Chapter Forty #2
“Well, there’s a war going on out there,” I tell them. They all gape at me. “You didn’t know? Penrith has been on the attack for a few months now. War has already broken out along the Loegrian border,” I say.
Everyone stares at one another.
“How long have you all been here? Trapped in the castle?” I ask.
Bing replies, “Too long. It was either this or join his army. I’ll cut off my other hand before he can make me take lives for him.” My stomach drops. He’s desperate enough not to join Osian’s army that he would do that to himself. “War has truly come to Albion, has it?”
I tell them everything I saw on the journey to Engel.
The burnt village we came upon, the chaos on the bridges, the Kilandrar attacks.
And I tell them as much of the truth of why I ended up here as I can, without mentioning the Rings.
“Prince Dietan hired me to escort him across the kingdoms, posing as his bride, so we could stop the war before it began. But…maybe now it’s too late. ”
Without Dietan, without the Rings, I fear I may be correct. I wrap my arms around myself as the grim realization settles over the group. Tess holds herself tightly, her gaze distant. “Many of us have family—husbands, children—conscripted into King Osian’s army. We’ll probably never see them again.”
Lambert folds his arms over his chest. “You’re lucky the king didn’t believe you were really engaged to that prince, or you’d be with him right now in that dungeon, being starved and beaten, too.”
My heart stops.
A strangled gasp escapes my lips, my hands flying to my mouth as my vision blurs with sudden, burning tears.
Dietan’s alive? He’s alive? He’s alive.
A broken, breathless laugh bubbles up from my chest. “What did you just say? About the prince?”
“Yeah, the prince. Dietan, I think his name is? He’s in the dungeon.”
“You’ve really seen him?” I ask urgently.
“Blond hair, bluish green eyes, cheekbones? Pretty boy? Yes, I’ve seen him,” Lambert says.
A ray of hope starts to bloom in my heart, even in this dark alcove. “He’s alive?” I repeat.
“Are you not listening? I said he was. But only because Osian wants to play with him first,” says Lambert with a scowl. “He likes to do that. He’s a sadist of the worst kind.”
“Torture?” My eyes burn with tears as I choke on the word. I take several deep breaths. Dietan isn’t dead. He’s being tortured and is in pain. But he’s alive.
“Making the prince scream is Osian’s new favorite pastime,” Nelson says. “Happens almost every night. Sometimes he’ll even have prisoners brought into the throne room and torture them sitting up there, instead of going all the way down to the dungeon.”
So that’s what we heard when we were in the dungeon. Torture. The screams from the king’s victims above. Now Dietan is the one screaming. Oh, Harvest Mother. I place a hand on the stone wall for balance. I’d collapse if these walls weren’t so close.
“I clean the dungeons. Clean the blood after,” Lambert says. “Osian always makes a big ole mess of him.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. I’m numb.
Dietan. Tortured. Screaming in pain.
“That’s enough, Lambert,” Bing says. “Spare the lady the details.”
Bing asks Nelson for more information about the horses, but I don’t hear the rest. I’m fighting to wrap my head around the fact that Dietan is still in the castle, still alive. My mind races with a million thoughts that overlap incomprehensibly with one another.
If Namreth had believed I was Dietan’s bride-to-be, blessed by the Oracle and sealed with a treaty, I’d be down in the dungeons with him, just as Lambert said. A future queen of Loegria and Alarice would have been valuable to him, especially if he’s planning to march on Loegria soon.
Did Dietan…save me somehow? By telling Namreth that he didn’t love me, did he intentionally spare me from the torments he now faces?
No. That’s impossible.
I saw him drink the henbane water. He could tell Namreth nothing but the truth: that I mean nothing to him.
I swallow as the voices of the others hum like a swarm of bees around me.
But what if… What if Dietan found a way to lie even after drinking the henbane?
Didn’t I also watch Namreth drink the henbane?
