by Jody Hedlund
The scent of a campfire hovered in the air, signaling the presence of others in the area, and yet the wooded trail kept us hidden. Old fir and hemlock mixed with seedlings of the new growth among the large boulders and crags, shielding us as we rested by day and providing security for our travels by night.
“A year ago, the land was well populated.” Something had happened during the time I’d been gone from Warwick. And whatever it was didn’t bode well.
At a nearby woman’s scream, I reined in my mount. Mikkel’s horse shied next to me, and Gregor already had his sword drawn. We waited unmoving, all of us, attempting to decipher the meaning of the scream.
Raucous laughter drifted into the air followed by more screaming.
“Someone is in trouble.” I shifted my mount toward the sound.
Mikkel held out a gloved hand. “I shall ride ahead and scout the situation.”
“Should we not stay together?” I whispered with a glance around at the dark shadows of the woodland. “Surely we are safer that way?”
Mikkel hesitated and exchanged a glance with Gregor. “Very well, but you and Gregor must remain out of sight.”
I nudged my horse forward, already veering in the direction of the laughter. Mikkel pushed ahead of me, taking the lead, and Gregor formed the rear, silent but seeming to see everything.
The light of flames guided us to a camp. As we reached the outskirts, we could see a group of men with long, unkempt hair and scraggly beards terrorizing what appeared to be a family. One of them had pinned a woman’s arms behind her back and had a knife against her throat. Two others were holding a man between them and another was beating him. Several young children ducked behind a cart and watched, their eyes rounded with fear.
Without waiting for Mikkel or Gregor, I charged forward, my bow fitted with an arrow. I let it fly toward the man threatening the woman, then readied another and aimed it at the other perpetrator. He howled as the arrow pierced into his shoulder.
Mikkel broke into the camp ahead of me, wielding his spear in one hand and knife in the other. Within seconds, the men fell to the ground, unconscious or too debilitated to fight back.
He jumped off his horse and dropped onto the largest of the men, spear thrust against his chest. “Who are you and what are you doing?”
The burly man beneath Mikkel’s boots released a snarl of laughter. “I thought everyone knew who we were.”
I remained on the edge of the camp, out of the full light of the campfire, but Gregor had wasted no time in dismounting and beginning the process of disarming and binding the bedraggled men who, upon closer examination, had yellowed, emaciated skin, hollowed eyes, and gray broken teeth.
They looked as though they’d been sorely abused themselves. But by whom and for what reason?
The woman, now free, had hurried to her children and now huddled with them behind the cart, drawing them into her arms and comforting them.
The husband cradled his stomach, likely sustaining cracked ribs if not a broken arm.
Mikkel shifted his glance to me, as though reassuring himself I was safe. In that instant, his prisoner managed to slip a knife from his belt and raised it toward Mikkel’s leg.
“On your left!” I shouted, my pulse spurting.
Mikkel jabbed the spear into the man’s arm with a force that thrust it to the ground and pinned it in place. The man cried out and released his hold on the knife.
Digging his spear deeper into the man’s flesh, Mikkel glared down at him. “Tell me who you are and what your business is here assaulting this family.”
“We’re slaves,” he ground out, “set free from the mine pits by Prince Vilmar.”
Mikkel grew deathly still. “Prince Vilmar?”
My racing heartbeat came to an abrupt halt.
During the past long days of traveling, Mikkel hadn’t mentioned contacting Vilmar. As a man of honor, Mikkel probably had no wish to interfere with his brother’s training in any way.
“Prince Vilmar is from Scania,” the slave said, even as he grimaced from pain.
“Yes, I know where Prince Vilmar is from,” Mikkel said irritably. “Why did he set the slaves free from the mine pits?”
