Winterbourne's Daughter Page 3

  She stopped and looked up at her once-father, who was beaming down at her from his throne. The two thrones beside him were empty. "Any last words?" he asked, clearly trying not to laugh.

  Lisette wanted to snarl at him, wanted to tell him he was a murderer and was sure to be a poor excuse for a king, but her throat had grown tight and she was most certainly not going to give that horrible man the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  "All right, then," Nazar said. He directed his gaze to the other end of the Arena. "Bring in the new fighter."

  Lisette froze, praying that she'd heard wrong. Her mother and fathers had spoken of the Arena's latest acquisition, as had several loyalists, though they immediately stopped if they realized she was within earshot. He was a traitor to the crowns, she'd heard, a vicious and brutal man. He had never lost a fight.

  That record was unlikely to be broken now.

  She turned and began to not-so-idly wonder about her chances of scrambling straight up the Arena wall. Had Nazar truly needed to call out this giant? The sword he was carrying looked to be taller than she was.

  "I knew you would appreciate this opportunity," Nazar said, smiling down at the man. "You clearly had no use for my husband's rule, after all. Strike down his remaining child and I'll not only grant you your freedom, I'll make you a loyalist."

  The fighter said nothing, and Nazar returned his attention to her.

  "Choose your weapon, Lucien."

  Why? Lisette thought despairingly. So this man could knock it out of her hand in half a second and then send her to join her family?

  "No," she said, and at that word her voice came back, and with it the knowledge of what her mother would've wanted. Nazar had taken her dresses and her title and soon he would see her life taken as well, but she was still the daughter of a king and a queen. She would not face her end sniffling and weeping. "If you wish me dead, then you can see it happen in the same way you cut down my mother and father―while they were defenseless!"

  She whirled on the fighter and to her immediate rage saw a faint smile on his face. He thought to laugh at her, then? "And you!" she snapped. "I sincerely hope you break that sword cutting me in half." She crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "On with it, then."

  He regarded her for a moment, no longer smiling, and for an instant Lisette wanted to just curl up on the ground and sob.

  Only a moment more, she told herself, gritting her teeth. It isn't as if this is going to take long.

  And then the man set his sword on the ground and turned his back on her.

  The loyalists, who had been talking excitedly a moment before, now raised their voices in shock. Nazar's voice carried above them, shouting at the fighter to pick up the sword and finish it. He didn't move.

  Then the tone of the loyalists' voices changed from surprise to amusement, and Lisette even heard several people laughing.

  "I am a merciful king!" Nazar roared. "So long as I am obeyed! You will never earn your freedom," he snapped, pointing at the fighter. "You will serve this Arena for the rest of your life. And you will be flogged for this treachery."

  Then laughter and cheers overtook his voice completely, and Grisha had hold of her hand.

  "No!" Lisette protested, digging her heels into the dirt. She hadn't survived this only to be tortured to death.

  "Hush, boy," he said. "You're to go to the bondservants' quarters."

  "How did―Nazar hasn't―"

  "It's what your father will want, once he's come to his senses. The loyalists see the two of you as somewhat entertaining pets now," he said, glancing back at the man in the Arena. "No one likes it when a pet dies. So you'll be a bondservant." He stopped, looked down at her. "Either that or you come back to the dungeon. I'll dispose of your body, and no one will be the wiser."

  "I..." She tried to force her voice to come out as something other than a squeak. "I would rather the bondservant choice, please."

  "Hm. Your mother was kind to me," he finally said. "For that, you have your wish."

  Several moments later he pushed her into the bondservants' quarters, and she stared around in shock and disgust.

  Bondservants were of a lower rank than handservants; they weren't allowed to leave the castle grounds and they ate at the very end of every meal, after everyone else had taken their share. Still, she had always pictured their quarters were something like those the handservants had―nothing luxurious, but comfortable. This was a large room with an odd, awful smell to it, pallets of what looked like rotting hay on the floor for them to sleep on, and one large washbasin for everyone to rinse their hands and hair.

