Winterbourne's Daughter Page 9

  "It's one thing to take on pain yourself; it's entirely another to know that someone else is taking that pain instead and that it's your fault," she'd said, watching Emeline's face carefully for her reaction. Some of her horror must have shown because Sidonie had muttered a curse and turned away.

  "I'll speak to him before the fight," Lisette said. "See if I can convince him to strike a blow or two. Perhaps that will prevent a lashing." She gave her a short curtsy. "I... I am sorry you went through that. Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

  "I will."

  "Goodnight, Emeline."

  "Goodnight."

  She waited until Lisette had disappeared around the curve into the hall, waited further still until she would have had time to reach the bondservants' quarters, and then she moved down the hall toward one of the candleries.

  Fright lending speed to her steps, she opened the small door at the very back of the candlery. She gingerly descended the steep steps to the ground level and then below, running down the underground tunnel until she got to the small set of steps leading upward into a supplies closet in the fighters' building.

  She hadn't worn a cloak to disguise her identity, so she merely ducked her head down and hoped that if she ran into anyone, they would leave her in peace.

  Emeline reached the Champion's door and knocked rapidly. An irritated mutter from inside made her sigh with relief―she hadn't known where to start looking for him if he wasn't in his room―and then he opened the door, tugging his shirt on. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly, stepping back so she could come inside.

  Emeline noted that he didn't meet her eyes, as was custom, but there was enough tension in his frame that it almost made her wish that no direct eye contact wasn't the rule; she would feel much better right now if she could get some inkling of what might be going through this fighter's mind.

  "It's Lisette," she said. "She has... has displeased the king," she said, tripping over her words at the memory of the fury on Nazar's face; the fright on Lisette's. "He will send her against you tomorrow. She intends to ask you to strike. I came to request that you not. I know it is asking a painful favor of you... I have king's copper to reimburse―" She had no sooner begun the words than she remembered that he wasn't allowed to accept coin. Reluctantly, she continued, "I can repay you in a different fashion."

  He didn't reply. Unsure if he had caught her meaning, she sat down on the small cot.

  "Is that why you became the Royal Mistress?" he asked quietly. "You felt that you owed the king?"

  "I do owe him," she stated. "I have a... a very comfortable life now." She examined the sleeves on the fine gown she was wearing, trying to focus on the embroidery, the delicate stitching, to distract herself from the memory of the look on Ilari's face. Yes, she had her morning tea served to her every day without fail, had fine food, people who even helped her dress, and she could take carriage rides around the Kingdom whenever she so chose, but she would give up all of it, without question, to just be back in her little village with her daughter by her side. Just a chance, somehow, to do it over again and not involve her mother or the king. Then perhaps Ilari would look at her with something other than disgust.

  She cleared her throat. "I cannot grant you your freedom," she said. "Cannot even promise fewer deathfights. What else is there?"

  "I don't require payment."

  "Oh," Emeline said, the fear draining out of her so quickly that she had to lean back against the wall. She'd never had to address a crowd, and she rarely addressed the loyalists. The idea that she wouldn't be able to convince this man into agreeing had terrified her. "Thank you."

  "I'm just glad to see you sober this time."

  Emeline laughed. "You remember that, then? I can't recall half of it."

  "I'm not surprised."

  "Do you get many visitors here?" she asked.

  "No."

  "Then would... would you mind terribly if I came by on occasion? It's quite peaceful."

  "I wouldn't mind at all," he said, sitting down next to her. "In fact, that's the second time I've heard the question from you."

  "I asked...?"

  He nodded. "Granted, you slurred most of the words, but yes."

  "Oh, Goddesses. You see, this is why I rarely drink." She started to run a hand through her hair, nearly yelping in pain when she brushed the bandage against her temple. "Curse it all," she grumbled, inspecting the bandage. She was to see the doctor in the morning to have it changed and to let him inspect the wound again.

