"An hour past dawn," she said. "Why?"
"What is your name?" he asked her.
"Mary," she said. "Mary Riley."
Nodding, Tristan lifted the key ring and unlocked her cell. "Mary Riley, as your prince, I charge you with a mission of great importance."
"Anything, my lord," she whispered, bowing her head.
He pressed the key ring into her hand. "First, free the others held captive here. Take them to the tenth cell. There you'll find a secret passage beyond a stone in the ceiling, which will lead you to freedom."
She nodded hard, looking as he pointed the cell out to her.
"Once you're free, you're to spread the word among the people that the princess Bridin is innocent of all my brother's charges against her. Those raids months ago were only a ruse intended to discredit her. The raiders were his men, led by a courtesan who only resembled Bridin. Tell them that she hasn't turned her back on her people, but that she returned here the moment she learned of their suffering, and turned herself over to Vincent in order to end it. And tell them to prepare themselves, for when my troops attack this city, they must join them. It's our only hope of ousting Vincent."
"I will do it," she said, lifting her chin. She stepped out of the cell, and impulsively reached up to kiss his cheek. "Gods be with you, Tristan." Then she hurried away, unlocking cells as she passed them, whispering all he'd told her even before she made her escape.
Tristan returned to the stairs and made his way up, shuddering as he glanced down behind him and thought of Bridin being flung from such a height. Please, gods of Rush, let her be all right, he thought. She must be. She must be.
At the top, he paused. The door was barred, and if he knew his brother at all, there was a guard posted on the other side. He didn't hesitate but drew his sword, and with his fist, pounded on the door.
He heard movement. A shout. Then the bar slipping free, and the door pushing toward him. Tristan ducked behind it, and when the guard's head poked in, he grabbed the bastard in a head- lock and flung him with all his fury. The man flailed wildly, screaming as he plunged through the darkness, and Tristan heard the dull thud and clanging of his breastplate when he hit bottom.
Not another sound.
Tristan slipped into the vaulted corridor, pulling the door closed behind him, dropping the bar into place so as not to alert anyone what was happening. Then he crept through the darkened castle, praying he could find Bridin in time.
Maire sucked in a sharp breath when the chamber door flew open and her detested captor surged through it, Bridin's broken body sagging in his arms. She sprang to her feet, crying out loud, only once before remembering herself. She mustn't give him anything to wonder at. She must let him believe the woman lying like a corpse in his arms was a stranger to her. No matter how her heart twisted at the sight.
Vincent appeared not to have noticed her momentary lapse. He continued forward and lowered Bridin to the bed, slipping his arms from beneath her with more care than Maire had ever seen him exhibit for anything or anyone. Behind him, two of his advisers trundled into the room, comical in their nightgowns and caps. Both looking terrorized—no doubt at the furious bellows that had roused them from their beds. One clutched a candle. It was unnecessary. Maire had long since convinced her captor to leave a light burning when he left her alone here in her prison by night. She was allowed to roam unshackled by day, so long as she was at his side. Likewise, she was free of her bonds by night while he was here with her. Only when she was left to her own devices did Vincent insist on the manacles.
The fool thought himself too hard of heart to be influenced by the charms of a fairy. But Maire knew full well he'd succumbed to hers. Though her magic be gone, she could still manipulate the mind of a man, even one as boorish and cold as he. She shuddered to think of what her time here would have been like had she lost that power with the rest.
"Where is the healer?" Vincent shouted, startling her and causing the two in attendance to jump. "I sent for a healer woman, dammit. Where is she?"
The men looked at one another in helpless appeal.
"My lord," Maire said. "I have some skill at the healing arts. Perhaps I can be of help."
He eyed her in surprise, but no suspicion clouded his gaze. And why should it? She'd been nothing but cooperative with him in all the time she'd been held here. All this time, simply waiting for the day her daughter would return. And now to see her like this. "Release me," she said. "Let me tend the girl before it's too late."
