Fortissima

by Sara Kingsley

  By the time the morning light seeps through the trees, I’m completely exhausted. My hands have been shaking all night. With every step closer to the Bastion, I feel I’m getting deeper and deeper into danger. But at the same time I’m sure I’m overreacting. There has been no further sign of anyone but us traveling through these woods.

  I just want to curl up and sleep; to stop my racing, panicked thoughts.

  The path continues to wind through the thick trees. The sun is full in the sky and we still haven’t found a spot to make camp. It’s an epic struggle to keep my leaden eyelids open.

  We haven’t said a word to each other for hours. This will be our last night; tomorrow we’ll cross the moor to the Bastion. The final stretch is nearly upon us.

  The trees begin to thin, and we reach a small meadow, the dewy grass sparkling in the soft autumn sunshine. I pat Pearl’s neck. “Look at that, girl. Breakfast for you, right up ahead.” I can’t wait to curl up and sleep.

  Pearl stops and takes a taste of the rich green grass. I look up at the sky, eyes closed, letting the sun’s warmth soak into my face. This feels marvelous.

  I hear a noise.

  I snap my head back up, and my eyes fly open.

  It’s the sound of horses. Many of them.

  I can’t tell which direction they’re coming from, then I realize that’s because they’re coming at us from all around.

  “Raven!” Catriona cries from behind me. She rides up quickly and stops just on my left. Then Tui is there, on my right.

  “What do you think it is?” Tui says, his voice wavering with worry.

  The voice behind me says, “It’s Hunters.” Leif’s voice. It sounds strange.

  I whip my head around to look at him. “How do you know?”

  But his eyes give him away. “I—I’m sorry, Raven. I had no choice. They said they’d arrest my father if I didn’t—”

  But I’m not interested in hearing any more from him. I reach around, grab the front of his jacket. The next instant he’s on the ground, sprawled next to Pango’s legs. His hat lands yards away. I look down at Leif for another half second. His eyes look up at me, filled with something: Shame? Regret?

  I don’t care. Pearl and I are gone.

  We fly back into the trees like an arrow. The wind blurs my vision, but I can still see the flashes of violet in the trees—horses carrying the King’s Hunters, closing in on me. There’s shouting, but I can only make out the one word, which I ignore. Stop.

  Catriona and Tui are riding just behind me, on either side. When the Hunters start to close in, they cut them off. I can hear startled horses. Swearing. But the path ahead of me remains clear, and Pearl carries me forward like she’s never done before. She knows we’re riding for our lives.

  The trees grow farther and farther apart and now I can’t see anyone. I can’t even hear Tui and Catriona behind me. I try not to worry about that. I’m sure they are back there, fending off the Hunters. I pull farther ahead. The trees fly past in a green blur. I’m riding all alone, but I don’t slow down, not a bit. The light grows brighter. I must be close to the edge of the wood, nearing the final moor I must cross before I reach the Bastion. I am so close. Once I get there, I’ll be able to blend in with the chaos of the city. Tui and Catriona will catch up and we’ll make our way to the port. We’ll get aboard that ship and finally sail away. To safety. I will be safe, away from King Araroa’s wrath.

  I can see the edge of the forest approaching now. But there’s something else. The sight of it makes me pull back quickly on Pearl’s reins, to slow her down at last.

  It’s a line of horses. I swing my head around, searching the trees that still surround us. They are full of horses, and men too.

  Pearl and I slow slightly, but we don’t stop. Not until we’ve passed through the edge of the trees and the Hunters are standing right in front of us.

  In my peripheral vision, I see them close in around us until there’s no space left between them. I am surrounded by a ring of violet and gold.

  Each of the men is wearing a face shield, so I can’t see their eyes. But their mouths hold a wicked sneer.

  It seems an eternity that we stand there, waiting for someone to make a move. Wind whips across the moor, flicking my hair across my face. It has come undone in our marathon ride to here, the end of our journey.

  Finally, one of the men speaks up: “Are you Raven Araroa?”

  A loud voice in my head says, Tell them no! Deny it! Do not tell them who you are!

