Gabe widened his stance, bent his knees, and raised his sword.
Aiden prepared for his first advance. He lunged and she easily deflected the strike. She stepped sideways, putting more space between them with the intent to make Gabe take the offensive. She needed a better idea of his skill with the sword.
He struck next from a high position. She redirected his downward strike, the force of it taking a chunk out of a nearby plank table. Patrons scattered farther away, opening a larger space as Gabe and Aiden slowly circled each other.
Aiden lost sight of Faye in the crowd, and as she searched those standing nearest for her, Gabe swung in Aiden’s direction. She averted the first strike despite being distracted. The drink she’d consumed had slowed her reflexes, and she fumbled her attempt to block his second lunge. White-hot pain shot down her arm, and she took a step back. The edge of his blade sliced through her shirt just below her left shoulder. It was a glancing cut and not very deep, but crimson soaked her shirtsleeve. She’d obviously underestimated him. He might be slow on his feet, but he was tall and had a wide reach. Time to stop playing around and take the offensive.
Aiden raised her broadsword to strike, but before she could complete the motion, a searing pain radiated from the back of her head. She felt herself topple forward as everything went black.
Chapter Two
Aiden blinked, unsure where she was. Her head was foggy and throbbing. She sensed that her body was in motion, but when she tried to move her legs, she couldn’t find her footing, her ankles boneless and wobbly.
Cobblestones passed beneath her face. Damp rock walls moved past on either side, lit intermittently by the flame of a lantern. She realized she was being dragged. She tried again to get her feet to work properly, but she couldn’t. Strong hands held each of her arms as two men dragged her through a stone doorway and tossed her onto the floor.
She struggled to her feet and lunged toward the door. One of the men grabbed her by the shirtfront and shoved. She staggered backward, almost falling again, and the door closed before she could reach it. She heard the unmistakable sound of a heavy bolt sliding into place.
Moonlight filtered into the sunken room through a single high window. She touched the back of her pounding head, and when she looked at her fingers they were red. She felt sick from the ale and the blow to her skull. The room was tilting. She dropped to one knee and tried to settle her stomach. After a moment, she slumped back onto a large pile of loose hay and closed her eyes, willing the room to stop spinning.
*
Aiden wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying in the straw, maybe an hour, maybe two, when she heard muffled voices and then the door opened. Faye entered the cell first. She was carrying a pail of water, and behind her trailed a tall, thin elderly man.
“I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.” Faye knelt beside Aiden and handed her a small tin cup of water. “Here, drink this.”
Aiden sat up. The first sip made her cough. Her throat felt sore and dry. As she took a few more sips, Faye pressed a damp cloth to the back of her head.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the Eveshom jail.” Faye dunked the cloth in water and again pressed it against Aiden’s throbbing head.
“What happened?” Aiden asked.
“I hit you over the head with a flask. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Getting hit on the head hurts.”
Faye muffled a laugh. “I know. I’m sorry. I was afraid Gabe would do more damage than that. When his temper flares he tends to take things too far.”
“Is he your intended?” Aiden brushed at her clothing. Strands of hay clung to her shirt, and she pulled a few dry twigs from her hair.
“He’d like to be.”
“If I were you, I’d rethink that.”
“I’ve brought the doctor. Let him have a look at your arm.”
Aiden’s head had been pounding so painfully she’d forgotten about the gash on her arm. She looked down at the blood-soaked sleeve as if the arm belonged to someone else.
“Well, this is a fine mess.” The gray-haired man carried a leather pouch and a long narrow box with a wooden handle. Various instruments were visible in the open box. All of them looked as if they’d inflict more pain than they’d cure. The elderly man’s clothing hung loosely off his shoulders, and his heavy overshirt draped to mid thigh. He had a neutral expression on his weathered face.
“This needs stitches.” He spoke to Aiden as he tugged at the torn sleeve for a better look at her arm. As he pulled the shirt away from the cut, he furrowed his brow. “What’s this?”
