Land of Fury, page 27
When we are only a day’s ride from the keep, Ferguson and a few of his guards meet us at the edge of Winterwood’s forest with a report that news of the queen’s death is spreading.
“There has been no formal announcement,” Ferguson explains as our horses slog toward the castle with the last bit of their energy. “There has been nothing about a funeral procession—no address to the kingdom.”
Chills rake through me, and unfortunately, it is not because of the cold this time. “And my sister? What of the princess?”
Ferguson looks at me. “I have not seen her, Your Highness. But then, the abbess has been sending us to the surrounding villages to inquire about you. I have not been to the castle to know much about Princess Sigrid. But,” Ferguson continues, “people are speaking of the queen—they aren’t sure if her death is to be believed.”
I look at Zander, shaking my head. “Siggy would have addressed it,” I tell him. “She follows everything precisely—the way my mother would have done it.”
“The abbess,” Zander and I say at once. And for the hundredth time in the past eight days of our chaotic journey, I am so filled with gratitude that he is with me, and I can barely contain tears of relief. If it wasn’t for Zander and the reassurances of his horsemen during the blizzard that kept us indoors for two days, forcing me to stew with my thoughts, on top of the sleepless nights as I’ve come to terms with my life now, I would not have made the journey with my sanity intact.
“The abbess has no idea where we are,” Zander says, glancing back at his men as we continue the path. There are only five of them flanking us, since Alik stopped in Windwich to ready Liv for what might come to pass, and Gunhild stayed with Olaf and Killian to organize preparations against the Blood Riders.
Zander looks at Ferguson. “If the abbess has any control within those walls, she will want to keep news about the queen from us, and in turn the entire kingdom, until she knows where the princess is. Alive, Princess Thora is a chink in Abbess Blanca’s plans, whatever they may be.”
My chest tightens as worry consumes me anew. “Poor Siggy,” I breathe, trying not to panic. “The abbess is probably walking all over her. Telling her what to do and—”
“Good,” Zander says calmly, resting his hand on mine as Baldr bumps into my borrowed brown mare. “If she is guiding Siggy’s hand, we will know exactly where to find her.” His resolute gaze helps smooth my fraying edges, and I wish I could lean over and kiss him, everything else be damned. I nod a bit too briskly and stare straight ahead instead, preparing myself for whatever comes next.
“I have heard nothing else,” Ferguson says.
“It matters not,” I whisper as the castle comes into view through the trees. “We are here. Now we have to get inside without any of Abbess Blanca’s henchmen stopping us.”
Even the horses seem to know they can rest once we get through those walls. Their steps quicken as they tug at the reins, eager to move faster.
Instinctively, I adjust my hood to cover my face, though I’m sure it matters naught.
“Ferguson,” Zander says, glancing toward the castle. There’s a silent command in his voice.
With a quick dip of his chin, the head guard motions for one of his men to follow him. “We will ensure it is safe.”
“We will wait in the thicket,” Zander says, and he leads my horse off to the side. The rest of the guards and horsemen follow suit. Dismounting my mare, I hand Zander my reins and begin to pace. It has become my most calming method of thinking.
“All will be well, princess,” Fiske says, jumping down from his saddle. “Everything will be sorted. The abbess does not know what she is in for.”
I flash him an apprehensive smile but continue to pace, wringing my hands as we wait for what feels like hours for Ferguson to return. As the sun lowers and the clouds darken, I worry he might not. Then, he appears down the road.
Zander rides out to meet him faster than I can mount my horse.
They exchange a few words, then Zander waves for the rest of us to follow them—meaning it’s safe—and I sigh with relief.
“Princess,” Zander murmurs, meeting my gaze. “My men and I will escort you through the postern gate where there are only three guards—all of them are my men.”
I nod, my stomach in my throat.
“Ferguson will take the rest of the guards through the front gate, just as any returning queen’s guard would do after searching for the runaway princess.”
With a few hand gestures from Ferguson, the guards fall into step, two lines of six, heading for the village to enter through the front of the keep.
