“Your majesty—” Calum began.
“Silence.” The king rose to his full intimidating height, his face a mask of hatred. “I allowed you to leave your post, Stolo, since you were unable to continue doing your job to the level I required after your injury. And this is how you repay me for that kindness? By abducting my son and stealing from us?” He nodded at the guards. “Take him to the dungeons. I want him executed immediately.”
“No! Papa!” A cry escaped from Kara as her father was dragged away by guards toward the dungeon.
“Let my daughter go!” Calum demanded. “She had nothing to do with this.”
“Yes.” The king nodded and flicked his finger. “Let the girl go. She can freeze out there tonight for all I care.”
Kara’s wide eyes were on Magnus, expectantly, as if hoping he might say something to stop this.
But Magnus had no words. He couldn’t admit the truth, not now. His punishment would be far worse than any cut cheek. Lies—especially to the king himself—were often met with the liar’s tongue cut from his head.
I’m so sorry, he thought as the little girl—tears streaming down her freckled cheeks—turned and ran away into the cold, snowy night.
• • •
The memory of that horrible moment was as fresh today as if it had happened only yesterday.
“You wish to kill me,” Magnus said, his throat parched.
“I’ve wanted to kill you for ten years,” Kara confirmed.
“Perhaps I could fight for my life.”
She laughed at this. “Sadly, I don’t believe that you can. I’ve been watching you lately. I’ve witnessed your classes—swordsmanship . . . you seem barely interested in raising the weapon, let alone learning how to fight with it. If you win any matches, it’s only because your opponent allows it. Archery is a laugh, but then again I’ve heard you despise hunting. Why learn to aim a bow? There hasn’t been a war in generations, and you’re all soft and cozy here behind the palace walls. Doesn’t look like you want to run away anymore, does it? So, no, I don’t think you could properly fight for your life right now, not without getting your throat cut.”
He wanted to argue with her but knew it was the truth. “You think so, do you?”
“Come now, the prince of Limeros is known for one thing . . . his deeply morose sense of humor. You have no better rebuttal for me? Would you like to compare me to the girls who follow you around, drooling over you, hoping for the chance you might look their way? The ones who pretend they don’t find that scar on your face repulsive?”
He flinched. “Your words are as sharp as your dagger. Your father’s dagger, isn’t it?”
“It took me some time to get it back. Only recently, in fact. This dagger was important to him; it represented the new life he wanted to lead that held none of the violence that was required when he worked for your father. The new life that you stole from him.”
“I never wanted him to be executed.” His jaw tensed. “I understand your need for vengeance, but there must be another way. I know you won’t believe me, but what happened . . . I have deeply regretted it.”
“Really.” She cocked her head. “Then prove it.”
“How? By dying slowly? Or would you prefer it to be quick?”
“When I retrieved this dagger from a guard who chose to sell it to a local blacksmith, I also learned the truth after all this time. My father was not executed as the king commanded.”
Magnus’s eyes widened with shock. “What?”
Her expression remained grim rather than filled with relief over this news. “That’s right. He’s in the dungeon. Still. After all these years. At least,” she continued, worry sliding through her brown eyes, “that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t want to hold out hope, not after all this time, but if there’s even a slim possibility . . .” Her attention returned to Magnus’s face, and the edge of her blade sliced closer to his throat. “You’re going to help me free him.”
“Am I? And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to kill you and find another way to free my father. Simple as that.”
“Simple, right.” He eyed the crimson dagger warily. “I’d rather no one learns that a girl who looks as small and innocent as you forced me to bend to her command on threat of death. They probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
“Girls can be dangerous,” Kara told him. “Especially girls who look small and innocent.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“Indeed. Let’s go.”
“I need to get properly dressed. I’m wearing nothing but a nightshirt.”
“I noticed.” She nodded over toward a wooden chair next to the unlit fireplace. “While you were snoring peacefully, I took the liberty of gathering your cloak and boots. No more is necessary.”
Slowly, being careful of the dagger she still insisted on holding inches from his flesh, Magnus slid from the bed. He kept his eyes on Kara as he put on his black leather boots and pulled the black cloak over his thin gray nightshirt. His legs felt naked even covered by the woolen garment.
“You’ll lead the way.” She gestured with the dagger. “Move.”
“How did you get in here, anyway?” he asked as they exited his chambers and moved down the hallway.
“I have my ways. A girl learns a lot in ten years with no one to protect her. Did you give one thought to me all this time? Or did you forget me the moment you lied to the king about what my father did?”
He wanted to turn around and look at her, but he kept his gaze fixed on the stone hallway, lit by torches, that would lead them to their destination.
“I thought about you, but I figured you were dead too. I remember it being a frigid night and one of the worst snowstorms of the year. What were you, six at the time?”
“Seven.”
“Same as me.”
“I suppose so. There are guards up ahead. Please play along, your grace. I wouldn’t want to add any more scars to your current collection.”
