by A. J. Nuest
Her prince winced and shook his head. “Brave lad. Your mother must be very proud. Tell me, do you know if the trials continue after Setting? Or is it best my lady and I try our luck fresh on the morrow?”
“Oh no, milord. They lock the chamber up tight.” His spine stiffened and the boy’s chest puffed up in a show of pride. “Me uncle is a palace guard and he told me so hisself.”
“And no doubt you’re a treasured nephew.” Caedmon stood, ruffled the child’s sandy curls and then dug into his leather pouch for two gold coins. He held up the first and the boy’s eyes grew to twice their normal size. “This coin is for your mother. Be certain to give it to her and only her.”
Rowena smiled. The way Caedmon dealt with the boy exposed yet another endearing side to her warrior prince. He would make an excellent father one day.
He pinched the second gold piece between his finger and thumb, and wagged it under the child’s nose. “This one is for you, though I’d better not catch wind you spent the lot on bakery sweets.”
“I shall purchase a new ball, milord.” The boy grinned and pocketed the money. “And a pair of shoes for my sister.”
“There’s a good brother.” Caedmon ruffled the child’s hair a second time then waved toward the street. “Off with you now before your mates grow weary of waiting.”
She chuckled as the child scampered off, even more gusto springing from his feet.
“Come.” Caedmon clasped her hand and led them from the doorway. “The boy’s given me an idea. Only a short time until Setting and we have much to prepare.”
He wound them through the marketplace, stopping at a table here, a booth there, procuring various items that seemed of no value whatsoever. What could Caedmon possibly want with a colorful scarf and a stick of kohl? Or those fancy ribbons and that jug of ale? Perhaps he was camouflaging their approach toward the castle, hoping the act of their purchases would help them blend with the crowd.
Each stop brought them closer, the turrets of the castle looming higher before the magenta hues of Helios’ descent, the slow advance of the long line of supplicants ever sharper in focus.
When he handed her a meat pie wrapped in slippery waxed paper, however, she eagerly accepted. Her stomach grumbled at the delicious aroma of savory beef and fresh vegetables. Though the water of the sacred Pool of Tears had appeased her appetite, since leaving the cave they’d had nothing to eat. Her prince was wise to bolster their strength before embarking on the next phase of their plan, whatever that might be. Once inside the castle, who knew when or even if they’d see another meal?
Shadows lengthened as they ate. Shop owners lit their oil lamps and, with a final wink from Helios’ bright face, the grand tell atop the castle tower tolled the setting hour.
“Make haste, now. Stay close and keep a watchful eye.” Caedmon re-secured her hand in his and hurried them straight into the mass of haggard people who’d been awaiting their turn with the key.
Those near the end split off in various directions, clogging a direct route to the palace door. But those closest remained by the steps, their disappointment over being denied entrance apparent in the weary slump of their shoulders, the spark of irritation in their eyes.
“Let us in!” Punching a fist in the air, Caedmon set kindling to those agitated embers. Rowena lifted her brows at his mutinous tirade. One more outburst like that and he was bound to instigate a riot. “We shall not be turned aside!”
“Yeah!” Several men echoed his sentiment, clenched hands thrusting high.
“Since Apex I’ve been biding my chance,” another voice called. “Let us in!”
The two guards stationed on opposite sides of the palace door traded a nervous glance, tightening their grips on their lances. The shouts grew increasingly rebellious. Unruly. Bodies pressed in on all sides.
Rowena stumbled as she was shoved forward. The mob pitched and swelled in a rush for the castle doors. A pair of strong arms encircled her waist. Caedmon’s warm hand clamped the top of her head and bore down as the crowd’s momentum propelled them up the steps.
He shoved past the heaving throng and barreled into the foyer. People swarmed in behind them, tussling and scattering in a wild melee.
Seizing her elbow, Caedmon raced them toward the adjacent hall. Shouts rang out against the marble columns, echoed from a balcony as the alarm was raised. Armor jangled. A woman screamed. A battalion of armed guards stormed into the grand hall.
