Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 40 страниц)

Chapter

Eight

It takes two days for me to decide that the worst thing about being trapped in a tower is the lack of light.

I miss the sun. By the three gods, I miss the sun. I miss fresh air and having light in my face when I wake up. I miss looking out a window onto a green lawn and the sight of flowers. I miss all of that so much that I ache.

That, or the aching could be due to the fact that I’m skimping on my medicine. Nurse’s vials will only last for so long, and I’m trying to stretch the concoction as much as I can, simply because it’s one less thing to do on my overwhelming list of things that I must now do in order to take care of myself.

In the two days since I’ve been here, I’ve gone through sixteen candles and a good deal of my tinderbox. I’ve managed to put away one garment bag of my dresses and cleaned up the mess I made on the floor in my room. I dug through my trunks and found a bedtick (thank the gods for Riza and her preparedness) and dragged it up both flights of stairs. I still have to put everything else away, but I’ve been exhausted and achy and absolutely, positively unmotivated.

After all, if I make a mess in the lowest chamber and no one is here to see it, does it even matter?

And if it bothers my Fellian neighbor, isn’t that even more reason to make a mess?

So I take my sweet time and I curl up in bed, dreaming of all the things I had back home that seem like too much effort to do now. I would love hot tea, but I don’t want to make a fire. A full dose of medicine—but I don’t want to take the time to make the medicine. Fresh clothes. A bath. Gods on high, I would love a bath. It’s just that I’ll have to do it all myself, and the task seems impossibly daunting.

Maybe I’ll just become a dirty hermit the entire time I’m here. Let the Fellian on the floor below enjoy my stink.

A clean dress does seem like it wouldn’t be too much effort, though, so I head back downstairs and open one of my trunks, my knife and candle ever present and at my side. Riza packed enough dresses for me to change clothes multiple times a day. Sweet, really, but I’d honestly have preferred more prepared medicine or even dry oatcakes. Maybe I can leave a note for next year as to what they should bring me.

It’s depressing that I’m already thinking about a year from now. I’ve only been here a few days. A year is so very far away.

“Your mess is still here.”

This time I don’t jump at the sound of the flat, irritated voice. I think it brings him too much pleasure when I’m startled, and I’m not in the mood. “I didn’t realize it was bothering you.”

“Well, it is. You need to clear your things away.”

“I’ll get right on that,” I lie without turning around. I pull out a thin chemise of butter yellow, wondering if it will match the deep red gown I just pulled out. I suppose it doesn’t matter since I’m sitting in the darkness most of the time, but for some reason, it’s very important to me that I match my clothes. I finger the lace on the collar, considering.

“You should know that I have taken half of the root cellar for my food supplies,” the Fellian continues in that imperious voice. “I expect you to keep your things clear of mine.”

“Of course,” I say absently. Definitely the yellow, I think. It’ll be a bold match with the red, but why not be bold if there’s only me to please? I look up but my shadowy companion is already gone. I guess he just came down here to gripe at me about where he put his food and to demand that I clean up.

Thinking about food makes me wonder about my own stores. I know half (maybe more than half) of the trunks here are goods that I’ll need over the coming year. In addition to my medicine, there’s probably…well, I don’t know. I don’t know much about cooking. I confess that in the palace I’d order cakes and pies and meats and cheeses, but those don’t seem like the types of things that will stay good for a long time. And the last day at the palace was so busy I only paid a little attention to Riza’s comments about things to cook. She left me a book. That’s good enough.

But I’m curious what a Fellian eats…and if he has more food than me.

I use my knife and a few more questions to determine which trunks have food. I open one and find a bag of hard, tiny apples, nuts, and dried meat. I nibble on a piece of jerky as I decide to take my food down to the root cellar and put it away. After all, my new friend wants me to clean up my mess. I’ll clean up and snoop at the same time.

A princess thrives on gossip, and if there’s no court gossip to be had, I guess I’ll make my own sort of intrigue.

It takes some juggling to hold the food and my candle aloft at the same time as I head down the stairs, but the kitchen itself is rather cool compared to above. I set my candle down on the table and open the door to the root cellar, and then peer in.

