by AJ Nuest
The Dreggs had been given no choice but to land in a nearby forest, near the location the rest of their army had agreed to meet them on foot. After a brief discussion, Reddeck consented to await the signal while she and Caedmon tried their luck at flagging down a local merchant, to see if they could bribe the unsuspecting traveler into smuggling them inside the king’s market with his wares.
A tug on her braid, and she heeded Caedmon’s unspoken request, donning her cloak and settling the hood low on her forehead. Her white hair and leather pants were bound to raise questions, and keeping them covered would increase their chances at success. When he put a finger to his lips, she nodded. Nor would she speak. One word from her and anyone they met would immediately guess they were outsiders far, far from home.
The moment they departed the cover of trees, she and Caedmon exchanged a confused frown. Not only did one merchant lead his horses along the well-worn road, but a long caravan trundled toward the castle proper, stretching over the crest of a nearby hill and disappearing into the distance. Some were lone riders, dressed in the plain brown garb of country folk, sitting astride plow horses or sway-backed nags. Others seemed to be entire families, a strange mish-mash of relatives—from the old and nearly decrepit to children scampering alongside the wagons while they laughed and romped in the sun.
As she and Caedmon neared, a grizzled man in a tattered wool coat reined in his team and cranked back the brake, setting the hasp against the wheel. The bed of his wagon creaked under the shifting farm goods piled inside, baskets of squash and fall corn, onions, tomatoes and what appeared to be several hocks of salted pork.
He removed his weathered hat and nodded in their direction, clearing the sweat from his brow with a wilted rag. “G’day, milord, milady. Ye’ll be needing a ride into the castle, then?”
Alarm jolted her heart into overdrive. Had this man recognized Caedmon as an Austiere prince on sight? Or perhaps news of their arrival had proceeded them. Maybe even she and Caedmon were expected. But how could that be? Since they departed the cave, they’d had contact with no one but the Dreggs.
Another furtive exchange of frowns and they faced the elderly gent, Rowena following Caedmon’s example when he donned a congenial smile. “We’d be happy to compensate you in exchange for your efforts, good sir. However, my lady and I prefer to enter the king’s marketplace…unobserved.”
Deep wrinkles marred the corners of the older man’s eyes when he squinted, his exacting blue gaze assessing them from head to foot. Her nerves frayed under his scrutiny and, beneath the shroud of her cloak, she gently eased a silver throwing star into the center of her palm. This sympathetic stranger may be aged, but his faculties seemed sharp as a tack, and this unexpected turn of events prickled the hair on her arms.
“No need fer such crafty business, young squire.” The man shrugged. “That is, not considrin’ King Seviere’s recent proclamation.”
Her smile tightened, but she held firm against the spike of adrenaline in her stomach. What proclamation?
A quiet laugh shook Caedmon’s shoulders and he inclined his head. “Perhaps therein lies our confusion. We’ve just now returned from a long pilgrimage which has kept us unawares. Pray, do tell. What is his majesty’s latest decree?”
The man’s scowl deepened and he glanced over his shoulder at the continuous stream of wagons trailing past the horizon. “I’d thought near every man in the far reaches had heard. King Seviere has offered a wealth of unending riches to the first person what can unlock the chest.”
A gasp seized in her throat and she snapped her gaze to Caedmon. Yet not one twitch of muscle belied his reaction to this shocking piece of news. “Excellent.” He nodded toward the caravan. “So our kinsfolk have come to try their hand with the key?”
“Aye.” The man hitched his coat sleeve up his forearm, exposing a fresh, welted “S” branded on the inside of his wrist. “A square and fair chance given despite yer rank or station, but if ye fail to open the chest, ye receive the king’s mark so as not to cheat and come round again.”
Understanding nailed her straight between the brows. That…crafty…bastard. Instead of burying the chest and key behind the castle walls, Gaelleod had thrown the gates wide open. And why not? What had a wizard of his means to fear? If one of these poor souls held the power to wield the key, they wouldn’t have a clue the danger they were in. Once inside the castle, they could easily be subdued, carted off someplace dank and dark, never to be seen or heard from again.
