Brightly Woven
Page 67

The long, winding path came to an abrupt end at another, larger underground passage. Moments later, thin strips of moonlight guided us out of the complete blackness of the tunnel into cold, wet air.
In front of us was what had to be the South Gate. Beyond the imposing, black iron gate were the outlines of trading ships, trapped after the city was sealed off for war. They bobbed helplessly against the angry waters of the lake, which rose and spilled through the gate and into our small waterway. The only other path to take led deeper under the castle.
“Are you there?” Pompey called gruffly. I looked up at him in fear, his hand still over my lips.
From a dark fissure in the castle’s stone wall came the shape of three large men. They approached us cautiously, silently. They wore simple clothing, nothing like the silk robes I had expected to see. Their skin was a touch darker than that of Palmarta’s natives. They had twisted the strands of their long, black hair so that each braid resembled a snake.
I lashed out at Pompey in one last, desperate attempt to escape, but his grip across my chest increased until I thought he would crush me alive.
“This is the girl?” one asked.
“It is,” Pompey confirmed. “Do you have the papers?”
The men laughed, the sound carrying through the passage.
“What papers?” the first one asked.
“The treaty the king promised to sign!” Pompey growled. “I need to see the proof before I give her to you!”
“On behalf of our great king, we thank you for your assistance. Regrettably, we have to rescind our gracious offer,” the man said. “After all, this land now rightfully belongs to our king.”
Pompey let out an enraged snarl, throwing me behind him. I screamed and stumbled back, looking up just in time to see him forced to his knees as he fought, growling and spitting like a rabid dog. I turned to run, but I wasn’t fast enough. One of the men had me by the throat.
“You cannot be going back on your word! I know all about your ways!” Pompey yelled. “Your people see it as the highest dishonor to break an oath!”
“Then you are in for a sorry surprise,” the leader said, pulling out a small dagger.
The man raised his arm in a wide, graceful sweep. I watched from the ground, too stunned to move.
I remember the sight and sound of the blood from Pompey’s throat as it splattered against the cold stone at our feet, the horrible gurgle of his last breaths, and the way his eyes went wide at the impossibility of it all. I remember how the passage caught and echoed the terrible laughter of the men as they came closer.
But more than anything else, I remember the briefest flash of North’s hurt face in my mind and the way I cried out for him as the darkness finally swallowed me, too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I slept a very long time.
We crossed the channel to a strange continent. I saw none of it. All the while I slept, waking only for dry, stale bread and a bitter draft that tasted of rotten fruit. No sooner did the liquid touch my tongue than I returned to that place of dreams, of shimmering tall grass, soon to be covered by snow. To the sounds of children in the valley, the warmth of North as we sat close together. The feeling of his hand as it closed over mine.
A touch of warmth against my cheek. My eyes blinked open, to be met by the heart-shaped face of a little old woman.
“Time to eat, love,” she said. She padded quietly across the room to retrieve a plate. I shook my head when she brought it back. I felt sick to my stomach.
I touched the fabric against my skin. Someone had dressed me in a sleeping gown of red silk. And there was more silk strung up around the room, from wall to wall, the different colors and shapes running together. My eyelids stayed open only long enough to see the little woman’s kind face.
“Where…?” I breathed out, unable to finish.
“You are finally home,” she whispered into my ear. “We’ve been waiting so long for you to come.”
The old woman woke me from my nightmares. She held my head in her lap, brushing and combing my hair away from my face. Mostly, she told me nonsensical things, hushed me when I tried to speak.
In the early light of one morning, I heard her voice across the room, whispering urgently.
“—must make that demon lift his magic. She hasn’t eaten in days, and I fear—”
“He said that she would wake long enough to eat. Are you telling me you can’t get her to, Beatrice?” The man’s voice was deep and strong. I saw him through a thin veil of lashes; he was dressed in deep red robes, with a head of graying black hair. The silver crown was worn low on his head. He looked like a god of war.
“She won’t stay awake long enough!” the woman said. “I’m afraid she’ll die if you don’t right this.”
I tried pushing myself away from them, toward the wall. My arms felt as though they were full of sand. They flopped about helplessly, twisting in ways that would have hurt had I not been so numbed by sleep. Poison, I thought. I’ve been poisoned….
I made a distressed noise, squeezing my eyes shut. Beatrice was at my side, pressing her warm hands against my face.
“Please, Your Majesty!” she cried. “Please.”
I saw his face as he knelt beside me, studying me closely. I blinked, fighting desperately to keep my eyes open.
“Salvala,” he said, the name of the goddess falling from his lips like a prayer. “This humble and obedient king welcomes you to your kingdom.”