The King's Daughters (21 page)

Grasping Lars by the shoulders, the king kissed his nephew on both cheeks. "Yes. You're right. I do have a son in you, Lars."

Now feeling secure in his position, Lars beamed at us. And when the king returned to his throne, Lars trailed behind him like a puppy.

My thoughts turned to Isabo. Obviously, she didn't know about the king's decision to remarry. Otherwise she would still be free and Thalia would be with us. This brought a new question to my mind. Where were the kidnapped princesses? Perhaps they were still alive and held captive somewhere. The chances of that were slim, yet I thought I should look into it. But first I tried to comfort Eva. I wished I could do more than just hold her hand. I wished I could take her in my arms and gently rock her to sleep. I stayed with her as long as conventions permitted me, and then I left for the garden where Isabo had been arrested.

* * *

The ground around the castle and its courtyard had been trampled by too many feet to provide any valid clues. However, once I reached the edge of the forest the bear's tracks became clear and undisturbed. I followed them to the collapsed shelter Eva and I had visited a few days ago. By the quantities of tracks visible in this area, the bear had wandered in and out of the shelter several times. I also noted that a group of people had gathered here and held some sort of meeting. At least six different footprints marred the snow.
So, Isabo has accomplices.
Now it all made sense. Isabo had led them inside the castle with their trained bears. While the bears created diversions, the accomplices abducted the princesses. Yes, it had to have happened that way. Isabo simply couldn't kidnap the twins all by herself. Neither could she subdue Thalia, who was much bigger than she was.

I peered inside the half-collapsed shelter. The bears had gone on quite a rampage in there. Fir branches were strewn about, the heavy stone cup was toppled over, and ashes from the fire were scattered on the snow like black rain. The destruction was so complete, I questioned if the beast had not turned on its master.

"This animal was enraged," I said aloud. I wondered why. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised that an animal behaved like . . . well, an animal. I shrugged and returned to the castle's ground.

I might not have learned much by following the bear's tracks, but what I did learn was very important: Isabo had accomplices. Now, I just needed to find who and where they were.

* * *

I was approaching the stables when I heard the shrill neighs of horses in distress. Sure enough, Lars and his friends were inside the enclosure, tormenting the wild ponies. I couldn't say I was surprised by what I was witnessing; however, I was certainly annoyed by it and rather aggravated. Their behavior was despicable.

March on, Amir. This is none of your business. March on.
Of course, that's not what I did. I let out a heavy sigh, and despite the voice of reason in my head telling me I was a damn fool to meddle in something that didn't concern me, I walked up to the horse pen anyway.

"LARS!" I shouted. "LEAVE THOSE HORSES ALONE!"

Shocked by my commanding tone, he and his friends nearly seized up. Quite frankly, I was shocked too. That wasn't how I should have addressed the situation, or Lars, for that matter. I shook my head. I used to be so careful about those things. What was happening to me? Was I losing my head or just my manners?

Regaining his countenance, Lars glared at me. "What is it to you? These horses aren't yours."

"True. But they're not yours either, Lars. And why are you scaring them like that? Surely you and your friends can find a more dignified activity to distract yourselves."

Folding his arms over his chest, Lars raised his chin. "You're right, Prince Amir. We need something more entertaining. Your people are known as great horsemen, and your desert breed as the fastest of all horses, isn't that a fact?"

I winced. I could smell a trap from where I stood. But I had no idea what direction I should take not to get caught in it though. "Yes," I risked. "Our horses are known for their speed and agility."

"Would you care to test this knowledge?"

Aha, there it was! That was a poor trap; the setup was rather clumsy too. Then again, Lars wasn't a genius. "No thank you. I have other things on my mind at the moment."

Lars grinned like a monkey. "Uh-huh, that's what I thought. It's a tale. Like the ones you told at dinner."

"My dear duke, I know what you're attempting to do. And believe me, I won't let myself be caught in your argument."

"Pf, pitiful excuse! You're just afraid your horses won't be able to run in the snow."

"If our horses can run in sand, they can run in snow."

