“Of course!” Gunther smiled. “By the Light, you may be worth the gold I’ve had to spend on you. So, once you help Mador find the seal, he will win the final quest.”
Brigitta bowed her head. “As you wish.” But it would be Rupert she would be handing the seal to, for he was the rightful owner.
Gunther’s smile faded as his face turned sour once again. “I’m having some soldiers check to see if you really spent the night at the camp that Seven’s servants set up. If I catch you anywhere near that Seven, you will be sorry. Painfully sorry. Do you understand?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
* * *
Brigitta looked away as the heavy stone lid was pried off the top of a crypt. Forgive me, Your Majesty. She hadn’t wanted to disturb the late queen’s grave, but apparently, there was nothing left of the woman’s belongings but a pair of shoes. After the queen’s body had been burned, Garold’s soldiers had dumped the bones in this crypt, along with the shoes that had slipped off her feet as she’d fallen to her death.
Brigitta had traveled for three days with Gunther’s caravan. They had headed north, and as the terrain grew increasingly mountainous, their progress had slowed. The Highlands of northern Tourin were famous for their mines of gold, silver, and precious jewels, which had made the northern clans rich and powerful.
The most powerful clan had been the Trepurins, who had owned the gold mines. For four hundred years, they had been the reigning House of Tourin. But when Brigitta’s father, Garold, had defeated King Manfrid, he’d taken over all the gold mines and palaces.
Last night they’d spent the night at the old palace from which the Trepurins had once ruled the country. It was nothing but an empty shell now, for everything of any value—all the gold, tapestries, furnishings, and dinnerware—had been looted and taken south to the palace at Lourdon.
Brigitta hadn’t been able to see Rupert, but according to Brody, he had spent the night in the stables under guard. Her heart had ached, knowing how hard it must have been for him to see his childhood home this way. She’d wandered the empty hallways, imagining Rupert growing up as the young Prince Ulfrid, surrounded by a loving family he would lose before the age of seven. She’d sat in the overgrown garden, picturing Rupert there, playing with his younger brother, Bjornfrid.
And if that hadn’t been hard enough on Rupert, now they were disturbing his mother’s grave. He hadn’t even been allowed into the chapel. He was under guard outside in the village square.
They had arrived at this village around noon. When the queen and young prince had fled north, this village was as far as they had reached before Garold’s army had caught up with them. Looming over the village was the mountain where Garold’s men had chased the queen to her death.
A loud grating noise echoed through the stone church, and Brigitta gritted her teeth. Forgive me, Rupert. The bell clanged overhead, and she wondered if a sudden gust of wind had swept through the bell tower, a gust of wind that might have been caused by Rupert’s distress.
“Get on with it,” Gunther ordered as Captain Mador held a torch over the gaping dark hole at the foot of the crypt.
Brigitta ventured a peek inside. Bones, and the faded red leather of a woman’s slipper. With a grimace, she reached inside to touch the shoe.
A deluge of emotions struck her so hard, she withdrew her hand and stepped back. Horror, fear, grief. She steeled her nerves and this time when she touched the shoe, she concentrated on the royal seal.
She squeezed her eyes shut as anxiety and fear enveloped her. She saw the seal, the top portion made of blue lapis lazuli with an arched handle of gold in the shape of a dolphin. Blue and gold, the colors of Tourin, and the dolphin, a symbol of the coastal nation. A woman’s hands were holding the seal, and they trembled as they wrapped it in brown wool.
“We must hide it,” a woman’s voice whispered. Rupert’s mother. She set the seal in a golden bowl and stuffed lamb’s wool all around it. “You must never tell anyone where it is.”
“But Daddy will want it when he comes back,” a young voice whined.
“He…” The woman’s voice broke with a sob. “He can’t come back anymore.”
“What about Ulfie?” the young boy asked.
The woman sniffed. “I hope he can. I hope he’s still…” She quickly stuffed another golden bowl with lamb’s wool. “If Ulfrid comes for the seal, you can give it to him. Understand?”