Her jaw clenched as rage seared through the resentment in her belly. Seviere had no more intent to pay his king’s ransom than he did to join Helios in paradise. He was using his people, luring them like chattle to slaughter. Perhaps he even hoped his unwitting subjects would provide the perfect cover for anyone foolish enough to sneak inside the castle and try to steal the key.
She and Caedmon would need to guard their every step. This whole proclamation business could be nothing more than an elaborate trap.
Yet another, even more terrifying, realization tightened her shoulders until the tendons threatened to snap. Gaelleod was no closer to opening the chest than he’d been when the key first came into his possession. He’d grown desperate, and desperate men were prone to desperate measures.
Two silver coins were bartered in exchange for seats amid the farmer’s vegetables, and she and Caedmon claimed spots at the end of the bed. The brake released and, with their hands firmly clasped, they rolled toward the gates of Castle Seviere.
Rowena kept her eyes downcast, fear of the unknown like a heavy boulder crushing her chest. The road narrowed and they lumbered onto the bridge. Misty droplets clung to her lashes, the deafening fury of the water a perfect replica of the anxiety charging through her veins. If someone recognized them and decided to raise the alarm, she and Caedmon would be trapped. The bridge offered no place to hide. No escape was available except to dive for the river, and then be swept over the cliff to their deaths.
Her breath grew faint and she fought the desperate urge to pull more air into her lungs. Her panicked trembling increased. Caedmon unwound his fingers from hers and tugged her close, sheltering her within the warm strength of his embrace. His lips met her brow in a tender kiss.
He’d been right. Her insistence to go after the key was an undertaking of epic stupidity. And for what purpose? What did she stand to gain? Memories of a time she couldn’t return to? More heartache and loss? Caedmon was her life now. No matter what her past held, their future happiness should be foremost in her mind. He’d freely offered his undying love and in exchange she’d asked—no, demanded—he risk everything for her, head straight back to the hellish horrors he’d endured for two long years.
If only there were some other way to unravel the mystery behind her connection to the key. The goddesses must have had a larger purpose in mind when they laid this task at her feet. She couldn’t turn her back on that. Not now. Not when every indication behind the reason she’d been delivered to this realm pointed in the same direction.
Soon the gentle sway of the wheels and the roar of the water gave way to the soft cadence of horseshoes clacking cobblestones. Rowdy calls of street venders mingled with the melodious strums of stringed instruments. Wandering minstrels smiled and sang for the simple joy of a song. The charred aroma of roasted meats, a welcoming hint of freshly baked bread suffused the cool evening breeze. Colorful flags fluttered along shop windows, the outside tables filled with men swilling ale and throwing dice, the painted serving girls twirling their skirts to show a bit of ankle in exchange for a coin.
The entire castle courtyard displayed an atmosphere of celebration, as if a grand fair were the cause for the bustling activity instead of an evil wizard’s reckless obsession to subjugate the world.
As the wagon rumbled to a stop, she and Caedmon debarked, waved their thanks to the farmer and scurried for the nearest shadowed doorway.
Caedmon’s troubled gaze darted around the crowded square, his hands resting on he
r waist, keeping her near. “To the bowels of hell with Gaelleod and his immoral fixation. These people have naught a clue what awaits them should he succeed in his plan.”
“Agreed.” She blinked back a set of tears as a pair of young lovers leaned in for a stolen kiss. “My God, Caedmon, if we open the chest, who knows what could happen? Enemies of the Austiere realm or not, these people are innocent. Just look at them. If not for Seviere’s decree, they wouldn’t even be here.”
“Hie there, young lad!” Caedmon beckoned to a boy chasing a battered leather ball through the street. The child retrieved his run-away toy and jogged to the doorway, cheeks ruddy and brown eyes sparkling with the promise of youth.
She smiled at the child’s carefree enthusiasm. He couldn’t have been more than a season or two older than Vaighn.
