Seirsha of Errinton

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “Ten years,” the wizard answers.

  I gasp at the words. Ten years? With the heart trouble Father’s having, he could die as soon as the agreement is made.

  “I accept.”

  The decision is finalized, and a terrible chill rushes through the little room. I can’t imagine the temperature in Father’s chambers. A shriek rises with the unnatural cold, its bellow certainly not of this earth. I clutch my head in my hands, trying to block out the sound.

  I can just hear Father yell out over the noise. Zander hollers as well, and then there’s a crash. I clench my eyes tight, glad I’m not in the room with them. Black clouds block my vision, and I fall against the table.

  ***

  I peek my eyes open. I think I fainted. The candle has gone out, and the room is cloaked in darkness. The stillness is suffocating. Panic rises in my throat, just as it did in the mine, but this time Rigel isn’t here to calm me.

  The quiet is eerie. No one speaks from Father’s chambers.

  What’s happened?

  Something crawls over my knee under my skirts—something small. I jump from the chair, slapping at my leg. I silently flail, and now it feels as if they’re all over me.

  I can’t stay in here any longer.

  There’s been no sound from the room for who knows how long. What if the pact killed Father? And where is Zander and Rovert?

  With my skin prickling, I rush for the small door and blindly feel for the handle. In my search, I walk into a stringy something. The web sticks to my face, covering my eyes and plastering itself to my skin.

  I scream.

  It’s only a short burst, half a heartbeat or less, but it was loud. I swat the web away with my hands.

  Still, there’s no sound from the room.

  My fingertips brush against the door. Finally, I find the handle, and I push the door slowly. Even if they’re in the room, at first I’ll be hidden in the entry.

  It doesn’t matter, anyway. No one is alerted to my presence.

  I crane my neck around the door and shut it behind me. Cautiously, I peer into Father’s chambers. The room is dim; the only light comes from the dying fire in the hearth. Perhaps it’s later than I thought and Father’s already gone to bed.

  I’m about to leave, hoping Rigel has taken care of the guards, when I see Father’s prone form on the chamber floor by his desk.

  “No,” I breathe, and without thought, I rush to him.

  I kneel next to him, ignoring Zander and Rovert, who have fallen not far from him. I hesitate, and my hand hovers over Father’s throat. After several heartbeats, I press my fingers to his neck. There is a pulse—it’s weak—but it’s there.

  He stirs, and I glance at the door. Should I leave before he wakes? What if he’s too ill to rise? Finally, I make a decision I know I may regret.

  “Father?”

  He cringes and then opens his eyes. Disoriented, he looks around the room and then at me. “Seirsha? What’s happened?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  He sits up, clutching his head in his hands as if he’s in pain. I gasp and stumble back when his face is no longer hidden in shadows. Deep lines edge his eyes, and his hair is mostly gray.

  “What have you done?” I whisper.

  Father narrows his eyes at me, ready to question my presence, but then he’s distracted by his hand. The skin is thin and a little wrinkled.

  He moves his fingers, bending them at the knuckles. “He said it would take it off the end of my life, not the middle.”

  I look away. “Who did? What’s happened to you?”

  His sharp eyes look at me, really seeing me for the first time since he woke up. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…I felt something was wrong. I came to check on you.” The words sound pathetic in my own ears, but there is truth to them.

  He looks as if he’s going to question me more, but then his face softens. “You should be asleep. What time is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Father struggles to rise, and I wrap my arm around him, trying to give him support. He bats my hand away.

  “Stop being so stubborn,” I snap at him. “Do you want to spend the rest of the night on the floor?”

  He raises an eyebrow, indignant, but then relents. With my help, he’s able to pull himself to his feet.

  “Go to bed.” He waves me away. Almost to his bedchamber door, he turns back. “The guards let you in?”

  “I don’t know where they are.”

  I immediately regret the words after I say them. His face twists in anger, and I fear I may have sent the men to their deaths.

