Once Upon a Castle

by Nora Roberts

  Lector took the ruler’s chair, its high back surmounted by a huge carved dragon’s head, and seated Tressalara in the smaller consort’s chair. Then he opened the top and front of a small chest that lay on the table before them. The blaze of a hundred candles and torches fell upon the magnificent crystal inside. Its clear form glimmered with fleeting opalescent colors of purple and green, blue and gold.

  A hush fell over the room. All had heard of the magical Andun Crystal, but few had seen it. Its shape did indeed suggest the dragon that was emblem of the ruling house; yet after all the legends of its powers, there was general disappointment among the crowd. They had expected to see and feel a special presence, an aura of potent magic.

  A new heaviness came over those who had hoped to overthrow the tyrant. Once he learned to harness the crystal’s energy, Lector would be able to destroy any who opposed him with no more than a thought. The House of Varro was dead and vanquished, and hope was dead with it.

  Now the House of Lector would reign supreme.

  Two rodents huddled beneath the tapestry in the minstrel’s gallery, watching the scene below. Servants scurried to and fro with salvers of succulent food. Illusius twitched his tail from side to side. “I don’t see what Myrriden expects us to do. I…I’ve tried to run a few spells. They didn’t work.”

  Niniane rubbed her pink paws together. “I know,” she said gloomily. “Mine don’t work, either. There was a time when I just wanted to pass my sorcerer’s examination. Now I just wish we could save our poor mortals. Tressalara and Cador have never been in more danger.”

  Illusius sat up and sniffed the air. “I have an idea. A marvelous idea.”

  “You do?” she squeaked hopefully.

  “Yes.” Sniff, sniff. His furry body quivered with excitement. “Let’s sneak down there and get some of that cheese, before they eat it all up.”

  “Cheese? Cheese?” Niniane sat up and nipped him on the nose.

  Lector signaled for the musicians to begin playing. Beneath the song of harp and flute there was much mumbling and whispering during the feast. Although the princess seemed cool and remote, a strange light shone in her dark-fringed amethyst eyes. She looked vaguely out at the assembled company and gestured oddly in the vicinity of her wine cup.

  “See how strangely the princess moves,” a thin woman in a spangled headpiece said to her spouse. “Has she drunk too deeply of the wine?”

  “Nay, ‘tis foul witchcraft,” an elderly knight said with more passion than wisdom. “It is plain to see that Lector and his evil sorcerer have put a spell upon her. The day he took power was a black day for Amelonia!”

  A pool of silence surrounded the man, and his neighbors pulled away. Others stared fixedly at their plates. A man with drink-reddened cheeks jumped to his feet. “This man speaks treason!”

  “Seize him!” Lector pushed back his chair and rose, scattering goblets and spilling wine down the table like ribbons of blood. Instantly several of Lector’s men-at-arms stepped in with drawn swords. The unfortunate who had spoken out was dragged to the dais and thrown on the floor before Lector.

  Elani stepped back quickly and collided with a servant carrying a silver charger filled with hot food. The tray tipped, scattering sliced beef and venison everywhere. Lector cursed as hot gravy splashed across him in an arc. Simultaneously, Tressalara jumped up with more alertness than might have been expected, given her earlier dazed appearance. Her long cape caught on the carved whorls of the other chair, and she grasped at the chiseled dragon’s head to keep from falling.

  Lady Grette rushed to help her mistress, while a steward helped Lector wipe away the gravy. At the same moment the serving woman and Elani tangled and went down in a heap. Somehow the brocade table runner came with them, pulling trenchers, goblets, and bowls off as well. Thuds and the tinkle of breaking glass filled the air.

  In the confusion that followed, Tressalara’s smaller chair was overturned. Servants scurried to repair the damage, but Lady Grette waved them back. The other guests watched the farce, too afraid of their host even to crack a smile. Chaos reigned for several minutes before order was restored.

  Lector examined the man imprisoned by his soldiers. His face became grimmer as he recognized the knight. “Your years will not spare you, Sir Tron. Throw him in the dungeon!” he roared. “He will be executed with the others at dawn—an example of the fate that awaits those who dare to speak treason!”