  Some of the bondservants looked at her curiously; most just slept on or continued getting dressed for their late shifts. Two of the bondservants were arguing, their voices low. Grisha motioned her toward one of the hay pallets.

  As soon as he was gone, Lisette moved closer to the two who were fighting. She recognized one of them; sier name was Roz. Sie divided sier time between caring for the armorharts and fighting in the Arena.

  "What's done is done," the bondservant said.

  "And you should have stayed out of it! There was no―" Then Roz realized how close Lisette had gotten, and looked at her. "Princess."

  Lisette nodded in acknowledgment. "What is wrong?" she asked, before remembering that whatever the answer was, she no longer had power to do anything about it.

  "It is nothing, Princess," the younger one said. "Simply a reassignment."

  "To where?"

  "The Arena."

  Lisette frowned. Roz was tall, the muscles in sier arms clearly defined. The bondservant was softer, sturdy but not well-muscled, and her face and arms were unscarred. Unless she was a very fast learner... "Your crime?"

  "It was no crime," Roz snapped, and then sie kneeled. "My apologies, Princess. My daughter is not meant for such a place."

  "We tried to protect your mother, once we realized what was happening," the bondservant said quietly, as Roz regained sier feet. "My involvement was discovered. And I was lucky, actually," she said, looking pointedly at Roz. "Three other bondservants were killed."

  "Which is precisely why you should have retreated!" Roz said. "You should have come to me, to the other fighters―"

  "There was no time."

  "I know," Roz admitted. Sie took a deep breath and then turned to Lisette. "I am so sorry no one was able to help her. If there's anything I can do for you, Princess, let me know."

  "Me as well," Roz's daughter said, holding out her hand. "I'm Soraya."

  "Thank you," Lisette said, feeling overwhelmed. Her fathers had said time and again that any kindness shown to them was because of their rank; now that hers was gone, she'd assumed that everyone would grow cold. "Thank you so much. And I do remember you, Roz. You've taken lovely care of my armorhart." Not hers anymore, she thought, biting her lip.

  "Thank you, Princess," Roz said, gathering the last of sier daughter's things. "Dinner is already over for tonight. But Loyalist Yelena will bring food in the morning after she visits the market."

  "I do not know a Loyalist Yelena," Lisette said, trying to remember all the names she'd heard during the royal banquets.

  "She was just promoted earlier today. She promised the bondservants a meal."

  Just promoted today? That meant she had supported Nazar's coup. She wouldn't take a scrap from her. She could live with being one of the last ones in the castle to eat, but she would not accept food from one of the people who'd put her into this position.

  That anger held out through Yelena's first visit, and her second. On her third visit, hunger overrode pride.

  *~*~*

  "If there's anything else you need, Mistress, feel free to summon me."

  Emeline could only imagine Lisette's desperate need to get out of that room. On the day of the Annual Snow Festival last year, her mother Thekla had been wearing this very dress, and Lisette herself would have been decked out in finery, ready to go play in the snow with the loyalists' children.


  When Emeline had spoken out of turn at her Introductory Dinner, the king had assigned the former princess as her temporary attendant, ordering Lisette to teach her all the customs she needed to know when she wasn't busy with her cleaning duties.

  "Thank you, Lisette."

  The girl looked up, coming very close to meeting her eyes at the sound of her chosen name. She looked down again immediately. Rattled from the near-miss, Lisette gave her a brief curtsy and left.

  It was tradition, on every Snow Festival day, for one bondservant to be released. If the king wouldn't have her lashed or worse for it, she would suggest Lisette's name.

  Emeline looked down at the dress Lisette and her other attendants had helped her put on this morning. Nazar had brought in a cape to go with it, one that had been passed from queen to queen for several generations. The pearl-colored fabric draped over her shoulders, and seabird feathers decorated the collar. Nazar had said that he was doing her a favor by allowing her to wear it when she was still only a Mistress, but wearing it didn't feel like a blessing. The tips of the feathers brushed against her chin, and it was a constant hassle to remind herself not to swat them away. She could only imagine what the repercussions would be if she destroyed part of this cape, especially in front of an audience.

