The Royals

Chapter 17

This made no sense. Where were her guards?

He felt conflicting desires. Should he shout out the intrusion and betray Tabor and Theron? Should he run as far as he could to escape their fate?

Notti could do neither. His loyalty to the elfwitch was stronger than that to himself. He must risk himself for her safety. He turned back toward the tent opening.

The elf re-entered the tent

And found no one there. No witch, no boys, no sentinels. No one.

But on the floor was one of the strange medallions and next to it the map he'd seen her putting away. The goatboy began to back out of the tent, his eyes fixed to the artifacts in front of him.

Suddenly Tabor and Theron jumped out at him from behind the One's chair. 'Robber, thief!' they called. We caught him trying to steal the map. 'No,' said the elfwitch.

He thought, Had she been there all along?

'None but you two knew the map existed,' she accused.

The surprise on their faces no doubt mirrored his own.

Outside a crowd gathered. 'Stone him!' someone shouted.

'No,' answered his father. 'He deserves punishment.

The flaming stake is too good for that corrupt creature!'

The enraged elfwitch stormed out of the tent. 'Who dares to presume more than I? Tabor and Theron are the thieves."

The crowd mumbled, confused. 'Tabor? Theron?'

'But they never mean any harm.'

'Take them away."

'No!' came an anguished lament that could only belong to their mother.

The goatboy watched the elves' bewilderment turned to shock and fear as two sentinels dragged them away.

Ceeley woke before Mama-Lyda and Papa-Wil. In the close warmth of the bear cave she lay motionless with eyes closed and pretended she'd always been a part of this family. They were explorers, setting out to map the Ash Kingdom. They had braved many great adventures in her short life and countless more waited just ahead. When they finished their travels, they would settle near a nice inn without too many roughneck types. Mama-Lyda and Papa-Wil could while away their old age telling the tales of their adventures.

Ceeley liked stories. When she grew white-haired, she would spin the most spellbinding tales for all the little children orphaned by war.

Now if one thing got her feeling sad or maybe mad, it was this struggle to fight the elfwitch. Little children shouldn't have to be without their real families. Little children should always have someone to hug them and kiss them goodnight - even if sometimes they had to go to bed too early.

Celia knew this kind of thinking wasn't good for her. It made her cry and 'rum'nate', as her Da used to say. Then she thought she might give up.

But her Da also said the Sailclan never quit. When ever she'd been frustrated over learning something new, like tying her boots by herself or writing her letters, he'd told her all about the exploits of her forebears. If those courageous dwarves could keep going against blizzards and bear attacks, she could face another try at bootlaces.

Only now she was the one battling blizzards and bears.

She opened her right eye.

No big furry bear.

She opened her left.

No big furry bear.

Was he part of a dream? Well, better that than the horrifying recall of her burning village.

Ceeley sighed. It was going to be one of those times when she couldn't escape. Every stray thought led her back to how much she missed her family and her home. She turned away from her new parents and let the tears run quietly, oh so quietly, so as not to wake Mama-Lyda and Papa-Wil. She didn't want to anger them.

They might decide she was too much trouble and leave her behind.

Someone groaned and rolled over.

Ceeley fought to control her crying.

'Ouch! So 'zat's what's been nestled in my backbone all night,' said Papa-Wil. A stone clattered against the cave wall.

'Careful, Willam. You'll wake the bear - or the child.'

'Bear. Right. Thought I'd 'magined that.'

So did I, Ceeley thought.

'No,' Lyda said softly. Not unless I did too."

Stranger things have 'appened these last months.'

'Willam?' Mama-Lyda lowered her voice to a whisper that caught Ceeley's attention.

Silently, silently, like in a game of hide-and-sneak, she struggled to hear.

'I'm worried about the child.'

'You're doin' the best you can, Lyda. We both are.'

Gravel scraped the cave floor as they moved closer together.

'I know, Willam. But she sleeps so poorly. Last night I watched for near an hour as she tossed and rolled. If we'd had any sheets to offer her, I would've worried she'd strangle herself the way she was twisting. I tried to tell myself it was just the hard day behind us and the hard ground beneath her.'

'Now, Lyda. Don't go blamin' yourself. 'Ere you go. Dry those tears.'

Mama-Lyda sniffed. 'But it breaks my heart to hear what she says in her sleep. How can anyone subject a child to such horror? How?'

'Evil is a hard thing for good folks to understand,' he told her and Ceeley thought that was true. 'Won't 'elp to tear yourself to pieces over it. All we can do is try to face it square on and stop it when we can.'

'But what'll we do about Celia? She's a fine child that deserves better than this."

'Most kids do. . . at the start anyway. I don't see there's much we can do. We couldn't send her back when we've come so far even if we wanted to.

No, don't send me back, Celia prayed. 'And we don't want to in the first place."

'No, we don't,' Mama-Lyda agreed

Oh, thank you, Sisters. Thank you, thank you, the dwarf thought.

'She's got no one but us.'

'True, Willam.'

Not quite true, but nearly. Ceeley squirmed with guilt then forced herself to be still.

