Last Petal on the Rose and Other Stories Page 3

  Which was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a cheerful "Hello!" from across the courtyard. Looking to the side, he saw Marek, one of the gardeners, busy trimming up a hedge.

  "Good evening," Mariska said, when Janos didn't say anything, just blinked as he felt his throat close up with fright. "My, you gardeners work late."

  "Best to get it done out of the sun's heat, Mistress," he said with a bow. "Sorry to interrupt."

  "That's quite all right," she said. "Janos here is just keeping me company during my insomnia. I can never sleep the night before I tour the villages. It's always so wonderful to see the people and how they're getting along."

  "And I'm sure they're always glad to see you, Mistress. Our Valeria used to do the same thing, you know. Tour the villages. I do want you to be careful, though; she likely never would've caught the Rat's Disease had she not ventured too close to some poor ill citizen. Visit all you like, but keep a safe distance."

  "I will."

  "Grateful to hear it, Mistress. Have a good night," Marek said, and then he turned and got back to his work.

  Janos and Mariska walked around one of the winding hedges out of the man's sight, and Janos finally felt his breathing start to even out again. "Sorry," he gasped. "Not...not good under pressure, I suppose." Hadn't he always suspected as much?

  "That's quite all right," Mariska said. "It's over and done with." She reached the narrow entrance out to the main yards, and hesitated. "When they realize that I've gone, that gardener will tell the King that he saw us."

  "Don't fret about it," he told her. "I'll just say that we went for a walk, you headed back up to your quarters, and I didn't see you after that."

  "What were you just saying about your skill under pressure?"

  "I'll be fine," he said firmly. "If they even realize I had something to do with this, father will roar and stomp around and threaten me, then he'll act like I don't exist for at least a month's time, and then things'll go back to normal. That's how it's always played out whenever I've proved myself a disappointment."

  "You're far from a disappointment," she said, giving him the first fully genuine smile he'd ever seen from her. "You know, back in Pristaria, I was in love with the palace chef. She was stunning, and so absurdly talented for someone so young. I'm sure she's long wed by now, and hopefully happy. But I—well, there's no sense in not finding out, is there?"

  "None," he said, and then he took her hand, intending to lead her to the covered spot in the barricade. To his surprise, before they left the shelter of the gardens, she pulled him into a tight hug.

  Glancing around again for any sign of the guards, he ran to the spot in the wall that had been marked on the map, and that he'd investigated a time or two before when he'd been a child. Grabbing a fistful of the thick, yellow-leafed vines, he pulled them to the side enough to allow her a small gap through.

  She nodded in thanks and gave him a quick grin, and then she was gone.

  Janos let the vines fall back into place and scurried back to the Royal Courtyard, sitting down next to one of the hedges and waiting until the snipping sound of Marek's hedge-trimmers finally stopped and he heard the gardener's footsteps heading back for the castle. Then he went back inside himself, hurriedly changing out of his outdoor clothes once he was back in his room.

  On impulse, he went to the window instead of climbing straight into bed. Guards wandered along the base of the First Castle, some leaning against the walls, some talking to each other. On the third story, a candle was lit in one of the windows, and a figure stood beside it.

  He was leaning out the window slightly, looking down at the guards, and Janos wondered if he was trying to decide whether a jump from that height would kill him. Then the man looked up, straight at him, and Janos felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he ducked out of sight.

  What are you doing? he scolded himself a moment later, once the jolt of adrenaline had worn off. It isn't as if he can do anything from all the way over there.

  But then, what was he supposed to do if he moved back into sight? Wave?

  In the end, Janos just crawled into bed, his mind overcome with flashes of dark, battered skin and strong arms and the smell of leatherleaf soap.

  *~*~*

  It was late that night before the King realized that Mariska was truly missing. He asked one of the other carriage drivers if he knew when his coworker intended to come back from the tour, and the driver had said he knew nothing about a village tour today.

  The King went first to the stables, and saw that all of their horses were accounted for; none had been harnessed to carriages to lead Mariska away.

  After that, he checked her favorite places in the castle: both libraries, the Royal Courtyard, and the seamstress's quarters, believing he may have misheard her about the carriage ride. Perhaps she was here, he thought, and was leaving on her tour tomorrow.

  When the search didn't reveal her, then the questions started.

  Janos sat in the throne room along with his brothers and watched the questioning go on with the same puzzled, curious expression that the twins wore, right up until the moment when Marek assured the King that he had seen Mariska out in the Royal Courtyard with Janos very late the previous night.

  "Janos," the King said, turning on him slowly. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

  "I didn't think it mattered," Janos said, hoping that his face was the picture of innocent confusion. "Neither of us could sleep, we went for a walk, and then she went back upstairs. I thought nothing of it."

  "And I wouldn't think anything of it either," the King growled, "if you hadn't been courting someone."

  "Wha...what?" Janos stuttered, and now he didn't have to fake the confusion on his face. "No, I—"

  "You've been gathering roses. Squirreling gifts away. Every time I catch sight of you lately you're staring out some window or other with an addled look on your face, and now I find out you've been taking midnight walks with my mistress?"

