Winterbourne's Daughter

by Stephanie Rabig

  "Where is she?"

  "She opened the wall," Ilari said. "But I do not know how. One of the bricks..." She shook her head. "I cannot―"

  Another guard was immediately at her side, helping her to her feet. "I'll get you back to your rooms, Princess."

  "Thank you."

  *~*~*

  "Cursed, cowardly, worthless ..." Sidonie muttered, shoving her way past the guards milling up and down the hall. Reaching Ilari's door, she opened it and hurried inside, pulling her granddaughter close. "I'm so sorry."

  Hadn't she raised Emeline correctly? Hadn't she told Emeline, ever since she was small, how important duty was? The need to be reliable, to follow orders precisely as they were given, to make her king proud? Hadn't she punished her swiftly whenever she strayed from that path, letting her know in no uncertain terms how serious she was?

  And yet what had happened? What had her daughter given her? She'd squandered her opportunity to be the most powerful woman in the entire kingdom, and now she'd committed the worst crime imaginable.

  When Emeline had been a little girl, Sidonie had dreamed of seeing her married to a lead guard one day, or even a loyalist. The Goddesses had opened up opportunities that she'd never thought to wish for. Everything should have been perfect.

  She swallowed hard. "I cannot imagine what she was thinking."

  "Neither can I. Oh, Grandmother, it was so horrible. I watched it all happen."

  "Shh," Sidonie said, stroking her hair. Poor thing.

  She had sent Emeline off years ago, telling her that she never wanted to look upon her face again. To her surprise, Emeline had taken her words seriously, heading out past the Wall with a mere kitchen boy. Though she'd tried not to show it―if Emeline had felt she could be so easily manipulated, there would've been no end to her games―she'd been thrilled when her daughter had returned.

  Now she couldn't help but wish she'd stayed out in one of the villages.

  *~*~*

  "Greetings, my friend," Ilari said, pressing her bloody palms to the Mirror's surface. "I would ask today how to not end up like my father." She knew several of the loyalists didn't approve of the idea of her ruling them now. They had no choice, of course―she would discover the traitors among them and take care of them all―but perhaps the Mirror could give her some hints about who was on her side and who wasn't.

  "Getting rid of your mother would be a good start."

  She sighed. "I tried that this morning. She realized something was off about the tea and fled." She chuckled at the thought of her easily-cowed mother wandering around Vedrana's Forest. "She'll be dead within a day." And serve her right for running. Emeline should have been strong enough to confront her outright. She'd had a plan for that as well, of course, but at least in that scenario her mother would've gained some slight respect from her before her death.

  "Do not be so sure."

  Her mouth twisted into a scowl. "She's safe, then?"

  "For the moment. However, I would suggest you make sure she doesn't remain so. Right now her death could easily be blamed on her surroundings."

  Ilari paused. She'd been about to remove her hand, break the connection with the Mirror, and forget about Emeline. Now she stared into the glass, curious. "And why should I take her life?"

  "Because should she return here, it will mark the end of your rule."

  "She plots treason?"

  "The woman plots nothing. She is a cowardly fool. But not all those she will befriend in that forest are as foolish as she. If she returns, your death will come with her."

  "Then she will not return," the new queen snarled, jerking her hands away from the Mirror, not bothering to wipe the blood away before she strode out into the hall, ordering the guards to bring Gennadi to her.

  The black-haired man bowed, eyes darting to the blood coating her hands. Good, Ilari thought. That fear would be a good thing to hold on to as he heard her next words.

  "You know that my father is dead."

  "Yes, my queen. I am quite sorry for your loss."

  "Never mind that now," she told him. "His killer is missing. She has taken refuge in Vedrana's Forest. I want you to track her down and kill her."

  Gennadi's head, which had been bowed subserviently, quickly raised. Ilari smiled. "A problem with my order, Huntsman?"

  "No, my queen."

  "Good," Ilari said. "Because if you refuse, or if you fail, I will send you directly to Grisha."