  A silence fell over the assembly. Because of it, the sounds of commotion in the outer ward came clearly to their ears. Lector drew his sword. “What is the disturbance?”

  Next, a thunderous rap shook the outer doors of the great hall. Everyone froze in place. “Who dares to disturb my feast?” Lector cried out.

  Tressalara, her cloak now off, stepped back and away from the dais. Cador’s stone, which had protected her against Rill’s spell, nestled warm between her breasts. No one noticed, nor did they see that the turbaned wizard, the courtier in blue velvet, and two men in Lector’s livery silently followed. As the princess and the disguised rebels made for the musician’s gallery, two others moved into position behind Lector.

  Again that thunderous rap filled the chamber. The sergeant-at-arms stood before the doors and spoke through the grill as two others hurried to slide the bar in place.

  “Who seeks admittance?”

  “The army of Princess Tressalara, led by Cador of Kildore!”

  In the next fraction of a second the doors burst inward, scattering the soldiers like leaves before a violent wind. A troop of horsemen rode into the great hall with a clatter of hooves and a flash of drawn steel blades. “Long Live Tressalara! Death to the tyrant Lector!”

  Lector blanched. There was no time for more. He turned to grab Tressalara and was furious to find her gone. Meanwhile tables and benches were overturned, as those inside took up sides according to their loyalties. As more troops poured in behind Cador, another group came on foot from the corridor leading to the kitchens. Every tunic bore the white dragon insignia of the House of Varro.

  The fighting was intense, and the cries of men and shrieks of horses filled the air. Cador had given orders that Lector was to be detained, but not struck down. That was a pleasure he had reserved for himself.

  But as he fought his way forward he realized that something had gone awry. Brand’s troops should have joined the fray by now, but there was no sign of them. Without them, Lector’s men held the advantage. The rebels were outnumbered three to one. Vaulting an overturned table, he fought his way through a phalanx of enemy soldiers toward his adversary. The best way to kill a snake was to cut off its head. If he could bring Lector down, the rest would crumble.

  His sword rang out like a bell and struck like lightning as he beat the enemy back like a man possessed. He stood before Lector and raised his sword to parry a vicious thrust.

  “We finally meet face-to-face, you devil’s spawn! Where is the princess?” he demanded.

  A serving woman screamed. Rill waved his crystal and spoke from his hiding place behind Lector’s chair. “Did you not hear her cry out just now? By the time you reach her, Tressalara’s soft white throat will be cut.”

  Cador was not aware of the spell of illusion that had been placed upon him. Realizing that the scream had come from the minstrel’s gallery overhead, he let his glance dart there. A terrible scene met his eyes. Where there was nothing but a cowering servant and a brocade curtain, he imagined that he saw Tressalara caught in a brawny soldier’s grip, wide-eyed with fear as the man’s sword bit deep into her throat.

  Too late! He had come too late to save his love!

  The deluge of despair froze him in place for less than an instant, then was replaced by a cold and determined fury. But that split-second was all Lector needed. His blade flashed as he lunged for Cador’s heart.

  12

  Niniane was trembling. “Do something, Illusius!”

  Illusius had no thought for his sore nose. All his attention was focused on Lec
tor’s sword as its slashing tip touched Cador’s chest protector, slicing through the thick leather as easily as an arrow flying through air. “Stop!” he squeaked.

  “Stop!” said Niniane simultaneously.

  A mighty clap of thunder resounded through the great hall, drowned out by the clash of steel upon steel.

  Lector’s sword caught a metal boss on Cador’s leather armor, and the near-fatal blow was deflected. Although the force of it was great, Cador kept his balance, and his blade came up beneath Lector’s. He thrust it away and counterattacked. The men were evenly matched in height and strength, but Cador fought like two. He backed Lector into a corner and plunged his sword through the villain’s heart.

  “Thus dies the traitor who murdered Amelonia’s true king!”

  “Curse you, Cador…” Lector fell, the blade still quivering in his chest. His life’s blood gushed out, and he was dead.