Dear gods.

He’s got so much food. I get the candle and pull it closer, because I can’t stop staring. His “side” of the root cellar is completely packed, wall to ceiling. Wheels of cheese are stacked on one shelf, and another is full of bags of rounded vegetables. A square crate is full of long, colorful roots and another full of thick, frilled mushrooms. Strips of meat hang down from the ceiling, all carefully tied off onto his side so it leaves no question as to who it belongs to. And down the middle of the cellar, a chalk line has been drawn, clearly demarcating my section from his.

I sniff. As if I’d eat his Fellian onions.

I put my paltry bag on the shelf opposite his and then study his food supplies again. It seems like quite a bit for a single man, even if it’s meant to last for a year. Exactly how much does a Fellian eat? I think of what I’ve learned of his people. They live under the mountains and eschew the light of the sun. They are warlike and cruel. They devour babies that are considered weak.

Well. I suppose there won’t be a lot of babies here in the tower so he’s going to have to supplement with onions.

Feeling a little petty, I notice a barrel full of hard, unshelled nuts is close to the line in the center. With my shoe, I reach out and nudge it, tipping it over onto the dirt floor.

Then I feel like an absolute arse, because it’s food, and no one is bringing any extra to us for the next year. Grumbling to myself, I right the barrel and pick up all the spilled nuts, annoyed with myself. Once I’m done, I dust my hands off and head back to my sled full of trunks. I suppose I might as well unpack and see how much food I have compared to him. I open another trunk, and as I do, I could swear I hear something.

candra

I glance around, holding the candle aloft, but I’m alone. No green eyes gleam out at me from the shadows.

Hm.

I pick through the open trunk. Spices. Nuts. A pouch of something that looks like dirt⁠—

candra

I frown again, grabbing the candle once more. “What sort of game are you playing, Fellian?”

There’s no response. My neck prickles, and I wonder if the tower is haunted from all those that have been here before me. Holding my candle aloft, I circle the large chamber and see nothing amiss. Unnerved, I return to my spot by my trunks.

“Candra!” The voice is barely audible, followed by a quiet scratching. “Princess? Can you hear me?”

I turn in surprise and stare at the sealed doors. Has someone come to let me out already?

Chapter

Nine

Of all the things, I didn’t expect to hear scratching and a voice at the sealed door. At least, not until next year, when they will return and bring me more food supplies. I thought I was abandoned and forgotten by all.

But someone is here. Someone is here and calling my name.

“Is someone there?” I ask aloud, and the knife shivers against my breasts. “Not you, blade.” I press my cheek to the door, listening for the sound of bricks being removed. “Hello?”

“Princess!”

The voice seems to be coming from the bottom of the door. Curious, I drop to my knees and bend over, my ear practically on the floor, my skirts pooling around me. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me! Balon!”

What in the Gray God’s forgotten name? I gasp, hope and delight blooming through my chest. My young lover from court has followed me here? “Balon! You came to rescue me?”

“Rescue you?” He sounds startled. “No, princess, I cannot. But I am here to keep you company. I wanted to show you I have not forgotten you. That I am your faithful man even though we may be separated by the walls of the gods.”

Hot disappointment rips through me. In this moment, I don’t care about the gods. I just want to go home. I want out of this endlessly dark tower. I want a bath drawn up by my maids and for someone else to administer my medicine. I want to be taken care of. I want a breath of fresh air. “I see.”

“Do not be disappointed, princess. Even though we must be separated through your sacrifice, I am determined to come here regularly and keep you company. Shall I sing you songs? Tell you stories?”

Tell me stories?! I want out. I want out so badly that my skin crawls for wanting it. “How is it you’re talking to me? How is it I can hear you?”

“There was a loose brick at the bottom! I scraped it free from its moorings and pulled it out. Even now I sit here with my cheek to the sands, all so I can talk to you, my love!”

His love. I want to roll my eyes at the declaration. He’s been saying that ever since I took him to my bed that one time. He cried all through sex, and I resolved to never bring him back to my sheets again, but he’s the only one that cares that I’m trapped here. There’s something sweetly earnest about Balon’s eagerness to please me. “But you can’t free me? Please, Balon! I hate it here. It’s so very dark.”

