The Witch's Reward (18 page)

“What was her name?” She had to be sure.

“Clayre,” he spoke reverently.

She didn’t know if she could breathe. Her lungs felt like they were going to collapse, and it was all she could do to hold onto the saddle as the thoughts rushed through her head, collapsing together in a sudden heap of understanding. She was glad Griffen was concentrating on the road, else he would have seen the shock on her face.

What should she do? She wanted to tell him that her mother hadn’t left him for selfish reasons, but selfless reasons. She wanted to tell him that he had a daughter who had inherited his eyes.

He said he had married and she recalled how lighthearted he’d been when he talked of his wife. He had loved and lost, but had formed a new life with a new woman. What good would telling him that his former love had been burned as a witch do for him? And what good would it do to tell him that he had a daughter, when there was a possibility that daughter might also be executed? Maybe he was right, and the past should stay in the past. Telling him would only hurt him.

The talk with Griffen succeeded in taking her mind off of her own suffering, and for the next several moments she was so preoccupied with this new revelation that she didn’t see the rider galloping in their direction.

“Sir, an urgent message from the king!” The rider was clothed in the palace colors, his horse lathered and puffing. He held out a scroll for Christoff to read.

Christoff ripped off the seal and shook the scroll open, his eyes widening in what looked like shock as he read the contents. He shoved the note back at the messenger and turned his horse to face his men.

“We must hurry. My father, the king, is gravely ill, and my mother does not know if he will live until morning.” He pointed to the two knights at the rear who were following the wagon. “The wagon will slow us down. Bart and Jessen, you and the messenger will stay behind with the drafts. The rest of us will ride. Let’s go!” 

He wheeled his horse around and spurred it forward, setting a breakneck speed down the road. The messenger reined off to the side and Larra barely spared him a glance as her own gelding shot forward to follow the rest. 

She couldn’t stop thinking that she had misheard Christoff’s words. His father, the king?

Her eyes were gritty with fatigue by the time they arrived at the palace gates. They had ridden hard through the afternoon and into the night, stopping only to water the tiring horses. She swayed in the saddle. It was only by sheer luck that she hadn’t already fallen to the ground.

The call of a guard and the sound of dragging metal made her look up just enough to see the heavy, fortified doors swinging open. Beyond the gate, and in stark contrast to the dark, sleepy city they had passed through, the palace was lit up like a cloudless summer sky. Arched windows and balconies decorated the large, light gray stone building that stretched along both sides and to the back of a wide, magnificent courtyard. The courtyard was at the center of everything, the floor made with a luminescent marble that glowed like pearls under the light of the torches and candelabras that shined from the windows and lampposts. There were raised flower beds blooming in all colors and sizes, placed at strategic points throughout the courtyard to create close, intimate areas for those who wished for privacy.

Larra didn’t think it possible to become so alert after such an exhausting day, but the sight before her was so beautiful and extravagant that she was renewed with energy. She longed to look at the gardens and see what grew there. Her fingers itched with the thought of finding some new, medicinal plant among all that vegetation.

A shout jerked her attention from the view and toward a tall, elegant man hurrying down the wide, marble steps that led into the courtyard from what must have been the infamous great hall. The man didn’t look anything like Christoff, and Larra supposed he was another messenger, though the fine tailoring of his clothes suggested he was someone of importance.

Christoff leapt off his horse as the man approached, reaching out to clasp the man by his shoulder. 

“Lucien, we received a message from my mother. How is my father? Where is he?”

“He is not good. We don’t know if he will last through the night,” was the solemn response.

“But what caused him to make a turn for the worst? Can’t the healers do anything?” Christoff’s voice had risen in volume, his distress evident.

Larra couldn’t help but feel for him. She imagined it would be like losing Elane to some unbeatable illness, and the thought filled her with sorrow. Despite having been so caustically cast aside by the captain, she still had feelings for him. She hurt for him.

The lean, well-dressed man looked quietly around the group, his gaze finally settling on Larra, and for a moment she thought she saw hatred burning in his steel gray eyes. She was taken aback by the power of such enmity from a man she’d never met.

“The healers have failed to help him. As to why he is so ill, I think we should speak of that matter in private.”