“The testing of the key.” Caedmon lowered to one knee and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You know of the trials taking place at the castle?”
“Certainly, milord. Tried meself just this very day.” He tugged back his frayed shirtsleeve and exposed the blistering red welt of his failure.
Her prince winced and shook his head. “Brave lad. Your mother must be very proud. Tell me, do you know if the trials continue after Setting? Or is it best my lady and I try our luck fresh on the morrow?”
“Oh no, milord. They lock the chamber up tight.” His spine stiffened and the boy’s chest puffed up in a show of pride. “Me uncle is a palace guard and he told me so hisself.”
“And no doubt you’re a treasured nephew.” Caedmon stood, ruffled the child’s sandy curls and then dug into his leather pouch for two gold coins. He held up the first and the boy’s eyes grew to twice their normal size. “This coin is for your mother. Be certain to give it to her and only her.”
Rowena smiled. The way Caedmon dealt with the boy exposed yet another endearing side to her warrior prince. He would make an excellent father one day.
He pinched the second gold piece between his finger and thumb, and wagged it under the child’s nose. “This one is for you, though I’d better not catch wind you spent the lot on bakery sweets.”
“I shall purchase a new ball, milord.” The boy grinned and pocketed the money. “And a pair of shoes for my sister.”
“There’s a good brother.” Caedmon ruffled the child’s hair a second time then waved toward the street. “Off with you now before your mates grow weary of waiting.”
She chuckled as the child scampered off, even more gusto springing from his feet.
“Come.” Caedmon clasped her hand and led them from the doorway. “The boy’s given me an idea. Only a short time until Setting and we have much to prepare.”
He wound them through the marketplace, stopping at a table here, a booth there, procuring various items that seemed of no value whatsoever. What could Caedmon possibly want with a colorful scarf and a stick of kohl? Or those fancy ribbons and that jug of ale? Perhaps he was camouflaging their approach toward the castle, hoping the act of their purchases would help them blend with the crowd.
Each stop brought them closer, the turrets of the castle looming higher before the magenta hues of Helios’ descent, the slow advance of the long line of supplicants ever sharper in focus.
When he handed her a meat pie wrapped in slippery waxed paper, however, she eagerly accepted. Her stomach grumbled at the delicious aroma of savory beef and fresh vegetables. Though the water of the sacred Pool of Tears had appeased her appetite, since leaving the cave they’d had nothing to eat. Her prince was wise to bolster their strength before embarking on the next phase of their plan, whatever that might be. Once inside the castle, who knew when or even if they’d see another meal?
Shadows lengthened as they ate. Shop owners lit their oil lamps and, with a final wink from Helios’ bright face, the grand bell atop the castle tower tolled the setting hour.
“Make haste, now. Stay close and keep a watchful eye.” Caedmon re-secured her hand in his and hurried them straight into the mass of haggard people who’d been awaiting their turn with the key.
Those near the end split off in various directions, clogging a direct route to the palace door. But those closest remained by the steps, their disappointment over being denied entrance apparent in the weary slump of their shoulders, the spark of irritation in their eyes.
“Let us in!” Punching a fist in the air, Caedmon set kindling to those agitated embers. Rowena lifted her brows at his mutinous tirade. One more outburst like that and he was bound to instigate a riot. “We shall not be turned aside!”
“Yeah!” Several men echoed his sentiment, clenched hands thrusting high.
“Since Apex I’ve been biding my chance,” another voice called. “Let us in!”
The two guards stationed on opposite sides of the palace door traded a nervous glance, tightening their grips on their lances. The shouts grew increasingly rebellious. Unruly. Bodies pressed in on all sides.
Rowena stumbled as she was shoved forward. The mob pitched and swelled in a rush for the castle doors. A pair of strong arms encircled her waist. Caedmon’s warm hand clamped the top of her head and bore down as the crowd’s momentum propelled them up the steps.
He shoved past the heaving throng and barreled into the foyer. People swarmed in behind them, tussling and scattering in a wild melee.
