Chapter Two
Runaway
One of the brute men paid attention to me, but only barely.
When they stopped riding, every able man turned his concern towards the injured prince. That was the priority. Which made sense.. How else would they get paid?
I was an afterthought, an inconvenience. After they set up a campfire, the man with the sandy brown hair--he undid the ropes around my feet and hands and helped me stand.
He even had the decency to look ashamed.
I didn’t really worry about the prince living or dying. Royalty had a way of dancing on the edge of death and always surviving, by magic, by might, or by scheming money.
Corinne… I could only think of my little sister. Alone now, for the first time in her life, at the mercy of Groton and the pile of never-ending dishes. What will she do without me? Is she safe? How far have we travelled? How fast can I get back there?
How much time do I have?
I felt that raw panic building in the back of my throat. None of my kidnappers cared, certainly not about a little girl abandoned at The Three Golden Balls Inn and Establishment. Groton, though—I knew he would take advantage of my protective absence.
Then, whatever he chose to do then to my little sister would be impossible to stop. So many regrettable futures swirled in the chaos. I felt sick. I didn’t worry about my own life. That ship had sailed. But Corinne...
Furious, worried, defiant, I could do nothing but fume.
Finally, someone pulled down the cloth that gagged my mouth. “Looks like she’s come round. Bit feisty, this one.”
Feisty? Feisty? I wanted to scream in his laughing face. Instead, I aimed my work shoes at his shin and kicked him as hard as I could.
I had no voice, no water, and no value. More important that all that, a little girl needed me. I’ll fight the mountains themselves to save you, baby. Starting with these idiots...
As he howled in pain and clutched his leg, I headbutted him, throwing my forehead into his chin. His howl cut short. Bigger than omelettes, his eyes opened wide and then rolled up as the man fell to the road’s stone pavement.
“What the hell?” Someone yelled.
I couldn’t have cared less. As soon as I got my legs under my weight, I lunged for the horses, determined to save Corinne from whatever horrible thing Groton would surely do.
Strong arms tripped my feet just as I reached the nearest horse.
Stumbling, I fell to my knees.
Unkind hands grabbed my shoulders and forced me back to the rough campsite, surrounding me with the company of snarling men. Smiling, laughing, or cursing my attempt to flee, all of them could have killed me without a second thought. These were tall, muscled, trained warriors. And the prince who sat in their midst, he was no different—a giant among poor men. Good food and sunshine made a lion out of the prince.
He wasn’t laughing.
As I was pushed to the ground in front of him, I looked at the dirt. Frankly, I waited for the fist. For the punishment I had earned. Violence was everything I expected. Each time my father had hit me or my mother, I had learned that lesson.
He will punish me. And then… I will run away. I will find a way to be free. I will be there for my Corinne. I will.
I swore a solemn vow to the scuffed-up dirt, fallen leaves, and scattered stone that filled my vision.
No one touched me.
No one said anything.
My anger rose. “Well?” I finally demanded, blurting my defiance.
“Pardon?” the seated man responded, his baritone voice clipped. “What did you say?”
“You,” I spoke slowly as I raised my eyes to meet his stare. “You have kidnapped me. I demand my freedom immediately!”
His warm, brown eyes narrowed as he considered my rudeness.
“Let me go. At once.” I demanded again. “If you don’t listen to me, horrible things will happen…”
“You are not alone in the wilderness, woman. You can make a request. You have options. But you are not going back to that hovel of a tick-infested inn. We aren’t going back, not for some time. Your lack of gratitude is astounding, all the same.”
“I must,” I replied. “Things have been left…”
The prince cut me off, waving his hand, dismissing my concern. “Right now, what I need to do is get these men to safety and we have a small…” His explanation trailed off as the prince decided what I could know.
“We must retrieve a stolen item,” he finished his explanation with a wholly unsatisfied look on his face. There was clearly more to the story. He didn’t bother to explain it to me.
Obviously, I wasn't part of that adventure.
I have no value here, other than the clean up of witnesses. Erasing my life, they stole me from house and home, just like that—one stupid serving girl had that little worth. In fact, none of the other men looked after me or were in the least concerned about my life or comfort. I am nothing, just a problem to be discarded—except in that moment when I confronted their prince.
