Golden Chains Page 13

  And she’d failed.

  Amalie gave her a sympathetic smile before closing the door behind her and leaving Etta alone. Unable to stay in the king’s room any longer, she pulled on her clothes and hurried back to her own rooms. Pain clouded her mind once again and a scream sounded. Had that been her?

  She barely made it to the bed before she passed out.

  The horse leaped forward to avoid a dip in the road and Alex abruptly woke. He opened his eyes to a view of the rough ground. He’d been draped over the back of a saddle.

  Pain. All he remembered was pain. It hadn’t gone away and as he shifted, it grew worse. The ropes around his wrists tightened as he tried to reach forward to hold onto the saddle he was draped over.

  “We need to get him to the palace,” a rough voice said. “She’ll take care of the rest.”

  Palace? Was he going home?

  Even in his foggy mind, he knew that wasn’t right. He’d woken up periodically over the past two days before descending into darkness once again. Each time, they’d been on the move. They must have barely rested. They’d stopped at a village for fresh horses and he’d been hauled onto a new beast before taking off again. No one rode with him, but his horse was tied to the one beside him. There was no getting away in his current state.

  He struggled to breathe with the agony tearing through his chest. That wasn’t the sleeping drought they continued to force on him. Only one thing could turn him completely inside out. He’d felt it before. The curse.

  Etta. He closed his eyes, trying to remember if she’d been okay. There was nothing. At least the burning in his veins told him one thing. She was still alive. How had they gotten into the palace? Magic?

  He lifted his head to see his captors. He counted seven other horses, but his blurry vision couldn’t quite make out their rider’s faces.

  His fingers pulled at the shirt they’d dressed him with to loosen the collar around his neck.

  They turned to leave the road and take the rougher path over open land with no regard for their horses.

  Someone trotted up beside him. “Hallo yer Majesty.” He flashed him a gap-toothed grin before turning to the others. “We should stop fer a kip. His royalness looks a might slouched here.”

  “Louis,” a hard feminine voice said. “Since when do you give the orders?”

  Louis bowed his head. “Sorry, Madame.”

  The woman held up a hand to stop their trek and dismounted from her horse. She walked around so she was level with Alex’s head. He blinked away the fuzziness and scanned her thin frame. She appeared like she belonged in a sewing room, not on a horse, and certainly not taking part in the capture of a king. Her light brown hair was tied back from her high cheekbones and ebony skin.

  “Does the king wish to sit up?” she asked sweetly.

  “Yes,” Alex managed to get out.

  The woman nodded to someone behind her and Alex’s ropes were jerked so hard, he tumbled from the horse and lay on the ground, unmoving.

  A smattering of laughter surrounded him.

  “Gabe,” she called. “Paul. You two get him back onto his horse.” She turned to glare at Louis. “We do not stop until dark.”

  Alex was hauled roughly to his feet and lifted into the saddle. He hunched forward, doing all he could to stay on.

  They took off at a gallop and Alex’s horse was tugged along. He scanned his surroundings, trying to figure out where they were. He didn’t know how long he’d been out but the sun overhead told him it’d been through the night at least. He glanced back once, knowing soon he’d no longer be in Gaule.

  When night came, they made camp using the various powers they possessed.

  Their power frightened him, but Etta’s words were embedded in his mind. Most people’s magic was quite weak. He saw that weakness in his captors and that more than anything gave him hope that Gaule could defeat them.

  They tied him to a tree near the horses and he tried to take comfort in their familiar sounds. But there was no comfort to be had. There was no way out. As soon as they crossed the border into Bela, he’d be out of reach. He leaned his head back against the tree and shut his eyes.

  At the sound of footsteps, he snapped them open.

  The woman who’d given orders before, stood watching him.

  “Need something?” Alex asked.

  She held out a crude bowl. “I brought you supper, King.”

  He took it and stared down into the watery stew. “Why would you feed a dead man?”