Seizing her elbow, Caedmon raced them toward the adjacent hall. Shouts rang out against the marble columns, echoed from a balcony as the alarm was raised. Armor jangled. A woman screamed. A battalion of armed guards stormed into the grand hall.
Nearing the first chamber on their right, Caedmon tossed open the handle, dragged her inside and slammed the door. Heart racing, her breathing labored, Rowena collapsed against the wall and soaked in the blessed support aiding her unsteady knees.
Based on the variety of instruments—several lutes, a gilded harpsichord, the dulcimer and an assortment of skinned drums—they were in a performance room of some sort. “Are you planning to woo me in song?”
Caedmon huffed. “Mayhap on our way out.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “That was brilliant, by the way. Remind me to never provoke you in a crowd.”
“Wasted words, my love. Your nearness alone inflames me in ways beyond measure.”
A quiet laugh shook her shoulders as heavy footsteps thudded past the door. Caedmon pulled their purchases from his pack and folded the scarf into a triangle, placed the long edge against his forehead and tied the ends at the back of his head. His gypsy heritage sprang to the foreground, enhanced even more when he scrubbed the kohl across the tip of his index finger and swiped the black powder over his eyelids.
His swarthy appearance set her back a step. “Wow. If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t even recognize… Oh.” She shook her head. Of course. If they were spotted, an Austiere Prince would be easily identified without a disguise. “Never mind.”
He grasped her shoulders and spun her around so she stood with her back facing him. Her hair tugged against her scalp as he wove the colorful ribbons through the length of her braid. A flick of this thumb and the cork popped from the jug, a tip of his wrist and ale soaked the front of his chest plate.
Arms crossed, she raised an appreciative brow. In a few scant moments, he’d transformed himself into a drunken gypsy, and she, apparently, was to be his maiden fair. If seen by the guards, especially from a distance, they would appear as nothing more than stragglers from the crowd. “Right. So how are we playing this? Am I happy or appalled your hands are roaming toward scandalous territory?”
“Aim for a bit of both.” He cracked the door and a sliver of torchlight bisected his face. “’Tis an act you already play so well.”
She smacked his ass. “Not funny.”
A peck to her lips, he eased the hinges open and they stole into the hall.
Keeping to the shadows, they used alcoves and recessed doorways to mask their approach. Shouts from the guards and the occasional clash of metal directed their course. T
he key had to be centrally located, someplace close within reach; a room large enough to handle daily foot traffic as well as accommodate several guards to keep it safe. They zigged then zagged down marble hallways, working slowly through the castle until a long red carpet and the tart aroma of smoldering incense led them to the gilded frame of a scrolled archway.
Movement inside the room halted her footsteps, and Rowena waited until it disappeared behind the wall before skulking toward the carved niche on the right-hand side. A peek around the threshold and dismay performed a swan dive in her chest. At least a dozen men milled about inside the circular antechamber, their shaved heads and black vestments signifying them as Gaelleod’s priests. If that wasn’t enough, a garrison of palace guards had been spaced around the perimeter, the two biggest brutes standing on opposite sides of an ornately carved door.
This had to be the place and, if her instincts were right, Seviere ordered both chest and key locked behind that far door each night for safekeeping. Unfortunately, unless she and Caedmon miraculously stumbled upon an invisibility spell, there was no way to sneak past all those men.
“Shit,” she whispered. “From the frying pan into the fire.”
Caedmon crept along the wall at her left, spun to face her and risked his own glimpse inside the room. His jaw firmed. “I’d say at least fifteen to one. Dire odds, indeed.”
She quirked a brow. “And that’s different from when, exactly?”
He scowled. “Refresh me. What was our reasoning for leaving the Dreggs behind?”
Uncontrollable amusement bore down on her like the tide coming toward shore and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, her body shaking with silent laughter. His low chuckle joined hers and he cradled her in his arms, holding tight until their hilarity subsided.
His weight shifted and she lifted her head as his focus darted past her shoulder a second time. “The far door doesn’t appear to be barred. The priests come and go at their leisure.”