The Wrong Prince (8 page)

LIFE IN PRISON WAS LONELY and monotonous. Most hours, Dmitri heard naught but the gurgling of his own stomach, or else the redundant tides of the sea. But surprisingly, there were highlights, too. They came exclusively in the form of Pavola, Wintersea’s mysterious ward.

Each evening, the girl braved the tower to bring him food and drink, soap and a kettle, razors for shaving, and whatever else she could find to ease the discomfort of his imprisonment. At least Dmitri could look forward to washing his face and hands and eating once a day. Pavola had also supplied him with blankets to lie upon at night, not to mention pencils and parchment to occupy his long days writing.

His novel was coming along. He enjoyed losing himself in a new world beyond the tower’s walls. While he may not have been free, his heart was the moment he put pencil to paper. It wasn’t mere escapism, but self-expression, discovery and purpose.

As for the intriguing young woman herself, the prince had begun to count upon her nightly company. It wasn’t only for the food though, but for her curiously soothing presence. He doubted she knew it, but she almost made him feel…glad. He laughed aloud at the contradiction.
Glad
at Wintersea?

In exchange for keeping him alive, Dmitri aided Pavola in the only we he could—by helping her study. She would pass her books and notes into his cell, and he’d quiz her on the content. So far, she’d not answered a single question incorrectly.

It was a warm night when she sat opposite his cell door, her back against his through the bars, absorbed in her mathematics. Meanwhile, Dmitri had completed his latest chapter, etching in the last rune of the sentence. With satisfaction, he sighed.

“Say, Pavi?” He knew she hated to be interrupted, but he was eager. He’d been longing to ask her for a while, after all.

She set down her quill.

“I’m wondering,” he scratched his chin, “if you’d be willing to proofread what I have so far?” When she wasn’t quick to answer, he appealed, “Seeing as you have impeccable grammar, who better to point out my errors?”

She finally nodded, although she still appeared hesitant. “I suppose I can take a look. Though I warn you, I’ve never read a novel, so I don’t know how useful I’ll be.”

Regardless of her trepidation, Dmitri was thrilled to hand over his progress to the first set of fresh eyes. Pavola repositioned herself, straightening against the wall and lifting her spindly knees before her. Atop them, she rested his work.

Dmitri watched, intent on her every expression. Candlelight moved across her narrow face, shining against her brown bobbed hair as her eyebrows slowly joined together. “This…this is quite good, Mit.” Surprised, she looked up at him. “Where did you learn to write like this? Are you using some sort of formula, or…?”

He shook his head. “Nay,” he whispered, grinning. “‘Tis from the heart.”

She resumed, turning the pages one by one, until after a time, she reached the very last. With haste, she flipped it over, only to find it empty. “There’s no more,” she complained. “What happens next?”

Dmitri laughed as he took the papers back.

“I’m serious,” she besought him, peering at him through the bars. “Tell me how it ends.”

“
Tsk, tsk,
Pavola. A writer never tells his ending. You’ll have to read it for yourself.”

“But none is written yet,” she argued.

He beamed. “Well then, I’ll keep writing. So long as you,” he winked, “keep coming back to read it.”

HER KNEES WERE BADLY SKINNED. Lucie felt suddenly sober as cool, putrid water soaked her slippers and the hem of her gown. In the moonlight trickling down from the manhole overhead, she could make out blood stains on her hands and dress.

Geo reached for her. “Are you all right?”

She coughed. It smelled down there, the air stale and fetid. She barely had time to reply when a barrage of shadows converged around them. She opened her mouth to scream, but a large hand closed over it.

“Release her,” Geo snarled, and Lucie heard the ring of his sword as he withdrew it from the sheath. Even in the darkness, he wasn’t afraid to use it. His swing was met with a second clang of metal. Lucie’s eyes widened as her captor tightened his grip. What were men doing under the streets with swords?

“Your Highness,” someone whispered.

Geo’s shadow startled. “What the—?”

“Please, you need to keep your voice down, sir. Come. I promise you can trust us.”

The man restraining Lucie spoke in her ear. “If I remove my hand, Miss, do you swear not to scream?”

She nodded, and his hand fell away. She turned to give him a withering look, but was horrified to discover his face covered in tattoos. She clung to Geo’s side, the pair having no choice but to follow the throng of sewer men through a series of underground passages. More shadowy figures joined them with torches, illuminating the grimy walls and murky water they treaded.

“Kieran?” Geo gaped as if he saw a ghost, identifying the man in the lead.

The man merely held his index finger to his lips. Lucie tugged on the prince’s sleeve with an inquiring look, but Geo didn’t explain.

Through tunnel after dank tunnel they wove. It felt like they’d been wading in sewage all night when they finally passed beneath a strange opening. Though still underground, the ceilings were much taller. She gawked up at the stalactites dripping overhead. Caverns, Lucie realized, as the escort marched them into what appeared to be a community of interlinked caves.

“We can talk now,” said the man in front, dissipating the tension. “Sorry.” He smiled. “Just couldn’t risk being overheard through the gutters in the streets above. But now that we’ve reached the mountains….”

“We’re under the mountains?” asked Lucie, and he nodded.

“Kieran.” Geo’s eyes were fastened upon him in disbelief. “Is it really you?”

