by Simone Pond
Frantically, she checked the bed and under the sheets, but found nothing. The journal was not in her room. Kateline—the traitorous witch—had stolen it from her. And now Clovis and his tribe of animals had the book of legends and there was no telling what they’d do. But the worst part of the predicament was Kateline had stolen what little leverage Ciara had over the prince, leaving her completely vulnerable. How could she have been so heartless?
The knock at her cabin door startled her, and she jumped off the bed.
“Ciara, my love, come now. Let’s not play games. You’ll only make things much worse for yourself. Although, far more thrilling for me.”
She walked over to the door. “Please just leave me be. I don’t have to be your wife or your queen. Toss me into the White Sea. Just don’t put your hands on me.”
His laughter sent an icy shiver up her neck. “I wouldn’t dare think of getting rid of you, Lady Ciara. Not yet anyway. We have two days on this ship, and I intend to take full advantage of our time together. And I expect you to oblige. After all, it was you who led me into this trap and you will need to answer for it before me and the kingdom.”
It wasn’t her fault that Kateline had lied to her about Clovis. But it was her fault that she was foolish enough not to see that she was being used. She had allowed herself to be distracted and put the kingdom in jeopardy.
“I’ll stand before your court and accept my fate,” she said through the door. “But I refuse to allow you to rape me for two days straight.”
A quiet stillness hung in the air. Was he actually considering her words? Could the monster be reasoned with? The answer was clarified when his hand reached around her neck and strangled her as he shoved her toward the bed.
“Hidden door,” he said, licking her earlobe.
Ciara cried out for Olen.
“He can’t hear you. But don’t worry, I’ll bring him down at some point so he can watch all the things I’m going to do to you.”
The prince pushed her forward onto the bed. Ciara scrambled and tried to crawl away, but Prince Kieran had removed his belt and thwacked her with it.
“You’re a monster!” she screamed.
“I’m so much more than that …”
7
The knight dropped Evelyn on the floor of the lodge. Chirping birds and the distant rustling of leaves made the backdrop for what Evelyn assumed were her final moments peaceful.
A torrent of icy cold water came crashing down on her. She jerked upright, gasping for air. The knight stood over her, no longer wearing his helmet. His shaggy ginger-red hair sprouted around his freckled face as he peered down at Evelyn. He tossed an empty bucket off to the side. They were back in the lodge. But why? Why not just take her back to the castle, collect his reward, and be done with it?
“You’re a scoundrel!” She wrapped her arms around herself to stay warm.
“Sorry, had to be done,” he said.
“I would’ve preferred dying peacefully.”
He tossed her a wool blanket. “Dry off.” Then he threw down a stack of clothes. “And put on some proper attire. I’ll be at the bar.”
Evelyn waited until the ruddy ox was seated at the bar and drinking back a cup of what she assumed was ale or mead. She removed her wet tunic and sighed with relief as she flung the garment to the floor. The wool blanket scratched her skin as she dried off, but it was nice to wrap up in its warmth for a few minutes before getting dressed.
“I’m waiting …” called out the knight.
She glared in his direction, but he was staring down into his cup. She took her time putting on each item of clothing. They were men’s clothing, so no corset or undergarments. He must’ve taken them from one of the tenants’ rooms upstairs. She put on the long-johns, which she found comfortable, then pulled the trousers up over them. They were a much better fit than the previous pair, but she still needed a belt around the loose waist. She put on the dark gray sweater, then tied her hair into a side braid. The boots were also a better fit than the previous pair, but she only put on one; she still needed to clean and bandage her wound. Hopefully it wasn’t already infected. She snatched up the lone boot and hobbled over to the bar and plunked down next to Big Red—her unofficial moniker for the knight.
“Let me see that foot.” He reached down and grabbed Evelyn’s leg.
She yanked it away. “What are your intentions, because I’m starting to think you’re not one of Prince Kieran’s knights.”
He bellowed and gulped back the rest of his ale. “I told you, I’m Gaberdine of Tulles. Now give me that foot unless you want me to cut it off in two days when it’s festering with disease.”
