Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 (22 page)

She
tried to focus on the positives. All the mercenaries except one
were dead. That would have to be enough to satisfy her need for
revenge. She was safe
--
was that a positive when she had wished for death tonight? Vard was
most likely safe as well, but she could not relish his life at the
mercy of his animal side. She could choose a life for good, to
balance the evil in her realm, but how much power would she have as
wife to Lord Finus? He would not be swayed by her desire for
fairness and she could not continue to battle in a physical sense.
Sooner or later, she would be found out.

Alecia
stood and crossed to the mirror.
Holy Goddess!
The right side of her face was a mass of purple
welts and scrapes and her throat looked worse. A high-necked gown
would hide some of the damage but there was little she could do
about her face, unless she could reach Hetty.
Yes, that is the answer!
Alecia imagined traversing the
darkened alleys again and the spark of hope inside her was replaced
with violent tremors. She had no more courage left tonight. Perhaps
if she took to her bed for a week, the bruising would have faded
enough to hide with makeup.

She gave
herself a sponge bath and washed her hair. Her clothes she tossed
into the fire, the stench of burning dung infusing the room. Once
her face was clean, she applied an ointment Hetty had given her for
bruising. The flesh was so sore, she could barely bring herself to
touch it, but she made herself rub in the ointment until her cheek
throbbed and her stomach heaved. Then she applied the salve to the
bruises that dotted the rest of her body and donned her nightgown.
She checked that her chamber door was locked, blew out the candles
and climbed into bed. It was a long time before she fell
asleep.

At midday the next day,
an urgent knocking woke Alecia from an exhausted sleep. Pain seared
her skull as she sat up in bed and a low moan escaped her lips. She
collapsed back on the pillows. Her throat burned as she swallowed
another moan. The knock came again, this time louder, more
insistent. Gathering her courage, she levered herself up out of bed
and walked slowly to the door.

“Who is it?”
she croaked.

“Your
betrothed, my dear. I wish to speak with you.”

Alecia groaned
inwardly. She cleared her throat, wincing at the pain the movement
caused. “I cannot see you today, my lord,” she said. “I am unwell.
Perhaps tomorrow or the next day?”

“We need to
discuss arrangements for our marriage ceremony, my dear.”

“Whatever you
decide will be acceptable,” Alecia said. “You have impeccable
taste.” She imagined the garish decorations and extravagant
ceremony that Finus would organise and almost opened the door. But
she could not be seen yet. “I truly don’t mind. You can tell me of
your arrangements when I am better.”

“Very well, my
dear,” Finus said. “I will call again tomorrow.”

Alecia
heard him walk away and slumped against the door. She glanced in
the mirror as she returned to her bed and gasped. The flesh had
puffed up to close her right eye and the bruising was every shade
of purple and blue. She found the ointment and forced herself to
rub it into her skin again.
It is pointless
. Alecia slammed the jar back on her beauty shelf and
gasped again as she saw a tray of food on her breakfast table. Even
if her bruises had been against the pillow, any observant maid --
let alone Millie -- should have spied the damage to her face. It
must have been Millie for she was the only person, besides Prince
Zialni, who had a key. How long would it be before someone arrived
asking her questions? Perhaps Finus already knew of her
injuries.

She forced
herself to eat as much of the food as she could. The porridge was
cold but it slid down her tender throat more easily once it was
mixed with honey and milk. There was crusty bread, which she
avoided, a soft cheese and spiced wine. She sniffed the wine and
then swallowed a mouthful. It warmed her stomach. Perhaps it would
soothe her hurts and help her sleep. She finished the first goblet
and poured another, which she finished too.

Alecia
returned to her bed and lay down with her damaged eye to the
pillow. She was quickly asleep.

When Alecia awoke, it
was dark. Some small noise had disturbed her. She froze, senses
straining to detect anything out of the ordinary, and felt a
presence beside her bed. A hand clasped her shoulder and she
lurched upright. Her ruined throat strangled the scream that
bubbled up.