  But I don’t listen to it. Instead I say, “Yes, I am Raven Araroa. Heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Nadir.”

  “Come down from the horse, ma’am.”

  “No.”

  “You need to come with us, ma’am. We are under the King’s orders.”

  “No. You have my order, to let me pass, unharmed.”

  I sit up taller on Pearl’s back, looking straight through the men to the Bastion in the distance. I hear one of the men approach me from behind and glance down for a split second to take in Pearl’s shimmering mane one final time.

  It’s the last thing I see before the black scarf is thrown around my face and the world disappears. There is a whack against the side of my head, and stars are everywhere and pain. And that is the last I remember of freedom.

  Chapter 15

  On my last night in Baldachin, before we left forever, I lay in my bed for hours trying to fall asleep. My mind just wouldn’t stop. I tried to imagine the journey ahead. Who would I meet? What would I see? What would it feel like to be out on my own? Would I ever see Miss Lilith, Mum, Papa, even our cranky neighbor Mr. Bright, again?

  Then, in spite of myself, my thoughts had turned to the darkest questions of them all: What if I didn’t make it? What would it feel like if I was captured? How cold would the King’s dungeon be? How badly would it reek of damp and despair?

  I’d shivered then, and hadn’t been able to stop, even with my thickest blankets wrapped around me. I’d put my head underneath them and breathed deeply, promising myself I wouldn’t forget the scent of home.

  And now I’m here, breathing in the dank air of this dungeon, desperately trying to remember that smell. My eyes are closed, my head on my knees. I’ve wrapped my arms around my legs to conserve the warmth of my body. The stone walls’ coldness radiates into me and fills my tiny dark cell.

  Now, all those questions have been answered.

  But there was one I hadn’t anticipated: What does it feel like to be betrayed by someone you love?

  I know the answer to that one, too. It’s worse than being trapped and hauled and thrown around like a wild animal. It’s more terrible than being doomed to death. It’s more awful than the stench in here. More terrifying than listening to the screams of another prisoner being tortured. It’s worse than anything I could ever have imagined … before.

  It’s all I can think of.

  It dawns on me that I should be thinking about what’s going to happen next. Will I be tortured? Will my execution be carried out in a private room, quietly? Or will they parade me in front of the entire Bastion, to make a point? Outward defiance of King Araroa is enough to take a sword across the neck, and I’m certainly guilty of that.

  But these thoughts are brief. What can I do now, anyway? Nothing. It doesn’t matter any longer.

  I can think only of Leif and what an utter idiot I’ve been for trusting an unknown boy so completely. I followed him mindlessly. Not only that, I convinced my dear friends to do the same. And all this time he was leading us right into a trap.

  Catriona and Tui suspected as much. Why did I ignore them?

  But it’s not just that I trusted him. I have completely fallen in love with the boy who sent me to my death.

  My chest cracks open again and the tears fall. I rock myself back and forth, shuddering with sobs. The blade on my neck will feel like a feather compared to this pain.

  My snarling stomach eventually forces me back into the present. There’s a tray
of food just inside the iron bars. I vaguely remember hearing somebody push the tray along the floor into my cell. Was it an hour ago? Two? Four? I will myself to crawl over the cold stone floor to inspect it.

  I’m surprised to find the food looks appetizing: pieces of roast chicken, buttered potatoes, a soft bread roll. It doesn’t make sense. But I spend only a second pondering this. I shove pieces of the food in my mouth with both hands. It’s ice-cold, but good.

  It crosses my mind they could be attempting to poison me. Maybe they want me to disappear quietly after all. I don’t care.

  I eat every bite then crawl back to the wall, curl up into a ball, and fall into a numb, dreamless sleep.

  The screaming from down the passageway startles me awake. It echoes along the walls and makes me shudder. It’s horrifying. I put my hands over my ears to try to shut it out, but it’s futile. I’m forced to listen until it stops, abruptly. I try to sleep again, but fail.

  The next time my food arrives, I’m waiting by the bars, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The person delivering it is short and covered head to toe with a long, dark blue cloak. As the tray is slid under the bars, I jump up.