Nearing the first chamber on their right, Caedmon tossed open the handle, dragged her inside and slammed the door. Heart racing, her breathing labored, Rowena collapsed against the wall and soaked in the blessed support aiding her unsteady knees.
Based on the variety of instruments—several lutes, a gilded harpsichord, the dulcimer and an assortment of skinned drums—they were in a performance room of some sort. “Are you planning to woo me in song?”
Caedmon huffed. “Mayhap on our way out.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “That was brilliant, by the way. Remind me to never provoke you in a crowd.”
“Wasted words, my love. Your nearness alone inflames me in ways beyond measure.”
A quiet laugh shook her shoulders as heavy footsteps thudded past the door. Caedmon pulled their purchases from his pack and folded the scarf into a triangle, placed the long edge against his forehead and tied the ends at the back of his head. His gypsy heritage sprang to the foreground, enhanced even more when he scrubbed the kohl across the tip of his index finger and swiped the black powder over his eyelids.
His swarthy appearance set her back a step. “Wow. If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t even recognize… Oh.” She shook her head. Of course. If they were spotted, an Austiere Prince would be easily identified without a disguise. “Never mind.”
He grasped her shoulders and spun her around so she stood with her back facing him. Her hair tugged against her scalp as he wove the colorful ribbons through the length of her braid. A flick of this thumb and the cork popped from the jug, a tip of his wrist and ale soaked the front of his chest plate.
Arms crossed, she raised an appreciative brow. In a few scant moments, he’d transformed himself into a drunken gypsy, and she, apparently, was to be his maiden fair. If seen by the guards, especially from a distance, they would appear as nothing more than stragglers from the crowd. “Right. So how are we playing this? Am I happy or appalled your hands are roaming toward scandalous territory?”
“Aim for a bit of both.” He cracked the door and a sliver of torchlight bisected his face. “’Tis an act you already play so well.”
She smacked his ass. “Not funny.”
A peck to her lips, he eased the hinges open and they stole into the hall.
Keeping to the shadows, they used alcoves and recessed doorways to mask their approach. Shouts from the guards and the occasional clash of metal directed their course. The key had to be centrally located, someplace close within reach; a room large enough to handle daily foot traffic as well as accommodate several guards to keep it safe. They zigged then zagged down marble hallways, working slowly through the castle until a long red carpet and the tart aroma of smoldering incense led them to the gilded frame of a scrolled archway.
Movement inside the room halted her footsteps, and Rowena waited until it disappeared behind the wall before skulking toward the carved niche on the right-hand side. A peek around the threshold and dismay performed a swan dive in her chest. At least a dozen men milled about inside the circular antechamber, their shaved heads and black vestments signifying them as Gaelleod’s priests. If that wasn’t enough, a garrison of palace guards had been spaced around the perimeter, the two biggest brutes standing on opposite sides of an ornately carved door.
This had to be the place and, if her instincts were right, Seviere ordered both chest and key locked behind that far door each night for safekeeping. Unfortunately, unless she and Caedmon miraculously stumbled upon an invisibility spell, there was no way to sneak past all those men.
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“Shit,” she whispered. “From the frying pan into the fire.”
Caedmon crept along the wall at her left, spun to face her and risked his own glimpse inside the room. His jaw firmed. “I’d say at least fifteen to one. Dire odds, indeed.”
She quirked a brow. “And that’s different from when, exactly?”
He scowled. “Refresh me. What was our reasoning for leaving the Dreggs behind?”
Uncontrollable amusement bore down on her like the tide coming toward shore and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder, her body shaking with silent laughter. His low chuckle joined hers and he cradled her in his arms, holding tight until their hilarity subsided.
His weight shifted and she lifted her head as his focus darted past her shoulder a second time. “The far door doesn’t appear to be barred. The priests come and go at their leisure.”
She whirled them around and pressed Caedmon’s back to the wall, reversing their positions. He was right. The door to the second chamber swung open at regular intervals, the priests coming and going with candles, smoldering thuribles or yellowed scrolls.