“At your service, Your Highness.” He bowed.

“But how—?”

“Your Highness,” sang another voice from an alcove to their right. A good-looking man with curly black hair revealed himself in the firelight. They followed him into a room lit with additional mounted torches, and discovered yet more men seated on crude furnishings. It was the strangest habitat Lucie had ever seen.

“Will?” Geo practically leapt at the newcomer as they embraced. “What the devil is going on?” he demanded, although he sounded overjoyed. “I thought you were dead! You fell in battle, I saw it!”

“The Atasi, mate.” He beamed. “They salvaged me from the battlefield and restored me to health. I owe them.”

“He’s not the only one,” said Kieran as more men poured forth, bowing before hugging the prince like old friends. Lucie watched, confused.

Geo scratched his head, apparently just as mystified. “While I’m thrilled you’re all alive, you owe me a considerable explanation. What are you doing down here? Why haven’t you returned to Tybiria, to help our kingdom?”

“We
are
helping you,” insisted Kieran. “With the Atasi.”

“What the deuce is an Atasi?”

“You’re looking at one,” grunted the brute with the tattooed face, who seemed to take pleasure noting that Lucie took a reflexive step away from him, backing into the curly-headed man called Will.

Will eyed her from head to toe, a smirk perking his lips. “Who’s the lovely lady, Prince Georome?”

Kieran nudged him. “Don’t you recognize Luccia Camerlane? Her father is the Baron of Backshore.”

“So many women,” shrugged Will, “so little time.”

Geo cleared his throat. “Miss Camerlane is Prince Dmitri’s fianc
é
e. Of course, you missed his Reveal Banquet.”

Will made a defeated noise, gaining an eye roll from his companions.

Geo turned to Lucie. “Lucie, er…these are some of my father’s knights, whom we thought had died in battle against Llewes,” he shot them another incredulous look, “until now.”

“Have a seat.” The knights beckoned them to a plank of stone being used for a table, around which primitive benches were stationed. Lucie sat beside the prince, as another tattooed stranger brought them mead in clay cups. Why, all manner of supplies was stored down there.

The knights sat with her and Geo, while more Atasi men, and a woman, hovered in the shadows nearby. “The Atasi are a people indigenous to this land,” began the sandy-haired knight called Kieran, “who have long inhabited the caverns beneath these mountains. They are no fonder of the King of Llewes than we are.”

“We are a peaceful tribe, Your Highness,” said the woman, whose arm bore a sleeve of snakelike designs. “Until recently, we coexisted in harmony with the land-dwellers above.”

“But Ira’s behavior can no longer be tolerated,” asserted the one who’d covered Lucie’s mouth. “Our caverns are the only haven for those who oppose him. Therefore, among us, you will find warriors we’ve rescued from the battlefield—ones who fought against the king—as well as citizens who’ve fallen victim to his unchecked madness.”

A bloke of small stature stepped forth in the torchlight. “I come from the village where Queen Vanessa, may the Eternal God rest her soul, was born. A village that no longer stands.”

Lucie furrowed her brow.

“Three years ago, Ira had the entirety of Eindrow Village demolished,” explained the Atasi woman, “to be converted into a shrine for his late wife. All of its inhabitants were uprooted. And those who refused to leave their homes perished.”

Another Atasi lifted his voice. “The survivors took refuge with us. We’ve since been devising how best to rid this land of Ira’s heartless reign.”

Lucie stole a glance at Geo, who looked confounded.

“I apologize for the manner in which we dragged you down here, Your Highness.” Kieran’s eyes were sincere. “Only, we’d heard rumors that you might be in Llewes. And when I happened to hear your name and your voice in the streets above—”

“Were you ever going to return to Tybiria?” Geo interjected. His short tone settled among the dreary walls, silencing the others. “Forgive me, but it doesn’t seem worthy of my father’s warriors to reside safely underground, while the rest of us are left to battle Llewes with dwindling numbers.”

“Sir,” Will was somewhat heated, “we’ve done naught but strategize how best to return to you, while taking out a piece of Ira in the process.” He swallowed. “Only….”

“Only, you’ve yet to figure how,” Lucie finished for him. The men looked up, surprised that she had spoken, which nettled her. If the Atasi woman could participate in the conversation, why couldn’t Lucie? “Know you not what befell the royal family since your absence?” she asked them. “Why do you think we’re here?”

They eyed Geo. “What does she mean?”

The prince sighed. “King Ira seized Dmitri in his last attack,” he informed them grimly. “He’s holding the Crown Prince prisoner at Wintersea as we speak.”

“Wintersea?” exclaimed a new knight, aghast. “But the fortress is said to be impenetrable. No one’s ever been known to invade it.”

Geo ignored him. “We’re on our way to rescue him, but time is running out. We need help.”

Kieran’s expression was serious. “Where is the rest of the rescue party?”

Geo’s gaze shifted downward.

“It’s just the two of us,” said Lucie.

The knights’ faces darkened. “The two of you,” Kieran sounded baffled, “up against Wintersea?”

“We made it this far,” Lucie snapped.

Sir Will cocked his black curls from his face, a daring gleam in his eyes. “And now you have us,” he grinned.