There was a whimpering sound, then the boy cried, “I miss Ulfie.”
“I know.” With a muffled sob, the woman fit the two bowls together. With a twist, they fastened together, forming a golden orb. She wrapped the orb with more brown wool, then slipped it into a woolen bag. “If something happens to me, you must hold on to this. Remember, Bjornfrid. It is precious. Never let it go.”
“I’ll remember, Mama.”
Brigitta withdrew her hand from the crypt as the vision faded. A golden orb. Her gaze shifted to the church’s altar. Traditionally, all the churches of Enlightenment had a golden sphere or disk at the altar to symbolize the sun god, called the Light. Unfortunately, Gunther had long since confiscated all the golden orbs in Tourin. Churches had been forced to make their sun globes out of brass or yellow-painted wood.
This church was no different, for there on the altar was a yellow, wooden orb on a cushion of blue velvet. Could the seal be inside? Or had Gunther taken the golden orb to his treasury in Lourdon? If he had, he might actually have the seal in his possession without realizing it. Hopefully, the queen had managed to hide the orb containing the seal.
“Well?” Gunther peered at her closely. “Did you see the seal? Do you know where it is?”
“It was buried in a garden,” Brigitta lied. “A castle garden.”
“That’s all you know?” Gunther scowled at her. “Every castle has a damned garden.”
She shrugged. “I believe it would be a castle that belonged to the former royal family.”
Captain Mador watched her carefully. “There are several castles nearby that were owned by the Trepurins.”
“You could try Trepurin Palace,” she suggested. It was a three-hour ride from here. That would give Rupert the chance to check out the local churches.
“I’ll check the palace,” Gunther said. “Mador, you take some soldiers to search the other castles.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Mador motioned for the soldiers to follow him out.
“Are you coming?” Gunther asked Brigitta. “Or shall I have some guards escort you back to camp?”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go back to camp. I’m really tired of traveling.”
“Suit yourself.” Gunther strode out the church’s door, followed by his personal guard.
Brigitta heard the sound of barking and rushed to the church door to peer outside. The dog Brody was circling the king’s entourage and growling at them.
“Brody!” Brigitta ran toward him as Gunther aimed a kick at him.
“Control that mutt of yours,” Gunther growled as he mounted his horse. “And behave yourself. Remember, I’m having you watched. Don’t go near that damned Seven.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Brigitta curtsied as Gunther and his entourage took off. The sound of horse hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the village square.
She spotted Rupert across the square with his horse saddled and ready to go as he conducted his own search for the seal. There was only one guard assigned to him now. Apparently, Gunther didn’t consider him much of a threat, since he believed he and Mador would find the seal. Nearby, there were two guards watching her.
Kneeling down by Brody, she patted him on the head. Instantly her senses went on alert. Brody was also keeping a great number of secrets. “Now be a good dog, and don’t get in the soldiers’ way,” she said loud enough for her guards to hear.
As she leaned close to hug him, she whispered in Brody’s ear, “The seal was hidden in a golden orb like the ones used in churches. Tell Seven that I’
ll check this church, and he can check the others in the area.”
Brody yipped in response, then trotted off down a narrow street.
Rupert strode down a parallel street, his guard trailing along behind. No doubt, Rupert intended to catch up with Brody soon.
As Brigitta headed back into the church, her guards started to follow. “Could you wait out here, please? I’d like some privacy while I pray.”
With a nod, they took up positions on either side of the door.
Brigitta closed the church door, then hurried down the main aisle to the altar. There she examined the yellow, wooden orb until she was able to open it.
Nothing inside.
With a sigh, she fastened it back together. Hopefully, Rupert would have better luck.
* * *
Rupert dashed around a corner, then waited for his guard to appear. A quick punch to the jaw, and his guard crumbled to the ground.
Brody trotted up and shifted into human form.
“Did she see where the seal is?” Rupert asked.
“Inside a golden orb, like the ones used in churches,” Brody replied as he yanked the breeches off the fallen guard. “She said she’d try the church here, and we could check the others nearby.”
