I lower myself slowly, and set my sword on the ground beside me.
“This is stupid,” I say, both to the wolf and to myself. “Probably the stupidest thing I've ever done. Put down my sword when death is staring me in the face.” I laugh, shaking my head. “If Bellator could see me now... she'd kill me herself.”
The wolf creeps toward me, and I straighten up, putting out my hand to stop it. It recoils defensively, snapping its jaws and foaming at the mouth.
“Maybe they're right,” I say, the words coming faster and more distractedly. “Maybe I am a coward. But does that matter? I won't fight you, but why? Why not? There's something more.” I stop, the realization hitting me. “What if... what if it's not only that I won't fight – it's that I can't. There is something holding me back. Something that...”
Hot breath hits my face and my voice trails off. I look up. The wolf stands before me, its face distorted in a fearsome snarl.
Trembling, I turn my head to the side, bracing myself. “D-do it! If you can, do it. Take me, and let them go. That's the way it works, isn't it? A life must be sacrificed as payment for the safe passage of the rest?”
Its muscles tense and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I'm ready!” I say.
The wolf snarls and lunges. Its jaws snap, but the blow never comes. Instead, a cold breeze washes over me. I open one eye and then blink, turning in a circle. The wolf is nowhere to be found. Instead, a white mist surrounds me, lingering in the windless air.
I realize that I'm not breathing and let out my breath in a rush.
It wasn't real! It was a cruel phantom of the mist, like before. If only we’d been so lucky with the serpent...
Retrieving my sword, I slide it into my sheath and pass under the archway. Hamish is stumbling over the rocky ground toward the forest, still bearing Marianna gallantly in his arms. I press my hand to my side, breathing hard, and hurry out through the gate, leaving Arnon behind.
As soon as I have passed between the gargoyles, the cool evening breeze hits my face and fresh, clean air fills my lungs. I drink it in, then take off at a sprint after Hamish. It doesn't take me long to catch up with him.
He turns to me with a surprised, yet pleased, smile. “You live!”
“How is she?” I wheeze, slowing to walk beside him.
His smile dims. “She is not moving. I am not even sure that she is breathing.”
“You have a physician at your palace, right?” I don't wait for a reply. “Can he help with something like this?”
He nods. “Lesley is the best healer in the land.”
I force air into my pressured lungs. “Tell me the location of the palace. I'll run ahead and get him."
“It is a few miles southwest from here. Please hurry!”
“Alright. Take her into the forest far enough to be out of sight of the castle, and then don't move. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
With a wave, I take off into the woods. The river is to the east of me. As long as I know its direction, I should be able to locate the palace without a problem. I bound through the rugged foliage, pushing through branches that whip my face and leaping over the occasional fallen tree. The pain in my side grows so intense that I can hardly breathe, but even then, I slow only to make sure that I am going in the right direction.
At last, I enter a clearing. The ground is blanketed with grass, which I notice is nicely trimmed. At the opposite end of the lawn from where I stand is a stone stairway leading into a massive granite building with windows of coloured glass. The entrance to the building is barred by two wooden double doors. The doors are surrounded by three decorative mouldings that repeat the original pillared architecture of the doorframe. Guarding the door are two soldiers bearing the crest of Valamette – a golden phoenix on a blue backdrop.
I take a step toward them, but a tall man wearing a similar uniform steps in my way, cutting me off. I slam into him before I can stop myself and tumble back into the grass.
The sound of grinding metal rings in the air, and he puts his sword to my throat.
“It is not that simple to acquire an audience with the king, filthy half-breed,” the man sneers.
“Please,” I gasp, “I've come for the physician, Lesley—”
“I'm sorry to disappoint,” he replies. “He only practices for the royal family.”
“But the pr—”
“Enough!” he snaps, jabbing at me with his sword. “Be gone before I have you flogged for your insolence!”
“Alright. Alright!” I bat his blade away with the back of my hand and struggle to my feet. I turn as if to leave, but then whirl back around, drawing my own sword.
“How dare you?” the guard exclaims.
I cross my sword with his. “You have to listen to m—”
“Enough!” a voice shouts from the top of the stairs.
The guard spins around and solutes the newcomer. “Captain.”
A young man, also dressed in a blue and gold uniform, descends the stairs. His shoulder-length brown hair is tied back at the nape of his neck, revealing a long burn scar starting halfway up his scalp and crossing down one half of his long, boyish face to the thin growth of whiskers on his chin. As he draws closer, I notice that his right hand is missing. In its stead is a large, silver hook.
“Officer, what is the meaning of this?” His tone is soft, but he has a confident, solemn bearing that gives him an aura of authority.
The officer points at me. “This half-breed dog was trying to break into the palace to see the royal physician, sir.”
“We do not discriminate here,” the captain warns. “And did you bother to ask this boy his reason for needing the physician's assistance?”
“Sir—”
The captain puts up a hand. “You are dismissed. Continue your patrol.”
With a click of his heel, the guard is gone.
The captain turns to me and opens his mouth to speak, but stops. His brows pull together in a frown. “Who are you?”
“I don't have time to explain,” I blurt, “but the Lady Marianna has been badly injured and Prince Hamish sent me to get the physician to help her.”
