Once Upon a Castle

by Nora Roberts

  Brand frowned as Tressalara swaggered off into the trees. “That lad bears keeping an eye on. He’s got the makings of a fine warrior. I would never have suspected to find such skill at arms in a callow stripling.”

  An odd smile played about the corners of Cador’s firm mouth, and he turned away to hide it. “Yes. I do believe that in time we will learn there’s far more to young Trev than meets the eye.”

  It was not far to the riverbank, but the journey seemed to take an eternity to Tressalara. The strain of trying not to wince or grit her teeth against the pain took all her concentration. She was relieved to discover that the wound was superficial and would heal quickly. It would not do to have her sword arm stiff and unresponsive in the days ahead. When the rebel army attacked Lector’s stronghold, she intended to lead them.

  She knelt on the sloping bank. The river’s cold would stanch the blood and ease the line of fire burning along her skin. It would do little, however, to put out the flame that Cador had ignited within her with his casual touch. That had had more effect on her than the deep scratch from Nidd’s rapier. In the span of seconds her heart had seemed to stop, then start again, beating doubly fast. Simultaneously her throat had gone dry, and her legs had felt as if they had turned to suet.

  Whatever this magic of Cador’s was, Tressalara wanted none of it. She had already been in one man’s power and would never willingly relinquish control to another again.

  While Tressalara bared her arm and bathed it in the clear-flowing water, two frogs watched from among the reeds. “I still don’t see how we escaped from the caverns,” Illusius croaked in a language that only the wild creatures of the forest understand. “And I still don’t know why we’re here.”

  Niniane’s eyes were trained on Cador, standing tall amid the busy routine of the camp like one of the legendary heroes from the mists of time. He was looking for Tressalara, while pretending not to.

  “I’m not quite certain, either,” the sorceress frog replied, “but I’m beginning to get a hint. I just wish there were some quicker way for us to get around instead of hopping. I wish we could fly.”

  She tried to remember the words of the shape-changing spell, but there seemed to be gaps in her memory. Illusius filled in the blanks. Suddenly tiny pinpricks tickled their speckled hides, and they felt themselves expanding rapidly.

  Tressalara hadn’t noticed any large waterfowl nearby, but a loud flapping of wings rent the air. To her surprise, a brace of birds flashed out from among the reeds and launched themselves into the sky.

  Swans. One black, one white.

  Lord Lector paced his chamber by flickering torchlight. The ascetic room that had belonged to King Varro was now filled with every luxurious indulgence. Two weeks had passed since Tressalara’s escape, and the wizard Rill, brought at great expense, from foreign lands before the coup, had not produced the promised results. The princess and the crystal still eluded Lector.

  The first was a matter of outraged pride but also, like the second, a necessity. The need to capture both princess and crystal was great. From all reports, the insurgent army was growing by the hour. His own troops had cowed the countryside with their swift and brutal punishments, but they were not sufficient to counter a full-scale rebellion. Worst of all, according to rumor, Cador, his old enemy, had joined forces with them. Cador, the one man who could bring all of Lector’s plans and ambitions to naught.

  That was where the Andun Crystal entered the picture. The crystal had been found in the legendary Mystic Lake by Saint Ethelred, King Varro’s ancient ancestor, and could be used for good or ill. Its radiance could bring fair weather, good crops, and robust health and prosperity to all. In the wrong hands, it could bring disaster, famine, and plague.

  It could also be used to bend the people’s will to follow the wishes of the one who commanded its powers. Once it was in his possession, Lector knew, he would be invincible. A cruel smile twisted the usurper’s lips. If Varro, that old fool, had spent more time overseeing his kingdom and less time praying on his knees, he would still be alive.

  But in order to harness the energies of the crystal, Lector needed Tressalara’s cooperation. The Andun Crystal was protected by an enchantment. If any but the true heir to the Dragon Throne touched the crystal, he would be burned to ash. If the true heir held the crystal out to another, however, that person would also inherit the power to hold and to use the Andun Crystal’s magic, without suffering harm.

