Just A Kiss: (The Frog Prince) (Tangled Tales Series Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter 4

“Mother, please don’t die.” Freya sat at the bedside of her ailing mother the next day, holding her hand. There were so many things she needed to talk to her about and that she wanted to ask her. Freya felt loneliness invading her emotions again and despair rattled her nerves.

“Freya, daughter, I’m not long for this world.”

Freya’s mother’s face was pale and she looked gaunt but still she managed a slight smile. She’d been having health issues for years, and it was beyond what any potion could heal. She was weak and had trouble breathing. Had she left the castle and stayed with the coven these past few years, she might have had half a chance of recovering. But since magic was blocked from inside the castle, nothing any witch could do would help her now.

“There’s so much I need to talk to you about,” said Freya, feeling the tears welling in her eyes. “Mother, the witches of the coven were all burned at the stake just last night. All except Marni who managed to escape.”

“Nay!” cried out her mother in pain. The woman jostled in the bed, her head moving back and forth. “It can’t be.”

“It’s true. I saw it myself right after I came from the swamp.”

“Freya . . . never let anyone find out about . . . you. And don’t let your father know you leave the castle at night or he’ll have you followed.”

“I won’t, mother. Don’t worry.” She held tighter to her mother’s hand.

“You need to go to Marni and stay with her. If something happens to me, she will take care of you. She will be able to protect you as long as you’re not . . . inside the castle walls.” It seemed to take most of her mother’s energy to talk, and Freya wanted her to rest, but she also needed answers.

“I will, mother. But please, tell me why there is no magic in the castle. How did this happen?”

“It . . . was Hecuba. She put the spell on the castle because she knew . . . I’d never leave George.”

“Who is Hecuba?”

“She’s – she’s an old, ancient witch who likes to stir up trouble. She’s evil. She . . . can’t be trusted.”

“Why not?” Freya felt hatred in her heart for not only whoever killed the witches, but now also for the witch named Hecuba.

“Why not, what?” The baron walked into the room and Freya prayed he hadn’t heard more of their conversation. He wouldn’t at all be understanding. He hated witches and had been very vocal about it in the past. And even after all these years, she’d never become close to him because she felt as if she couldn’t trust him.

“Nothing, Father,” she said letting go of her mother’s hand and getting to her feet. “I was just asking mother why she . . . why she didn’t want to go outside the castle walls to look for a healer.”

“Nay, that is out of the question.” The man sat on the edge of the bed and took his wife’s hand in his. “It’s not safe out there. You never know who or what you’ll run into. Almeta’s place is here at my side at Castle Vane.”

Freya wondered if her father had anything to do with the witches’ deaths. And if so, how could he think poor, innocent women were dangerous?

“I know you gave something to a mercenary last night outside the postern gate,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

His eyes darted upward, filled with surprise by her comment. “Where did you here that?”

“From . . . me,” said her mother before Freya could answer. Her eyes closed and she was barely able to speak. “I heard it from a servant but I know it’s just . . . gossip.”

“Which servant?” He let go of her hand and stood up. “I’ll have the servant flogged and imprisoned for starting such rumors.”

Freya couldn’t let her father punish any of the servants. While her mother was trying to protect her, she knew it was better just to tell him the truth about how she knew.

“I saw you with a mercenary at the postern gate late last night,” she told him. “You handed him a pouch and slipped back inside, so don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Freya,” said her mother in a weak voice. Freya looked over to her mother lying on the bed and saw fear in her eyes.

“The mercenary never entered. If you saw this, that means you were outside the castle walls. Weren’t you?”

She knew it would do her no good to lie. So she just nodded. “Aye, I was.”

“Where did you go and why would you do such a foolish thing as to leave without an escort so late at night?”

“I’m sorry, father, but I wanted Gar to hear the other frogs in the swamp. He seemed lonely.” Little did he know her real reason, or the fact that she was the lonely one, not the frog. Still, she hoped he would accept her answer and not ask more questions.

“You went to the swamp because of that bloody pet frog of yours?” He pulled his dagger from his weaponbelt. “You have no idea what kind of danger you were in.”

“I heard witches were burned at the stake in the woods last night. Did you have anything to do with this?”

“You will hold your insolent tongue and not talk so freely to me again. I had naught to do with burning witches, but had I known they existed, aye, I would have been the one to kill those evil spawns of the devil. I paid a mercenary to try to find out who was responsible, but the man couldn’t find any information for me.”

“Don’t call them spawns of the devil,” spat Freya.

“Freya . . . hush,” warned her mother.”

“Where is that frog of yours?” growled the man. “I’m going to stop this nonsense of you wandering out alone, once and for all.”

Fear coursed through her, not for herself but for Gar. The frog was back in her chamber and her father would discover the fact soon enough.

“You will not harm my pet,” she warned him.

“Freya, you need to stop talking to animals and start acting like a lady,” he rallied. “I don’t like it. You also paint your face too heavily and I disapprove of the morbid way you dress. Things will change around here and I’ll make certain of it. I’m hosting a contest tomorrow. The knight who can best me in several events will be given your hand in marriage.”

“Marriage? Nay.” She never expected this. “I don’t want you to choose a man for me to marry.”

“You have no choice. You are of age, and you shall marry. But first, I’ll make certain you never have an excuse to sneak out of the castle again.” He stomped over the rushes that were spread across the wooden floor and headed for the door.

“What are you doing?” She hurried after him.

“I’m going to rid this place of that filthy pet frog of yours and you will not try to stop me.”

