I don’t understand.”
The prince closed the distance between them in two breaths, and she looked away, toward the blossoms.
“You say you love my brother,” he said, “and I believe that. I also have no reason to contend what you’ve said about him. So even though I’m unaccustomed to being told I can’t do something to a slave, even though I’d love to sample what he hasn’t”—his eyes roamed over her breasts, and she braced herself for his touch—“I’ll respect whatever relationship you have. The Realm know he needs to get some eventually.”
She wanted to back away, but she wouldn’t show fear in front of him.
“But I can still look and admire. While you work in my garden, perhaps. I’ve noticed how much better Kresten’s are looking since you arrived.”
Her heart fluttered. Prince Vidar didn’t know what he’d just suggested. It was the easiest thing he could have asked of her—and how fitting that the secret that would kill her would be responsible for Kresten’s salvation?
“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. “But for how long? There can’t be much time before—”
“You let me worry about time.” The prince’s eyes lit up in the dim of the cavern. “You just worry about how you’re going to turn my garden into a paradise—and only then will I hand you over to the Fleet.”
If Kresten’s lodge in the mountains had been warm and comfortable, the estate the prince had brought her to was cold and hard. Ryllis shivered under the thin blanket as the auto-lights grew brighter. They gradually illuminated her new room: the small bed in the corner on which she lay and the empty table next to it. Those two pieces of furniture and a few servant’s uniforms hanging on a hook by the door were the sum of the contents. It wasn’t a cell—there wasn’t even a lock on the door—but the lack of windows and plain concrete floor made it feel the same.
I’ll come for you in the morning, the servant who’d deposited her here the night before had said. Ryllis had gone to sleep almost immediately afterward, bone-weary yet missing the cavern floor, only to awake already missing Kresten’s lodge and the fireplace in
his bedroom—not to mention his arms.
The clothes she’d been wearing when she’d fled the lodge were dirty and reeking of cave mud, and that was the only reason she deigned to change into the uniform. They were scratchy compared to the luxurious fabrics she’d worn in the mountains, but Kresten was likely dealing with worse. She couldn’t let herself forget that.
While she perched on the edge of the bed and waited for the servant to return for her, more sleep was out of the question. The woman finally did, a few biscuits and a cup of tea in hand, but eating was out of the question as well. Ryllis declined the food and followed her to the main house, all white marble and bright lights and crystal fixtures. It was colder than the servants’ quarters, and she was shivering in the corridor behind the kitchen when the prince appeared.
He looked her up and down and smiled. “Kresten was right to allow you to dress as he did. The brown does absolutely nothing for your complexion.”
“It also has no bearing on my ability to fix your gardens. Show me, please, Your Highness.”
The prince’s smile only grew more brilliant. “This way.”
He led her to a cavernous kitchen, not the gardens like she’d expected. Like the rest of the building, it was cold white, so different from the rustic charm of Kresten’s mountain hideout. It was everything she’d expected when Kresten had told her of his identity, and seeing her fear in real life sent a shiver of dread through her.
“This isn’t the garden.”
“To think he managed to find himself a smart one, too.” He pointed toward a row of brown herbs in matching white planters. “Fix them first. Then the gardens.”
Ryllis couldn’t hide a soft snort. “Your Highness—they’re dead.”
“So?”
The dread grew thicker, like a vine wrapping around her middle. The prince had done this on purpose. He didn’t appear to hate his brother, but he clearly didn’t understand how much was at stake. A playboy, then, who cared about nothing but his own pleasure and amusement —and unfortunately, she seemed to be the moment’s entertainment.
“I can’t make them come back to life!”
“Pity.” He pulled up a chair upholstered in ivory velvet and flopped into it, arms crossed. “Try.”
Her shoulders sank. How long would she have to play his game? She should have negotiated his terms more carefully, but she’d been desperate back in the cave. Cautiously, she carried each of the planters to the deep—and unused, of course—sink. The prince would be ignorant enough to think a bit of water would revive the plants, wouldn’t he? It was worth a try.
She hated searching his kitchen for supplies, but he didn’t say anything as she rifled through several cabinets for a pair of scissors. Trimming back the plants would be a start, and hopefully her presence would be enough to change their mind about dying.
The scissors refused to show themselves, so Ryllis returned to plants and broke off the worst of the dried branches. The aromatic scent of rosemary and basil filled the air, so perhaps the herbs weren’t as far gone as they appeared. They certainly looked better, even though as she worked, she reduced the size of the plants by half. She prayed they wouldn’t spring immediately to life right in front of the prince who was watching her intently—perhaps her mother had been right about staying away from the flowers.
Satisfied at last, she waved him over. “They’ll need regular watering and a little more light than they’re getting now. But I think they’ll make it.”
“Brilliant.” The prince gave the slightest glance before turning his attention back to her. “I suppose time will tell, won’t it?”
“How much time?”
He shrugged and gestured down a corridor. Ryllis followed him through a high-ceiling gallery toward a set of glass doors. The morning sun shone brilliantly through it, making her squint and long for the early morning fog of the mountains. Though she’d told Kresten over and over how much she despised the cold, the truth was, she’d begun to love it because it reminded her of him.
