The Underground Witch (Incenaga Trilogy) (19 page)

“
Surely they can be of some service to Griet.”

“That is not for you to decide,” he said as he slapped the hindquarters of her horse.

The horse bolted back toward Tiergan but Emmeline refused to be sent away so easily. Turning her horse sharply, she soon caught up with Demyan again.

“I
refuse to enter Griet’s gates until I can assure the safety of the sailors.”

Demyan pulled back on his reigns. “You mean the safety of the boy.”

“Every life is important, but yes, I feel a responsibility for the boy.”

“My hands are tied.”

Emmeline opened her mouth to argue but Demyan held up a finger.

“I will look the other way if the boy tries to escape,” he said. “I don’t enjoy killing children. I can give no more
.”

Knowing Demyan had already conceded more than she thought he would, she nodded and turned her horse back toward Tiergan’s caravan.
She hoped with all her heart that O’fin would try to escape. She had to believe that he would.

Emmeline reached the end of Tiergan’s caravan and
took in the sight before her. The people of Griet seemed extravagant to the extreme. Thick jewels and heavy chains adorned the men and women alike, covering every wrist, finger, ankle and neck.

Tiergan waved to the people as they
fell to their knees. The display sickened her. As the colorful, wealthy people of Griet knelt, they exposed the skin and bones of the slaves behind them. Emmeline craned her neck, searching the throngs for O’fin’s little face. Could he have already escaped?

Thousands o
f men, women, and children lined the streets, rags falling off their dirty bodies. There were at least five slaves in brown rags to every one person in colorful silk. But rags or silk, all seemed eager to show their servitude to Tiergan.

W
omen threw themselves at him, or pushed their young daughters in his direction. Grown men took knives to their arms and bare chests, barring their teeth in a show of strength and willingness to serve. They did not pierce their skin very deep, just far enough to show blood. It seemed a superficial display of devotion and Emmeline wondered how much devotion they would have if they were required to cut deeper. Red oozed from their open wounds as they shouted hurrahs for their powerful leader.

A man in a
bright green frock scurried up to Emmeline’s horse and snatched the reins from her bound hands. He stared into her eyes and then grabbed a handful of fabric from her skirt.

“Witch!
You are ours now!” he said, laughing.

Emmeline tried to pull away,
but the leather band around her neck prevented her from moving very far. The horse flattened its ears and stamped its feet. Emmeline’s heart lurched. Without the reins, she had no way to control the horse or keep it from knocking her off again. Leaning to the side, she snatched the reins out of the man’s hands and nudged her horse forward. The man seized the bridle and pulled her horse to a halt.

“Let go!” Emmeline said.

The man grinned and tore a portion of her skirt. Bouncing from foot to foot, he flaunted the piece of fabric high above his head.

“I will l
ive forever!” he shouted. “I have a piece of the Incenaga! I will live forever!”

Emmeline drew back and furled her brows
. Clearly, the man was delusional. She still had plenty to learn about her powers, but she knew enough to know she couldn’t grant an exception from death. Nor could a piece of fabric from her dress hold any power.

The crowd mobbed the
man and within seconds the fabric was torn into several tiny pieces. A handful of Grietians carried their prizes off in triumph while the man in green frowned at his empty hands.

F
ifty pairs of greedy eyes shot back toward Emmeline, their eager gazes falling on her torn skirt. Before she could spur her horse forward, hands mauled her from both sides. They tugged and pulled on her skirt, ripping it away piece by piece. Emmeline let out a shriek, startled by the stark insanity in their eyes.

“I can’t help you!
Leave me be!” she shouted. She swatted at their scratching fingers and groping hands, but they would not relent.

Demyan
appeared by her side and the crowd pulled back, their heads bowed as they cowered before him. Demyan paid them no heed. He strode to Emmeline’s side, glanced at her torn skirt and smirked. “Welcome to Griet,” he said with a mocking smile.

Emmeline
searched his hands for blood. Clean. She examined his clothing. Clean. Perhaps O’fin and the sailors lived. But an image of Demyan scrubbing his nails in the ocean flashed through her mind and her heart sunk. Demyan wouldn’t have left his hands dirty even if he had recently killed a thousand men.

T
hrongs of devoted people stretched all the way to the castle where an iron gate and stone wall stood with opposing strength. They entered a lush courtyard with stone pavements and dark marble accents. Slender vases and black urns spilled over with thick plants and exotic flowers. Tall trees skirted the edge of the courtyard and a wide fountain graced the center. No violence or sadistic displays of devotion tainted its beauty, and yet it felt empty. Lifeless.

Emmeline breathed a sigh as a mist floated over her face.
After days upon end of sweltering heat, she thought her skin would melt from her bones. She urged her horse closer to the center of the courtyard and closed her eyes as she neared the fountain’s mist. She wanted to block everything she had just seen from her mind and imagine herself in a place far from Griet, a place with Erick at her side. She imagined Erick behind the waterfall with his arms around her. The wind blew another mist onto her face and she relaxed into the memory. Erick’s warm eyes smiled at her.

The feel
ing of sandpaper on her skin awakened her from her reverie. She glanced down and found a soldier untying her bindings, his hands much older than his face. The bindings fell away and Emmeline rubbed the sores around her wrists.

“Do you know where the sailors were taken?”
she asked. “There was a small boy…”

The soldier shook his head and
pulled her from the horse. Emmeline’s legs gave out from underneath her and the soldier caught her before she fell.

“You sat too long in one position,” he said.
Supporting her with a gentle hand, he waited until her legs tingled to life.

“Please,” Emmeline whispered. “Where would they have taken the sailors?”