  It had been a gift, decades ago now, from Village-by-the-Sea. Lisette had rattled off the name of the gifter, of the queen it had been given to, of the circumstances surrounding the ceremony, but half of the information had drifted right on through Emeline's mind.

  She wasn't meant for this.

  Emeline paced back and forth in her new room, wishing that she could enjoy the fine luxury of the tapestries and thick bedding and her own washbasin and bathing tub without feeling like she was about to be sick. She wondered if Lisette had ever felt this way, felt trapped. The girl was young, yes, but only about seven years her junior.

  She tightly gripped the stone sides of the window, staring at the snow-covered ground so far below, wondering if it would be an irredeemable sin or a great mercy to throw herself down. For what kind of life could her child have now?

  He would never have to grow up poor, she thought, glancing back at the beautiful room. Would never want for anything, would never go to bed hungry.

  But to be brought up as the son of that man...

  Many of her friends had supported Nazar wholeheartedly, had wished for him to be the sole king and had cheered when they'd learned he'd taken the throne. She hadn't. She had grown up in this castle, and she knew full well what type of man she'd just been married to.

  Sidonie told her friends the tales as though they were funny things, charming quirks. You should have seen Daciana's face as they took her to the dungeon, she'd said. That'll teach her to look one of our kings in the eye.

  People who had said an unkind word about Nazar and suddenly 'volunteered' for the deathfights...

  Nazar had gained support from many people out past the Wall, because he'd promised to tear that Wall down. Take down the barricade that separated the loyalists and the castle from the commoners and replace it with a Wall that protected everyone from Vedrana's Forest.

  All of her friends loved that idea, and Emeline couldn't blame them. She herself had lost her father to a monster from that dank, humid place. But while others in her village had seen Nazar as a savior, she'd come to realize he was no kinder than Thibault and probably had no intention of seeing through any of the ideas he'd spoken of.

  And now she was his mistress. He would be the father to her child.

  Emeline gasped in pain as her grip on the stone grew too tight, slicing open the side of her hand.

  She watched droplets of her blood fall to the ground, staining the snow, and closed her eyes.

  It was nonsense, she thought. Just an old children's story, and a gruesome one at that.

  Still. It was said that if a pregnant woman saw white snow mix with red blood, she could make whatever wish she chose for her unborn child, and the Goddesses would see that it came to pass.

  Emeline felt in her heart that she was carrying a son, but she prayed for it to be the truth anyway. A daughter would have every right to the throne, of course, but Nazar was woefully old-fashioned and he would only be satisfied once she bore a son. Perhaps if this child was a boy, he wouldn't expect her to lie with him, her duty completed.

  Let him be far different from his father, she prayed, both the true and the new one. Let him have an aversion to bloodshed, rather than a need for it.

  She drew her hand back inside, cradling it as she moved to the washbasin. Her heart feeling a little more at peace, she lowered her hand into the water and watched the clear liquid turn pale pink.

  One of her handservants rapped on the door, telling her it was time for the festival, and Emeline waddled to the door.

  "Would you please ask the doctor to fetch a bandage for my hand?" she asked. "Thank you."

  The handservant nodded and ran off, and Emeline waited.

  "What happened?" the doctor asked as soon as he arrived, gingerly wrapping the bandage around her hand.

  "Edge of a stone," she said. Then she smiled. "But there was enough blood to drip down. I got to make a prayer for my child."

  "That's wonderful."

  Then she descended the stairs and found King Nazar waiting for her. She took his hand with her uninjured one and smiled brilliantly as the doors opened for them.

  Despite her exhaustion and general nerves, it wasn't hard to smile today. The grass, which had been lush and green just yesterday, was now dusted with white. And the Goddess Tree...

  She wished that there was no ceremony, that she could just sit underneath the tree all day as she had once in a while as a child, whenever she'd been able to avoid Sidonie for long enough.

