Winterbourne's Daughter Page 13

  Emeline looked around, her eyes wild. Were she discovered down here, with no plausible reason for her presence―

  "With me," the doctor hissed. "Now!"

  Roz started to move forward as well, and Alain held up his hand. "I'm sorry."

  Emeline began to protest, but Roz simply gave her a brief nod, and then the doctor had hold of her hand and was dragging her into his workspace.

  "What about―"

  "There is no story they would believe were I to have both of you in here," Alain said, motioning to her to sit.

  Emeline took a seat next to the empty cot, breathing heavily. She tried to compose herself, tried to decide what she would say should guards come in. When her mother came in instead, she felt close to swallowing her tongue.

  "Emeline? What are you doing here?"

  "Stomach pain," the doctor said, as he prepared a small vial. "Mild, fortunately, but she felt it would be best to come down before it became serious. Drink this," he said, handing the vial to Emeline. "It should help."

  "Thank you," she said, downing the contents. Water.

  "She can come back upstairs, then?"

  "Yes, of course," the doctor said. "If the pain comes back, I may need to keep her here for observation, but―"

  "Thank you," Sidonie said. "That is all I needed to know."

  "What's wrong?" Emeline asked.

  "A traitor seems to have freed a prisoner from the dungeon. Roz has been recaptured, but―"

  "Roz?" Emeline asked, feeling an unexpected sharp thrill at her mother's mistake. "But you told me sie would only be lashed."

  "I don't tell you everything," Sidonie sniffed. "I knew you would simply overreact again, and I decided to spare myself the headache."

  Emeline looked to the floor, her face burning. "What will happen to sier now?"

  She sighed loudly. "Why did the Goddesses curse me with a simpleton? Roz tried to escape, Emeline. What do you think is going to happen? Come along, now. I'll walk you back to your room."

  *~*~*

  Though the sun had set hours ago, in the Arena it was bright as day―a multitude of lanterns glowed up in the audience, and the enormous fire in the middle of the circle emanated light and heat.

  "My dear loyalists!" the king said. "Tonight, I have a gift for you―a rematch between two fighters who have not battled each other in over a decade!"

  He paused, smiling as they clapped. Then he motioned to the display near the firepit, which held a variety of knives and swords and crossbows. "Choose."

  Roz strolled over to the weapon wall, and chose the tiniest dagger available. Several of the people up in the stands laughed, and the king turned to glare at them. "Silence!" he ordered.

  As the gates opened to allow the Champion into the Arena, Roz looked to the crowd. When sier gaze landed on Lisette, sie smiled faintly and nodded once, sier face lit by the glow of the central fire and more than a dozen lanterns.

  Lisette nodded back, trying not to cry as she gave a loyalist her fifth goblet of wine.

  "Whatever's the matter, dear?" the loyalist asked. "It should be quite fascinating to see this! The two of them are the best fighters the Arena has, after all. Pity this hasn't happened sooner!"

  Lisette moved away before she gave in to the desire to wrap her fingers around the loyalist's throat. Neglecting to go to the kitchens and fetch another tray of wine, she moved instead to the wall, looking down over the loyalists' heads and keeping her gaze on the figures in the Arena.

  Roz bowed to the loyalists and then marched to the weapons wall, dropped the tiny dagger sie'd picked up moments before, and drew down a one-hand sword.

  Lisette kept her eyes on the Champion, hoping that he would walk back to the fighters' quarters, that he would do what he had done for her and refuse to fight. Instead, after a moment, he walked forward and bowed.

  As was customary at the beginning of a fight, the two of them faced each other, long enough to tap their swords together. Had they been fighting with no weapons, they would've clasped hands.

  "Remember the last time we fought?" Roz said. "Pity it can't end that way again."

  Vasya managed a smile. The first fight he'd ever had in this Arena had been against Roz. At the time, sie had been undefeated.

  Before the fight had started, King Thibault had smirked down at him and given him his condolences; he had just gotten word that Ania had killed herself.

