The King's Daughters (24 page)

I took a few careful steps further into the room and immediately spotted the man prostrated on the ground in the far corner. Five candles were burning on the small table beside him. So that explained why the room had seemed brighter to me. Indicating the individual to Milo, I motioned for him to be silent. After exchanging nods, we tiptoed close to the praying man.

"Who are you and what is this place?" I boomed at the prayer's back.

The man leapt to his feet in panic. But upon seeing us, he threw himself on his knees and began begging for mercy. "Please, good lords, please forgive this mistake. It won't happen again. I promise. I swear. Please have mercy on me. Please. Please."

Taken aback by the man's reaction, I found myself short for words and wound up just staring at him for a bit. In his mid-twenties, he was of a slim build, with a long narrow face and thinning red hair. By examining the man carefully, I saw that he was a servant. A porter, I deduced, by the characteristic square-shouldered red coat of his uniform. I tapped his shoulder. "Rise up, porter. You have nothing to fear from me. All I want is a few answers."

The porter looked so relieved and grateful that for a brief moment I feared he might try to kiss me. "Oh thank you, my lord. Thank you, thank you. Yes, my lord, I'll answer. Anything my lord wants."

"What is this place?"

"This is the old gods' room, my lord."

I frowned. "I was told the old faith had been abolished and the temples destroyed."

The porter lowered his head. "It is all true, my lord. However, the statues and icons were spared and brought here. No one dared break them for fear of the gods' wrath. As for the worship, the nobles are free to do as they wish . . . as long as they're discrete." The porter bit his lower lip. "It's more dangerous for commoners to do so."

I nodded. "I see. Which god were you praying to moments ago?"

"Torvel." The porter indicated a painting depicting a bent, skeletal old man carrying a huge load of firewood on his back and two buckets of water in each hand. The expression painted on his angular face was a combination of agony and stubborn determination. To me, this frail old man looked like he was about to be crushed under the weight of his chores. Not the picture I had in mind for a god.

"Who is Torvel?"

"Oh, he's the patron of hard-working people. He keeps them healthy and free of injury, so they can do their tasks. He's mostly favored by servants."

"Why?" asked Milo. "Are you not treated when injured? In Telfar, servants are taken care of when sick or hurt. So they could later return to work."

The porter shook his head. "Not here, my lord. Here, an injured servant is always dismissed, which often means being condemned to starvation."

Milo looked horrified. "Oh, how I miss Telfar."

I surveyed the open space behind the porter. That was where I had seen that black robed group. "What's in the other room?"

"More gods and space to pray."

"Show us."

We moved into the other room. I did a quick inspection of the area; I found the pedestal and the small statue the black robes had been worshiping. It represented a battleaxe-wielding woman warrior riding a hellish-looking beast. The creature was neither wolf nor bear nor lion, but a mix of all three it seemed. Bending over the statue, I examined its every detail. Done in a rudimentary chip-carving technique, this old wooden statue, with its stylized look and slightly askew proportions, had a certain naïve charm. "What's this one?" I asked the porter.

"The goddess of war," murmured the porter. He sounded a little bit frightened, I noticed. "She's a powerful god, that one. All the soldiers pray to her. She's their patron."

"What's her name?"

"Mirekia," a resounding baritone voice answered behind me.

I turned around.

The baron and his three sons stood in the room's entrance. They were rather impressive in their military uniforms, with their tall, gray fur hats and matching coats elegantly hanging over their shoulders. They looked angry. Then again, those thick grown-together eyebrows of theirs made it appear as if they were perpetually frowning.

The baron approached us. "If you wish to know more about my god, you'd do well to ask me and not a servant." The man's tone couldn't be more commanding. His deep booming voice was perfectly suited for his rank of army general. It was a voice that demanded obedience.

"I agree, Baron," I said. I turned, intending to dismiss the porter, only to discover that he had already fled.
Of course.
I sighed, and after a respectful bow to the baron, I said. "Please, will you enlighten me, Baron?"

