She saw that it was night now. And they were still in the forest—but the snow was deeper here. She figured they must be up in one of the passes, but not a pass she recognized. What else could she determine? There were horses—two, standing behind her captor, and one of them was hitched to a wagon.
She closed her eyes. It was better if this man didn’t know she was awake—it would give her more time to think. Methodically, she assessed her situation: the strength of her bonds, the position in which she lay—could she stand up while bound? She considered whether anything hurt that might indicate that she had been mistreated while unconscious. Thankfully, nothing stood out. Her arm tingled from her lying on it, and her neck still itched from the dart.
Clearly it hadn’t been the Shadow Children there in that tree. Her guards were probably dead.
The hairy pill was still stuck between her back teeth, only half-dissolved. Her parched mouth tasted like the foul herbs.
She opened her eyes the tiniest bit. Her captor had obviously discovered the dagger’s unusual sharpness: there were several clean cuts in the rock on which he sat. Hopefully he hadn’t discovered what was concealed in the hilt.
“Some blade you have here, Miss,” he said, looking right at her. She knew he’d caught her eyes moving.
“May I have it back?” she said, weakly.
He laughed. “I like you.”
“May I have some water, then?”
He put down the dagger, stood up, and got a water skin off one of the horses. He shook it to see how much was left. “I s’pose you can have some.” He came around behind her and sat her up. “Open up,” he said, and he poured some water slowly into her mouth. Nastasha gulped down as much as he would allow her, making sure the rest of the pill slid down her throat in the process. Some of the freezing water ended up dribbling down her neck and chest.
“Yer a fine looking one. That’s what saved your life today.” He took off his glove and wiped the water from her neck.
“What…what do you mean by that?” she asked.
“Aw, you’ll find out.”
“Where are the others?”
“Dead.”
Nastasha sighed, sadly. Blood had returned to her arm now, causing it to prickle like mad. She cringed when he eased her back down onto it. “Please, will you untie me?” she begged.
“Not a chance,” he said.
“What are your plans for me?”
“Oh, you’ll go to intake for testing. They’ll see if yer a fit candidate.”
Intake? Candidate? Shit! she thought. He’s taking me to the baby mill!
“And…if I’m not fit?” she asked.
The man walked back to his side of the fire. “They’ll probably eat you. Damn shame that would be.”
“Please untie me,” she said. “Please let me go. I shall do anything you ask in exchange.”
He looked deeply troubled. “Miss, I can’t accept anything from you. They’d find out. They have ways of knowin’ yer thoughts.”
“You don’t have to go back,” Nastasha pleaded. “Free me and I shall take you back to Arra and protect you.”
He frowned. “You need to go back to sleep now, Missy. Yer making me think thoughts they wouldn’t like.” He took from his pack a tiny bottle and poured some of its contents on a cloth. “Where’d you get yer fine dagger?”
“It was a gift,” she replied. “For my birthday.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s real nice, but they won’t let you keep it.”
“Please,” she said. “Return with me. Live in freedom.”
“Miss,” he said, walking back to her with the cloth in hand, “nothing will be left of Arra in a week’s time. It’s not a good bargain.”
“No! Don’t knock me out again. Talk to me! I shall tell you where the dagger came from.”
He knelt down and whispered in her ear: “Yeah, you’ll be fit fer sure. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” He stuffed the cloth in her face and a powerful chemical pervaded her mouth and sinuses, putting her back to sleep within seconds.
CHAPTER TEN
Midway through the night, Ia began wailing and woke the rest of the camp. It took Eleonora a few minutes to comfort her. Finally, she managed to get her daughter feeding. Elaina stayed up with her sister, while those not on guard duty tried to get back to sleep.
“I’m concerned about your plan,” Eleonora told Elaina. “You’re likely to get caught. And the timing—to poison Denda and then heal him before he dies?”
“Nastasha’s poison is slow-acting. He’ll appear dead for several days before he actually dies,” Elaina explained.
“That’s if your Nastasha even survives and finds us. And to sneak into the palace? How embarrassing!” Eleonora said.
“Embarrassing?”
“I have my honor to look after, sister,” Eleonora said. “What if I confront Denda straight on? He’ll never expect that. I’ll arrange for the army’s protection. Many in the ranks will support me after I tell them what my father has done.”
“You propose to march back into the palace like nothing happened?” Elaina asked.
“I’m proposing to take back what’s mine,” Eleonora said sternly. “My servants. My chambers. I’ll bring a legion in with me if I need to, and I’ll bring you, and Alessa, and everyone here… You and your team can pose as my escorts. Denda won’t kill me in front of a crowd. His overlords will be thrown off guard if we come in brazenly through the front door. And once we’re in, we’ll secure part of the palace for ourselves. They’ll be so distracted plotting their next move, we’ll probably have plenty of chances to slip Denda the poison.”
“You’ll bring Ia too?”
“I’m not happy putting her at risk, but she’s safer with me than anywhere else.”
Elaina watched her tiny niece enjoying the warm milk from Eleonora’s body.
“I’ve thought about it, Elaina,” Eleonora said. “If I could go east with Ia and live with my cowardice I would. But I have too much pride for that.”