“My love, I wish I could.” Balon sounds distressed. “You are serving the goddess. I dare not help free you or she will take away her benevolence.”

I bite back a sigh. “So the winds are fair, then?”

“They are indeed. King Lionel has set off for war as of yesterday. The fleet was something out of a song. You should have seen it! So majestic! All of Lios has gone to war. We are certain to be victorious!”

He sounds positively elated. “All of Lios goes to war and yet you are here?”

“My father will not let me don armor. He says I am far more valuable as his heir. Besides, it gave me the chance to get away and come visit you. Now…a song? A story? What would please my love?”

Freedom, I want to say again. I want nothing but freedom. But I bite back a sigh. He’s here, and it’s something, at least. “You can tell me a story soon, Balon. Just…thank you. Thank you for coming. I appreciate it more than you know.”

“I would do anything for you, my darling Candromeda.”

Anything except free me, of course. But I don’t point that out. Maybe he won’t free me today, but I have nothing but time in which to convince him otherwise. The important thing is to keep him coming back, so I can show him how miserable I am and how much I love him. “You’re so sweet to come to me. Tell me, how is my sister?”

“About to give birth any day now,” he assures me. “And she misses you greatly.”

I dig my nails into my palms, because I miss Erynne, too. We’ve always been together, the two Vestalin daughters. Well, there were three of us, but Meryliese was always gone, nothing but a distant memory. It’s always been me and Erynne. When she married Lionel, I left our familial, crumbling castle and went with her, so I could be at her side. I was to be a trusted advisor…but instead, I flirted and partied my way through court while Erynne took on the duties of a queen. I tell myself my sister didn’t mind, of course. It was enough to have me there. But now I feel a little guilty that I wasn’t more of a help, that she was forced to lean on her maid Isabella more than me. “Please tell her I love her and I long to see her again.”

“Princess…I cannot tell her anything. No one can know I am here.”

“Of course, of course,” I reply quickly. “Still, it is enough for me that you came.” I smile into the darkness, because it’s the truth. I’ve been trapped in here for days now with only my own company, and just hearing a familiar voice makes me feel like myself again. “Tell me court gossip. Tell me anything. Just keep talking.”

Balon talks to me for hours, until his voice grows hoarse from projecting it enough so I can hear it through the thick door. He speaks of all the comforting nothings of home. Of who wore what colors to a festive ball, of what was served, of who was found emerging from a lover’s bed. A scandalous song written for an anonymous woman that all the court is buzzing about. It’s all utterly frivolous but it makes my heart happy. In a way, it’s nice to hear that nothing back at court has changed. I thought I would much rather hear that everyone was devastated that I’m trapped in the tower, but it’s actually nicer to hear that life goes on as usual. That even without me, a gem of the court and one of its favorite subjects of gossip, that life goes on as usual.

That it’ll all be the same and waiting for me when I get out.

“I must go soon,” Balon tells me eventually. “But I shall return to you in two weeks. Is there anything I can do for you, my princess? Anything at all?”

Free me, I want to scream again, but I need him to come back. Maybe after a few more visits, I can convince him that he needs to help me escape. “It’s enough that you’re here,” I say sweetly. “I’ll check for your return constantly.”

“I fear it will be two long weeks,” Balon tells me. “I cannot return sooner than that. I must see to my duties at court.”

“But how will I be able to know if you have returned?” I ask. “There is no way for me to tell time and it is dark in here constantly. Even now I have no idea what time it is outside.”

He’s silent for a moment. “It is near dawn, my lady. When I return, I will bring something to help you! Perhaps a rooster?”

A rooster? What in all the shite am I supposed to do with a rooster? “If you say so,” I call. “Just hurry back.” I pause, then add, “I’ll miss you terribly.”

I wince at the half-truth. While it’s true that I will miss him, I’d miss anyone that would show up to talk to me. I’d happily chatter to the court stableboys if they’d show up and speak to me, just for something to break the monotony of my imprisonment.