  “Excuse me,” my voice croaks. The face looks up into mine, eyes wide and startled. It’s a young boy. “I just want to know—”

  But before I can finish he shakes his head and abruptly walks away. I sigh and sit down to inspect the food. This time it’s hot: a huge bowl of hearty stew, crusty bread, and a piece of berry pie. Apparently someone wants to make sure I’m well fed before I’m sent to the executioner.

  Hours pass. I have no idea if it’s day or night. The snatches of sleep I grab are fitful, often interrupted by horrible screams that echo along the damp walls. I’m uncomfortable and cold, with only my old leather jacket to keep me warm.

  The boy returns with a big bowl of porridge and some fruit, so it must be morning. When he leans over to slide the tray under the bars, I reach down to grab it so my face is inches from his. “Please, do you have any news of my friends? Tui? Catriona?”

  His large eyes meet mine again. This time he nods his head slowly up and down. But still he says nothing, and scurries off as before.

  I eat all the food again. If it was poisoned, clearly I’d be dead by now. I really hope somebody comes for me soon. Not knowing what’s going to happen to me has got to be worse than an actual sentencing. The King and his minions must be deciding what to do with me, his own blood daughter. But then again, I doubt this matters much to him, if at all. King Araroa isn’t known for mercy.

  When the boy brings my dinner he kneels down with the tray, very slowly. “Tui is here, down the hall. He says he’s fine. Your other friend, Catriona, wasn’t captured.” His voice is so quiet I can barely make out his words. He slides the tray toward me and vanishes.

  While I’m not happy to hear Tui is down here with me, I’m relieved he’s still alive, for now at least. But that small consolation dissolves almost instantly. We’ll surely both be dead, and soon.

  Once again the meal is delicious. There’s meat pie and salad and fresh bread and real butter. I’m thankful for it, but would gladly swap the food for a cot and blanket instead.

  After breakfast the next day, the hooded boy returns, and draped over his arm is a long, deep violet dress. Even in the darkness I can see the fabric is stunning. It shimmers in the light of the dim candles hanging in the hallway.

  Two other guards come into view behind him, carrying a large tub between them. They open my cell door and set it clumsily inside, before leaving. The tub is full of water.

  The boy carefully hangs the dress on a wall hook opposite where I’m sitting with my back pressed against the rough stones.

  “What’s all this for?” I ask.

  “The King requests your presence at dinner, m’lady.” He bows his head as he replies, then backs out of my cell and locks the door.

  “What do you mean? By myself? Will the Queen be there? What about—” But he’s out of sight, leaving my questions unanswered.

  I sit for a minute, staring at the dress. The fabric flutters in the cold draft, revealing layers underneath in varying shades of purple. It really is beautiful.

  There is no way in hell I’m putting it on.

  On the other hand, the tub of water tempts me. I walk over and put my hand in it. The water is steaming hot, and a fresh bar of soap is sitting on a big soft towel next to it.

  I don’t even look to see if anyone is watching. Seconds later my clothes are in a pile and I’m lowering myself into the water. The tub is just big enough for me to fit into, curled up with my head above the water. I close my eyes and breathe in the steam. The water is scented with something sweet. Lavender and vanilla, I think. For a few luxurious seconds, I forget where I am.

  Of course, it comes back to me and my throat clenches. This is all so I’m presentable at dinner with the King tonight. My father. I’ll finally have the chance to tell him how I feel about him.

  I grab the bar of soap and smile.

  The water is cold by the time I climb out. I slowly dry off with the soft, clean towel, then put my old wool pants and blouse back on. I tuck Papa’s obsidian pendant back inside my shirt, where it always is, and comb my hair with my fingers. I think about braiding it like I usually do, but decide to leave it loose to dry.

  There’s nothing else to do but sit and wait for my meeting with the most evil man in the kingdom.

  Within the hour the hooded boy is back with two huge guards. I feel his eyes taking in my old clothing, but he says nothing as he unlocks the door and motions for me to come out.

