The Witch's Reward

by Liz McCraine

  The full impact of what Christoff had done slammed into him with the strength of a hundred armored men. He had betrayed Larra’s trust with his disbelief. He had known she was innocent, had even heard the words from the gnome. And despite all this, all it had taken was a few lies from his father’s counselor and Christoff rejected all he knew about the girl, willing to believe the worst of her.

  On some level, Christoff realized that it was the surprise of learning of his father’s situation and the intense worry that came with knowing that his father was about to die that had made him so ready to think Larra guilty. He recalled how he had treated her in the courtyard, calling her names, dismissing her as if she were the lowest of creatures. And of permitting her to be sent to the dungeon. Had he not believed Lucien’s lies, he would have seen her escorted to a clean, albeit, guarded room in the palace. Not that dark, filthy place of suffering.

  Christoff wondered why Lucien had lied to him in the first place, what reasons he had for causing such mischief. He was so caught up in his thoughts and regrets that he barely heard the sound of footsteps approaching from outside the chamber door.

  He cocked his head and listened. No servant would come to the king’s door at this hour without being summoned. Casting a glance at his father’s bed, Christoff saw that the magic had stopped glowing. His mother had rushed to his father’s side and was cradling his head in her hands, while the cloaked figure sat quietly, slumped over in what looked like extreme exhaustion. Not wanting to draw attention to himself just yet, Christoff quietly rose to his feet and stepped to the door, where the sound of footsteps had ceased.

  Just as he reached it, the door was suddenly thrown open, the heavy wood sent crashing against the granite wall. A shadowed figure moved into the room, filling it with the presence of malevolence. The figure leapt forward and Christoff saw the glint of silver in the man’s hand. It was all the motivation he needed.

  The two figures collided, one tall and slender and filled with an angry, desperate energy. The other equally as tall, but broader, younger, and filled with the intent to protect his family.

  Christoff easily outweighed the intruder and the force of his attack allowed him to shove the man back into the nearest wall even as he grasped at the hand holding the pointed, lethal knife. His training kicked in and it was almost too easy to divest the intruder of his weapon. But that same training failed him when he lifted his head and got a good look at the intruder’s face in the light of the fire.

  Because to his detriment, he paused.

  “Lucien!”

  He was so shocked to see that it was his mentor, his father’s best friend, that he didn’t catch Lucien’s fist before it slammed into his solar plexus.

  His breath rushed out and pain shot through his chest. But even though his vision briefly blackened and he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t fall. He moved. Lucien had had enough time to skirt around Christoff and step toward the fallen knife, but that was all. Christoff tackled him, and the two went down.

  Lucien was slim and weak, but he was a quick thinker and very aware of his surroundings. The fall had pushed him just far enough forward that he could wrap his fingers around the handle of the knife

  And Christoff was sluggish enough from the well-placed hit that he was slow in stopping him.

  “Lucien, no!” He barely registered his mother scream.

  Lucien jerked up with the arm holding the knife. The weapon found its target and Christoff was sliced near the ribcage. The younger man stumbled back and gripped his side, which had already begun to bleed a steady, thick red.

  The counselor raised the knife again.

  “No!” came a shout from across the room, before a slender, cloaked figure thrust itself between the two men. Immediately, Lucien grabbed the figure and pulled back the hood to reveal a mass of thick, dark hair. Shoving her into the door of a tall armoire he gripped her by the shoulder with one hand and put his now bloodied knife to her slender throat.

  “Witch,” came the accusing, out-of-breath voice. “You are like a splinter in my toe, bothersome and painful.”

  Keeping the knife to her throat, Lucien turned toward the injured man.

  “Not another step, prince, or I’ll slice her pretty neck,” he sneered. “Oh, wait, I’m going to do it anyway.” His last words were said almost gleefully as he began to press down with the knife. No sooner did it begin to break the skin, than his arm was jerked back by a merciless Christoff.