  "I will fulfill your orders."

  "Then go," she said, turning away. "You will leave for the forest at sunrise."

  "What proof should I bring you that the deed is done?"

  "Bring me her heart."

  *~*~*

  Lisette looked out the window at the sunset, her stomach tight with worry. Emeline had been somewhat trained in self-defense, but that didn't mean she was prepared for Vedrana's Forest.

  Sidonie's behavior had worsened, something Lisette hadn't even believed to be possible. Earlier today, she had sent three of the handservants out past the Wall over simple mistakes, ones that would have earned them only one or two lashes yesterday.

  Emeline wouldn't give the signal of placing a pearl into the chipped brick anymore. Wouldn't meet her on random mornings when Lisette delivered clean sheets to the doctor.

  Not until she returned, Lisette tried to tell herself as she rapped on Vasya's door, but the reassurance fell flat even in her own mind.

  She was gone.

  Vasya opened the door and wordlessly pulled her into his arms. She took a shuddering breath, trying her hardest not to cry. "She didn't do it," she whispered. "She would've died herself before striking out at anyone else."

  "A gentler soul I've never known," he agreed quietly.

  "Did you hear... did Gennadi tell you―"

  "Yes. He won't hurt her, Lisette."

  "I know. But he can't come back if he doesn't. I just..." She knew Gennadi's, Vasya's and her own positions were tenuous. If he came up against a stronger fighter; if she made a bad enough mistake that Sidonie sent her to Grisha; if Gennadi was sent on too dangerous a mission...

  But she'd never thought she would have to worry about Emeline.

  "I thought she was safe. I know how foolish that was now, but I... I didn't get to say goodbye."

  He didn't speak. He simply held her, and wished he could think of something to say to erase the grief from her face.

  *~*~*

  Ilari looked at herself in the mirror, beaming and spinning.

  A crown. She finally had her crown.

  She touched the elaborate metal circlet again, unable to stop smiling. She couldn't wait for Grisha to see this.

  Ilari wandered down to Grisha's rooms, fondly tracing a hand over the instruments he'd gotten so much use out of. The feelings he had for her mother were more than foolish, but at least now they meant nothing. Emeline would be dead before long.

  Giving her skirt one last twirl, she headed to the dungeon.

  *~*~*

  The prisoner screamed.

  Ilari jerked back at the sudden sound, and then she leaned forward again, smiling as she peered into the room.

  Grisha was wielding one of his favorite blades, a tiny, indescribably sharp thing. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, tracing intricate designs in blood on the prisoner's chest.

  The bleeding man screamed again, the sound ending on a sob, and she risked another small step forward, wanting to be closer to power this strong. To such creativity, such decisiveness.

  Closer to him.

  The blood flowed faster now; she knew it wouldn't be long before Grisha was finished with this one. She shouldn't have even stayed this long. She should be getting back to the safety of her rooms. But this time she couldn't resist the impulse to stay just a moment or two longer, to watch just a little bit more.

  She was queen now, after all. Who would tell her to leave?

  Another traced line of blood, this time down the inside of the man's arm, all the way to his wr
ist, and blood spattered on the floor like rapid rain.

  She took a step back, ordering herself to go, to turn away. She didn't.

  And then Grisha moved, quick as a striking snake, and the knife slashed across the man's throat. Ilari shuddered.

  It was done.

  Realizing her position, she retreated from the room, cursing the skirts her standing required her to wear as she rustled down the bleak hallway.

  "You don't have to go."

  Ilari froze, surprised that he'd realized she was there. Though part of her wanted to pretend she hadn't heard him, wanted to run, she recognized that part as silly and childish. Smoothing her dress out, she placed a serene smile on her face and went to join Grisha.

  "Did you enjoy that, little queen?"

  "Very much," she whispered and, on impulse, pulled him down for a kiss.

  At first he didn't respond, and she very nearly growled at him, but then his brief shock clearly faded and his arms tightened around her. Ilari smiled, opening her eyes just slightly and looking to the side, her gaze on the gaping wound in the dead man's throat as her hands roamed.