“Mother, don’t let him do it,” she screamed, but looking at her mother on the bed, she knew she’d get no help from her. She ran after her stepfather, trying to pass him, but he got to her bedchamber first and threw open the door and entered.

“Gar, hide!” she shouted, but it was too late. Her stepfather saw the frog sitting in a bowl of water on the bedside table and raised his steel blade and hurried toward it.

“Nay, don’t hurt my frog.” She grabbed her stepfather’s arm and tried to hold it back, but he was very strong even for an older man. He pulled out of her grip, and she fell to the floor, watching in horror as he raised his blade, ready to stab it into Gar.

The frog jumped as the blade came down, and hopped across the down comforter on her bed. The baron stabbed at it again and again, only managing to slit the bed linens as the frog hopped out of the way each time.

Then the man picked up the bowl from the bedside table, spilling the water onto the ground. It splashed up and hit Freya in the face.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“I’m trapping the damned thing so I can kill it.” He slammed the wooden bowl down over Gar’s body, trapping her Familiar underneath.

“George . . . please . . . don’t kill Freya’s . . . pet.”

Freya looked up to see her pale mother standing in the open doorway, holding onto the frame with one hand and swaying back and forth.

“Mother!” cried Freya, rushing over to her, feeling like she didn’t want to leave Gar either, but having no choice.

Her mother fell into her arms, and Freya stumbled backwards from the weight.

“Almeta!” George dropped his dagger atop the bed and ran to help hold the woman before she fell to the floor. “Guards, call for the healer anon.” He scooped her up into his arms and headed out the door. “Bring the healer to my wife’s chamber as soon as she arrives.”

Freya ran over and picked up Gar from under the bowl and stuck him in the pocket of her skirt. She then ran out the door after her stepfather, following him into the bedchamber. The baron laid Almeta on the bed, but she looked to be unconscious.

“Let me help her.” Freya took a step forward but was stopped short by the baron as he blocked her path.

“You’ve done enough already, Freya. If it wasn’t for you and your ridiculous frog, your mother wouldn’t have left the bed. Now go! But don’t go too far because you and I need to have a little talk very soon.”

“Perhaps it can wait until after –”

“Nay. You’ll meet me in the great hall in an hour and don’t even try to deny me because I don’t have the patience for this right now.”

A few servant women ran into the room and gathered around her mother’s bed.

“My lord, our normal healer cannot be found, but we’ve found a woman in the courtyard who says she’s a healer and will help,” said a guard from the door.

“Fine. Bring her in quickly.” He turned back and hunkered down next to Freya’s mother, once again holding her hand. He really looked like he cared for her, and Freya found herself wishing someone would care for her that way as well.

She turned to go and bumped into a woman hurrying into the room with a tray of herbs in her hands.

“Marni?” She looked up in surprise at seeing the witch. The woman had never entered the castle walls before.

“You know her?” asked her stepfather suspiciously.

“I . . . I . . ”

“We’ve met in the castle courtyard before,” said the woman in a calm, controlled voice. “I’m here selling my herbs every Tuesday.”

“Fine then, but just hurry. My wife isn’t well.” The baron stood over the bed and watched Marni make up a potion with the herbs and lay it on Freya’s mother’s head.

“I’m sorry, Lady Freya, but the baron’s asked me to escort you out to the courtyard,” said a guard, coming from the baron’s side.

“Nay. I want to stay with mother.”

“It’s all right, - Freya.” Her mother opened her eyes slightly and tried to smile. “I’ve got Marni with me now. Everything will be . . . fine.”

Freya nodded slowly and left with the guard. She reached into her pocket and grabbed Gar and held him to her heart as she left the room. She looked back to her mother lying on the bed once more and smiled. Her mother smiled back.

She turned the room and left, having the feeling she’d never see her mother alive again.

* * *

Arnon rode up to the burnt site with his brothers and his father at his side. It was daytime now, and they could see the horrific evidence that told them indeed bodies had been burned. Peasants were standing in the smoldering ashes and picking out the charred bones of the dead and throwing them onto the back of a cart.

“You there, what happened here?” Arnon rode up, and the peasants all ran over and bowed and curtsied to the four lords.

“My lord, there has been the burning of women here,” answered a man.

“Why?” asked Wolf. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“We don’t know, my lords,” said the man, looking to the ground. “We were ordered to put the bones in the cart and dump them into the swamp.”

“Were they perhaps . . . witches?” asked Lucio, causing the man to look up and bless himself this time.

“I’m not certain, Earl Tavistock.” The man bowed his head as he spoke. Arnon never could get used to his father’s shapeshifted form of the dead man he despised, nor did he like hearing people call his father by that bastard’s name either. He wished this whole guise could be over already, but it was way too soon and he knew Tavistock and Babeny needed a stronger alliance first.

“Well, I’m sure,” said a woman with bedraggled, dirty clothes. Arnon could see when she spoke that she was missing several teeth. “They were witches all right, and they deserved to die. Anyone who worships the devil needs to burn by the demon’s own fires of hell.”

Arnon saw his father’s body stiffen at the woman’s brash remark He had to say something before his father said or did something he’d regret. Now that Lucio’s powers were returning, he was getting stronger every day. Arnon couldn’t let this get out of hand.

“Continue on,” he said with a nod, and prepared to go.

“How many were there?” asked Stefan.

“We only found the four skulls,” said the man.

“Did you find any of their belongings that weren’t burned?” asked Lucio.

“My lord, I assure you we didn’t steal from the dead.”

“That’s right,” said the woman. “We wouldn’t want anything from the devil worshipers anyway.”

Lucio’s face clouded over. “Witches are not devil worshipers and I warn you to stop saying that or – ”