Surely that means the mad king has found a way to lie under the influence, which means it’s possible…
My heart pricks with hope, even as I tell myself it’s just wishful thinking. There’s no way Dietan’s as clever, as powerful as Namreth, is there?
He’s just…a fool…right?
And above all, he’s a liar…a skilled, convincing liar who has concealed the secret of the Rings from everyone, even his own mother, for a decade.
But I remember how brave he was, fighting the Kilandrar.
And how he knew exactly who Katharine was—and probably even led us to her in the middle of the vast Waste.
And that the other reason he is here in Estyrion was to persuade his uncle to be an ally.
Dietan is more than a messy drunk who sneaks out at night.
He’s also more than the carefree, philandering prince he pretends to be.
I did know him. I believed in him. And I loved him.
Even if Dietan truly doesn’t love me, how can I live with myself, languishing in the kitchen knowing he’s being tortured? No matter how much he’s hurt me, I’ve got to do something about it.
“How long until you think the king marches to war?” Bing asks.
“Why, so we can all escape?” Tess snorts. “Where would we go? The desert will kill us first.”
“Arnfried swears there’s a lost tribe in the desert, that his mother is some kind of queen who might shelter us, if we’re discreet and can find them,” says Bing.
“But maybe the kid’s just delusional.” I don’t know if I should confirm her existence.
If one of them gets tortured next, I can’t endanger Katherine’s whole village.
I interrupt, catching Lambert’s gaze. “Can you get me to him? To the prince?”
Lambert’s eyes widen, fearful, his bravado gone. “I don’t know. The king is keeping my family… If I get caught…” He brushes his hand nervously over his shorn head.
“All of us are risking everything by simply meeting here,” says Bing.
“Your prince is as good as dead,” Tess says. Siena shushes her.
I tamp down a sob in my throat. I can’t cry. Not right now. Not when there’s work to do.
Dietan’s still alive, and as long as he’s alive, there’s hope of rescuing him. I may not have the looks of my sisters, or the skills of Lydia or Marcus, or the title of princess, but I have hope. Lots of it.
…
By morning, I’m back in the kitchen, folding layers into the biscuits, but my mind is deep in the dungeons of the castle. Dietan is down there somewhere, alone and hurting. I’ve had to restart the dough three times over because I’m so distracted.
I look up and notice Siena, the scullery maid, at her daily task of bringing a basket of fresh herbs to the pantry. I sidle up beside her, gently pulling her deeper inside.
“Something wrong?” Siena asks, startled. Her basket is full of herbs and edible flowers, a rainbow of colors and fragrances, all to be used for the king’s meals.
“Nothing’s wrong—I mean, yes, everything is wrong in this place. But I need to ask you something.”
Siena looks fearfully at the door, and I pull it closed, leaving only a sliver of a gap so we can hear if a guard approaches.
“Ask me what? You’re planning something, aren’t you?” Siena asks.
I don’t answer right away, as I wonder if what I’m planning is insane.
“You’re planning to save your prince,” Siena guesses.
Am I that obvious? But Siena’s spirits are up. A fire lights in her eyes, and she’s smiling. I can’t help but smile back. My plan could get us all killed, but isn’t it better to die trying to do the right thing than live the rest of our lives in terror, locked in this kitchen?
“It’ll be risky,” I warn.
“I want to help, but the guards are always watching us,” Siena says.
“I know. You know your way around plants, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Siena says, gesturing to her basket. “My father taught me how to forage when I was young.”
“And they let you pick them for the pantry?”
“Once a day, they let me into the gardens. The king keeps thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of varieties in his gardens. Why?”
“I need you to find one for me: a bell-shaped blue flower called devil’s breath.
It looks like this.” On a scrap of baking parchment, using the nub of charcoal I keep in my pocket to write down recipes, I sketch the flower the marquis used on a night that feels like it was ages ago now.
Another life. “It’s often used as medicine. ”
Siena furrows her brow as she studies my sketch. “I might have seen it, but I’ll have to check. What do you want to do with it?”
“Find me this flower, and I’ll get us all out of here.”