Standing there, white with fury, I had their attention now. “I did not attack you. In fact, you have kidnapped me and cost a little girl her life,” I charged them all with the truth. Honesty—my only weapon.
“You must let me go now or my little sister will suffer the consequences. In your haste to take care of your wounds and your secrets, you left a seven year-old child in the hands of a monster.”
Every man had the decency to look appalled, even their leader.
“I see,” he said, his voice filled with regret. Only his words held a hint of concern. The rest of him, his attitude, his body language… well, it was obvious he did not see. The sister of a servant girl was… unimportant.
Solemnly, the prince swore, “I will get you back to her as soon as I can. We-” He paused, as if either girl really mattered. As if Corinne had any value at all to men like these.
Then, his brown eyes narrowed as inspiration struck. The prince cleared his throat before he continued, “We have to press on. And you, you will come with us.” With an imperious glance, he really looked at me, examining my body from my flaming red hair, down to my glaring, green eyes. His gaze lingered on my neck and shoulders and didn't go any lower.
I watched him, fist clenched, ready to fight.
Looking up at my face, he nodded slowly. “Marcus,” he called out to one of the guards, “We do need a damsel-in-distress for this plan to work, right? And this way, you don't have to wear the dress.”
“Sounds good, milord Benjamin,” a man called out.
All around me, the men howled with laughter. Marcus had to be the man whose face was merriest of all.
Careful, calculating, cool, the prince’s eyes stayed on me. He watched me, still as a hunting lion. I had never felt so uncertain. What was he looking at? Why is he doing that?
Suddenly, my anger vanished. As it disappeared, I realized that I stood alone surrounded by very strong men, the most powerful of which kept staring at my face. Abruptly, I felt a jarring panic.
Servants should never stand out.
“Stop that,” I snarled, my voice less angry than I intended. I didn’t understand the strangeness of his gaze. Only one thing assured the confused girl—he was not Groton. The prince didn’t leer.
All the same, I refused to look away. Let him stare.
“Milord, I will come with you of my own free will. But…” I added, “My sister’s life is in your hands, sir.” Every word I spoke was a demand. As if servant girls had the standing to make requirements.
He nodded again, and then closed his eyes, “I accept your charge. We will make it right.”
Powerless to change their minds about their mission, I turned away, walking back to the travel packs. Behind me, I heard the Prince say, “Marcus, I must rest. See to the girl’s needs for the evening. We ride for Stormage See tomorrow.”
A few moments later, a kingsman approached.
The same one who had set me free when they first stopped: sandy brown hair, dark eyes with a bit of blue around the edges. His chin was square, his face was chiseled from the side of a mountain, all angles and crags. Not old, but older than me, a bit of wrinkles around the eyes, a sorrow he carried with him made Marcus seem like a man of seventy years instead of his early thirties. There was something about him though—whispers of light and mystery that Brie couldn’t quite grasp.
“Here,” the prince’s man said politely, offering his own blanket to my shaking shoulders.
I hesitated to accept such a gift. The quality of the carded wool was unmistakable. I had spent the last five years working in an inn—there was no doubt the material was worth six months’ wages.
“What’s your name, if I may inquire?” He asked, using manners to keep clear the social boundaries. He was a kingsman. I was nothing.
He offered the fabric again, insisting. I see—he won’t let me refuse. Maybe there is some good in these scoundrels? Still,the secrets that man carried weigh him down.
I carefully accepted the beautiful blanket. It felt like wisps of clouds in my hands.
I didn’t look up at him when I finally replied, “Briarthorns of the Rose Berwyn, sir.”
He paused.
I had done something unexpected. I’m not sure what it means. Did accepting his blanket signify something far more? I felt small, lost in the middle of a vast and strange, forested land.
“Marcus, you may call me Marcus Dewbern.” He said his name like an afterthought. I did not meet his gaze. Like all other men, Marcus made no sense.
Wandering off, Marcus returned with some dried fruits, a bit of jerked meat mixed with berries, and a roll that I instantly recognized. I made that this morning. Corinne had slept in the corner nearest the fire, while I worked the dough.
“I’m sorry about your sister,” Marcus said softly. “Prince Benjamin, we didn’t know…” his words trailed off, like the hope in my heart.
No one had ever apologized to me. Never.