Evelyn grunted and hoisted her foot up onto the bar for Big Red to inspect. He whistled and shook his head upon inspecting the wound, which was the furthest thing from assuring. Then he grabbed a cup of ale and poured it right onto the open gash. The sting was like a hailstorm of fire. She screamed and gripped the edge of her stool, and Big Red took what appeared to be a clean rag, then washed out the wound.
“Ouch!” she shouted.
“I need to clean it and stop the bleeding. Probably should cauterize it, but you don’t look like you’re in the mood. Have a drink. It’ll help.” Big Red nodded to a nearby cup.
She grabbed the cup of what looked to be mead and gulped it back, not caring about the pungency or room temperature. The alcohol immediately soothed her.
“Who are you, really?” Evelyn gritted out.
“A friend of a friend. I owed him a favor. He had to skip town and wanted me to pass along a message.”
Evelyn didn’t have any friends in this part of northern Galicia, other than … “Doran,” she whispered, then felt a rush of embarrassment. “I apologize for clobbering you over the head and fleeing into the woods. Although … in my defense, you were threatening me with a sword whilst clad in a knight’s armor.”
Big Red grunted and took a long strip of material he’d torn from a sheet and began swaddling Evelyn’s foot. She winced each time he went around.
Evelyn yanked away her bandaged foot. “We could’ve avoided all of this if you would’ve just mentioned Doran.”
“You didn’t give me much of an opportunity.” He snorted and stood up, then went behind the bar for more mead.
“We’ve wasted an entire day,” said Evelyn.
“I didn’t know who you were, coming in here and looking like a thieving forest marauder,” he said.
Evelyn held out her empty cup to Big Red. He gave her a smug grin, then poured a ladle of mead into it. She gulped it back.
“Where’s Doran and the young girl he was traveling with?” she asked. “And where’s the village?”
He ladled himself another cupful of mead and slowly drank it.
“Ah, I see, the strong and silent type.” Evelyn eased back on her stool, giggling, and nearly slipped off.
Big Red leaned across the bar and steadied her with his free hand. “I can see you don’t handle your spirits very well.”
She straightened up. “I’m fine. It’s been a testy week. Got thrown into the dungeons. Discovered my long-lost father was still alive—just barely. Escaped the dungeons. Then almost got killed by a dragon in the belly of a volcano. Then killed said dragon.”
Big Red’s eyes opened wide. “You killed one of the dragons of Galicia?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you, I’m also a dragon slayer. Evelyn of Gorias.” She paused, looking into her cup. “More mead, please.”
“That explains it …”
“Explains what?” Evelyn dangled her cup and hiccupped.
Big Red plucked up her cup and set it aside, then shoved a plate of bread in front of her. “You need to eat, Evelyn of Gorias.”
She grabbed the loaf and tore off a piece. “Explains what?” she asked, shoving bread into her mouth.
“I’ve been waiting in the village for a week. What’s-his-name’s knights came in yesterday and rounded up the villagers. I hid in the rafters. I over
heard some talk of the prince needing blood because his dragon was gone.”
Evelyn nearly choked on the bread. Big Red handed her his cup so she could wash down the lodged bread in her throat.
“I can’t believe it … I’ve actually made things far worse.”
Big Red asked, “How so?”
“I killed his dragon, so the prince is going to sacrifice the villagers because he needs to reawaken another one. Apparently blood sacrifices do the trick.”
The lodge was quiet then; even the birds outside stopped chirping. The only sound was their breathing.
Big Red’s cheeks were red from the alcohol. He tore off some bread and ate it.
Evelyn stood up, swaying. She held on to the stood to steady herself. “I’ve got to fix this.”
His stared, chewing some more bread, then he burst out laughing. “With a bum foot and no army?”
“I have you, don’t I? And where are Doran and Aine? If we get to them, I’ll have the spear of Gorias. We can do anything.”
