There was nothing.
Then the Huntsman laid a hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to fear," he said. "You are but a child."
"So was the babe my mother carried."
He swallowed hard, and she wondered again what he had seen. What he had allowed to happen. "Huntsman, what did Father Nazar do to―"
"I have already said once that I will not tell you of your mother's end. Do not ask again."
"Then I will order you!" she screamed, the barrier that her feelings had been lurking behind shattering so suddenly that it nearly sent her to the ground. "Because it is your doing as much as his! At least Miruna acted! She did something to help!"
"And where is she now?" Stanimir yelled. Then he took a quick step back, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "She could not stop Nazar. It was foolish to try."
"And if she had believed that, then I would be dead as well. Why did you make certain that your life would be preserved, Huntsman? So you could continue to do nothing with it?"
"My princess, you are grieving. As such, I will allow your words. But we are nearly to the castle, and I warn you to keep a more civil tongue in your head when you address the king."
"He is not my king," she retorted. "Is he yours?" When Stanimir didn't answer, she hurried around in front of him, crossing her arms. "Stanimir. Did you wish this to happen?" He still did not answer, but she saw both grief and resolution in his eyes, and she backed away. "You wished Father Thibault dead? My mother―"
"No. I never wished that. I desired King Thibault gone from the throne, yes, but not―"
"You have betrayed them," she said. "And in that, betrayed me as well."
"Princess―"
"Do not call me that. Do not call me anything; do not speak to me!" Lisette shouted, turning away from him and running. She heard his footsteps close behind; she was not fool enough to think she could outrun him. But she did not address him again.
*~*~*
Nazar wondered if it was an especially gruesome thing to keep Thekla's head.
His former husband, after all, had been disposed of in the giant bonfire in the middle of the Arena. Most of his wife's body had followed. But he had kept her head, wanting to be able to contact his ally in the Mirror after this meeting with the loyalists was done.
Still, perhaps he should have kept Thekla's arm or leg instead. The head did seem rather disrespectful.
"My husband and wife are dead," he announced. "That leaves me in line for the throne. Are there any objections?"
One of the loyalists cleared his throat, fidgeting in his seat as everyone turned to look at him. Finally, he gained the courage to straighten his shoulders and speak. "King Nazar, you well know that most of us supported this coup. But you swore that Thibault would be the only one dealt with! Thekla was against war with Village-by-the-Sea as well."
"A fair point," Nazar said. "Grisha. Reward our inquisitive friend."
At the sound of the torturer's name, the loyalist scrambled back from the table. He almost made it to the door before the guards caught him, dragging him out. Grisha followed, a smile on his face as the loyalist began shouting for help.
"I never wanted anything to happen to Thekla," Nazar lied. "But in the end, she sided with Thibault. She left us no choice." Noticing that several of the loyalists were glancing back toward the door nervously, he smiled. "Do not fear for your friend," he said. "My husband would have had him killed immediately for questioning any word out of his mouth. And disloyalty will not be accepted, of course... but there is no need to be so cruel about it. He will be imprisoned for two weeks and then will be returned to his home."
The loyalist's wife nodded her head in acknowledgment, smiling gratefully. "What of Lucien?" she asked. "Is your boy―is he dead as well?"
"He went for a jaunt to Vedrana's Forest last night. A villager called out to him as he entered the woods, but he didn't heed the warning. The Huntsman is out looking for him now," Nazar said. "I will make my first edicts tomorrow at sundown. You are dismissed. I know which ones of you supported my recent actions and believe me, you will be amply rewarded."
"My king!" a Page called, as the loyalists began to shuffle out of the room. "The Huntsman found Lucien. They await you in the throne room."
"Thank you. Would you please tell Grisha to meet me there?"
"Of course, my king."
Smiling, Nazar made his way downstairs to the expansive throne room. Lucien was staring at the triad of thrones, biting his lower lip hard.
"A fine job, Huntsman," Nazar said. "You are excused."
The Huntsman bowed deeply, trying to catch Lucien's eye, but the boy just turned away. Nazar waited a moment for Grisha to arrive and then spoke.
"I suppose the Huntsman told you what happened?"
"Yes."
"Then you are aware of the choice before you."
"Yes."
"Lucien? You're fortunate I am giving you this choice to begin with; I will not stand here for the entire afternoon while you make it."
Lisette stared at her father, nails digging into her palms. "My apologies. I must simply think it through."
He laughed. "What is there to debate? You either swear your loyalty to me and keep your position as my son or you become the whipping boy for my next child. You'll sleep in the bondservants' quarters and do hard work every day. You've been assigned no tasks in your entire life. I doubt you would enjoy it."
I am no one's son, Lisette thought. "Be that as it may," she said. "I would far sooner work than claim any loyalty to you."
"If that is the way you would have it," Nazar said, "there is a third option. Grisha? His hair."
Lisette yelped when Grisha grabbed her arm, a knife in his other hand. "Hold still," he hissed.
She did so, terrified that if she tried to run or struggle, the knife would cut into her head rather than just slice off her hair.
