by Anthea Sharp
“Good morning,” Anneth said, pulling her hair back into a twist to keep it out of her way as she joined him at the fire.
The scout gave her an intent look. “How do you fare, princess?”
“Watch.” She inhaled, focused her magic, and spoke the rune of illusion.
Her wellspring was a touch slow to respond, but then the power flared, and she felt the spell take hold.
“You are recovered.” He didn’t sound pleased at the fact.
“I am,” she said, scooping up her mug and settling beside him. “Are you ready to contact my brother?”
He frowned, but after a moment took out his small silver scrying bowl and poured a measure of water into it. He settled back on his heels, then shot her a reluctant look.
“I know you’d rather keep me coddled in the forest,” she said. “And if Bran agrees with you, then I’ll stay.”
Though she was nearly certain her brother would concur that she must surrender herself to the castle in order to keep Mara’s family safe. It seemed the only honorable choice.
With a barely audible sigh, Ondo spoke the words of scrying. The water at the bottom of the bowl shimmered, then cleared to reveal Bran’s face. His reflection moved oddly up and down, and Anneth leaned forward, trying to determine where he was. In a conveyance of some sort?
“Ondo,” Bran said. “It is well you called upon me—Mara and I have destroyed the last of the Void, and are even now on our way back to Raine. We’ll arrive in a matter of days.”
“That’s wonderful,” Anneth said, though she knew Bran couldn’t hear her.
Not only did it mean they could return to Elfhame soon with remedies for Lord Calithilon, it also ensured that her imprisonment in Castle Raine would be short.
“That is good news,” the scout said in a somber tone. “But I am unhappy to report that your sister has stirred up trouble.”
Bran frowned. “What kind of trouble? Is Mara’s family involved? Is Anneth there with you?”
“The princess is here, and safe—unless she embarks on the foolish plan she’s concocted.”
Anneth poked Ondo with her elbow. “Just tell him what happened.”
“Princess Anneth attended a ball at Castle Raine,” Ondo continued. “She drew unwanted attention to herself. My advice is that we remain hidden until you arrive.”
“No.” Anneth caught the scout’s arm. “I can’t just abandon the Gearys.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Bran said with a stern look. “If my sister has brought trouble to Mara’s family, then you cannot hide from it in the forest. You must protect them from whatever Anneth has wrought.”
“See?” Anneth gave Ondo’s arm a shake, then let go.
“My prince…” The scout’s words trailed into a heavy sigh. “I am reluctant to put your sister in danger.”
“I’ll be perfectly safe,” she said loudly. “My magic will enable me to escape the castle when it’s time. Once I turn myself in, they’ll stop looking for me—and, more importantly, stop asking awkward questions that will lead to Mara’s family.”
“Her wellspring hasn’t yet fully regenerated,” Ondo said to Bran.
“Lies!” Oh, she wanted to take Ondo by the shoulders and rattle his teeth. “I’ll scry to Bran myself, then.”
She began to rise, but Ondo looked over at her. “Be still, princess. I haven’t finished.”
Folding her arms, she let out a snort of impatience. “I will scry him, and it will be your fault that my wellspring is that much more diminished.”
The scout narrowed his eyes in annoyance, then bent over the bowl once more. “Princess Anneth is, however, able to summon the rune of illusion, and other small magics.”
“What is this plan of hers that you deem so foolhardy?” Bran asked.
“She believes that, by returning to the castle, she will draw suspicion upon herself and away from Mara’s family. She fears they’ll be in danger if it’s discovered she was sheltering with them.”
“What did my sister do, to become a hunted fugitive?”
“Apparently she snuck into the private areas of the castle, danced with the mortal prince, foiled a plot to assassinate the king, and then escaped when the castle guard began questioning her.”
“All that, in one evening?” Bran sounded both irritated and amazed.
“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry, my prince, for failing so miserably in my duty to protect her.”
