Crown of Three (8 page)

“Up there,” said Nynus, pointing to a small window set high into the wall. Yellow candlelight flickered inside it. “I think that's my mother's private quarters.”

“How does that help us?”

“We can climb up there.”

Gulph ran his hands over the stone wall, feeling the deep pits and crevices of its age-worn surface. “I could probably do it. But what about you? I still say we should look for . . .”

But Nynus had already clambered on top of a pile of logs stacked against the wall. Spitting on his palms, he started climbing up hand over hand. The prince's speed surprised Gulph; his clumsiness worried him.

“Slow down,” said Gulph, beginning his own ascent. “Let me lead.”

He climbed past Nynus, not thinking about what he was doing, content to let his clever fingers and toes find their own holds in the wall. It was just like when he was performing for a crowd: his mind stopped thinking altogether and his body simply did what it had been built to do.

Soon he was thirty feet off the ground, with a dizzying view across the city. To the south rose the High Peak and the bridge over the chasm, with its promise of escape.

Never mind all that, Gulph. Just keep climbing.

“Watch me,” he called down, pitching his voice as softly as he could. “Put your hands and feet where I do.”

He'd just begun to believe they were going to make it when he heard a yelp from below. He looked down just in time to see Nynus's hands detach from the wall. For an instant the prince seemed to float, his pale face staring straight up at Gulph, suddenly terrified.

Nynus fell.

He hit the pile of logs with a splintering crash. The logs scattered, spilling the prince to the ground and rolling across the cobbles toward a nearby tavern. They struck the hitching rail and clattered to a halt, tangled like ninepins.

“Nynus!” hissed Gulph. He scampered back down the wall. “Nynus! Are you all right?”

“Do you think anyone heard?” Nynus groaned.

Gulph was already at his side. Before he could answer, two men appeared from the shadows. They wore bronze armor overlaid with crimson tunics—the colors of the King's Legion—and carried long broadswords. The swords were unsheathed, and shone despite the darkness.

“Who goes there?” said the first legionnaire, brandishing his blade. Leather boots creaking, his companion strolled around behind the two boys, cutting off their escape.

“We're sorry,” blurted Gulph, quelling his panic. “We'll, uh, clear up the mess.”

The soldier regarded the scattered logs. Each was the size of a small oak tree. He snorted and strode toward the two boys.

Every nerve in Gulph's body was screaming.
We should have gone to the bridge when we had the chance
, he thought, wondering if they might be able to lose the soldiers in the maze of alleys behind the tavern.

“Don't you know who I am?” said Nynus, planting his hands on his hips.

Gulph stared at him, horrified. He'd been hoping the soldiers wouldn't realize they were the ones who had broken out of the Vault of Heaven.

The legionnaire's smile turned to a look of confusion. Then his companion cried, “By the stars, Tomas—it's them!”

Without waiting for the first soldier to react, Gulph bolted toward the tavern. He'd gone two steps before a strong hand closed on his collar.

“Well, doesn't this save us a runaround?” said the legionnaire called Tomas.

Gulph struggled, desperate to escape, stopping only when his captor held a sword blade under his nose.

“Don't give me reason to kill you, little one,” said the man. “No one would miss you—you're not the one who's a prince.”

Gulph had no choice but to let his body go limp. The disappointment was bitter in his mouth—they'd been so close.

The other legionnaire gripped Nynus's arm. Gulph and the prince were marched around a corner and through a narrow doorway, Gulph wincing as Nynus continued to babble.

“Think about what we can offer you,” he said. “I am Prince Nynus, the son of the king and the rightful heir to the crown of Toronia. Let me go—let
us
go—and you will be well rewarded.”

“Be quiet, boy,” said Tomas.

The legionnaires led them through winding passages, stopping when they reached a small room where haunches of meat hung from metal hooks. The room was cold and filled with the faint, sweet smell of curing meat.

“We're under the butchery,” whispered Nynus.

Tomas led the boys between the hanging carcasses. Gulph shuddered each time he brushed against one of the cold slabs of flesh. On a shelf was a pile of sheep's heads, stripped of their skin, eyeless, the ghastly skulls staring at them with the vacancy of the dead.