These were former slaves? I assessed the leader and then the other men, whom Gregor had now bound. From their skeletal condition and sallow skin, I had no doubt they’d been imprisoned. But the one time I’d gone with my mother and her priests for the prayer ceremony at the mine pits, the slaves hadn’t been this depraved. Though I’d been appalled to learn many slaves lost limbs due to accidents and rat bites, I’d also been struck by how normal most of them looked, like ordinary people, not common criminals. Not like these men.
When I’d questioned one of the priests, he’d explained the slaves were made up of criminals convicted of lesser offenses. The worst prisoners—the most violent and vilest—were condemned to the dungeons and eventually put to death.
Perhaps over the year I’d been gone, the queen had grown more desperate for slaves to labor in her mine and decided to send even the worst the criminals there too. If so, at least one of them would likely have lost a limb. And as far as I could tell, their arms and legs were intact.
“Tell me what you know of Prince Vilmar.” Mikkel shifted the spear blade to a new spot on his prisoner’s arm.
“He’s wanted by the queen,” the prisoner cried out, “for leading a revolt at the mine pits.”
Mikkel glared down at the man.
I studied the prisoners again. Something wasn’t right. “You cannot trust what these criminals tell you.”
“I’m telling the truth! The queen has put a bounty on Prince Vilmar’s head. He’s wanted dead or alive.”
The peasant man who’d gone to his wife and children now stepped forward. “We don’t know what be truth anymore.”
“I give you leave to speak of what you’ve heard.” Mikkel gave the peasant man a cursory glance but kept his focus on his prisoner as Gregor began to bind him.
“No one knows why the prince was workin’ as a slave in the mine,” the peasant said. “But he released the prisoners and came to Kensington on Midsummer’s Eve.”
“He captured Grendel,” the woman said, awe tinting her voice.
A tremor ran up my spine at the very thought that the monster was gone along with the yearly sacrifice of the fairest maiden. “Truly?”
The woman nodded eagerly. “The prince locked Grendel in a cage and sent him away from Warwick.”
“To Scania?” Mikkel asked.
“Aye. Under heavy guard.”
I whispered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. I didn’t know how or why Vilmar had accomplished so great a feat, but already I liked him. After the years of terror Grendel had unleashed in Warwick, Vilmar should have become a national hero. Not a man wanted dead or alive.
As though coming to the same conclusion, Mikkel’s brows came together in a deep scowl. “Why would the queen punish Prince Vilmar for eliminating this monster?”
The prisoner snorted. “I already told you. He released the slaves from the mine pits.”
The peasant man wrapped an arm around his children. “And now the criminals be runnin’ through the land plunderin’ and destroyin’.”
“We lost our home already.” The woman clung to her husband, her expression desperate. “And these men would take the little we have left.”
Mikkel stood rigidly. “Has the queen not sent her knights to restore order?”
“We haven’t seen nary a one since Midsummer’s Eve.”
That was at least six weeks ago, if my calculations were correct.
Mikkel’s eyes teemed with questions, likely the same questions I had, ones I couldn’t begin to answer.
“Did Prince Vilmar return to the mine pits?” Mikkel asked.
“No one knows where he is.” The prisoner released a sneering laugh. “If we did, we sure wouldn’t tell you and let you collect the reward.”
Mikkel studied the prisoner a moment. “Tell m
e, why would Prince Vilmar risk his life to save this land from Grendel’s ravages only to free criminals to roam around and ravage in the monster’s stead?”
The firelight reflected off the prisoner’s face, revealing a smirk.
“You were not in the mine pits.” I wanted to move into the firelight but forced myself to remain where I was. “Were you?”
“Aye, of course we were.”
“Then tell me how you left Slave Town.” There was one way in and out of the mine pits—a suspension bridge made of ropes and wooden slats. It hung over a deep ravine and was frightening to cross. It had swayed the entire time I was on it, and I’d feared at any moment I might fall to my death.
The prisoner hesitated. “I can’t tell you now, can I? Or more prisoners would end up revolting.”
“You cannot tell me because you have never been there.” I shifted in my saddle, wishing I could get down and wrest the truth from him.
