The Royals

Chapter 34

'You seem to misunderstand who controls the reins here.' He was losing patience.

The princess kept her silence.

Her half-brother leaned forward. 'I always get what I want,' he whispered. 'It's the one true privilege of royalty.'

'I've found patience is often its own reward.'

He licked his lips. 'I admit anticipation sometimes makes the getting more enjoyable.' He reached out to snatch her arm.

'But this is not one of those times.' Kate belatedly wished she'd worn her boots to bed. 'I'm a girl who prefers to see what's going on,' she said, her voice unnaturally husky. She reached out with her free arm, pretending to light a bedside oil-lamp, and swung her leg hard.

He whoofed in pain as she hit him squarely in the groin with her foot. He let go of her and curled into a fetal ball.

Kate slid off the bed and put her back to the wall. 'It's polite to ask a lady's permission.'

'I ask no one's permission," he said through clenched teeth. 'Consider this. Maarcus will pay for your effron tery.

Thinking of Maarcus made Kate go limp against the wall. There was nothing she could say that would help him.

'Next time, princess, you will yield to me. I won't be nearly as gentle as I have been today.' He sat up on the bed. 'Ivan!' he called.

The door opened again and her jailor entered the room.

'We've been too kind. Take her to join that flaccid excuse for a Shoreman."

The guard nodded at Prince Hadrian and roughly took her arm. 'Come along, princess.'

Kate didn't struggle. At least she could see how Maarcus was faring. Together they would find a way free of this misery.

'Oh, Ivan.'

The man stopped instantly and turned back to the prince. 'Sire?'

'You know how much I hate sharing. She's mine. Do you understand?'

Kate couldn't read the man's expression as he replied in a monotone, 'Yes, sire. I understand.'

As she descended the stairs, Kate couldn't decide whether the prince had warned Ivan away from r****g her or invited him to take his pleasure.

Celia Sailclan knew the river they floated in was wholly unnatural. Nowhere in these hills could there exist water so warm in the depth of winter. The dwarf had learned to swim in the cold mountain rivers near her home, where the water was as much snowmelt as river. Even in high summer, the children didn't take much coaxing to be called onto the sun-warmed banks.

In contrast, this water caressed and embraced her like her mama and pa as they told her bedtime stories - but underneath was something decayed. It was like the rotting wood in her uncle's beautiful but ill-kept boat.

As proud of her origins as any Sailclan could be, Ceeley couldn't help hating this river. It took over. It filled her with a fear that blocked out all else.

She reminded herself over and over that she was a strong dwarf. She thought she spoke aloud, but it was hard to know. No one answered her call.

No one. Mama-Lyda and Papa-Willam floated in their own swirls, but they could not help her. They were in t****l to the elfwitch. She wanted to save Mama-Lyda and Papa-Wil, she really did, but what could a child do? They would die just as her real parents had because Ceeley couldn't think of the right thing to do. She couldn't think of anything at all. .

Ceeley's birthday had started so merry. Today she turned six and nearly the entire village would help her celebrate - or so it seemed.

They started the morning with a game of Bucket Brigade. Instead of water, the buckets were filled with bright streamers. Each person added one to the bucket as they passed it on to the next one. Each placed a small gift among the ribbons. By the time it reached Ceeley, the wood bucket was overflowing with birthday ribbons. Her parents were the last to get it before her.

She clapped her hands and jumped up and down, then dug into the bucket to find her gifts. 'Oh, Mama, Da, they're so wonderful.'

Da tossled her hair. 'Happy Birthday, Celia.'

But her mother was not smiling. She was open-mouthed and staring at something beyond her. 'Trolls! Trolls!' she shrieked.

Her da snatched up Ceeley and her best friend, Rea, and ran. He yanked up a bush and pulled on a trap-door apparently hidden here for just this reason. 'Don't come out,' he told her. 'No matter what!' He stuffed them in, closed the door, and fled.

She heard the screaming. She heard the t*****e. She wanted to help, but her da had told her to stay where she was. He was always right, wasn't he?

Rea wouldn't wait. She had to see. She had to know. She left Ceeley behind in the dark.

But as the day wore on and the screaming lessened, Ceeley wasn't so sure she could obey her father's rule. Finally, hunger and thirst drove her out into the dead silence. She could not find her family. She could not find Rea. She found only bodies, and ... pieces.

Except down by the river.

Down by the river, they were put in cages. In minutes that stretched for all time, she saw living, breathing dwarves changed into dead things. It seemed like their very breath was sucked out of them.

More scared than she'd ever thought she could be, she stood rooted like a tree and watched her family die.

In a strange unexpected way, Willam thought the blood river saved them. On the bank, the cold was settling in. Frostbite would have become a problem soon. He'd seen frostbit skin blackened and flaking off in hunks. He'd known an old man who'd lost several fingers and toes when he'd been caught unprotected in a storm.

Willam worried what would become of the three of them, but he felt his resolve cracking. He'd managed to withstand the human mage, Roslin, easily enough. Then again, the elfwitch made her seem like a bright autumn day that only hinted at the harsh winter to come.

He was surrounded by true evil, like the kind behind the elves' visit to him back when Lyda walked out on him. They'd led him to believe she'd died - simply to t*****e him. Now for the first time since she'd found him, he wondered if that would have been better than suffer this unknown slow death.

The river took him then. He remembered no more than the warmth of fluid harkening back to the months before birth.

A young Willam tapped on the flimsy door of the witch's hut.

'Come,' whispered the old hag, so quietly that he thought he might have imagined it.

The fading daylight leaked through c****s between the boards. There was no lamp inside and he could barely see. He let his eyes adjust to the dimness and took a cautious step toward the bundle of rags sitting in the corner.

'Yes, what is it?' Her voice seemed much louder than it had from the door.

'I've been told-'

'I don't care what you've been told. What do you want?'

He tried again. 'My wife, she wants to 'ave a child.'

'And what do you want?' the witch repeated.

'I... I'd like her to be happy.'

'I don't deal in happiness. Go away.'

'But they said you could...'

'I can do many things, but I can't make someone happy. Your wife's got to do that for herself.'

'The baby, we've tried so 'ard. Please.' His voice broke. He thought he would cry if she turned him

'You're our last hope. Please.'

'Closer.' A bony hand poked out of the heap of cloth and motioned him forward.

He approached the hand until he stood next to smelled of rotten fish, which made his stomach her. She roll.

"You said "we." Do you or do you not want a child?"

This time he knew better than to hesitate. 'Yes, I do,' 'Why?'

Willam desperately tried to find the words she wanted to hear, but he couldn't imagine what they might be. Finally he just told her the truth, something he'd never even admitted to himself. 'S difficult to explain,' he began. You see, my Lyda sort of 'ad to talk me into it. I wasn't sure I'd know what to do with 'im when he cried and . . .' He trailed off and looked down at the witch's face.

She gave no sign of whether she heard him, but neither did she stop him.

He continued. After a time, I began to get all fired up inside. It wasn't just the, um, you know. It was the planning, the feeling that maybe something was bigger than just us two. I was as 'appy as she was when she got with child. And then . . . then she lost the baby."

And now Willam did cry. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks, but he did not wipe them away. Nor did he look to see if the witch listened or not. It no longer seemed important.

'We tried again and again, but each time the same thing. My Lyda was so brave to keep goin', but it was wearin' her out. We thought per'aps the Sisters didn't want us to...' He trailed off, not sure what he'd been about to say.

'What if the Sisters have other plans for you?'

'We'll abide it. We'll have to.' What else could he say to a witch who surely must have a more familiar tie to the Sisters than he did.