Prisoner (9 page)

"Thank you, Trul." Esta stood up and shook out the skirts of her black riding habit. "Where did I set my jacket?" She smiled when Trul fetched it from the bed and allowed Trul to help her into it and fasten the gold buttons. "I'll be back before evening bells. Be ready, because I'll have to change in a hurry. Have a quick wash ready; I'm sure I'll need it."

"Of course, of course." Trul shooed her off. "Just see you keep that hair clean!"

Esta laughed as she entered the hallway, nodding politely to a few passing servants. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the colored glass windows, adding strange patterns to the blue carpet lining the hallway. She hummed the tune to her favorite waltz as she walked.

Passing by a window, she paused. Outside was a glaring lack of green. A few trees clung pathetically to the last of their yellow and orange leaves, but overall everything had turned gray and brown and flat. Clouds filled the distant sky, promising that soon all that barren land would be filled with snow. Once it fell, there would be no traveling. It also meant the soldiers would be returning, free until spring forced them back to the battlefield.

Sometimes she wondered why they bothered to continue fighting. More often than not it seemed childish, compulsory. Unfortunately, she knew all too well why it continued and wished she did not. Forcefully resuming her humming, Esta continued through the palace. She ran over all that must be done before that evening, silently offering prayers and wishes for a smooth afternoon.

A familiar voice broke into her mulling. "Esta," Prince Matthias said and bowed. He smiled.

Despite her ongoing frustrations, Esta had to smile back. "Matthias," she greeted. Then she glared. "My servant is spreading unamusing rumors. I assume, of course, that they
are
merely rumors."

"Of course," Matthias said immediately. "I would never dare to hint that I'm angling to make you the Grand Lady of the Yuletide ball. Not on my life."

Esta glowered. Had they been alone she might have given into the temptation to hit him. Matthias was considered the classic idea of royal beauty, and that smile could lethal on the unsuspecting—even occasionally on those who should have known better. She, however, was immune; growing up together made them immune to many things in regards to each other. "It had better be a rumor," she replied. "What are you doing now? Court shouldn't be out of session yet. They talk longer than that."

"Don't I know it," Matthias said, and around him, his retainers chuckled. "I told them I had more urgent matters."

"Like spreading rumors."

Matthias turned and grinned at the nearest of his retainers, Duke Kalan of Ferra, the last of their little group of lifelong friends. "I'm in trouble."

"It's remarkable you noticed for once," Kalan replied. "I told you extra sleep would do wonders."

Laughter filled the hallway; Esta rolled her eyes. "I will leave you men to amuse yourselves. No doubt I will see you this evening."

"Easy journey, Esta." Matthias grabbed her hand as she passed and squeezed it briefly. They shared a look, and Esta squeezed back.

"Stay out of trouble, Matthias." Esta said and left them.

She encountered no other interruptions on her way to the back of the palace, and the garden was empty, as everyone was off preparing for the night's festivities. Humming softly, Esta wove her way through the garden to the very back. She pulled out a key and unlocked a hidden door, then slipped through it and locked the door behind her. She slipped the gold key—one of only three of its kind—back into its hidden pocket in her black riding skirt. From the pocket of her jacket she pulled out a pair of soft, black gloves. Her fingers trailed lightly along the stone wall as she traveled down a short set of stairs.

At the bottom was a tunnel. The underground road had taken many men many years to construct, and they had done so in utmost secrecy at the command of Matthias' great-grandfather.

From memory and habit Esta lit a torch. The road was damp and smelled of mold and age and stale air. It was not quite as bad as the dungeons she and the others had sneaked a look at when they were young, but very nearly. Beyond the torches, there was no light and no sign that the tunnel was ever used. An endless path of shadow. When she was eight, and her mother had first begun to teach her what must be done, Esta had cried the entire four-mile journey. Not once in those first trips had she let go of her mother's skirt.

That fear had never died; it had merely shifted from fear of the strange to fear of the all too familiar. Every time she made the trip, she thought
this time I won't be scared.
She was always wrong.

Humming, Esta forced her feet to move. On and on she walked. The journey always seemed as though it would last forever no matter how many times she made it. Usually once a day; sometimes twice. And always with the hope that each journey would be her last, that someday they would find the Breaker. But it was a dim hope, and after so long, what were the chances?

She continued walking, the unrelenting dark broken only occasionally by the torches that had been left burning by the owner of the third key. He did not have access to the door at the tunnel's end, but Matthias had made sure the man was more than capable of taking care of the tunnel. He liked her walking the dark road even less than she did.

Her humming shifted between different dance tunes, and every now and then her steps were interrupted by a quick dance step as, in her mind, she spun around the ballroom on the arm of a mysterious, exotic stranger. Someone different and exciting who liked to dance and didn't care about who her friends were and the power she held. A man who simply wanted to dance and stroll through the rose garden.

Well, soon enough she would have a suitable dance partner again. Even if she did have to brow beat Iah into it every single time. Her mood cheered as she thought of her brother who, despite his life as a soldier, had never failed to find something to smile about, and who could make her smile no matter what.

By the end of the walk, much of her anxiety had been soothed away. As always, dancing eased everything. Taking a deep breath, Esta set her torch in ra sconce and withdrew a silver key from a second hidden pocket.

The door clicked open, the sound of it resonating loudly in the dead silence of the tunnel. Inside was a room full of pale silver light. Rather, the light was in the center and reflected off the crystal lining the chamber.

The source of the light was a large, round crystal—or at least the object looked crystal. What it actually was no one who would know remembered. So many details had been lost. Holding the crystal in place was a man. He sat, unmoving, in a chair carved from the same rough crystal that lined the chamber. His age would have been hard f anyone else to determine, but Esta knew he was now twenty-eight.