Was this girl that good with a blade that she felt so confident in the middle of the palace, surrounded by enemies? A single word from him to a passing guard would mean the end of her life in mere moments.
Guilt over his choices that night, so long ago, kept his mouth closed, and all he did was nod curtly at the guards as they passed.
“To answer your question,” Kara said, “I made friends with a few servant girls who were shopping in the village last week. They found me a job here as a chambermaid after I told them how much I needed money to survive. Kind girls, they were. Had no idea that I lied with every word I spoke.”
“Are they still alive?” he asked tightly.
“Of course they are. I’m no murderer.”
“You said you killed four men.”
“Four men who all deserved their early deaths, believe me. I know even my father would have approved of such violence. How far now?” she asked as he led her outside the palace, past the ice gardens, and down a pathway that led to a set of stairs chiseled into the cliffside on top of which the palace perched.
“Nearly there. I don’t come down here very often.”
“I’m sure.” It was said with such disdain that he finally cast a glance over his shoulder. “What are you looking at?” she asked tightly.
“Someone with more poison in her veins than even I have.”
“Spare me such observations, your grace,” she said without a lick of respect. “I don’t need your pity or your understanding. All I need is my father.”
“Ten years,” he said. “It’s a long time if he’s truly been locked away down here. That kind of time can change someone. Make them dark, angry, bitter . . . insane, even.”
“Keep moving.” She jabbed him in the shoulder blade with her dagger, and he shot a hateful look at her. “Or I’ll lock you up somewhere for a dec
ade, and you can find out if that’s true.”
A single sentry stood at the main door to the dungeon, a massive iron door that required a man as large and muscular as this guard to open it.
“Your highness.” The guard bowed at the sight of Magnus as he lowered his hood to show his face.
“I wish to go into the dungeon,” he said evenly.
The guard raised his large head, his brow creased with a frown. “It’s barely dawn.”
“And?”
“And . . . this seems like an unusual request.” He glanced at Kara standing behind Magnus. “Your highness, is everything all right?”
A word. A single word: No. That would be all it would take to end this.
Magnus touched his neck where Kara had pressed her blade. He despised being told what to do without any choice in the matter. Add to that threat of death if he didn’t comply and the accusation that he was a liar and a coward who didn’t know how to fight . . .
The heir to the throne needed to be respected by all, no matter what that respect required. His father showed him that with every command, every action, every execution he ordered. Every law he created. Every time he struck Magnus, it had been to help make him stronger.
Magnus tried to tell himself this every night before he went to sleep, a sleep that was often plagued with nightmares—including those of Calum’s face that snowy night as he was parted from his daughter.
One day, however, the throne would be his, and he would be the one strong enough to create laws and demand executions. A king would not allow himself to be threatened by a mere slip of a girl carrying nothing but her father’s dagger and a mouth full of empty threats.
One word from Magnus to this guard, and this unpleasantness would be over.
He sent another glare over his shoulder to see that there was a sheen of perspiration on Kara’s brow. Her hands were hidden under the folds of her cloak, presumably also hiding the dagger. Her gaze darted from the guard to him. Magnus’s mind flashed to that snowy night ten years ago. She wore then same look on her face as she did now—her blue eyes wide, her lips in a thin, straight line.
She was frightened.
Magnus turned fully toward the guard. “What is your name?”
“Francis, your highness.”
“Francis, it sounds a great deal like you’re arguing with me. Are you?”
“Arguing? No, your highness, not at all.”
“I said I wished to go into the dungeons, and yet the door is not open for my entrance. Perhaps my father should know about your hesitation to do exactly as I tell you to do.”
“Not at all, your highness. Apologies.” Francis went to the door, put his gloved hands on the handle, twisted, and, with muscles flexing, pushed the door inward.
“Good.” Magnus nodded as he entered the dungeons. “You will accompany us. My friend and I are seeking a prisoner here by the name of Calum Stolo. Allegedly, he’s been down here for ten years.”
The guard frowned. “Calum Stolo . . .”
“There must be a registry, some form of organization. I must admit, I have no idea how this dungeon is run, but I assume you do.”
“Yes, of course. I will check immediately.” Francis bowed, and the large guard scurried off to do as the prince commanded.
There was silence then in the dark corridor, and Magnus glanced around at the tall ceiling above them, chiseled into the cliffside. The drip of water was a constant sound here, and voices echoed against the stone walls. Three tunnels led from the corridor, and Francis disappeared down the middle one.
Kara hadn’t said a single word since he left. She also hadn’t drawn her crimson dagger from its hiding place again.
“You’re really going to help me,” she finally whispered.
“I’m going to try.”
She drew in a shuddery breath. “Prince Magnus . . . thank—”
He held up his hand. “Don’t thank me yet. Frankly, no gratitude from you is necessary, ever. If I’d known that your father was still alive . . .” He sighed. “I don’t know what I would have done, to be honest. But if I can make it right today, I will try my best.”
She nodded as the guard returned with a scroll.