Christoff’s hand tightened on the man’s shoulder in barely curtailed emotion. “No, tell me now,” he commanded. “I must know so that I can figure out what to do next.  I can’t wait on trivialities.”

For no known reason, Larra couldn’t dispel the sense of dread that crept over her like a spider along its web.

“Very well, my prince,” the man responded, almost too readily. “But I fear it is too late to do anything about the king. Not now that you’ve brought the witch here.”

Christoff visibly started, and his eyes shot to Larra. “What does Larra have to do with my father’s illness?” 

“It’s the witch’s very presence here, my lord, which is making your father ill. A similar thing occurred with the witches that tried to kill your grandfather, King Gaston. They used their magic in such a way that arriving in his presence would have killed him. Luckily, they were found out and executed before they could get to him.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that witches don’t have to touch a man to kill him. They can do it by simply getting close. I did not know this for myself until your father asked me to delve deeper into the history books, looking for a way out of the execution. Only instead of finding a loophole, I found even more condemning information. This girl, this
witch
,” he sneered the word, “has been killing your father since the moment she was arrested and began her journey to the city. Her very proximity to him now has put him in a grave situation. And if she were to be in the same room, it would mean his immediate death. As it is, we doubt he shall live until morning. You must get rid of her, immediately. She has been planning to kill your father since the very beginning!”

“No. That can’t be true. You must be mistaken.”

“Why would I lie? Just think about it. Did she give you any trouble along the way? Did she harm anyone?”

“Not at all,” answered Christoff. “On the contrary, she helped us.”

“And I’ll bet she hardly ever complained.”

“No…” The prince’s tone now held a hint of suspicion.

“I’ll bet she was the perfect prisoner—compliant, willing, never attempting to escape.”

“That’s true.”

The pit of Larra’s stomach dropped out, the feeling of dread growing until it became a heavy shadow, covering all light of lingering hope. It was obvious that Christoff was beginning to be persuaded. This was a man that he trusted.

She opened her mouth to refute the accusations, but no words came. She was dumb with shock.

“Don’t you see, Prince Christoff?  Don’t you understand what has happened? She
wanted
to be brought here. She
wanted
to see the king. She’s been planning his demise since the very day she let her powers be known to her fellow townsmen, knowing that it would lead her here, where she could get close enough to kill your father.”

The man pushed harder. “You must get rid of her. Execute her immediately. She is killing your father even as she stands here in this courtyard. He will not live another day and it is her fault. She does not deserve to live!”

Larra could feel the shocked looks the knights focused on her. She could only imagine what they were thinking, believing. She was afraid to look at any of them, even Sir Griffen. The thought of her own father believing her capable of murder was torturous, though not as torturous as what was written on Christoff’s face.

A tear slipped unbidden down her cheek, and even as she watched, the doubt in his handsome hazel eyes began to harden, to turn into suspicion. Then into accusation. And finally, into disgust.

Larra began to silently sob, lifting a hand to cover her mouth, even though no sound came out. Christoff turned away, his shoulders stiff with resolve, and she knew that he thought her guilty of all the man had said. She would be dead, and soon. And strangely, death didn’t seem like such a hardship. Not when this man hated her.

“I am sorry that we ever arrested her,” Christoff was saying. “I’m sorry that we brought her so close to the palace. But before I can make any decisions, I must see my father.”

“Christoff, you must execute her!” the well-dressed man shouted.

Griffen spoke up, “You can’t mean to—”

“Quiet!” Christoff commanded, holding up a hand in frustration. “I cannot think about this now. Lucien,” he said, turning to the man, “if she has come this far and my father is still alive, then any decision regarding her death can wait until the morning. Just...keep her away from the palace. Now,
I must see my father!
” He turned to run up the steps, but Lucien grabbed his elbow, detaining him a moment longer.

“But what shall we do with her until the morning?”

Christoff ran a head over his face. “Frankly, right now I don’t care.”

“The dungeon is far enough away from the palace. May I suggest taking her there?”

“Just get her out of here.”

“But Christoff!” Griffen exclaimed, more than one knight at his side looking anxiously between the girl and their captain. Christoff ignored them all, taking the steps two at a time.

The man, Lucien, motioned for two guards to step forward, and before she knew what was happening, Larra was jerked from the saddle and pulled to the ground. Strong hands encircled her upper arms and began dragging her away from the group toward a barred door at the side of the courtyard. 