Just, she thought, trying not to cry as she watched the long, dark hair she'd grown cascade to the floor in ragged clumps. She remembered how thrilled she'd been when her mother and Father Thibault had given her permission to grow her hair long, to wear dresses if she so wished. She had learned through asking the handservants that such things were generally allowed among their class, but amongst royalty... it was always a hazy matter. "They have a son," she remembered one of the kitchen workers saying. "Why would they want a daughter instead?"
Father Nazar had argued against it, saying that such 'weaknesses of identity' were more suited for servants and peasants than someone of royal blood. But Mother Thekla and Father Thibault had understood and had overruled Father Nazar. They let her grow her hair, and two days after Lisette had spoken to them of her feelings, her handservant had dressed her in a newly-made pale green gown.
Now the knife grew ever closer to her skull, scraping her skin bare, and Lisette closed her eyes and tried very hard not to tremble. Finally, her father gave a satisfied nod.
"Take him away."
*~*~*
Nazar watched Grisha take hold of the child's arm. He expected Lucien to kick and yell and fight, but instead he turned and walked out of the room with the torturer.
Pity. He might have made a fine heir, once he got past all that 'I'm actually a girl' ridiculousness. The fact that Thibault and Thekla had been standing in his way didn't mean he meant Lucien ill, but he clearly wasn't bright enough to understand that. Now Nazar needed to go elsewhere for answers.
Which was for the best, he could see that now. However much he needed an heir, keeping Lucien for the duty would have been a mistake. Thekla had been a fair-haired, fair-skinned woman. He himself had hair so blond it was almost white; Lucien's brown eyes and skin, and black hair had marked him as Thibault's son from the moment of his birth. And Thekla had refused to share a bed with him for months upon months now; the whelp she'd been carrying had been another one of Thibault's.
He'd wanted to have a child of his own before he acted against his violent, tr
eacherous husband, but that had not come to pass. None of the servants he'd brought to his bed had produced, which made him wonder if there wasn't some conspiracy afoot against him. The peasants reproduced like flies; it was hard to believe that palace women would find conception such a rare thing.
He walked to his quarters and picked his former wife's head up off the bedside table.
It was a pity, Nazar thought, that Thekla had grown so cold toward him. He had loved her dearly once.
With one hand carelessly fisted in her hair, he walked to the ornate Mirror and gingerly removed it from the wall, laying it down on the bed. Nazar pressed the bloody stump of her neck to the cool glass.
Instantly the surface changed, swirling dark colors as all of the blood drained from Thekla's neck. Finally, the Mirror released her, and Nazar tossed her withered head aside.
A face smiled at him from in the Mirror. Nazar smiled back, and asked his question.
"An heir?"
"The answer you seek lies with the headmistress of the servants."
The king frowned. "What?" Sidonie was a hard worker, had never made any trouble and had stayed well out of the way during his takeover, but she was past her childbearing years. How could she be of aid?
But though Nazar might silently have concerns, he knew better than to state them outright to the Mirror. The last time he'd verbally doubted his old friend, it had taken the blood of four bondservants to get him to come out again.
"Yes. She harbors what you need."
The face disappeared into the colors, and Nazar sighed. He supposed he couldn't have expected a very long conversation, not with what little lifeblood he had brought this time.
He quickly made his way to the headmistress's quarters, stopping at the door and pressing an ear against it.
Where there should've been silence, he heard voices.
"Did I or did I not tell you that he would leave?"
"I know. I'm sorry."
An aggrieved sigh. "And I suppose you want me to help you raise the brat."
"As soon as the child's born I can work again. I'll speak to Ermolai once I'm fit and able to earn a room. Until then, let me stay with you? Please."
The king grinned and pulled open the door. Both women in the room took a step back, and while normally the display of subservience would've pleased him, right now the only thing he could see was how heavily pregnant the younger one was. His grin grew wider.
"Sidonie," he said pleasantly. "Who is your guest?"
"My daughter."
"Hm." He looked her over. Her hair was pulled back tightly―too tight to be pretty; he would ask one of the handservants to fix that―and her clothing was plain, all draping robes and pale fabric. She'd been living as a villager, out past the Wall. "What's your name?"
"Emeline," she murmured.
"And the father? Who is he?"
"I don't know."
He smiled. "You're a poor liar, Emeline. I simply want to know if he's going to create trouble for me."
"He doesn't know of the child," she admitted. "If he ever found out, I doubt he would be sober enough to care."
"And what does he look like? Is his skin dark or fair?"
"Fair," she whispered, looking confused. "Blond hair, blue eyes."
His own coloration, Nazar thought triumphantly. "I must congratulate you, Sidonie. She's precisely what I'm looking for."
Sidonie beamed. She had worried for a time, after her daughter had left the castle, that she would be doomed to a life of poverty and hardship. But now the king himself had taken interest. Before, the most she'd dared hope was that Emeline would take her place as headmistress someday, if she could learn to ignore her damnably soft heart.
Then her smile dimmed as she realized that Emeline might be pregnant with a girl. The new king wouldn't settle for that.
Less than two weeks before the coup, she had stayed up half the night with Yeva, who had been Nazar's mistress for almost a year. But she had not become pregnant, and Nazar had dismissed her, giving her a slap when she had tried to convince him to let her stay.
