by Diane Magras
A servant in a drab brown tunic was emptying a pot of dirty water into the grass. Drest fell into step behind him as he returned to the doors. She kept her head down, though from the corner of her eye she was aware of the shapes around her. A page in green and blue. A barefoot girl. A Harkniss knight—and then she was at the doors, two slabs of oak studded with iron nails, then past them.
The chamber she entered was huge, reeking of damp hay and sweat. Green rushes crunched underfoot, lit by the windows set high upon the tapestry-covered walls.
Four Faintree Castle knights in full armor marched by, followed by a cluster of young men wearing azure blue and black. She skittered away from them, past servants in green tunics and blue hose, to the wall.
If this castle was like Emerick’s, the lady would be upstairs, in a fine chamber. But where?
Drest darted to the nearest stairway and took the steps quickly. She slipped past servant after servant on her way up, men and women carrying jugs, trays, and linens.
The stairway twisted and grew narrow. Was this the way? She was beginning to wonder when she came around a curve and bumped into a young woman carrying a basket of fragrant bread.
“I beg your pardon!” The woman laughed. “A bit tight in here, eh? Are you looking for something?”
“Aye,” said Drest. “Do you know where Lady de Moys is? I need to speak to her.” She hesitated, then went on in a rush: “I know it’s not the day she sees people, but I need to see her today. It’s important. I’m one of her allies—I mean, my friend is—I mean—he needs her—and he’s too scared to come inside himself, so I have his message for her.”
The young woman’s smile had disappeared at the start of Drest’s words, but her face had softened by the end. “I can understand that; a castle is a scary place. You’re a brave soul to search by yourself like this. Come, I’ll show you where the lady is and you can give her your friend’s message.”
She led Drest upstairs, past more halls, then down a hall that led to another stairway. Drest kept to the young woman’s heels. At last, they stopped on a landing.
“Here you are. Knock, then announce yourself. Good luck to you, dear.”
“Thank you,” said Drest as the woman went back down the stairs.
Swallowing, Drest knocked on the nail-studded door, then pushed it open.
The wood scraped against the stone, revealing a wide room rich with purple and yellow tapestries—and a woman sitting at a table piled high with parchments.
The woman stood. She was as tall as Emerick and wore a rich burgundy gown with a dark green mantle. Her face, surrounded by a short white veil, was cold and stern.
“I’ve asked to be alone. Who let you in?”
The lady’s castle voice was like a lash.
18
LADY DE MOYS
Slowly, Drest pushed shut the door behind her. “I need your help.”
Lady de Moys’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
Everything seemed to waver before Drest. “My name is Drest. Aye, like the bloodthirsty Picts. I cannot say who my father is; Emerick would not want me to.”
Astonishment made the lady, for that instant, seem young. “Who? You cannot mean—”
“Aye,” said Drest, “it’s who you think: Emerick Fain-tree. I know him. He asked me to find you and beg for your help.”
Lady de Moys’s face turned cold again. “Lord Faintree is dead. Why do you come here with a lie?”
“I’m not lying.” Drest’s fingers itched for Tancored, but she kept them loose at her side. “He’s really here, in your bailey, and he’s afraid to come up because—” She swallowed. “If you don’t listen, I’ll never—he’ll never—”
“What are you talking about? Why are you here?”
Drest took a deep breath. “Emerick Faintree is my greatest friend, and he’s hunted, and wounded. He cannot keep running, but if he doesn’t, he’ll die.”
The lady shook her head. “If he’s alive, you’re speaking to the wrong person. His uncle is amassing armies to find and slay the villains who murdered him. I have given Sir Oswyn my own army, and he’s sent them to the western borders. If you speak the truth, go find Oswyn and tell him this story.”
A cold realization filled Drest. Oswyn had known they’d beg help from Lady de Moys, Emerick’s only ally. So he’d taken her army for himself.
He’s a clever devil. Her father’s voice boomed in her mind. He’s tearing every support from around the lord to make sure he falls.
Drest’s fingers traced Tancored’s grip. “You’ve been lied to, lady. Oswyn’s the one hunting Emerick, not my da. Oswyn would be glad to have a dagger stuck in Emerick’s ribs; then he’ll have that lordship for himself. Did you not know that?”
Understanding washed over Lady de Moys’s face. “You are the bloodthirsty lass I’ve heard about, the one Oswyn saw in the chamber window murdering poor Emerick!” She crossed her arms. “Get out of this room!”
“Nay! I was in Emerick’s chamber rescuing him,” snapped Drest. “His uncle had sent Sir Maldred up to slay him and—”
“His uncle had sent Sir Maldred up to protect him—from you!” The lady strode toward the door. “I never admired Maldred, but I would not call him a traitor.”
“He’s not just a traitor; he’s a murderer. He’s the one who slew the lady Celestria and said it’d been my da. She was trying to escape. She was fleeing her betrothal with Lord de Moys.”
Lady de Moys froze at the door, her hand upon the iron ring. “You take a great risk coming here with a price on your head. What did you possibly think you’d gain from me?”
