by AJ Nuest
Down the long table where his lady had been seated, her food remained untouched on her plate. Nary a sip of wine passed her lips. Ignoring the lords and ladies seated to either side, she stared straight ahead, cheeks sallow and her eyes devoid of emotion.
The moment the dessert plates had been cleared, she sprang from her chair and rushed from the room, her squadron of loyal guards in her wake. Many stares trailed after her, followed by discourteous scowls and uncomfortable murmurs. And with Denmar’s warnings still a plague upon his mind, allowing her to vacate his protection was a risk Caedmon was not willing to take.
Placing his fork on the table, he shoved his chair away from his plate. Unfortunately, his father clamped a vise-like grip on his forearm before he could make good his escape.
“Fandorn has repeatedly assured me, the enigmatic dealings of a sorceress are not meant as offense. Nevertheless, a son abandoning his father’s side on the night of his homecoming does not sit well with this king.”
“Oh, come now, father.” Braedric lifted his goblet and smiled grandly at the other guests. “Surely you realize the gypsy blood in Caedmon’s veins prevents him from abiding such courteous formalities. Let him pursue the sorceress. His preoccupation with her will undoubtedly hinder coherent thought. Though he may attempt to bed her, he will add nothing of value to our discussions until his failure is complete.”
Tittering laughs echoed down the table accompanied by a row of painted smiles. Caedmon tamped down the compulsion to leap across his father and squeeze the blood from his half-brother’s throat. After the torture he’d endured, he could not allow Braedric’s barbed insults to deter his path. Displaying even the slightest hint of his suspicions would be disastrous for the future of their entire kingdom.
“Leave us.” The king flicked his finger and the courtiers seated nearest them sprang to their feet, bowed and backed toward the adjoining ballroom. The rest of the nobility quickly trailed after them, until only Caedmon, his father, Braedric, Denmar and Fandorn remained in the room.
A moment later, the stirrings of gay music became muffled as two footmen secured the doors to the dining hall.
“On the contrary.” Denmar swiped his linen cloth over his mouth. “I’m quite curious to learn of Caedmon’s devices in obtaining his escape from Castle Seviere. That is, given your hashishans’ failed attempts to breach the walls.” The captain shook his head as if remorse weighed heavily on his heart. “Wretched shame, if you ask me. How many did you lose, my prince? Two dozen or more?”
Caedmon lifted his brows at Denmar’s masquerade of regret. It had long been rumored the captain suffered no admiration for the underhanded dealings of Braedric’s personal assassins. At a young age, members of the royal guard were taught to face off on the battlefield like men. Not slither and sneak behind their opponents’ backs, a poisoned blade the bearer of death instead of strength and a belief in fighting for what was right.
Braedric slammed his goblet to the table. “Seventeen of my best men never returned. And what of yours, Captain? How many of the royal guard did you volunteer in Caedmon’s defense?”
Denmar locked his one eye onto Caedmon, the blue iris filled with sorrow…and a dire warning he should not soon forget. “At the king’s command, I would have sent them all. Alas, I was not presented the honor.”
Narrowing his focus, Caedmon glanced between the two men. The duplicity behind such an event was ill-trusted, and apprehension swirled in his gut.
At last, he left off trying to decipher the tension and rested his gaze upon his father’s brooding scowl. “You sent none of the royal guard to my aid?”
A fire ignited in his father’s dark eyes, flickering like black opals in the candlelight. He placed his leathered palm on the back of Caedmon’s hand. “Seviere holds both chest and key, my boy. He could unleash a campaign on us the likes of which we have never encountered. As King, I could not knowingly weaken our defenses. My first obligation is to make safe the wellbeing of my subjects. But take heart, my son. My decision did not come without great cost.”
A flip of his wrist and Caedmon clasped his father’s fingers, offering reassurance and his understanding. Two years past, he had once faced a similar choice, and the love of his heart had been stripped of her memories as the outcome. He glanced toward the doors.
Was she safe? Did she suffer his absence? For too long, he’d endured such uncertainties, and until he confirmed her guarded slumber, he would have no rest this eve.