  A smile curved her lips. “What makes you think you’re a dead man?”

  “I was drugged and kidnapped.” His brow pinched together.

  She laughed and the rage inside of him threatened to boil over. He was in too much pain to be rational.

  Without thinking, he threw his bowl at her. Surprised arched her brow as the steaming substance struck her. She wiped it away with a grimace.

  “You’re going to regret that when your belly is aching in the morning.” She turned and walked back toward the group.

  His shoulders sagged as he clutched at his chest, willing the pain away. His teeth ground against each other.

  No, he didn’t want the pain to subside. It was the only thing telling him Etta was okay.

  It started to rain in the night, the water soaking Alex to the core. A shiver overtook his body, and he whipped his head around to look for his captors. They were huddled under a makeshift shelter. Louis and Paul were laughing as they pointed to him and the rain pounded mercilessly.

  A crack of thunder split the sky and Alex hugged his arms across his chest as water dripped from his hair onto his face.

  Lightning flashed, and he ducked away from the tree as far as his rope would allow. The horses nearby stomped and neighed as they too were exposed in the downpour. One reared up as the thunder grew louder. It crashed back to the ground and kicked its back legs up.

  A soothing murmur came from the direction of the horses and they began to calm.

  “Esme,” Louis yelled. “Get yer skinny ass back here. It ain’t safe.”

  Esme ignored them as she continued toward the horses. They stomped in agitation, but didn’t jump as more lightning tore through the area.

  “It’s okay,” she cooed. “Everything is going to be alright.”

  Alex began to relax as well. Even as his muscles loosened, he knew it was false. Her magic took hold of him and he no longer noticed the rain or the roar of thunder.

  The horses went silent. Esme reached out her hand and the nearest one nuzzled his nose into it before folding his legs under him and laying down.

  Esme turned around, a satisfied smile lighting up her face, and her hair slapping against her cheeks in stringy tresses. She gave a short nod of her head and returned to the hastily erected shelter to get out of the rain.

  The horses made no more sounds and Alex was finally able to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

  He didn’t know how long he’d slept before rough hands woke him. They gripped the collar of his soiled shirt and hauled him to his knees.

  The shirt tore as he was pulled forward. It was cheap, obviously not made for a king. And on top of that, it itched.

  “Up you go, your Majesty,” one of the ruffians, he thought it was Paul, growled.

  A fist collided with his side, but he barely felt it over the pain that had started anew as soon as he opened his eyes. He didn’t make a sound.

  Gabe yanked his hair, pulling his head back to look into his face. “La Dame said we gotta bring him alive, but she didn’t mention anything about whole.” He slammed Alex’s head back into the tree.

  Still, Alex refused to make a sound.

  “Let’s make him squeal like the Gaulean pig that he is.”

  A knee rammed into his shoulder and he fell sideways, unable to break his fall with his hands tied.

  A cackle rang through the air.

  Alex lay still as they took turns kicking him. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

  Th
e silver glint of a knife flashed in front of his face and Paul studied it. “Think La Dame would mind if we kept a few pieces for ourselves? He is the Gaulean king after all. We’d be heroes among all magic folk.”

  Alex squirmed until he was able to roll himself onto his knees once more. He was not the enemy of magic folk. If anyone was, it was La Dame. But they didn’t know that. And he wouldn’t beg.

  He lifted his eyes and his gaze bore down on Paul and Gabe. Uncertainty entered Gabe’s eyes, but Paul stepped forward and pressed the flat edge of the blade against Alex’s cheek. The metal chilled him, but he didn’t look away.

  Then it was gone. Paul crumpled to the ground with an arrow in his back.

  Alex trembled in relief before peering up at his savior. Esme stepped on Paul’s back to pull her arrow free, unconcerned with his groan or the blood dripping from the iron tip.

  “Gabe,” she snapped. “Go prepare the horses.”