  Father strides across the chamber. He doesn’t move as quickly as he would have this morning, but there’s still power in his steps. I follow him. As we enter the entry, I realize the tapestry is not fully pulled back. The door is partially visible. I suck in a breath, hoping he won’t notice.

  He walks past it, too consumed with his thoughts to pay it any mind. Behind him, I bite my lip and tug the fabric. Just as it slips in place, Father hollers, irate.

  The guards are slouched over, seemingly asleep. They stir at Father’s outburst, realizing they are on the floor in the presence of the king. They groggily jump to their feet.

  “Were they like this when you came through?” Father demands.

  I open my mouth, unsure how to answer. “I was worried…I’m not sure I would have noticed.” I scrunch my nose. “Probably?”

  He turns his attention back to them, but then a solution rushes to me. “They were unconscious as you were. What’s happened?”

  Father’s forehead creases. The guards watch our exchange with nervous eyes. Hopefully Father won’t notice that they look half-drugged.

  Father glances down the hall, looking wary. His attention moves to one of the guards. “Walk Seirsha to her chambers and then return immediately.” He turns to me. “Where is Dryal?”

  Good question.

  “I’m here, Your Majesty,” Dryal says from the recess across from us.

  I jump. I didn’t see him standing there—not that I was looking.

  Father is as startled as I am, but he composes himself. “Good.” His voice is stern from the shock. “You will escort the princess back. And do not let her wander the halls at night again, do you understand?”

  Dryal dips his head in acknowledgment.

  Without bidding me goodnight, Father shuts the chamber doors. Relief washes over me so quickly, I think I might be ill.

  Dryal nods down the hall. “Time to go back, Princess.”

  I nod and lead the way.

  “Where is Rigel?” I whisper, not looking back. We turn the corner, and I almost run into a dark figure.

  Rigel grasps my shoulders, steadying me. “Right here.”

  I laugh low, startled to see him and giddy we didn’t get caught. The elation leaves me as I remember the horror that took place in Father’s chambers.

  Rigel doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “Dryal, we will meet you back in Seirsha’s chambers.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  I wait for Dryal to turn down another passage before I let myself step into Rigel’s arms.

  He runs his eyes over me as if checking to see if I am in one piece. “Are you all right?”

  “I was almost eaten alive by spiders.”

  He raises an eyebrow. I try to smile, but then I shudder.

  His hands are in my hair. The sensation is soothing, and I now realize how tired I am. I lean against him and rest my cheek on his shoulder.

  “What has he traded away?” Rigel asks.

  “Ten years of his life.”

  Rigel stiffens. “Ten years?”

  I nod. “The wizard wanted five years of mine.” My eyes burn, remembering. “He refused.”

  Rigel’s hands drop from my hair, and he wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight. I know we shouldn’t stay here in the hall like this. We’re bound to be caught.

  “I am sorry,” he
says. “But I am glad it was his life and not yours.”

  I murmur my agreement.

  “It’s very late.”

  I step away, but before we continue down the hall, I stop him. “Are you sure it was wise to trust Dryal?”

  “No, but sometimes we have no choice. He didn’t have to take you to see Bea. He didn’t have to let us see each other.”

  My heart hurts when he says Bea’s name, and I only nod.

  “Enough for tonight,” Rigel says, squeezing my hand. “We’ll discuss more in the morning.”

  “If we even see each other in the morning.”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  ***

  I’m not surprised to see Argus outside my door, but Dryal doesn’t seem impressed with his presence.

  “Father wants me to join him for the morning meal in his quarters?” I ask.

  Instead of the usual smug look he wears when I am in trouble, Argus looks bored. “That’s what I said.”

  “Wait here.” I shut the door on him.

  I drum my fingers against my robes, dreading the visit. With little enthusiasm, I change into a gown and brush my hair. After I tuck my ring in my bodice, I step into the hall. Argus is gone.