  It had been a clean cut. Grisha had had a lot of practice.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "I told Ilari something I never should have spoken of." He raised his eyebrows, clearly curious, but Emeline found she couldn't say the words again, not tonight. Instead, she simply told him, "I am no longer allowed to see or speak to my child."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It would not be such an awful sentence, I suppose, if she had at least believed what I told her. But the look in her eyes... it was nothing but hatred," she said, her voice breaking. She covered her face as best she could with her uninjured hand as she sobbed, tucking the sore one up to her chest. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she wanted to turn to him, nearly shook with the need to simply be held.

  But wasn't that how it had started with Savva, after all? She had made a mistake as a girl, had knocked over a vase in the royals' room when she'd been cleaning. She had tidied up afterwards and had gathered all the fragments―or so she'd thought. King Thibault called for the doctor less than an hour later, a sliver of glass embedded in his foot.

  Her mother's punishment had been swift and fierce. Savva had found her crying, bloody stripes on her back. And he had comforted her, promised that he would get her out.

  Just because solace was freely offered didn't mean there wasn't eventually a price.

  "I should get back," she said once the worst of the tears had passed. "Thank you."

  He looked bemused, as if he wasn't quite sure what she was thanking him for. "You're welcome."

  *~*~*

  Nazar had announced that Emeline had 'taken ill' and therefore wouldn't attend Illari's Introduction ceremony. Ilari listened to the well-wishings and condolences from loyalists and citizens, and she felt a glow of satisfaction. She knew the true reason for her mother's absence, knew something none of these other people did (well, save for Grisha).

  Now she stared at herself in the large mirror. Today she would wear a crown for the first time. The Goddesses had blessed her in allowing her to live to her tenth birthday―so many royal children did not. After today, she would be fully eligible for the crown should something happen to her father and mother.

  She walked down to the main hall where her father was waiting. The king smiled broadly, and Ilari beamed at him.

  As they walked out to the Goddess Tree, she glanced back at the small crowd that had gathered; people who still had work to do in the castle, but who'd wanted to catch a glimpse of the royal family on their way to the ceremony.

  Lisette was there, looking down from the balcony.

  Turning away quickly, Ilari moved out into the sunlight. She took in the sight in front of her and couldn't help but be awed. The Goddess Tree was covered in snow, just as it had been on the day she'd come into the world. A crowd of loyalists was gathered underneath the glittering white branches, grinning at the sight of her. She grinned back. Artisans had been working day and night on the armorharts in the stables, and now their scaled coats were painted in beautiful mosaics of blue, purple, and pink.

  "Loyalists and esteemed citizens," King Nazar said. "It is my duty and my pleasure to introduce to you, my daughter."

  The crowd cheered, and Ilari stepped forward, closer to the crowd. Guards flanked her.

  "Princess Ilari," Nazar announced, and Ilari bowed to her people. "I ask that someday the Goddesses will give her a long and successful rule."
>
  Everyone in attendance touched their throat, symbolically adding their voices to the prayer.

  "And now, the chosen citizens may come forward with their gifts."

  Ilari swallowed hard. The citizens who had been randomly chosen to attend this ceremony had all brought gifts, and while she would keep all of them, she was expected to choose their favorite three, and give the creators her blessing. The Goddesses had seen fit to give her their blessings, to keep her healthy for this long, and today she was meant to pass that on.

  She didn't know how she was supposed to choose only three.

  Then the first citizen knelt down in front of her, holding up an intricately carved box. Behind him, she could see an old woman holding a beautiful, fragile-looking doll. The line stretched on, each person holding a wonderful present, and she couldn't help a squeal of delight.

  She looked to her father, afraid that such a thing was unbecoming, but he only smiled down at her indulgently. Letting out a sigh of relief, she looked back to her first citizen.

  Today, of all days, she could let go of worry.

  *~*~*

  Lisette crouched on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor and trying very hard not to think bitter thoughts.

  She should have had her own Introduction ceremony by now. She should be in the rooms that Ilari occupied; she should be spending a little time every day admiring the gifts she'd been given when she'd been presented to her future kingdom.