In the rising moonlight, we stood there, awkwardly near each other.
Between us, there was a trembling of something undefinable, like a melody in the air. That sensation grew louder, the closer he stood.
I shook my head, confused by the man and the even stranger music.
Wrapping the woven cloud around my shoulders, the warmth that surrounded me was the closest I had come to my mother’s embrace in five long years.
Closing my eyes, the adrenaline wore off, fading like shadows under the light of dawn.
***
With the rising sun, the whole camp was in motion. I watched from under the warmth of the blanket until Marcus looked my way. “Time to go, milady,” he called across the clearing. All the men laughed.
I did not.
“Do not mock me, sir. I am no lady. It’s cruel of you to act like I am.”
Marcus looked at me, eyebrow raised.
“No, indeed,” he said with a hint of regret, “I suppose not.”
I fumed at the ridicule.
Ignoring us both, the prince grabbed his reins, threw them over the pommel, and mounted his prancing horse. “Let’s get on with this, then.”
The mission. That was his focus. Their prince did not care about me. No one ever had. Not my father, not Groton… why would these scoundrels be any different?
It’s not that men are pigs. It’s that no one sees me, no one at all.
To a bunch of soldiers on a mission? I was a burden—sooner abandoned, the better.
I stood, folding the blanket in three swift movements, and walked towards the horses. At the front of the hunting party, the prince kneed his stallion forward, oblivious. I didn’t move fast enough to avoid the startled animal.
I stifled a scream and tried to move. Fear paralyzed my muscles.
I had seen three people ran over by horses. My stomach curled.
My eyes grew huge.
Shock locked me in place.
Shod hooves cut like knives. A war horse was a threat even without armor. And this beast was in motion, ready to kill. No mere slip of a girl could stand in its way.
Right before the charging horse hit me head-on, a firm hand pulled me sharply to the side. Twirling me once, I spun into unfamiliar arms.
Marcus.
He held me, close enough that our faces almost touched.
My mouth fell open in shock. And all the strange, swirling melodies I had felt last night came charging back, as real and as sharp as the enormous horse and rider who did not pause as they came within a moth’s wing of my head. My hair blew with the wind of the stallion’s passing. I felt the heat of the animal’s breath as it plunged through the spot where I had just been standing.
I saw none of that. My eyes stayed on him.
Marcus.
Fierce. Kindness. Concern. The real thing, too. Honesty I could feel right down to my toes. It was unmistakable; the courage to protect the weak, no matter the price.
Memories stirred in my heart. For that one moment, I stood frozen in time, lost in his arms. A bolt of lightning would have charred me less. I had the overwhelming feeling that belonged to my forgotten childhood long ago. Before… Mother had held me, exactly like that.
I had never thought to experience such a sensation again.
Love was not for servant girls.
Between the social classes of Gildingvale, friendship was barely tolerated. Servants did not aspire to greater heights. Those who did, well… it always ended badly. I’ve heard enough stories in the lodge of the inn to know what happens to those girls… Discarded like trash. I am not a fool. I know that they will do the exact same thing to me, once this task is over. They won’t return for Corinne.
Certainly, they won’t save me.
But when I looked in Marcus’s eyes, I remembered how to dream. As if a life different than the scullery maid at a roadside inn was actually possible. As if I have a future after all.
My cheeks flushed red.
Do you feel it, too? I wondered. The silence between us was as electric as the very real bolt of lightning that had destroyed the metal rooster bellwether last year. It had arced through the highest bit of brass decorating the tallest part of the inn.
Only fragmented bits were left when the thunder and hail finally passed.
Marcus was my storm.
Jolted out of the clear, blue sky, the concern in his eyes...the worried way he watched me, a silly chit he had just rescued from certain death. So close he held me...
I felt the heat of his arms around my waist, clutching my skin, his white-knuckled grip enough to leave a bruise. Standing there, so incredibly near to his chest, filled me with wonder and gratitude. But mostly wonder.
Courage reflected back at me through his gaze.
My skin felt exactly like I hung on to one end of a bolt of lightning. Sparking with the power of a thousand candles, burning through every carefully constructed defense… Marcus broke through the ice, thawing my broken guarded heart. Even if it was just shock, I marveled.