“How did you escape Seviere’s dungeons, brother?” Braedric lifted his goblet and a maid scurried from the shadows to refill his wine. “Enlighten us where we have all failed.”
He’d prepared for this moment and yet, still, amusement threatened to burst from his lips. The treacherous repute proceeding Braedric’s black-robed hashishans was due to take an irreparable hit. “My mother’s family infiltrated the castle.”
Braedric clenched his jaw, fingers whitening around the base of his cup.
Denmar tossed his head back and his hearty laugh rebounded against marble columns. “The gypsies?” He pounded his fist on the table, chortling and rattling the silver. “Those devilish scoundrels found a way in? How’d they do it, lad?”
“They arrived at the gates masked in the costumes of a minstrel troupe.” Caedmon smiled at the merry sparkle in his old friend’s eyes. “Should the occasion ever arise, I forewarn you. Never partake of free drink from a gypsy.”
Denmar hooted and smacked his hand next to his plate, toasting Caedmon before swilling the remainder of his wine. “Those glorious rabble rousers.” He grinned as the servant girl topped up his cup. “A gold coin and a slap on the back, I say, to every gypsy in the realm.”
Caedmon chuckled even as he refocused on his father. “I do owe them an invaluable debt of gratitude.” More so than his father may ever realize. The secret missive he’d found hidden beneath his daily platter of bread and pottage had been perfectly timed and, two days later, he’d looked upon the bonny faces of family members he hadn’t seen since his youth. “They took a great risk in aiding me. I would be hard pressed to deny them any petition.”
“Yes, Father.” Braedric’s sharp agreement echoed inside his cup. “We must pay our respects to the gypsies. I daresay even ask their counsel. Mayhap in their clever subterfuge, they uncovered why Seviere has yet to use the key.”
Dread leached into Caedmon’s chest and, struggling to conceal his unease, he sent up an unspoken plea. May the goddesses grant that Braedric never learned the truth behind Seviere’s delay. Everything Caedmon held dear hung in the balance.
He glanced toward the doors a second time.
“He cannot.”
The prince swiveled his head toward Fandorn’s bare whisper. The wizard’s face hung slack, his gray eyes unfocused, as if he’d been transported far outside the walls of the castle. “Something prevents Seviere’s progress. I’d surmised at first the winter or spring solstice played a role, perhaps a specific alignment of the goddesses. But two years now and nothing.”
He dropped his gaze to the table and smoothed his bony fingers along the well-worn edge. “Forgive me, my King. Gaelleod’s evil sorcery blinds my third eye. The reasoning behind such a mystery eludes me.”
“As it does us all,” Braedric muttered.
A million tiny spiders scrambled down Caedmon’s spine at the same time sweat beaded along his brow. The mere mention of Seviere’s perverted wizard parched his throat. Those obsidian eyes in a ghostly countenance devoid of age. The sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh and bloody rituals which always preceded his entrance.
The scars Caedmon had earned under the dark lord’s pitiless tutelage ran much deeper than the lash marks lacing his back. A deep draw into his lungs, and he expelled a shuddering breath.
“Are you quite right, brother?” A devious smirk twisted Braedric’s thin lips. “Your face has just gone the most peculiar shade of green.”
“’Tis this talk of wizardry and black magics.” Den
mar darted a glance at the shadowed corners of the room. “Such things are best left to when Helios reigns in the sky.”
“As it should.” King Austiere stood and the assembled party hastened to mirror his movements. “Tonight’s discourse was meant for much merrier pursuits.” Grasping Caedmon’s arm, he steered them toward the ballroom. “Come, lad. We must indulge the nobility a bit longer. Let us bestow this occasion its warranted cheer. My son has finally returned home.”
Chapter Thirteen
Gone. Caedmon bolted down the corridor, the repeating retort of his boot heels echoing off the stone walls of the lower keep.
By the time he’d arrived at her chambers, she had vanished. His worst fear had come to pass.
Despite her chambermaid vowing Mistress Rowena had never departed her rooms, he’d shoved past the whimpering girl and burst into his lady’s bedchamber.