Jaimin’s group rose before dawn for breakfast, and as the first rays of sun stretched across the golden desert, the travelers packed their horses and set off.
Thankfully, they did not run into any purple army patrols all morning. Maya theorized that with the war about to begin in the north, the purple army was stretched thin, and they couldn’t spare many soldiers to run patrols.
At one point toward noon, however, the Arran soldiers spotted—far to the south—a wagon headed in the direction of the prison and the baby mill.
They had no clue that Nastasha was in the wagon.
Deep in the fog of slumber, Nastasha had a vision of a muscular, blonde woman grasping her by the cheeks and peering angrily into her eyes. After the vision faded, her head and neck began to throb with a dull pain, as if a lead helmet were clamped onto her head. Her left arm stung in one spot. Eventually, all these feelings faded as she drifted once again into the dreamless realm.
Something else stirred her. Her eyes flew open. She seemed to be seated in a comfortable chair. A great electric light shone over her, and machines were running on both sides. Someone gave her an injection in the arm, and she was out again.
Finally, she awoke for real. And this time she was naked in a bathtub.
Bergs of rose-scented bubbles twisted lazily on the warm water’s surface, which was just at her chin level. A huge white sponge bobbed beside her. She breathed in deeply through her nose and took in her surroundings.
The opulently appointed bathing chamber was brightly lit with steady electric lighting recessed behind and around the cabinetry. The door was open a sliver. Ample towels and a plush robe waited beside the sunken tub. Her hair had been left outside the bath, stretched out behind her and twisted loosely.
Nastasha’s headache was a vague memory now. Lifting her left arm, she saw where a vein had been pierced. And slight pink marks around her wrists revealed where they had been tied.
A bit risky, don’t you think? In h
er mind, she chided her captors. Leaving a sleeping girl in a tub? I could have drowned!
But she hadn’t drowned. They didn’t want her dead, they wanted her clean.
Baby mill, she told herself. I must be fit. Good heavens. They plan to clean me up and then…
She had the feeling she wasn’t alone. Was someone outside the door, watching her through the gap? Or was someone peering at her through a hidden window?
She scanned the room for something she could use as a weapon. Nothing caught her eye.
She washed herself all over with the sponge, again and again, giving herself more time to think. Aside from the ripples she made, all was quiet.
The bath water began to get cold.
Nastasha was terrified of what they had planned for her. She had no plan of her own. She would just have to react—to think on her feet. When the floor of the tub suddenly began to vibrate and hum, her heart pounded. Water rapidly drained from a hole that had opened in the tub floor, forming a slurping, gasping whirlpool that eventually died in a pile of white froth. And all again was quiet. She glanced around nervously. Feeling utterly vulnerable with her bare skin exposed to the air, she climbed out of the tub, grabbed a towel, dried off thoroughly and donned the robe.
She examined the wooden cabinets in the chamber. They were all empty, but their side panels were made from thin sheets of wood, which gave her an idea. She ran at one of the cabinets and bashed it with her knee. Nothing happened—it just hurt like mad, but she was determined, so she limped at it and bashed it with her other knee. This time a crack appeared in the paneling. With a few well-placed blows with the ball of her foot she managed to break off a long, sharp section of the paneling. She knelt down on her sore knees and began to scrape the edges of the wooden shard against the wood remaining on the cabinet. She was fashioning a crude blade edge—a rudimentary sword.
“That’s impressive,” said a voice behind her. Nastasha spun around and held her half-finished blade out before her. A young man stood smiling in the doorway.
The man was dressed in a white uniform, like that of a scientist or an engineer. He was handsome and well-built, with blonde hair: curly, shoulder length, as long as Jaimin’s; and green eyes. His face reminded her a bit of Jaimin’s too, only it was slightly more square, like that of a pure-blooded mainlander. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, “but why don’t you finish working on that thing if it makes you feel better. I’ll wait.”
“Back out, and close the door,” she told him.
“As you wish,” said the man, and he stepped out into the bedroom, closing the door completely. Nastasha took the opportunity to finish sharpening her makeshift blade. When it was sharp enough, she sat down against the door to think.
“I’m not who you expected,” the man said, from behind the door. “I’m a friend.”
She stood, opened the door, yanked him into the bathroom by his shirt sleeve, spun him around, and threw him against the wall, pressing the point of her wooden sword to his throat. “Explain.”
“You…know where you are, don’t you?” said the young man.
“The baby mill,” she said.
“Uhh…some call it that. Can you please not press that thing into my…” He looked down cross-eyed at the blade.
“Just talk,” she said.
“Look, I’m sure you’ve been through a lot, but I can help you. I can get your dagger back for you.”
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Mascarin. Not that that means anything to you, but…”
“Mascarin?” She quickly pulled back the sword. “Shit.” Her disposition changed in an instant. “Maya said you’d be here. How lucky is this?”
“Maya? Please, who are you?” he asked.
“Are they listening?”
“No. Just standing guard. We don’t need to worry,” he said.
She whispered in his ear: “My name is Nastasha. Royal Advisor to the Crown of Arra.”
