Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (19 page)

“Someone stole from you?” one of the girls asked in concern.

Mariel felt the many coins beneath the fabric of the purse and doubted a robbery had occurred.

Sir Robert smiled, revealing crooked teeth. “No, No! A scarecrow of a boy tried to cut my purse, but he didn’t get away with it. Oh no! I caught the dog in the act. He wore nothing but filthy rags and smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in years. He wanted my nice fat purse, but I wouldn’t let him have it!” 

Mariel clenched her hands together until her knuckles turned white. She struggled to keep her breathing normal and did not dare look at the knight. If she did she knew she would lose control. She needed to keep that control, not because she feared a reprimand, but because she wanted to make a point and yelling at this example of the nobility she had been fighting against half her life would not do any good.

“What did you do?” a girl asked.

Sir Robert was delighted that the girls listened to him with such rapt attention. “I caught him by the hand and twisted it back until he screamed. ‘Don’t, milord’ the thief cried. ‘I ain’t ‘ad no grub in days.’ And I told him, ‘That is not my problem. You don’t deserve what is mine.’ And the thief replied, ‘But suh, ye ‘ave so much, maybe jus’ a li’le coin?’

“I laughed at him and threw him to the ground. I called over the watchman and we saw him hang the next day.”

Mariel thought she might be sick, but many of the other girls did not feel the same way.

“Despicable,” Isabel declared. “Positively dreadful what that boy did.”

“It is comforting to know that such a dangerous criminal is now dead. I may rest peacefully tonight, thanks to your bravery,” twittered a girl named Janette, fluttering her eyelashes.

Janette had been one of the girls Mariel did not mind too much, but this was going too far. Now she remembered why she hated the nobility so much. If another word was spoken she would lose control.

Mariel raised her head abruptly and looked directly at Sir Robert. “And how would you define thievery, my Lord?”

Everyone in the room turned to stare at her. The girls and the priestesses were wary, familiar with Mariel’s games, and unsure of what she was about to do, but Sir Robert did not appear to notice the shift in moods.

He laughed. “A thief is anyone who takes something that isn’t theirs, your Highness.”

Mariel could debate that issue, tell him that lords taxed their serfs and peasants until they starved, and that could be a form of thievery, but she decided she needed to keep things simple.

“Perhaps, you could narrow down your definition. Since the boy you hung tried to cut your purse, shall we say that anyone who tries to commit the same crime is a thief?”

Sir Robert smiled and nodded, thinking that Mariel was on his side and he intended to please her.

“Should anyone who cuts your purse be hung?” She asked.

“Of course,” the knight replied automatically.

“If a drunk steals because he wants to drink and not work?”

“I say, ‘hang that lazy man’!”

Many of the girls chimed agreement, while Derek sat like a lump. The three priestesses, Cara, and two other girls said nothing.

“If a professional robber steals because he likes the thrill of preying on unknowing passerby with purses?”

“Hang that criminal!”

Words of concurrence flowed from many students.

“If a man whose overlord taxed him until his family had no food and he has a hungry wife and sick children were to cut your purse?”

“Hang him!”

Several of the girls muttered and traded glances, but a few, including Isabel agreed, with Sir Robert.

“A five-year-old girl and her little brother are left orphaned on the streets. Their father was a soldier who died fighting against the Dremiens in the war and their widowed mother worked herself to death. Both children are too small for anyone to employ. Their situations are out of their control and the only way to survive is to steal. The girl cuts your purse one day, do you have her hung?”

“Yes!”

This time no exclamations of agreement followed. Several of the girls looked appalled.

Mariel stood and kept the purse hidden in the folds of her skirt. The two men also rose, as was customary. She approached them slowly.

“So what you are saying, Sir Robert, is that anyone who cut your purse, regardless of circumstances or reasons, should be put to the noose?”

“Of course, your Highness, they stole from me, but I have never had my purse stolen,” he said proudly.

