Midnight Soul (19 page)

On sight of us, she pushed up to her bottom,
her lustrous hair that had only threads of lovely silver in it was
plaited in a long braid falling over one shoulder and tied with
what looked like a dirty scrap of cloth.

“Daughter,” she whispered, her eyes locked to
me.

I said nothing.

Furthermore I
felt
nothing at the
sight of her.

How odd.

Frey led us beyond her cell but stopped us at
the wall between hers and the one next to it. There I saw my father
in the last cell in the hall.

He was similarly attired as my mother, except
no stockings, rather rough breeches. The only thing that looked
clean on him was the bandage that had been tied on a slant to his
face with a strip of white gauze that ran along his jaw to the
wounded cheek opposite and up over his crown.

I noted they both had thin woolen blankets on
their narrow bunks (though no sheet over the slim pallet atop it)
and wooden buckets to serve as chamber pots.

Other than this, there was naught else in
their cells.

Nothing.

“Frey!” my father snapped, and at his voice I
pressed closer to Noc. “When he gets here, my solicitor will be
having a word with the queen. Being
in
this building is
outrageous. These clothes,” he plucked at his shirt furiously,
having strode to the bars before his cell and stopping in front of
them. “No creature comforts. Barely a passable blanket to keep the
chill away that veritably
whistles
through the walls. Not
even a book to pass the time. And I demand that Anneka be moved
into my cell with me, or at the very least across from me so we can
see each other as we converse.”

“I do believe, uncle, it’s escaped you that
you’re not in a position to make demands,” Frey replied calmly.

Papa’s voice was rising. “Wait until your
father hears of this!”

I held my ground even as I sensed my mother
approaching the bars.

“It shocks me how little you’ve paid
attention, Nils,” Frey returned. “Although you’re correct. My
father will undoubtedly be outraged by your current circumstances.
I just don’t give a fuck what he thinks, and I never did.”

“Franka,” my mother called softly.

I made certain my features were arranged as I
wished them, blankly, before I gave her my attention.

“You cannot wish this on your father and I.”
She continued to speak in that quiet, timid, beleaguered tone,
which obviously I’d never heard.

Even with my first real glance at her, I saw
she was broken. Without her husband’s name, his House, his
self-importance and her magic to stand behind, it had been but days
and she was a ghost of the spiteful, conceited, pitiless, evil
woman I knew.

I’d endured torture at their hands to mind,
body and spirit for thirty-four years and there I was.

There I was.

And in nine days she’d all but wasted
away.

She’d never survive a life in prison. Or,
more accurately, her life imprisoned would be a life significantly
shortened.

“Frey, if you would,” I began, looking to my
cousin who in turn directed his attention to me. “Order they be
given another blanket. A pillow. And a flannel sheet to cover their
pallets and help to beat back the chill. Perhaps they both should
also have a book.”

Frey didn’t hide his surprise but he inclined
his head and turned to the guard.

“See that it’s done.”

“Of course, my lord,” the guard murmured.

“A bloody blanket and a book?” my father
asked furiously. “Franka, demand our release
at once
,” he
ordered.

I ignored him and again looked at my
mother.

When I caught her eyes, she dropped hers and
said, “Your kindness is appreciated, daughter.”

“Do not mistake it as kindness,” I declared,
and startled, her gaze came again to mine. “I do not request this
as a kindness, Mother,” I explained. “I request this in an effort
to keep you healthy. It would not do for you to catch a deathly
chill and shorten your penance.”

She blanched, taking a step back from the
bars.

“Franka,” my father growled in a warning
tone.

I again ignored him and took a step toward my
mother’s cell.

“You reap what you sow,” I said quietly, not
tearing my eyes from her horrified ones. “For years, you taught me
nothing but callousness and cruelty. You taught me strength was in
manipulating others’ weaknesses for my gain. You taught me
arrogance was a point of pride and a weapon to add to my arsenal.
You taught me loyalty was to be punished. Fear was to be
unrelenting. Pain was to be expected. I only hope that in the
remaining years of my life I’ve got enough light in the midnight
soul you shadowed inside me to burn the seed you’ve sown to cinders
and plant a new one that will take root and grow. But even if that
isn’t to be the case, as you’ve taught me my entire life to live my
own with heartlessness and selfishness, knowing you live a life of
fear and torment will suffice to see me through to my own end.”

