Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  Hemmett bolted for the strongroom, followed by the rest of Menders’ Men. Menders could hear the trapdoor being hauled up.

  “I’ll get a food parcel together!” Cook shouted, hurrying away.

  Menders leaned over the rail.

  “Bertel, Klausen, I want you with me. Get dressed and armed. The rest of you, spread out, check for stragglers of that lot. Haakel, I need documents. Anything you can think of, Royal Orders, passport – you know!”

  He ran to his room where Eiren had already emptied several drawers onto the bed, so he could find what he needed quickly. He tore off his clothing and began dressing from the skin out in an assassin’s gear, pulling on the lightweight silk underwear that moved like a second skin, then strapping one knife after another to various parts of his body, followed by the black garments that allowed him to fade invisibly into shadows. Over these he pulled his normal clothing. Eiren was in Katrin’s room, bundling together necessities, nightgown, brush and comb, toothbrush.

  “Wrap everything as flat as a can, to fit into my pockets,” Menders called to her, packing more clothing and weapons into a bag. Outside he could hear Hemmett’s Men searching, probably desperate to find anyone they could tear to pieces. Villison was shouting directions from the roof – evidence that Katrin and the men who had taken her were out of earshot. He heard a train whistle at the halt.

  “The bastards had the train down the line!” one of Hemmett’s Men said in the doorway. “They just pulled it up here. They must have stopped far down the line last night and marched up here after dark, then filtered into the woods between patrols.”

  “How many are there?” Menders asked.

  “At least two hundred. We could never take them,” the man replied.

  The train whistle sounded again. A moment later Menders could hear Villison’s light footsteps racing down the roof stairs and along the corridor.

  “They’re going,” he said swiftly. “They didn’t treat her badly, handed her up nicely enough, no sign of abuse. Train’s already pulled out. It’s a special, of course.”

  “Thank you,” Menders said shortly. “You’re in command of Hemmett’s Guard. Hemmett is coming along with me. If you find any of them here, which I doubt, don’t kill them. Keep them here and get word to me. I can be reached at Borsen’s home.”

  Eiren rushed in with the parcels for Katrin. Menders pushed them into his pockets.

  “What else do you need?” she asked, her voice calm, belying her shaking hands.

  “I’ll get it in the kitchen – I’ll need food to take and flasks for clean water.” Menders rapidly threw the last few things he needed into the bag and turned to her.

  “My darling, don’t come down with me. I’m going to stop at the kitchen and then I’m on my way,” he said, forcing himself to sound calm. “I will send word back as quickly as I can.”

  Eiren flung her arms around his neck.

  “Take care of her,” she whispered, clinging to him with all her strength. “Stay alive. Please stay alive!”

  “I will, Little Bird,” he whispered. “I love you.” He kissed her and then moved swiftly toward the door.

  “Menders!”

  He turned. His heart broke at the sight of her stricken face.

  “I will come back to you,” he said, his voice fierce with love.

  ***

  “I’d rather you stayed home,” Stevahn said to Borsen, looking critically at him across the dining table at breakfast.

  “I must admit I feel like it,” Borsen sighed. He had not slept well for months. Neither had Stevahn. They were both on edge and had been since the coronation of Queen Morghenna IX – Aidelia. Aidelia’s reign was already characterized by bizarre royal decrees and sudden disappearances of people. The rumor was that death by torture had become a favorite entertainment of the demented Queen of Mordania.

  To make matters worse, Aidelia had been ordering arrests of nancy men on “morals violations”. Several of Borsen and Stevahn’s acquaintances had been arrested on trumped up charges and taken to the Palace dungeon. Their families were unable to get permission to visit or write to them. One was an employee at Borsen’s, young Petran Borghel, the hat designer who had caught the eye and heart of Mister Evanov, Borsen’s fat man.

  The best sleep Borsen and Stevahn had during the nine months of Aidelia’s reign had been during their visits to The Shadows or to the home of Stevahn’s parents. There they spent far more time in their rooms, sound asleep, than would be considered polite behavior for guests.