Zander nods for his men to pass. They canter toward the hidden northern road leading to the secret gate Karra and I had escaped from.
When I realize only Zander and I remain, I meet his pensive blue gaze. “Thora,” he says softly, and with his gloved hand, he cups my face. “Whatever happens, I am here. My horsemen are here—you have swords and scythes. All of us would die—”
Gripping my horse’s mane, I lean into Zander, kissing the words away, needing to feel this warmth. To taste him and revel in his presence beside me. Clasping his neck, I kiss him deeper, tongue tangling with his so that he can say no more, and when I force myself to pull away, his eyes slowly open.
“Do not speak of death, huntsman,” I command. “There will be none of that today.”
A smirk curls his lips, and Zander bows his head in understanding.
Glancing at the castle, looming above the treetops, I nudge my mare forward, and Zander and I take off through the woods. We catch up with the horsemen at the gate, welcomed by three young guards I’ve seen many times around the castle but never met.
“Princess,” one of them says, respectfully bowing his head. “We were concerned what had become of you when your horse arrived without you.”
“Lightning?” I chirp in a rush of relief. “He’s here?”
“Yes, but we feared the worst for you.”
“I had a bit of an adventure,” I explain a bit sheepishly. Reider and Fiske chuckle. “What is your name?” I ask him.
“Hemly, Your Highness.”
“Hemly,” I say. “I am grateful to you—all of you.” I nod to the other two guards. “For your loyalty to the huntsman and his horsemen. For your loyalty to me.”
“Of course, Your Highness. We trusted that one day you would decide to rule the frozen kingdom.” I think he might be as old as I am, and his eyes are wide with wonder. With hope.
Only then do I feel everyone’s gazes, heavy and affixed to me, and as the anticipation of everything to come charges the air, I regret my stubborn ignorance these past twenty years, for turning my back on these people who have patiently been waiting for me. But there is little time to be ashamed of the past with far more important matters looming within the walls, and I glance toward the castle. “My sister?” I prompt as my horse fidgets in place. “What news do you have of her?”
“I hear she keeps to her room with melancholy, since losing the queen,” Hemly confides. “But I know little else.”
I stare at my sister’s window, in the western corner of the castle, but in the glare of the afternoon, I can’t tell if the drapes are drawn.
“Any Blood Riders?” Zander asks. His men walk their horses through the portcullis and over the narrow bridge leading into the castle wood, concealing themselves.
Hemly’s brown eyes widen with fear. “No sir, none that we’ve seen, anyway. And I have heard no mention of them in the barracks.”
“Have there been any visitors?” I urge.
“Aye.” Hemly glances at the other two guards. “Three days ago?”
They nod in confirmation.
“Three days ago, two priests arrived, Your Highness.”
My eyes dart to Zander.
“Thank you, Hemly.” Zander peers behind us, into the thicket we came from. “Close the gates and raise the drawbridge once we pass,” he requests. “No one comes in or out of this gate, unless it is one of us, from here on.”
“Yes, sir.” Hemly lowers his head obediently.
Zander glances at all three of them. “If you hear or see anything strange, find me, Ferguson, or any of my horsemen immediately.”
The guards nod brusquely, no doubt worried the huntsman will have their manhood if they disobey.
“Come,” I urge, meeting Zander’s gaze. “It seems the virtuous abbess is having an impromptu gathering without us.” I nudge my horse over the bridge and onto the castle grounds where the horsemen are waiting. I ride alongside them as we keep to the woods and stone ramparts, heading toward the chapel.
The instant the stables come into view, our horses are of one mind.
A servant catches my eye as we stop at the stables. “I have seen her speaking with Karra many times,” I say as she makes her way to the storehouse. It’s not the first time since learning about Zander’s secret agenda that I’ve questioned where each person’s loyalty lies. I look at him. “Can we trust her?”
He nods and jumps down from his saddle, waving the servant girl over. “Her name is Francis,” he murmurs, and I flash him a grateful smile.