  She closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath, reminding herself that such thoughts weren't worthy of a princess, even if she was a disgraced one. "Is it useful?" her mother had once asked. "Does it get you closer to what you want? If it doesn't, then dismiss it."

  These thoughts certainly weren't useful.

  Then the main doors opened and she got back to work, peering up through her bangs as Ilari charged into the palace. She tracked wet, muddy prints across the floor as she ran for the stairs―precisely why Lisette had started at the edges of the room―and she shrieked with laughter as she acted out a mock-fight between the beautiful dolls she'd chosen. Handservants followed after her, carrying other gifts, and though Lisette smiled at the sight of Ilari acting like a happy little girl for once, she couldn't help feeling another stab of envy as she saw the overflowing baskets of fruit and sweets, the lovingly stitched stuffed animals, toys, and jewelry.

  Once she was done with her section of the floor and it was time for her to retire for the night, Lisette avoided the bondservants' quarters for a time in favor of going to the servants' chapel.

  "Greetings, Three," she said, kneeling on one of the threadbare cushions at the front of the room. She remembered the lavish chapel two floors up that she and her parents used to attend.

  The final time they'd all visited together, her mother had asked the Three for a long and peaceful life for her baby.

  Stop, Lisette told herself. This is precisely why you're here.

  "Tonight I ask Nobaris for her counsel," she murmured. "I would seek her aid in ridding my mind of hurtful thoughts. Envy overwhelms me, though I know it is pointless. Focusing on the past will do nothing to improve my future."

  Lisette knelt there for several long moments, waiting for something. Anything. A lightening of her spirits, a joy in her heart. She'd heard so many stories of people feeling the Goddesses work within them.

  She'd never felt a thing.

  Part Two

  Chapter Six

  Ten Years Later

  "Hm. I believe that one will do."

  Gennadi tried very hard not to groan. Some loyalist's son had gone missing out in Vedrana's Forest, which of course meant it was the job of the palace Huntsman to go risk his life to find him. Probably just like the brat who'd gotten him sent here, thinking that a jaunt out in that wretched place would make for a fine story later on.

  It wouldn't concern him at all, except the Huntsman wanted someone to carry his food, water, and other supplies.

  "Come on then," Stanimir said, motioning him forward. "Let's get you loaded up, and then we can go find the poor lad."

  "Yes, sir," Gennadi said, wondering if this was to be the last time he'd see the Arena. The fact that his heart didn't leap at the idea puzzled him. After all, it was only a matter of time before he was matched in a deathfight against someone he couldn't best.

  But he had found friends here, found Vasya. And his mother and brother did benefit from what he was now able to send them.

  Still. He had promised himself, his first night within the castle walls, that as soon as he found a good chance to escape he would take it. And this was the perfect chance.

  He could lose Stanimir in the forest. Stay on the outskirts of Vedrana's Forest for a few weeks, until he was forgotten, and then creep back home.

  Stanimir handed Gennadi a pack that weighed half as much as he did and then clapped him on the shoulder with a broad grin. "Well then! I think we're set. And don't worry, Gennadi. I've been in several forests before―best marksman in the entire kingdom, if I do say so myself! Got this job because of it. Vedrana's Forest can't be that bad. Just a lot of superstitious nonsense, really. So there's no need to be frightened."

  Gennadi blinked at him, realizing that the Huntsman was truly so daft as to believe that.

  No, he couldn't lose Stanimir. He would be dead within two minutes.

  *~*~*

  "See? Nothing but trees, mud, and vines!" Stanimir said proudly.

  They were three steps inside.

  Gennadi gave the older man a smile. "It's actually not my first time in here, sir."

  "Oh? Really? I almost went in once myself, years ago, out looking for the princess―the former princess," he quickly corrected himself. "You're young to have set foot in a place of such ill reputation."

  "There's an herb that grows here," Gennadi said. "Waxwort. Used in healing. My father had need of it."