  Unable to charge at the king, unable to do anything useful, he had lashed out at Roz, giving sier the scar on sier face. Immediately ashamed, he had dropped his knife, but the damage had been done and the fight was clearly over. Two nights later, after the doctor had released sier, he had gone to sier quarters to apologize.

  The apology had led to a conversation, and the conversation had eventually led them to bed. It was the only time the two of them had lain together―neither had been capable of anything more than a brief liaison at that point―but they had remained close.

  Sie grinned at him now, and Vasya realized that sie truly didn't hold this against him. A deathfight between the two of them had been bound to happen sooner or later; either one of them had a fair chance at winning. And he realized then that though sie might well find the opportunity for a fatal blow, he couldn't call up any ill feeling towards sier, either.

  "Never had a problem with you," Roz said. "Hate having to kill you."

  "Roz... I can turn away. Just as I've done for her."

  "No. I doubt you would be allowed that luxury even one more time with Lisette, let alone with me. Better one of us than both."

  He nodded, and though he knew sie'd spoken the truth, knew that one of them would fall here, for an instant he was overwhelmed with the urge to drop the sword and turn away, let Nazar do what he would but not fight again, not tear into someone's flesh at a royal's bidding―

  But if it wasn't done, then both of them would face Grisha.

  The grin came back to sier face. This time he grinned back. Then the king shouted at them to begin.

  As they began to fight, Gennadi made his way to his seat, reaching out for Lisette's hand and giving it a brief squeeze as he passed by. She spared him a glance and then returned her gaze to the Arena.

  If she weren't so terrified for both of them, she would admire the skill on display. Instead, she winced every time a hard blow was struck.

  Then, after what seemed an eternity, Roz misstepped, and the Champion knocked the sword from sier hand.

  And Lisette was sure that she saw Roz's reflexive move, a start to the one that all of them had shown at one time or another during training, the one-hand-up to signal a knockout, before Vasya struck sier down. One instant sie was there―her Roz, who'd scrawl filthy rhymes in the dust and who still called her 'Princess'―and the next sie was gone, leaving only a limp body in ill-fitting clothes.

  Lisette screamed, and though her sound was drowned out by the overwhelming cheers from the loyalists, the Champion looked up at her. Then he threw down his sword and walked away.

  *~*~*

  Ilari poured a cup of the fighter's lifeblood onto the surface of the Mirror, smirking as the spirit within appeared. "Well," she said triumphantly. "Who is the most beloved now?"

  They would have turned on Emeline in droves, she knew, now that she had all but condemned one of their own to death.

  "Your mother."

  "You lie!" Ilari snapped.

  "I do no such thing. And I believe you know that."

  "But she turned in one of the fighters!"

  "And some loathe her for that, yes. Others are still grateful―the life of a family member is worth so much more than the death of a stranger, after all―and still others have done things themselves that they're not proud of in order to get by. They understand."

  "Well, they shouldn't! Of course everyone loves her, she smiles and looks beautiful and never speaks! They'll forget her the moment she's dead. Tell me, Mirror―who is the most feared?"

  "Nazar. Followed quite closely by Grisha. Sor
ry, Princess."

  And Ilari could have sworn that she saw a smile just before the face disappeared, half-tempting her to shatter the mirror into a thousand pieces.

  It was decided, then. She could not truly make a mark, not until her father was gone.

  But in that case, her mother would take the throne.

  Ilari hung the Mirror back up onto the wall and then started toward the dungeons. She had some thinking to do.

  *~*~*

  Lisette dropped down next to the freshly-turned earth, resting a hand on the small headstone. With the first heavy rainstorm, this stone would wash away and the crudely-written letters on it would be gone.

  "I'm so sorry," Lisette whispered. "I didn't know how to stop―I couldn't―" She gulped in a breath of air, and rubbed away the tears on her face. "You deserved so much more than that. I wish I―"

  She tried to continue, but finally just gave up and let herself cry. Once the tears were finished, she leaned back on her heels, turning her face to the night sky for a moment. Then she realized she was no longer alone. Glancing back to see Gennadi, she gave him a brief nod and then returned her attention to the new grave.