Francis looks at the horde of us with shock and unease, but she obeys. As she hurries closer, I lower my hood. “Your Highness!” she gasps, bowing her head. “I did not—”
“Francis,” I say, taking her hands in mine. She looks horrified and dumbfounded at once. I squeeze her fingers and will her to look at me. “Francis, I need you to find the stable boys to tend to our horses,” I tell her. “And whatever you do, do not tell anyone you have seen us. Do you understand?”
“Y—yes, princess,” Francis stutters, her mouth agape.
“Do you know where Abbess Blanca is?”
She nods. “In your mother’s war room, last I saw her.”
Dread fills me, and I drop the servant’s hands. “Thank you.” Francis nods again, and worrying her lip, she glances in Fiske’s direction, then hurries toward the stables.
The men have all unsheathed their weapons, I realize, prepared for whatever comes next, and my heart stills. This is really happening.
I swallow thickly, gathering myself as we waste no time stalking past the gardens and into the castle. Our footsteps echo on the stone stairs and down the halls as we move through the west wing.
Servants tending to linens and starting fires in the rooms freeze to watch the seven of us pass. We march down the hall of portraits, and I head straight for my mother’s war room, not slowing until I see the heavy doors are latched.
A guard stands on either side, but I don’t ask Zander if he trusts them, because suddenly, I don’t care. That the abbess would take such liberties in the castle, in my home, and stand in place of my mother or sister enrages me so much, I want to run her through with Reider’s sword myself.
I glare at the guards, who don’t stop me when they note the six menacing warriors flanking me. Instead, they reach for the latch as I stop in the threshold.
When the guards shove the doors open, I find the abbess with her hands braced on my mother’s diagram table, her priests standing on either side of her, equally surprised to see me. The old woman pales momentarily.
“Abbess Blanca,” I simper sweetly.
She seems to remember her low opinion of me and stands taller, running her hands down her black robe. “Thora, I wondered where you had gone off to.”
Immediately, Fiske, Reider, Elof, Zander—they all swarm the room and apprehend the treasonous hag and her accomplices.
“What in heaven’s name—”
“Do not act a fool, abbess. You have never done so before, and it does not suit you,” I growl. The priests huff and puff and threaten to smite the world for their inhumane treatment as they are manhandled out of the room, toward the prison cells below the keep.
Once they are gone, my eyes meet the abbess’s. She doesn’t look the slightest bit happy, but she does not look scared either. That she thinks she is so superior makes me want to curse her where she stands.
“What is the meaning of this, Thora?” she says, as if she hasn’t the least bit of respect for me. “Your mother would—”
“My mother would have your head if she knew the extent of your treachery,” I seethe. “I know what you are about, abbess, and I will see to its end.”
As she looks at Dane and Rom by my side, then Zander—my mother’s huntsman, the abbess seems to understand. “I always knew you had a soft spot for the girl,” she says with a dark laugh, her gaze scanning derisively over Zander. “I told Sigrid to rid herself of you—”
“And yet, it is you we are removing,” I tell her.
Abbess Blanca sneers. “You have no idea what you are dealing with, Thora.” She doesn’t bother struggling against Zander as he brings her closer.
“Oh, I think I have an idea.”
“You can order your huntsman to lock me up all you want”—she sneers—“but you are not the leader of this kingdom.”
“Nor are you.” I scowl at her as Zander forces the abbess to stop in front of me. “A fact you often seem to forget.”
Her eyes narrow and the corner of her mouth curves wickedly. “It is a shame your sister is not long for this life. For what will become of Norseland without you both?”
The smug look on Abbess Blanca’s face stops my heart, and my blood runs cold. “What have you done?” As rage overcomes me, I tear the habit from her witchy face. Her thin, gray hair is like limp strands of hay combed back, and dark spots color her neck and scalp, proving how ugly she actually is, inside and out. “What are you?” I growl. It’s a rhetorical question, but she is no Christian. She is borne of evil, and it pours off of her as I realize she is the poison in every dying root of this kingdom.