“Wait, please!” she screamed, desperation finally giving her the voice she needed. “Christoff, don’t do this!” she shouted towards the toughened, angry man.

The prince jerked to a stop and turned around. He raised a fist in the air and immediately the two guards dragging her away stopped. He returned towards the group of knights, striding unhesitatingly across the courtyard until he was within inches of her. Larra could smell the familiar scent of leather and the outdoors, and something else that was uniquely his. She inhaled deeply, knowing that she might never get this close again. She searched his eyes, trying to find any crack in the brutal armor he had secured around his mind and his heart.

“Christoff, please…”

He held up a hand to silence her. Leaning forward, he lowered his face to hers until they were practically nose to nose. In a deep, frighteningly quiet voice, he spoke only a few words.

“Do not call me by that name. You do not have the right…
witch
.” He glanced over her in disgust before turning on his heel and stalking away.

Larra felt like someone had shot an arrow into the very center of her heart. It stopped beating and a searing pain spread throughout her body with such intensity that she couldn’t breathe. Her vision grew fuzzy and dark, and she was only vaguely aware of being dragged through the door in the wall and into the night.

She didn’t feel the unevenness of the stone path beneath her feet as she was taken away, nor did she feel the bruising fingers pinching into her arms or see the glow of the torch on the stone wall that signaled the entrance to the dungeon. She didn’t hear the slam of a steel door shutting behind her as she was caged for the final time. She didn’t hear anything. Didn’t see anything. She simply…withdrew.

Chapter 21

“Mother?” Christoff called softly from the door. The room was dark except for the light from the fireplace and a single candlestick on a table next to the large, raised bed. His mother was seated next to the bed, her hand gently placed on his father’s arm. Steffan lay prone and unmoving beneath the sheets, and even in the dim light Christoff could see that his face was as bloodless as a corpse’s.

He had rarely ever seen his father ill, and never as near to death as he was now. The king had always been a lively man, and to see him like this was almost more than Christoff could handle. Grief filled him, adding to the despair and betrayal he already felt at learning of Larra’s deception.

He had a flashback to the incident in the courtyard. At first, he’d thought that Lucien was wrong, that the historical records the man had spoken of were wrong. After all, he knew Larra—or thought he did. She had started out as little more than a task, a job that was his duty to fulfill. She had turned into so much more than that. She had turned into a woman he could have loved, had she been anyone other than a witch from a small, northern village.

But Lucien’s words had made sense, and as the surprise of his father’s demise pressed upon him like a vice, he began to wonder if it had all been a lie. Was it possible that the innocence, the sweetness, the hope that had shined in her eyes when they were together, was fake? That when all was said and done, she had been deceiving him?

He’d looked to her, waiting for her to defend herself, to plea her innocence. But she didn’t even try. A single tear had trickled down her cheek, and in that moment he knew that she was guilty. She had been caught and there was no escape for her—and she knew it. She had fooled him completely.

But he’d needed to see for himself how sick his father had become before demanding the execution. Now, witnessing the king on the brink of death, he knew for certain that Lucien had been right: The witch should not be kept alive another moment.

His chest seized. He didn’t think he could do it. He didn’t think he could make himself turn around in the doorway to issue the order to the guards.

His mother came to his rescue, standing and holding out her arms. She was a whirlwind of a woman, his mother. She had a sharp mind and a quick temper. But despite it all, she loved him and was not afraid to show it. He walked forward and wrapped his long arms around the little woman who had raised him, taking strength from her in his grief, and hoping he could offer her the same in return.

“Christoff, finally! I’ve been hoping he would hold on long enough to—”

“I am so sorry,” he interrupted. “This is my fault for bringing the witch here; I didn’t know she could do this. I should command her immediate execution, but—”

“What are you talking about?” Lissa pulled back from the embrace. She looked upset. “Why would you even think to execute the witch, without a trial first?”

“Because she is making him sick, Mother. You know that. Every moment she is here at the palace, she makes it impossible for him to heal.”

“Who told you such a thing?” Lissa asked, clearly shocked.

