The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (38 page)

Innis watched him go. There was a bad taste in her mouth. She felt slightly sick.
I lied to Petrus
.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

I
T WAS CLOSE
to noon when they reached the northernmost end of the Hook. Karel went out on deck. The sea teemed with vessels. He saw merchant ships, fishing ships, naval ships.

A ship flying Lundegaard’s blue and gold flag hailed them. Its crew were dressed in the forest green of Lundegaard’s military.

“Say we’re refugees from Vaere,” Karel told the captain. “We went a little off course, too far south.”

He listened to the shouted conversation.

“You heard that?” the captain said, signaling a sailor to furl the sails. “We’re fourth in line to disembark.”

“I heard. Follow their orders.”

He went back to the cabin. “We’re nearly there. There are three ships ahead of us. How’s Yasma?”

“Close to waking,” the princess said.

The afternoon slid past slowly. Yasma woke, pale and drowsy. She ate Horned Lily root, and later, some sausage and cheese. Some color returned to her thin face.

“You and I will carry the trunk,” Karel told the princess. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Towards dusk, the
Sea Eagle
began to move again, sliding into the harbor. Karel went to the window. Hundreds of people milled on the wharves. At first glance it looked chaotic; at second glance, orderly. The refugees were moving in a single direction, directed by soldiers.

Karel watched the busyness, the orderliness, with satisfaction. There would be a high-ranking officer in charge of an operation this size, one he could trust with Princess Brigitta’s safety.
And Yasma and I can blend in easily among so many people
.

“We need to have a drink before we can get off the ship,” Princess Brigitta said cheerfully. “It won’t taste very nice, boys, but we must all have some.”

Karel drank a mug of cider and pulled a face that made Rutgar giggle. The princess drank too. “Gah,” she said, shuddering and sticking out her tongue. She handed the boys cider mixed with poppy syrup.

They both drank, pulling faces and giggling.

Night had fallen by the time the
Sea Eagle
moored. Karel and the princess tucked the sleeping boys carefully into the trunk and padlocked it. “Ready? You know what to do? And you, Yasma?”

“No speaking,” Yasma said. “Hoods up. And use the silk to hide our faces, like scarves this time, not masks.”

“And stand at parade rest,” Princess Brigitta said. “As if we’re men.”

Karel picked up the plank the boys had drilled holes in, playing at being carpenters. He dropped it out the window. Far below, water splashed.

Someone knocked on the door. “Master Eliam?” It was the captain. “Are you ready to disembark?”

T
HEY DESCENDED A
gangplank. The captain came too, to collect his payment, and the first mate, his arm still in a sling. Neither man would meet the armsman’s eyes directly. Their fear of him would have amused Britta if she hadn’t been so full of jittering excitement. Lundegaard! Where they’d all be safe.

She stood beside the trunk at parade rest, as she’d seen Karel do a thousand times. Shoulders back. Feet twelve inches apart.

Karel spoke to the sergeant directing their disembarkation. Her ears caught words. “...urgent... must speak with your highest-ranking officer.”

“Everyone’s business is urgent,” the sergeant said sourly.

Yasma came to stand beside her.

“...a matter that closely concerns your king.” Karel’s voice was flat, authoritative. “Your highest-ranking officer. Now.”

The sergeant hesitated, then turned away. He issued orders, sent a man running, directed them to stand to one side.

Britta helped Karel carry the trunk to the shelter of a stone wall. A brazier burned half a dozen yards to their right, a torch half a dozen yards to their left.

The captain and first mate came to stand with them, and six soldiers, ringing them. Yes, Lundegaard’s military were right to be cautious after the nearly-successful invasion last month.

“Start the next disembarkation,” the sergeant shouted.

Britta waited, struggling to remain patient.
We’re in Lundegaard!
The paving stones beneath her feet, the soldiers guarding them, the black sea reflecting the torchlight... they were Lundegaardan stones, Lundegaardan soldiers and torches.

A dozen men in green uniforms strode down the wharf.

“Sire.” The sergeant threw his chest out, saluted crisply.

Sire? One of those men was a prince? The boys’ uncle?

Britta scanned their faces eagerly. Six soldiers, two armsmen wearing silver torques, the messenger, an older man whose epaulettes marked him as a general. The other two men were in their twenties. Neither had the long hair or crown of a royal prince.
But this isn’t Osgaard
.

She studied their faces, looking for a resemblance to Queen Sigren.

“Your messenger said there was something that concerned my father?” one of the men said.

“This man claims to have knowledge that concerns the king, sire.” The sergeant gestured at Karel.

Karel stepped forward and bowed. “Highness?”

“Prince Kristof,” the man said. “And this is my brother Prince Tomas. You are?”

“No names here, highness. You have somewhere we can talk privately?”

Prince Kristof narrowed his eyes. He examined their party—the captain and the first mate, Yasma and herself. “Follow me.”

Britta picked up one side of the trunk. Karel took the other. They followed the princes, striding fast, surrounded by soldiers.

P
RINCE
K
RISTOF LED
them to a wharfside tavern that had been requisitioned by Lundegaard’s army. Karel scanned the taproom as they stepped inside. There was no tapster; instead, the room was filled with the murmur of voices, the rustle of paper. Men sat at tables with parchment spread before them, their fingers ink-stained.