  Illusius was ecstatic. He dashed around the minstrel’s gallery like a mad fox. “We did it! We did it!” He lashed his tail furiously. “But…how?”

  Niniane wasn’t listening. She scurried to the very edge of the platform for a better view. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” she squeaked. “We must do something!”

  Cut off from his men, Cador still fought bravely, surrounded by Lector’s troops. It seemed that he would be struck down at any moment. With Rill directing the action, the outnumbered rebels were forced back toward the armory, where they would be boxed in.

  Tressalara saw her ladies to safety, wielding her dagger left and right. She longed for her own rapier, which Lector had taken from her. But the situation demanded something more. She ran back to the dais. She must save Cador, save them all. Reaching the wooden chest on the royal table, she held it aloft. The opalescent crystal inside the opened box seemed to capture the light and reflect it back. It shone blue and purple and gold and green, sending rays of glory from one end of the chamber to the other.

  “Rill!” she cried. “Call off your men, or I will turn the powers of the Andun Crystal against you!”

  Her voice floated over the room with incredible power, and the fighting ceased completely. Rill joined her on the dais. She stood facing him, the box containing the crystal balanced in the palm of her hand.

  “Fool of a woman!” he whispered so that only she could hear. “That is not the Andun Stone. It is only carved opal that I commissioned myself. It has no powers.”

  Rill’s mouth curled with derision as his fingers reached out. A crash of thunder shook the air, and a shock of cold fire ran up his arm. Cold changed to incredible heat. The sorcerer was unable to move or breathe.

  Tressalara’s voice came to his ears as if from a far distance: “You see that I was never under your puny power at all, Rill. There were only two places where my father kept the Andun Stone. One you saw. The other was in the head of the great dragon throne. And you brought me right to it. I switched the boxes earlier, during the diversion my ladies created.”

  Rill remembered the spilled gravy and the confusion that followed. In his mind’s eye he saw the princess standing beside the dragon chair, her long cape swirled across it, with her waiting woman pretending to free it. That was the last thought he had. A towering pillar of flame erupted where he stood with the glowing crystal in his hand. The writhing fire burned so brightly that people shielded their eyes against the glare.

  When the flames died, the evil wizard was totally consumed. Nothing left but a pile of ash, a small crystal shard, and the great Andun Stone was left. It swirled with opalescent color, intensifying the ancient letters that were engraved upon its base, that gave the crystal its name:.

  A sudden cheer and the sound of booted feet from the direction of the kitchens announced that Brand’s men had finally broken through. As they spilled into the room, Lector’s men threw down their weapons and fell upon their knees, begging for mercy. In a matter of minutes it was over, and the rebels had taken control. A mighty roar went up from the crowd: “All hail Tressalara!”

  She stepped upon the dais. “Where is Cador?” she demanded suddenly. Her triumph could not be complete without him to share it. This victory was his as much as hers, she wanted to celebrate the joy of the moment with him. Her moment of glory turned to bitterness. The ranks parted and Brand and their lieutenants came through to lay Cador, pale and bloody, at her feet. She felt her own blood drain from her head. “Dear God in heaven! Cador! It cannot be!”

  The rebel chiefs formed a protective circle around Elani and Grette. Tressalara knelt beside Cador and touched his beloved face. Her silken sleeve trailed his blood. His cheek was already cool. All the passion, the intelligence, the lust for life was quenched. His soul had fled. In her horror she would have traded pride and wealth, throne and crown, even her very life in exchange for his. “Oh, Cador, my love!”

  The words were wrenched from her. She cradled his head upon her breast, heedless of the blood that smeared her silken gown. Her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, and every one had Cador’s name engraved upon it. A part of her had died with him. She knew that she would never love again.

  Her tears bathed his face, handsome even in death, and her lips gently pressed his. His amulet seemed to grow warm against her skin, and a faint flush of life seemed to color his cheeks. Tressalara lifted her head. Once more Cador was as still and white as wax.

