From their place within the antechamber, Bethany could hear the herald announce the royal family’s entrance. A piece of her wished to see the grand entrance. On many occasions, she had been in their shoes. Of course, as the youngest daughter, she entered last, but it was still a boost to the ego each time her name was announced over a hushed audience. Bethany felt as though she would have given anything to hear it again, though the sensation was now marred with a peculiar feeling of guilt.
Bethany stuffed the sensations into her gut, determined to get through the evening without getting into trouble. Of course, she would welcome punishment if she could manage to do something destructive, but since being caught by the knight, she couldn’t cause mayhem without being suspected again. It wouldn’t do any long-term good if they sold her or cut her head off, especially the latter. The other slaves already watched her like a hawk, and Sir Caldry was always where he wasn’t wanted.
Hepner continued to drone on. Bethany noticed that other slaves were losing interest in his speech. Evidently he realized it, too. With an abruptness that startled them, the steward ended his dictation on respect and family pride. He motioned each one to grab a pitcher and begin filling the guests’ mugs. Bethany was the last to enter the great hall, meaning the other slaves had already taken up their positions around the guests’ tables, leaving the royal family for her to deal with. No doubt they wanted to avoid their masters as much as she did.
Bethany took a deep, steadying breath and marched forward. She noticed the prince eyeing her until the pretty, foreign girl sitting next to him said something. Bethany felt a surge of pity for the girl well up inside her as she stopped at the bottom of the steps leading to the raised dais, where she bowed and waited.
If the rumors were accurate, and they usually were, her name was Gia, the niece of the Bumi king killed by Wolfric’s raging army. Gia had changed a great deal since Bethany last saw her. She had been short and plump, but time had taken her round body and stretched it. Gia now stood tall and slim, with a narrow face and high, defined cheekbones. Bethany’s memory of their one and only meeting was faded with time. She doubted Gia would recognize her.
They had met when they were both very young. Bethany’s father had been holding a peace gathering on the border of his land, and many of the other kings—excepting for Wolfric—had been their guests. Of course, at that age Bethany had only seen it as an opportunity to compare herself with other girls of similar rank. It was a rare treat, as the Tokë people did not have many high ranking families with daughters her age.
Now Bethany understood it to be a sign of her father’s forward thinking. He foresaw the need for peace treaties and strong relations with the other nations. Even then, years before Wolfric had attacked his neighbors, Bethany’s father knew their relations would be tried and tested by the power-hungry king. He was wiser than she had ever realized.
Bethany blinked, realizing the queen had motioned for her to ascend the dais. She blushed and hurried to her place at the queen’s elbow. After bowing one last time, Bethany began to fill their mugs in silence. Gia had turned to talk to Prince Lyolf as Bethany reached Féderic’s side.
“Don’t forget my offer,” he whispered as he lifted his mug to his lips.
His eyes smiled up at her while she tried to hide her deepening blush. How could she forget?
The portion of her mind most damaged by her time as a slave said it was a good idea. How else could she expect to improve her situation? She was tired of hard, crusty bread, exhausting work, and nothing but straw to sleep on. Bethany wanted to be a princess again.
That’s just it, he’s not offering you your old life back, the voice in the back of her head chided. He’s offering nothing but a small shadow of what you once were; a shadow filled with terrors.
Bethany turned away, forcing her focus back on the task at hand. It would not do to spill on a prince. She moved to Gia’s side and carefully filled her cup. Just as she was setting it back in its place, Gia caught her eye. Bethany held her breath as the other woman seemed to recognize her.
No, it can’t be possible. Bethany felt the flutters of terror build.
But then, just when panic was setting in fully, Gia turned away.
Bethany moved on, determined to finish her task without further incident.
An hour later, the entire meal had been served. With each new dish, Prince Féderic made a whispered comment to her, which she ignored. It was stressful, but she managed to maintain her composure.