“Do not fear,
Daughter, it is only your father, come to see you. You’ve slept all
day.”

Alecia sighed
with relief then remembered she couldn’t let him see her face.
“You…you startled me, Father,” she said, her voice strained and her
throat painful.

“You sound
unwell, Alecia. What ails you?”

“
I
am
unwell,
Father, just as I told Lord Finus. Leave me be and I will be
recovered in a matter of days.”

“Are you
certain of that, Alecia?” The prince sounded tense.

“I am sure it
is nothing serious.”

“I had Millie
bring your evening meal. I will light some candles and talk with
you while you eat.”

“I am not
hungry, Father. I wish to sleep. Do not light the candles.”
Alecia’s heart pounded at the thought of her father’s face if he
saw her injuries.

There was a
long pause in which Alecia listened to the blood drubbing in her
ears. Then her father’s weight shifted from the bed and she sighed
with relief. The next moment, her heart lurched as a glowing taper
moved from the banked fire towards the candles on her bedside
table. Light blossomed as the prince lit two candles. Alecia rolled
over and buried her face in the pillow. She felt her father’s
weight on the bed once more.

“Leave me be,”
she groaned.

“I insist you
look at me, Alecia,” Prince Zialni said, his hand resting on her
shoulder.

Alecia braced
herself. When her father used that tone of voice, he would not be
denied. She rolled over and sat up, her eyes slowly rising to
his.

“Alecia!” he
said, springing to his feet as if her face frightened him. “What
has happened?”

“It is
nothing, Father. A fall, nothing more.”

The prince’s
eyes narrowed. “A fall did not do that to your neck.” His fingers
brushed the battered skin of her throat and he gasped and drew his
hand away. “Who has…?” Alecia could see that the prince scrambled
to understand the reason for her injuries. “I will kill him. I will
kill whoever has dared to lay hands on you. Did they…?”

White-hot
anger flared in Alecia’s heart. “No, Father, my honor is intact,”
she spat. “But well might you kill the man who did this to me. He
is already a murderer and I would be another to add to his tally if
not for your soldiers.”

Prince
Zialni froze. “Murderer! What…?” Realisation dawned in his eyes.
“It was you,” he said. “
You
are
the lad who has attacked my -- the mercenaries.”

Alecia went in
for the kill. “They are your men to the core. You are ultimately
responsible for Jorge’s death.”

“Jorge always
did have more courage than brains,” the prince said. “Is that what
this is all about? You avenging Jorge’s death?

“Yes,” she
spat, “and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

The prince’s
face paled. “Are you mad? You could have been killed.” Alecia
tossed aside the covers and bounded from the bed to confront her
father. “What will you do now? Hand me to the guards for
crucifixion?” She should have stayed in her cell, refused to escape
and made her father squirm. Well, he would suffer now, knowing that
his actions had driven her to desperate acts.

He stared at
her as if he had never seen the real Alecia. “Of course I won’t
hand you over but how did you escape? The guards are all dead.
There is blood everywhere and bear prints. I thought the prisoner
had been taken by the animal.”

“
I wish
I
had
died last night,” she said.
“That was my plan.”

Her father’s
face went from pale to bright red in seconds. She had never seen
him so angry. “Tell me how you escaped. If you were rescued, let me
know who was responsible so that I can thank him.”

“So that you
can kill him, you mean? You would not want evidence of your
daughter’s crimes known by the populace.”

The flush
moved from the prince’s face right down his neck as he gripped
Alecia’s arms above the elbow. “Do not taunt me,” he said. “Captain
Anton is again absent. Tell me he was not involved.”

“
This
,” Alecia
pointed to her face and neck, “has nothing to do with the captain.
What happened this night is about you and me.” Pain and anger
bubbled up until she felt her chest would burst. “I wish I were
dead. You are no father of mine, to sell me off to Lord Finus. He
is old enough to be my father, my
grand
father. He paws at me in your presence. Heaven forbid that
I should have been soiled this night. Your precious deal with my
betrothed would not have been honored then, would it,
Father?”