Vincent nodded to the two, who immediately bent to the shackles at Maire's wrists and ankles. She rubbed the spots where the steel cuffs had been, an act so automatic, she no longer thought about it, just did it. Like breathing.
She hurried forward and stood beside Bridin, smoothing the golden hair that had pulled loose from the braid away from her face, feeling the chill of her skin and wincing at its unnatural pallor. A deep purple bruise was already forming high on her cheekbone, and as Maire probed, she found a lump on her daughter's head. She took a moment to blink away tears before lifting her head to Vincent. "I'll need ice from the icehouse. And more blankets. Quickly."
"Go," Vincent ordered the two men who stood hovering uselessly between the bed and the door, clearly wishing to be elsewhere. "Get what she needs, and make it quick."
They hurried from the room almost as one. And Maire felt Vincent's eyes on her as she ran her hands gently over her daughter's limbs and torso.
"Will she live?" he asked.
She took a deep breath, and prayed she could keep the tremor from her voice. "She has a broken arm, and at least two of her ribs seem to be cracked as well, at the very least. There was a severe blow to the head, as well. And I have no idea what sorts of other injuries she might have, inside, where I cannot see them."
"I don't give a damn for her broken bones or hidden injuries, woman. I only want to know whether she'll live long enough to wake and tell me where my traitorous brother is hiding out, and what he plans. So tell me. Will she?"
"I thought your brother was dead, my lord."
"Will the vixen wake or won't she!"
Maire blinked at the anger in his voice. "She might. I'll know more after I've examined her more thoroughly. Perhaps... if I knew what happened to her?"
Vincent turned from the bed and pushed one hand backward through his hair. "Damned if I know. I ordered two guards to bring her up from the dungeons. She was found in a cell, like this. The guards seem to have vanished. If they're smart, they'll run to the ends of the earth. If I find them, I'll—" He broke off there, narrowing his eyes at her. She knew how much it always disturbed him when he caught himself complying with her wishes, answering her questions as if he were the slave and she the master instead of the other way around. He gave his head a shake and averted his gaze. "I sent men down to investigate, but I doubt they'll learn anything more."
Maire nodded, deciding not to question him further just now. No need to pique his suspicions. Instead she grasped her daughter's right forearm, one hand gripping it on either side of the break. Then, biting her lower lip, she pulled fast and hard to set the broken bone aright.
Bridin moaned aloud, drawing Vincent back to the bedside. He leaned in close to her face. "Wake," he told her. "Wake, you treasonous wench, and tell me what I need to know!"
"She can't hear you, Vincent."
He glared at Maire, but didn't snap at her for her familiar mode of address. "Damn her, always eluding me in one way or another! It was my intent to do her in long ago, but the brat wasn't in the accident I devised. It took only her adopted mortal parents, instead, while she managed to live on. And while my weak brother had her in his care, there was no way to get to her. Now, at last, I have her in my hands and she still eludes me!" He leaned over the bed, his face hovering inches above Bridin's. "But dammit, wench, you will wake, and you will tell me where he's hiding. And then, by the gods, I'll kill you by my own hands!"
"Yelling at her right now is like yelling at the s
tone walls of this room, Vincent. It will get you no response."
As she spoke, she moved away, her back to him, lest he see the concern in her eyes or note the protective tone of her voice.
"Wouldn't be surprised if she leapt from the stairway herself, just to avoid telling me what she knows of my brother," Vincent growled.
Maire bent to the pile of wood alongside the hearth, tossed several more pieces on the dying fire, and then knelt to paw through the litter and bark beneath the log holder. She chose two stiff, straight pieces of thick cherry bark and returned to the bed, then bent to tear a wide swath from the bottom of her skirts.
"What is this?" Vincent asked, watching her every move.
Maire wrapped each length of bark in the muslin, then placed the cushioned pieces on either side of Bridin's forearm. She used another length of cloth to wind around the two, encasing the broken limb in a soft pink cocoon. "Merely a splint," she explained without slowing her pace. "I'll need to make her a sling as well, and to wrap her broken ribs good and tight. Could you have them bring me linens? Else my dress will be all used up."