  The knife clattered to the ground as the two began to struggle again. Larra was knocked down, the cloak that had been grasped in Lucien’s free hand ripping from her and revealing the tatters of her dress and the long, recently healed scars on her back. This time, Christoff had the upper hand and succeeded in shoving his arm against Lucien’s throat and pinning him to the wall. Holding the pressure, Christoff glanced at Larra to see if she was all right, worried that the knife had cut her as it had been pulled from her throat.

  He was astounded at the sight of her ripped garments and the revealed scars marring her otherwise smooth, delicate skin.

  Scars that could only be received from a serious lashing.

  “Who did that to you?” he whispered hoarsely, not knowing that the look of horror on his face could be misread as one of revulsion. He remembered the lies Lucien had told about the girl, the influence he had had on Christoff from the very beginning. Suddenly he knew. Glaring at Lucien, who was gasping for breath and clawing at Christoff’s muscular forearm, he asked, already knowing the answer, “Did you do that to her?” He watched as a sick smile slid across the counselor’s face.

  “Too bad I couldn’t finish the job.”

  In a sudden move, Christoff released Lucien from the choking bar of his arm, and brought his other arm back. Filled with rage, he slammed his fist into Lucien’s face with such strength that the man’s nose could be heard breaking clear across the room.

  Never before had Christoff lost control over his anger. It was like a fiery, raging bull, becoming more incensed with every second that its taunter was still alive. He struck at Lucien again and again, until the man lay defeated on the ground. And still he continued to pummel him.

  Christoff briefly felt a hand on his shoulder and shrugged it off without a thought. He brought back his arm again, intent on continuing the pounding until Lucien lay dead at his feet, but the hand came a second time, clenching his shoulder in a tight grip. The deep, strict voice that followed caused Christoff to pause mid-strike.

  “Enough now, son.”

  Looking over his shoulder, Christoff saw his father standing next to him. Realization dawning, he slowly lowered his arm and his father’s grip on his shoulder was released.

  The man before him did not resemble the pale, lifeless body that had lain on the bed earlier. This man was the healthy, vibrant king of Aggadorn. The magic had worked!

  With the haze of anger disintegrating, Christoff took stock of the room. His mother had risen to stand by the bed, horrified. Larra was huddled in the corner of the room, just beyond the armoire. Lucien lay in a battered heap on the floor, shallowly breathing with one eye already swollen completely shut.

  He retrieved the knife from the ground and reached for Lucien, dragging his carcass off the floor. Holding him up, Christoff held the knife to his stomach. He would get answers and he would get them now.

  “It’s time for the truth, Lucien. Why did you lie to me? Why did you tell me Larra was trying to kill my father?”

  Lucien tried to smile, but couldn’t. “Isn’t it obvious?” came the forced reply. “I didn’t want her to reach the palace. I didn’t want her to heal…him.”

  “Me?” asked the king. “If that is true, then you wanted me dead. Why, Lucien? Was this all your doing—the sickness, everything?”

  “Her doing. Lissa’s doing.”

  “What?” gasped the king, turning to face his wife. Lissa slowly approached from the bedside to stand beside her husband. She put a gentle hand of reassurance on his arm.


  “Explain yourself,” she ordered Lucien.

  “I did it for you, Lissa. All of it. I knew you loved me. Knew you wanted to be with me forever. You don’t really love that fool of a king. You love me as I have loved you all these years, in secret.

  “I wanted the king dead so that we could finally be together. My plans, my dreams, they were all about you. I began poisoning the king weeks ago, but that, that thing,” he said with an accusatory look in Larra’s direction, “was going to ruin it all. I didn’t want her to reach the palace because I knew she could heal him. She could undo everything I’ve worked so hard for. And she did.”

  Lissa looked stricken. “No, oh no, oh no,” she whispered, turning to her husband with a look of horror. “If I hadn’t been so foolish when I was younger…If I had only told you the truth instead of going to my father…But I didn’t. I made a mistake and you paid the price.”

  “What are you talking about?” Steffan demanded. She quickly told him about Lucien’s forced attentions.