  "I'm sorry, Lisette. I wish you hadn't had to see that. There was no way for that fight to end well."

  "I hoped that sie had some kind of plan, some weapon or secret attack. But then I realized what that would mean and I..." She trailed off, the guilt crashing into her so hard that she nearly doubled over.

  "Hoping he'd survive wasn't the same thing as hoping sie would die," Gennadi told her.

  "Wasn't it?"

  "No. You wanted a miracle. I would have given it to you if I could've. I know he would have, too."

  Lisette knew the words were meant to be a reassurance but instead anger flared. She gulped in a breath of air. "Can... will you keep sier company? I have to go speak with him."

  *~*~*

  Normally when she went to his room at night, she entered softly, making sure the lantern was on in invitation before she crept in, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Tonight she didn't care. She stormed in, slammed the door behind her. "How could you?"

  He stood in the middle of the room, lantern on low, and she knew he had been waiting for her. "It was my job."

  "To the fires with your job!" she shouted. "You've neglected it before! Roz was―"

  For an instant he looked pained, and Lisette stalked closer. "You did know her name, didn't you? At least that, if nothing else? Sie knew more history about people like me than anyone else I've ever met; sie sent every king's copper sie earned to sier daughter. And sie adored Galya so much, even though sie'd only met her once."

  "My lady. Stop."

  "What? Don't want to learn about what you just did? You―"

  "I know what I did!" he roared. "What I do, what I am! How do you not know?"

  She took a step forward, not back, though her heart was hammering and suddenly all a part of her wanted to do was retreat. "Don't tell me that; don't tell me you had no choice! You saved me!"

  "And do you truly think I was being merciful? That you were even the first? Let me tell you about the one before you," he said, and he'd closed the distance between them, was so very near now, and too many things were clashing around in her mind and body all at once, making her shake. "A boy, not even entered his teenage years. My sister's child. King Thibault sent him against me when Ania was charged with treason. And of course I didn't hurt him. I walked away. And the king handed him over to Grisha."

  Her own father? She had known him to be stern, to have a streak of cruelty, but this― "You... listen, you don't..."

  "Thibault took me to see him after he was dead. His skin was..." He swallowed hard. She tried to take his hand, but he just pulled away, turned his back on her. "And then there was you. And because I couldn't do it, I walked away again. Knowing what Grisha would―" He sighed, sitting down on the end of the bed. "I'm not your rescuer, girl. Just an old coward."

  He fell silent, and in that silence her thoughts gathered themselves.

  Roz hadn't tried to beg, hadn't avoided picking up a weapon. Sie'd gone into sier last fight bravely.

  And Nazar had loved the notion of having his husband's daughter scrubbing the floors. He never would have wasted that opportunity in favor of Grisha's twisted experiments, and everyone had to have known it.

  "What of the second time you walked away from me?" she asked. "You knew the king would not have Grisha take my life. Knew he would flog you. And yet you―"

  "Do not make me something I'm―"

  "I'm not," she said, moving around in front of him. "You said you'd been flogged because of the king, not me. Roz―Roz lost sier life because of Nazar, not you." She took a knee, one hand flat on her heart, the position for a formal apology. "I spoke wrongly against you and I'm sorry."

  Vasya remained silent for a long moment, and then he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. She looked up, and her breath caught. His expression was kind, but there was something else there, too, and she wondered if perhaps the flame from the nearby lantern was suggesting heat that wasn't there, prayed that she wasn't playing tricks on herself―

  But before she could even try to figure it out, he was on his feet, reaching out to give her a hand up. "Get some rest, my lady."

  She nodded, but as she quietly closed the door behind her, she knew that sleep wasn't going to be possible tonight.

  Chapter Ten

  "Do not look so nervous, Emeline," Nazar said, smiling indulgently at her. "I promised you a reward, and I meant it. After all, if it weren't for you, that scheming traitor might never have been brought to justice."

  "Thank you. But I require no reward, my king."

