The Wrong Prince (10 page)

THE UNDERGROUND BRIGADE LED THEM north through the vast system of caves and tunnels below grade. When they finally emerged one morning, the mountainous terrain resembled wilderness, although Geo knew that civilization had to be nearby. He turned to Kieran. “We will reconvene.”

“Aye,” replied the knight. “In the meantime, we’ll continue to strategize. I assure you, we’ll examine every possible way to help.”

One by one, the prince exchanged farewells with his friends, and Lucie thanked the Atasi women again for the clothes they’d let her keep. She wore a thick woven dress dyed blue, threaded with designs that matched the Atasi’s tattoos. It seemed warm for the weather, but she looked beautiful in it.

How could she appear less than beautiful in anything?

The others submerged back into the caverns, leaving Geo and Lucie to each other’s company, and the pair gazed beyond. In the distance, they could just spy the pier atop which Wintersea loomed. Thus, they commenced the journey to Belbarc with the rising dawn, to seek the assassin that Will had recommended. Geo had memorized the address, along with the name Will told him to ask upon their arrival.

Even with the plan to assassinate the king—or at least, attempt to—Geo was still working through his brother’s rescue in the process. Just because an assassin might be able to reach Ira didn’t necessarily mean he and Lucie would have the same luck finding Dmitri, let alone freeing him. But they had to start somewhere.

They wove down the mountainside. “If we’re brisk,” Geo told his companion, “I wager we’ll reach Belbarc within two days.”

“Then brisk we’ll be.” She lifted her chin, chocolate hair cascading down her shoulders. To her right, the fiery sun slowly lifted, outlining her profile against the early sky. She looked deific. Geo marveled at the image.

Through the day they walked, Geo seriously regretting the loss of the horse they’d left behind the night they were nabbed underground. Lucie, however, impressed him with her uncomplaining calm as she mindfully stepped along the dirt trail and down the mount.

They were about to descend a slope in the range when Geo’s boot caught a loose stone in the earth. He stumbled. He tried to regain balance, but the ground wasn’t level. He swung out his left leg to break the fall, but was too late. The man toppled down, a piercing strain in his ankle as his weight landed atop it.

Lucie swiveled around. “Goodness, are you all right?”

He nodded, brushing off his trousers. “Rock,” he mumbled, carefully returning to his feet. But his ankle was tender, and standing on it only increased his pain. He bent to massage it.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Her eyes were wide.

“My ankle,” he grunted. “I sort of twisted it.”

Her face fell. “Oh, no!”

“Don’t worry. Keep going.”

She pointed to his foot. “But if you’re injured….”

“I’m fine.” He waved her ahead. “Just keep moving.”

She was adamant. “You cannot hike on a twisted ankle.”

“Yes, I can.” He gritted his teeth. “It’s called being a man.”

She folded her arms. “It’s called being a stubborn mule.
We’re stopping, and you’re going to rest until you feel better.”

Geo sighed in frustration. He wanted to get to Belbarc. He wanted to complete the unsavory task ahead of them, rescue his brother, and be on their way out of Llewes, for good. Did Lucie not understand his anxiety, the urgency?

“We haven’t time to lollygag,” he growled. “Not when Dmitri could be nearing death with every moment we squander.” He swallowed back the words,
if he isn’t dead already.

“Well, you cannot rescue him if your ankle becomes inflamed and ineffective. Then how would you flee with him? How will you even walk to Belbarc?”

He groaned, but she was right. Though unwilling, Geo staggered to a spot of shade beneath a copse of trees and plunked himself down. “There.” He squinted up at her. “Satisfied?”

“We’ve just got to wait until it heals.” Her tone was gentler. “The worst you could do is stand on it now, while it’s still sensitive. Just keep off it for a few hours.”

Geo scowled at the prospect of wasting so much time. “How do you know so much about twisted ankles, anyway?”

She smiled. “As a girl, I twisted many an ankle practicing dance. Luckily, my grandmother always had the cure.”

He tampered with a pile of gravel. “Which is?”

“Cold compresses and long stories.” She gave him an even look, the afternoon breeze rustling her hair. “There’s a stream.” She cocked her head. “Why don’t I get some water? You wait here.”

Geo could only acquiesce, watching her blue frock fade through the trees.

BY THE TIME HIS SWELLING had diminished, the hour was already darkening. There was no use continuing to hike so close to sundown. It was time to make camp. The pair constructed a modest fire and sat alongside each other as stars gradually appeared.

Lucie had been vigilant, ensuring the cloth stayed cool with repeated trips to the stream, and that it lay upon Geo’s skin in intervals. “You don’t want to apply cold for too long,” she advised him. “Then your body will simply overheat to counter it, inflaming the area all over again.”

Geo took her word for it.