  Complicating matters, Borsen contracted a severe cold during the winter. It lodged in his lungs and lingered well into spring. He was finally free of it, but all illnesses hit him hard. This latest seige had been lengthened due to the strain of Petran’s arrest and the ongoing threat to himself and Stevahn. He looked ghastly, his attractiveness lost in shadowed eyes and haggard lines.

  “Please do,” Stevahn said, shaking his head. “You look dreadful. If you stay home, I promise to come home for lunch and pamper you.”

  “You do look dreadful, little brother,” Varnia added, coming in from the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee. She sat opposite Borsen and poured out a cup for him.

  “I’ll forgive you both for saying I look dreadful if you come home to pamper me and if you keep plying me with coffee,” Borsen joked, looking from Stevahn to Varnia before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

  “Did you sleep at all last night?” Varnia asked.

  “Yes, but the dreams won’t leave me alone,” Borsen sighed. It was so unlike him not to fight the idea of staying home that Stevahn was truly concerned. Inspiration dawned.

  “Why don’t we all go to Surelia for a while?” he suggested. “We could stay at my family’s house there. Pappa would be glad to take over for me at the bank and it would be a relief for everyone to know we’re out of Aidelia’s reach.

  “I’m backlogged at the store,” Borsen replied. “I can’t say that it isn’t a tempting idea. I would welcome some sleep without nightmares. Let me think on how I could manage.”

  “Why not take what you need with us, do your stitching there and we’ll post it all back?” Stevahn suggested.

  “You are a brilliant man,” Borsen replied, rubbing his eyes wearily.

  “Eat something, dear,” Varnia urged softly, marveling that she had to urge Borsen to eat.

  Rapid hoofbeats outside the front door brought them to their feet. Borsen’s hand went to his pistol and Varnia drew hers. Stevahn stepped over to a cabinet and extracted a shotgun hidden behind it.

  Magic snarled, barked and jumped at the front door. Then he began burbling and yodeling happily as someone knocked resoundingly.

  Stevahn ran to the door and pulled it open, revealing Menders, Hemmett and two of Menders’ Men.

  “Papa!” Borsen cried in amazement as the men came in swiftly. Stevahn closed the door, locked and double-bolted it.

  “Aidelia’s had Katrin arrested,” Menders said, dropping the bag he carried. “She’s on her way to Erdahn on a train with over two hundred Mordanian soldiers.”

  “No,” Borsen breathed. Stevahn went to him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

  “You all look done in,” he said firmly. “Sit down, breakfast’s just been laid on. We’ll talk about this while you eat.”

  “I need a base of operations,” Menders continued, taking a seat at the table. Bertel and Klausen did the same, falling on the food as if they were starving. Borsen went to the kitchen but found that Varnia had precipitated him and Hemmett had joined her. More food was already in the pan and Hemmett was carving rashers of bacon. Borsen then exchanged a look with Stevahn from behind Menders’ back. Stevahn read it immediately, and nodded slightly. Borsen indicated for him to speak.

  “Our home is yours,” Stevahn said with finality. “What can we do to help you?”

  Menders began explaining how he needed a place where he could get food and water for Katrin, as she could not safely eat or drink
anything offered at the Palace. Suddenly he stopped and looked around.

  Borsen had moved out of his line of sight, knowing his darkly shadowed eyes and the weight he’d lost during months of illness were something Menders hadn’t noticed in his initial rush into the house. But Menders was faster than he was. He turned rapidly in his chair, getting a good look at Borsen as he started to duck into the kitchen. He was up in an instant, following in Borsen’s wake.

  “My boy,” he said softly, catching Borsen’s shoulder and turning him. “Good gods, what is wrong?”

  “It’s not serious. I’m just not sleeping well,” Borsen said. “That cold knocked me down for a while. You know how it is with me.”

  “I’m endangering you both,” Menders said. “We won’t stay, we’ll go to my safe house.”

  “No. That’s all the way across town. You need to be closer to the Palace,” Borsen said firmly. “We’re already endangered – if it gets too bad, we’ll go to Surelia and leave you the use of the house. Let us help you, Uncle.”

  Menders held him at arms’ length, scrutinizing him.