“You said Calum Stolo,” Francis slid his index finger down the page. “Yes, here is record of him. It seems that he died two years ago, killed by another prisoner.”
“No!” Kara cried out.
Francis tensed at the sound of her cry. Magnus couldn’t meet her eyes. In fact, he wanted to look anywhere else but at Kara.
It couldn’t be over. Not so easily as this. The sound of Kara’s cry of grief would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Magnus clenched his teeth. “Check again.”
Francis clutched the parchment close to his chest. “Your grace, I just checked and—”
Magnus lunged forward, gripping the front of the guard’s tunic in one hand. “Check again,” he snapped.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Francis smoothed the ruffled paper out before him. The guard’s forehead wrinkled. “No, no. Apologies, my eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be. That was the entry above this one. Calum Stolo is here . . . yes, going on ten years.”
The tightness in Magnus’s chest eased by a fraction. “Why was he spared execution for so long?”
“Your highness, I don’t know. Usually when someone has been here for many years, it means simply that their existence has been forgotten.”
“Take me to him,” Kara said firmly.
Francis raised a brow at her. “Young lady . . .”
“Do exactly as she says,” Magnus said with as much command in his voice as he could. This was not the time to waver, especially now that they’d found renewed hope. He’d made his choice, and he would see that decision through to the end, whatever it might be.
The guard nodded, and Magnus and Kara followed him down the right passageway, which led to a long hallway lined with iron doors. Magnus held his sleeve to his nose to block out the stench of bodily fluids, rotting meat, and death. He wished he could also block his ears to the wails and hopeless cries that reverberated from behind the doors.
“Do not react,” Magnus said quietly to Kara, now walking at his side. “Whatever you see, do not react in any way that might cause this guard alarm. We don’t want him bringing any of his friends into this, all right?”
She nodded with a single jerk of her head. “All right.”
Francis led them all the way to the end of the hall and then down a flight of stairs, deeper into the dungeon, to another hallway.
“Here.” He placed his hand on one of the iron doors.
“Open it,” Magnus said.
This time, Francis didn’t argue at all. He took a ring of keys from his belt, quickly choosing one and sliding it into the lock. With a grating sound, he turned the latch and opened the door.
Inside a cell that wasn’t much wider than four or five paces sat a man, his back against the wall, his dirty, scarred face covered with a long beard, his eyes vacant.
Kara moved toward him, but Magnus caught her arm to stop her. He kept his face blank, devoid of any emotion.
“He will leave with us,” Magnus said to the guard. “I’m officially pardoning him for his crimes.”
“Your grace, a pardon can only be made by the king himself.”
Only one guard in sight. Perhaps there were others, but Magnus hadn’t seen a single one. Only one witness.
But what was he going to do? Kill him? Magnus had never killed anything in his life. Kara hadn’t been wrong in her observation of his poor fighting skills, not that he would choose to kill this guard simply for standing in his way.
There were other ways for a royal prince to get what he wanted.
“Tell me, Francis. Can a good, honorable, loyal guard like you be bribed to release a prisone
r that everyone, most certainly the king himself, has long since forgotten about?” Magnus asked slowly.
“Your highness?” Francis gave him a look of shock, but it was one that also held a sliver of interest.
It wasn’t very long after that Magnus and Kara departed the dungeon with Calum Stolo between them. He walked slowly, stiffly, and didn’t make a single sound. Didn’t say a single word. But he was still able to walk, which Magnus took as a reasonably good sign.
Magnus accompanied them to the village two miles away where he’d first met them ten years ago. He rarely came here, especially alone. This morning would be an exception.
Kara observed her father cautiously, stroking the gray hair off his forehead. “Papa, can you hear me?”
Magnus didn’t want to just walk away, not yet. After all that he’d learned in such a short time about Kara and her father, he needed to know if this had all been for naught. If the man was no better than a vegetable, his guilt over that stormy night would continue. And the nightmares . . . as infrequent as they’d become over the years, he wanted them to stop.
He peered at the man’s face in the shadow of the village. A bakery had just opened for the day, and the scent of freshly baked bread battled with the stench of Kara’s father, so long a prisoner.
“Are you in there, Calum?” Magnus asked quietly. “I’m very sorry for how that night turned out. I truly mean it.”
Calum blinked once. Then again.
And then his hand shot out and clutched Magnus’s throat as tight as a hangman’s noose.
“You . . .” Calum managed, his lips peeling back from rotting teeth, grime coating his scarred face. “You left me there, all those years . . .”
“I . . . didn’t . . . know . . .” Magnus couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. For a man who’d been in a dungeon cell for a decade, he had the strength of ten horses.
“Papa!” Kara cried. “Papa, he didn’t! He didn’t know you were there! He thought you were dead. He’s the reason I was able to free you. You’re free. Papa, you’re free!”
Calum froze at the sound of her voice; his grip on Magnus’s throat loosened. He turned to look at his daughter, and his eyes widened as if seeing her for the first time. “Kara . . .”