  “Ready?” Dryal asks.

  I nod.

  “You had best tell me your story in case I’m questioned,” Dryal says.

  We speak quietly as we walk, and by the time we reach Father’s quarters, Dryal has been informed of everything he should need to know. Father’s guards are conspicuously missing, and their absence immediately sets me on edge. What has he done with them?

  Dryal leans against the opposite wall, crossing his arms. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  I set my hand on his arm. “Thank you—”

  The doors open, and Zander stands on the other side. “Oh, Seirsha, you’re here.”

  I look past him and see Father’s eyes narrowed at me and Dryal. I pull my hand back, but Father already wears a smug smile. The look irritates me. I step away from my guard and enter the chambers.

  Breakfast has been set at the table by the window, and Father motions me to sit. I’ve never been invited to join him. Is this a new form of interrogation?

  “I am glad to see you are getting on well with your new guard.”

  I grit my teeth, wanting to correct him—wanting to tell him it’s still Rigel I love—but I think better of it. Let Father believe what he will. It’s safer this way.

  He motions to the meal, prompting me to eat. I study him. He doesn’t look as haggard as he did last night, but he has certainly aged. It’s disconcerting.

  “I have found the key to defeating the dragons,” Father says.

  I look up from the platter of food. Why is he telling me?

  “We will be indestructible,” he continues.

  “We?”

  Father rests his hands on the table. “Breaking your ties with Rigel and that family in the village has been good for you, Seirsha. I was too indulgent on that point. I should never have allowed your friendship with that maid.”

  My stomach ties itself in knots, but on the outside I am still.

  He meets my eyes. “A month ago you wished me dead. But last night…”

  I shake my head. “I never wished you dead.”

  He nods as if he’s accepting my words as truth. “I forget you are a girl, Seirsha—weaker than a male by nature. Perhaps I haven’t raised you in the way I should have.”

  “You almost died last night, and now you are regretting decisions you have made in your life.” I place my hands in my lap.

  He gives me a wry smile. “Something like that.”

  I pull apart a scone, unable to eat more than a few bites.

  Father leans forward. “I am naming you as my heir.”

  I blink. “But I am a girl.” Unable to keep the anger out of my voice, I finish, “And I am weak.”

  “That’s true.” He nods. “And you have much to learn.”

  I bite my tongue, knowing it’s wiser to stay silent. We eat, but our conversation is stilted.

  I’m relieved when he finally excuses me. Dryal leans against the wall, looking bored, but he straightens as I leave.

  “Are you all right?” he asks quietly.

  I glance at him. “Father is naming me as his heir.”

  The words are absurd. It will never come to pass.

  I expect Dryal to laugh at the idea, but instead his eyebrows knit. “He told you?”

  “I know. It’s ridiculous.”

  We reach my chambers. Instead of staying outside like he always does, he steps in and shuts the door behind him. “Your father will never make you heir with Rigel alive.”

  The conviction in his voice startles me.

  “But as far as he knows, I haven’t even seen him,” I say.

  Dryal gives me a chastising look. “You don’t really think your father is that blind, do you?”

  I remember all the things Father has known that he shouldn’t.

  “If there is any chance you’ll marry Rigel,” Dryal says. “Your father won’t name you as his heir.”

  I place my hands on my hips, irritated. “I don’t want to be his heir.”

  Dryal shakes his head, crossing the distance between us with two quick steps. “Seirsha, he’s going to kill Rigel.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “How can’t you see it?”

  Irritated, I say, “And how do you propose I save him?”

  Dryal waits for a beat. “Marry someone else.”

  The knight crosses his arms and watches me. Disconcerted, I turn from him and wander to the window. He knows something I don’t.

  A thought has been nagging at me since I saw the look in Father’s eyes before the morning meal. Still looking away, I say, “Tell me about your family.”

  Dryal clears his throat. “I was orphaned as a child, Your Highness.”