  Gabe looked like he wanted to protest, but his body jerked and moved away, leaving Alex to bear the full weight of Esme’s consideration.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Her face was bland as she observed him. “That wasn’t for you.” She glanced at Paul’s now lifeless body and then back at him. “La Dame has plans for you.”

  Days later, they crossed over into Bela and every ounce of hope within him died.

  Chapter Eleven

  The round chamber once serving as a gathering place for the council that ruled the kingdom was full for the first time since before Etta’s father resided in the palace. It had fallen in to disuse when the old king dissolved his council and chose to consolidate the crown’s power. It had been a time of peace so his noble’s armies weren’t needed and as long as the palace continued to pay a fair price, their supply of goods wouldn’t be cut off.

  Peace couldn’t last forever and now they had no king and no wards.

  Etta watched the empty seats fill up. These same nobles who’d watched as Alex imprisoned their fellow lords and ladies, now waited to be part of leading the kingdom. Without the king, the council must be reinstated.

  A hand landed on Etta’s shoulder and she flinched away. A haze of pain clouded her mind and every touch felt like a knife grazing along her skin.

  “I never thought I’d see a council sit in this room again.” Duchess Moreau’s voice held a deep sadness.

  “Do you trust them?” Etta asked through clenched teeth.

  “Not even a little, but they’re all we have now.”

  “We need our king.”

  Etta lifted her eyes to the circular room as the duchess gave her a pointed stare and moved toward her seat.

  She knew what was expected of her. She had once been protector, and they wanted her to take up that mantle once more. His life was worth more than hers to them, but she had to be careful, to wait for the right moment, to prepare.

  Part of that preparation was making sure the kingdom didn’t fall apart in Alex’s absence. She had a duty to him, but she also needed to prevent further persecution of her people.

  Queen Catrine took the highbacked seat normally reserved for the king and Etta moved to stand behind her chair near the wall. Duchess Moreau was to her right and Duke Caron planted himself firmly on her other side. Camille stayed by her husband and refused to look Etta in the eye.

  The bruise on her cheek had not faded in its entirety and a jolt of grim pleasure entered Etta’s heart as she remembered the way it’d felt to finally give the princess what she deserved.

  Simon joined Etta as the queen mother cleared her throat. The chatter in the room persisted despite more of the her attempts to begin.

  They didn’t have time for this. Etta drew her sword in one movement and slammed it down on the sturdy circular table. The surface shook from the impact and the sound made each of the nobles go silent.

  “Queen Catrine wishes to begin,” Etta growled, her voice echoing off the domed ceiling. Many of the faces paled and Duchess Moreau’s eyes held chastisement in them.

  The queen mother’s voice shook as she began and then grew strong. “Our kingdom faces great adversity. As many of you know by now, the king was abducted from his rooms.”

  A round of questions broke out, the nobles speaking over one another. Etta narrowed her eyes, ready to quiet them once again. There was no need because they obeyed when Catrine held up her hand.

  “Little is known,” she said. “We have been searching the realm for days. You have each been instrumental in providing soldiers for the searches on your lands and I thank you.”

  For days, the queen mother had been almost inconsolable. How had she found the strength to control this meeting?

  She continued, her voice even. “We must decide how to move forward. Alex had no heir.”

  Camille kept her eyes trained on the table. They’d all heard her lose her place in the line of succession.

  “I move to allow Gaule to be temporarily ruled by this council. All those opposed, speak up now.”

  No one made a sound.

  “Okay.” Catrine folded her hands on the table. “We are now the governing body of Gaule. Our first order of business must be calling in the armies from your fields.”

  “During harvest?” A man across the table objected. “That’s mad, woman.”

  The queen mother opened her mouth to speak, but Duchess Moreau beat her to it. “Respect, Lord Trevellais, or we will have you removed. A queen deserves the same obedience as any king.”

  The man’s angular face reddened. “Your Majesty, I meant that we need our people in the fields.”