  Again she touched her lips to his, and again a tinge of pink colored his face. A murmur went through the watching circle. Another strange thing happened then. Two rats appeared— one white, one black. They were rolling something along ahead of them, pushing at it with their naked pink feet until it touched the hem of her gown. Brand drew his dagger to dispatch the rats, but she stopped him.

  “Leave be! These are surely enchanted creatures.”

  Tressalara immediately recognized the object by the strange symbols engraved upon it:. It was Rill’s crystal, yet the signs were similar to the ones on Cador’s amulet:. Were their powers somehow linked? There was little to lose in chancing it.

  As the princess picked up the shard that Rill had dropped, the blush of life pinked Cador’s skin for a third time. The blood that had been pouring from his wounds ceased its flow. The crowd whispered in astonishment. The white rat and its black twin pulled at her sleeve. Tressalara thought she understood. If these two crystals, so alike in composition to the Andun, could do this much, what could the Andun Crystal itself do?

  The Andun Stone lay where it had fallen.

  The smoldering ashes nearby gave proof of its mighty power. But Tressalara had not been handed it by her father and named true heir, as had always been the case before. If she touched it, without its being given to her by the previous heir, would she share Rill’s fiery fate?

  She didn’t hesitate. Still touching Cador, she lifted her other hand. As she reached out for the Andun Crystal, the courtiers gasped in alarm. Brand stopped her. “Highness, Cador did not give his life for you only to have you risk yours in this way.”

  Tressalara lifted her head with royal dignity. “I would not be fit to govern were I not as willing to give my life for my loyal subjects as they have been for me.”

  Brand looked her in the eye, then nodded and released her. “So speaks a true queen.”

  Silence filled the great hall as Tressalara again reached out to the Andun Stone. Although there was fear in her heart, it was only for Cador. Her hand did not tremble as her fingers touched the cool stone.

  A crash of thunder shook the air, and a shock of cold fire ran up her arm. Cold changed to incredible heat. Tressalara was unable to move or breathe. Then the power filled her, like the light of a hundred suns. It poured through her body and into Cador’s.

  When the great scintillating light vanished, the onlookers blinked their eyes. One moment their princess had knelt before them, the next a whirling pillar of golden flame had blinded them with its glory. When they could see clearly again they shouted out with joy. Tressalara had not been harmed.

  She leaned over Cado
r and kissed his lips. She felt his flesh soften and warm beneath hers, heard a soft sigh of breath, and saw his eyes flutter open. She thought her heart might burst from happiness.

  She raised her tear-stained face. “Cador lives!”

  All the bells in the kingdom rang out as Amelonia’s princess was crowned before her people. Queen Tressalara stood on the banner-decked platform that had been erected in the meadow beside the river so that all who wished might attend. Noble and commoner stood shoulder to shoulder for the ceremony.

  Nearby sat a white-bearded man who greatly resembled certain portraits of Saint Ethelred, the Dragonmaster, watched the ceremonies from a grove of Linden trees. Off to the side, a young couple watched from another bower of trees. Myrriden tugged his beard and looked from his beaming apprentice wizard to his beaming apprentice sorceress and back.

  “You have done me proud. Niniane, Illusius, you have passed your wizard’s examination. Now for your reward. Behold, by the power that God has invested in me, I raise you to the next highest rank of beings in His hierarchy!”

  A plume of sparkling smoke, a waft of incense, and the great wizard was gone. So were the wizard and sorceress. In their place stood a human lad, handsome and dark-haired, and a winsome lass with hair as golden as sunlight. Both seemed a little confused for a moment.

  “Ah, don’t I know you?” the lad asked. He felt quite peculiar. But perhaps it was just that the smile from this lovely girl was making his head swim. “I’m Ill-, uh, Illus. Son of a Moravian merchant here for the coronation.”

  The maid blushed prettily. “And I am…uh.” Funny how for a moment she’d forgotten who she was, just from looking into his dark eyes. “My name is Nin…Nina. The granddaughter of the queen’s head groomsman.”

  The lad held out his arm. “Would you care for a glass of fruit ale? Or perhaps a sweet? I saw a vendor with a tray of marchpane over yonder.”