Why? He risked his life to save me. Why would Marcus do such a thing?
I suddenly understood the blackened, twisted lump of metal that was all that had been left of the inn’s weathervane.
Turning warm and then terribly hot, my face colored. I looked down, breaking the connection.
Marcus held me for a moment more, his expression unreadable. Then, he gently let me go, setting me on my own two feet. He still held tight with one hand until he was certain I would not fall. Only then his grip dropped.
In the corner of my eye, I watched him. Waiting for him to take my hand again, wanting Marcus to say something… anything.
I shook from the power of my near-brush with death. But I trembled even more from the feeling of wonder that had grabbed hold of me.
He was watching. I knew that. Still, I gave no sign as I walked away. Focusing on something else grounded my blazing heart. Somehow, I managed to reach the empty saddle and the fidgety gelding that sniffed the air and nickered—as uncertain of me as I was of the enormous animal.
Marcus followed my steps.
He didn’t mock my hesitancy. Caution was always warranted when meeting an unfamiliar animal. Without a word, Marcus rolled a fallen log in between myself and the grazing horse. Then, with a surprising gentleness, he lifted me up to the supply horse the other kingsmen had prepared for my travel.
I heard him speak when no one else remained nearby. It was for my ears alone that he said, “Regardless of the thorns, you are a lady.”
***
Diamonds encircled a pretty pearl, holding onto the bezels of each other like the stars in Orion’s belt.
“Lift your hair,” he requested, completely focused on the costume I wore.
I had to be convincing down to the quality of my jewelry, the pantaloons, the slip, the bustle, the skirt, the outer skirt, the chemise, the waistcoat, and the finely -embroidered jacket. Each detail was a part of the whole trap, a clever enough plan that needed exact timing.
“You must convince them that the coach in which you travelled to Stormrage See was brazenly ransacked. Your husband the Fifth Viscount of GildingMountain has been taken by the brigands. His first names are Oberon Alberton Josiah Von Clementz. Can you remember that?”
Marcus kept talking about my part in the mission.
All I could think about was the shiver that went through me, head to toe, when Marcus leaned down and gently placed the most expensive necklace of metal and set stones I had ever seen around my shoulders. Closing the clasp in the back, his adept fingers skimmed the tiniest of the hair at the nape of my neck. It tickled. But I didn’t laugh. I held my breath, not wanting that moment, that tiny flash of kindness to end.
Marcus didn’t notice the rose blush that bloomed across my nose and cheeks. “Repeat it, please.” he insisted.
“The Viscount of Gilding Mountain, my husband has been kidnapped! You must help me, please! I am lost without him! Oberon Alberton Josiah Von Clementz must be found! I offer a reward of one thousand gold pieces!” I spoke every word perfectly, copying his accent. It was all a game.
Except it wasn’t.
***
A few days passed like that. Marcus and I worked on my knowledge of unimaginably grand places and people. I focused on memorizing every detail.
Ahead of us, the prince and his warriors discussed the details of the rest of the plan away from Marcus and me. When I rode closer, trying to listen, conversation stopped.
“Nothing you need to worry your little head about,” one 0f the men snarled.
The rest laughed rudely at my interruption.
“You only need to do what we say. Nothing more. We men have planned this down to the minute. Foolproof.” Every word the prince spoke was directed at me, but never to me. He didn’t talk to the servant girl. He issued commands in my direction, like I was a fool.
And I was the only reason this amazing plan could possibly work. Marcus in a dress? In this bit of embroidery and lace? He would have been spotted before he even crossed the drawbridge. I could help the prince and his men get what they wanted. A mysterious item they had still not revealed to me.
Must be important enough, though, to risk a prince’s life.
Something old or powerful or magical or imposing. Some item that gave amazing abilities, some bit of metal, cloth, or bone that was worth ten men and a servant girl’s meager life.
I saw the way the men looked at me.
I knew the meaning of those glances: Liability.
Danger.
Curse.
A stranger in the middle of their carefully-planned mission, and a woman to boot… and by the pity in their eyes, a poor, stupid chit at that.
Not that the men appreciated the risk I took. Wary of strangers, dismissive of women in war, it was obvious from their faces that adding me to the mission didn’t mean certain success. It only meant suspicion.