Big Red ambled out from behind the bar and made his way over to Evelyn. “You, dragon slayer, must rest—your foot and your mind. We don’t have time to get to Doran before they punish—or as you say, sacrifice the villagers. That’s happening at midnight tonight.”
Evelyn jumped down from the stool. “Then we must go now and free them.”
“Collect yourself and rest first. I will take you to the castle myself on my horse. All you need to do is get inside the castle and down to the dungeons. I’m sure as a dragon slayer you can figure out something …” He grinned.
“Are you mocking me?”
“It’s a rather large task. What if you get caught? You could end up being sacrificed.”
Somewhere an idea sparked. But she hardly had the strength to hold open her eyes. Big Red was right about getting rest first.
“Will you please take me upstairs so I can rest? We’ll leave for the castle at sunset.”
Big Red hoisted Evelyn and carried her up the stairs to one of the empty tenant rooms. He set her down on the bed.
“I’ll wake you later.” He exited.
Evelyn closed her eyes and let the rush of sleep pour over her.
***
“Dragon slayer.” Big Red’s hand shook Evelyn’s shoulder, waking her from a death-like sleep.
“What time is it?”
“It’s time to go.”
She sat up in the bed, rubbing her eyes and adjusting to the late afternoon sunlight seeping in through the window. How long had she been asleep? It seemed like days.
Big Red stood over her, his arms folded across his chest and brows raised. “You sure about going to the castle? You don’t seem up for it. Maybe another couple days of rest?”
“Nonsense.” Evelyn yanked back the covers and flung her legs off the side of the bed. She remembered her one foot was in bad shape, so when she stood up she used Big Red’s arm as leverage.
“I need to get there before the sacrifice. Not a couple days later. I can rest once the villagers are safe.”
“Do you have a plan?” Big Red asked.
“I sure do.”
“Gonna share?”
“You’re going to drop me off right at the front door. I’m turning myself in. Quickest way to the dungeons where the others will be. Like you said …”
He laughed and started walking to the door, holding Evelyn’s arm to keep the weight off the bandaged foot. “That’s not what I had in mind. But whatever works for you. You seem pretty stubborn as far as trying to talk you out of it.”
Evelyn shrugged. “You ever gonna tell me the message from Doran?”
They got to the stairs. Big Red picked up Evelyn and carried her down. He then carried her through the lodge and out the front door, where he situated her on his horse. He mounted the beautiful chestnut stallion, settling in front of Evelyn, then pulled the reins to begin the journey to Verubri Castle. The horse was fast and Evelyn had to wrap her arms around Big Red’s waist to avoid flying off the back.
Big Red kept his eyes focused on the path, but called back to Evelyn, “He wanted me to tell you the girl is fine. The stone is secure.”
She had figured as much. “Where is he?”
“That, I do not know.”
“Where did you see him last?”
“West of here. We can go that way if you wish to search for him and the girl.” He glanced over his shoulder.
The horse dashed from the main road into the forest. Evelyn pointed toward the shortcut and Big Red nodded. Of course she’d love to find Doran and Aine and get the spear of Gorias back. But she now had a village of people to save before midnight, as well as her dying father. Duty called.
“I can’t,” she said. “The villagers will die because of me.”
“They’ll die because of prince what’s-his-name.”
“Yeah, well, either way, I’m responsible.”
“As you wish,” he said.
The trees streaked by in a blur, and the horse galloped onward toward Verubri. She would’ve preferred the easy way out, but she couldn’t let a group of innocent villagers be sacrificed. She had killed the dragon to save them from death. The irony was not only infuriating, but nauseating.
“Am I a fool?” she asked Big Red.
“No,” he said, then added, “Stubborn, yes. But you’re no fool.”
Evelyn wasn’t sure she completely concurred with this brawny messenger friend of Doran’s. “The problem is I have a simple way into the castle, but no way out.”
A small reassuring laugh came from Big Red as he tugged on the reins of the horse to veer left. “Didn’t you just slay a dragon?” he asked.