Her hand snaked up to her throat, her eyes
wide as saucers, dread wafting from her in physical ways I could
not only feel, but could smell and it reeked. My father bellowed,
“You’ll rue those words when we’re released, you ungrateful
bitch!”

I shifted, letting go of Noc to approach my
father’s cell but feeling Noc move with me, close to my back.

I tipped my head back to look up at Papa.

The wrathful, persecuted look on his face and
burning from his gaze shared he had not broken. He was quite
certain his position and name would change his circumstances in the
near future.

He was misguided.

No.

He was a fool.

“And what, pray, Papa, should I be grateful
for that you and Mother have given me?” I asked.

He tipped his head angrily toward my body.
“That fur you’re wearing, for one.”

“This fur was purchased when the quarterly
Drakkar stipend was forwarded to me, something that’s increased now
that Frey’s brother is head of the House and managing it capably,
rather than your brother running it straight into financial
ruin.”

“And the
Drakkar name
was given to you
by
me
,” he spat.

“Alas,” I murmured.

“The impudence,” he bit off.

I stared at him.

Without Mother’s magic, outside of retaining
his handsomeness, which had nothing to do with him and everything
to do with the strength of the Drakkar line, he suddenly seemed
like an old, blustering buffoon.

And indeed, without Mother’s magic that was
all he’d ever been.

“This is the last you’ll see of me, Papa. Any
loving words you wish to say?” I invited.

“If you don’t speak to the queen on our
behalf, Franka—” he began to warn.

I lifted my brows and interrupted him.
“You’ll what, Papa?” I then lifted a hand and touched the bars that
separated us with the tip of my index finger, reminding him of his
situation. “What will you do?”

Faster than his years, which had always been
the way, his hand darted up and he caught my finger in an
excruciating hold, his own fingers tightening, crushing mine
against the bar even as he pressed his face between them.

“I’ll break you, you revolting harlot,” he
hissed.

He was able to get that out before I found my
finger suddenly released.

I heard the terrible noise of bones breaking,
then my father’s pained howl sounded against the stone walls, and
finally Noc’s order of, “Step back, Franka.”

He’d torn my father’s fingers from mine and
bent them back, using a bar to leverage his hold, a hold he still
had on my father so even now I could see they were at an unnatural
angle that had to be excruciating.

I felt it prudent to step back. This I
did.

When I did, Noc released my father and took
his own step to return to my side.

Father retreated from the bars and held his
damaged hand in his other, bent over them both at his chest
protectively.

“You might wish to call for a physician to
set those,” Frey suggested to the guard.

“You’ll hear from our solicitor,” Papa
snarled angrily, his head bent back to glower at us, but his voice
betrayed his pain.

“And I’m sure whatever he says will be most
amusing,” Frey drawled.

My father sent a scowl his way then asked,
“Have you humiliated us enough, bringing the Winter Princess here
to see our degradation? The bloody ruler of Bellebryn and his
bride? The savage king and his Middlelandian queen? Have you,
nephew? For if you have, I’d thank you to leave us to our ordeal
further unmolested.”

Frey didn’t answer my father. He turned to
me.

“Are you finished, Franka?”

I looked at Papa, pain starting to twist his
face, ire still blazing in his eyes.

I then looked to my mother. She’d retreated
to stand against the back wall beside her bed, both her elegant
hands lifted and clasped at the base of her throat, her eyes on
me.

Finally, I looked to my cousin.

“I am indeed, cousin.”

“Let us be away then,” Frey stated, sounding
relieved and proving he was by moving all of us immediately to
retreat.

Neither of my parents called a farewell.

I did the same, not even giving them my
regard as I walked from view of their cells.

Noc took my hand and curled it at once around
his elbow, bending to me and asking, “Your finger okay,
sweetheart?”