  He rounded on the magician angrily. “If you have such powers as you boast of, why can you not discover the whereabouts of the princess?”

  The necromancer Rill scattered more ashes into the brazier. A cloud of blue smoke rose up but quickly dissipated. “It is useless. She is under some powerful protection. If I did not know better, I would swear it is the Andun Crystal itself.”

  Lector cursed. “Perhaps she does have it, then.”

  “No.” Rill was certain of it. “The Andun Crystal is somewhere within the castle walls. But, like the princess, it hides itself from us.”

  “I must have one or the other in my possession to enforce my claim to the throne. I would prefer to have both.”

  “It is the crystal alone that matters. Marrying the princess would only give you legal title to the crown. The Andun Crystal would ensure that you keep it.”

  “I have a score to settle with her.” Lector’s hand went to the lurid wound that scarred his cheek. “Furthermore, Tressalara is sure to know where Varro hid the crystal.”

  He resumed his prowling, anticipating his revenge with a dark glint in his eye. “We must have Tressalara. Once she is in my power, everything will fall in place. But first she must be found. And that,” he growled, “seems a task beyond your gifts, magician!”

  “We shall find the crystal eventually.”

  “Damn you, man! I need it for the coronation; otherwise the nobles will conspire against me. With it in my possession they will have to acknowledge me as their rightful king.” His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “They will have no choice.”

  Rill leaned closer and whispered in the usurper’s ear. “I have prepared for this contingency. When you take your oath, my lord, it shall be upon an exact duplicate of the Andun Crystal that I commissioned.”

  Lector raised one eyebrow. “And what craftsman created this item of interest?”

  The magician smiled. “A dead one. I saw no need for him to live once he had completed his task.”

  “A wise plan. But only for the interim.”

  “Oh, but I have another, my lord. One that will lure Princess Tressalara to the castle. Once she is here, I can use my magic to force her to lead us to the Andun Stone.” His heavy lids fell to conceal the greedy gleam of anticipation in his eyes. “And then, in reward, you shall name me Keeper of the Andun Crystal, as we agreed.”

  Lector examined his co-conspirator with distaste. “Are you so sure you can control its magic? Or do you have some bizarre desire to be turned into a heap of smoldering ash?”

  “This has not harmed me,” Rill responded, pulling a glittering shard from the leather pouch at his waist. It glowed in the lamplight, turning now blue, now purple, now clear, dazzling white. “It is twin to the one owned by the Laird of Kildore and was found on the shores of Mystic Lake. It is a piece broken off the original Andun Crystal, and it has proved its power to cloud men’s minds. Did I not use it to keep Jeday and Varro from getting wind of your coup?”

  Lector poured himself a goblet of wine and drank it down. “Coincidence. If your shard is so powerful, why don’t I have the Andun Stone and the princess in my possession yet?”

  Something in the usurper’s voice sent a thrill of fear along the magician’s spine. He must not antagonize Lector. Not yet. “This small piece cannot work its magic over great distances, but close at hand it is deadly. I shall demonstrate to prove my point. Summon two of your servants, one or both of them expendable.”

  Snapping his fingers, Lector summoned two of the guards from the far end
of the chamber. Rill faced them, the crystal glowing in his hand. He turned to one, said a swift phrase, and the man’s eyes became unfocused, like those of a sleepwalker. The magician addressed the other soldier.

  “Kill him!”

  The second man paled. “Lord Magician, he is my brother!”

  “How tragic for you. He is a traitor and is about to assassinate Lord Lector. You will kill him, now!”

  The man struggled against the magician’s spell but was no match for it. He drew his sword with odd, jerky movements of a stick puppet, at the same time struggling to keep the blade sheathed. Sweat broke out on his brow, and it was apparent that he fought the magician’s order with every fiber in his body.