Rupert turned toward the village square. “I want to see her.”
“You can’t. She has two guards watching her.”
Rupert glanced over his shoulder at Brody, who was quickly getting dressed in the fallen guard’s clothes. “You could send them away. I need to see her.”
Brody shot him an annoyed look. “Do we have time for this?”
“We’ll make time.” Rupert handed him the guard’s boots.
Brody sat and tugged them on. “I caught the scent of the Chameleon. He hasn’t taken Gunther’s place yet. But he’s definitely close to him, maybe one of his personal guards.”
“Let’s go.” Rupert headed back to the village square, then waited, hidden around a corner.
Brody, now dressed as a guard, dashed toward Brigitta’s guards in front of the church. “Hurry! Seven has escaped with some of the king’s gold!” He pointed north. “He went that way!”
The two guards took off.
As soon as they were out of sight, Rupert led his horse across the village square. “Stand guard,” he told Brody, then eased inside the church.
Golden light filtered through the long windows, illuminating the altar with its yellow orb. On the right, barely visible in the shadows, he saw Brigitta kneeling beside a crypt. His heart stuttered. Mother.
The door behind him swung shut with a clunk that echoed throughout the small church. Brigitta glanced toward him and rose to her feet.
He took a step forward, then stopped as memories seized him by the throat, choking the air from him. Once again, he was that young, frightened boy, sprawled over the crypt, crying for his mother. Don’t leave me.
“Is it safe for you to be here?” Brigitta whispered as she moved to the main aisle.
It would never be safe. Not until he gained back his father’s throne.
“Did my guards see you?” Brigitta asked.
He shook his head. “They’re gone. Did you … see my mother?”
“Her shoes.” Tears glistened in Brigitta’s eyes. “I saw her hands in a vision. And I felt her fear and grief. I’m so sorry. I wish there had been another…” She paused when he strode toward her, his steps faster and faster.
She ran to him, and he swept her into his arms, holding her tight. “Brigitta.”
“I’m here.” She grasped his shoulders.
“Don’t ever leave me.” He cradled her face with his hands and kissed her. She returned his passion, her hands skimming up his neck and into his hair.
Brody cleared his throat at the door. “We need to go.”
Rupert stepped back, slowly releasing Brigitta.
“The seal isn’t here.” She motioned toward the altar. “But I think it could be somewhere close.”
Rupert nodded. “I’ll find it.”
She smiled, her eyes glimmering with tears. “And if I find it, I’ll give it to you. Trust me.”
“I do.” As Rupert left the church, one of Brigitta’s guards was returning and spotted him.
“Seven!” The guard ran toward the church.
Crap. Rupert quickly mounted his horse.
“I’ll catch him,” Brody yelled at the guard.
As Rupert rode away, Brody pretended to be chasing him. By the time Rupert had reached the outskirts of the village, Brody was soaring overhead as an eagle.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Brigitta’s guards accompanied her as she wandered from the village to Gunther’s encampment. The troops had set up camp in a wide, green valley where they would have access to the water of the nearby stream. She shuddered at the sight of the large mountain that loomed over them. That had to be where Rupert’s mother had fallen to her death.
She motioned to a flat boulder alongside the stream. “I’d like to rest there for a while, if you don’t mind. Please feel free to return without me.”
“We’re supposed to watch you,” one of the guards protested.
“You can see me from the camp,” she replied. “I won’t go anywhere, I promise.”
They bowed their heads and hurried off to the camp where, no doubt, the smell of roasting meat was calling to them.
Brigitta settled on the flat boulder. The shallow stream splashed over rocks as it started its long journey to the Great Western Ocean. Upstream, it flowed through the village, providing it with water. Here, it bisected a meadow, dotted with wildflowers. Across the stream, just beyond the meadow, a forest began and ascended into foothills and the high mountain.