“Quite all right, Noc,” I answered, my eyes
straight ahead.

“You kicked ass back there, baby. Wish I had
that on video. Fuckin’ brilliant,” he decreed.

I had no idea what “on video” meant, but I
didn’t ask.

I also did not even try to fight back the
urge to do what I next did.

I simply did it.

This being turning my head and tipping it
back.

Once that was done and I’d caught Noc’s gaze,
I did my last.

Slowly, and with great delight I did not
hide, I smiled.

Huge.

* * * * *

“Master Noc broke his fingers?” Josette
asked incredulously.

“At least three of them,” I informed her.

She stared at me a moment looking horrified
but this dissolved as her body started shaking and then a loud
giggle erupted from her mouth.

I felt my lips curling up.

When she controlled her mirth, she mumbled,
“I wish I was there.”

“I do as well,” I replied.

I ignored her blinking at me in shock, having
decided over the past days when I did something kind that Josette
found unexpected and she showed her surprise, she’d eventually get
used to it.

For I had found that guarding myself from
this variety of camaraderie, sharing moments and news and snippets
of life, and even feelings with the woman with whom I spent most of
my time, was not only draining and tiresome, but also
unnecessary.

Josette had not a cruel bone in her body.
She’d remained steadfast to me even when I wasn’t as I’d begun to
be.

She was now blossoming under my warm
regard.

And I found witnessing it most pleasant.

Thus it was late afternoon and we were now
sharing prior to her assisting me in my preparations to attend
another dinner with the queen and the others.

“Now, tell me, how goes your search for a new
maid?” I asked.

She settled her behind deeper in the chair
opposite me and stated, “I’ve narrowed it down to three, Lady
Franka. They all seem quite capable, have much experience,
excellent references, good dispositions and are keen to go on an
adventure by crossing the Green Sea.”

At her words, I frowned.

I’d found of late (that “of late” being the
last several days) that the “Lady Franka” business, something of
which I hadn’t thought of in the slightest in the past, was
grating.

I was, of course, a lady.

Josette reminding me of it every time she
spoke my name was superfluous.

I didn’t call her “Maid Josette.” The very
idea was ludicrous.

“Josette, if you please,” I said on a sweep
of my hand in front of me, “I’m tiring of ‘Lady Franka.’”

“I…well,” her expression turned perplexed,
“what, milady?”

“That too,” I replied. “‘Milady.’ Of course
when we’re in company, you’ll need to continue to address me thus.
But when we’re on our own, I see no reason for you to consistently
utter my title. Franka will do.”

She said nothing, likely because her mouth
had dropped open and her stare had become vacant.

“Is this something that offends you?” I asked
when her look persisted, as did her silence.

She snapped her mouth closed, opened it,
closed it and finally got down to it.

“As you know, my, uh…well, as you know, no
other maid
I
know addresses her lady that way. It just isn’t
done.”

“I’m not just any lady and you are definitely
not just another maid. If the Winter Princess herself knew of your
talents, she’d try to steal you from me.”

A blush of pleasure pinkened her cheeks as
she said, “I’d never leave you.”

I tipped up my chin. “And I know this and
prize it. So let’s dispense with some of the formalities, shall
we?”

“I…all right,” she agreed, a tentative smile
forming on her face.

“Excellent,” I murmured. “Now that’s done,
I’ll meet your final candidates tomorrow. Once I do, we’ll discuss
them and decide. But I need to give you another task.”

“And that would be?” she asked.

“Your gowns, stockings, cloaks, boots,
slippers, etc. You’ll need to visit a local clothier, cobbler and
milliner as you’ll require clothing suitable for a variety of
climes and a good deal of it. When we’re aboard a ship, I’m not
certain there are laundry facilities, and I don’t like the idea of
you donning dirty clothing because you have no spare. And please,
increase the quality of the pieces you choose. You are a maid of a
lady of the House of Drakkar but further, we’ve no idea what we’ll
be encountering. It would be good for those who look upon us to
think you’re my ward, and thus have some protection of a certain
class, rather than my maid.”