“I’ve been there. I swear it.”
I locked gazes with Mikkel. “He is lying.”
“What shall I do to elicit the truth from him? Skin him alive?”
Mikkel would never do such a thing, but I played along with him. “Yes, but scalp him first.”
“Very well, my lady. Your wish is my command.” He unsheathed his knife and stalked toward the prisoner now tied to one of the trees. Mikkel’s blade was longer and sharper than most, and it glinted in the firelight. Upon reaching the prisoner, Mikkel grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair at his temple and then pressed the knife to the spot.
The prisoner screamed—more from fear than pain, for Mikkel had drawn only a scant amount of blood. “You’re right. We weren’t in the mine pits. We were in the dungeons beneath the palace.”
Mikkel withdrew his knife a fraction. “Who released you and why?”
“The queen’s guards. They told us we were free and to do what we would, but that we had to tell people we’d escaped from the mine pits.”
Mikkel pulled his knife away, then thrust the man’s head back as though disgusted with him.
I was more disgusted with my mother than with these criminals. She’d set them free? And for what reason? Did the reason even matter? Was there any excuse for giving such dangerous criminals license to do what they would? And why would she want to cause Vilmar distress, especially after he’d put an end to the dreaded ritual that had cast a pall over Warwick for so many years?
Mikkel mounted his horse and gave instructions for the family regarding the criminals. When we were on our way, Mikkel rode silently. I sensed his tempestuous mood and so remained quiet as well, letting my thoughts gallop far ahead. What was my mother thinking?
The truth was, I’d never been able to understand her. Especially not her plot to have me murdered.
Shortly after I turned eighteen, she had planned a hunting trip with courtiers and friends. Only two weeks before the Choosing Ball, I’d assumed it was one last gift to me, that she suspected as well as I did that there was every real chance I’d be sacrificed to Grendel. I hadn’t been overly frightened by the prospect, had decided if someone must die, then I would give my life. I only regretted having to leave Ruby behind.
I’d started the hunting trip determined to make the most of my favorite pastime. Little had I known the queen had arranged for one of the royal huntsmen to coerce me away from the others with tales of a beautiful white buck. I went with him, only to have him creep up behind me and start squeezing my neck.
Thankfully, another of the huntsmen had been suspicious and followed us. He knocked out his companion from behind, warned me of the queen’s scheming, and told me to run away and not come back. I was indebted to that lone huntsman for looking out for me and prayed he had escaped the queen’s wrath when she learned I hadn’t died after all.
I had to accept the truth no matter how much it hurt. She’d never loved me. Not even when I’d been a little girl. I’d always fallen short of earning her favor and attention. Mostly she’d used me like an object on display, having Ruby and me trail her in our glorious gowns and brilliant jewels as an extension of her glamour.
However, in the last few years, I’d consistently drawn the attention away from her rather than to her. But was jealousy enough to lead to murder? Especially of one’s daughter?
“Why does your mother want to kill my brother?” Mikkel’s voice broke through my reverie. Accusation dripped from every word.
My attention snapped to him. Though the darkness of the woodland shrouded him, I could sense the rigidness of his posture.
Did he think I was connected with my mother’s scheming against Vilmar? Or that I was in some way to blame? My ire flared to life as rapidly as dry windfall catching a flyaway spark. “And why do you think I would know such information? Have you forgotten that my mother wants to kill me too?”
I kicked my mount into a trot, moving ahead of Mikkel. Now that we were so close to Kensington, I knew the forests well. I’d hunted this land oft enough over the years with my father. I had many good memories of my adventures with him, which only served to heighten my sorrow.
“She is angry with Vilmar for capturing Grendel,” Mikkel stated, his voice still hard. “Therefore, I conclude she had need of the madman in some way. You must tell me what it is.”