“Your duty is
to the kingdom, Alecia, as you have always known.”

“You did not
even have the heart to choose a young man for me, someone I at
least had a chance of growing to love.”

“Do not be
foolish. Lord Finus brings alliances that I require. You will marry
as soon as your wounds heal. And you will produce a son within the
year.”

“What do you
think would happen if I presented myself to the lieutenant,
Father?”

The prince’s
hands tightened on her arms. Did she not have enough bruises
without him adding to them?

“You will
conceal your wounds until they heal. I will confine you to the
lower cellar and tell Millie you have gone to the country for a
holiday.”

Alecia went
cold from head to toe. “No!” She struggled against his hands,
trying to reach him with her fists. “I won’t let you cage me.” She
was too weak to struggle long. The prince gave her a small shove
and Alecia toppled backwards onto the bed. She rolled onto her
stomach, pain grabbing her face as it came into contact with the
quilt. Her father’s words came through a fog of hurt and
exhaustion.

“
You
will do as I say. Your marriage will take place as soon as you are
healed and Lord Finus will see to the matter of an heir for the
kingdom. Get up and pack what you need. I will wait outside.”
Something on the bedside table caught his eye. “And you
will
wear that ring!”

The cold voice
of the man she had believed would always love her squeezed the last
ounce of hope from her heart.

Vard awoke in a
shallow cave. Pain struck him from a dozen points as he moved. His
tunic and breeches were filthy and bloodstained. He removed his
clothes and examined the wounds one by one. None of them appeared
serious
-- the benefit
of injuries taken while in transformation. It was far harder to
hurt a bear than a human.

Alecia
was wrong. He
was
human.

He dressed and
stepped warily from the cave where he had sought refuge the night
of the assassin’s attack. It lay deep in the forest to the
north-east of Brightcastle. He stood at the entrance, as the first
rays of the sun touched the tips of the trees beneath him. The
peace of the scene contrasted with the tumult inside. There had
been hard times in the past, not least being his early days of
transformation, when he had not known what or who he was; the days
after he had killed his cousin Frel. Then, as now, his lack of
control over the transformation had almost been his undoing. He had
thought those days of desperation were past.

Vard gripped
the amber talisman and its warmth caressed his palm. He closed his
eyes and Alecia’s face came to mind; a face ravaged by bruises and
fear. The face he had confronted last night. An ache began deep in
his chest and grew in intensity. He squeezed his eyes tight and
felt moisture on his cheeks.

“I can’t bear
this agony,” he said, the words a whisper on the wind. He wasn’t
sure what the pain was, but he had his suspicions. It was an
impossible situation. He had to leave before Alecia paid the
ultimate price for his stupidity. Vard set off down the rocky
slope, heading eastwards and away from Brightcastle.

He stopped at
a stream at the base of the hill and drank long and deeply. The
water refreshed him but when he went to wade across the stream, the
ache in his chest returned. He tried to ignore it and within
minutes, he could no longer walk. He crawled along on hands and
knees until soon he couldn’t even do that. Vard finally decided
that he must return to the cave or die in the woods, and so he
crossed back over the stream. Immediately the pain ceased. He shook
his head, puzzled, and turned back to the east. This time the pain
returned with just one step towards the water.

“I get the
message,” Vard muttered. He set off south and east, following the
stream, unprepared to give in to the force that blocked his travel
east. Each time he traveled further east than south, the throbbing
in his chest crippled him. Eventually, he realized that whenever he
took a course that led him away from Brightcastle, the pain would
return. He was like a pigeon, and Brightcastle the coop.

So,
something would not let him leave Brightcastle -- was the force
external or did it come from within? He couldn’t leave, but how
could he stay? He didn’t remember all of the guardroom slaughter of
last night but recalled enough to know that everyone had been
killed. He’d sent Alecia away, but had she escaped? If she had
returned, it was possible she’d been killed by one of the guards…
or by the bear. No! He’d remember that. He
would
remember Alecia. Suddenly he had to know that she
lived.