The faraway howling of wolves permeated the air, while owls crooned nearby. After a time, they reclined in their respective blankets, watching the last of the fire’s waning embers.

“Geo?” Lucie’s voice was small and sleepy. “You seem rather brooding. Are you angry with me?”

He shifted. He’d not realized he had come across that way. “Nay, Lucie. I’m…just worried for my brother, is all.”

She was silent a moment. “You are close with Prince Dmitri.” It wasn’t a question.

He nodded, thinking upon his brother’s bespectacled eyes, silly grins, keen mind…and utter lack of athleticism. In some ways, Geo pitied the man. But in far more ways, he admired him.

Her voice came again. “I never had siblings. My, mother died giving birth to me, I’m afraid.”

Geo turned to look at her. He’d known the Baron of Backshore was widowed, but hadn’t realized how. Lucie had never met her own mother? Sympathy tugged at him. “I’m sorry. How lonely it must’ve been growing up in that big old manor,” he remarked, “with no one but your father.”

“I wasn’t lonely.” She sounded mildly defensive. “I had my grandmother and all the servants, too. But,” she sighed, “yes, I’ve often wondered what having a brother or sister would have been like.”

Geo smiled. “It’s incomparable. Then again, I was lucky.”

Her expression asked him to expound.

“I hear most brothers are rivals,” he explained. “Some of our knights, for example, are siblings. And since childhood, it appears they’ve done naught but fight and try to one-up each other in everything.” He shook his head. “Dmitri was never like that. In fact, he’s the least competitive person I know. And over the years, when I bested him in hunting, archery, jousting—you name it—he was nothing but supportive. Thrilled for me.”

He gulped back the lump rising in his throat. His whole life, he’d done nothing but steal attention away from the Crown Prince. He’d even been lusting after the man’s bride! And where was his brother now? Imprisoned, on Geo’s behalf.

“What sort of wretch am I?” he whispered. He contemplated Dmitri’s sapphire-tinted eyes. They always surveyed his younger brother with pride, never a hint of envy.

“The sort of wretch,” Lucie replied levelly, “who’d cross rivers and mountains and caves to rescue his brother, in the company of an obstinate young woman, no less.”

Her grin was patient, uplifting. Geo nodded in thanks, unable to say anything more.

HER CHAMBER DOOR HUNG AJAR. Pavola pushed it open, recognizing that the servants had been through. Her linens had been changed, the window propped open, and atop her bureau sat an unfamiliar scroll. Heartbeat accelerating, she made her way over to it, certain the servants had read it. But she plucked up the missive to discover the wax still sealed.

Carefully, she severed the seal and unfurled the scroll. She knew she ought to savor every word, but so eager was she to determine the response, she scanned the page with haste. At last, she read the words that jounced her hopeful heart.

“Oh,” she breathed. She shoved the correspondence into her skirts and flung from the chamber, not caring how loudly her shoes clacked down the corridor. The afternoon was early, but she couldn’t wait till nightfall.

She almost collided with a burly guard as she darted past the courtyard. “Careful, young ward.” He steadied her with rough hands, though his face was not unkind. “Best watch where you’re going.”

“Apologies,” she hurried to say. But her words were drowned out as a procession of soldiers poured in from the courtyard. She scurried out of the way, backing into the shadows beneath a stairwell.

“Almost time to march back to Tybiria?” she overheard one drawl.

His companion issued a snort of doubt. “I don’t reckon the prisoner’s as decayed as he ought to be. Let the mold and maggots do their work, then we’ll bring him back to his king in proper form.”

Pavi held her breath, tucking herself more squarely against the wall. The prisoner? Were they talking about Mit?

A soldier in front turned. “His Majesty wishes to carry the prince’s skeleton back to Tybiria’s courts, with his skull topping a spear.” He smirked. “Or so, rumor has it.”

“Poor Dmitri Straussen.” The first shook his head with amusement. “So spineless, I’ll bet he didn’t last more’n a few days up there.”

“Perhaps someone ought to go up and check on him?” suggested another.

“Tuh,” huffed the second. “I ain’t climbing all them dratted steps again for that lousy murderer. I don’t care if he is the Crown Prince of Tybiria.”

Pavi stifled her gasp as they stalked away, boots plodding over the stone floor. Her pulse raced so quickly, she thought she might faint. But had she heard the soldiers’ conversation correctly? Was Mit really—?

She bumped her head against the underside of the stairwell. Wincing, she crouched and reemerged into the now empty hall. Without a second thought, she resumed the corridor to the tower stairs and commenced her ascent. Into each step, she channeled her shock and betrayal. How could she not have known?

Her breath was expelled by the time she reached the keep. Panting, she thrust open the door and wasted no time in slamming it behind her.

The prisoner, who sat in his cell writing, glanced up. “Pavi,” he greeted her pleasantly.