"And what is it to me if you go naked, woman, except more convenient?"
Maire lifted her gaze to his, not surprised at his crude remarks. "You wish her to regain consciousness? If you do, we need to ease her pain. Agony this intense will only keep her incapable of telling you anything."
He scowled at her. "Fine, you'll have your bandages. Anything else?"
"Indeed, my lord," she said, injecting a respect she was far from feeling into her tone. Vincent liked her feisty and uncooperative only when he had her in his bed. The rest of the time, she had to curb it or face his wrath. "She'll need quiet, and solitude. Should she take cold or catch a fever now, it would end her so fast, you'd never have the chance to question her. I believe it would be best if we kept everyone away from her, for now, save for you and I, of course."
"I can't dance attendance on a sleeping woman day and night," he huffed.
"Post guards outside the door," she told him, and she kept hold of his eyes with her own, sending as much fay allure as she possessed into his brain, willing him to do as she wished. "Just order them not to enter. The moment she wakes I will send them for you."
He tilted his head, and she saw his indecision.
Swallowing her revulsion, Maire stepped closer, lifted a hand to caress his whiskered face. "I've never lied to you, nor tried to run from you, my lord. You can trust me to tend the girl. I vow it."
He stared down into her eyes, and he nodded. Then blinked and pulled himself away from her touch. Maire felt only relief. "So be it, then," he said. "But if anything untoward should—"
He stopped at a pounding on the door. When he yanked it open, one of his guards stood there, and Maire stepped nearer, to hear his report. "My lord, there is chaos in the dungeons!"
"What are you—"
"The prisoners... they're gone, simply vanished, every one of them. It's as if they've been spirited away. The door, it was still barred, and the man left to guard it was found dead on the floor. Flung from the stairs, he was. Some of the men say it's ghosts. Spirits of the dead villagers, seeking vengeance on us all."
"Gods' wings, what nonsense!" Vincent turned to send a glance toward Maire. Then looked back at his man again. "You're to stand guard outside this door. No one is to go in or out, except to bring the supplies to my slave. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lord." The young man bowed once.
"Are you clean, boy? Are you healthy? Been exposed to the fever or—"
"No, sir. I'm healthy and strong."
"Good." Vincent turned again to Maire. "I'm to be sent for the instant she wakes. And then she'll tell me what she knows, or I'll pitch her from the blasted window myself."
Maire nodded, bowing her head in obedience, seething under her breath. The day that bastard laid a hand on her daughter would be the day he lost the appendage. Maire would die first. But she kept her bearing humble until he turned and left the room. And she heard the door barred from without.
Which didn't matter in the least, because she was unfettered now, and she could leave the castle at will, through the passages.
She hurried to the bedside again, drawing another quilt over Bridin's still form, tucking it around her. She should wait until the others brought her the bandages and ice for Bridin's head, and then take her daughter and run.
Ah, but as badly hurt as she was, moving Bridin might very well kill her. Beyond that, once outside the castle, they'd have to move through the very city, in sight of everyone. And while none out there might recognize their onetime queen in the rags of a slave, they would surely recognize Bridin. And since most of those fools believed Vincent's lies about her, they'd likely stone the two of them to death before they'd traveled a mile.
No, the best hope for Bridin right now was to remain here.
And to remain unconscious. Yes. Because if she woke, Vincent would not hesitate to torture her poor, broken body all the more, when she refused to tell him about Tristan. And she would refuse; Maire had no doubt at all of that. No, she must not let her daughter wake again. Not until her body was mended enough to attempt an escape.
Later, when the castle had settled down once more, and Vincent believed her safely asleep at his new prisoner's bedside, Maire would slip through the passage to that once beautiful garden, where she'd known so much joy. Though it was weedy and unkempt, several of her own plants still grew beneath the brambles. And the leaves of one of them would keep her daughter sound asleep for as long as it was necessary.