Mariel stopped and raised her eyebrow. “Indeed? Your purse must be attached with an iron chain to stop so many thieves.”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “Not at all! I will show you that it is just a simple cord.” He reached to his belt and his eyes widened with horror when his hand only found the cut cord that used to hold his reticule. “My purse! My purse is stolen!”

Cara and High Priestess immediately looked at Mariel, but she stood waiting.

“What a shame. I thought you said no one had ever stolen your purse?”

“It’s never happened before! When I get my hands on the gutter rat who did this, I will personally watch him hang!”

Mariel stepped in front of Sir Robert. She raised her eyes to look directly into his as she lifted up the heavy purse and pressed it against his chest. His eyes opened wide and many of the girls gasped. Sir Robert tore his gaze from his stolen purse and looked down at Mariel.

Her angry, dark green eyes pierced him. “Hang me.”

She released the purse. The shocked knight did not grab it as it fell. Coins spilled across the floor, their fall muffled by the rugs. Mariel turned and walked out of the room.

Mariel did not stop when she reached the corridor, but continued at a rapid pace, almost running. She was afraid of what she might do if she did not get away. Many people, innocent, or only partially guilty, had lost their lives to Sir Robert. The almost-purse-thief was just another one of his victims, not to mention all of the other people who the nobility threw into prison just because they did something to offend the all-powerful aristocracy.

Mariel’s head pounded and she could hear her angry heart overworking itself. She needed to calm down before High Priestess came to scold her, to yell at her for disrespecting their guests. She was still frustrated and furious about the prison sentence she had been given at this finishing school, one that would probably be extended for a very long time. But what made her angriest was the injustice of Natric.

She had set a trap for the knight, willing him to fall into it, she did not fear his retribution—he could not hang her because her unwanted rank protected her—but she also knew her argument would be brushed aside. All she had accomplished was embarrassing and angering Sir Robert, and undoubtedly bringing down a heavy punishment on her own head, although it was nothing so horrible as hanging—but at this moment, Mariel thought hanging might be preferable. If she had persuaded him to rethink his view on robbery and the treatment of the common people of this kingdom then whatever punishment she received would be worth it, but that was impossible. Mariel had spent the nearly seven years trying to bring down the corrupted Natrician monarchy and had interacted with countless nobles, but none had listened to her views.

She slammed the door to her and Cara’s room and ran to the window, trying to force the thoughts out of her mind, to think of something different, but they would not leave. She felt helpless, unable to stop the Natrician nobles from preying on the common people any more than she could escape being King Vincent II’s heir apparent.

She tried to take deep breaths to calm her mind, but her head spun. Mariel knew that she needed to leave. Not permanently, but a few hours should serve to help lessen her anger.

She took off her shoes and climbed onto the windowsill. When she reached the ground she headed toward the forest where she could hide and let no one find her until she was ready. The day was chaffing and hot, and her uniform weighed heavier than it had in months. The shade of the forest embraced her and her heartrate dropped. She breathed in the heady sent of sap and flowers. The tension in her muscles relaxed and she felt weary. Soft brown curls brushed sympathetically at her cheeks as she loosened her hair from the pins. She dropped to ground and leaned against a tree, drinking in the forest that worked as an elixir to cure her of her anger and her worries.

Escape did not last long. She started in alarm as the smell of rotting flesh reached her nostrils. Her wrist knives were in her hands in an instant and she crouched as though prepared for attack. But from what? Mariel dropped her guard as quickly as she had raised it. Animals died all the time and their bodies rotted. She had overreacted, but she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The sound of voices reached her ears. Curious and wary, Mariel crept forward with the knives in her hands. About fifty feet deeper in the forest, stood two figures. One she recognized as the convent cook, a portly woman around sixty. A heavy grey cloak concealed the other person from her observations. The smell of the dead animal was heavier here and Mariel started to breathe through her mouth.

The cloaked figure passed something to the cook, but the shadows cast by the trees kept Mariel from seeing what it was. The cook said something as she took the object. Wanting to know what was happening, Mariel started to creep closer.

