by Terry Brooks
“I will make this brief and to the point,” His Eminence declared. “You deserve that much, at least. Berwyn Laphroig has discovered you are here and has come to take you to Rhyndweir. He intends to make you his wife and the mother of his children. Of his sons, if all goes well. I have argued with him, but to no avail. The matter is complicated by the fact that he also knows about Thom. The one concession I have been able to wring from him is that if you marry him voluntarily, executing a viable written consent to the match, he will leave Thom in my safekeeping. Otherwise, he intends to dispatch Thom immediately. Am I being perfectly clear on all this?”
Mistaya nodded wordlessly. If she didn’t marry The Frog, Thom would be killed. If she did marry The Frog, she would have to kill herself. Figuratively, anyway.
She gave him a chilly smile. “No one has the right to tell a Princess of Landover whom she may wed. Not even my parents. Certainly not you. I will wed when I am good and ready and not before, and I will wed a man of my own choosing. I refuse to be married to The Frog. What’s more, if any harm comes to Thom, I will see to it that your head is posted on your own gate until there is nothing left of it but bone. Am I being perfectly clear on all this?”
His Eminence stared at her silently, shaking his head. “You do live in a fairy-tale world, don’t you, Princess? All you see is what you want to see. If you don’t want to think about something or face up to something, it simply doesn’t exist for you. Goodness. But this is the real world, not some make-believe story in which you are the heroine. So perhaps you ought to rethink your situation before you start making threats.”
He snatched the front of her tunic and pulled her close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. He towered over her, and she could see the anger in his eyes.
“You are my possession, Princess!” he hissed softly. “You belong to me. I can do with you what I want. Do you understand me?”
She nodded without speaking, her eyes riveted on his. For the first time since she had come to Libiris, she was genuinely scared. She was terrified.
“Well, then,” he continued, his voice still a whisper, “it ought to be simple for you. I don’t choose to make you do anything you don’t want to do, even though I can. But this is the reality—you hold a boy’s life in your hands. So you need to consider your choices carefully and spare me your idle threats. You need to consider the consequences of those choices. Listen now—here they are again. If you fail to walk out of here and tell Berwyn Laphroig that you will marry him and bear his children, I shall be forced to turn young Thom over to him and you will have the unfortunate experience of watching him die right in front of your eyes, knowing it was all your fault! Is any of this not clear?”
When she failed to answer, he sighed wearily. “I shall take it from your silence that you understand. Now let’s try it again. Think carefully before you speak. Will you agree to this arrangement or not? Will you marry Berwyn Laphroig or shall I send young Thomlinson out for a short reunion? Give me your answer.”
She compressed her lips into a tight line. “My father will never countenance this! He will not let me be used in this way! You had better release me right now!”
His Eminence pulled a face, released her tunic front, and stepped back. “Very well. I shall deliver your answer—and the boy—to his brother. Good luck to you, Princess.”
Without waiting for any further response, he turned for the door. He had reached it and was pulling it open when she called to him. “Wait, no. Don’t do that. Don’t tell him that. Tell him I accept his proposal. But I want something in writing signed by him, something in the marriage contract that says he will not harm Thom now or ever.”
His Eminence turned back and gave her a long, searching look. “Done,” he said finally, and went out the door.
Alone again, she collapsed onto the pallet and stared into space. Tears she was unable to hold back trickled down her cheeks. She wanted to bury her face in her hands and shut out everything, but she couldn’t do so while the magic held them bound. The room was dark and empty, and Thom did not return. She wished she were back in school or home or anywhere but here. She wished she had listened to a whole lot of advice that she had chosen to ignore.
What was she going to do?
She knew she couldn’t let anything happen to Thom, no matter what. If she were responsible for his death, she could never live with herself. The trade-off was horrendous, but she kept thinking that even if she went through with this, her father would find a way to undo it. But what if he couldn’t? What if no one could? She kept thinking that something would happen to stop all this, but she couldn’t think what that something would be.
She stopped crying finally and tried to think clearly about how things stood. She didn’t have the use of her magic and wouldn’t have while her hands were bound. She had to find a way to free them, if only for a minute. She didn’t have the rainbow crush, so she couldn’t summon help. But even if she had it, whom would she summon? Not her father—that was what His Eminence wanted. Questor? No, he had been duped once already, and Crabbit was probably the superior wizard. Her grandfather? No, no! She brushed it all aside as wishful thinking. There wasn’t much chance that she would be allowed back into her room unaccompanied, and that was the only way she could get her hands on the crush anyway. Thom could retrieve it if he knew it was there and was free to go get it. But he didn’t and he wasn’t, so that was that.
She got to her feet and crossed to the door and stopped, placing her hands against the rough wood, her mind racing. How could she stop this from happening? There had to be a way!
From beyond the locked door, she heard footsteps in the hallway.
She thought suddenly of Haltwhistle, whom she might still have been able to count on if she had remembered to speak his name and hadn’t gotten so caught up in her own concerns that she had forgotten him. Edgewood Dirk might have sent the mud puppy away, but she was the one who had made that possible. Was it too late to call him back? Was he gone from her forever?