Her gaze wandered up the mountainside and stopped when she spotted a cliff about one-third of the way up. Good goddesses, was that where Rupert’s mother had fallen? It must have broken Rupert’s heart to have to camp so close to the spot where his mother had died.
It was a shame, Brigitta thought, that her sister Luciana wasn’t here. If the ghost of Rupert’s mother still lingered about, Luciana would have been able to talk to her and find out the exact location of the royal seal. But all Brigitta had to go on was the vision she’d seen.
Closing her eyes, she replayed the vision in her mind, searching for any clues that she might have missed.
“Put the basket down by the stream, lad.” A woman’s voice interrupted Brigitta’s thoughts.
She opened her eyes and saw an elderly woman emerging from the forest, accompanied by a young man carrying a basket full of laundry.
“Here, Grandma?” The young man set the basket down on a grassy bank halfway to the village.
“That will be fine, Freddy.” The old woman patted him on the shoulder. “Now be a good boy and play while I work.”
“Yes, Grandma.” The young man took a woolen bag from the basket and hitched the drawstring over his shoulder.
Brigitta narrowed her eyes. This Freddy looked a year or two older than her, yet he was still being treated like a child.
He wandered along the grassy bank, headed in her direction, while the old woman crouched beside the stream and swished a man’s shirt in the water. “Look at me, Grandma!” He picked his way across the stream, balancing on rocks.
The old woman glanced up. “Try not to fall in this time.”
Freddy laughed. “I’ll be careful.” He reached the side where Brigitta sat and waved at her. “Hi! I’m Freddy.”
“I’m Brigitta. How are you?”
“I’m good.” Freddy smiled as he approached. “Do you want to be my friend? Do you like to play ball?” He swung the cloth bag off his shoulder.
“Freddy!” his grandmother called out. “How many times have I told you not to talk to strangers?”
“She’s not a stranger,” Freddy argued. “She’s Brigitta. She wants to play ball with me.”
The old woman lost her grip on the shirt, and it floated downstream. “Freddy, can you catch that?”
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“I’ll get it!” Freddy dropped his bag on the ground, then jumped into the stream to chase after the shirt.
“Come here, lass.” The old woman motioned to Brigitta.
As Brigitta drew closer, she suspected the grandmother had released the shirt on purpose. Her suspicion was confirmed when the woman whispered in a low voice.
“You don’t have to play with him if you don’t want to. He means well, but he’s … well…”
“A bit like a child?” Brigitta asked.
The old woman nodded with a wry smile. “That’s a nice way to put it.”
“I got it!” Freddy splashed around in the stream, waving the wet shirt in the air.
“That’s a good lad!” his grandmother called to him, then lowered her voice. “Folk around here aren’t usually that nice to poor Freddy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Brigitta glanced at Freddy. He was a sweet and handsome young man with his golden-brown hair and brown eyes. She narrowed her eyes as an eagle swooped down and landed on a nearby boulder. Was that Brody? It didn’t look quite like his usual style.
“Look, Grandma!” Freddy pointed at the eagle as he climbed up onto the bank. “Shoo!” He flapped the wet shirt in the air, and the eagle took off, then landed at the top of a nearby tree.
“You see the mountain?” his grandmother whispered as she motioned to it. “When he was six years old, he tried to climb it and fell. Hit his head really hard. We were afraid he was going to die, but he pulled through. Then after a few years, we realized he was stuck at the age of six.”
“How old is he now?” Brigitta asked.
“Twenty-two.” The grandmother sighed. “He’s had a hard time of it, poor thing. When he was four, his mother died, falling off the cliff over there. I don’t think he ever fully grasped that she was gone. He seemed to think she was still there, waiting for him. That’s why he tried to climb the mountain.”
A prickle ran down Brigitta’s spine. How many four-year-old boys would have lost a mother on that mountain? Could this Freddy be Rupert’s younger brother, Bjornfrid? He was the right age, and he even looked a bit like Rupert. But then, where did this grandmother come from? Had she adopted Freddy? If he was actually Bjornfrid, did she know?
So I Married a Sorcerer Page 36