  “You should have let us know you were so ill,” he said softly, then put his arms around Borsen and held him close. Borsen could feel the fear in him and hugged back with all his might.

  “Now, tell us what you need us to do,” Borsen said when Menders released him, leading him back to where the others were.

  ***

  During the train journey, Katrin showed no sign of the terror she was feeling, the fear of what she was walking into, how at a loss she felt without Menders. She gave an outward appearance of looking at the scenery during the long ride and then taking interest in the part of the city they rode through to reach the Palace. Inside, she was a wailing, sobbing child, terrified at the sight of the enormous building.

  At the Palace, she was left for a long time in a windowless anteroom. Certain no-one was watching, she delved into the depths of her cleavage for the object Menders had pushed there during her abrupt departure from The Shadows. Her fingers found it and she knew it instantly, before drawing it into the light.

  It was the small medal Menders always wore over his heart, her personal badge, the Mordanian coat of arms with a superimposed K, issued to her household when she came of age. The design was embossed on a heart shaped piece of metal that could be attached to a garment with a pin. But in this case Menders had altered the medal, so it was held in place with a thin triangular blade rather than the usual brooch pin. It was intended to be used as a weapon in a pinch. It wasn’t a deadly weapon, but thrust into an eye or temple, it would definitely dissuade an attacker.

  Katrin smiled, looking at the little heart, then slipped it back into her bodice. No sooner had she done so but a Palace Guard appeared and she was taken to Aidela.

  Katrin’s half-sister was surrounded by her court of sycophants who were nearly as mad as she was. Katrin could feel their eyes roving over her, taking in the casual hairstyle of her wig, the lightweight and childishly simple old dress she’d thrown on, the soft basic slippers Cook had fetched for her because she would be able to step into them quickly. Katrin made a full formal curtsy, sweeping down onto one knee and staying there – ultimate respect, waiting for the Queen to allow her to rise.

  “Well, well, well, milk and honey from the country,” Aidela smiled.

  Katrin saw with horror that Aidelia’s teeth had been filed into the sharp points that were part of the official appearance of the Queen of Mordania, but which all Queens since their great-grandmother’s reign had created by wearing false teeth. Her hair was plucked back to create the traditional skull-like shape of the forehead.

  Aidelia was seated on the Ruby Throne, wearing the great bejeweled and armored gown Katrin had seen their mother wear. All around Aidelia’s eyes the whites were visible. Her eyes continually roved the room, never resting on anything. It was exhausting to watch them rotating.

  “Isn’t she sweet?” Aidela went on, rising stiffly and clattering toward Katrin in the stiff gown. “Straight from milking the cows, eh little sister?”

  It was etiquette to answer any direct question, so Katrin, maintaining the strained posture of the curtsey at its deepest point, spoke.

  “When I received your order I came straightaway, even though I was not properly attired, Your Majesty. Please forgive my appearance.”

  Aidela raised her pale eyebrows, causing creases in the thickly applied makeup that rendered her pale complexion a corpselike white.

  “Your appearance, as always, is that of a fat country pig,” she said brightly, as if she’d given the greatest of compliments. “You’re fatter than you were the last time I saw you. I was greatly hurt, sister, that you did not attend my coronation.”

  “I felt the coronation should be for you, and you alone, Your Majesty. I did not want to be a distraction at the occasion,” Katrin said contritely, wanting to shout that it was Aidelia herself who had ordered her to stay away.

  Aidela considered this. Katrin could hear soft murmurs among the gathered Court. She kept her eyes on the ground, a picture of sweet humility.

  “Well done,” Aidela said in a way Katrin knew she thought sounded truly queenly. “You may rise.”

  Grateful for every hour she’d ever spent in exercise, Katrin rose gracefully, feeling the ache in her thighs and buttocks as they were finally released from the tension of her curtsy. Another whisper rippled through the Court as she faced her sister.

  Gods, she reeks, Katrin thought. Their mother’s proclivity for uncleanliness was obviously passed on to Aidela. The filed teeth had punctured her lips in several places, the scabs painted over with lip rouge. Her breath was vile, a combination of sour wine and decaying food caught between those sharklike teeth.