Her nightdress hung crumpled over the arm of a chair, the blankets on her sleeping pallet lay undisturbed…and as the window hinges creaked, the latch swinging open in the frost-tipped breeze, he’d slowly turned and tried to deny the foreboding which had hollowed out his gut.
Collapsing to her knees, Gertie had clutched the religious pendant around her neck, swaying and keening in fervent prayer. He’d rushed to the sill, but no rope dangled down the wall from which his lady could have made her escape.
Great tits, had the stubborn woman had taken flight through the window?
High above in the night sky, a golden halo had encircled Selene’s pearlescent face, Helios’ diamond offerings winking against her violet tableau. The garden torches whickered in the wind, doing little to illuminate the menacing shadows five stories below.
On a low growl, he’d slammed his fist against the wall, spun from the window and hastened into the hall. None other than Denmar and Fandorn could be trusted. He must band together his most loyal advisors and seek her out.
Skirting the last corner, he hopped the stairs and sprinted for the armory. Frustration rumbled in his chest over her guards’ inability to keep a watchful eye.
Useless laggards. He should have known better than to let her out of his sight. Her disappearance was a danger none of them could afford to dismiss.
The side of his shoulder rammed the heavy door and the dry wood cracked under the gale of his entrance. Several guards lay sprawled along the wooden benches, their heavy snores a perfect match to the dissonance of croaking frogs. Five men squatted in the far corner, casting stones and jeering, silver and iron coins littering the floor near their feet.
Storming down the long aisle shelved with various weaponry, Caedmon seized the handle to Denmar’s private chamber and flung the door wide.
“What madness has descended in my absence?” He advanced into the room. “Our kingdom’s most valued treasure has gone missing, yet debauchery runs rampant among the guard.”
Fandorn blinked, his high brows and wide eyes reminiscent of the great gray owl. Denmar lifted his forehead off his crossed arms and smacked his lips. A large clear bottle occupied the table between them, half-empty, the shimmering liquid inside undoubtedly Fandorn’s dragon’s breath brew.
By Helios’ golden blood, the two were quaffed to the Nine.
“You speak of our Mistress Rowena, I presume?” Denmar attempted to brace his cheek on his fist, but slipped. His head bobbed before he tried once again, smashing his face against his thick fingers. He smiled, his one eyelid at half-mast.
“Oh, oh, quite right, quite right.” Fandorn hooted much like the majestic bird he resembled. “She vanishes, it seems. Much to the council’s dismay.”
They stared at each other a moment before riotous cackles launched from their throats. Slapping their hands to the table, they rolled their heads back like two crones impaired by a bout of hilarity.
Lunging forward, Caedmon slammed his palms on the table and the tang of fermented grain made his eyes water. “I do not understand your disregard for Lady Rowena’s safety. You gave me your word, Fandorn. No harm would come to her whilst I was away. Do you bleary-eyed drunkards have any idea what could happen should Seviere’s men—”
“Her allure surpasses the dance of a flame.” Fandorn lifted his drink and stood, teetering precariously in front of his seat.
“Hypnotic, yet treacherous and frightening.” Denmar joined in, puffing out his chest as he stood, earthen mug held high in the air.
“And if you should choose to get burned.” Fandorn snuck a sly smile at the captain.
“Be forewarned, her blades strike like steel lightning!” They chanted in unison. The sides of their cups collided and the brew sloshed down their arms. They laughed, smacking one another’s backs before collapsing onto their chairs.
He was surrounded by insufferable fools. Shoving up from the table, Caedmon strode behind Denmar and snatched a sword and scabbard off the wall.
“What are you doing, my boy?” The captain refilled their cups, dribbling the drink along the table.
“I’m off to spare my defenseless maiden the horrors that await and return her without injury to the castle.” Cinching the belt at his waist, Caedmon jammed the blade home.
Silence hung in the air. He checked two sheathed daggers and wedged them into his boots.
Another bout of unruly laughter exploded, and he rolled his eyes. Denmar guffawed and held his stomach whilst Fandorn chuckled into his cup.
“Good luck with your plan, lad.” Denmar used the heel of his palm to clear the laughter tears from his cheek. “And may the goddesses bless your path to the grave.”