"Mirekia is far more than just the goddess of war, patron of soldiers. She's the dispenser of justice and protector of the righteous. It is this aspect of her that I worship."

Well, he certainly sounded righteous enough to be in his god's favor, I thought. I wasn't sure if I liked it though.

An awkward moment of silence followed, during which we all stared at each other ill at ease. This would have been the perfect time for me and Milo to leave, but too many unanswered questions were still swarming in my mind for me to do so. Gathering my thoughts, I cleared my throat and asked, "Aren't you afraid I might tell the king about this . . . worshiping?"

The baron smiled. "No, because you won't do such a thing."

"You sound very sure of yourself."

"Because I am. I've watched you since you arrived at the castle, and you don't behave like the sort of man who tells. Plus, the king already knows about it. But you figured that out already."

I nodded. "Why are you watching me? Am I that interesting?"

"As a suitor for the king's daughter, you certainly are. Anything that may affect Sorvinka's future interests me. However, I must admit that my interest in you has waned."

"Why?" I asked even though I had a strong feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

"I greatly doubt the king will allow you to marry his daughter."

I felt my stomach drop. "I suppose one of your sons would make a better suitor."

"Absolutely!" The baron expelled a long breath. "Sadly, that's not likely to happen. Our king isn't known for his good decision-making skills." He waved a hand at the statue-filled room. "This proves it." He shook his head. "This was a terribly misguided decision."

"I'm sure the king could be convinced to change his ruling."

"I wouldn't presume to tell the king what to do, or try to influence his judgment one way or the other. It's not my place to advise him in politics. After all, I am but a humble soldier."

Sure, the more mistakes the king makes, the better you look and the closer you get to the throne
. I had to admit the baron's tactic was devilishly brilliant. It was also underhanded—I didn't care much for that aspect of it. I wondered how patient the man was. Did he covet the throne for himself or would he be satisfied by setting the stage for one of his sons. The baron's stony face gave me no hint of an answer either. Finding no other subject of conversation, I bid him good day and left.

"Where are we going now?" Milo asked once we were in the corridor.

"My rooms, where else."

We were entering "Draft Alley," the corridor leading to my rooms, when a guard came running behind us with the news that someone outside the gate was asking for me. After a brief halt in my rooms to fetch our coats and hide the recipe book, Milo and I hurried to the gate.

A young peasant boy wrapped in a thick sheep pelt, his head hidden under a black wool cap, awaited me. A look of extreme excitement illuminated his cold-reddened face.

"Prince Amir, Dimitry sent me," the boy said, while dancing from foot to foot. "We caught it! The bear! We caught it in your trap."

"When?" I asked.

"Some time ago." The boy pointed in the direction of the village. "I came right away—on foot."

On foot!
That meant a fair amount of time had passed since the beast was caught. I stared at the snowy horizon. Perhaps if we hurried, there might still be a chance that we could see the animal alive.

* * *

We rode into the village at break-neck speed, me in the lead on my gray mare and Milo behind on a Sorvinkian bay horse with the peasant boy hooked to his back. I halted my horse in front of the temple's ruin and leapt down. The place was deserted. I had expected to see people around the area where we had dug the trap. I could see that the ground had been churned by a small army of feet, but there was no one near. I was walking toward the trap when Dimitry came out of his house. A group of men followed behind him.

"I got your news, Dimitry," I shouted. "Where's the beast?"

Dimity's expression turned as sour as a rotten turnip. "The cursed animal got out of the trap."

I furrowed my brow. "How?"

"It climbed out. The thing was twice the size of a normal bear. The trap wasn't deep enough to keep it in. Come see for yourself."

I followed Dimitry to the edge of the trap. There was no need asking questions anyway. Claw marks told the story of the bear's escape. They were so clear that I could easily follow the animal's progress from the bottom of the trap right to its top. I then tracked the bear's steps to the altar. The snow all around the altar was flattened and speckled with red dots. Fresh blood by the look of it. Obliviously a battle had been waged here.

"Dimitry, whose blood is this—the bear's?"