  "Ah," Stanimir said. "Quite good of you. How does he fare? Did it work?"

  "For a time. He passed on shortly before I was given over to the circuit."

  "I'm sorry."

  "As am I. But as Mother Ambre says, at least he's with my first mother now." At Stanimir's questioning look, he elaborated. "She died less than a year after I was born. I don't remember her well, but both Mother Ambre and Father told me stories. Your own parents?"

  "None still living," Stanimir said. "But my fathers and mother were wonderful people. I miss them daily."

  Gennadi nodded in commiseration and gave the older man a pat on the shoulder, and then they moved deeper into the shadows.

  *~*~*

  They followed the young man's trail without incident for most of a day. The only thing to bother them was a ratstalker, which snarled viciously at them, tried to eat Gennadi's boot, and then scurried off into the underbrush. No Dryads, spirits, or Shadows. And, thankfully, no Dwarves. Gennadi listened intently for them nonetheless, certain that this forest wasn't going to let them return the missing loyalist to his luxurious home so easily.

  The sound he finally heard wasn't the war cry of one of the Dwarves but a high, sweet voice. Singing.

  He quickly pressed his hands over his ears, instructing Stanimir to do the same.

  "Whatever for?" Stanimir asked. "It's quite a pleasant sound. She has a lovely voice. Still, a young woman living out here voluntarily?"

  "It's not a young woman!" Gennadi said, grabbing his arm. Already, Stanimir had started to change course, heading for the voice. "She's an Enchantress."

  "I would say so," Stanimir said, giving him a wink and pulling him along. "Come now, let go. I simply want to see what's going on."

  "Stanimir." Her voice was louder now, and Gennadi was forced to let go of the Huntsman's arm to cover his own ears. "Stanimir, stop!"

  He kept going, disappearing into the trees, and Gennadi shrugged off the pack and ran after him, risking her voice in order to grab Stanimir and pull him back.

  The Huntsman spun, punching him solidly in the jaw.

  Gennadi f
ell, dazed, fumbling to cover his ears again as he slowly gained his feet.

  Then he realized there was no need. The Enchantress was no longer singing.

  He ran the way Stanimir had gone, stumbling to a stop when he found himself almost at the shore of a lake. A young woman crouched in the knee-deep, brackish water nearby, lapping at the blood pouring from Stanimir's torn throat.

  Upon the sight of him, she clutched Stanimir's body closer and hissed, exposing long fangs. Her skin shifted tone as she did so, turning a scaly blue-green. Gennadi held up his hands and quickly retreated and then turned and ran back to the pack. He had to wait several moments for his hands to stop shaking before he could take up the load again.

  *~*~*

  This is the most idiotic thing you've ever done in your entire life, Gennadi thought. Just go. After a long enough time, the king will decide that both of you died out here and you can go home.

  But he continued along the trail. As much as he tried to picture the loyalist's son who'd struck his mother, he couldn't quite. And if it was Gustave... well, even that pitiful man didn't deserve an end like Stanimir's.

  He knew nothing of the lad, not even his name or his parents' names or his age. He supposed that Stanimir had known, but the Huntsman hadn't seen fit to share any information with him. He'd just been there to cart supplies, after all. Gennadi was expecting someone closer to a man than a child. So when he found the loyalist's son, for a few seconds he couldn't speak.

  He couldn't have yet reached his tenth birthday.

  "Are you all right?" Gennadi asked. The child had two black eyes, and his lip was dark with caked-on blood.

  Vedrana's Forest hadn't been kind to him, but it also hadn't been nearly as cruel as it could be.

  The boy nodded, and Gennadi moved closer. "I'm Gennadi. Your name?"

  "Andriy."

  "Andriy. I'll get you home, all right?"

  The boy retreated, shaking his head.

  "You're lucky you've survived this long. Come on."

  "No!"

  Gennadi winced and looked around, staying silent for a moment, hoping the child's shout hadn't drawn anything he wouldn't be able to defeat. "You'll die out here. And badly."