“Lucien informed me of the witch’s treachery the moment we entered the gates. I think he had her taken to the dungeon, but I didn’t wait around to make sure. I had to see Father. But now that I have…”

“Lucien,” his mother hissed the name. “Oh, how I despise that man!”

Christoff had known that things weren’t right between the two. Lissa always left the room whenever Lucien entered, and she never had anything good to say about the man. But this was the first time she had boldly declared her intense disliking for his father’s chief counselor.

“Mother?”

“Don’t you dare listen to anything that man tells you!” she commanded, her finger poking him in the chest to make her point. “And don’t you
dare
execute that woman until we know the truth about her. It was your father’s deepest desire to find a way out of the execution. He had no wish to see an innocent dead, and you will not go against his wishes. Do you understand?”

“But it doesn’t make sense. Are you saying that Lucien lied about her, that she isn’t to blame for my father’s illness?”

“Is that what he’s been telling you? The nerve of that man! I’ve never heard such a thing, and I wouldn’t believe it if I had. Your father told me the woman was only discovered because she used her magic to heal a little girl. I seriously doubt a murderess would have committed such a selfless act. Besides, what possible reason could a woman from Farr have for wanting the king dead? No, Lucien is clearly lying.”

“He said he only recently read about the witch’s powers in the history books.”

“It was only this morning that your father was rendered so incapable. He would have told me if he’d learned something of this nature. No, it was Steffan’s utmost desire to keep that woman alive. It never sat right with him what your grandfather had done. He never felt it was right to kill someone simply because they might or might not harm another person. If that were the case, he’d say, then all men should deserve the same fate, regardless of having magic, because there is the potential for evil in all of us.”

Christoff reached over to briefly clasp his father’s icy hand. He trusted his father, but he was still so confused. If Larra was guilty, as Lucien swore, then she should be executed immediately. If she was innocent, as his mother and father thought, then there was something else killing his father. He was torn between hating the girl and wanting to absolve her. If she was innocent, then why hadn’t she tried to deny Lucien’s allegations?

Was it possible that Larra’s tears had not been out of guilt for being caught, but out of despair at seeing Christoff believe the worst? If Lucien had lied, then Larra would never forgive him for turning on her.

Christoff began to feel sick.

Lissa considered her son for a moment, noting that he seemed to be waging some inner battle. She took in the shadows under his eyes and the haggard expression on his face. Something serious had happened in the days that he had been gone, and it had changed him. She yearned to ask about the journey, but the last thing she had time for was chit-chat.

“You should get some rest,” she suggested.

“No, I need to think, to figure out what to do.”

“No,” Lissa stated firmly. “What you need is to rest. You won’t be able to think clearly without sleep. The problem with the girl can wait until morning. Why don’t you go back to your chamber?”

He stood up a little straighter and she recognized the signs of stubbornness. “I’m not leaving my father. Lucien said he could be dead by morning.”

“If he keeps getting worse as he has done, then yes, he will be dead.”

“I won’t leave him.”

Rapidly, Lissa considered her options. “Why don’t you sit down on that chaise over there,” she suggested, nodding toward a large, comfortable piece of furniture that sat close to the fire. His presence here wasn’t ideal, but it didn’t seem there was anything she could do about it. He was too stubborn to leave his father’s side. “Close your eyes and get what rest you can. I will awaken you if your father worsens. I promise.”

Her son looked like he was considering the idea, and she pushed a little harder. “As your mother and your queen, I am ordering you to get some rest.”

She could tell he wasn’t happy with the order, but she knew he would obey.
Honor and obedience.
Sometimes being a queen came in handy, though it was being his mother that carried the true power of persuasion.

After another moment of silence, he finally nodded. With a last look to his father, he moved to the chaise, sitting heavily down into the fur-lined cushions. It was late, he was tired, and she knew it would be only moments before the crackling and warmth of the fire lulled him into sleep.

When his breathing finally deepened, Lissa rose from her chair and carried an extra blanket to him, spreading it gently over his legs. He looked so worn out. He had suffered during the journey, but she didn’t know how. Looking between the two men she loved, she thought about all she had seen and heard during the last few days. Lucien was making trouble, that was for sure. And he was lying to her son.

Very quietly, she walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a dark cloak. She was tired of waiting for things to work themselves out. It was time she did something to fix this mess.