Still, though. Two weeks and he’ll be back. I’m touched at Balon’s devotion. Does he truly intend to return for the next seven years or is he going to break and help me escape earlier? I’ve always thought of him as, well, an affectionate dolt. Fun for a one-time fling, but not much else. He’s young and not the cleverest, but the fact that he’s supporting me like this? It makes him shine a bit brighter in my jaded eyes.

My mood is brighter, too. After he leaves, I put away a bit more of the food from my trunks and carry a few dresses upstairs. I’m buzzing with the things he told me. Of the fact that Lionel is gone from court, off to war. That my sister is there alone, waiting for her baby’s birth. I desperately want to be there. I’ll have to play Balon carefully if I want him to break me out. Convince him that I need him so desperately that I will die if we’re apart for any longer.

Maybe seduction? I consider this carefully. It’s a tool to be used, but one that must be wielded with a delicate hand. I ponder what to say to him when he returns, and how I can turn him towards what I want.

The next two weeks drag past excruciatingly slow. I unpack my trunks slowly, hauling a few dresses up to my rooms at a time and then hanging them upon the hooks left by a prior occupant. When I run out of hooks, I head upstairs to see if any of the trunks there will suffice, since it will be far easier for me to drag a trunk down a flight of steps instead of hauling one of mine up a flight.

And I break down some of the junk upstairs for firewood and make a fire for the first time since I entered the tower.

I’ve been eating jerky and cheeses and hard, stale bread since I arrived, but I’m running low on those supplies, and the thought of eating another piece of cheese makes my stomach churn. I’m also down to the last bit of my medicine, so I spend one day taking apart one of my heaviest trunks that I’ve emptied and haul the wood, piece by piece, to the kitchen below. I eye the foodstuffs I have there on my shelf. I’ve put it all away at this point and I’m a little alarmed at how much less I have than the Fellian. His shelves are still brimming with supplies, but mine are only half full in comparison. Is it that I will eat a lot less than a Fellian? Are my supplies more compact? I’m not sure but it worries me, and I have nothing but time to sit and worry.

I make a fire in the hearth in the kitchen, though it takes a bit of time to get the wood from the trunk to catch and I end up using far too much tinder. When it’s good and hot, I put the ingredients for my potion into the cookpot and add water, watching as it boils. The dried organs and herbs make a foul-smelling concoction, but the stink of it gives me a wave of homesickness. I think of Nurse, and Riza, and my sister, and aching sadness threatens.

Tomorrow, I tell myself. You can cry tomorrow after you’ve made your potion and you’ve bottled it.

So I work instead. I let the potion bubble and I flip through Riza’s book of recipes, trying to figure out something to make. She left instructions for a soup with the jerky I’ve been eating, and to make noodles from some of the flour she’s sent, and to add a few dried vegetables to give it flavor. I don’t know how long anything has to cook, and her instructions say “until done,” which means nothing to me. So I let things boil. And boil.

The sludge it ends up making looks heinous. Apparently vegetables can boil down into nothing and turn into mush. To make matters worse, I still have to eat this. Grimacing, I choke down a few mouthfuls and cover it heavily with salt to mask the taste, if not the texture.

My potion turns out better. I boil water to add to the concoction and then strain it through cheesecloth as I’ve been shown, then wait for it to cool before pouring it into vials and then administering it to myself. When I’m done, I’m exhausted, and the kitchen is an utter mess. Multiple pots are crusted and filthy and there’s no one to clean them but me. And when the fire burns down, I have to scoop the ash into a bucket and toss it into the garderobe like I’ve been told, because you can’t let ash build up.

Gods, why did no one tell me it was so much work looking after yourself? This is a nightmare.

Chapter

Ten

Every night (at least, I think it’s night) I spend my time by the front door, waiting for Balon’s return. When I finally hear him call out again, I all but cry with relief.

“Princess?” His voice is low, near the bottom of the door.

“I’m here,” I say quickly, dropping down to the blanket and pillow I’ve set up here for his visit. The candle I have with me is low and sputtering, but I don’t care. I’ll walk back in the darkness if I have to. “You came back.”