Iyela appeared out of nowhere and charged into Mariel’s view. The girl stifled a cry of alarm. The whites showed around the unicorn’s eyes in a fear Mariel had never seen before in her friend. Iyela shifted her weight from left to right and proceeded forward, herding the girl backward.

Iyela sent the girl startling and confusing images: a brown recluse spider, followed by images of blood. It did not make sense to Mariel. When they were out of the forest, Iyela sent a vision of Mariel climbing onto her back and the two of them fleeing from the convent. She then repeated the vision of the spider and blood.

The girl shook her head, fear rising in reaction to her friend’s terror and the strange images. “I don’t understand.”

The vision of them running away appeared again.

“I can’t leave.”

Iyela continued to herd her backward until Mariel tripped over a tree root and found herself beneath the window of her room. She struggled to think clearly through her fear and confusion. Why was Iyela so worked up? Mariel was sure the exchange between the cook and the cloaked figure were part of it. She remembered the awful smell from the forest. It tugged at her, trying to make her remember something, but she did not know what.

The image of the brown recluse spider appeared again.

“Stop it! You know I hate spiders,” Mariel snapped.

Iyela shook her head and stamped her hooves.

“What are you doing outside, Miss Mariel?” a strict voice inquired from the window above them.

High Priestess leaned out of Mariel’s and Cara’s room. Her lips were set into the familiar frown that Mariel knew meant she was in trouble. She remembered the thievery incident with Sir Robert and winced.

“Return to this room.”

Iyela bolted, leaving Mariel alone at the base of the tree. The girl was scared about what had happened—even she could not deny the fear she felt this time—but right now she needed to face High Priestess and punishment.

High Priestess waited in the center of the room with her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth set into a disapproving frown. “You took down your hair,” High Priestess noted with condemnation. “Sit, so I may fix it.”

“What?” Mariel could not believe what she heard.

“It is inappropriate for a young lady of your social standing to appear in public with her hair down; therefore, we must pin it up so that you may attend supper.”

Mariel wondered if the exchange she had seen in the woods between the cook and the mystery figure had been one that altered the world. First Iyela had behaved strangely and now High Priestess acted as though nothing had happened downstairs in the sitting room.

“But I humiliated our guest, and in turn created a dark spot on the reputation of your precious finishing school. You should be taking away my meals for the next week, and free-periods for the rest of my life—since my grandparents will keep me trapped here that long after what I did.”

“I do not intend to inform the king and queen of your behavior . . . unless you do not allow me to assist you directly.”

Mariel’s mind reeled. High Priestess was helping her? Why? It did not make any sense. Did High Priestess approve of what she had done? But she had disgraced Sir Robert! Perhaps the woman had something against the disgusting knight, but even if she did, she was not the type of person to allow the grudge to corrupt her judgment—that was one of the reasons Mariel respected her so much, despite that she did not like High Priestess. 

She wanted to ask many questions, but the look in High Priestess’s eyes told Mariel that she would get no answers.

As the confused girl followed the distinguished woman down the stairs, she struggled to come up with a plausible theory to explain High Priestess’s unexpected change in behavior. It was another bizarre event to add to Mariel’s day that had appeared ordinary in every way until an hour before.

High Priestess swept into the dining room with the princess trailing behind. The priestesses, the novices, the students, Squire Derek, and Sir Robert stood when the duo entered. Mariel noted with annoyance that the only available seat other than High Priestess’s was next to Isabel.

And I was thinking my day couldn’t get any worse,
Mariel thought as she took the seat.

The color of Sir Robert’s face was a blotchy red and he stared pointedly at the wall. However, his charge, Squire Derek, looked at Mariel with an increased spark of curiosity and annoyance—Mariel wondered if he still thought he recognized her but could not remember from where.

After the prayer to Narel was spoken, the novices brought out the food and set it before the waiting girls, women, and guests. One of the novices in a pale pink robe approached Mariel with a goblet filled with deep red liquid. She curtsied nervously as all eyes turned to her.

“Your Highness,” the girl squeaked. “Cook sends her regards and has asked me to present you with this goblet filled with her special wine.”        