One of the guards yawned and scratched his chin. “That big galoot on the left is half-asleep. If the rest of the guards are as lax, I could take out four before they even knew what hit ’em.” Plucking two silver stars from her belt, she stepped for the archway. “I’ll create a diversion and you charge straight for the key.”
Caedmon jerked her back to his chest. “My love—”
“I know, I know, I favor my left side.” She sized up the rest of the guards. “Just do me a favor and try not to kill anyone. I would hate to be the cause of that little boy’s tears.”
He applied the tip of his finger to her jaw and turned her face until she met his gaze. “I was about to say, no matter what fate destiny brings us, my heart will always be yo—”
A blur caught the corner of her eye and she sharply inhaled. Caedmon pressed his hand over her mouth, his arms steel bands shrinking them farther into the shadows.
She didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare move as a steady stream of black-robed priests filed into the hall. If one of them so much as glanced over his shoulder…
A cloying, foul presence coated her skin and she gritted her teeth as a wave of nausea bled like spilled ink through her belly. Her eyes involuntarily watered as the last of the figures floated past. She blinked to clear her vision and terror gaped its jaws wide, swallowing her heart whole.
The tension in Caedmon’s hand went slack. A bead of sweat traced down the side of his ashen cheek. Horror unlike any she’d witnessed before haunted her prince’s dark gaze.
Gaelleod. He was here.
She slowly twisted her shoulders, the muscles along her spine protesting as the assemblage of priests inched into view.
The last of them stopped dead in his tracks. The moment stretched. Her pulse thudded in her ears like a frightened rabbit.
Torchlight danced off his shiny head as he lifted his face skyward and his demented laugh vaulted along the marble walls. Goose bumps erupted on her skin. The eerie chortle seemed to come from everywhere…and nowhere…protracted deep and depraved.
“Prince Caedmon.” Gaelleod pivoted. His cracked lips stretched into a ghoulish sneer and a silent shriek pierced the lining of her skull. “How delightful that you’ve returned.” His black gaze shifted to her and a whimper scuffed the back of her throat. “And you’ve brought me a gift.” He tipped his head, and his dead stygian eyes seemed to carve through her flesh to her bones. “This, I presume, is the mystifying R…A…L?”
“Go!” A hard shove to her back and she stumbled sideways. Her foot caught on the edge of her cloak. The ground reeled. A jolt jarred her shoulders as her outstretched arms absorbed the impact of her fall.
Caedmon’s roar of frustration pitched past the top of her head. Hard fingers dug into her sides, lifted her off her stomach and thrust her through the annex door. The two guards straight ahead of her frowned, but neither moved to unsheathe their weapons. Why would they? An ale-soaked lunatic and a clumsy woman presented no threat.
A manic cackle rolled through her body on a crest of hysteria. It seemed she and Caedmon had achieved their drunken gypsy routine, after all.
“Seize them, you fools!” Gaelleod’s command spurred the guards into action.
They charged to the center of the room, their advance as inept as her bumbling entrance. Too many vied for position. Shoulders bumped and swords tangled as they unsheathed their weapons.
All movement slowed.
She tore the cloak from her shoulders, calculating their size and various angles of attack. A combat-ready tranquility flooded her muscles. Two silver blades whirred home to the centers of her palms. She crossed her arms, widening her stance, and eased a measured breath deep into her lungs.
If they want a fight, then let…them…come.
A twirl and her blade embedded into the meaty section of a corded forearm. A spin and she deflected the deadly edge of a sword. The guard behind her reeled back, choking and gurgling. Blood pumped through his fingers as he scrabbled for a hold on his neck.
The knife in her braid! Shit, she’d forgotten.
She dodged his flailing arm, placed her foot on his ass and shoved him straight toward the door. Caedmon leapt aside and the brute sprawled face-first across the threshold. A parried thrust and her prince delivered a sharp jab to his opponent’s larynx. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head. He toppled forward and crashed atop his bleeding brother.
“Use them to block the entrance!” Caedmon delivered the point of his elbow to a jaw, punched the pommel of his sword into another man’s stomach and tossed the slouched guard onto the pile.
Gaelleod’s priests clamored and howled, struggling to ascend the prone bodies.