The prince ushered them into a smaller room with a desk sitting solidly at its centre. The armsmen and the general followed, and six of the soldiers. The soldiers took places around the wall. The armsmen came to stand behind the princes.

“Your business?” Prince Kristof said, folding his arms. His brother, standing beside him, had recently been wounded. Half his right ear was missing and a newly-healed scar crossed his cheek. Both men’s eyes were narrow, their expressions suspicious, and behind them, the armsmen’s equally so.

Karel lowered his side of the trunk. The princess did the same.

He turned the trunk so that its hinges faced the soldiers, the armsmen, the captain and first mate. “I need to speak with you privately,” he told the princes, and held up a hand to forestall the protest forming on their lips. “I’ll show you why.”

He reached beneath his cloak for the key to the padlock—the armsmen stiffened, their hands moving to their sword hilts—and unlocked the trunk. Karel half-raised the lid and beckoned to the princes. “Not one word,” he cautioned.

Prince Tomas frowned and strode across the room. “What nonsense is this? There’s nothing that—” He halted when he saw the young princes nestled asleep in the trunk. He glanced at Karel sharply, his mouth opening.

Karel laid a finger to his lips. “There are ears here, highness.”

The prince turned. “Kristof! Get over here!”

Prince Kristof hurried over. His expression stiffened in shock. He turned to the armsmen, the soldiers, the general. “Out. Everyone, out!”

One of the armsmen hesitated. “Sire...”

“You may have my sword and dagger.” Karel unbuckled them and gave them to the armsman. He glanced at the captain and first mate. “You two, wait outside.”

Everyone filed from the room.

The door closed. “Who are you?” Prince Kristof demanded. “Are these—?”

“They are your nephews, highness,” Karel said, fully opening the lid. “Rutgar and Lukas. And this is their sister, Princess Brigitta.”

The princess pushed back her hood and pulled the black silk down from her chin.

Both men stared at her. Karel saw what they saw: youth, beauty, a quiet regality. Despite her attire, there was no doubting she was a princess.

Princess Brigitta nodded to the princes and knelt beside the trunk, checking the boys’ pulses.

“By the All-Mother’s grace!” Prince Kristof said, sounding dazed. “Can this be true?” He dropped to his knees beside Princess Brigitta. “Rutgar and Lukas?”

“Are they all right?” Prince Tomas asked, kneeling too.

“Sedated with poppy syrup,” the princess said.

Prince Kristof touched Rutgar’s hair lightly, wonderingly, then suddenly stood. “We must tell Father!” He hurried across to the desk.

Karel followed him. “This has to be kept secret, highness.”

“Father must be told! He’s in Forsmouth now, preparing to sail to Osgaard and plead for the boys’ lives.”

“Tell him, by all means. But he must tell no one else.”

The prince shook his head. “Why?”

“Because the maid and I are from Esfaban.” Karel gestured to Yasma, now standing bareheaded. “Jaegar believes us dead. If we’re known to be here, our families will be sent into bondservice.”

Prince Kristof stared at him for several seconds, looking deep into his eyes, as if seeing him fully for the first time. Then decision firmed his face. He nodded. “Absolute secrecy. You have my word.
Your
families will not be harmed because of what you’ve done for
my
family.”

He scrawled a swift note, underlined several sentences, sealed it, and crossed to the door. “Take this to my father,” he said to someone outside. “Use the fastest ship in the harbor. It’s urgent!” Then he closed the door and turned back to Karel. “Now tell us all! How do you come to be here?”

T
HE ARMSMAN TOLD
their tale. How simple it seemed when reduced to concise sentences. “You need gold to pay the ship’s captain?” Kristof said, once he’d finished.

“Yes,” Britta said. “We hadn’t enough.”

“How much did you promise him?”

“Another twenty pieces. We have seven.” Karel opened the rucksack and pulled out the money pouch.

Kristof waved it away. “Twenty. And I think... a little more to persuade them to avoid these waters for a while.” He exited the room.

Britta glanced at Tomas, still kneeling beside her. “Rutgar looks like Sigren,” he said, reaching out to touch the boy’s cheek.

“Yes, I think so too.”

Tomas turned to look squarely at her. “To have Osgaard take our sister’s life, and then to think it would take her children’s too... We can never thank you enough, Brigitta.” Emotion made his voice rough.

“They are my brothers,” Britta said simply. “And it’s Karel and Yasma you should thank. Without them, I couldn’t have done anything.”

“Yes.” Tomas stood. He bowed to Yasma and took one of her hands and clasped it to his heart. “Our family owes you both a deep debt.” He turned to Karel and bowed, took the armsman’s hand.

Britta watched Tomas. He was Harkeld’s closest friend. The man Harkeld had hoped she would marry.

Tomas wasn’t quite as she’d envisaged. He looked more serious than Harkeld had described. But serious things were happening in the world.

Tomas released Karel’s hand and stood talking to him. They were of a similar age, a similar height. Karel wasn’t wearing his weapons, but his stillness, the stern hawk-like features, the dark, watchful eyes—those made him look dangerous. Tomas, with his sword and his scarred face, seemed boyish beside him.

Kristof returned holding a sheet of parchment. “The
Sea Eagle
’s paid off, and the captain and first mate have agreed not to enter our waters, or Osgaard’s, for the next decade.”

“What?” Britta said, standing.