  Catrine pinned him with unforgiving eyes. “The harvest is meaningless if there are no people left to feed. Don’t underestimate the dangers we face. Gaule could very well be on the brink of destruction.”

  Her bluntness sent a shock throughout the room.

  Catrine drummed her fingers against the polished ebony wood and lifted her eyes to a map of the realm hanging on the far wall. “But you are correct, my lord. The harvest must come in. Those on your land can provide one member of the family to the army and one to the harvest.”

  He choked. “You expect women to work the fields?”

  “Their limbs work as well as any other, correct? I don’t see why those without young children can’t do the tasks their husbands do. If they’d rather not, they can join the army.”

  Another noble gasped at that. “You’d have women fight?”

  “We have women in the palace guard,” she said smoothly.

  “But this is war. Women simply don’t have the skill.”

  Etta had heard enough. She slid her knife from its sheath on her leg and flung it. The blade stabbed into the table inches from the nobleman’s hand. He jerked his hand away and widened his eyes.

  “Do you know who I am?” Etta stepped forward.

  “Yes,” he stammered.

  She smiled. “Good. If you’d like to prove my womanhood prevents me from being a skilled warrior, I’m happy to challenge you.”

  “Etta,” Catrine snapped. “Enough.”

  Etta shut her mouth with a scowl.

  Catrine turned back to the nobles. “You will provide this council with your army or we will all perish.”

  “What about our peers in the dungeons?” The woman sitting next to Camille asked.

  “What about them, Lady Toro?” Duke Caron spoke up. “Traitors, all of them.”

  Lady Toro shook her head, her elaborate braids barely moving. “We cannot afford to be calling the nobles of this great kingdom traitors when their only crime was attempting to keep us safe.”

  “By betraying the king?” Caron scowled.

  “By standing up against the magic folk. Look at what is happening now. We are preparing to fight a war against the people we should have eradicated.”

  Etta tensed and Simon gripped her arm. She tried to shake him off, but he didn’t let go.

  “Lady Toro,” Duchess Moreau began patiently. “Our fight is not against the magic folk
of Gaule. The discourse is with La Dame and her forces. If we were to ally ourselves with magic in this realm, we may have a chance.”

  Arguments broke out immediately.

  “Like her?” someone yelled above the rest as he pointed to Etta. “The kingslayer’s daughter?”

  “That is enough,” Catrine yelled. “Etta is under my protection and she will be a great asset in this battle.”

  The nobles continued to shout accusations. Words like “murderer” and “whore” were bandied about.

  One assertion rang in her ears louder than the rest. “How do we know she wasn’t involved in the king’s kidnapping?”

  “I have to get out of here,” Etta whispered to herself.

  Simon released her, and she walked to the other side of the table to yank her knife free. The nobleman’s eyes widened, but she paid him no mind as she sheathed it and bolted from the room, their voices following her into the corridor. As the door shut, cutting off their arguments, she leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Pushing away from the wall, she began to run, stumbling twice as the pain hindered her. Alex was getting farther away. She felt every step between them.

  Her legs took her into the outer castle and she didn’t stop running until she was through the gates. Turning left, she walked along the grassy hill at the base of the walls. When the agony became too much, she fell to her knees, trapped in a sea of pain and fear. What was happening to Alex?

  She leaned her back against the wall and hung her head. Guards and villagers passed through the gates with only curious glances toward her.

  Tomorrow, she’d go. There was no other way. Nothing remained at the palace for her. She must trust the queen mother to protect her people. But, how could she?

  Her stomach cramped and she doubled over, tears stinging her eyes. The sharp sting sliced through her once again. Lifting her shirt, she felt for the heated spot where he must have been hurt. It felt as though a heavy boot thudded into her stomach and she cried out.

  Blurry visions swam before her eyes. Verité? Was she hallucinating? The horse lowered his head to nudge her with his nose.

  “Verité,” she whispered. “I often dream of you.”