Had the queen needed Grendel? I’d always believed her resistance to capturing the monster had to do with her unwillingness to put my father at risk. But she could have assigned her toughest warriors to the task, could she not? Why hadn’t she?
“Speak the truth, Pearl. I must know everything.”
“And I have told you everything.”
“Vilmar has discovered her secret for needing Grendel,” Mikkel continued, “and she seeks his death so he won’t tell anyone else.”
“’Tis possible.” Mikkel’s observations were astute as usual. That he could so quickly analyze information and draw conclusions never failed to amaze me. And now curiosity replaced my irritation.
“You must tell me her secret,” Mikkel insisted.
“I have no knowledge of a secret.”
“Does this have something to do with her obsession with the white stone and alchemy?”
“I cannot see how.”
“You must have some inkling.”
“I have been honest with you about everything.” Once the words were out, guilt slapped me hard across my face. I hadn’t been honest with him about my appearance.
He didn’t contradict my statement, but his ensuing silence indicated that he was thinking of my veil too. Perhaps he was justified in his mistrust. Perhaps we both still needed to learn to trust each other.
Should I remove my veil and tell him the truth about myself at this very moment? I reached for the strings that held the covering in place. If I showed him my face, would he treat me like all the other men I’d known? Seeing only my beauty and focusing on that to the exclusion of everything else?
He was the first man who valued me as a friend, accepted my ideas, and listened to my opinions.
I let my hand drop back to the reins. I loved the camaraderie we’d developed, especially over the past fortnight of traveling, and I didn’t want that to change. Not yet. Once we had Ruby, I’d tell him the truth then.
For now, what would it hurt to keep the veil in place a little longer?
“If Vilmar has made an enemy of the queen,” Mikkel said, “will she consider me a foe as well?”
“’Tis quite likely she will regard you with ill will.”
Mikkel muttered something about Vilmar being foolish. “Let us pray she will not reject my request for Ruby on account of Vilmar.”
My heart stumbled a beat at the thought of Mikkel seeking an audience with the queen. “You cannot go before her now that your brother is her enemy.”
“I’m willing to take the risk for Ruby’s sake.”
I shook my head even though the darkness concealed the motion. “No. If the queen realizes you have any connection either to me or Vilmar, she will mos
t definitely hold you as her prisoner.”
“I’m not planning to tell her you are my wife. Only that you have sought refuge in Scania and that you request sanctuary for Ruby as well.”
“Even if you say nothing about our union, she will hold you for ransom on account of Vilmar.”
“In exchange for Ruby, I will offer her the one thing she has longed for that my father denied her. The chance to forge an alliance with Scania once I become king.”
I paused. Would the queen accept such an offer? “’Tis no secret she wishes to gain the friendship of other nations so that when she attempts to reclaim Mercia, no one will protest or come to Mercia’s aid.”
“She also knows that an alliance with Scania can provide valuable resources she may need during times of war, especially ships.”
The queen had talked of reuniting Mercia and Warwick for many years but lacked the resources to do so. Mikkel’s offer of Scania’s friendship and the prospect of gaining well-crafted vessels would entice her. But would it be enough?
The plodding hooves of our horses filled the air around us along with the soft trill of crickets. I released a tense breath. No matter what we chose to do, the way would be fraught with peril. “I believe the wisest course of action is to remain steadfast with what I have planned all along, and that is to sneak into the castle, kidnap Ruby, and steal her away before anyone can report it.”
“If any kidnapping is to be done, Gregor and I shall be the ones to do it, not you.”
“I know the castle better than anyone—”
“I shall attempt to negotiate for Ruby’s release first, and if that fails, Gregor and I will steal her away.” From the stubborn ring of his tone and after what had happened in Fife, I knew Mikkel intended to sacrifice his own safety and well-being once more. But this time, I couldn’t let him.
Whether he liked it or not, I would be the one going in to do the rescuing. Hopefully, by the time he realized my plans, I’d already be in and out of the castle with Ruby in tow.
Chapter