Other than Marcus, the other eight kingsmen didn’t speak to me, didn’t make eye contact, didn’t see me as a person. And there was something in their eyes that felt oily.
When I saw them look my way, I felt a ball of unease unravel my confidence.
“Are you listening? Is this too much?” Marcus asked with the slightest smidge of worry around his eyes. Or am I just imagining that?
I blinked at the closeness of his hands as he adjusted the necklace along my collarbone. Like a startled bird, I wanted more than anything to fly away.
And I would have too. Except for Marcus.
He touched my hair, adjusting a few wayward curls in one last detail. And then he went over the specifics for the eleventh time. I shivered when his touch skimmed my skin.
Gulping back my leaping heart, I concentrated on his advice:
“For the plan to work, you have to gain entrance to the inner doors of Stormhaven. Past the outer guards, the drawbridge, the inner army, and the insightful servants. You have to convince every single one of them in order to make it to the main inner courtyard.”
I nodded in a gesture that probably came across as: yeah, no problem for me. But my brain was shouting about all the things that could go wrong.
About all the problems with this mighty fine plan.
To succeed, a lowly maid had to pretend ‘Lady-ness,’ pretend manners, and pull off an entirely fake upbringing. The clothes were convincing. But wearing the gown and jewelry of a lady far above my station over my shoulders and wrapping my body in the softest of fabrics and rich silk—none of that made me anything other than a servant in a nice dress.
I needed more if I was going to succeed. I needed knowledge gained from years of understated things. Bits of history only nobles would know. Marcus was insistent that I learn my character’s assumed name, then her mother’s full name, her sisters’ names, as well as the name of her pets and three best friends. It was dizzying, trying to hold a whole other life in my head.
For the better part of the last day, he rode next to my horse, talking of a world so foreign it might as well have been on the surface of the moon.
I knew none of it.
“They will know I am a fake,” I objected. “This can’t work. They will see. I am not good enough to wear these things. In a year, I could never afford any of it, even the corset.”
He looked at me, glanced down at my tiny waist and full chest. Marcus said nothing. A slight smile played on his face. He rode alongside me, confident in a way I never would be.
Marcus kept telling me details, amazing, tiny bits of information. He poured the sights and sounds of GildingMountain into my ear for well over ten hours. The way his voice lowered to a whisper, when he got lost in memory… I listened as if my life depended on it. Because it very much did.
Marcus talked. And talked. “Get them to lower the drawbridge,” he emphasized my mission, “...and open the inner gate for a search party for your dear husband. That’s it. We will do the rest.”
He spoke about GildingMountain until I felt like I had grown up there. Like I could smell the valley in the high mountains in the rush of spring glory—I had been there, lived there all my life. Marcus kept talking about this place, high in the northern ranges with detail and care and an abiding fondness.
“If I survive this, I will have to visit there, one day.”
“Visit?” Marcus asked, his mind on other things.
“GildingMountain,” I explained, “You make it sound like a palace out of a dream. Built of ice and snow, with a throne room surrounded in orange trees and impossible things. I would not believe such a place existed if you hadn’t told me about it.” Wind whipped through the pheasant feather set in my hat. I straightened a wandering curl of red hair that hung down across my shoulder. “I am surprised you could ever leave such a place. It sounds like heaven.”
“Even heaven didn’t hold all of its angels,” Marcus muttered. “Some fell all on their own.”
I looked over at the only person I might dare call a friend. It was hard to see the cruelty of privilege from my viewpoint. “Even a servant such as yourself could do pretty well, living on clouds…”
I shouldn’t have said that. Jealousy is an ugly coat to wear.
“Sorry,” I pitched my voice just loud enough that he could hear. “Not to embarrass you. The palace you describe, well, it feels a great deal better than the ‘lice-infested hovel’ your prince called the inn. And that’s the only place I have to call home.”
We both fell silent for a while. The gulf between us—delicate, complicated, and impossible to cross lightly.
A few long minutes later, Marcus changed the subject.
“Tomorrow you will leave our campsite on foot and travel the rest of the way without us.”
I looked at the heavy dress, the expensive fabric, the elaborate jewels, and swore.
“How far will I have to go in those impractical shoes?” That was the question that I blurted out—not the swear words I wanted to employ with gusto. I hoped Marcus heard all the swearing that littered my tone. Still, I didn’t whine.