He’d opened her shirt enough at the collar to see the back of her left shoulder.
“I have a birthmark.” Aiden couldn’t read the expression on his face, but he stared at her intently, frowning, as if he doubted her response. “It’s a birthmark.” She said it again. She sounded less certain the second time, but she wasn’t sure why. Something about his scrutiny made her uncomfortable, like she was a child under a disapproving parent’s gaze.
Faye leaned over with the lantern in her hand for a closer view. “It doesn’t look like a birthmark.”
“It’s not.” The old man rummaged in his small box of torture devices and pulled out a needle that looked far too large.
“It’s a birthmark.” Aiden sat between them looking back and forth. She felt confused and outnumbered despite the fact that their attentions seemed to carry no particular malice. However, the old man regarded her somewhat suspiciously now.
Why was she in jail? How soon could she leave? “I don’t understand what’s going on here.” Aiden looked toward Faye for an answer, but it was the doctor who responded.
“I suppose you’re not very bright if you picked a fight with Gabe.”
“I didn’t—” Aiden’s denial was cut short.
“It wasn’t like that exactly. I’m partly to blame.” Faye looked at the doctor.
“What’s your name, stranger?” asked the doctor.
“Aiden.”
“Well, Aiden, you were lucky. The cut is clean, but it will need a few stitches.” He directed Faye to hold the cloth away from the wound. “Clean this up a bit, Faye, while I ready the needle.”
“Why am I being held here? That was a fair fight and Gabe started it.” Aiden’s foggy brain was beginning to clear, and she wanted some answers.
“Obviously, you’re a threat to yourself and local bar maidens.”
The old man was joking, but Aiden didn’t find any humor in her situation. She was pretty certain there was none.
“I’m sure they just want to keep you here for the night. For your own safety.” Faye gently wiped dried blood away from the gash on Aiden’s arm.
“I can take care of myself.” As she uttered the words, she felt around in the straw near where she was seated. “My sword? Where’s my sword…and my satchel?”
“You can’t have a sword in here. I’m sure it’s with the guard.” He dismissed her questions. He pinched the cut together with one hand while he held the large needle in the other hand. “This might hurt.”
Chapter Three
Kathryn sat at the end of the long formal table. The chancellor, a gray-haired man dressed in dark clothing, hovered nearby. Dispatches were separated into small haphazard stacks in front of her while she signed the two documents in front of her.
She waited for a moment for the ink to dry and then handed the papers to the chancellor.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He bowed respectfully and left Kathryn alone in the immense dining chamber.
She had to rely on her father’s cabinet of advisors for many decisions, and this sometimes troubled her. The chancellor seemed above reproach, but which of the Eldermen could she truly trust? She’d probably be foolish and naïve not to assume that Balak had spies everywhere.
Balak Roth, the ruler of the neighboring kingdom of Belstaff, was ruthless and unpredictable even among his inner circle. Stories circulated abo
ut how even Balak’s friends were wary of him. He was the sort of man to laugh with you one moment, then run a sword through you the next.
The deeper she sank into the matters of state the more she realized how much her father had sheltered her. She wished he’d explained more fully, but they’d both assumed they’d have more time to make the transition of power. His death had come too quickly.
Kathryn pushed the closest stack of papers away and slouched back in her chair. She was fighting to hold on to optimism, but the affairs of the crown began to occupy the ever-widening space between herself and happiness. She worried that she would be forced to sacrifice the vision she’d had for her own life for the sake of the citizens of Olmstead under her care. Her people depended on her in her father’s absence.
“Frost just returned.” Rowan entered the large dining hall. Her thick dark hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and she wore a dress of midnight blue that touched the floor. Rowan was Kathryn’s first cousin, born four years ahead of Kathryn to her father’s sister. As children, they’d been very close, always together with family for holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays, all the events that mark the passing of time and the transition to womanhood. Rowan lost her parents to illness halfway through her sixteenth year. It was then that she came to Olmstead to live in the royal house full-time. Now, at twenty-eight, she was one of Kathryn’s most trusted friends and confidants.