“I want your help, like I said.” A sob rose in Drest’s throat. “I want your army to take back Faintree Castle. I want to go there and be safe. I want—nay, this isn’t about me, but Emerick, for he needs to be the lord again at his castle, and I swear he’s alive and in your bailey now, hiding from his knights.”
Slowly, the lady turned around. “How did you know that Celestria had been betrothed to my husband first?”
“Emerick told me.”
“What else do you know of Celestria? Prove that what you’ve said is true.”
Drest took a deep breath and tried to think back. What had her friend told her about his sister? “Emerick—he told me that Celestria loved my da. He was the only man-at-arms who listened to her. The only one who cared about her.”
She wasn’t allowed to talk to him, whispered Emerick’s voice, but still she did.
“She wasn’t allowed to talk with the men-at-arms,” Drest faltered, “but she’d meet him on the castle grounds anyway. Celestria must have been very strong to do that against her father’s orders. From all Emerick’s said, it sounds like he was a brute.”
A line twitched in the lady’s cheek. “He was. Go on.”
Oriana was her greatest friend—
“You were her friend, were you not? Did she tell you that she was writing to my da to ask him to rescue her from that marriage?”
“I knew.” Her voice was like the whisper of wind.
Drest hesitated. “Emerick didn’t know what had happened that night until my da told him. My da tried to rescue her. But the old lord’s knights came and—and she rushed up to stop them from slaying my da. That’s when Sir Maldred slew her. Maldred escaped, but Da slew the other knights in his rage. He could not bear it. She was his wee lady, see, and he hadn’t saved her.”
A gasp came from Lady de Moys. She put a shaking hand over her mouth. “Celestria—she said that’s what he always called her: ‘my wee lady.’ Did your father tell you what she called him? ‘My truest knight.’”
“Nay, I never heard that. I don’t think he felt like that after she died.”
Lady de Moys walked slowly to the other side of the room.
Drest shifted from foot to foot. “Da said he’ll always serve Emeri
ck because they both loved Lady Celestria. And I’ll always help Emerick because he’s my greatest friend in all the world, and I will die for him if I must.”
“So he has a friend at last.”
The lady began to walk back. When she reached Drest, her face was fierce and resolute.
“I will crush Sir Oswyn into dust,” Lady de Moys snarled. “I do not brook liars or traitors, and those who betray me pay dearly for it.”
The fury in her voice was like the crashing of a violent tide.
“Meet me at Faintree Castle. I’ll send Sir Peter, my most trusted man, to fetch my army from the west. If he rides swiftly, he’ll catch my men before they’ve advanced all the way, and they can be at Faintree in three days. And then I shall lead the twenty-five knights whom Oswyn left here under the guise of friendship toward their own castle. There they shall meet my knights. Can you be at Faintree Castle in three days?”
Drest straightened. “Aye, lady.”
“Take care with that price on your head. That’s three days you’ll need to hide.” Her gaze softened, until it was almost gentle. “You are very good to Emerick, and very determined, to come here like this. I can see why Oswyn fears you.”
The lady held out her hand.
Drest stared. Was she to take it? Kiss it? She didn’t know, and so she took it and gripped it as she would have one of her brothers’.
The lady’s fingers closed tightly over Drest’s. She raised their clasped hands.
“You will stay strong. And brave, and bold. You will live beyond this curse, and rise to glory. I say this, so shall it be.”
With a smile at last, though it was a faint, hard smile, Lady de Moys leaned over Drest and kissed her forehead.
“Now go.” She released Drest’s hand.
Footsteps pounded in the hallway outside, and a shout echoed at the door.
Drest threw back her cloak and drew Tancored with a swish.
“Lady de Moys!” Someone pounded on the wood. “My lady!”
“Stand out of sight, against the wall,” she whispered, and waited for Drest to dart behind her. Then she pulled the door open.
“My lady!” cried a man in the hallway. “There is a thief and imposter loose in the castle. He’s stolen the helm and tunic of one of our guards. Do you wish me to bring men to watch before your door?”
“Thank you, Sir William, but no: I’ll keep my door shut and barred. And Sir William—if you find that thief and imposter, bring him to me. Do not let the Faintree knights meddle in this.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Footsteps—and the knight was gone.
Lady de Moys drew the door shut. “A stolen helm and tunic. I wonder who that could be.”
“It’s not Emerick; he’s hiding by the tannery.”
“I pray you’re right. Now put away your sword and go. It will not be safe for you on the stairs with the Faintree knights helping with the search, but I shall tell you another way outside.”
Drest sheathed her weapon.
“Listen closely: Go fifteen steps down the stairs from this door and hunt for a panel on the left with a faint handprint in the stone. Push the handprint. Enter where it opens. Go down the path within, keeping to your right. It will be dark, but if your hand remains on the wall, it will guide you to the end, where you’ll find an opening in the kitchen. Beg for a bite, but don’t linger. Go into the bailey and find Emerick, and take him through the gates as quickly as you can. Remember: fifteen steps.”
“Fifteen,” Drest repeated.
The lady’s cold eyes bored into hers. “When you see Emerick, tell him not to fear. He must try to be as strong as you.” Lady de Moys pulled open the door. “Now go.”