“I did,” he says, sounding pleased with himself. “It was difficult for me to get away, but I managed. I did not bring a rooster, though. Or rather, I brought one, but the moment I opened his cage, he flew away. I do not think he will be of much help.”

“That’s all right,” I say happily. “I’m just glad you’ve returned.”

“I have, and I bring news!” Balon tells me. “Your sister has given birth, Lady Candromeda. She has had a fine boy and he shows no signs of the blood sickness.”

I press my fingers to my mouth. Oh. That’s good. That’s very good. “And she’s well? Erynne? No birthing fevers?”

“She is strong,” Balon reassures me. “She was out of bed and back to her court duties within two days. She has named her son Allionel, as the king requested.”

I make a face in the darkness. Allionel. The name means “Son of Lionel.” Of course he’d insist his child be called that. Ugh. How my sister puts up with that pompous boor in her bed, I have no idea. It’s not a Vestalin name, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

Balon laughs at my silence. “Are you stunned, lady? I am surprised you did not hear the bells celebrating from even here, they were so loud. All over the kingdom people have been celebrating the birth of a fine, strong heir. I’m told even King Lionel fights harder with the news.”

“That’s great,” I say, even though his words irk me. Hear the bells, indeed. This tower is remote, and the walls so thick I cannot even hear the seagulls outside. “Is the war going well, then?”

“Very well,” Balon reassures me. “The king thinks Darkfell will be conquered within the next month.”

“So soon?”

“Aye. He says they are no match for our fierce warriors.” There’s a pause. “What of the Fellian you are trapped with? Have they been troubling you?”

“I barely see him,” I admit.

“Him?” Balon sounds shocked. “You are trapped with a man?”

“No, I’m trapped with a Fellian,” I remind him. “I would hesitate to call any of them men.” I think of the creepy glowing eyes and hulking form and try to match it up with the stories I have heard of their appearances. I have heard them called devils and monsters all my life, with hideous gray skin and clawed hands and feet. That they can dwell in the shadows. Suddenly I’m a little anxious as my candle sputters. “The Fellian ignores me, just as I ignore him. We have an unspoken agreement. He sticks to his portion of the tower and I stick to mine.”

“Do you have a weapon to defend yourself?”

“I do,” I say, touching my bodice. My sister’s knife goes with me always. Strangely enough, I’m not worried about the Fellian. He’s given me space and left me alone. Most days it feels as if I’m in this tower by myself in the darkness. I never see him and rarely hear him moving about. Other than his supplies in the root cellar, he might as well be a ghost.

“If he threatens your honor…” Balon’s voice trails off.

“What?” I taunt. “If he threatens my honor, what? You’ll stand outside and shake a fist in his direction?”

“Princess—”

“No, Balon. If you’re so worried about my honor, help me get free from this prison!”

“You know I cannot.”

“I know you will not,” I remind him. “Cannot and will not are two very different things. You will not, so you do not get to worry about my virtue, understand?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I am not trying to upset you, princess.”

I bite back a sigh of frustration, hugging the pillow I have on the blanket with me. “I know, Balon. I’m very grateful for your company. It’s just…it’s miserable in here. You can understand me wanting to be free.”

“I know.” Balon pauses. “I will donate to the temples and ask the gods for a sign.”

“Yes,” I say eagerly, sitting up. “Do that. If the gods tell you to free me, you must act.” I want to reach through the walls and shake him with excitement. Maybe he’ll get a message from the gods. Maybe they don’t want me in here, either? Maybe just the thought of me putting myself through this is enough? It’s the slenderest of hopes, but it’s all I’ve got. “Ask the gods for guidance and let me know what they say when you return.” I pause and then add dryly, “I’ll be here.”

“I will indeed ask,” Balon replies. “Just be careful around the Fellian. They are pure evil to the core.”

I think about the unpleasant Fellian somewhere in this tower with me. He’s definitely not someone I’m inclined to spend a great deal of time with. I think the feeling is mutual. The few times we’ve crossed paths, he’s made it quite clear that he despises me. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to be the sacrifice for his people either.

Perhaps he feels just as trapped as I do.

“So,” Balon says cheerfully. “Did I tell you I have a new horse?”