They both laughed for a passing moment, though Evelyn knew getting the villagers—and her ailing father—out of the castle would be far more miraculous than her first dragon slaying had been.
8
The two days on the prince’s ship were utter torture. Most of it Ciara had blocked out. And now that they were coming into the port in northern Galicia, she would’ve preferred being tossed into the sea rather than continuing on to Verubri Castle.
The ship docked. Ciara was in a state of delirium when two of Prince Kieran’s watchmen entered her cabin. One of the men lifted her up from the soiled bed.
“What are you doing?” murmured Olen, who was tied to a bookshelf in the corner of Ciara’s cabin. As promised, Prince Kieran had made Olen bear witness to the insufferable treatment of Ciara.
“Shut yer mouth, traitor.” The other man kicked Olen in the ribs. “You’re nuthin’ now. Gonna be the dungeons fer you when we get back to the castle.”
“You can’t take her out there without clothes …” Olen said through gritted teeth.
“Her trunk’s already with the carriages, scum,” said the man who’d been kicking Olen.
“Eh, the traitor’s right.” The man holding Ciara set her back onto the bed and wrapped one of the filthy sheets around her, then carried her out of the cabin.
Out on the deck, the bright sun pounded into Ciara’s eyes. “Just throw me into the sea,” she whispered.
“I’m not tryin’ to get me head cut off, me lady.”
“Tell him I jumped …”
The man looked down at Ciara. He had kind eyes, warm and brown and full of sympathy. “Look, it’ll be okay. I’ll get ya the healer when we get back. She’ll fix ya up.”
A tear rolled down Ciara’s cheek. She had a feeling the healer would never be able to fix what the prince had broken in her. But she nodded in gratitude for the man’s gesture. He carried her from the ship, down the dock, and set her carefully into the carriage.
“Hang tight, me lady. I’ll be right back.”
Ciara rested her throbbing head against the fabric wall. Where am I going? I can’t even walk. I’m ruined. A few moments later, the man opened the carriage door and handed Ciara a gown of black silk. She took the dress and bowed her head in thanks. Black seemed appropriate for the occasion.
“D
arkest before the dawn and all of that malarkey, me lady,” he said before shutting the door.
Somehow the man had picked the most perfect gown from her trunk. The dress was loose and lightweight, the fabric silky and comforting. She bundled up the sullied sheet and opened the carriage door to toss it into the dirt just as Prince Kieran appeared.
“Good day, Lady Ciara.” He jumped up the steps and into the carriage.
Ciara sat back down, dropping the sheet to the floor. She shivered in the prince’s company. She homed in on one particular speckle of mud on his boot that made an unusual pattern, reminding her of an orchid.
“Quite a journey, wouldn’t you say? I’m exhausted.” He spoke in a perfectly normal conversational tone, as though he hadn’t spent the last two days at sea defiling Ciara in front of another man. He was beyond a monster—Prince Kieran had to be the devil himself.
She ignored his comment and stared out the carriage window.
A moment later, Watlington—who had somehow survived Clovis’s surprise attack in Eshlan—opened the door and waddled up into the carriage. He sat next to the prince, spreading out maps and papers, and the two spoke about retaliation. The prince now had a new group of enemies to contend with in addition to King Oren of Russex. Ciara cringed when hearing what he planned to do to Clovis and his tribe. She wanted to sleep—she was in dire need of it—but it was impossible to block out the constant yammering between the two men discussing strategies. Their back and forth went on for the remainder of the day’s travels and into the night. At some point, Ciara at last dozed off.
A golden beam of light landed across her face, indicating morning. She jerked upright and saw Watlington snoring away with maps strewn about his pudgy lap. Prince Kieran was staring at her, the flecks in his eyes dancing.
“Good morning, Lady Ciara. Sleep well?”
She shrugged, looking out the window. They were approaching the castle. She closed her eyes and let the warm sun soak into her skin.
“I’ve made an important decision,” said the prince.
She didn’t care. She only wanted to get out of that carriage and into the hot baths to scrub off the last two days. Then she wanted to sleep for a week.