Drest bowed and dashed into the hall.
19
THE PASSAGEWAY
Drest ran down the stairs—but in seconds, stopped. She’d forgotten to start counting.
How could you forget to count, you rat-faced boar? moaned Uwen’s voice.
“Nay, I’ll just find it,” muttered Drest. She skittered down a few steps, searching for the handprint.
The thundering of castle men’s boots came from the stairs below.
“Not here, not here, not—” She broke off: A small handprint was faintly visible in the chunk of stone on the step below her, a carving light with age.
Drest set her hand against it and pushed.
The stone did not move.
Push harder, lass! Thorkill’s voice.
The castle men’s footsteps were closer.
Drest threw all her weight into her next push.
The stone slid into the wall, then past into an empty space beyond.
She scrambled through the opening, into darkness, and shoved the stone back into the wall.
One second. Two.
Footsteps pounded past on the other side. Drest waited, her hands on the stone. She would be ready to hold it firm against any knight who tried to push through.
But the stone did not move.
Drest sat back. Her shoulders were tight with tension, her breath caught in her chest. Worst of all, the dark was absolute, weighing on her eyes like the sea.
Calm down. Gobin’s voice. You’re here in the passageway. You’re safe.
Footsteps clicked. Inside the passage.
Close, as if someone had been waiting in the darkness.
Drest fumbled with her tunic and silently drew her dagger.
A boot scraped on stone not more than three feet away. A hand, large and firm, closed on Drest’s leg.
“That’s you, Drest, is it not?” It was Emerick’s voice.
She’d almost stabbed him. Quickly, she slid her dagger back into its sheath, then followed his hand up his arm to his shoulder, over a collar of chain mail, and flung her arm around his neck.
“You’re the greatest crab-headed fool who ever lived! Did you not trust me?”
His arm closed tightly around her. “I saw Sir Roland confront you. I felt like such a coward. You escaped that time, but what if someone saw you, and guessed who you were? I had to follow you.” He gave an uncertain laugh. “So I stole a helm and uniform of a man-at-arms who was bathing in the river. He didn’t notice at first, but then he started shouting. I had to hide. Then I saw you go into the keep—”
Drest hung on to him for a few seconds longer, then let him go.
“I’m sorry,” Emerick said miserably. “I shouldn’t have stolen these. I should have simply crept in as myself. Now we must either make a run for the solar to find Oriana, or a run for our way out. They’re hunting for the thief, you see.”
“We can find our way out. I met with the lady.”
Emerick seized her leg again. “You did? Did she listen? Did she believe you?”
“Aye,” began Drest, “but—”
“Well done! And her army? Will she lend me her men? Can we go back to her and have her summon them?”
“Aye, she’ll lend us her men, but she needs three days to fetch them. Emerick—Oswyn tricked her into sending her army to the west.”
“God’s bones,” Emerick moaned. “He’s stolen my only ally!”
Drest gripped Emerick’s shoulder. “But she’s still your ally, and she’ll never be his again. Lad, it’s only three days. And we’ll meet at your castle.”
A new pounding of feet came from outside the stone.
“I know, I know,” Emerick said when the sound had died, “but three more days of running and hiding—can you manage it, Drest? It seems as if deadly peril faces you wherever we turn.”
“I’m good with deadly peril, am I not?” She patted his shoulder. “Where’s your hand? Let’s find the kitchen and fetch supplies for our journey.”
His fingers clasped hers, and the two began to scramble down the dark path.
But Emerick stopped abruptly
.
Drest bumped up behind him. She was about to ask what was wrong, but then she heard it too:
The sound of clinking, mail-covered footsteps. They were within the passageway ahead.
20
THE CHASE
Emerick leaned back until his cheek was touching her hair. “There’s another path. It branches off below.”
“No talking,” Drest whispered. “Just find it.”
Emerick crept along. Drest padded after him, her right hand on his belt. With her left, she drew her dagger.
If they met the unseen knight—and it had to be a knight with that clink of chain mail boots—she would have just enough room to pull Emerick back and lunge forward in his place.
Clink. Clink. The steps were moving faster. The knight was no longer trying to be quiet.
The dagger’s grip was slippery in Drest’s sweating hand.
And then—Emerick stumbled. There was a drop, and he was sliding into it.
Drest clamped her dagger’s grip between her teeth and grabbed Emerick with both hands, one on his belt, the other on a chunk of his stolen tunic. This was something Wulfric had taught her—how to pull Uwen up from a cliff if he fell.
Use your knees and not your back to lift him, lass, boomed Wulfric’s voice.
But Emerick had slipped too much, and she was on her knees. With a grunt, Drest pulled, using all her weight to drag him back onto the path.
He lay there, panting.
“I know where we are,” Emerick whispered. “The passage we want is just before us, beyond the drop. God’s bones, I almost plummeted to my death there.”
Drest took the dagger from her jaws. “Show me the passage.”
Emerick crawled forward. The ledge became narrow and the walls tight. Drest bade herself think only of the muddy heels she held and not of the footsteps that were running now.
The passage became a slope, and the slope became stairs inside a new narrow passage.