The reflection swayed, and the scrying was silent a long moment, presumably while Bran consulted with Mara.
When he reappeared, his expression was weary. Surely defeating the Void had taken a great deal of power. He should not be wasting his energy on endless scrying.
“My power is waning,” he said, confirming Anneth’s impression. “I’ve spoken with Mara, and we are in agreement. As your prince, I command you to let Anneth set matters straight. Whatever the danger, she can defend herself better than the Gearys. In my time among the mortals, I have learned that they only see what they want to.”
“Tell Bran they already think me a foreign spy,” Anneth said. “I’ll pretend to admit to being an agent of… the Athraig, I think it was. That will keep suspicion focused squarely on me, and away from Mara’s family.”
Ondo gave her an unhappy look. “What if they attempt to extract further information from you, by… indelicate means?”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Then I’ll leave the castle immediately and join you in the forest until Bran and Mara arrive. It won’t be long. Besides, I can always scry to you for help. Together, we are more than a match for a few guardsmen.”
Now that her magic was returning, she would be able to slip out of the castle undetected whenever the moment came. And her power was coming back. Even now, she could feel the quiet ripples of her wellspring regenerating, despite her earlier summoning of the rune of illusion.
Bran’s reflection flickered, and he glanced away again.
“I must end the scrying,” he said. “Let Anneth take whatever action she feels is best. We will be there soon enough.”
Then he was gone, the shivering surface of the water showing only the cloud-scattered sky and tops of the breeze-stirred trees.
Ondo blew out a breath and settled back on his heels, his gaze fixed on the forest.
“I know you’re trying to protect me,” Anneth said in a conciliatory tone. “But this is truly the best course. Now, how about that porridge—it must be well cooked by now.”
“I do not like this plan,” he said, returning his attention to the fire. “At least take your knife when you return to the castle.”
“They would only confiscate it. No, my magic will be enough. And I’ll scry to you when I can—but if you don’t hear from me regularly, don’t be alarmed.”
There was no way of knowing where they would imprison her, or how much privacy she’d have. She wouldn’t make Ondo promises she couldn’t keep, for fear of him storming into the castle to make an unnecessary rescue.
He scowled at the porridge as he ladled it into the folded bark bowls he’d made, then added a bit of honeycomb and a scattering of berries to each portion.
“You’d best take an extra helping of honey,” Anneth said lightly.
“Nothing will sweeten my mood.”
“I know.” She relented, shooting him a rueful smile. “I’ll contact you as soon as I’m able. I promise.”
It was the best she could do, and they both knew it. He gave a terse nod, and they finished their breakfast in silence, Anneth pondering what, if anything, she might take with her back to Castle Raine.
She would leave her remaining slipper with Ondo—and pray that the castle guards hadn’t yet traced its mate back to the Gearys.
With a jolt, she recalled that her boots and clothing were still in their cottage, and she had no way to send word that they should dispose of them. By all the stars, she hoped they kept their heads down and didn’t do anything rash. Especially Lily.
�
��You must cast your human illusion,” she said to Ondo, “and go to the Gearys’ right away. Fetch my things, and tell them not to worry. Or to get involved.”
He frowned, the expression carving deep lines beside his mouth. “Then they will know there are two of us.”
“That’s better than them going to the castle and bringing trouble upon themselves. If the captain of the guard thinks I’m a spy, then surely he’ll suspect them of the same.” She pulled in a quick, apprehensive breath. “In fact, they might think Mr. Geary is behind the poisoning, as he’s the one who brewed the ale.”
“After I accompany you back to—”
“No.” Anneth cut him off. “We must both depart, immediately.”
She scraped the last bits of porridge up with the carved wooden spoon, took a few more hasty swigs of her tea, and stood.
“At least wear some shoes.” Ondo glanced at her bare feet.
“I can’t.” She frowned at the scratches marring her feet, but there was no help for it. “The castle must believe I have no allies nearby. No handy source of extra footwear.”