Nazar had every right, of course, which she'd explained to Yeva, but that didn't make the dismissal―and her dashed hopes of rising to queen―any easier to bear. She had given her a day off from duties to recover from the blow and had covered the girl's work herself. It was not something she did often, but once in a while circumstances called for it. Yeva was rightfully heartbroken.
It was the hope of every servant and peasant to one day be chosen by a loyalist or even a royal.
But having seen that none of the serving girls had yet to get pregnant by him―even though some had grown heavy with child far after their time with Nazar was done―Sidonie had come to the reluctant conclusion that the fault somehow lay with him.
It made her feel blasphemous to even think such an insulting thing, and she would die before she said it out loud, but neither did that mean she wanted Emeline to face the same heartache, to get her hopes up and then shattered.
"Emeline's a fine daughter. Well-suited to the life she has now," she said, straining to make her tone conversational. "Doesn't aspire to more. She's quite a humble girl, really."
"Why, Sidonie, are you saying you wouldn't approve of my taking interest?"
Sidonie bowed, knowing that she had to tread so very carefully now. If she couched this in terms of concern for her daughter... "My deepest apologies, my king, if that was how it came across. I simply believe you could do so much better."
Her throat nearly closed around the words, but she forced them out. It made her feel ill, to have to work between her child and the man the Goddesses wanted her to serve. She should be entirely willing to hand Emeline to him if he so chose, but she wasn't. Knowing that she would fast for three days in penance for this, she waited for his reply.
"It is true, I could. I'm certain you don't want anyone showing interest in your girl if that interest isn't permanent. You need not worry. Emeline? Come with me."
"She will be your bride, then?" Sidonie asked. Nazar laughed.
"That depends on whether she bears me a son or a daughter. A daughter is good enough for a hold on the throne, but of course I'd prefer a son. Once I have that, she'll get the title of queen." Disappointment flashed across Sidonie's face, and he grinned. "You didn't become headmistress without doing the proper work, now did you?"
"No, my king."
*~*~*
The king looked down the table at the gathered loyalists, waiting for silence before he began speaking. It didn't take long for them to settle down, which made his heart swell with pride.
The last time his husband had given his yearly edicts, there had been absolutely no talking at all. There was a fine line between being a good, firm king and being a tyrant. Thibault had crossed that line early into their rule, and most had been terrified to anger him.
So far, the loyalists held enough respect for Nazar that they grew silent when he wished it but weren't frightened into utter silence at the sight of him.
"My first edict," he said, "is that there will be no war against Village-by-the-Sea."
Almost everyone at the large table smiled or breathed sighs of relief.
"If I may speak," one of the loyalists said, getting to his feet, "I would like to thank you. My son is a soldier, and no one he knew was looking forward to an engagement with that kingdom's sorcerers."
"Sorcerers or no," King Nazar said, "war with them is unnecessary. We can easily keep them as an ally. My husband's greed would have been the death of far too many of us." Thibault had scoffed at the soldiers' fears, saying that their Goddesses were far stronger than any rumored magic Village-by-the-Sea could possess.
Which was true, yes. But it would have been a horrendous battle for little gain.
"My second edict," he continued, "is that the merchants will no longer have to pay an entrance fee to come to the castle market. My third edict is that the Arena will be expanded to hold up to two thousand more people; the expansion is a
lready planned out and construction will start day after tomorrow. Now, I'm sure you're wondering if I'm going to raise your taxes in order to pay for both of these things. That will not be necessary. My fourth edict is that people from outside the castle gates will be welcome to attend the deathfights and other fights for a fee."
Another loyalist got to his feet, and King Nazar nodded to him. "Yes?"
"They will have a separate section, correct?"
"Of course."
The loyalist smiled and sat back down, and King Nazar continued.
"My final edict is that there will now be five deathfights a year, not simply two. As a corollary, legal betting will now be allowed on them." He smiled. "With a portion of the winnings going back into the castle, naturally."
The loyalists descended into a flurry of conversation, grinning and whispering excitedly to each other like children. King Nazar gave them a benevolent smile.
His rule would be perfect.
Chapter Two
"Time to go, Prince."
Lisette rubbed a hand over her now-bare head and looked up at Grisha, who was smirking at her through the bars. Raising her chin, she got to her feet and walked out of the cell at a measured pace.
She almost made it to the Arena before she started shaking.
Because she could keep her chin high all she wanted, but she wasn't royalty anymore. She was as low as the bondservants now. Her finery had been burned, leaving her with only a white slip of a dress that scratched against her skin. No shoes. She first felt the cold stone under her feet and then the dirt of the Arena. She'd heard tales of how much blood had been spilled here. Hers would be next.
That knowledge didn't help her stop shaking.
She walked out into the Arena, and for a few seconds considered just throwing herself into the enormous fire in the middle of the circle. They wanted the entertainment of a fight; that would certainly change things.
However, a few steps toward the roaring fire told her that there was no chance of getting close enough to throw herself in. The heat and smoke nearly brought tears to her eyes as it was.
Winterbourne's Daughter Page 2