“Haltwhistle,” she whispered, and it was almost a prayer. “Haltwhistle,” she said again, louder this time.
She jumped in shock as the latch on the door released. She wiped her tear-streaked face on her shoulder. She shouldn’t be crying, she told herself. She was tougher than this. She was better than what she was showing.
“Haltwhistle!” she said a final time, bold and determined.
But as the door opened it wasn’t the mud puppy who appeared but His Eminence, Craswell Crabbit. “Time to go, Princess,” he announced. “Your future husband awaits.”
And with a dramatic sweep of his arm he beckoned her through the open doorway.
BRAVEHEART
As she trudged from her storeroom prison into the hallway, dutifully trailing a clearly elated Craswell Crabbit, a strange thing happened to Mistaya Holiday. One moment she was subdued and submissive, riddled with self-doubt and fear, her future a bleak certainty from which she could find no escape, and the next she was so angry that the rest of what she had been feeling was swept away in a tidal wave of rage. It happened all at once and for no discernible reason that she could identify, a shift of such monumental proportions that it shook her to the core.
It also focused her in a way that nothing else had.
Her posture changed, her mind cleared, and her confidence hardened. She was not going to let this happen. It might seem to those who sought to use her so badly that it would, but they were in for a big surprise. Whatever it took, whatever she had to do, she was going to put a stop to all of it.
And to them.
In that instant, she was once more the child of three worlds and three distinct cultures, the little girl born of Landover, fairy, and Earth all grown up and ready and willing to fight. She had stood against Nightshade, the Witch of the Deep Fell, and defeated her when it seemed impossible. She would do the same with His Eminence and The Frog and all their minions. She would not stand by and let them ruin her life and betray her cou
ntry and her parents for their own personal gain. She would not let them disfigure Libiris or subvert and misuse her books. She would find a way to prevail.
As they passed Rufus Pinch, standing watch before the door of the storeroom in which Thom was held prisoner, the little man called out, “Have a good life, Princess!”
She stopped at once and turned on him. The look on her face sent Pinch stumbling back against the door, hands raised defensively, face terror-stricken. “What I meant, Your Majesty …,” he tried to say as the words dried to dust in his mouth.
“Thank you for your good wishes,” she replied sweetly. Then, turning to Crabbit, who was waiting for her, she said, “I want Thom to witness this.”
His Eminence frowned. “That is a terrible idea. He might do something foolish to try to stop it. Worse, he might further antagonize his brother. He is better off where he is.”
“He won’t interfere. Let me speak with him, and I will make certain of it. If he disobeys, the fault will be mine and the penalty will be his to bear. But I want him there. I have to be certain he accepts that this marriage is real.”
His Eminence looked as if he might deny this out of hand, but then abruptly he shrugged. “You may speak with him. If he promises to behave, he can come out. But Mr. Pinch will be watching him closely.”
Pinch appeared to be on the verge of a heart attack. “Crabbit, you fool, you can’t trust … !”
“Mr. Pinch!” the other snapped, his voice as hard and cold as ice. “You forget yourself! Remember your place! You serve me at my pleasure and not the other way around. You are here at my sufferance. Remember that, as well. And do not ever again call me by name!”
Pinch had shrunk to the approximate size of a walnut, which given his general appearance wasn’t as difficult to do as it might seem. Reluctantly, he unlocked the door to the storeroom and stepped aside. Mistaya, giving him her sweetest smile, walked in.
“The door will remain open, Princess,” His Eminence called after her.
Thom stood up from the bench on which he had been sitting and came to her immediately, the relief in his face obvious. “I thought something bad had happened to you!” he whispered excitedly.
“Something bad has happened to me,” she said, feeling his strong hands on her arms. “Now back up, away from the door.”
He did as she asked, guiding her into the deeper shadows, never taking his hands from her. “What is it?” he demanded.
“I’m to marry your brother,” she told him. “No, don’t say anything!” she continued as he started to object. “Just listen to me! I don’t intend for the marriage to happen, but it has to look as if I do. His Eminence has agreed to let you watch, but you have to agree in turn not to do anything to disrupt the ceremony or cause trouble. Will you do that?”
He looked horrified. “No, I won’t do that! I can’t just sit by while my brother …” He broke off, unable to finish. “Why would you agree to this in the first place? You’re a Princess of Landover; you don’t have to marry someone like him!”
“If I don’t agree to it, they will give you over to be killed.”
“Then let them do so!”
She took a deep, steadying breath. “No, Thom, I won’t. But I won’t let them marry me off, either. You have to trust me on this.”
“But what can you do to stop it?”
In truth, she didn’t know. She just knew she would do something. “I’ll find a way,” she assured him. “Just wait for a sign to break free of Pinch. He’ll be watching you closely.”
Thom shook his head. “I should just stay with you—”
“You should just keep quiet,” she said, cutting him short.
He stopped talking and stood there, looking at her.
“Kiss me,” she told him impulsively. “Right now. Like you mean it. Like you might not get another chance.”
He did so, on the mouth, a long kiss that caused Pinch, standing in the doorway, to gasp and mutter in dismay. She closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss. So sweet, so exciting.
