Beast (4 page)

It appeared that in that same game, Johanna was an expert player.

She turned from the window and halted. Behind the sheer black veil, her eyes glittered. They were still the same deep violet, as beautiful as they had been all those years ago. Now, they were amethyst jewels in poor setting.

“You woke.”

The bluntness of the unspoken, that she had perhaps not expected him to, was not lost on him. “Fortune is good to me. I’ve survived much worse.”

“As have I.” She left with the pot in hand and returned with a shallow basin full of steaming water. She set it at his bedside. “I must examine your wound.”

Her mouth, untouched by the fire, was grim and tight as she plunged her pink hands into the water. Wiping them on a towel, she flipped back the top of the coverlet and peeled the bandage from the hole the arrow had left him. Philipe grimaced. The night before, she’d taken a hot iron to it to stanch the bleeding. Viewing the blistered, raw skin in the light of morning, he wondered if he didn’t prefer the arrow wound.

“It looks all right.” She tossed the linen bandage, sodden with pink fluid, aside, and retrieved another from the chest of medicines on the table. “You should be able to leave in a few days. Wilhelm will hire a messenger in the next village to send word back to the palace.”

“Ah. Yes, well,” Philipe began, but he did not know how he intended to finish. It was clear that Johanna had no love left for him—not that he had expected her to. But he had no notion how deep her commitment to northern hospitality ran. Certainly, it was too much to expect that it should run toward concealing a traitor, especially when the traitor was himself. “I need to speak to Wilhelm before he does anything so…unnecessary.”

“It is not unnecessary. Our stores are meager and our winters hard. We would prefer it if someone were to come claim you. Sooner, rather than later.” She returned to the bedside. Her posture, her movements, her very breath conveyed her irritation as she bound his wound once more with surprising gentleness.
The quicker she heals you, the quicker she’ll be rid of you
.

It would have been funny, if he were not in such a treacherous position. “I fear my father might not wish to retrieve me as quickly as you are to be rid of me.”

“I cannot see why anyone would be happy to be rid of you.” Her feigned confusion was as sharp as the arrow that had torn his flesh. “Nevertheless, you must be away.”

“As soon as I can sit a horse,” he vowed tersely. “But I do not see a need to involve my father’s men.”

She went very still, and he wished he could see her face without the damned veil obscuring it. No matter how ugly and misshapen she had become, he would prefer to at least try and read the thoughts on her face. After a moment, she rose, wordlessly, and went to the door. “Wilhelm, rise. I have need of you.”

Philipe lay back and stared up at the smoke-stained wood of the canopy. He had never been the cleverest of liars, but he’d thought that a lie by omission, especially when it mattered so vitally, would have come easily to him. Now, he would be forced to tell them all. They would likely cast him out. There was no love between them, and any friendly feeling that had existed had been destroyed fifteen years ago, as the fire had destroyed the castle.

Wilhelm came down the steps, clad in a long bed robe. His hair was mussed, his cheeks unshaven, and his eyes darted about the room, passing scrutiny over Philipe more than once. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“I am fine, stop fretting like an old woman,” Johanna snapped, shrugging away his solicitous hand. “It is the prince. I find his subterfuge tiresome and hoped he might speak more plainly to you, who offered him shelter.”

“Subterfuge?” Wilhelm squeezed his eyes shut. “Sister, I am tired. It is early, and I was…much wakened last night.”

“I am sorry,” she said, and for the space of those words, Philipe heard the woman he had once loved, tender and kind. She went to the hearth, tucking her skirts between her legs to keep them clear of the coals. “I would not ask, but I fear we may be party to some plot we know not of. You and I both know our existence here, our very home, is precarious. I would not have some spoiled royal intrude and destroy us both.”

“I would never seek to destroy you,” Philipe assured her. But when he looked to Wilhelm, he saw suspicion in his face.

“My sister does not give over to fantasy easily,” Wilhelm charged cautiously. He took the bench from beneath the table and drew it closer to the bed, sitting at the end and leaning his elbows on his knees. “Perhaps you’d better explain to us both what brought you so far north, unaccompanied.”