  “Do you carry a title?”

  “A minor lordship.”

  Dread settles in my stomach, twisting and churning. “You’re working for Father as a spy.”

  “I was, yes.”

  I turn back at his abrupt—and startlingly honest—answer.

  “He promised me to you in return for information!” I hiss.

  His slight hesitation is all it takes to confirm my suspicions.

  “Get out!”

  The guilty look drops from his face, and now he’s irritated. “Surely I’m not that terrible of an option.” He takes a step forward, a small smile playing on his lips. He motions to himself. “You could do worse, you know.”

  Yes, he’s handsome. Strong and tall, blond-haired and blue-eyed—I’m sure most of the kitchen-maids have swooned over him at some point. It’s why Father chose him.

  “I love Rigel.”

  Dryal takes another step forward. “Then keep him safe. Be with me. You’re the threat to him, Seirsha. If you choose Rigel, your Father loses—and he will retaliate.”

  He’s close now. I shove against his chest, but it’s like pressing against a stone wall.

  “You’re a traitor,” I say. “Rigel trusted you. I trusted you.”

  “I want what’s best for Errinton. I truly mean that.”

  He looks hurt, and for a moment I’m sorry for my words. He has been kind to me, and I don’t resent his presence as much as I did at first.

  “Go.” I motion to the door, my heart weary of the intrigue.

  Seeing me softening, the knight gives me a crooked smile. “I could kiss you and see if you change your mind.”

  I shove him, hard this time. “Out!”

  He shrugs, that irritating smile still on his face.

  “You can’t blame a man for trying,” he says as he turns and strides across the room. Just before the door, he glances over his shoulder and grins. “It would be worth it to try.”

  I shriek at him in anger, grab the first thing I see—a vase—and then heave it at him. The door quickly shuts behind him, and the porc
elain shatters against the wood and falls to the floor.

  “I’ll send for a maid to clean that up,” Dryal calls from the hall.

  ***

  “We’ll watch Dryal,” Pippa says, keeping her voice low. “Don’t give him any more information.”

  He already has too much.

  I nod, grateful Pippa’s here. She’s become a good friend.

  “Should I tell Rigel what Father has planned for Dryal?” I move a piece on the board between us.

  “Do you want Rigel to murder him?”

  “No…yes.” I wrinkle my nose. “Oh, probably not.”

  She laughs. “It’s best to tell him, but wait for the right time.”

  “Exactly when would that be?”

  She shrugs. “I have no idea.”

  I breathe out a groan but decide to ignore the situation for now.

  Pippa moves a game piece and glances at me. She frowns and then moves it to a different square.

  She and Archer have been keeping low, trying not to stir up any more of Father’s ire. Archer has yet to be punished, but with what happened to Bea, we know it may only be a matter of time.

  I move my piece forward. “I heard there was an uprising in Lorgan.”

  Pippa stares at the game. “And in Obergard, Wyer, and Thernrow.”

  I glance up. “You don’t suppose Kendal led the last do you?”

  “The king had his wife put to death. What do you think?”

  My stomach clenches, as it always does, at the mention of Bea, and my heart mourns for her husband. It’s difficult, but I push the thoughts away. I swore I would be happy.

  Idly, I toy with the chain at my neck. Pippa finally moves her piece, but she keeps her fingers on the tiny figure until she’s sure it’s safely placed. With a satisfied flick of her wrist, she removes her hand.

  I shake my head, move my own piece, and seize hers.

  She lets out a disgusted noise. “I just knew it was safe there.”

  I smile. “You haven’t played this much, have you?”

  Part of me—a larger part than I may like—is elated I can best Pippa at something. She’s too headstrong for games of strategy. She acts and then thinks. Thank goodness she’ll never lead an army into battle.

  “I’ve played Archer a few times.” She smirks. “He usually wins, but he’s not difficult to distract when I want to.”