From her place at the back of the dais, Bethany watched the slow dissolve into chaos. Gia, who was clearly designed for Féderic, seemed more comfortable with Lyolf. The bastard prince was very happy to entertain her, despite Queen Arabelle’s efforts to avoid the connection. Lady Amiria, a friend of the queen’s, was boring Princess Mirabelle to the point of rudeness.
Orlaith, Amiria’s daughter was deeply offended by young Cedric’s inability to discuss anything beyond hunting and war, not to mention her designs towards the heir apparent being checked by her place at the table—the opposite end from where Féderic sat. The conversation between Cedric and herself was strained and forced. Cedric, a growing sixteen year old boy, was more interested in swords than women.
At the same time, the queen was being ignored by her husband—who had eyes only for his food—and annoyed with her own companion. On the other side of the queen sat Lapo, Gia’s father and the brother of the dead Bumi king. Lapo was a stark contrast to his beautiful daughter. His stomach jutted out so far he had trouble reaching is plate. His wide cheeks sagged until he looked like he had no neck, while his hair hung in a greasy sheet across face. Like Wolfric, Lapo seemed more interested in eating than conversation.
The overall result was something of a farce. Bethany felt a group of actors could not have entertained her so thoroughly. She felt more relaxed in the safety of her dark corner. It helped that Sir Caldry was not sitting with the royal family; due to the number of important guests, the scarred man had been demoted to the lesser tables and was sitting with the other knights. Bethany felt a sense of release without his knowing gaze watching her.
Only once was Bethany forced to leave her station, and she didn’t waste the opportunity. Near the end of the long banquet, the high table ran out of wine. Hepner sent her to refill the two large pitchers, saying he’d wait on the high table himself in her absence. Bethany scurried down the many flights of stairs into the lowest basement where the earth kept it icy cold year round. The enormous room was supported by wide masterfully-built arches every ten feet, and the room was sectioned off into neat rows of food; barrels of salted fish, sacks of potatoes, beans and flour, and kegs filled with different drinks sat ready for use. From the ceiling, smaller kegs with intense spirits hung from hemp bindings. For this special occasion, numerous different spirits had been imported, and the entire back wall was covered with hanging kegs. Along a different wall sat the large kegs of wine.
In a stroke of unexpected ingenuity, Bethany jumped forward. She left the two large pitchers near the wine kegs and ran to the small table where the records and tools were kept. She found a small, serrated knife and moved to the wall lined with smaller kegs. With the use of a nearby stool, Bethany hoisted herself to the top of the hanging kegs. She used the knife to weaken the primary hemp supports by stroking the knife along the grain of the rope. After plenty of strokes, the rope began to stretch, a few of the strands snapping. Bethany quickly jumped down, tossed the stool away and dashed towards the other end of the cellar, fearful it would give way before she could move out from under it. She refilled her pitchers as quickly as the flow of wine would allow, wishing she had done this before making mischief, and darted out of the cellar.
The weight of the heavy pitchers slowed her climb up the steps, but she finally reached the great hall, completely out of breath, and switched places with the steward. Bethany spent the rest of the meal refilling the cups for those at the high table.
Just before the honored visitors los
t their tempers with each other, the meal ended and the guests began milling around. Queen Arabelle quickly dispatched her children to mingle and be sociable. Féderic made to argue, but one glare from his father sent him scurrying down the steps, not even taking time to speak to Bethany.
The room was quickly transformed, despite the ever shifting crowd of chatting guests. The slaves hastily cleared the tables and moved them up against the walls to make space for dancing. A group of musicians took over the dais and struck a lively tune.
While the crowd danced, Bethany continued to fill the mugs of the guests. Despite the numerous pinches and slaps on the backside received by the rowdy drinkers, Bethany was glad to have this job rather than being forced to run up and down the stairs to fetch fresh pitchers of wine—partly because she didn’t want to deal with the stairs, but mostly because she didn’t want to be anywhere near the cellar when the hemp rope finally gave way to the weight of the kegs. If she was up here, surrounded by guests, they couldn’t blame her.