Is that how we'll end up?
Gulph thought in horror.
Is that why they've brought us in here?
Beside him, Nynus had stopped talking, his face even paler than usual.

Reaching the other side of the chamber, Tomas shoved aside a butchered pig to reveal a wooden door. He opened it, and between them the two legionnaires flung Gulph and Nynus inside. Before either boy could pick himself up, the door had been slammed shut. There was a solid click as a key was turned in the lock.

Gulph took in their surroundings. They were in a room no bigger than the Black Cell. A set of bunk beds stood against one wall; leaning against another was a low desk on which a pair of candles burned. There were no windows, and the room smelled of rats and damp.

“I think we were better off in the Vault of Heaven,” said Gulph. All the same, it was strangely convenient that this room should have been waiting for them. Stranger still that its entrance was hidden in a butcher's pantry.

“I think you may be right.” Nynus's pale eyes were wide and scared. “Did you see their tunics? Those soldiers are men of the Legion. The King's Legion.” He reached a shaking hand to his own face, stroking the cheek. “Oh, Gulph. When they come back, my father will be with them!”

The key clicked in the lock once more and the handle turned. Nynus gave a yelp. Mouth dry, Gulph backed against the desk, knocking it so that one of the candles sputtered and died.

Grabbing the smoking candlestick, Gulph held it in front of him like a sword.

You won't take me without a fight!

Two figures loomed in the dark doorway.

“Mother!” cried Nynus. He lunged toward the first figure, then checked himself, the joy on his face dissolving into uncertainty. “Mother?”

Queen Magritt opened her arms and smiled through sudden tears. “My boy,” she said. “My dear, poor boy.”

She gathered him up, hugging him tight and enveloping him in her long, voluminous dress. While the prince sobbed against her breast, she stared over his head and straight into Gulph's eyes.

Gulph realized he was still brandishing the candlestick. He supposed he looked foolish, but he couldn't bring himself to lower it. The last time he'd seen the queen, she'd called him a malformed monster and had him locked up in the most hateful place he'd seen in his life.

And yet . . . Queen Magritt looked different from the way he remembered her from the arena: less regal, somehow softer. Kinder. Had it all been a ruse after all? Had her cruel words really been part of a complex plot to deliver a savior to her son?

To his astonishment, she smiled at him.

Putting down the candlestick, Gulph gave a cautious nod.

The queen's companion stepped into the light of the remaining candle, and Gulph gasped. It was Captain Ossilius, the very man who'd taken him to be locked up in the Vault of Heaven.

“You are a resourceful young man,” the captain said. He touched one finger to his temple: a small salute. Not quite able to believe what was happening, all Gulph could do was stare at him.

At last Queen Magritt released her hold and stood away from her son. She gazed at him long and hard, as if unable to believe what she was seeing.

“My boy,” she said again. Then she turned to Gulph. “The minute I saw you performing at court, I knew you were the one. Clever. Agile. I knew if anyone could help my son escape that terrible place, it was you. So I thank you, truly, with all of my heart.”

“You're welcome,” said Gulph. “Although, I'm not sure I really understand. . . .”

“I know. I'm sorry for what I said to you yesterday. I called you some terrible things. But it was just an act. You understand acting. I had to make it look real; otherwise the king would have become suspicious. You see that, don't you?”

It was strange, having a queen plead forgiveness. But not really any stranger than everything else that had happened to Gulph since he'd arrived in Idilliam.

“I don't . . . I mean, I think I understand,” he stammered. “And I suppose . . . it all came out for the best.”

Bending a little, the queen kissed his cheek. Her lips were soft, and her breath held a faint scent of strawberries. She was a little older than Gulph had first thought, with tiny lines crowding the corners of her eyes. A little sadder, too.

Not for the first time, he wondered what his own mother had looked like.

“My men have been watching for you all night,” said Captain Ossilius, closing the door softly behind him. “We thought you would come to the castle, and had this room prepared. You will be safe here. Nobody will find you.”

