The Royals

Chapter 21

She missed her da. She missed her mama, too, but it was Da at times like these who could tease her out of anything. He had a special 'no smiling' trick that always did the reverse in no time flat. She could do with a no-smiling-smile about now.

Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She let them run, feeling too gloomy to wipe them away. Her feet were moving, but she was falling behind. She'd catch up in a minute.

An unfamiliar finger gently rubbed her face. She looked up at Papa-Willam. He squatted to her height. 'What's the matter, Pump kin?'

'Pumpkin? Nobody's ever called me pumpkin before. Pumpkin, pumpkin,' she repeated, trying it out like tasting a new vegetable.

'Well then,' Papa-Wil said very seriously, 'would you like it t' be our special name?”

'Pumpkin,' Ceeley said again. 'I like it.' She nodded her approval.

He smiled at her then and for just a moment he reminded her of Da. That thought made her sad, but a little happy too. It felt good to have a proper da. Uncle Walther and Uncle Maarcus just didn't know how to be one yet. They got too busy and forgot to keep their promises.

He straightened up and offered her a gloved hand. She put hers in his and he clasped it tight. It occurs to me,' he said conversationally, 'that you might be frettin' over where we are. You're a smart little girl, so I won't lie to you. Mama-Lyda and I aren't quite sure ourselves.' I'm going to die, Ceeley thought.

After all this, I'm going to die and no one will even know about it until the snow melts in the spring. Papa-Wil squeezed her hand. 'It doesn't mean we're done for. I swear to you, like I did with Lyda, we're going to get through this.' He paused. And, Pumpkin, I always keep my promises. Always.'

One glance at the well-worn steps leading down to cells girded by sturdy iron bars made Kate's predicament plain. The prince's hideaway had obviously housed its share of prisoners before her. Only a fool would bet that she wasn't simply the most recent in a succession of hostages secretly kept and tortured. She wouldn't take the wager on dying here either; she'd already used more than her share of Sisters' luck on living.

Some hours after she was locked in, footsteps sounded in the narrow, twisting stair-well. She sat up and prepared to face her captor.

Her brother. Her oldest friend.

Two soldiers marched past her without so much as a sideways look. Between them strutted Maarcus, his characteristic cocky grin shining through the dim lighting.

Wonder of wonders. The elfwitch and the Dragon Prince walking arm-in-arm would have been less astounding.

By keeping their word, they'd caught her off-balance. Not good, that. She needed to keep her wits intact if she had a chance of survival.

The men installed Maarcus a few cells down and across from hers. 'We seem to be the only guests at the inn,' the Shoreman remarked as they slammed the door. 'Must be the lovely dank decor. A pity, though, when so many refugees are looking for shelter."

'Quiet,' the guard said. 'The prince may yet decide you're too much trouble alive."

'Oh, he can count on it,' Maarcus answered. 'Count on it with… uh . . . with dragon-bells.' She couldn't see him from her cell, but the pain amidst the swagger in his voice was unmistakable.

'Don't push y'ur luck,' the second one growled.

Maarcus, don't,' Kate pleaded. She had the barest hope for herself, but her brother might let Maarcus go if he'd behave himself. If. Right now these two weren't taking kindly to his mockery. 'Please?"

'That's right. Listen to the princess,' said the guard.

'For now,' Maarcus said. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor. Wood creaked as he settled on the bed.

The soldier nodded.

Kate released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

'No talkin'."'

'Got it, no talkin',' Maarcus parroted in a fair mation of the other's voice

.' I'm warnin' you.' Maarcus remained silent a long moment as the men considered their options then finally went to confer at the jail entrance.

'You take first watch. I'll be down in four hours."

'Be sure you're on time. Four has a funny way of becomin' six with you.'

'Yeah, yeah.' He proceeded up while the second settled into a chair. Kate's next shock came at shift-change.

The guard was an hour overdue and his fellow had long since resorted to muttered threats by the time he arrived.

'Prince said I had to feed 'em,' he explained.

'Took you an hour to make that! Get the cook to do it next time."

'Cook refused. Anyway, you going t' dish it out or wait here while I do it?

'What I'm going t' do is leave.'

'But the prince said-'

'I don't care. Next time, don't be late.' He was halfway up the stairwell before his companion gently kicked the food under the bottom bar of Kate's cell.

She expected a hunk of stale bread and a rusty cup of water. He surprised her by serving a thick stew and half decent ale in portions only marginally smaller than she'd been eating at the palace. It wasn't good, but she'd gone hungrier between mercenary jobs. Kate forced it down without comment and could hear Maarcus doing the same.

The guard went back to his chair.

Maybe her brother would let her live a while, say long enough to escape and kill him.

Princess Kate began to plan.

'Parade rest.'

Fully a third of the company fell out before realizing they weren't dismissed. Most scrambled to reclaim their places. A few kept going despite urgent whispers from the others.

Prince Henry ignored the deserters as he strode through the ranks. With Marcus the Seventh missing and the physician so seldom of sound mind that he might as well be, the prince was alone in trying to prepare his dwindling army to confront the elfwitch. Hour by hour, one by one, soldiers fooled themselves into believing they were safe or that someone else could better serve the crown.

Certainly someone else would be better suited to lead ing them. Short on strategy and tactics, long on incon ceivable knowledge, the prince didn't contribute much.