There was very little to say after that. Ondo cast his own rune of illusion, and they parted ways a short distance from the camp.
Like all of her people, Anneth possessed an unerring sense of direction. Mindful of how she placed her feet, she made her way back through the Darkwood, heading toward Castle Raine. The slanted rays of sunshine filtering through the trees and the colorful bursts of flowers did little to cheer her. Despite her optimistic words to Ondo, she was afraid.
What if the humans harmed her? She had read of the barbaric practice of torturing enemies, either to extract information, or out of pure spite. The Dark Elves did not do such things.
Well, that was not entirely true—but they had magic. There was no need to inflict physical pain when a carefully focused spell would yield the same results.
Captain Crane seemed the sort to employ bloody methods. She hoped that her prompt confession, no matter how false, would appease him. And Prince Owen had seemed to be, if not her friend, then a cautious ally.
Would he still be, once she claimed she was a spy?
She bit her lip as doubts hammered at her heart. The closer she came to capture, the more foolish her plan seemed.
And then it was too late for second thoughts.
“There!” a man cried. “I think I saw her.”
“Where?” several others called, and the man shouted directions.
Anneth paused, then turned and started to run, heading for where she sensed the edge of the forest lay. No point in leading them deeper into the Darkwood.
As she wove through the thickets and dodged fallen logs, it was easy to keep her pace slow enough for them to catch her. Despite her care, she had a gouge on one foot and a bloody scrape on her ankle.
“Halt! Surrender yourself, or we’ll shoot.”
Slowly, pulse pounding, she turned. Four men were arrayed behind her, each with drawn bows, their arrows pointing at her chest. Briefly, she noted they were of the type called crossbows, which she’d only seen in pictures. Faced with the deadly points of their bolts, the weapons were suddenly all too real.
“I…” She swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat. “I surrender.”
“Keep your hands out,” the leader said. “Matt, run tell the captain we’ve got her. Kavan, Ian, bind her.”
Anneth waited, trying not to tremble, as the men lowered their bows and came to take her prisoner.
26
Directly after breakfast, Owen met with his father in the king’s private study.
“Sit.” His father gestured to the chair on the other side of his wide desk.
Owen took it, noting the lines of weariness on the king’s face.
“Were you awake all night?” he asked. “Any news of the fugitive?”
“No word, but Captain Crane assures me she’ll be taken into custody soon. His soldiers began searching the forest at first light for any clues as to her whereabouts. If they don’t find her soon, they’ll move on to the village.”
The thought of the glass-beaded slipper tucked deep in the trunk beneath his bed gave Owen an uncomfortable twinge. He was not certain why he was hiding it—other than the fact that he still believed Anneth to be innocent.
“The girl is only one of our concerns, however. The Athraig are due to arrive tonight.” The king rubbed his eyes, then straightened. “But let us speak of happier things. Certainly you must have found some of the young ladies last night agreeable and worthy of further acquaintance. Tell me who, and we’ll invite them to stay at the castle.”
Foremost in Owen’s thoughts was Anneth—but if she were to return to Castle Raine, her stay would not be in one of the well-appointed guest rooms, but the cold stone of the cellar dungeon.
“Lady Fiona,” he said, noting his father’s nod of agreement. “Miss Rinna Thompson of Meriton, Lady Laura Wakefield, and Miss Chassily Dupont.”
“The Duponts with ties to the nobility of Parnese?” His father gave him an approving look. “That’s a wise choice as well. We could stand to strengthen our foreign connections now that the Athraig are circling Raine. Too bad the Fiorlander princess is only a babe.”
“Yes, they ought to have timed their heir production to match yours,” Owen said dryly.
The words elicited a wry laugh, as he’d meant them to.
“Anyone else?” the king asked.
Owen shook his head, just as a loud knock sounded on the paneled door.
“It’s Captain Crane,” the man announced. “I’ve news.”