'I'm sorry, Willam.' Mama-Lyda sounded very sad, almost as sad as Ceeley felt.

'Whatever for, Lyda?'

'For the bracelet, for leaving, for. . . this."

'What's done is done. 'Bout time someone else got to watch after that elf-cursed jewelry anyway.'

'Don't say that.'

'It's certain. Even the elves themselves said so.'

'No, I mean "elf-cursed"."

'Honey,' he said gently but matter-of-factly, some things are cursed. The elves are not immune. Look what they did to me. Look what they did to Ceeley!'

'Shh, she'll hear you.'

'Anyway,' he said, quieter now, 'we came of our own choice. You aren't at fault for what 'appens along the way."

'But it's so hard, Willam. I didn't think it would be. It wasn't before, not even when I walked through a dead town. There was always hope somewhere pushing me on, making me believe.

'You can believe,' Papa-Wil whispered. 'As long as we're all together, you can believe.' He kissed her. She sighed into the kiss and there was only the sound of breathing for a long minute.

Yuck, Ceeley thought. I don't want to listen to this. She made a show of standing up to stretch and yawn. 'Good morning Mama-Lyda. Good morning, Papa-Wil.'

'Good morning,' they mumbled, their faces caught somewhere between annoyed and sheepish.

'Did you sleep well?' Mama asked, as if she didn't know.

'Okay,' Ceeley answered, continuing the charade. 'But you know, I dreamed there was a bear in here. A big, brown, furry bear. Or maybe he was black. Did you see him, Papa-Wil?'

He sat up and extended both arms over his head. 'Yes, yes I did, my darling dwarf.' He grunted as he bent and straightened the stiff limbs. 'I say it's time we get moving before the old boy comes back from wherever he's gone.

Ceeley put her hand on her chin, doing her best to appear grown-up and thoughtful. 'I don't know if that bear is coming back, Papa-Wil, but it seems to me we've got a job to do.'

' Right. Absolutely. Come on, Lyda. You too."

'I'm coming,' but she made no move to rise.

Ceeley smiled her biggest smile at Mama-Lyda. 'Sailclans never give up, you know. My other Da always said so.'

'He would be very proud of you,' Papa-Wil said.

'And my new parents, too.' She took hold of one of Mama-Lyda and Papa-Wil's hands in each of hers. 'So I hereby make you honorary members of the Sailclan.' She pulled on Mama-Lyda until the woman finally stood. 'Now you won't ever give up either!'

Prince Henry roamed the castle without purpose. With Kate gone and the call to arms behind him, he should have been spending every spare moment on strategy. He should have been picking the brains of any soldier who remembered how to fight - not that he expected it to do much good against the elfwitch.

Instead he seemed to inherit his sister's restlessness. The royal mantle hadn't taught her a thing about dignity and his own poise appeared to be slipping. His shoulders itched horribly though his skin remained unblemished. Maybe he was reverting to his previous form. He paused in his wandering. He'd been assuming his human shape was permanent. What if it wasn't? He needed to speak with Abadan about this unexpected possibility.

Soon. He didn't want to clutter his mind with yet another obstacle to overcome.

The prince resumed his stroll. As he moved down the hallways, he still considered it strange that others bowed and catered to him even though he himself felt no sense of honest ownership. He wanted to shout, 'I'm an imposter - a defective dragon in man's clothing!' He'd do well to avoid the attention before he lost control along with what tenuous loyalty he'd earned.

Henry chose a darkened passage despite the recent attempts on his life. He reasoned that no one would expect to find him in such a deserted section of the castle; therefore, an ambitious murderer would not likely be lurking for him here.

Dust lay heavy on the floor and sconces. The hangings had not been cleaned in many months, maybe years. Under the disuse and neglect, Henry noted a finer quality of woodworking, a higher caliber of smithing and weaving. Unlike most of the other halls and rooms, the materials remained wondrously intact. That some of the exquisite carpets remained in public view at all was remarkable since at least as many thieves as assassins claimed these grey stones for their home.

Something momentous must have happened here, some thing so important that no one had possessed the courage to challenge the aura left behind.

Prince Henry proceeded cautiously, each step bringing him closer to his own destiny. He peered in at the occasional doorway, but no, whatever he sought was not there.

Near the end of the hall, he found two massive doors made from rare cedarwood. The one on the right stood ajar, its brass catch slightly askew. He pushed on the door and it swung open with the piercing screech of unused metal. Before he could enter the cavernous room, the door's upper hinge snapped. The heavy wood thudded to the floor.

Careful to avoid brushing against the decrepit door lest he dislodge it and c***k the lower hinge, Henry walked into an enormous bedchamber. As in the preceding hallway, thick dust covered the carpets and furniture. He ranged around the room, feeling the need to touch each and every item as if a piece of his past were imbedded in the cloth and metal.

Marvelous weavings hung askew on the walls. He moved to right one and was surprised by a familiar voice.

'In all these years, I have never straightened them.' Henry spun about to face Sir Maarcus the Sixth. He reached for the rapier he'd worn since the failed poisoning and let his hand rest on the undrawn hilt. The prince stifled an embarrassed laugh.Could he actually kill this man?