  Then his vision altered. Instead of his brother’s face, he saw that of a stranger. A stranger with his sword poised to strike down Lord Lector. In a flash his weapon was out, and he struck the illusionary assassin through the heart. His brother fell lifeless at his feet.

  Lector was astonished. “Effective, but rather cruel, given their relationship.”

  The smile that distorted Rill’s features was most unpleasant. “I shall show mercy, then.” He turned to the soldier. “You have disgraced yourself. Fall upon your sword!”

  Without the least hesitation, the second man did as he was ordered, spilling his life’s blood at the magician’s feet.

  Lector had gone pale, but his color came flooding back. This was true black wizardry. With Rill’s aid, he would soon have everything he desired: the power of the Andun Crystal, a kingdom to rule…and the Princess Tressalara to warm his bed. He smiled at the memory of her beautiful face, her slender, womanly figure. Subduing her would give him enormous pleasure.

  Until humiliating her no longer amused him. He touched his ruined cheek again. The wound had healed badly. Her death would not be an easy one. And that would give him even more pleasure.

  He fixed the magician with a grim look. “My patience is at an end. We must draw Tressalara out of hiding.”

  Rill hid his fear. “As I said, I have a new plan. You shall soon have the princess in your power, my lord.”

  “Fah! How can you accomplish what my soldiers cannot?”

  In answer, the magician drew him to the window. He opened the casement and pointed to the high tower where Elani and Lady Grette were held captive.

  “I shall lay my trap…and set it with a bait that she cannot resist!”

  6

  Tressalara looked up between the trees along the riverbank as a white hawk circled overhead. “Rossmine!”

  She whistled, and the bird plunged down like an arrow to land on a branch beside her. A thin message cylinder was tied to its left leg. Wondering, Tressalara removed it. The tiny scrap of paper bore a symbol like a crown, and three words in Elani’s writing: “Beware the trap!”

  Relief that her friend had not suffered for helping her escape flooded through Tressalara. So Lector was planning a trap. But what, and when? And what was the meaning of the symbol? A trap for a princess, no doubt.

  She must send word back that she was alive and well, and that she had received the message. Tressalara plucked a tiny translucent pebble from the riverbank and placed it in the cylinder. To anyone else it would be meaningless, but when Elani got the message she would understand. In their younger days, Lady Grette used to scold that the princess’s escapades were a constant annoyance to her. “By the heavens, highness, some days you are a sore trial to me. Like a pebble in my shoe!” she would grumble.

  A sheen of tears came to Tressalara’s eyes. What she would not give to turn back time. She watched as Rossmine flew off, wishing that she herself had the power to fly away to the castle and reassure her friends.

  Dashing the tears away, she returned to her tasks. There was no shirking on her part. She was willing to do anything, no matter how menial or difficult, to prove her discipline and devotion to the cause of freedom. She must prove to Cador and the rebels that she was capable of sharing their worst hardships—and worthy to lead them into battle.

  Tressalara winced as she lifted the water bucket from the river. Years of riding and fencing had kept her strong and supple, but every muscle in her body groaned with fatigue. So much for the idyllic country life, she thought, grimacing again. It was still better than sitting quietly in the solar, trying to learn embroidery—but not by much.

  By Saint Ethelred’s eyes, she would be glad when Cador returned to camp and her punishment ended. The women were working her to the bone! Dawn to dusk she was at their beck and call without a moment’s respite. Fetch this, chop that, clean this one, empty that one, fill yet another. By nightfall she would gulp down her portion of stew, stoke the campfires, and then drop wearily onto her bedroll at the foot of Cador’s camp bed and fall immediately asleep.

  Only to toss and turn and dream of the highlander. At times they were nightmares, where his light eyes changed to dark, his golden hair to black as he suddenly turned into Lector. Those dreams left her shaken. Did they mean that he was as untrustworthy as the usurper—a greedy, ambitious man who wanted the throne for himself? Or was that only the product of her unspoken fears?