“What about Blist?” said Gulph. “I stole his keys. I don't think he'll be very happy.”

“He'll be happy enough with the purse of silver I'll give him,” said Ossilius. “He'll keep his silence.”

“Or lose his head,” said Queen Magritt, so abruptly that Gulph flinched.

While she'd been talking to Gulph, Nynus had retreated to the corner of the room. He was crouched there now, rocking back and forth and looking exactly like the lost, forgotten boy Gulph had first met in the Vault of Heaven. Queen Magritt went over to him.

“Now, my darling son,” she gushed, “we must make plans. You'll be safe here for a while, but I do not intend for you to remain a prisoner any longer than is necessary, however comfortable the cell.”

She pulled Nynus onto his feet.

“First, King Brutan,” the queen went on. “I hate him for locking you up. I want you to know that, Nynus, and I want you to believe it. Your imprisonment was none of my doing. You do believe it?”

“I do, Mother,” Nynus replied.

“Good. But you are not the only one Brutan betrayed.” Her lip curled a little, and she clasped her hands to still the trembling that had overtaken them. “There is also the matter of Kalia. What he did with that witch . . . his affair . . . I will never forgive him for that. Never! To choose her over me . . .” She stopped, swallowed, went on. “So. Plans. You must take the throne, Nynus. It is yours by right, and by all I hold dear, it will be yours in truth. King Brutan will be brought down, and you will take his place!”

She stopped, breathing hard in the sudden silence.

“Your mother has the Legion's support in this,” said Captain Ossilius. “Brutan's reign of terror must end.”

Gulph stared at them. Nynus might have been Brutan's heir, but surely they didn't believe this wretched boy was fit to rule? Gulph couldn't imagine Nynus in charge of a puppy, let alone a kingdom.

But the idea seemed to appeal to the prince. His shoulders—broader than Gulph's, but hardly muscular—were squared, and his chin jutted with newfound pride.

“I . . . I'll be a good king,” said Nynus, nodding seriously. “I will be merciful to my father. He will have his own castle—a small one—in the Toronian hinterlands. He can live out his days there.”

“Whatever you choose,” said the queen.

“And the Thousand Year War,” said Nynus, warming to his subject. He held up a hand as if he were giving a speech to an eager crowd. “I'll end it. My people need peace. There will be fine foods for everyone, and parties every night, and I'll ride through the realms so everyone can see their king.” He whirled around and clapped Gulph on the back. “And you, Gulph, will be at my side the whole time. My chief courtier! I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you!”

Gulph didn't know what to say. He was growing used to the speed with which Nynus changed his mood, but this was extreme, even for him: from downtrodden prisoner to future king, all in the blink of an eye.

“Nynus is quite right,” said Queen Magritt. “When he sits upon the throne, you must be by his side. You are such a good friend to us, Gulph.”

Gulph ran his hand over his acrobat's clothes, soiled and ragged at the seams. His becoming a courtier was even more ridiculous than Nynus becoming king. And yet . . . If Magritt was right, and it somehow came true, things would be different. No more jeers, no more sly comments about his appearance, no more laughter behind his back. It was an incredible thought.

The others were watching him expectantly. “Of course, Nynus,” Gulph said. “I'd be honored.”

There was a gentle knock at the door. Half drawing his sword, Captain Ossilius eased it open a crack. Gulph heard muttered words, then the door opened fully to admit a young blond woman wearing a white apron and carrying a tray of food. Instead of the Vault's metal bowls, there were porcelain plates; instead of tough meat and gruel, there was shining fruit and bread so fresh it was steaming.

“This is Limmoni,” said the queen. “Apart from myself and Captain Ossilius, she is the only other person who knows you are here. She will bring you food each day and keep your room clean. If you want to send me a message, give it to Limmoni.”

Snapping her fingers, the queen ushered Captain Ossilius farther into the room.

“And now, let us make them look respectable,” she said.

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Ossilius. He took a bag from his shoulder and emptied a heap of clothes onto the bottom bunk. Nynus gasped and ran his hands over the finely woven fabric.