  "I would speak with you," Grisha said quietly, edging away.

  "About what?"

  "I would recommend you not send the Huntsman after your mother."

  "She is not my mother."

  He blinked at her, unsure how she could have fooled herself so completely. They had the same eyes, the same mouth, the same strength of heart. But an argument wouldn't serve his purpose right now. "Forgive me. But I would still recommend you not send him."

  "Why not? Are you afraid the citizens will revolt?" She huffed out a breath. "They hold no love for her. Not anymore, not now that she's killed our king."

  That wasn't entirely true, he thought. The loyalists taunted her, yes, but many of the citizens knew a former bondservant who had been pardoned by her, and Emeline held more loyalty than Ilari might expect. But again, bringing that up would only make her furious.

  "I know," he said instead. "But there are so many more... creative things that could be done. Perhaps you should order him to bring her back alive."

  She smiled up at him, and for a moment he thought he had succeeded. Then she traced a fingertip down the side of his cheek and spoke. "Oh, Grisha. I know you want to play. We'll find someone else for you to carve up, don't worry. And maybe this time I can help you."

  "That sounds wonderful," he said, forcing the words out. The Huntsman would leave at dawn; there were still four hours left. Ilari might yet change her mind. He pulled her against him, reassuring himself with the fact that she looked so much like her mother.

  *~*~*

  Emeline finally relented and finished the last few bites of the loaf of bread she'd taken from a windowsill. The bread was dry and stale now, the crust crunching unpleasantly between her teeth, but at least it was food.

  Now she had no choice. She'd have to try and figure out what in this place was safe to eat.

  The small house she'd taken the bread from hadn't had a convenient flask of water sitting next to it, but with trees growing so abundantly, she'd assumed there would be plenty of streams nearby, and she'd been right.

  She'd heard so many stories of this place that she'd expected someplace horrifying, with ghouls and demons waiting to grab her the instant she set foot inside. Instead, she'd just found trees and vines and dirt. So far the most unpleasant thing about Vedrana's Forest was how muggy it was.

  But then, she might just be discounting possible signs of danger because this place was so much safer than home right now.

  Then she heard footsteps and froze. She turned, unable to decide whether to shout as a warning or just try and run away, but before she could make a choice, a figure emerged from the trees. A man, traveling alone.

  Recognition hit her and she smiled. It was Gennadi! Emeline nearly laughed with relief, and then she remembered the position the man held and took note of the sword he carried.

  "Ilari sent you?" she asked.

  "Yes. She wants your heart."

  "Sounds suitably gruesome for her."

  The two watched each other for a moment, and then Emeline spoke again. "I know that my rank is gone, but I would still ask that you stand down."

  "No need," he told her. "I never would've―"

  Then a wild, terrifying cry rang through the trees, and Gennadi turned and caught sight of a chest-high shadow racing toward them through the brush.

  The shadow was a man. Tangled beard, feral eyes, carrying an ax.

  One of the Dwarves.

  Legends said that they were once human, a long time ago. The seven of them had been such vicious fighters, so terrifying, that the father of one of their victims had laid a curse on them, binding them to this forest. And here they'd been ever since, stalking and murdering.

  Now Emeline scrambled over to Gennadi, her back pressed against his.

  Despite all his training, there was a strong part of Gennadi that wanted to flee, run as he had all those years ago when he'd first caught sight of one of the Dwarves. Run until he found villages, fires, and safety. Instead he fought, half-turning in surprise when Emeline grabbed his arm and pulled him down. An ax thunked into a tree trunk only a few feet away, at the exact level of his neck, and Gennadi nodded once in reflexive thanks. Before he could fully recover from the near miss, another Dwarf grabbed hold of his arm, clamping some kind of metal bracelet on his wrist. The world faded.

  Suddenly, the Dwarves stopped fighting, disappearing into the trees as quickly as they'd erupted out of them.