  Once, though, she had dreamed that Cador remained himself, and that had been more frightening; for in that dream they had been standing on the riverbank in the moonlight, and he had looked deep into her eyes, caressing her cheek lightly with a lover’s touch, pulling her to him and pressing his hot mouth to hers. Tressalara had awakened with a pounding heart, both relieved and devastated to find his bed still empty.

  She had used the opportunity of her punishment to pick up gossip and learn more of the enmity between Cador and Lector. Two years before, Lector had led a party of raiders across the border in Kildore. Cador’s elder brother and his pregnant wife had been killed, but not in the fighting. They had refused to reveal whatever information Lector had sought and were executed for it.

  Tressalara, only fourteen at the time, had not known of the raid. Nor had her late father, who had been ill with a lung fever. But the king should have discovered Lector’s perfidy later, when he recovered his health. More proof, she thought sadly, of how her father had turned away from the duties of a ruler in his quest for spiritual answers.

  That phase of his life had begun with her mother’s untimely death while delivering a stillborn son. That had been the start of his withdrawal. It was all very well to be unworldly, the princess thought sadly, but not when one was responsible for the welfare of worldly subjects.

  She wished now that she had paid more attention to affairs of state, rather than her horses and fencing lessons. But then, she reminded herself, she would be Lector’s bride now and not a free woman plotting his overthrow. Or dreaming of the outlaw known as Cador of Kildore.

  A flush of pink tinged her skin and set her blood tingling. Saints, but she wished he would return!

  Sunset turned the sky above the trees to a canopy of flame as Cador and Brand returned to the rebel camp. Though he had intended to be away a day or two at most, almost five had passed. The sentry greeted them with word that all was well.

  “A hundred more men from the north have rallied to our cause, bringing arms and goods. More are due to arrive tomorrow.”

  “Excellent news, for Lector has brought in foreign mercenaries.”

  He rode down the wide central area between the tents and makeshift shelters. The scene was peaceful, the place orderly. A fat boar roasted over the main fire, and vast kettles of snowroot and wild verris cooked nearby.

  Cador’s sharp gaze went toward his tent, set off a little from the others. He was disappointed to see that no one was about. Until that moment he hadn’t acknowledged that he was eager to see the disguised princess and learn how she had fared in his absence. He hadn’t intended to be away so long, and she was a young woman used to silks and satins and many servants, not the hardships of a warrior’s camp.

  “I wonder how Trev has fared at his labors,” he remarked to Brand as they dismounted.

  The rebel leader
glanced at him. “You seem much taken with the lad. That’s the third time you’ve mentioned him this day.”

  Cador was grateful that the lurid sunset hid his flush. “It’s only that I feel guilty for saddling him with the women’s chores so long, when I didn’t intend for it to go more than a day or two: I’m sure they’ve worked him long and hard. And the brawl was mainly Nidd’s doing.”

  His intention had been only to hasten the moment that the princess would confide her identity to him. He had been certain that she would crumble under the unaccustomed work and reveal the truth rather than continue at such menial chores. Perhaps she’d found some ruse to get out of them. She was a most resourceful young woman.

  And, underneath the dirt and unkempt garments, a very pretty one.

  Cador pushed the unwelcome thought out of his mind. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t afford any entanglements. But his thoughts had been full of her during the long nights away from camp. Yes, dirty and disheveled as she was, she had managed to get under his skin.

  He made a point not to look for Tressalara until after he had taken his evening meal and the campfires burned low. He didn’t refuse when Brand pulled out a bottle of the best Kildoran brandy, which he’d bought as a surprise on their travels. Finally, when he could put it off no longer, Cador decided it was time to turn in.

  Pulling the curtained opening aside, he had to admit to a good deal of anticipation at seeing the princess. The tent was dark. She must have retired early. Sparking a flint, he touched it to the lantern that hung from the center pole. Everything was in good military order, polished till it shone, and in its proper place.

  Except for Tressalara. Frowning, Cador set out to find her. One of the women walked past the tent as he was exiting. “Where is young Trev? Playing the truant?”