“Alive, which is more than I can say for your mother.”
All I see is red, and I lunge for the abbess.
Rom pulls me off her as I grab for her robe. “Princess,” he whispers in warning.
“Where is my sister?” I command.
Her smile widens. “Have you not heard? She is in mourning. I am afraid she took your mother’s death poorly.” Her voice rings with far too much amusement for that to be true, and dread grips hold of me once more.
“Zander,” I grind out. “Take this demon away from me before I kill her myself.”
He shoves the abbess toward Dane, and he and Rom jostle her out of the room.
Before I know what I’m doing, I run for my sister’s chamber. My eyes are already blurring with tears. “Siggy!” I cry, my voice and footsteps ringing through the halls. Vaguely, I hear Zander behind me as I lose myself in a maelstrom of sorrow and regret, uncertain of what horrors I’ve left my sister to.
When I finally reach Siggy’s room, there is a guard outside, and one look at Zander has him moving aside.
I open the door and nearly fall inside her chambers. “Siggy?” I breathe, taking in her pale form, feverish and covered in blankets in bed. She is not melancholy at all, but ill. Her skin is green, her lips chapped, and her eyes barely flicker as I rasp her name. “Siggy,” I whisper again, her bed creaking as I sit beside her. Her eyes flit open, but I know she does not see me.
“Siggy—”
“This,” Zander says, lifting the tincture bottle from her bedside. With a glare, he brings it to his nose, his eyes instantly widening in alarm. “I know this scent,” he says far too gravely to misinterpret the type of tincture he holds, and slowly, it all falls into place.
“Poison,” I rasp.
Silent tears fall from my lashes as I look from the bottle to Siggy. “It is a shame your sister is not long for this life.” As the abbess’s words taunt me, it’s all I can do not to crack.
42
THORA
I sit with Siggy for hours—perhaps over a day. Servants enter the room to light candles and tend to the fire. Food is brought for me that I barely touch, and the old man apothecary brings a few different remedies to drop on Siggy’s tongue.
She wakes a few times, but she hardly recognizes who I am, lost in a fever dream. All the while, I can only ask for her forgiveness. Forgiveness for not being her sister when I should have been—when I knew she was unhappy and needed me. For abandoning her to flee the kingdom I knew she never wanted to rule in the first place. She never told me as much, but she didn’t have to.
And I pray to God, truly meaning it for the first time, asking that he save my sister—a good, God-fearing woman shaped by horrible people—and give her a chance to live in this world as the queen she was born to be.
“Master Zander is right, Your Highness. It is hemlock, like your mother was taking.” The old man frowns, and I avert my gaze, staring back at my sister again.
“Was it a trick?” I ask, my voice distant and unfamiliar. “Why would my sister take this?” Siggy is weak-minded in many ways, but she would not purposely harm herself and wish for the end, would she? I nearly sob at the thought that, had I been here, she would never have tried such a thing.
“If you want my opinion, Your Highness,” the apothecary says gently. “She was tricked—as was the queen.”
Slowly, I straighten, each of his words a spike against my flesh. “What?” I glance at Zander in the corner, his arms crossed over his chest, watching over me.
“After Master Zander shared his suspicions that the abbess had a hand in the queen’s ailment, I looked into it.”
I look at Zander, though I’m not sure why I’m surprised. “You are saying the abbess poisoned my mother and my sister?”
The apothecary nods, his wrinkly hands clasping together as he slightly bows his head. “Apologies, Your Highness, but your mother was sick. Of that, I am certain. I examined her myself. But she had her iron salts that were helping, even if it was only slightly. Whatever tincture she took in the final weeks was not of my making. Nor is this.” He lifts the empty tincture vial.
My heart breaks as I look at Zander again, wondering how it is even possible that the abbess never tried to poison me in her elaborate schemes to take over the kingdom. Because I am no one? A spare princess? Still, I am of royal blood.