  Katrin looked as if she was smelling the most delicate perfume and smiled as if she had never been so glad to see someone in her life.

  “I would have you always near me,” Aidela said, reaching out and putting a hand on Katrin’s arm, squeezing with something that felt like an iron clamp, some device she had hidden in the palm of her hand. Katrin showed no sign, but inclined her head as if accepting a wonderful blessing.

  “After all, little girls living in the countryside can get into all sorts of mischief at your age. You will attend me. Proper clothing will be provided for you, but today I want you to stand behind me, so I know my dear sister is close.”

  Katrin stood behind the Throne for hours. She made miniscule shifts of weight from one foot to another throughout that long afternoon and evening. Her feet would swell, of course. One couldn’t combat all the ill effects of hours on one’s feet, but the soft shoes would expand.

  Katrin acted as if she didn’t see the glances raked over her by the members of Aidela’s court, ranging from scorn to lewdness, depending on who was looking. Two meals were eaten without anything being offered, but a tightening of her back muscles countered any dizziness she felt. As the tedious day went by, Katrin thought continuously of The Shadows, of Menders, of Hemmett, her horse Taffy, the garden. She found an odd island of peace as she stood at her sister’s command.

  Finally, Aidela seemed tired of forcing her to stand and dismissed her abruptly.

  “You won’t need any dinner, considering your size,” she said nastily. “We shall keep you on a diet until you’re a more fashionable shape.” She reached out and pinched Katrin’s left breast, sending a spasm of pain down to Katrin’s toes. “And don’t appear before me in such ridiculous garments again. You will wear what is given you. You will be taken to your room now.”

  A sniggering maidservant was summoned. Katrin followed the girl through endless corridors until she was shown the door of a very small room. The maidservant told her contemptuously that there was a change of clothing in the wardrobe, and stood there with a smug smirk on her face, offering no assistance.

  “You may go,” Katrin said to the girl. “Do not forget that I am the Princess and Her Majesty’s Heiress, or I shall tell my sister, the Queen, h
ow you fail to show respect.”

  The girl seemed slightly intimidated and sketched the merest curtsy before flouncing out of the room, closing the door behind her. The door had no bolt. Katrin groaned in frustration at the thought that anyone could enter. Then, exhausted, she sank down in the lone wooden chair that stood beside a crude table. She lit the single candle there. It guttered and burned low. At least she wasn’t sitting in darkness.

  Clasping her hands together, Katrin used her thumb knuckles to rub the tension between her eyebrows away.

  Then she felt it – a presence.

  Menders, dressed all in black, stepped out of the shadows. Katrin was so startled that she began to cry out. He moved forward quickly, putting a hand over her mouth, shaking his head. Then he knelt beside her. She threw her arms around his neck while he held her and then pressed a fervent kiss on her forehead. She tried to whisper, but once again Menders shook his head. Releasing her, he produced a piece of paper and a pencil.

  You must not speak, he wrote rapidly. They cannot see into this room, but they can hear and it is certain someone is listening. He handed her the pencil.

  How? she wrote. He shook his head, but she gestured toward the word, and he took the pencil and wrote quickly, On the boat of course.

  Katrin couldn’t help smiling. You had to get up early in the morning to get around Menders. She was so glad to see him that she wanted to cry, but wasn’t going to give any listening spies the satisfaction of hearing her in tears.

  He wrote again.

  You’re in great danger. You will have to behave as if nothing is wrong, that you are happy to be here and that you are stupid. Eat nothing that is given to you, and do not eat anything the Queen eats alone and offers to you.

  Because she might have taken an antidote to poison in the food, Katrin thought, nodding. Then she took the pencil.

  I’ve eaten nothing at all today, she scribbled.

  Menders smiled and immediately removed a packet from his shirt, putting it on the table. Katrin folded back the cloth and started on the food ravenously, recognizing a typical Borsen-made sandwich – heavy on the meat and cheese, sparing of mustard. Two apples and several homemade cookies like the ones Cook kept in abundance at The Shadows completed the meal. There was a little drawing beneath the sandwich, a tiny heart drawn on a scrap of paper in Borsen’s unmistakable style. Katrin smiled, wolfing down the food.