  He leads me down the dim passageway, the two guards following closely behind. I glance into each cell as we walk past, hoping to see Tui, but it’s so dark I can’t make out a thing.

  We reach a staircase winding upwards inside a stone tower. Several stories up there are windows, and I squint, my eyes watering, when I see light for the first time in days.

  Now we’re in the King’s Palace, passing along hallway after hallway, each more opulent than the last, our footsteps echoing on the polished stone floors. The walls are adorned with ancient paintings; there are gold-trimmed curtains, and sofas in the same sickening violet color I last saw on the Hunters. We reach a set of ornately carved wooden doors. The two guards open them with a flourish and I follow the hooded boy into the room.

  The long dining table could easily accommodate thirty people, but is set for only two, across from each other, right in the middle. The hooded boy pulls out one of the plush velvet dining chairs and motions for me to be seated. I can’t help running my hand over the smooth violet fabric before I sit, place my hands in my lap, and wait.

  The boy and the guards leave, closing the door behind them. I’m certain they take up positions on the other side.

  The table is covered with vases of fresh flowers of all kinds: roses, hyacinths, poppies, and others I’ve never seen before. Each flower is blood red. I lean over and bury my nose in the rose nearest to me. It has no scent whatsoever.

  Minutes tick by. There’s a basket of bread in front of me, and a platter of cheese, olives, and salami. When I notice the fresh butter, I can’t hold back. I smother a slice of bread with butter and take a bite. It tastes like heaven.

  I’m chewing a mouthful of olives when the door opens and the King strides in.

  Instinctively I stand. He’s wearing a cape the same color as the chairs, trimmed with black and white feathers. It billows around him as he walks. I watch his face, but he doesn’t return my gaze. It’s only when he reaches his own chair that he finally looks at me.

  “Welcome, Raven,” he says warmly. His mouth isn’t smiling, although his cobalt blue eyes are. They look upon me kindly. Curious. His hair is white, but his face is unnaturally soft and smooth.

  This is not how I’d imagined the King.

  I’ve always pictured him as a gnarled, evil man, his eyes seething with hatred for me and my illegal existence. I expected his voice to be croaky
and bitter; a snarl.

  But this man standing in front of me is none of that. He leaks a tiny smile. “Please, have a seat,” he says.

  I follow his request. He sits, folding his hands under his chin. He doesn’t take his eyes from me.

  This is going to be strange.

  Neither of us speaks while the servants bustle around the room. They fill our wine glasses and set the first course before us: a watery soup with tiny fishes and mushrooms floating in it.

  King Araroa takes small sips, so I follow his lead. The soup is delicate and buttery. The only sound in the dining hall, besides our quiet slurping and the clink of our spoons on ceramic bowls, is the ticking of a huge clock.

  Finally, the King places his spoon down next to his empty bowl.

  My own soup is nearly gone. I look up at him over a spoonful. He’s folded his hands underneath his chin again, and is staring at me.

  “I never thought we’d meet,” he says at last.

  “I really wish we hadn’t.”

  His eyes crinkle a bit. He clearly finds that amusing. “I am sure that is true. But here you are. I’m a little surprised it took my men so long to find you, to be honest. But they had help.”

  “Yes, I know about their … help,” I say icily.

  The servants arrive with our main course and we pause our conversation.

  When we’re alone again, I continue. “Why am I here?”

  He starts to speak, then hesitates. Cuts another piece of steak. Chews it slowly. Sips his wine. He lays down his fork and knife before he answers. “I wanted to see if it was true. If you really were the Queen’s daughter.”

  “And?” I ask.

  “And I have no doubt that you are.” He takes another swallow of wine.

  “What if I’m not?”

  “Then you would be free to go back to wherever you came from,” he replies. “Did you like the soup?”

  His odd question throws me for a moment.

  “I did,” I manage. “It was quite good.”

  “It’s one of my favorites. I employ only the most talented chefs in the kingdom and they are instructed to use only the best ingredients. The truffles in the soup come from a place very far away. A tiny treevillage called Baldachin. Do you know it?” He raises his brows, but the question is clearly rhetorical.