What had the elfwitch actually intended he do when she'd made her long-ago suggestion that he head up her forces? Lag behind and watch as the trolls wreaked havoc? Charge in front and hope they didn't kill him in the chaos?

In good conscience, he couldn't send out this ragtag corps to be slaughtered.

He couldn't not send them either.

Henry inspected the threadbare clothing and shabby boots. It was easier than looking in their faces.

'Where's your sword?' he asked a tall soldier on the end of an uneven row.

'Don't have one. Don't need it either. I can whip those trolls with my eyes closed. Strangle 'em with my bare hands. He lifted his arms to demonstrate chok ing the air.

'That may well be true of ordinary men. However, these are anything but.'

The man's eyes lost focus as he concentrated on digest ing the words. Sisters! the prince thought. I need to keep the language simple if I expect half these addle-brains to know what I'm saying.

'Don't you fret,' the soldier assured him. 'I can handle myself.' He lowered his voice. "Sides, wouldn't you rather save the swords for some of these little guys?' He winced as if he didn't hold out much hope for them.

Odd the way the man echoed the prince's own bleak thinking. 'Don't you worry about them. We've got weap ons enough for everybody.'

The soldier blushed and offered a gap-toothed smile.

"Course. I should've knowed there were plenty of top drawer swords to go around.'

‘Absolutely.' Not that many or that fine, Henry thought, but they'll have to do. 'Archers,' he called out. 'Present arms.'

Three young men held out their bows.

Henry forced pride into his voice. Excellent men, excellent.' Silently he offered a soldier's plea to the Sis ters, for as sure as they stood on this training-ground today they would not be standing at all a week from now.

Willam never doubted Lyda. Himself, that was another thing. He stood at the top of the highest mountain in the world (so far as he knew anyway) and looked beyond at the plains. He felt dizzy, but not from the height. It was all that flat land rolling before him. The view made him as ill as the ocean had the one time he went to The Cliffs. Green grasslands in the dead of winter unnerved him, they did.

Ceeley was another matter just as terrifying. The child hopped about so unpredictably that he expected her to fly off the mountain at any second. He felt the blood drain from his face as he watched her skipping along, no more than a palm's width from open air. Stones clattered down the hillside.

He wrapped his arms around himself, holding tight and telling himself that children would be children. Finally he could stand it no more and shouted out, 'Ceeley, come 'way from t'ere!'

She turned around, confused and a little frightened. 'Yes, Papa-Wil? Something wrong?'

'No, no, nothin's wrong. I just, well, um . . .'

Ceeley looked at him, studying his colorless face. She came back from the ledge and took his hand. 'You're very cold.' Her little face scrunched up in a sorrow so deep it melted his heart. 'Oh, Papa-Wil. I scared you. I'm sorry."

'It's okay, honey. Gave me a start, was all. It's a long drop and you aren't as sturdy as those big boulders.' He puffed out his cheeks to imitate a fat rock and the child laughed.

'Papa?' her voice was very grave.

'Yes?' He was still getting used to the way she could switch from utter frivolity to complete seriousness.

'How long do you think those elves will keep Mama Lyda?'

He stooped down to her height. 'Hard to say, Pumpkin. They've been real good to her and she owes 'em a debt she might never be able to pay back.'

'I thought they were only going to talk with her a short while.'

'Sure, honey. But you know how long grown-ups can talk.' He closed his eyes, put his head on folded hands, snored twice, then opened his eyes once more.

Ceeley laughed again then immediately sobered. 'Papa Wil?'

'Yes?'

'Do you ever have nightmares?'

Here it comes, he thought, and I'm not ready. I need Lyda. He looked over his shoulder, as if thinking of his wife might summon her back from her audience with the elves. Sometimes,' he said.

'Then it doesn't mean I'm a bad girl? My aunt used to say that only naughty kids had scarey dreams."

'Well, shame on your aunt!' Willam said. 'Even grown-ups, good ones, get nightmares now and then."

'I don't like 'em one bit. They make me tired in the morning and I feel like a fly's buzzing in my brain so I can't think straight.'

'Sounds more like magic than nightmares,' Willam said without thinking.

'Huh,' Celia answered, hands on hips. She let that sink in and didn't speak for a moment. Finally she c****d her head sideways and asked, 'Do flies live on the tops of mountains? I thought they only lived down by where the river runs into the sea.'

'Honey, there are all kinds of flies.

I wouldn't be surprised if one of 'em liked it way up here in thin air.'

'Oh.' She thought some more. 'Papa-Wil, does Mama Lyda get nightmares too?"

They were bothering her more than she wanted to admit. Celia, everybody has bad dreams now and again. Even someone as pure as your Mama-Lyda.'

'When will she be back?'

'Soon.' Willam didn't want to go through that again.

'Let's play a game while we wait.'

She ran behind a bush. 'How about Hide and Sneak?'

'How 'bout somethin' easier on the old man here?"

Her curly-haired head popped above the bush. 'You mean a word contest or a counting match, so you don't have to run too much?"

No, he meant something where she didn't have to run too much or too close to the edge. 'Uh, huh,' he said.

'Well, why don't we try the Tale of the Three Dwarves and the Big Bad Troll. I'll start and you have to tell me what comes next."

The door opened. Masha and Dita stood facing Ginni wearing identical expressions of patience tried beyond the limits but held nonetheless. Candlelight shown through the doorway behind them, lighting their faces in almost sacred fashion.