“Enter,” the king said.
The captain strode in and made King Philip a short bow, then glanced at Owen. “Glad you’re both here, majesties. We’ve apprehended the Athraig spy. One of my runners just brought word.”
Owen kept his face carefully blank at the news.
The king smiled at his captain. “Where did they find her?”
“In the forest, not too far off. Obviously she tried to go to ground and wait for the rest of the Athraig delegation to arrive. She’ll be escorted to the dungeon for questioning when she arrives.”
“I want to be there,” Owen said, surprising them all.
“Why?” Captain Crane turned to him. “We won’t hurt the girl.”
Owen wasn’t entirely convinced that the captain’s zealous loyalty wouldn’t result in some injury to Anneth. But the king had complete confidence in the man, and now was not the time for Owen to raise his concerns.
“I feel as though she trusted me, at least somewhat,” he said. “Let me speak with her.”
“We’re not bringing her up into any of the main castle rooms,” the captain said with a scowl. “She’ll be marched right down to the cells. It’s not a comfortable place, your highness.”
“You needn’t be unduly concerned with my comfort,” Owen said. “I’m the crown prince, and in this case it’s my duty to confront the prisoner. And keep the king out of harm’s way.”
“True enough,” his father said. “You can report back to me after you question her. The both of you. Meanwhile, I’ll have the royal emissary inform your chosen young ladies and their families that they are invited to remain at Castle Raine for the time being.”
“Good,” the captain said. “High time we sent everyone else home. Less chance of infiltrators within our walls.”
“At least until the Athraig delegation arrives.” The weariness had returned to King Philip’s face.
“I say we refuse to let them into the castle.” Captain Crane clenched his fist. “Truce or no, I don’t trust those cold bastards.”
“We cannot afford to spark a war,” the king said heavily. “Now, go and speak with this spy. And bring me back some good news.”
Owen rose, bowed to his father, then followed Captain Crane from the room.
The castle dungeon was cold and damp. And dim, but at least Anneth didn’t mind that part.
After hauling her back to the castle, the gu
ardsmen had brought her down a steep flight of stone steps to the cellars and locked her in one of the three cells located at the very back. They smelled faintly of onions, and were not often used, judging by the spider webs the guards had to brush aside as they thrust her into the middle cell.
“Captain’s on his way,” the leader said to the other guards. “Keep a sharp watch on her while I light the torches.”
Well, that answered Anneth’s unspoken question of what was to happen now. She retreated to the stone bench running along the back wall, which she supposed served as a bed. A scattering of old straw provided little cushion as she sat and wrapped her arms about herself for warmth. Her gown, now ruined beyond repair, would do little to keep the cold at bay.
Her feet were chilly, the bare stone leaching the warmth from her soles. She drew her toes up under her skirts, and watched the guard strike sparks onto the pitch-soaked torches stuck at intervals along the wall.
They sullenly came to life, casting ruddy light and dark streams of smoke into the air. It wasn’t long before the approaching sound of booted footsteps echoed into the cellar. Anneth unwrapped her arms from about her knees and set her feet back on the floor. No matter how apprehensive she might be about her imprisonment, her pride wouldn’t allow her to present herself as a dejected huddle to the captain of the guard.
The captain strode into sight, and she was somewhat heartened to see Prince Owen at his side. In contrast to the captain’s scowl, the prince gave her a thoughtful look.
“Good work,” Captain Crane said to his men. “I want the three of you in rotating shifts to guard the prisoner. Ian, you’re first.”
The russet-haired man nodded and set his hand on the dagger at his belt while the other two gathered themselves to leave.
Prince Owen’s gaze sharpened as he surveyed her cell, and then he rounded on the soldier. “Bring her some water, at least. And a blanket. She might be a prisoner, but she’s not an animal to be locked in a pen and left untended.”
The captain frowned, but nodded at his man. “Do as the prince says. Bring a bucket, too, for waste.”