The corners of Dimitry's lips dipped downward; he shook his head. "Ours. We tried to stop the beast, but the thing was too strong and too big. We couldn't hold it."

Crouching beside the trap, I peered down at its black bottom. How could this creature climb out of this deep hole so easily? How tall was that monster? I felt the sudden impulse to climb down the trap and touch its bottom. I didn't know why I needed to do that, only that I had to do it. "Can I get a rope?" I asked.

Dimitry snapped his fingers and within moments a rope was let down the side of the trap.

Losing no time, I grabbed the rope and began my descent to the bottom of the trap. I reached the end of the rope quickly enough and my feet made contact with the ground again. It was cold and dark within the trap, far more than I imagined it would be.

Dimitry's head appeared over the trap's edge. "Do you smell it?"

"Smell what?"

"The bear odor."

I took a deep breath. I caught the scent of dirt, snow, and blood, nothing else. I raised my face to Dimitry. "There is none."

"I know." Dimitry's face took on an air of worry. "A horse always smells like horses. A sheep like sheep. But a bear with no smell . . . I don't care for that."

"We believe it may be a trained bear. Could that affect its odor?"

"Maybe. I know nothing about trained bears. The wild ones are the only kind I know."

Nodding, I brought my attention to the dirt walls surrounding me.
Why did I have the urge to come here?
I asked myself.
The urge to step where the beast had stepped.

Seeking one paw print after another, I began stepping into them. Slowly, I traveled along the trap in a circle and back to my starting point. Then the bear had climbed out on the left side. I inspected the dirt wall closely.

"Oh," I blew, placing my hand in a long scratch mark in the frozen dirt. His first attempt had failed. "He fell down."

I looked at the ground where the bear had tumbled, and frowned. I thought I saw something shiny in the dirt. Kneeling down on that spot, I began sifting through the soil. Soon my fingers met with something hard. I brought the small pebble up to my eyes and stared at it in disbelief. Resting in the palm of my hand wasn't a pebble, but one of Thalia's blue diamond earrings. The ones I had given her as a gift.
Why is this here? Has the beast eaten Thalia, and for some reason the earring stayed caught in its jaw . . . until the bear fell down, jarring it loose?
This was a dreadful thought. A more optimistic one came to my mind soon after.
Maybe Thalia attached her earring to the bear, to its collar perhaps, in hope it would lead someone back to her
.

I closed my fist around the earring. No matter how much I wanted to believe this, I just couldn't fathom how someone could attach an earring to a bear—trained or not—without being mauled to death. That was a stupid idea.
What then? What is the earring doing here?
Unable to come up with a plausible explanation for the earring's presence in this hole, I climbed out of the trap feeling more confused than when I'd gotten in.

After discovering the earring in the bear trap, Milo and I returned to the castle. This time we successfully made it to my rooms without disturbance. I spent most of that night and part of the following morning studying Isabo's recipe book. By noon it had become obvious to me that this book was nothing more than a volume of remedies. Although I was disappointed not to have found any spell in it to prove her guilt, I had to admit that Isabo was a very gifted healer and an expert potion-maker. I wondered where she had learned her craft. Moreover, I now questioned her implication in these crimes. Was she really guilty? Doubts riddled me to the point of driving me mad.

What if the queen's death was due to the fact that Isabo wasn't there to provide her with a tonic, and not the other way around?
But if Isabo isn't guilty, who is then? And what about the princesses' kidnappings? Isabo was seen leading the bear, so she has to be guilty. Then why heal the queen? That doesn't make sense.
So many questions, so many strange events, this entire affair seemed unsolvable. I didn't know what to think anymore.

I stared at the window. The bright midday light made its colored glass sparkle like jewels. Today was the queen's funeral, which meant that Isabo's time was numbered. I had two days at best to find out if she was guilty or innocent. But first, I had the solemn duty to attend the queen's funeral.

* * *

Even though dozens of people surrounded me, I felt alone and depressed. Funerals had that effect on me. Also, I believed that my state of mind was made worse by the fact that Eva was so close and yet so far from me.