  "Oh, you most certainly do. Which is why I'm sending you as a diplomatic envoy to Village-by-the-Sea. We're having quite a difficult time convincing the queen to send her daughter Jyotsana here to marry. Perhaps you and Grisha can help."

  "Grisha?" she whispered, wondering if the king had realized the truth behind her coincidental stomachache, if he knew that she had been paying attention during his conversation with the torturer. Because being sent anywhere with Grisha was no 'reward'; she had tried to convince him to dismiss the man time and again.

  "He does hail from there, after all. He can go over customs and traditions with you, so you don't embarrass us on the trip."

  "Of course," she said, giving him a short bow. "And the journey is quite safe? I have heard tale upon tale of bandits, and the road to Village-by-the-Sea does pass through the southern corner of Vedrana's Forest..."

  "No need to be nervous," the king assured her. "I'm also sending along the Huntsman."

  *~*~*

  Grisha smiled as one of his cats―a gray tom with a missing eye―meowed piteously at him. He crouched down to pet him, rewarded by an immediate purr. He'd discovered this one lying out in the smallest courtyard over a year ago, wounded and barely breathing. Though Grisha had been the one to nurse him back to health, once the cat had been well enough to move again, he'd scrambled away from Grisha, growling. Only within the past month had he finally grown to trust Grisha enough to let him come near.

  Given the extent and nature of the wounds, Grisha was certain a dog hadn't attacked the poor thing. No, it had been a person. And if he ever managed to discover who―

  The sound of footsteps clattering on the stairs distracted him, and the gray tom hissed and darted behind one of his tables. Grisha gave it a sympathetic look.

  "Your carriage is waiting, sir."

  He nodded to the Page in acknowledgment and smiled as the two bondservants accompanying the girl picked up his bags.

  The trip was to take six days, and that wasn't counting the two-day carriage ride there and back. All of that time spent with Emeline. Surely, once she had the benefit of more time in his presence, she would warm to him.

  It was a betrayal of the king, yes―but the king seemed not to know what he had. Grisha couldn't find it within himself to feel g
uilty, only vexed that none of his plotting had worked.

  His spirits sank almost immediately when he reached the carriage and opened it to see not only Emeline inside, but the Huntsman. He turned to the king, who had accompanied them outside to see them off. "My king," he murmured. "You made no mention of the Huntsman."

  "I didn't think I needed to," King Nazar said blithely. "After all, it would be unconscionable to send the two of you off with no security."

  "Very true, sir," Grisha said through gritted teeth. He climbed into the carriage, relieved that at least the Huntsman had taken the seat opposite from Emeline, so that he was free to sit beside her. She gave him a tight smile, and he gave her a genuine one in return. By the time they came back, she would see sense.

  "Safe journey," the king said to their coachman, giving the two armorharts that pulled the carriage affectionate pats on the nose before he waved them off.

  *~*~*

  Gennadi knew it wasn't his place to do so―he had only spoken to the Royal Mistress once, in rather awkward circumstances―but he wished he could reach over and give her a hug. And if he were a friend rather than an acquaintance, he might do so. She hadn't spoken a word since they'd gotten into the carriage three hours ago, and Grisha had barely taken his eyes off her the entire time. Gennadi had tried to strike up a conversation with Grisha to distract him, but he just answered while still staring at Emeline as though mesmerized.

  He could understand Grisha's fascination―Emeline was lovely―but she was also clearly uncomfortable with the constant attention. She stared out the window to avoid Grisha's gaze, and then suddenly her expression changed.

  "I lived here," she said quietly.

  Gennadi leaned slightly closer to look out the window as well, surprised to see the small village of Innokenty. "When did you live here?" he asked. "Your mother has been in the service of the crown for decades."

  "I left when I was a girl," she said. "Returned within less than a year."

  There was a story behind those brief words, Gennadi knew, but he was certain she wouldn't get into it here. She simply watched out the window with plain longing on her face, watching the men and women in their pale robes and head coverings work in their gardens or lean out windows to speak with their neighbors.