He looks toward the woods, alarmed. “I thought they returned hours ago!” Spinning around, he bolts for the castle, calling over his shoulder, “Stay there!”
He bounds up the steps and disappears into the castle. I sheath my sword and wait. In a few minutes he returns, a lit torch in his hand. A surprisingly spry elderly man follows, carrying a satchel under his arm.
“Where are they?” the captain asks.
“At the edge of the woods, near the Tireth, northeast from here. That’s where I told them to stay, at any rate.”
The physician looks at me, his bushy grey brows furrowed. “And who's this scrawny little fellow?” he croaks good-naturedly.
“Never mind about him.” The captain nods to me. “Bring us to them.”
We find the royals in the woods just out of sight of the castle, as I directed. Hamish sits with his back to a tree, hugging his knees to his chest. Lady Marianna lies on the ground in front of him, her head lolled to the side and her mouth parted in sleep. Hamish has taken off his overcoat and spread it over her in a feeble attempt to shield her from the cool night air. He looks up when he hears us approaching, picking anxiously at the threads of his boots.
Lesley bends to his knees beside her and opens his satchel. “This does not look good,” he clucks.
“What happened?” the captain asks Hamish.
“We were attacked,” he mumbles, staring at the ground in front of him. “By a wolf. Lady Marianna tripped. I think she hit her head.”
The captain raises an eyebrow in a way that very much reminds me of Bellator. "A wolf?"
Hamish looks at Lesley. “She’ll be alright, won’t she?”
“If she dies, her death will be on you.”
This voice is entirely new, and all three turn to acknowledge the newcomer’s presence. A middle-aged man attired in cloth
ing far richer than that of the prince steps into the small clearing from behind us. The firelight of the torch catches on the sparkling chain around his neck, but even more so on the locks of golden hair that curl around his scalp. Arms crossed, he glares sternly at the prince, his eyes made terrifying in the glow of the torch.
The captain quickly falls to one knee, gesturing for me to do the same.
Hamish’s face goes suddenly white, and he bows his head. “Father? You... you came looking for me?”
“Irresponsible!” The king’s voice rings out through the trees. “If I’d known your head was so empty, I wouldn’t have bothered paying for your special education. No son of mine should be so careless as to risk our treaty with Lord Jerousse by letting his daughter come to harm!”
Hamish ducks his head. “I am sorry, father. I tried to protect her—”
“Not hard enough, it seems, or you’d be the one at death’s doors! Your brother wouldn’t have been such a coward!”
The prince cringes, looking away.
The king’s disapproving gaze turns to me and I feel a sudden need to disappear. “And who is this urchin?” he demands.
“A friend, your majesty,” the captain replies with a bow, and I’m surprised – yet grateful – that he’s standing up for me.
“Silence, Jambeau!” the king snaps, glaring at the captain. “My son has a mouth, if he has backbone enough to use it.”
Jambeau. Isn’t that the name of the fellow Bellator was so spiteful about?
The captain bows again, his fist to his chest. “I apologize, my liege.”
“My king,” the physician interrupts, “I have done my best to stabilize the lady’s condition. We must get her back to the palace immediately.”
“Your assistance is required, captain,” the king says.
Jambeau salutes, then lifts up the unconscious Marianna, bearing her away after Lesley and back toward Gerithold.
Once they have gone, the king turns back to us. Hamish stands up, his back still pressed to the tree. His injured knee trembles, and he puts a hand down to brace it. He keeps his gaze low, his shoulders tense as if awaiting a dreaded explosion of tempers.
But the king doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he turns back to me. “Who are you, half-breed?”
The cold tone in which he utters the words sends a shock of anger through me. Does he really despise us so much, even though he has one for a son?
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Hamish shrink even more.
“M-my name is Ealdred, sire,” I stammer.
“He saved us, fa—” Hamish begins.
“Speak up, boy! I can’t hear you when you mumble.”
Hamish clears his throat. “Ealdred saved us,” he says, louder this time. “He fought the wolf and then ran to fetch Lesley.”
The king’s gaze hardens. “And how, Ealdred, did you just happen to discover them in the middle of my forest?”
I scratch my ear. “I was lost.”
“Do not be angry, father,” Hamish tries again. “If he was not there, Marianna would be dead right now.”
“Hold your tongue, boy!” the king snaps, turning to loom over him. “You’re a disgrace! If you were anything like me, you wouldn’t need to be saved by some wandering urchin! Does the courage of Gryphem run in your veins, or were you cursed with the pansy blood of Lavylli? Man up! Do not speak again until you have something to give other than excuses!”
The words hurt him, I know, but Hamish does well to hide it.
The king turns back to me, his voice less severe. “Tell me about yourself, Ealdred.”
My mind sharpens with suspicion. “What do you want to know?”
He waves his hand carelessly. “Whatever story you’re willing to tell me.”
“Well, uh... I’m an escaped slave from Zandelba. I was in these woods to keep off the roads.” I bow my head. “I didn’t know that the forest belonged to you, sir, and if I offended you, I’m truly sorry.”