At least, she hoped they couldn’t.
Chapter Nineteen
Cal sat on one of the few benches left upright, watching the guests dance the night away. He spotted the king sitting in a high-backed chair, carefully placed in a corner away from the revelers, sipping his own mug of spirits. In the midst of the crowd, Cal could see the queen dancing with Tethys, a local lord. Féderic was doing his duty and dancing with as many women as he could, though the knight noticed the prince’s eyes following his slave girl wherever she meandered with her wine pitcher.
It was easy to see trouble coming from that quadrant. Cal began to watch her too; he felt certain she would try to cause more trouble. Again, Cal began to wonder what secrete she possessed, and why she risked her very life to cause petty destruction. How could it possibly be worth the effort she went to and the punishment she received?
When Cal finished his mug of wine, he rose and began to search her out. It was a perfect excuse to check on her, or at least that’s what he told himself. Cal was just nearing the narrow door, where the slaves disappeared with empty pitchers and returned with full ones, when he heard a frantic cry. A slave burst from the door, looking frantically about and darting toward Hepner, the steward. The two of them returned to the small antechamber, while Cal slipped in behind them.
A female slave he did not recognize was collapsed on the floor, her ankle visibly swelling. Tears streaked down her puffy cheeks as she gasped for breath. The stewards skidded to a halt and stared at the woman.
“What is the meaning of this?” snapped the steward, the stress of the evening showing in his wrinkled face.
A typically calm and patient man, Hepner had been growing more waspish with each passing day of preparation. Now, with the castle overrun by strangers, Hepner looked ready to collapse.
“Da spirits… all o' dem fell!” wailed the slave.
“What do you mean fell?”
“Dem ropes jes snapped in twain. Des jes felt. All of dem. Dey smashed. And der’s liquor all over de place. Sacks done soaked.”
Unlike other masters, Hepner didn’t waste his time giving the slave a kick. He knew when to punish, which made his reprimands all the more powerful, and Cal respected the steward for his discretion. Hepner ignored the crying woman and dashed down the narrow staircase towards the cellar. Cal followed.
What they found was far worse than either had imagined. The floor of the entire cellar was covered in two inches of liquor, and the sacks and barrels on the bottom of the piles were gradually soaking up the liquid. Cal could see the moisture line slowly rising above the level of the alcohol.
“Get every servant that can be spared and start hauling out all the supplies,” Hepner barked to the man-slave who had followed them. “Start with the sacks.”
The slave nodded once and ran up the stairs, his voice echoing off the walls as he called for help. Meanwhile, the steward stomped into the liquid and made his way to the back of the cellar where the remains of the broken kegs lay. The ropes that had been holding them hung in shredded disarray. The two men removed enough wreckage to get near them. Carefully, they sifted through the hanging ropes, looking for any signs of sabotage. Though the steward was likely investigating out of routine, Cal’s mind strayed to the slave girl. Was she at it again?
Before they could finish their inspection, a hoard of slaves descended on the cellar and began forming a line to transport the salvageable goods to the upper levels. Cal glanced at Hepner. The steward’s face had drained of all color.
“What will I say to the queen?” he asked in a whisper, glancing around at the ruined cellar.
The lost liquor was the least of their concerns. With this many guests, the loss of even a small portion of their present victuals was a major setback. They would likely have to purchase second rate supplies from any locals who would sell, and pay exorbitant rates.
“Go tell her now. Better than waiting. I have something I need to see to,” added Cal before the steward could ask for his support.
He turned and marched out of the cellar, squeezing past the working slaves who did their best to stay out of his way. Still, it was a tight fit, between them, the sacks they carried, and his armored body.
He was often teased for coming to formal events in chainmail, but he had been at a wedding when Wolfric’s men attacked his village. Had they been armored and armed, they might have stood a chance. Now, he never went anywhere without his sword.
Call it obsessive, he thought as he entered the great hall and squeezed his way through the revelers, but some day it would save a life.