  He raised a hand tenderly to her cheek. “Don’t think for a minute that this is your fault. It’s his. Wholly, completely.” He stepped toward Lucien. “You were my best friend. I trusted you!”

  “And I’ve hated you with my every breath. You stole the one thing I wanted most. You stole Lissa from me.”

  Lucien turned back to Lissa with a tortured look. “It’s not too late,” he pleaded. “We can still be together. We can make it work.”

  For a moment the queen didn’t answer. She was too surprised by everything that had been revealed. When she did finally respond, it was with the voice of a person who felt sorry for another.

  “No, Lucien. I have never loved you and never will. Steffan is my husband and the only man I love. I feel sorry for your delusions, but they are of your own making. You and I will never, ever be together.”

  Her words penetrated. What happened next was shocking and disturbing, for with a cry of despair, Lucien pitched forward and fell down upon the knife that was held to his belly. A gurgling sound erupted from his throat and Christoff jumped back to avoid the heavy dead weight of Lucien’s body as it fell. The knife had gone all the way through. Within only moments, the kingdom’s biggest threat lay on the floor, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He had killed himself.

  Chapter 25

  Following the chief counselor’s timely suicide, the king ordered his guards to dispose of the body and then gave directions to several servants who seemed to magically appear on the threshold of his private chambers. Larra was taken away by a plump maid and shown to a bathing room where she was permitted to bathe and then fall asleep in a mindless heap across the bed.

  She awoke hours later to a knock on the door, which opened to reveal a different maid carrying a tray of breakfast. The seasonal fruit and honeyed bread was delicious, and she ate her full before reaching for the gown that had been set aside for her to wear to her meeting with the king.

  It was a gown of blue silk, and to Larra’s eyes there had never been a lovelier garment. The sleeves were long and fitted, suited to the suddenly cooler autumn weather. Teal and silver-colored flowers were embroidered on several inches of the hemline as well as around the scooped neckline and up the ends of the sleeves. As the maid tied a thick decorative ribbon around her waist and wove similar ribbons into her hair in a simple but refined updo, Larra couldn’t help but wonder if everyone was treated with such kindness at the palace. Obviously, the king and queen didn’t recall that she was a prisoner, not to mention a witch.

  She’d never forget the moment when the maid turned her to face a large, oval mirror. She’d had few chances in her life to see her whole appearance. Her grandmother had kept a small looking glass, which she had looked into a time or two to fix her hair for village gatherings. But the sight of the beautiful young woman staring back at her left her flabbergasted. Was that really her?

  “You are so beautiful,” the maid said with a wistful sigh. “You must have made quite an impression on the prince.”

  Just the mention of Christoff sent mixed feelings of sadness and bitterness coursing through her. Sweet memories of his kisses and kindness collided with the sour memories of his betrayal and the disgust that had filled his face when he had seen her scars. She had to keep reminding herself that it didn’t matter, that she had more important things to do with her life. But it was difficult to do, especially when she was in the same building as Christoff and didn’t know when she would see him next. It was hard to forget someone who could turn up at any moment.

  “Yes,” she had answered, quietly. “Quite an impression.”

  Not much later, she was led down a long hallway and into a waiting chamber. Her whole body shook with nerves. Would the king grant her time, like the queen had promised? Or would he punish her for using her magic? At least she had the queen to support her, even if the son did not. She hadn’t been permitted to stay after the suicide to find out what everyone thought of the whole mess. But when all was said and done, even if it was the counselor’s fault that the king had been ill, Larra was still a witch who had used her magic. And that was against the law.

  The door to the waiting room swung open and a guard uniformed in the now familiar green, black, and gold colors of the palace walked in. After announcing that the king was ready to receive her, he stepped back out of the room and waited for Larra to follow. Leading her down yet another hall, Larra couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the palace. With the late morning light shining through the gracefully arched windows on one side of the hall, and tapestries and works of art lining the opposite wall between polished wooden doors, the palace was a stunning place. Seeing its splendor, Larra wondered how the gardens would look in the daylight and hoped she would get the opportunity to see them before she was either executed or sent away.