Caedmon grunted, slung a bow over his shoulder and grabbed a quiver of arrows. As if his lady were a danger best met on the battlefield instead of the blissful confines of a bedchamber.
“I daresay he’s not secured nearly enough weapons.” Peering at Caedmon from between his lowered lashes, Fandorn pinched the tip of his chin.
“You blithering idiots have no indication what’s occurred.” Caedmon marched for the door, but was reeled back on his heels as Denmar’s solid grip shackled his wrist.
A glance down, and he stared at the captain’s fingers before locking onto his face in grim warning. “I surmise you’ve chosen to live henceforth without the use of your right hand. Release me at once or the appendage comes with me.”
The two men exchanged a meaningful stare and Fandorn nodded.
“We ask but a moment.” Loosening his grip, Denmar pushed to his feet and brought over a third chair, thumping it down near the table. “We would have you know a thing or two before you join the goddesses in paradise.” He opened a flat hand toward the vacant seat. “Please, my prince. There is much to discuss.”
The frivolity in the room lessened a degree as Caedmon studied the pensive smiles of his two oldest and dearest friends. No doubt their judgment was lacking, but certainly they were not so pickled they would delay him without due cause.
Spinning the chair, he straddled the seat, arms crossed along the high latticed back. “I’ll spare you three heartbeats. Start talking.”
Denmar planted his elbows on the table and his breath nearly singed Caedmon’s brows. “Your defenseless maiden has been training with the royal guard for nigh on two years.”
“And a grand fine job she’s done of it, too.” Fandorn hiccoughed. Then belched.
Caedmon slowly eased back, glaring at each of them in turn. He was wrong. They had obviously succumbed to delirium. A woman training amongst the guard? He sprang to his feet. “Enough of this folly. Now leave me be on my way.”
Both Denmar and Fandorn seized his shoulders and slammed him back onto the seat.
“You will remain and stay silent until we are finished.” Denmar jerked his head toward the cabinet along the far wall.
Fandorn levered out of his chair and shuffled across the room, humming a jaunty reel, and returned with a third mug in hand.
The captain filled it near the brim and shoved it in front of Caedmon. “Eibel!”
A metallic clang echoed from th
e armory and, a moment later, a broad-shouldered guard poked his head inside the room.
“Bar the door. And by my command, no one passes through until I rap the signal.”
Eibel frowned, his gaze circling the three men. His focus came to rest on Caedmon and understanding smoothed his brow. He nodded once and pulled the door closed. The latch clicked over and keys jingled as the bolt ground into the lock.
“Mayhap I should also bind him to the chair.” Fandorn tapped the side of his nose, appraising Caedmon from under one high, wiry brow.
He fought the urge to secure the nearest battleaxe and cleave the table in two. By all the Nine, what the devil had gotten into everyone?
“Aye. Have your magic at the ready, Wizard.” Denmar stroked the pointed end of his beard. “Most of the guard is privy to the story I must relay. Nevertheless, this doesn’t make the telling any easier.”
Caedmon raked his hand through his hair, an apprehensive curiosity keeping him rooted to the seat. Whatever these two had up their sleeves might garner him a better understanding of his lady’s disappearance. A well as her insistent aversion to being anywhere within his reach.
The captain tossed back his drink and refilled his glass. “Two short months after your confinement, I was touring the castle on my nightly patrol when I occasioned upon an unseemly sound. A whimper, some harsh whisperings. The urgency prickled my nerves, and when I went to investigate…” He sighed and shook his head. “When I went to investigate I found Mistress Rowena pinned in an alcove, one of her attacker’s hands clamped over her mouth…” He blinked and met Caedmon’s eyes. “The other burrowed under her skirts.”
Fury nailed the center of Caedmon’s forehead. A vein pulsed in his vision, nearly blotting out the image of his love weeping and struggling against her molester.
Baring his teeth, he let loose the feral growl gathering in his throat.
Who? Who had dared to touch her?
Fandorn clapped his hands and a small orb of wizard’s fire blossomed between his palms. A glance at Denmar, and he nodded.