The king rubs his chin, flattening the loose hairs of his beard. “Well, Ealdred of Zandelba, I appreciate you saving Lady Marianna’s life, but we do not harbour runaways. I bid you be gone from my country and never return, or I’ll drag you back to your masters after having you flogged!”
“Father!” Hamish exclaims, his boldness returning.
The king turns on him. “I told you—”
“I will not be silent!” the prince exclaims, clenching his fists. “He saved Marianna’s life, and this is how you intend to repay him? This country values justice above all else. Justice is not only for the condemned, but for those who deserve a reward!”
“I see.” The king eyes him carefully. “Your king’s justice is not to your satisfaction. Well then, tell me; what would you have me do?”
Hamish doesn't let his father's ridicule discourage him. "We can start by offering him a warm place to sleep for the night. From there, I would assume he could stay with us until he is ready to be on his way. It’s the least we can do.”
I open my mouth, shocked speechless. He wants me to stay with them?
“Out of the question!” the king cries.
“Why not? It would be nice to have someone around who understands me.”
“So that’s what this is about! The lonely prince wants a playmate?”
“No! Well... perhaps.” Hamish looks down at his bleeding leg, his shoulders slouching. “You have no idea what it has been like to grow up as this,” he gestures to indicate his entire body. “Everyone has such high expectations of me, yet there is no way I can reach them. Ealdred? He’s a half-breed, like me. He will not mock me. Already, I know I can trust him with my life. People like that are hard to find.”
The king growls.
“All I am asking is that you let him stay, at least until he finds somewhere else to go.”
I look from one to the other, my breath held. Part of me wants the king to decline. Bellator has been right so far; he really is a nasty character. But for Hamish’s sake, I hope that he agrees. There’s something about the prince that feels safe, that reminds me of myself.
The king glances from Hamish to me, his internal struggle visible on his face. Then he sighs in defeat. “Fine. He can stay for a couple of days, as long as he behaves himself.”
Hamish draws his hands together and bows. “Thank you, father. You will not regret this decision.”
With a wave of his hand, the king turns his back to him. “Go and see to it that Lesley fixes your leg. I’ll make sure Ealdred gets there safely. But first, I wish to speak with him in private.”
The smile beginning to form on the prince’s face fades and we exchange a worried glance. But he turns obediently and hurries away, leaving me alone with the king.
Chapter Thirty
W hile the sounds of Hamish's footsteps fade, the king remains patient, still, his crystal gaze fixed on my face. It is hard to discern anything from his strikingly good-looking features besides the strong sense of dislike that increases as he ponders me.
A cricket chirps nearby. The breeze rustles through the trees. The moon has risen full in the sky and is now directly overhead.
The king puts a hand on my shoulder, and I jump.
“Walk with me,” he says, and we turn toward the castle at a slower pace.
I wait, unease stirring in my stomach.
He breaks the silence with a low, dry chuckle. “Ealdred,” he says, contempt saturating his tone. “Such a brave lad you are in the eyes of my son.”
“Believe me, sire, I didn't intend for any of this to happen.”
“Oh really? You just ‘happened’ across my foolish son while he was in danger, rescued him, and now you’re being welcomed into my palace with open arms. And you tell me you didn’t plan any of it?”
“I did not.”
“I know a liar when I see one,” he says with the same irritating chuckle. “Do you think the eyes of the king of Valamette are so easily blinded? I know as well as you do that my son was lying abou
t how Lady Marianna was injured.”
My heart stumbles over a beat. “I don't understand—"
His fingers dig into my shoulder. “Think carefully before you lie to me again.”
I give in. “You know what happened, then?”
“You are unusually smart for a slave of your race, aren't you?” His words are mocking. “Oh yes, I saw you and my son leaving that damned place when I was searching for him. I wonder what business a boy like you could possibly have in the cursed castle of Arnon?”
I think quickly, speaking the words as they come to me. “It wasn’t by choice, sir. My master brought us all to the castle by force. He was after some of the treasure he claimed was inside. But he was killed, and we were able to escape.”
“Upon which time you bravely stepped in to save the day.” He snorts. “Predictable.”
My temper flashes and I shove his hand off of my shoulder. “Stop playing games with me! What is it you really want?”
His smile has a sharp edge to it. “I want to know what you know.”
“About what?”
He stops and looks me hard in the face. “I think that you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“No,” I say slowly, unable to imagine what he could possibly be speaking of. The arrow, perhaps? “I don't.”
He strokes his beard. “It doesn't matter, as long as Hamish doesn't find out. Because if he does, I will make your life very miserable.”
Too late. Hamish knows about the arrow.
“Whatever you wish, your highness,” I say with a mock bow. “Though it may be difficult to carry out your order, seeing as how I have no idea what I'm supposed to keep from him.”
The king scowls at me. “It won’t matter anyways, as you don't intend to stay for long.”
It isn't hard to catch his meaning.
“Are you even trying to be subtle about your dislike for me, or do you actually want to make it this clear?”
“You do have an attitude about you," he says, gripping my shoulder again with threatening malice. “Beware that you do not use it to your own disadvantage.”
A twig snaps in the darkness nearby. I halt, straining my ears.
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