Philipe looked to Johanna. She lifted a heavy pot to hang over the coals and wiped her hands on her skirt. It was the work of a servant, not the noble woman she was. Not the princess she could have been. He swallowed his guilt and met Wilhelm’s eyes again. “I was traveling to the border lands,” he lied, hating himself for it. “My man-at-arms was killed on the road to Lord Fueil’s keep.”

Wilhelm nodded. “Who killed him?”

It would have been so much easier if he’d just assumed bandits or some kind of accident. But Wilhelm was far too clever. If bandits had killed Jessop, Philipe would have ridden straight to Fueil for protection, instead of traversing the dangerous valley at an inhospitable time of year. “My father’s men killed him.”

Johanna made a sharp sound, and Wilhelm straightened, his expression dark. “And why would your father’s men wish to kill one of their own?”

“It was a misunderstanding.” That was no lie. It was a misunderstanding that had led his father to believe he conspired against him. A simple, stupid misunderstanding.

“If, by mistake, your man-at-arms was murdered, why did you not request aid of Lord Fueil? Certainly his castle was closer, and the welcome guaranteed to be much warmer.

“We were surrounded, I did not feel it was safe.” Philipe shifted, wincing as he jostled his arm. “I was traveling incognito, for my own safety.”

“Are things so bad in the kingdom that you must conduct yourself so?” Wilhelm’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Surely a prince must require more protection than a bad disguise and a single guard.”

“As I said before, there was a misunderstanding.” Let him leave it there, Philipe prayed. He did not like tricking them into an arrangement that would imperil their lives, but he didn’t care to imperil his own, either.

“And Lord Fueil, is he a part of this tragic misunderstanding, as well?” Wilhelm asked.

“Why do you insist on diplomacy?” Johanna demanded, coming to stand beside her brother. She gestured angrily to the bed. “He does not lie here wounded from a misunderstanding. He is in some trouble that will no doubt end up at our doorstep! There will be no misunderstanding then. Just swords and execution, mark me.”

Philipe was no fool. There was nothing would calm her anger, save a confession. “Your sister speaks sense.”

“Does she?” Wilhelm’s voice held an edge colder than the wind outside. “I think you’d better be out with it. Our hospitality is legend, but it has a limit.”

“My father believes I am plotting his death.” When he listened to himself saying it, it sounded ridiculous. To them, it likely would not. He imagined they thought him capable of not only plotting, but striking a death blow against his father with his own hand. “I’m not, but thank you for rushing to deny it.”

“And that is the misunderstanding?” Johanna laughed in disbelief. “Oh, such a minor detail, it isn’t a wonder it would slip your mind. I’m sure you would have remembered eventually that you are a traitor to the crown taking shelter under our roof and risking our lives selfishly for your own end!”

“Johanna, give him leave to explain.” It was not a kindness Wilhelm sought to do him, Philipe realized. He would simply need to report the facts when he turned the rogue prince over. “Why would your father believe you were plotting to kill him?”

“He commented a week past that he no longer liked the look of the velvet on the windows in his bedroom.” Philipe paused. The tale was so unbelievable, it left even him baffled. He was too tired to earnestly convince anyone, so he said it all, plainly. “But the king is not in his correct state of late. He has been ill, and the illness has ravaged his mind. When one of the palace servants measured the windows, he became convinced that the new drapes were an assassination plot. Because I am a fool, I involved myself. I told my father that I had been in attendance at the audience where he’d remarked that new drapes were needed. Because he is a sane and reasonable ruler, he decided that this was evidence that not only was a plot afoot, but I was at the root of it.”

Johanna made a disgusted noise and went back to the hearth. Wilhelm sat back, hands on his knees. “You must admit your tale is…rather doubtable. The King Albart I remember from all those years ago was a fair and patient ruler.”

“With respect, Wilhelm, the King Albart you remember no longer exists. I have my faults, I will admit. You have no doubt heard gossip—”

“What gossip?” Johanna interrupted. “What gossip could we have possibly heard here, with no servants or serfs? With hardly anyone bothering to ride out here to trade? What gossip do you think we could have heard?”

“My lady, I do not mean offense,” Philipe tried, but again he was rebuffed.