  The Goddess Tree had been standing for as long as her mother, grandmother, and her grandmother's mothers had been alive. Three lunar cava trees had grown together near the roots, twining up and around until their branches formed one enormous canopy. Over the decades, kings and queens had ordered wood and metal supports built to help hold up the flower-laden branches, making it possible for ceremonies such as this one to be held underneath them.

  "Greetings, loyalists," King Nazar said, smiling out across the crowd. He adjusted the fur-lined white cloak that was a match for hers and then continued on. "We gather here to give praise to the Three Sisters: Calene, Nobaris, and Miona. Without their fine influence, we would be nothing. It is said that it was Miona, the Goddess of the Heart, who first created this Day of Snow. The Goddesses of the Mind and Conscience had gone into battle, fighting against the Goddess of Lies, and left Miona to mind their home. But they did not return, and eventually all of Miona's warmth faded and the earth froze. But then Nobaris and Calene came back to their sister, wounded but alive, and the sun shone again. But Miona kept one day of snow every summer to remind us of how quickly things can change, to always be grateful for―"

  He stopped when Emeline squeezed his hand hard enough to elicit a yelp. "Emeline, what―" he snapped, and then he saw the pool of liquid spreading out from under the edges of her skirt.

  "Doctor!" Nazar shouted, as Emeline staggered back to lean against the trunk of the trees. "Everything is fine," he continued, as the doctor and three of the handservants helped Emeline get back into the castle. "My heir will be born on the Day of Snow. This is a particular blessing from the Goddesses, and one that hasn't happened in over three hundred years, since King Anselme's rule. Please join me in a prayer for the child's safe delivery."

  *~*~*

  The lifecord was wrapped around her daughter's neck.

  Emeline sat up as best she could, tears streaming down her face, watching as her attendants took care of the child. Her tiny face was blue, and for a long moment, Emeline knew the mistake she'd made. She knew that by giving prayers to a boy, to a child who didn't even exist, she'd doomed her little girl before she'd taken her first breath.

  Then the baby sucked in air and let out a furious
cry, and Emeline laughed, holding out her arms for her.

  Nazar bestowed a name upon her―Ilari―before she could fully catch her breath. Afterwards, she held her daughter close, gently kissing the top of her head.

  "She's perfect," Nazar said, holding out his arms for her. Emeline reluctantly held her little girl out, reassured somewhat when Nazar held her gently, staring down at her with honest affection.

  "She'll be a true royal," he whispered. "She'll get the best of education in all things, just as I did. Your mother will teach her how to deal with the servants, of course, and I'll bring in the very best of tutors."

  Emeline's heart grew cold. She had heard tales of some royal children being raised by nannies and tutors, but such things had gone out of style several decades ago.

  But then, she thought bitterly, Nazar was old-fashioned.

  "What of me?" she asked.

  He chuckled indulgently. "Come now, Emeline. You can't even read. What use could you be to her?"

  Chapter Three

  Gennadi couldn't believe he'd been nervous about moving to the big castle market. Since his mother and Donatien had been nervous, too, he'd downplayed any concern he'd felt, but as they'd ridden in past the Wall, within full sight of the castle and the loyalists' homes, he couldn't help but stare around in a panic.

  He'd reminded himself that he shouldn't feel intimidated. The loyalists were just people, after all. And today they were potential customers. But looking around, seeing the square teeming with the most people he'd ever seen, and comparing it to the tiny daily markets in his village…

  Then they'd settled into their booth and had gotten down to the familiar business of selling their fruits and vegetables and wares while Donatien waved and called loudly to the loyalists, trying to lure them in. Gennadi had calmed down within moments.

  Less than an hour later, Renaud wandered up to the booth, and Gennadi decided that he could very well get used to the castle market.

  He knew he should also be calling out to the passing loyalists, but they'd been doing quite well―his mother was completing a sale even now. She wouldn't mind if he spared a few more moments to talk.