She bounded up to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her hands shook, and she balled them into fists at her sides. “Why did you mislead me?”

He slowly stood to his feet. “What do you speak of?”

“You know of what I speak.” Her eyes bored into his. “You are Dmitri Straussen, Crown Prince of Tybiria. Do you deny it?”

His silence communicated plainly. At his nonverbal confession, a new wave of shock overtook her. “Why did you never tell me you were a prince?” she demanded.

He blinked several times. “I…didn’t think it mattered.”

“You told me you were a novelist!”

“Well, can’t I be both?”

The question was both so naïve and evasive, Pavi tossed up her arms. “Don’t be obtuse! You lied! You led me to believe you were merely an artist, suffering the wrongful admonition of my king. I’ve been feeding and prolonging you, an enemy prince who slew my cousin! Know you not, the boy was all my uncle had left of his late wife?”

“Pavola, no,” the man interjected seriously, removing his lenses. “It was not like that.”

She fell silent at the sight of him. She’d never seen him wear such a stern expression; not to mention, he looked quite different without his spectacles. She’d been coming to think he was rather handsome with them, but found him just as much so without. Their absence accentuated his blue eyes, the slope of his nose, the strong-set jaw she’d not truly appreciated before.

“I am the Prince of Tybiria,” he admitted, and Pavi had never felt more intimidated by him. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But it wasn’t to feign innocence, or to lead you on. I never expected you to—to care for me, as you’ve done.” He massaged his forehead. “I’ve enjoyed your company…and friendship…so immensely, I didn’t want to scare you away.”

Her chin tightened.

“Please, forgive me.” His voice was barely audible. “I didn’t mean to withhold anything from you. I only wanted to see you. Even if you stopped bringing me food and water, I’m sure I could survive solely off of the sight of your face, the sound of your voice.”

His words were too much. Pavi turned away to conceal the flood of heat that rushed to her cheeks, overwhelmed by conflicting feelings. Distraught, she shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, heading for the door, when a cylinder of parchment rolled beneath her fingers. But of course—the scroll. She’d meant to tell him the news it contained. Yet, a sinking feeling overtook her.

She went back to his cell. “Your Highness.” Her throat constricted.

“Never call me that.” His searing eyes fastened upon her. “You shall address me by no title, for we are equals. In fact, you are far smarter than I.”

She swallowed, unsure how to respond to this, and extracted the scroll. “Dmitri. I’ve been invited to attend the University of V
ü
ndtgen.”

He paused. “You mean in Häffstrom?”

She nodded.

To her astonishment, an enormous grin dominated his features. “That’s wonderful,” he exclaimed. “Congratulations! Such a prestigious institution, too! Why, they’ll be fortunate to have your scholarship among—”

“Heaven’s sake, Mit, don’t you understand?” she blurted, her tears finally spilling forth. “If I go, you’ll die!” She had only just realized it herself, and the dilemma pelted her like a hailstorm. Her lifelong dream to leave Wintersea, to journey far and away to build her future, clashed dreadfully with the prospect of leaving Mit behind to perish. “I can’t go. I must take care of you…find a way to get you out of here.”

“Pavola Ward.” His abrupt growl was so fearsome, she wouldn’t have believed it was his voice, had they not been the only two in the room. “You will go to V
ü
ndtgen, and I will hear no argument.”

She gaped at him through her tears. “Are you insane?”

“Not as insane as you would be to pass this up.”

“Listen, Mit. I heard the soldiers talking.” She clasped the bars of his door urgently. “They spoke of bringing your skeleton back to your father. They want to mount your skull on a spear!”

“Let them,” he said hotly. “I should rather die knowing you got away. I could never live with myself, knowing I was the one keeping you holed up here. The world is waiting on you, Pavola; you cannot reject it for the sake of one man.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “Do you think me inhuman?” she sputtered. “How could I leave you to rot?”

“You aren’t leaving me to rot,” he insisted. “I do more than just write up here, Pavi, you follow? D’you think I haven’t been formulating an escape all this while? I’ve some plans I’ve been working on, and….” He replaced his spectacles over his nose. “Well, I daresay they’re coming along rather nicely. So, you oughtn’t to worry, truly. For I suspect I might break myself out of here soon enough.”

Pavi was surprised. Mit had been plotting an escape? Why hadn’t he told her? She could’ve helped. She dragged her forearm across her eyes. “Oh.” She sniffled. “Well, I didn’t realize that you….”

“So you see, I’ll be fine
.
” He smiled warmly. “Just fine. And so will you. When do you leave?”

Her chin rose slightly. “A few weeks.”

He brought his hands together. “Delightful.”

“Mit?” She took a breath. “Promise you’ll be all right?”

For a moment, she thought she detected the faintest shadow in his features. But it was gone before she could be sure. “Yes, Pavola,” he answered kindly. “I promise.”