She craned her neck to look into the soldier’s face and was met with two terrified brown eyes. He looked away and squeezed his eyes shut.

Emmeline
leaned back and glanced at the woman who waited behind the soldier. She wore silks of bright pink and yellow, similar to the dresses the wealthy women wore on the streets. The resemblance ended there, however. While her dress was sewn from the finest material, it was torn and ragged, just as the slaves clothing had been. In fact, she reminded Emmeline more of the slaves than of the rich women. She had the same beaten look upon her face, the same tired expression.

“I am
Marja,” she said with her eyes cast down. Her hair trailed down her back in waves of red and a splash of freckles adorned her face. “Come with me, Incenaga,”

Marja
turned and walked toward the opposite end of the courtyard with the soldier joining beside her. Emmeline noticed the brief smile on Marja’s face as she met the eyes of the soldier. Marja blushed and turned her head, bringing her cheek to her shoulder. The soldier’s face brightened.

They rounded a corner and Marja looked over her shoulder at Emmeline.

“I am here to serve you,” Marja said. “Anything you need, you may ask me. King Tiergan has requested I take you to the bath house first where you will be treated with Griet’s finest oils and salves for your wounds.”

Emmeline cleared her throat.
“Thank you, that is very kind, but I need to know where the sailors were taken.”

The soldier
placed a protective hand on Marja’s arm and turned to face Emmeline. “We are not permitted to speak of the King’s affairs,” he said.

“
So you know, then? Where are they?”

Marja
turned around as well, her eyes on the ground. “Please, do not ask us to disobey our King. There are harsh punishments for such offenses.” Her eyes darted to a group of slaves scrubbing the stone floor. They were covered in bruises and cuts. A boy near O’fin’s age knelt next to an older woman, his little arms scrubbing with all his strength.

Emmeline turned her face
and covered her mouth with a fist. She thought she had already seen the worst of Griet, but she realized the oppression stretched further than the streets. As long as Tiergan had control, he would tear his people down. It wasn’t enough for her to keep Erick safe. If Tiergan won control over her, she would be responsible for the destruction of every village, town, and kingdom.

“I won
’t cause any problems for you,” Emmeline said.

Marja
stood motionless and Emmeline couldn’t be sure if Marja was testing her sincerity or surprised that she had given up so easily.

“Thank you,”
Marja said after a moment. She turned around and continued leading Emmeline toward the castle entrance.

They
crossed the courtyard and entered a grand foyer where sixteen pillars stood floor to ceiling in two parallel lines, eight on either side of the room. They were as black as the sands outside the city walls and adorned with sweeping patterns of gold. The marble flooring also shone black, reflecting the gold patterns from the pillars. Empty candle holders gathered dust in the dark corners and stretched along the wide corridor.

Emmeline wondered how long the
castle would remain unlit, and when Tiergan would introduce her to his own fire. She needed a plan before it came to that, but how could she keep Tiergan from controlling her and keep everyone safe? The answer seemed to wail inside her mind like a ghost.
A dagger to the stomach
. She’d already seen it played out before her. She only had to follow through and complete the inevitable. She shook her head. It didn’t have to be her only option.

Marja and the soldier whispered to one another as they walked
. A quiet giggle escaped Marja’s lips to which the soldier responded with a gentle hush and a quick glance around them. Emmeline smiled, comforted to know love could be had among the Grietians. She caught bits and pieces of their conversation. The soldiers name was Rahn and he had built a surprise for her, promising to show it to her soon. Emmeline smiled again.

They entered the bath house where w
hite marble floors and ivory walls contrasted with the foyer. Urns of gold overflowed with cascading flowers of exotic colors. Emmeline followed Marja into a round room where a large tub perched on a pedestal and several attendants dressed in flowing robes of white skirted the walls.

Marja
cleared her throat. “Would you prefer we remove your clothing for you, Incenaga?”

Emmeline shook her head. Setting aside her sudden embarrassment, she shed her dirt caked dress, anticipating the
feeling of clean water. She immersed herself in the rose scented water and imagined every ache and pain washing away with the grime.

The hours crawled passed
, and yet her emotions brewed and bubbled as if on fire. She worried about O’fin and mourned over Erick. Her stomach churned every time she thought about the slaves outside the castle walls and her mouth turned dry when she considered what might lie ahead of her. Before Emmeline knew it, the attendants had brushed her hair dry and coiled it high on her head with white flowers peeking out from the side. A long silvery blue dress draped over her shoulders and fell to the ground like water.

Marja returned
and lead her to her new quarters, a dark chamber with a large round bed and stained glass windows. The velvet curtains, plush furniture, and gilded art reeked of gaudiness. Knowing it had been created at the hands of slaves, Emmeline disliked it in an instant.

“This
is your room, Incenaga,” Marja said. “I will remain with you should you need anything. I am here to serve you.”

Emmeline nodded.
“I would like a few moments to myself, please.”

“As you wish.”
Marja curtsied and stepped out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Emmeline stood motionless.
The similarity of her situation did not escape her. How long had it been since she’d been torn from her home in Pamizak and taken to a strange place? She remembered asking to Adelia to let her be alone as well. But she had grown to love Dolmerti and the people within. She doubted she could ever grow to love Griet, or its slave-built castle.

Emmeline
glanced around the room and up into the far corners of the ceilings. Despite their great height, they seemed to press down on her. She shivered. Rubbing her arms with her hands she moved toward the empty fireplace. Even if it had been lit, she doubted it would warm her. The cold emptiness that had settled deep into her bones was not something that could be warmed by fire.