“Enough, children,” His Eminence called over the other’s shoulder. “Do we have a bargain or not?”
“We do,” Mistaya said, breaking off the kiss reluctantly but not looking away from Thom. “Don’t we?” she asked him softly.
“We do,” he whispered reluctantly.
His Eminence beckoned Mistaya from the room and shoved Pinch in to replace her. “Take young Thom aside and wrap him up in a cloak. Bring him out only after the ceremony has started. Do you understand me, Mr. Pinch?”
Pinch glared at him and hustled Thom away. His Eminence watched them go, shaking his head. “So hard to find good help,” he mused. “Come, Princess.”
She followed silently, eyes downcast as if she’d become entirely submissive, while her mind worked furiously. If she was to do anything to help herself, she had to free her hands. Everything depended on being able to invoke her magic, and her magic was needed if she was to free herself from the spell that bound them. But how could she persuade His Eminence to release her long enough for her to invoke a spell that would help? And what sort of spell would it take for her to gain freedom? Not just for herself, but for Thom, as well. It would do no good for her to escape without him. She thought of the many forms of magic she had learned from Nightshade. She thought of all the spells that Questor had taught her to cast. Which among them would work to help her here? A battle fought with killing magic would be risky for everyone involved, but what sort of magic could she call upon that would effectively put a stop to the plans of His Eminence and Laphroig?
Then suddenly she knew exactly what she must do. It was so simple, she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it earlier. She almost smiled, but managed to keep from doing so by remembering that her plan might still fall flat.
Just at that moment she caught sight of something moving along the wall far ahead, nearly lost in the shadows. It was there and gone in the blink of an eye, and she had not seen enough to be certain, but she thought it might be Edgewood Dirk.
Or not. She grimaced.
They reached the door to His Eminence’s office. Crabbit glanced back at her as if to reassure himself that she was prepared for what waited on the other side, his oblong head cocked as he fixed his gaze on her young face. “It is surely a pity you have to be given to him,” he commiserated. “You would have been better served with another husband, but such matters are not for either of us to decide. We only do what we must, don’t we, Princess?”
She wanted to wring his neck and promised herself that when she got the chance, she would. “Yes, Your Eminence,” she agreed docilely.
He opened the door, and there stood Berwyn Laphroig. All in black, his pale frog face radiating expectation and a few other unmentionable things, he charged forward to greet her. “Princess Mistaya!” he purred. “How lovely to see you again. I trust our last encounter hasn’t left any bitter feelings? There mustn’t be any of those. But you are here! Dare I hope that you have reconsidered my proposal to wed?”
He certainly didn’t waste time with small talk, she thought in dismay. “I have reconsidered,” she agreed. “His Eminence has been very persuasive.”
“A well-considered decision, Princess!” He was practically jumping up and down, his froggy eyes bulging, his tongue licking out. “And Crabbit! Excellent work, Crabbit!” He gave His Eminence a short bow of acknowledgment. “We must proceed immediately with the wedding, then!”
His Eminence ushered her all the way into the office and closed the door behind them. “Yes, well, there are a few legal matters to be settled first. Paperwork to be filled out, agreements to be signed, that sort of thing. A consent to the marriage agreed upon and signed by both parties is requisite.”
Laphroig flushed. “Well, get about preparing it then! Don’t keep the Princess waiting!”
His Eminence sat down to work while Laphroig crowded close to Mistaya, looking her up and down in the way a buyer might a new horse, smiling as if all were right wit
h the world. Or maybe just as if all were right with him. She tried not to shrink from him, did her best not to show her loathing, and held herself firmly in check.
“Would it be possible for you to free my hands?” she asked suddenly, looking not at His Eminence, but at Laphroig. “A bride on her wedding day shouldn’t appear in shackles.”
Laphroig glanced down and seemed to see for the first time the swirling ball of darkness that bound her hands. “What’s this, Crabbit?” he snapped. “What have you done to her?”
His Eminence glanced up, sighing. “It is for her own good. And yours.”
“Well, I don’t like it. How can it appear that consent is given voluntarily if she weds me looking as if she is shackled in some mysterious way? Even the appearance of coercion is unacceptable. Signing the consent is sufficient, I should think. Set her free!”
Craswell Crabbit shook his head firmly. “That would be immensely foolish, my Lord.”
“I promise not to try to escape,” Mistaya said quickly. “I won’t run from you. You have my word as a Princess of Landover. I have made my decision, and I will see the wedding through to its conclusion. But don’t make me marry you like this.”
She tried to sound pathetic and put upon instead of desperate, casting a pleading glance at The Frog.
“Crabbit seems rather convinced that it would better if you did.” Laphroig was experiencing doubts, as well. “The word of a Princess of Landover ought to count for something, I realize, but you are known for your troublesome nature, Princess.”
“But I promise! What more can I do?”
Laphroig smiled. “I am sure I could think of something.” He leered. Then he shrugged, refocusing on the matter at hand. “I can’t see that it would do any harm. Not if you give us your promise.”
His Eminence looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “You are seriously contemplating setting free a young woman with magic enough at her command to burn us all to ash? Have you lost your mind, Laphroig?”