“Who’s with her?” Frost, the commander of Olmstead’s imperial guard, had been called away two days earlier by scouts who’d reported a skirmish near the southern border of Olmstead, the region that adjoined Balak’s kingdom of Belstaff.
Kathryn followed Rowan out of the great hall and into the courtyard. She spotted Frost just as she dismounted. She looked road weary, her face and clothing soiled and her boots muddy. As she crossed the courtyard, Kathryn could see blood on the front of her uniform and a cut on her face across her cheekbone. Frost turned when Kathryn called out to her.
“Your Highness.” She dipped her head in deference to Kathryn. Frost Sylven was a formidable figure—tall and well muscled, with barely discernible feminine curves beneath the royal blue wool of the uniform that signaled her position as one of Olmstead’s elite warriors.
“You were away longer than I anticipated.” Kathryn tried to give Frost a moment. She’d just arrived and exhaustion was evident on her face, but Kathryn was anxious for a report.
“The scouts were correct. Three farms in the boundary lands have been ransacked and burned.” Frost’s shoulders slumped a little. “We were too late to offer assistance to the first two homesteads, and I’m afraid the two guards who were with me will not be returning. They fell in the skirmish at the third farm.”
“No survivors from any of the homesteads?” Kathryn placed her fingers over her mouth waiting for the answer.
“None.”
“This is terrible news.”
“I also intercepted this from one of the raiders.” Frost held a paper up to Kathryn. The wax seal had been broken, but the crest was obvious. The document was from Balak Roth or a ranking member of his court at Windsheer Castle. “The seal was broken when I found it on him. He’d obviously received the message and was en route, but decided to pillage a few farms along the way.”
“What does it say?” asked Kathryn.
“You should read it.”
Rowan stepped closer and read the paper over her shoulder.
“Possible heir to Belstaff found. Wounded. Roth family crest on shoulder. Held in guarded cell at Eveshom. Reward. Alive or dead.”
Kathryn turned the paper over in her hand to examine the red wax seal bearing the Roth mark, a crescent moon and three stars. A small jolt of elation shot through her body at the possibilities this message implied.
Frost shifted her stance and looked at Kathryn. “I need fresh horses and supplies, then I would like to take a small detail to Eveshom right away to investigate this claim.”
“No.” Kathryn’s response was quick.
“But, Your Highness, this lead might not—”
“I need you here, Frost. Rowan and I will go, but I can’t afford to pull any of our guards away from protecting Olmstead. Not with Balak actively testing our borders. We can’t risk assigning troops for this errand. It might turn out to be a dead end.” Others had claimed to be the heir and had turned out to be imposters. The lore of the missing heir was longstanding, but she held out hope that maybe it wasn’t a myth.
Frost didn’t speak but looked at Rowan as if she hoped Rowan would talk Kathryn out of the idea.
“Don’t look at Rowan. The decision is mine to make.” Kathryn tried to evoke authority without condescension. Kathryn didn’t want to challenge Frost, but at the same time, she was the reigning queen. Frost needed to learn to follow her directives without question.
“Yes, Your Highness, I meant no disrespect. But I’ve taken an oath to defend you as well as the kingdom.”
“I’ll ask Gareth to ride with us. If we dress as commoners we’ll attract little or no attention on the journey.” Kathryn felt the need to take action. She’d spent too many days already on the defensive.
She hugged herself, but not from the early morning chill in the air. She longed for the comfort and security of her father’s arms. He’d left this life barely a year earlier, and Balak’s aggressive ambitions for her lands had been a constant worry since the king’s passing. He obviously already held some sway over the magistrate in Eveshom, otherwise why would they hold someone at his request.
The truth was that Balak would likely have challenged her elderly father’s rule at some point, but now, surely he considered Kathryn a weak monarch and one that he could easily overrun. How little Balak knew of her resolve. She would not go down without a fight, a fight to the death if necessary.