With a side-glance to his friend, Lars declared, "Then the fault rests in your ability as a rider."

"I'm an excellent rider."

"Prove it."

Lord, why won't he stop,
I thought, rubbing my temples. Lars was like a dog on a bone with this. I was wondering what was wrong with that boy, which was a lot in my opinion, when I noticed the subtle glances Lars kept throwing at his friends and how these young noblemen where watching him with semi-bored expressions. It was then that I realized that Lars was trying to impress them. I winced internally.
Not a good sign for a future king
. Kings should never behave that way; it was the nobles who should try to impress the king, not the other way around.

I looked at Lars, and despite myself I felt pity for that insecure,
and oh so tenacious,
boy. Perhaps I should just accept his challenge and get it over with. It's not like those heavy-footed Sorvinkian horses of his could beat mine in a race anyway. In addition, losing face might do Lars some good. I smiled. "How do you suggest I prove this, Lars?"

"By competing in a Sorvinkian race against me."

"Fine! All right then, I'll do it."

Lars's friends cheered loudly, while Lars rubbed his hands together in jubilation as if he had just played me a good trick.

A sudden anxiousness came over me. Maybe I should have thought this through before accepting. At the very least, I should've asked what was involved in a Sorvinkian race. I shook my head. Here I was, worrying again over nothing. All races were more or less alike. This one couldn't be that much different—it just couldn't.

After Lars and I had both agreed to delay the race long enough for us to change out of our mourning clothes, I hurried to my room. Choosing my most comfortable riding clothes, a loose-fitting, dark tan ensemble, I changed rapidly, then grabbed my coat. I was ready to return outside when I heard someone knocking at the door.

Milo rushed to see who it was, then came back. "It's Prince Diego. I can tell him that you're not here, if you wish," he said, sounding very eager to do just that.

I thought about it briefly, and said, "No, let him in."

Milo's shoulders sagged. With a grim look on his face, he opened the door.

Diego marched in like a man on a mission. "Amir, I heard a disturbing rumor. Is it true that you're going to race against Lars?"

"It's not a rumor. I'm on my way there right now."

Clutching his head with both hands, Diego lamented loudly, "OH, for the good graces of the gods! Have you completely lost your mind?" Normally, I tend to ignore Diego's emotional outburst, but I had to admit that the look of distress on his face scared me a little. Then I recalled the mourning ceremony and thought this was just another one of his acts.

I stared at him coldly. "Diego, you can stop your charade. I know you care as much for me as you did for Thalia. Your acting might fool the king—doesn't fool me though. So stop it!"

Diego recoiled in shock. "How dare you question the honesty of my feelings? I do care about Thalia's well-being."

"Really? Two days ago you were ready to break her heart."

Diego's eyes narrowed to thin slits. "And I still would do it. I'd break her heart ten times over if you'd let me. But hear this, Amir, no matter what people say, nobody has ever died from a broken heart—that's a fairy tale. However, what kidnappers can do to a young innocent girl is another story. Thalia cannot withstand such abominable treatment, Amir. She's not like your Eva. She's not strong."

I watched fear replace anger in Diego's eyes, then anger return with a vengeance. "That witch, that evil witch. Oh how I would love to strangle her." Raising clawed hands in front of him, Diego mimicked strangling someone—Isabo I presumed.

I had to say that if Diego was acting, it was the best performance I'd ever seen. He certainly had me convinced. Even Milo, who openly disliked Diego, seemed to believe him.

"Diego," I began, "I'm sorry for having doubted your feelings. I apologize."

Diego waved a hand around in a dismissive manner. "I've played a role for so long that sometimes I don't know when to stop. Honestly, Amir, Thalia's kidnapping affects me more than I'd like to admit. There, I said it! I, Diego Del Osiega, Prince of Pioval, have grown fond of that fat little brat."

Brat?
I wrinkled my nose in confusion. That was an unusual way of speaking about a loved one—again, Diego was an unusual man.

Diego produced a sad smile. "Not many people here like me. As you know, I have very few friends." He paused and gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "It upsets me when one of them goes and puts himself in peril without reason."