It would be risking her own life to venture out. Should Vincent come in and find her gone... he'd kill her. Swiftly and surely, he would.
But if she didn't do it, her daughter would face his cruelty as he attempted to force her to talk. Death seemed to Maire like a far more pleasant risk.
Bridin. Beautiful, stubborn, magical Bridin, tossed from thirty feet or more. Her body slamming, breaking, bruising against a hard, cold floor of solid stone. Bridin, hurting. Dying, perhaps. Gods, no...
His mind was not on stealth as he slipped through the darkened corridors of the castle. It was only on speed, and on Bridin. His brain whirled with nightmarish images of what he'd find when he got to her. Was she already dead, or maimed beyond hope? Would she even know he was there?
The great hall was dark, deserted, as Tristan moved slowly through it. He was nearly to the first set of stairs when he heard voices. Tristan leapt from the base of the stairs, pressed his back tight to the wall, and prayed for invisibility. There was nowhere to hide. His fingers clutched the wall behind him, clenching and relaxing in a nervous reflexive action as two men in night-clothes came down the stairs muttering to one another. "First she sends us for ice and blankets, and now linens! One would think she was a damned queen instead of a menial slave!"
"Arrogant wench, too, to tell us to leave the linens in the hall with her guard. Telling him not to disturb her, that she'd tap on the door when she was ready for them."
"As if she's nursin' the queen o' the world in that bloody chamber, instead of the most detested criminal in all of Shara."
"Thinks she's important now, carin' for such a valuable prisoner. Gone straight to her head."
"The prince has coddled that one a bit too much. Needs a good taste o' the lash, she does."
The talk continued as the two meandered out of sight, down another corridor and up another flight of steps.
Tristan relaxed, and let all the air rush out of his lungs. The two had walked right past him, but never turned his way. Gods, that was close. He'd best keep his mind on his mission, to get to Bridin. And now he had a clue where she was... in a chamber up that first flight of stairs. His fingers clenched in anticipation as he pushed off from the wall, but when they did, a chink in the stone seemed to move. And suddenly the wall turned, sweeping him around behind it like a giant stony hand. When the movement ceased, Tristan blinked in utter darkness. But his eyes didn't adjust. There was tr
uly no light here. He stretched out both hands, and tried his best to learn the shape of this strange new world.
Walls on either side of him, a ceiling above. He was in a short, narrow corridor. And the wall behind him refused to perform its trick again, though he tried to make it open. Trapped. Dammit. Nothing loomed ahead of him, so he moved forward, aggravated now, to have his mission delayed this way. He needed to reach Bridin. Soon. He had to see that she was all right.
His face smacked hard against rough stone, and he cursed and jerked backwards, rubbing his nose. Then he reached out again, wondering if this hidden passage had come to an abrupt end. But no, it had only turned sharply to the left. Tristan used his hands on the sides to guide him from then on. No use knocking himself senseless.
It was after he'd wandered for the better part of an hour that Tristan spotted a light up ahead, and came up short. Someone else was apparently wandering the secret passages of the castle this night. Someone whose form was small, and feminine, though he could see no detail in the light of the candle she carried.
His heart leapt as he thought it might be Bridin. She was clever enough to fake her injuries, to fool them all until they brought her out of the dungeons and into a room from whence she could make her escape.
It seemed illogical that she would surrender herself only to escape so quickly, but he could only assume she'd realized how much danger she was in here, and changed her mind.
Tristan quickened his pace, but still went silently. He wasn't a fool, and he knew there was a chance this was not Bridin at all, but one of his brother's whores, or worse. He crept closer, closer. And then the lady's hooded cloak fell backward and he saw her hair. Flaming red and wild, not golden blond. She was not Bridin. His heart sank to his feet. But he needed to get the hell out of here, and she seemed to know her way.
He slipped up behind her, clasped a hand over her mouth, and whispered, "Don't scream. I won't harm you, but I need your help and I'm going to have to insist you give it."
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