  "That isn't what happened!"

  "Then you'd best have a believable explanation."

  What could he say? Janos wondered frantically. He couldn't explain what he'd actually been up to—not only would they block off his passageway to the First Castle, but they'd probably punish the prisoner for not letting the guards who brought him his food and water know that someone else had been inside. Saying that, yes, he and Mariska had been having an affair still wouldn't answer the question of where she had gone.

  It had been nearly a full day since he'd led her to the barricade, Janos thought. It was four hours' walk to the ocean, and that was if she hadn't rented a carriage the moment she'd gotten to the closest town. Even considering possible delays, there was almost no chance that she wasn't already on a ship heading home.

  He'd done something. No, it hadn't been a valiant act in battle like what he'd once imagined, but he had done something.

  "She's gone," he said simply. "You can't lay a hand on her again."

  The King's face darkened with anger. "My quarters. Now," he ground out, and Janos followed. He knew he should be terrified, but he couldn't seem to call up any emotion other than a quiet satisfaction. His brothers followed behind him, asking questions that it didn't sound like they honestly expected answers to and muttering about how much trouble he was in.

  The King slammed the door behind them all, pacing from his bed to the window. Janos remembered the last time he'd been inside here, Mariska lying on the bed, half-hidden under the covers.

  "What has ever led you to believe," King Lorand finally snapped, "that the relationship between me and my mistress is any of your business?"

  "You hit her."

  "And you cannot tell me you've never been tempted to do the same! She spoke disrespectfully and was punished for it." Janos said nothing in reply, just watched him pace, and the King finally stopped in front of him. "Well? Apologize, boy, if you want any hope of getting out of this unharmed yourself."

  "Father," Ambrus said.
"Don't hurt him. He was just—"

  "He was trying to help," Abel finished. "A foolish decision, yes, but he—"

  "I did not ask either of you!" the King roared, his gaze remaining on his youngest son. "Apologize."

  Feeling like he had sunk so far down into quicksand that there was no point in trying to pull himself out, Janos tilted his chin up. "I will not."

  "How did you get out?"

  "I'm not going to—"

  "How?" Lorand screamed, and Janos flinched back.

  "In the...in the wall. Close to the Royal courtyards. There's an old passage hidden behind the vines."

  The King's hands clenched into fists, and then he looked around the room as if searching for something to throw. Instead, his gaze landed on the papers about the western lands that Janos had returned to him three days ago, and a smile crept across his face.

  "Well," he said. "Maybe I should give you a chance to talk with an expert about everything you've learned. Guards!" he yelled, as he grabbed Janos's arm and dragged him out into the hall. Abel and Ambrus followed, protesting, but the King didn't even spare them a glance as the guards surrounded them.

  "Prince Janos has committed treason," he said, snatching the crown from his son's head. "He is heretofore stripped of his title, and I order him to be imprisoned in the First Castle for two months. If he survives that, he will be allowed back into this home as a member of the serving staff."

  "Father," Janos murmured, as the dazed feeling of unreality and calm shifted and let panic edge its way through. "You can't..."

  "Should have apologized," King Lorand snarled, putting a hand on each of the twins' arms to hold them back as the guards dragged Janos away.

  *~*~*

  "I can pay you," Janos said, as the guards led him toward the First Castle. "You know how wealthy the King is. I have coins of my own hidden away; if you just let me go and say that I..."

  "That you what?" one of the guards asked, a cruel smile on his face. "Overpowered us?"

  "Something like that," Janos muttered.

  The guards undid the three locks on the wide front doors and threw them open, one of them pulling Janos inside while the other two flanked them, gazes alert and crossbows aimed into the darkness.

  "Brought a present for you!" the guard shouted, pushing Janos forward. He tripped on a loose board in the floor and hit his knees, instinctively staying there. If he tried to get up, he was afraid the guard would strike him down again. He and Zobor had never gotten along very well, but never had he imagined the man capable and willing of this kind of cruelty.

  Then he heard three sets of footsteps shuffling out of the room, and the door slammed shut behind them. Though he knew it was no use, his body reacted and he leapt to his feet and ran for the door, shoving at it and then slamming his fists into it. He heard Zobor laughing as they walked away, and vowed that if he did make it out of here, he was somehow going to see that man exiled.

  You have nothing to worry about, he told himself, though his heart was hammering. Yes, he may have confronted you and nearly broken your wrist the last time you were here and yes, nothing you found in those near-useless papers had any information on how to talk down someone who could easily be likened to a caged, dangerous animal, but that's no reason to panic.

  Then the sound of footsteps came from the landing above, and he panicked anyway.

  Janos fled toward the safety of his escape route, and then realized how futile that was. Yes, he'd been able to use that path to get in and out, but that was before he'd been sentenced to stay in this place. What was he supposed to do, wait in the garden shed for two months?

  But he did need to hide. Because if he let himself be discovered, be caught again, what was to stop the prisoner from forcing him to tell him how he could get out?

  Forcing, he thought, grimacing in self-deprecation as he headed up a smaller flight of stairs that led to the servants' old quarters. All he would have to do is give you a stern look and you'd be babbling everything you knew; wasn't that what you just did for father?

