Too Many Princes (68 page)

Ysislaw began pacing, laughing at the dark jest.
“
It was Johanz of Carthell who started it. It seems some ancestor of his once ruled Crutham. He thought it time to restore his dynasty, and he had his nephews, Rickard and Albrett, make the claim for him. Johanz requested my assistance in removing the obstacles before Rickard, especially Prince Oskar.
”

Brastigan tried to stay calm, just put aside his feelings, listen, and later think about what it all meant.

“
It was a rare opportunity,
”
Ysislaw went on.
“
I did not fail to exploit it. Oskar was anxious to work with me when he learned of Johanz's plan. However, since I did not reveal exactly who had been cooperating with Rickard, he decided the time was right to dispose of all the extraneous heirs.
”

Brastigan sat silently, his heart pounding. He could easily believe in Rickard's ambition, and Oskar's duplicity was no surprise, either. Carthell's was. That was where Lottres was supposed to be.

He tried to bury that thought, hide it from Ysislaw by looking to Margura.
“
And her?
”

“
Oh, Lady Margura has been instrumental,
”
Ysislaw smirked.
“
She knows everyone's bad habits. When her situation changed, I naturally wanted to help her.
”
He patted Margura's shoulder, much as a man might pet a favorite dog. She flinched at his touch.

“
Once the fighting is over, I am sure she will find another mate,
”
Ysislaw said.
“
One more suited to her new station.
”

“
Someone just as rotten as she is?
”
Brastigan retorted.

Margura flushed angrily, but Ysislaw said,
“
Oh, I hope so. I can always use more servants with her talents.
”

Margura smiled, preening at this praise.

“
It was really Eben who helped put it all together,
”
Ysislaw was saying. When he saw Brastigan's face, he chuckled.
“
Yes! Eben, of all people. He somehow learned of Oskar's role in the royal slayings.
”

Through the dagger, Brastigan guessed—the one that had nearly killed him.
“
Was that your doing?
”
he asked.

“
Oskar handled those arrangements himself, I believe,
”
Ysislaw answered casually.
“
Once Eben realized what he was up to, Unferth threatened to disown him. Suddenly, the noble prince was desperately in need of my help. I was only too happy to assist him.
”

Ysislaw glanced at Brastigan. He seemed to expect some reply.

“
By taking his place,
”
Brastigan guessed.

“
Precisely,
”
Ysislaw hissed with satisfaction.

“
What did you do to Eben?
”
Brastigan asked.

“
Oh, he's at the bottom of the bay. Unferth never suspected the replacement.
”
Ysislaw smiled cruelly.
“
When his dear friend gave him a potion to help him sleep, he drank without question. That cleared the way for Oskar—and me.
”

So Ysislaw must have poisoned Unferth. Brastigan leaned against the wall for a moment, felt its cool solidity bracing his back. Some day he would learn not to ask questions when the answers were better left unknown. As he tried to shake off his morbid imaginings, Ysislaw suddenly knelt. He knotted his hand in Brastigan's hair and yanked his head up.

“
As for your precious little brother,
”
he whispered,
“
your
pup
, I'm afraid he will find a surprise waiting for him in Carthell. Johanz is still in my tent, you see. He blames Oskar for Rickard's death, and he thinks the throne will pass to Albrett when all is done. Johanz will do everything he can to assist my agents there, including laying a trap for Ymell and his paltry band.
”

Brastigan kept his face as far from Ysislaw's as he could, though the pulling of his hair stung. He could smell his enemy's breath, heavy with wine and food.

He found himself squeaking like the stable hand.
“
Why are you telling me this?
”

Ysislaw didn't move his face, nor relax his grip.
“
Because,
”
he said, as calm as ice on the mountaintops,
“
I want you to know there is no hope. I have won. For all your bragging, your brave heroics, you have lost.
”

“
Not yet,
”
Brastigan said, a feeble threat.

“
Did you think I would not know where Lottres and Ymell are?
”
Ysislaw sneered.
“
Everything you think and feel is open to me. You can have no secrets. I shall kill your brothers and take my pick of your pretty sisters. None shall escape me.
”
He bent even closer, though Brastigan leaned frantically away from his overwhelming presence.
“
You are doomed. Just like your mother.
”

“
You did enough to her!
”
Brastigan cried. Fury overcame his sense of self-preservation. He kicked out at Ysislaw and had the satisfaction of seeing his enemy reel backward.

Then the pain returned, as sudden as a thunderclap. Lights flashed before his eyes, sickly greens and yellows. Brastigan fell to his side and screamed with the agony, with his rage and, yes, his hopelessness.

“
Oh, shut up,
”
Ysislaw said with casual spite. Brastigan's throat seemed to lock, robbing him of breath.
“
An exceptional female, Yrien. I would have grown fond of her,
”
Ysislaw mused.

Behind Ysislaw, Brastigan glimpsed Margura watching them. Her eyes gleamed with the acquisition of new knowledge.

Panting, Brastigan rasped out,
“
I'll bet you thought Yrien couldn't escape, either.
”

To his amazement, Ysislaw was calm again, remote and alien. He knelt again and smiled, a terrible cruel smile.
“
But she didn't. Nor will you. Your homeland is mine, and all who you love are doomed. Think on that,
“
greatest swordsman in Crutham.
”“

Blue eyes, so like Oskar's eyes, bored into Brastigan's dark ones. In that moment he believed Ysislaw was right, that there was no safety anywhere. The fear gripped his stomach, twisted it into a knot of bile. Gagging, Brastigan had to turn from his foe. He lunged toward the chamber pot and barely reached it in time.

Ysislaw let him go. To Margura, he said dryly,
“
There is still time to find another bridegroom.
”

“
Pathetic,
”
Margura murmured scornfully,
“
but my time is short, your majesty. I fear I must decline.
”

Brastigan glared up at them through eyes blurry with sickness. He wanted to say something to Margura, something that would hurt her as much as her betrayal hurt him. He couldn't think of a thing.

The two were already walking away, tyrant and traitress together. The door swung open before they touched it, and shut behind them with a solid bang.

Brastigan was left alone in the pitiless prison room. His hair was soaked with cold, sticky sweat. His head pounded like smith's anvil. His knees, folded under him, ached against the hard stone floor.

Not until the last of his nausea passed did he move away from the chamber pot. Brastigan staggered back to the pallet and dropped onto it with a groan.

He had considered hiding his thoughts, maybe pretending to be frightened and seeing if Ysislaw would lose interest when he thought he'd won. In the end, there was no need to feign terror. That was real enough.

The pain dulled after Ysislaw left, but shame burned like a hot iron within him. Because he knew, just for that moment, that Ysislaw had truly beaten him. They locked eyes, and it was Brastigan who blinked. He gave way. Now he sat, cowed, and wondered how he could ever escape Ysislaw's prison.