"I'm not in peril, Diego. It's only a race. I—"

"It's a Sorvinkian race."

"And?"

"You will lose."

"Why? I'm an excellent rider. Why is everybody questioning my riding skills? That's becoming insulting."

Exasperated, Diego let out a long hissing breath. "You won't be riding, Amir."

"OH—what will I do then?"

"Drive a troika."

The corners of my mouth dipped downward. "What's a troika?"

"Come, follow me. I think it's best if I show it to you."

* * *

A small crowd was gathered outside the stable. By their sparkling eyes, excited demeanors, and animated conversations, one could hardly believe they'd just come from a mourning ceremony.

"What are those people doing here?" I asked Diego, who was walking ahead of me.

"They came to see the race. News travels fast in the castle. And a Sorvinkian race is always an event."

An event!
I didn't like the sound of that.

"Ah, there it is!" exclaimed Diego, pointing ahead. "Your troika!"

I frowned, puzzled by what I was seeing. "Are you serious? That strange contraption?"

The thing in front of us looked like an open carriage with no wheels. It was set upon long strips of metal that curled up at the front end. Strangest of all was the harness: three thick, bell-covered horse's collars lined side by side. A large inverted U-frame, garishly decorated with multicolored geometric motifs, stood above the central collar.

Diego threw an arm over my shoulder. "As you see, Amir, a troika is a sleigh drawn by a team of three horses abreast. Sorry yours is such an ugly shade of yellow."

Speechless, I watched stable boys attempt to harness three of my Telfarian horses to the sleigh. I began worrying immediately. Unused to this type of drawing arrangement, the horses were rearing, kicking, pulling left and right; their erratic behavior seriously threatened to topple the troika, if not controlled soon. Concern now tightened my stomach. Clearly, handling a troika wasn't an easy task. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the crowd had left.

"Where did all the people go?"

"To the lake east of the castle to watch the race."

"We're racing around the lake?"

Diego's left eyebrow rose. "Amir, you're racing
on
the lake."

"On the lake?"

"It's frozen."

"Oooh—OOOH! We're racing on a frozen lake."

Diego nodded his head slowly.

I signed.
Hell, this is getting worse by the minute.

* * *

Well, I was right about the situation getting worse. First, riding in a troika felt rather like riding on a bar of soap. The damn thing kept slipping and sliding all over the place, and I wasn't even on the frozen lake yet. Second, when I arrived at lake and saw Lars's troika and team of horses, I immediately knew that I would be lucky if I only lost the race (and face), and not a limb, or worse, my life. (According to Diego, Lars was a vicious driver. He had a reputation for bumping into his opponent, toppling their sleigh, and then running them over with his horses.)
Great! I have all that to look forward too. Lovely, just lovely.

Lars's troika was bright blue and so was the U-frame—which, thanks to Diego, I now knew was a duga—rising above his central horse. This duga, however, wasn't garishly painted like mine, but adorned with dozens of dangling red tassels. Lars's three brown horses were great muscular creatures with powerful round rumps and deep, broad chests. Those horses were built to pull. With a growing sense of doom, I watched them move in perfect union. They were also well trained.

Not yet resigned to lose, I inspected Lars's horses and gear once more, hoping to find flaws in it. When one of the horses raised his hoof to strike the ice, a metallic glare caught my eye. His horses had spiked horseshoes.

"Cheater," I mumbled under my breath. As if he needed this advantage. I glared at Lars with resentment.

Firmly positioned at the front of his troika, Lars held his horses' reins with expert hands, his eyes fixed straight ahead. I stared at the crowd spread along the lakeshore. Two figures attracted my attention. They stood out against the pristine white snow in their dark garments: Eva, clad in a black coat, and Countess Ivana in a red one. Both women were huddled together as if for warmth or support. I knew Eva enough to figure that she didn't approve of my involvement in this race. I shook my head at my own stupidity. What was I thinking? Actually, a lack of thinking was at the heart of the problem, really. Since I'd gotten here I had been unable to think things through.

My attention returned to Eva and Ivana. What I saw then made me uneasy. The two Anchin warriors now stood right behind them.