Johanna turned away and stalked the room like a caged tiger. “He lies, Wilhelm. We know he lies, for I am living evidence of it. And Albart, turned into some mad king, wouldn’t the lords who were already dissatisfied with him have raised their banners against him by now? But they have not! He tells us a tale, brother, a fanciful tale to take what he wants from us. Should the king’s men ride to our gates, he will run off like a rat and let them cut our throats! I say we return him to his father and claim whatever bounty is on his head.”

His heartbeat a cold, painful thing in his chest, Philipe opened his mouth to respond, but he could say nothing. So, this was what his rejection had done to her, made a hard creature out of the girl who’d been so charmingly gullible to any passing beggar’s story of woe. Then, she might still be the girl who’d emptied her purse for a woman who had held up a fat, contented baby and begged mercy for her starving child. Her heart might only be hardened to him.

“Calm yourself,” Wilhelm ordered, pressing his fingers to his temples. He closed his eyes as he spoke. “If your father has indeed gone mad, then I am sorry for it. But I cannot hide you here. If his madness turns him against his own son, he will have no mercy for the son of a long-dead lord. I am sorry.”

The sun’s searing white light creeping around the edges of the cloth tacked over the window did nothing to warm the air of the room. Philipe only needed to imagine how cold it would be outside. His arm pained him without mercy. He might be able to sit a horse, but not for long. He would not outrun his father’s men, if they chanced upon him.

“Let me stay just one night, so I will have strength on my journey.” He looked to Johanna. “Even you cannot deny me this. I will have no chance of survival, otherwise.”

“Why do you think I would care if you survived?” she asked coldly, her chin lifting behind her veil.

“Because if you did not care, you would not have tended my wound last night. As your brother stated, there is a limit to the hospitality one can reasonably demand.”

It was not Johanna, but Wilhelm who replied. “One night, then you must leave.”

“Brother!”

“It is all right, Johanna. His Royal Highness knows the position he has put us into. I am certain that after his past slights against our family, he did not intend us further harm.”

“I swear it,” Philipe vowed. He could not undo that past harm, but if he could mitigate it by leaving them in peace, he would.

* * * *

The day dragged on with very little amusement. Philipe found himself dozing for what seemed like hours, only to wake and find Johanna or Wilhelm at whatever task they’d been doing only a moment before. They talked to each other little, to him even less, and what words were spoken were terse.

After a dinner of burned stew made from tasteless vegetables, which Philipe ate with some difficulty owing to his arm being trussed like a goose, Wilhelm and Johanna excused themselves. Philipe had learned during the day that brother and sister both slept in the same common solar, like peasants in a hovel.

Why had they not rebuilt? The question had plagued him ever since he’d ridden through the castle gates. They had not been the only survivors of the fire. And surely their father had possessed some kind of treasury. Melted gold was still gold, still spent like it with the traders. Or perhaps Lord Köneig had been rich in land but poor with figures?

He resigned himself to never knowing. Anyway, it didn’t matter. He’d not married Johanna, and she was not the same girl he’d intended to marry all those years ago. Their daily lives were none of his concern.

He did not know how long he’d slept when he heard the screams, but they jolted him from his sleep. He’d been uneasy ever since sundown, contemplating all manner of violent deaths that must have taken place all those years ago, and all the specters that must roam the halls. The piteous wailing echoed outside the door, and he stared at the pointed archway with every expectation that a skeletal hand would precede its ghost through that darkened door.

Then, the sound changed. The spectral scream became a sob then weeping. He sat up, pushing the coverlet aside. His bootless feet hit the cold stone floor and scant rushes. Ignoring the protestations of his wounded arm, he charged for the door. It was Johanna that had screamed. It was Johanna who sobbed aloud and wailed.

Wilhelm met Philipe on the stairs. “Go back to your bed. It will do her no good if you open your shoulder.”

“What are you saying? She needs help,” Philipe gestured up the coiled stairs. Realization came over him slowly. Wilhelm had come down, from where Johanna still screamed.

“She has evil dreams,” Wilhelm said, running a hand over his tussled hair. “Ever since we were children she has had spells in the night. Sometimes she would walk, sometimes she would speak as though she were fully awake. But since the fire…it is this.”