The prince pulled over the doors with a flourish. “Here we are!”
Ryllis froze next to him at the sight.
The rear garden was a disaster, even for spring, later here than in the mountains. A large conservatory, half its glass panels broken out, filled the left side of a wide-open space. A few spikes of green shone through the glass, but those robust plants were in the minority—most others were brown, and even from this distance, dried and dead. She averted her gaze from it. The greenhouse would take a lunar cycle itself.
The rest of the garden wasn’t any better. What should have been a riot of color this time of the solar cycle was a wasteland of weeds and stunted shrubs. A trellis at the far end of the stone path was overgrown with a vine she couldn’t identify, and the gazing pond to its side was filled with green muck. A few stubborn roses showed off some green leaves, but they were spindly and sick at the same.
Ryllis put her hand to her mouth. She’d agreed to an impossible task.
“You look surprised.”
“It’s—but Your Highness, you must have a gardener! Or several!” She couldn’t hide her shock.
“Quit. Four of them now. Something about me being difficult to work for.” The prince winked at her.
“You knew it was this bad. You knew there was no way I could fix it.”
“Indeed. But you never asked.”
Ryllis clenched her fists until her knuckles were sore. “This was not a fair agreement.”
“Again, you never asked about the state of the garden. Just stated you would do anything for my help.”
“But he doesn’t have this much time!” The stillness and unnatural silence of the place seemed to agree with her.
“Then I suggest you work fast.” The prince pushed by her and settled onto a stone bench next to the path. “Might I suggest the weeds first?” he called. “I’d love to see you bent over.”
Ryllis marched to the conservatory instead. The front door nearly came off the hinges when she yanked it open, and she left it lying against the front. She’d regret her choice of starting place when it rained and she was outside trimming shrubs, but the prince wouldn’t follow her inside here. It was simply too hot. She stood in the center, hands on her hips, and stared. Where to even begin?
It matters less where you start, than that you start.
A little more hope sprang into her heart at the idea. Her eyes landed on the packages of seeds in a far corner, and she hurried over to them. Seeds would sprout in a few days if she paid attention to them, and the prince didn’t seem like he’d realize if they did it a bit too quickly. The color would go a long way toward making the greenhouse seem clean, even if it wasn’t something she’d be proud of anywhere else.
She ignored the dirty gloves on the potting table, relishing the feel of cool dirt. Vidar might have been watching her from his bench outside, but she didn’t care as she filled four seedling trays with soil. It smelled the same on any planet, and she took deep breaths each time she packed another section with seeds of herbs and wildflowers.
That completed, she stepped back and examined her handiwork. The wire racks looked a little more cared-for at least, and she ran her fingers as lightly as she could over the dirt, pretending to smooth it. She’d never dared do such a thing at Kresten’s estate, and the guilt over doing it now took away some of the joy she’d felt in planting the seeds. Necessary, yet frightening and unwanted at the same time. What had Kresten said, so long ago?
. . . if his gift was that uncontrolled, he had to die.
Hers wasn’t controlled. It barely existed in the first place—just enough for the Star Realm to fear and forbid it. She’d never even considered it a power until her mother had watched a cut rose grow roots as Ryllis had adjusted it in a vase.
That had led to all sorts of lectures and warnings, and though her mother had never told her father what she’d witnessed, she’d prohibited Ryllis from being anywhere near the garden. When she’d died, Ryllis had taken t
he opportunity, and her father, in his ignorance, hadn’t fought her choices of studies. She was cautious, oh, yes, but being able to be near her beloved plants had been like another chance at life.
Ryllis ignored the memory and brushed the dirt from her hands on to the horrid brown pants. It was an improvement of a sort. She could trim the thick vines off the trees later, and then, perhaps, it would be clear the trees weren’t dead but merely slumbering. The building itself . . . well, nothing could be done about the broken glass this morning. Vidar would have to order his own replacement and find someone to install it. She could clean the remaining glass, though, as much as she could reach.
With a sigh, she picked up a rag and began to fill a bucket.
It was hours before the prince entered, his eyebrows raised and no smirk on his face at last.
“Kresten never mentioned you were such a hard worker.”
Ryllis wiped away the sweat from her brow. The broken glass made for a bit of a breeze, but not enough. The prince was wasting this space—he could be growing all sorts of exotic tropical plants in here.
“Perhaps he’s not fond of working me to death,” she replied.
“You’re a slave.” The prince’s brown furrowed. “You’re not warming his bed, so what else would he do with you?”
Ryllis almost snapped at him, then stopped. Prince Vidar’s confusion was real, and she found she didn’t know what to do with a reality she’d never understand. She shrugged and pointed toward the holes in the ceiling and walls.
“Sixteen panes missing. I wrote the measurements down. You can have someone order them.”
He frowned, then looked up. “It looks good in here otherwise. I thought it would all be dead, but it’s quite a bit greener that I’d expected.”