  Well, maybe he couldn't fight. But he could hide well. He'd heard the guards talking about bringing in meals, how the prisoner would wait for them to leave before coming anywhere close to the items they'd brought, after that first day when they'd beaten him to the ground for charging at the King and his associates. So he would emerge when it was safe, when the guards were there, snatch some food and water and retreat into hiding again.

  Or he could tell them, he thought. Tell the guards about the secret passageway, have it blocked up.

  No, he thought. He didn't think the man would actually hurt him—hadn't he let go of his wrist immediately?—but just in case he was wrong, he might need to make use of it himself.

  Most all of the doors to the rooms had been removed from their hinges, to be used in the new castle or broken down for firewood, depending on their condition. The servants' hallway was lined with room after room, all of them gaping open like hungry mouths. He chose one at random and poked around inside, evicting an inquisitive rat and three spiders before sitting down in the middle of the floor.

  Two months, he thought. He could survive that.

  *~*~*

  Janos had forgotten about the old piano up in the former Queen's rooms, and so when he heard it playing late on the fifth night, he almost jumped out of his skin.

  It wasn't a childlike banging on the keys, or the endless repetition of someone who knows only one brief song. It was an actual melody.

  How did their prisoner know how to play?

  Janos crept out of his current hiding place—he never slept in the same room twice—suddenly wanting, needing to see him again.

  To see him play, he amended quickly. Curiosity about that, nothing more.

  He was halfway up the stairs to the second landing before clarity came charging back into his mind, asking him what he was thinking, and he retreated back to his current quarters.

  The next night, he made it to the third landing.

  The night after that, to the hallway outside the Queen's old quarters. He slowly moved into the doorway, peering inside. The piano had always faced the back wall, and no matter how strong the prisoner was, Janos doubted he could move an entire piano by himself.

  Sure enough, the man's back was to him, and Janos leaned against the doorway, watching him. Something about the play of muscles under his skin as he moved his arms, the way his fingers slid over the keys, was utterly mesmerizing.

  Then he turned, looking up at him, and Janos ran, careening back down the stairs so fast that he was shocked that he didn't fall and break his neck.

  The next night, though he heard the piano, he didn't come out of hiding.

  *~*~*

  "Janos!"

  Janos nearly tripped in his haste to get to his feet. That had been his father's voice. It had been two weeks since he'd been locked away in here, and not once had his father or brothers come to visit him. He emerged from the room he'd slept in last night and hurried down the narrow servants' stairs.

  Maybe he'd decided to lessen the sentence. Or perhaps he'd realized how cruel he'd been and was getting him out of here altogether.

  But as he drew close enough to see the smile on the King's face, Janos was abruptly certain that wasn't the case.

  "Enjoying yourself?" King Lorand asked.

  "It gets a little drafty at night, but other than that I've no complaints," Janos said, trying to cover his sudden wariness with a blithe expression.

  "I bring news," the King said. "The ship Mariska was on was intercepted. This morning she was put to death." His smile widened as Janos blinked at him. "I'm sorry, son, did you want to say goodbye? If you like I can bring you her head."

  Janos strode forward, his small fists itching with the need to hit, and the King laughed. The guards on either side of him made no move to get between them and at that, Janos stopped. Even now, with rage and grief pouring through his body, he didn't pose any kind of threat, and everyone in this room knew
it.

  The King looked him over one last time and smirked, then turned his back on him and walked away. The guards stayed alert, peering into the corners of the room, their crossbows at the ready. Then the door closed again, leaving Janos standing in the middle of the floor.

  He walked away mechanically, one foot in front of the other, barely conscious of the movement. When he reached the stairs, he couldn't find the strength to climb them and so he turned and leaned against the wall instead, his knees giving out on him a brief moment later. His back scraped against the uneven stone, and he felt like he was going to cry, should cry, but the tears wouldn't come, everything was locked inside in one swirling mass of grief and self-hatred.

  She was dead. Beheaded. All because he'd assumed he had the perfect solution.

  They could have taken more time. He could have sent missives to her family back home, asking them to come up with some reason why she was desperately needed back in her Kingdom. Lorand needn't have had any idea that there was something wrong. She could have gone home and then refused to come back. Her family could have lied and said that she'd fallen ill and was too sick to return; it was doubtful the King would take the time to go across the seas to check on such a story for himself.

  But no. He'd charged right into something without thinking it through, and she had been the one to pay for it. All she'd wanted to do was go home, stop getting hurt.

  Janos closed his eyes, willing the tears to come, for something to happen. He felt like screaming but his lungs were too tight to work.

  She must've been terrified, going up to face the ax.

  *~*~*

  When he awoke, he was still slumped by the stairs to the servants' quarters. The wool blanket he'd brought out over a month ago was tucked around him.

  Janos ran both hands over the thick material. His mind was still crowded with the news that his father had given him, and he feared that this new complication might just push him over the edge completely, leave him crouching here for hours, battling between guilt and bemusement, self-recrimination and comfort.