She pivoted and gashed, spun and sliced. The momentum of their attack helped her feed the injured men toward Caedmon to bottleneck the archway. Grunts punctuated the room as they landed. Their exposed blades added more wounds to the fray.
A spine-chilling current exhaled along the nape of her neck. The candles in the room flared with a wraithlike aura. Shit! Gaelleod was about to unleash some bad-ass mojo. And three guards still remained in her path.
She whirled and raced for the far wall. One, two, three—her feet dashed up the side. Wrenching her shoulders, she flew high through the air in a back handspring. White shock drained the guard’s face before his head protruded between her thighs. She dropped her butt to his shoulders, unfurling her arms down the length of his body, stretched for the floor with both hands and heaved. The guard soared over her, slammed into the remaining two men and they crashed in a heap to the ground.
Caedmon was at her side before she’d regained her feet. “To the key. Now!”
The crackle of magic sizzled along her arms. Sparks danced before her eyes as she twisted the handle to the far door.
“You go to your death!” Gaelleod shrieked, an obscene ball of wizard’s fire growing between his palms. “There is no future where I will not find you!”
She seized Caedmon’s arm and dragged him into the second chamber. He snapped the bolt in place, tucked her against his body and they dove, arms outstretched, for the floor.
Blue-white light seared the crack between the hinges. A bone-jarring quake shuddered the walls. Rowena folded her knees to her chest, covering her head with both arms in case the door splintered under Gaelleod’s cruel spell.
Gray smoke crept under the jamb. She coughed and waved a hand in front of face to clear the air. A moment later, the hammering of thick fists rattled the frame.
“It’s still intact!” Caedmon leapt to his feet. “We must find something to barricade the door!”
A shrill whine pinged in her ears. The floor pitched and rolled as she crawled to her knees and fought to regain her bearings.
Myriad chests sat scattered everywhere, their wooden tops gaping open like the backs of legless mismatched chairs. Some displayed heaps of treasure. Others s
crolled parchments or piles of bones, but none were large enough to bar the entrance unless they were stacked.
A quick spin on her knee and she froze. Then frowned. What the hell was that piece of furniture doing here?
“Your armoire,” she whispered at the same time Caedmon said, “My armoire.”
She tilted her head back and met his perplexed stare. A sickening realization slammed into her mind at the exact moment awareness glittered in his dark eyes.
“Braedric,” they spat in unison.
At last, they’d found undeniable proof the reigning prince was in league with Seviere. How else could the armoire have gotten here? Braedric was the one who ordered Caedmon’s chambers sealed after she’d requested her own set of rooms. He was the one who’d sent his hashishans to their camp and ordered the rogue Dreggs to attack when Caedmon rode out with the key. But why? What did he stand to gain by aligning himself with the enemy? And why deliver Caedmon’s armoire? His actions just didn’t make any—
A loud crack rent the door and she was on her feet, racing for the far side of the room. Good God, what were Seviere’s men using? A battering ram?
Working together, she and Caedmon heaved and shoved, pushed and pulled until the armoire stood centered before the entrance.
The incessant pounding abruptly ceased. Muffled cursing echoed from the opposite side of the wood and Rowena tipped her head, straining to catch the words. Strange. Why had they suddenly stopped?
Caedmon filled his lungs and nodded, swiping his forearm across his damp brow. “That seems to have deterred their efforts. For now, at least.”
“Yeah, but why? That’s the real question. Not to mention, how are we supposed to get out of this room?” She glanced around the domed chamber, scanned the stained glass ceiling and the bizarre assortment of religious artifacts aligned along the creepy altar. “And what about the key? I don’t see it anywhere, do you?”
Caedmon scrubbed a hand over his jaw, frowning at the armoire. He snapped his fingers, strode forward and depressed a small circular plaque along the top scrollwork. An internal whirring sounded and a small hidden door sprang open, disguised by a square rosette above the top left hinge. He reached inside the hidden compartment and a beaming smile lit up his face. As he withdrew his hand, a long golden chain snaked from the opening and, dangling from the end, a thick golden key.