Olmstead would be just as safe without her for a few days. She desperately needed to take decisive action in some way. Sitting for hours, holding sessions to decide petty disputes between members of her court and authorizing endless documents was only making her restless. And besides, finding the missing heir of Belstaff would help the people of Belstaff as much as her kingdom of Olmstead. She’d likely have a better chance of finding this missing prince than a group of armed guards. It would be very hard for armed troops wearing imperial uniforms to travel unnoticed or unchallenged. And even if they did succeed, why would the missing heir agree to travel with an armed battalion? He’d feel as if he were under arrest and in all likelihood flee before they found him, that’s assuming he was the real heir and not a charlatan just out for financial gain.
“Please speak to Gareth about this and have him ready the horses and supplies. I need to change and pack a few things. We’ll be ready to leave within the hour.” Kathryn spoke to the groom who’d come to take charge of Frost’s horse.
“I’ll talk with Gareth myself.” Frost left little room for argument, but Kathryn persisted.
“You’re exhausted. You should rest.” She wanted to touch Frost’s arm, but she didn’t want to offend the stoic warrior by fussing over her.
“I’m the only one who can brief Gareth on what’s happening in the field. The three of you need to be prepared to defend yourself.” Frost shifted her stance and regarded Kathryn with an almost parental look. “May I speak frankly?”
Kathryn nodded. “Of course.”
“I think this journey is ill-advised, and I’d prefer to send a small group of soldiers instead. And if you won’t agree to that then please allow a few swordsmen to accompany you.”
“If the queen were to travel, then anyone she passed on the road would expect a detail of guards to be with her.” Kathryn spoke of herself in the third person to gently remind Frost of who held command. “The queen would be much safer and much less conspicuous traveling in common clothing with her cousin and a friend.”
“There is merit in your logic, Your Highness. I’ll speak with Gareth.” Frost gave a slight bow to acknowledge Kathryn’s authority, bu
t didn’t seem happy about Kathryn’s decision. She led her horse away toward the stables.
“You’re sure about this?” Rowan asked. They walked side-by-side back to the main entrance of the great hall.
“No, but I need to find out. What do your feelings tell you?” Rowan was very intuitive by nature, and Kathryn trusted Rowan’s feelings sometimes more than her own.
“I’ve felt some sort of unease for a few days. As if something or someone was coming.”
“Then let’s get to Eveshom as quickly as possible.”
*
Kathryn strode toward the stables. Her long cloak caught the breeze as she walked, tugging against the fastener at her shoulder. Rowan was already there fussing with a side bag on her saddle, and Gareth, who held the reins of Kathryn’s mount, looked up as she approached. Blaez sniffed the air, his white coat glowing in the early morning sun. She rubbed Blaez’s gray velvet nose and greeted Gareth, who Kathryn loved like a brother.
Gareth’s close-cropped auburn hair and beard made him look a bit older than his twenty-four years. He’d worked in the stable since he was a child, and was stout through the chest, but not through the middle. He was well muscled and fit.
She and Rowan had both changed into riding trousers and leather boots that covered their calves and were cuffed just below the knee. Kathryn had chosen to also wear a dark green hooded cloak because it would double as a blanket at night if necessary.
The day was already warming even though it was still early. In another hour, she’d end up shucking the cloak, but for now, the warmth of it felt good around her shoulders. And the hood would come in handy if she needed any additional disguise. She was not so self-important as to assume that she’d be recognized by anyone, but she had traveled with her father through Fainsland as far as Eveshom so she’d chosen to be cautious.
Gareth held the stirrup for her after she’d fastened her gear bag to the back of the saddle. Once she was seated atop Blaez, he handed her a crossbow, her weapon of choice. She tethered it at the left fore of her saddle so that she could reach for it quickly if necessary. A quiver of arrows hung by her right knee.
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