  Her guide finally stopped at a door, not unlike the many she had already passed. Before the guard could knock, the door swung open and Christoff walked out. His steps stuttered when he saw her, and he paused in the open doorway.

  “Larra,” he said, surprised.

  “Prince Christoff.”

  “You look beautiful.”

  His eyes raked over her in appreciation and Larra was instantly annoyed. How dare he call her beautiful when she was trying to get over him! She raised her chin.

  “Thank you, Prince Christoff.”

  At her abruptness, Christoff seemed to hesitate. His eyes softened towards her. “Look, Larra, I—”

  “I’m sorry, but I have an appointment with the king,” she cut him off. She didn’t want to hear anything he said to her. She wasn’t going to be played for a fool again. A little flattery, maybe an apology, and she knew that she would fall for him a second time. Whatever he thought of her, she wouldn’t stand to be led on a second time.

  “Larra, I know you are upset, and I can’t begin to express my apo—”

  “You’ll have to excuse me. I wouldn’t want to keep your father waiting, seeing as how he’s about to determine my future.” She was not going to let him apologize. Not now. Not when so much had already happened.

  Christoff grimaced when he realized he couldn’t detain her longer. “Of course,” he conceded with a sigh, gesturing politely to the door.

  Chin still raised, Larra avoided looking at him as she brushed by and entered the king’s office. She didn’t know that Christoff remained in the doorway watching her with regret in his eyes. Nor was she aware that the king had witnessed every move played out between the two.

  At the click of the door latch, Larra relaxed enough to focus on the man sitting behind the large desk. The room was not much bigger than the waiting room she had just left, though equally as opulent and heavily decorated. There were two oval-backed chairs upholstered in gold and green placed before the desk, and others interspaced between plants and pedestals along the walls. The man facing her was the picture of perfect health, and though he lacked the robes and crown worn when conducting business with his subjects in t
he great hall, his rich, velvet clothing was undeniably costly and well tailored. He regarded her for a moment in silence, before motioning to one of the chairs.

  She sat, her stomach bubbling with nerves.

  “Larra Stoneworth of Farr.” Leaning forward in his chair, he placed his arms on his desk and began to talk in earnest.

  “During the last few hours I have learned many things. My son has informed me of the events that occurred during your journey to the palace, including your run-ins with a soldier named Smithen and the carnie attacks. It seems you have had a very difficult journey, young lady. He also told me what Lucien said upon your arrival at the palace—which is hogwash, of course. No woman who wanted me dead would then come to my bedside and heal me. And you must know that I am extremely grateful for your help. Undoubtedly, I would be dead were it not for you.

  “My wife also informed me of the scene she found in the dungeon. Please accept my sincere apologies that such a thing occurred. The man who tortured you was someone I trusted, but who had obviously turned from me many years ago. His betrayal has caused me much grief.

  “Now, before we continue, is there anything else I should know, any additional information you can give me about the events that have transpired in the last few weeks?”

  Larra was glad for the opportunity to speak. She eagerly told him all she knew and had learned about Lucien, including that he had admitted to sending Smithen after her, as well as the carnies. When she mentioned the reason behind Lucien’s torture, the king’s eyes went wide with surprise.

  “He was trying to obtain your magic?”

  “Yes, sire. And he said he had been experimenting on creatures of the forest. Also, he had some way of contacting the carnies, to make them agree to attack the party.”

  “I can’t believe this. He was far more deranged that I thought. You said he had some sort of black stone?”

  “Yes, sire. He held it in his hand as he tortured me. He believed it could conduct magic.”

  “We will have to search his private study. My men have already gone through his sleeping chambers and office, but there was another room I lent to him some years ago, with the promise that he would never be disturbed there. He needed a place to study his books without interruption, and I trusted him. But it looks like the room may have been used for far more than that. Thank you for informing me. I will have all of this looked into immediately.”