Brightly Woven(68)

She folded her hands together. “I don’t claim to understand magic very well, but I do know that kind of power is a useful persuasion tool, not only for Auster’s king, but also for the Sorceress Imperial.”

“What?” I whispered. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t control it. I don’t understand how it works.”

“Don’t be afraid, you silly girl,” she said. “I don’t mean to kill you. The king of Auster contacted me privately just this morning, asking me if I had a visitor with your features. He said if I was willing to send you to him, he would cease his pursuit of my crown and withdraw from the war entirely.”

“You’re trading me for peace?” I asked.

“Yes, in a way,” Queen Eglantine said. “I’m also sending the king the means to his own destruction. Once you’re in Auster, your powers will reduce it to rubble.”

“No!” I cried. “I told you I can’t control it!”

“Precisely,” she said. “The king has no idea what he’s asked for.”

I felt the weight of Pompey’s hands as they came down hard on my shoulders. My back collided with his chest, and I knew I was trapped.

“You’re in charge now,” said the queen, looking at Pompey.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. “I have taken care of everything. The boat is waiting and will leave for Auster as soon as she’s on it.”

“No!” I cried, struggling against his unyielding grip. The queen crossed the room to one of the wall panels. I watched in horror as she undid a hidden latch and pulled it open, revealing a perfect escape route. Pompey pushed me into the cramped passageway ahead of him. I didn’t even realize I was screaming until the captain delivered a harsh backhanded slap and covered my mouth with his leather glove.

“Forgive me, Sydelle,” I heard the queen call from behind us. “But I will do what I must.”

The passage narrowed as we went farther down. I never gave up trying to fight Pompey, even as my limbs tired and he grew agitated enough to throw me against a wall.

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.