Mariel looked at the drink warily. She had not forgotten what she had seen in the forest.

“Did she tell you why?”

The girl looked up, surprise evident on her face. “No.”

“Thank you, no.”

“Miss Mariel,” High Priestess’s said strictly. “Cook honors you. You will shame her by not accepting her gift.”

“I don’t drink spirits.” It was a lie, but Mariel was not about to take any chances.

“Miss Mariel, be polite and take the wine, all you need to do is take a sip,” High Priestess instructed.

Mariel was having a bad enough day as it was and she did not need this uncharacteristic offer of wine from the cook to add to her list of problems. She almost took the wine, but something about the situation nagged at her. Ever since she had stolen food from the pantry during her first few weeks at the convent, Cook had not liked her. Why was she giving her wine now and treating her special? Mariel had witnessed the old woman receiving something from a stranger in the woods.

To settle the uneasy feeling in her stomach, Mariel silently said a spell and pulled the evraïsér she needed out of the plants in the room. To Mariel’s eyes alone, a small colored cloud appeared above the wine in the goblet. The girl had been hoping it would turn white, but the cloud was red. The wine was poisoned.

Another assassination attempt. A shiver of fear ran up the princess’s spine, but she quickly suppressed it before anyone noticed. Thinking fast, Mariel said to the novice, “You may tell Cook that I appreciate the gesture, but unless she intends to give my fellow dinner guests the same treatment, I cannot accept the gift.”

Before either the novice or High Priestess could argue, Isabel pulled the goblet from the novice’s grip.

“Shant let it go to waste,” she said as she brought the poisoned liquid to her lips.

Mariel could still see the magic red glow above the dark liquid.

“No!” Mariel smacked the goblet out of the bully’s hands.

The poisoned wine spilled over both girls, although Isabel’s uniform was stained by most of the liquid.

“Ahhhhh!” Isabel cried and stood up, knocking her chair and Mariel over.

The dining room erupted in chaos and cries as the princess hit the floor.

“You did that on purpose!” Isabel shrieked. “You wanted to humiliate me!”

“No,” Mariel protested as she scrambled to her feet. “I just saved your life.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying! The drink was poisoned!”

The girls gasped, but High Priestess remained unconvinced. “How would you know that the drink was poisoned?”

Mariel started to respond, but closed her mouth, realizing she had almost betrayed that she knew the secret of evraïsér—the secret of magic that was heavily guarded and coveted by the temples. Somebody obviously wanted her dead already. She did not need any more potential assassins.

“Are you going to answer me, Miss Mariel?” High Priestess demanded.

“Poisoned!” Isabel’s voice rose hysterically. “If it were poisoned you would have let me drink it! You hate me. You are jealous of me!”

“I’m not jealous of you! I degrade you, you arrogant bovine!”

“If by some miracle, you are telling the truth, then it is only because you poisoned the drink yourself, hoping I would take it, and then lost your nerve!”

“I’d never stoop to the level of murder! And even if I had poisoned it, I never would have backed out with fear,” Mariel replied indignantly.

“See! See!” Isabel cried triumphantly. “She admits to poisoning the wine!”

“No I don’t!”

“Ladies, quiet,” High Priestess ordered. “The drink was never poisoned, Miss Mariel is lying.”

How could no one believe her? “I’m not lying!”

Sir Robert stood and joined the argument. “She is a liar, just like she is a thief!”

“I only stole from you because you have too much, while commoners starve to death under your laws and taxes.”

“Outrageous!” Sir Robert cried.

“They get what they deserve,” added Isabel.

A red haze of anger came over Mariel and all thoughts of the poison vanished from her mind.

“The commoners are the foundation this kingdom is built on. They grow and harvest the grain and make the bread and food you eat. They work hard, long hours, yet the nobles sit fat and happy, while the workers starve!

“The nobles control all of the hunting rights. A peasant can’t even kill a rabbit that is eating the vegetables he is growing. If his crops fail, he must live on roasted rat and leather stew because if he dares to kill even one wild animal, he will face execution.