“You’re quite…”
“Don’t say I’m young for the role,” she said.
“Wasn’t going to say that, Your…Highness.”
“It’s Excellency, but please—there’s no need here. Look, I’m sorry I almost killed you just now. I had no idea you were Mascarin. The Mascarin. Have you snuck into my room to rescue me? How did you know I was here?” She kept her voice at a whisper.
“I didn’t sneak in. They know very well that I’m in here.”
She got it. “You…you’re meant to be fathering my child, aren’t you?”
“That is what they expect.”
She smiled, amused by the thought, when she knew she should have been mortified. “How did you get yourself into that role?” she asked.
“It wasn’t the plan. I have an informant here who got me registered as a guard. I was here to map out the facilities, and to learn their procedures. Just this week they started testing the guards for suitability for the twinning program. And I made the list. They were very excited about my genetic…profile. My potential, as it were.”
“Lucky you. Can your informant get you off the program?”
“Probably, but he’s been sent out on patrol duty for a week. I’m stuck here until he returns. Um, let’s go in the other room. Can I offer you a drink? They just have cold juice.”
“Are you positive they can’t hear us?” she asked, softly.
“Trust me, they can’t.”
She followed him into the next room and over to a little icebox by the bed, where he retrieved a carafe of a light brown juice. Like a professional spy, Nastasha took note of the particulars of her surroundings, immediately spotting the exit door and several small tables she could use as weapons…
It was spacious and tastefully decorated, this den of love. The walls and ceiling were shades of pink, red and peach, adorned in fabric. The bed was enormous. Sheets of silver satin peeked out from beneath a thick woolen cover. Elaborately carved wooden screens and smart seating arrangements broke the room into cozy sections. Fresh flowers were set out in several places.
“Where are my clothes?” Nastasha asked.
“You’ve got a better chance of getting your dagger back than your clothes. The captain has your dagger in his safe, and I know the combination. But I have no idea where they put your clothes.” Mascarin poured two glasses of juice, and Nastasha sat beside him on a leather loveseat. “How were you captured?” he asked, handing her her glass.
“I was trying to make contact with the Shadow Children to help me deliver something to the Destaurian capital. I arrived at the place you call Creighton’s Tree, and I was ambushed, I’m assuming by the guy who brought me here.”
“Creighton’s Tree? Were any of my children killed?”
“I don’t know. I was knocked out as soon as I entered.”
“I hope they’re safe. I had recalled them to the capital.”
“Maya thought they’d be at Creighton’s Tree.”
“I just hope.”
“Me too…”
“Did Maya fill you in on what we do and why we do it?” he asked, quietly.
“She did. It sounds like you run a fine little army. It’s quite brave of you to take that on.”
“I just believe things should be different than how they are,” Mascarin said. “And I believe with all my heart that they can be.”
“Sounds like something I would say,” she said. “And my idealism has gotten me into some pretty hairy situations recently.”
“Well,” he said, “it’s quite fortunate you wound up with me tonight. I have no plans to be a father.”
Nastasha took a sip of her juice and found the taste amazing. She couldn’t tell what fruit it was made from—it was probably clarified pear or jinfruit infused with some delicious orchid from the tropics. As she let the fluid linger and warm in her mouth, she thought a bit about her situation. And then she asked: “What happens if you don’t…well…complete your assignment? Will they find out?”
“Well, yes, they wi
ll test you thoroughly in the morning.”
“Surely you will be punished! And someone new will be sent in to complete the job. Fetch me my dagger. We shall leave together.”
“That would be suicide,” Mascarin said. “We can’t take on this whole place.”
Nastasha frowned. “Once they detect conception, what’s the next step?”
“You’d be rushed to the palace for Radovan to replicate the embryo.”
Her heart started to pound before her brain even realized why. “How…long before I would be rushed to the palace?”
“I’m not clear on the timing, but I think the twinning needs to be done within the first three days.”
“I see,” she said. “And what’s the security like there?”
“Depends on what you’re trying to do,” said Mascarin. “What exactly is your mission, anyway?”
The same evening, King Errol had invited his son, King Radovan, to dinner. When he wasn’t eavesdropping from the balcony of Radovan’s throne room, Errol comfortably spent his hours in sub-basements of the Destaurian palace that most of Radovan’s guards and servants had no idea existed. Errol had falsified his own death not long after the battle for Celmarea. Out of the public eye, he’d found it much easier to be king.
Errol’s personal attendants, an older man and a middle-aged woman, stood beside the table, ready to refill a glass or replace a fallen fork. The kings had already downed several glasses of their finest red wine, and Errol was briefing his son on the situation in the east.
The first course had been a quail soup. The main course, set out now on a vast bed of lettuce, parsley, and thinly sliced tomato, was a roast.
“Not to plan,” Errol said, “but there is still promise.”
“How exactly did Eleonora escape?” Radovan asked.
“She was helped by a traitor named Aldo. Know him?”
Radovan shrugged.
“Good, because the troops are itching to feast on him,” Errol said. “Where do you think Eleonora will head?”
The Fallen Mender Page 7