  Emeline turned back, but there was no sign of Gennadi.

  "Don't worry," a raspy voice called. "We'll put him in a coffin fit for a king."

  Emeline screamed after them, shouting Gennadi's name. He didn't answer, and from the Dwarves there was only laughter.

  She should run.

  Instead, she thought of the way he'd smiled at her that night on the beach. Of how he had intervened when Grisha had tried to take her back to her room. Of the kindness that overcame him whenever he spoke of his mother and brother.

  "Hell and damnation," Emeline whispered. She crossed the leaf-strewn ground and picked up his fallen sword.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The scent of blood had grown too strong to ignore. Thus far she'd seen only animal carcasses strung up in the trees, but Emeline feared that might change at any moment. She had just tripped over a human skull half-hidden underneath the leaves littering the forest floor and nearly screamed at the discovery.

  Emeline crept through the trees, hoping to catch the Dwarves unawares and―

  And what? Fight them? Kill them?

  Peering through the trees, she found them waiting for her in a line, identical smiles on their faces. Behind them was a glass coffin. Inside lay Gennadi, far too still.

  It might be an illusion, she thought. Mist swirled inside the coffin, allowing a glimpse here and a glimpse there, and she was still several feet away.

  Emeline crept forward, fully expecting them to charge at her any second. When they didn't move, she stopped.

  "I... I am the Royal Mistress of Winterbourne," she said, her voice shaking as badly as her hands. "And I demand that you let him go."

  To her surprise, the Dwarves moved to make way for her, their heads bowed in what could almost be a respectful manner as she approached.

  She rested a hand over the glass, searching. She didn't see what she'd feared―blood and sightless eyes. The Huntsman's eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, as if in sleep. But she didn't see his chest rise and fall.

  "He's not breathing," she said.

  "Of course not," one of the Dwarves rasped. "He's frozen mid-breath. We have stolen many over the years. Kept them in that coffin for days, weeks, sometimes months, waiting for their companions to come rescue them. Until this day, no one has dared approach. As a reward, you may awaken him."

  Emeline turned back to Gennadi, wishing that Lisette or Vasya were with her now, so they could at
least shout a warning if one of them tried to stab her in the back. But she had been here for several moments now, and they hadn't descended on her. Which meant that she could either open this coffin or slink back into the woods.

  Fully expecting a blow, her shoulders so tense that they ached, she lifted the coffin lid.

  The lid itself evaporated into mist as she raised it, chilling her hands and momentarily stealing her breath. She started to lean closer, praying that the Dwarves had been telling the truth―

  And then Gennadi erupted into motion, and she very nearly caught a fist to the nose.

  Right. When the Dwarves had knocked him unconscious, they'd been in the middle of a battle.

  "It's all right! Gennadi! We're safe now."

  "No, we're not," he said, dazed eyes trying to focus on the line of Dwarves.

  "I ventured into their home for this," Emeline explained, helping Gennadi down from the coffin. "They said as a reward I could get you out."

  Immediately after her words, the Dwarves started to laugh, high-pitched and frightening, and the Huntsman's hands tightened briefly on her shoulders. Then she stepped back, giving Gennadi room to wield the sword she gave back to him.

  "Said you could wake him," one of the Dwarves said, his teeth elongating. "Never said you could leave."

  "Run," Gennadi ordered, and then he stepped forward and struck the first blow, opening a Dwarf's stomach. He spun and struck another one through the heart, but that still left five, and those five had circled him.

  He hoped Emeline would find her way free of the Dwarves' territory without too much trouble; that she'd find safety again outside of this forest. He tightened his grip on the sword, wondering how many he could take down before the others overpowered him.

  He ran forward with a yell to meet the two Dwarves who were charging him.

  The first one he felled, a slice to the leg almost taking the appendage off. The second one knocked into him, multi-bladed dagger pressing against his chest, drawing beads of blood. Gennadi tried to shove him off but couldn't; it was all he could do to keep the knife from punching all the way into him.