It’s much more likely I’ll be killed by petty thieves before I walk very far in that preposterous gown and gems.
Marcus looked concerned as he considered the distance. “I’m sorry,” he replied finally. “There really is no other option. You must be travel-worn. Your clothes must be stained and dirty in order for the Storm Guards to believe the kernel of your story.”
“Marcus,” I started. Then I stopped, letting the syllables of his name fade in the wind.
“Yes?” He heard me, even a whisper under my breath. He listened. I had to look away. It was hard to accept one genuine man in the pigs wallow of inconsiderate men that had littered my life up to that point. Leaning in close, closer, touching my lips with his own, Marcus kissed me. His breath felt like a butterfly landing on a flower in the afternoon sun. His eyes closed as he held me. I slowly closed my own eyes, just to concentrate on feeling the softness of his kisses. Twice, he kissed me, lingering near. Brushing my bottom lip with his own, Marcus spun my world around.
Who is this man? Is this really happening? I couldn’t help but wonder. Being near Marcus left me breathless for the first time in my life. There was so much more to say, to figure out. I couldn’t concentrate.
Right now, I needed an answer more than I could afford to fall into the grasp of passion. Marcus.
“I-if I don’t come back, if this plan doesn’t work, will you do one thing for me? Will you save Corinne from the grabbing hands of drunken men? You could protect her. Would you? If I fail, will you find my little sister?”
He looked at her, reining in his horse. After a moment, he pointed to the sky and said, “You see that star? The one visible in the daylight?”
I looked where he pointed, peering at the brilliant blue sky and then I saw it. One shining little dot among all the wash of blue and white. One star so determined to shine it ignored the sun. One stubborn little star. I nodded, “I see it.” I spoke.
“It’s not a star. It’s a planet. Many learned people thought for years it was a star or even a goddess. Myths of angels sprung up about the glowing light. They thought it was heaven. They were wrong. It is a whole other world. It isn’t jealous of the sun, in fact. The planet of Celestian is much too proud for that. We live here, in this little world, content to stare at the distant stars and watch lifetimes go by. But there, in that far away land, people live in the middle of miracles. Surrounded by impossible dreams and things that defy the pull of the earth. Technology that floats, people who fly.”
I was caught by the images, sewn like precious pearls into his words. I kept looking at that tiny, bright dot and wondering how so many things could be… Another world? A distant land that rivalled the sun in brightness? Flying people?
Then I looked at him again, uncertain. Marcus burst out laughing.
Startled, I gasped and then I giggled. Impossible things, they were only stories, nothing more. Mother used to tell Luchinda and I the same silly tales.
Ridiculous. The whole yarn. Marcus was clever. He distracted me, enchanting me worry with words, with legends and childrens’ stories. He kept laughing, pleased. I couldn’t tell if he tried to make a fool of me. My face went stone still. The laughter left my eyes as I caught his gaze.
“Will you?” That was all I said.
I waited.
When my smile stopped, his laughter died. “Let’s just get this task done. The axe of the Stormjen Lords stands between us and our hom-.” Marcus corrected himself. “His rightful throne.”
***
Ahead of both our horses, the rest of the group rode solemnly.
He looked at the prince and the kingsmen who surrounded his royal purple cloak. Following his gaze, I did, too. Each man held one hand on a weapon at all times. Every one of them were lethal men of war.
No hesitation. No fear.
They should have been afraid. Their entire plan rested on the wits of a kidnapped servant girl.
Something didn’t feel right. Why are experienced warriors so confident I can pull this off? What do they know?
I shook off that nagging feeling.
“There’s a plan. They have a plan. It’ll work. It will.”
Maybe repeating the names would help calm my nerves? Again, I listed off all the long names and titles of my fake family. Clinging to anything I could concentrate on, allowing the wilderness and the strange men surrounding me to fade into the distance.
At least, in my mind. That’s all the refuge I will ever have.
Wrapped in my fingers, I clung to the faded ribbon and simple green polished stone that had been my mother’s, once upon a time. The coolness of its surface anchored me in a way no other thing ever had. The last connection between us…
I focused on that one stone, the only true thing I owned.
The prince led them all into the jaws of a monster.