Five years younger than his brother. His name had been Benji; now he was only called Keeper. His pale green eyes were open, but saw nothing. In all but fact, the man once called Benji was dead. Were she to touch him, his skin would be like ice. Esta shivered. Never would she grow used to this-this—

Horror. Abomination. To think—

She turned away and mentally reprimanded herself. Duties. She had duties to which she must attend until the solution could be found. It still disgusted her, however, to think of what their ancestors had done. What had continued to be done until the current king had declared enough was enough. Maybe he and Matthias could fix it. At least they were trying.

Until then, she would do as her mother and grandmother had done and care for the Keeper. He did not age, did not move. The crystal that imprisoned him also cared for him, ensured he stayed healthy and alive, fit for the crystal. It was Esta's duty to ensure that crystal and Keeper were never disturbed. Never altered.

Esta knelt and clasped her hands together. Her prayers were soft and as musical as her humming had been. They echoed around the chamber, adding a spark of warmth where usually there was only cold light. She prayed for the Keeper and all those who had Kept before him, and she prayed for the Breaker to come.

Eventually she stood and began to move around the chamber, ensuring that all was as it should have been. It was neither warm nor cool in the crystal chamber, not exactly pleasant. It simply was. As a child, she had been enchanted by the crystal, had thought it magical.

And it was, but not in the way a child thought of the word. There was nothing good here, only necessity—and desperation. Esta wished bitterly that her ancestors had thought a little harder, but she had not been in their position, so perhaps it was she who erred. Then again, Benji had been a sweet boy and a sweeter man. Now he was merely a shell, a slave to the magic.

The last one, the king's brother, had Kept for sixty years. So far Benji had been Keeper for ten years. She hoped there would not have to be an eleventh.

Esta's humming was somber on her return journey, completely at odds with her ever-increasing pace. She had lingered too long—it must have been past evening bells by now. Ignoring those she passed as she reached the palace proper, Esta raced for her room.

"You're late!" Trul howled at her. "Late! Late! Late! What in the world have you been up to?"

"Nothing, nothing. I'm sorry. Come. Stop shouting and get me dressed. I'm already late. You needn't make things worse with your scolding."

Trul continued to mutter as they scrambled to get Esta ready. In record time Esta was shaking out the skirts of her gown while Trul arranged her hair. A knock at the door startled them both. "Answer it," she said and began to fuss with her own hair.

"Trul, step outside for a few minutes." Matthias' somber voice cut deep, for he was rarely anything but jovial. It was a quality that irked his father's men to no end. They felt he took nothing seriously. Most days, Esta would have agreed with them. But she would also be the first to say the king's old retainers and advisors needed to remember how to laugh.

"Matti?" she asked when the door had closed, giving up on her hair and turning to face him. "What's wrong?"

"Essie…"

"Just say it." Esta started to feel sick. There were only so many things that could make Matthias so uncomfortable—miserable, to be more accurate.

"Esta," Matthias stepped forward and took her hand, "the latest reports from the field have come in."

Esta closed her eyes, holding his hand tightly. "Please, no. Iah—he's—is he?" She fisted her other hand to still its shaking, focusing on the sting of her nails in her skin to keep from screaming or crying.

"He's missing," Matthias said. "His commander Screamed. No one was left alive—or so they thought. But Iah was not accounted for, and no one knows where he is. By all reports, he was there when the battle started—"

Her mind began to race as she processed the words. Iah wouldn't abandon his men, nor would he back out of a battle. So unless something else was afoot, he'd been in the fight. Which meant he'd gone missing after, but there was no way to know what had really happened.

Missing. Iah was missing and possibly dead. Or worse. Oh, Goddess—if that were the only other option, she would almost rather he be dead. She needed more facts. "Who—who were they fighting?"

"Krians—the Scarlet."

If her eyes had not already been closed, she would have closed them then. Of course they'd been fighting the Scarlet. "Why did they Scream?"

"We don't know," Matthias said. "The report came from a scout sent to search when Iah's troop did not report at the border checkpoint as expected. He found them all dead and a great many Krians with them, but no sign of the Wolf who leads them."

That was strange. Esta's nails dug into Mathias's hand. "Do you think…?"

"I doubt it. Whatever happened, I do not think Iah is with the general. Don't worry, Essie. I'll keep pressing for information."

Esta nodded. "Thank you for coming to tell me."

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes," Esta said and let him kiss her cheek. "Of course I will."

Matthias frowned at her. "You'll fret all night—or dance yourself sick to avoid fretting."

"Don't go all mother on me. Iah went off to war. I knew this was a possibility." Esta nodded, mostly to herself. "And he's not dead, right? So there's no reason to worry—"

"Why don't you just take the night to rest? I'll make your excuses, if you like—"

Esta pulled her hand away and flicked his nose with her fingers. "You most certainly will not! Do I look like a milkmaid, to hide away crying in my room? Get going right this instant so I can finish getting ready."

"Yes, ma'am." Matthias kissed her cheek and slowly limped from the room.

"My lady?" Trul asked as she darted back inside. She immediately set to getting Esta ready, but her movements were automatic. "Is something wrong?"

"My brother is missing," Esta replied. She worried her lower lip.

His grace is missing?" Trul drew a sharp breath and dropped the hairpins she'd been holding.

"He's not a Duke anymore," Esta corrected automatically. "He surrendered the title, remember?" She sighed and ignored Trul's questions as memories stole her attention.

The fight between her brother and father was so fresh in her mind it still seemed as though it had happened only yesterday. Even now her father refused to leave their country estate, unable to bear that both his children had followed in their mother's footsteps: Duty over all else.