Sir Caldry scanned the bobbing heads but couldn’t see the short slave girl. Careful to avoid the attention of the royal family, he weaved through the crowd. Finally, he found the girl near one of the back entrances, her empty pitcher propped on her bony hip. He approached, ready to call her on the recent event, when he stopped dead in his tracks.
Her recognizable voice carried back to him, but she wasn’t speaking their native tongue. She was speaking Bumi, with the delicate dialect of one well-educated. What little he knew of the language suggested she was giving the foreign person directions to their guest quarters. How could she, a supposed daughter of a seamstress, know this language, much less speak it more fluently than he did?
All thought of the ruined supplies left his mind. A new piece to the puzzle was before him, only to leave him with more questions.
Chapter Twenty
Bethany squirmed against the large tree trunk, her wrist chaffing against the ropes that bound her hands. The bark of the tree rubbed painfully against her back. Bethany felt herself droop, the ropes wound around her stomach and chest digging into her plump flesh. Before she could get around to fainting, a clanking noise drew her attention away from her own discomfort.
A knight in gleaming armor, astride a mighty, white stallion trotted up to the opposite side of the stream. He pulled off his helmet to reveal a handsome face covered in a thick, close-trimmed beard. The stranger dismounted his steed and smiled at her. Bethany’s heart sped up as she leaned towards him, the ropes digging farther into her flesh.
Leaving the horse behind, the stranger began to tread across the shallow stream, but halfway through, the mighty beast emerged from its hiding places and prowled around the tree. It stopped in front of her, crouching low. With only the slightest moment’s hesitation, the beast jumped forwards, lunging at the knight, but the knight was faster. He jerked his blade from its scabbard and jumped to the side. He spun quickly, bringing the blade down on the beast’s arched back.
The beast bellowed out in pain as it trundled around, its stubby legs making it difficult to pivot sideways. As it made the turn, it swung its large head towards the knight, snapping with its wide jaw, its pointy teeth gleaming in the setting sun, but the knight wasn’t alarmed by the beast’s ferocious maw. He jumped back, bringing his sword up in a clean stroke that slashed the beast’s thick neck until bone could be seen through the gaping wound. The beast took tw
o lumbering steps forward before collapsing into the pink water. The knight returned his long blade to his scabbard before coming to her side. With the aid of a small knife, he sliced the ropes. Her bindings fell away and she collapsed into his strong arms.
“Too distracted to work?” he asked.
It seemed an odd question to ask at such a time.
Bethany blinked a few times and looked up at the scarred knight. He was a far cry from the man that had been holding her a moment ago. In fact, Sir Erin Caldry was nothing like the knights Bethany preferred to daydream about. Much like Prince Féderic, Caldry fell short of all her expectations. Rather than being brave and chivalrous, the knight had used his strength to dominate her into submission time and again. Not sexually, but his brutal whip kept her working when she would rather give up.
Bethany blinked again, glancing around the large room.
She had been leaning against the wall near the door leading into the slave’s antechamber, waiting for the king’s guest to finish this course. Thankfully, the others in the room had failed to notice her daydreaming as they ate there dinner two days after the queens banquet.
Of those to remain, Lapo and Gia were the principle guests. Lapo had entered into negotiations with the king concerning his daughter’s union to Prince Féderic, and those negotiations took time. Bethany spotted Gia staring at her. To her disgust, Féderic noticed his guest’s preoccupation with his slave.
“Like her? I’ll warn you, she’s not for sale.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.” Gia answered absently. “She simply reminds me of someone I knew long ago.”
“If your old friend is anything like my slave, I pity you.”
Bethany felt a blush burn her cheeks and did her best to hide it, but she could feel the knight’s eyes on her. Of course, like the prince, he couldn’t know that Gia was actually speaking of her. Bethany did her best to press herself into the shadows while the other slaves finished serving the present course. Though the knight had reprimanded her for her absent mindedness, she would receive further retribution if she tried to slip into the serving process.
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