Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 (19 page)

The sun had
set during his musings; he crossed the street and entered the alley
that ran alongside the witch’s residence. In moments he stood at
her front door. He didn’t knock but turned the knob, and the door
swung inwards on silent hinges. As he crossed the threshold the
hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Vard smiled. The witch’s
petty enchantments wouldn’t stop the likes of him.

It was dark
inside. He opened his senses to scan the surrounds. There were rats
in the walls and a pulsating life force in the kitchen. He entered
the short hallway that ran from the parlor and paused at the
kitchen door. The old woman rocked in her chair by the fire, craggy
features lit by the flames. She watched him, malice in her black
eyes.

“You’re not
welcome here,” she said. Her wild silver hair moved in the faint
draught from the fire.

“I need your
help. There’s no one else.”

“I know what
you are.” The witch stood and drew her tatty shawl around bony
shoulders. One of her hands clutched something wrapped in
cloth.

“I don’t care
what you know. I could expose you as easily as you could betray me.
The prince hates witchcraft, so he’d take little convincing. And
you’ve a connection to the mercenary murders. I know that for a
fact.”

The woman drew
herself up until Vard swore he heard her ancient bones creak.

“I’m just an
old healer, not a witch.”

“The prince
would be quick to condemn you. Are you willing to take that
risk?”

“What would
you do if I asked you to leave?”

Vard stared at
the witch but neither his eyes nor his other senses could detect
anything more than mild unease. “I can’t leave,” he said. “You must
help me to return to the castle in full strength. The princess
could be in danger.”

Anger blazed
from the old woman’s dark eyes. “If you cared for Princess Alecia,
you wouldn’t have come back.”

Vard tried to
straighten and gasped as agony rocketed through his chest and
shoulder.

“Don’t fall
now, you great lumbering oaf.” She removed a heavy pan and a jar of
something that looked like eyeballs from the table. “Lie yourself
down here. My bones are too old to treat you on the floor.”

Vard staggered
across to the scrubbed wooden table and lay down on his back, his
feet resting on a chair at the end. “What will you do, witch?”

The old woman
had not moved towards him. “If you wish me to help you, stop
referring to me as ‘witch’. My name is Hetty.”

Anger boiled
through Vard. He felt like death and the old woman took offence at
a name! He clawed at his composure and managed to bring his temper
back under control. “Forgive my discourtesy, Hetty. I’m not at my
best.”

“
That
may be true, Captain, but you’re at
my
mercy.” She pulled a knife from her sleeve and sliced
Vard’s tunic up the front then pulled both edges back to reveal his
wounds. “A good thing you are not truly human. These wounds should
have killed you.”

“I realize
that, woman! Why do you think I’m here?” Shock made Vard’s voice
harsh. The appearance of the knife had shaken him. He’d do well not
to underestimate the witch.

Hetty glared
and shoved a piece of wood in his mouth. “Bite on that. This will
hurt.” She plunged her fingers into the wound at his chest and
agony blasted through his torso. Vard bit down hard on the wood to
stop the scream that bubbled up. Moments seemed more like hours as
Hetty’s fingers probed the wound. What if the task was beyond her?
Sweat broke out all over his body at the thought but Hetty smiled a
grim smile, inserted slender silver tongs into his chest and pulled
out the crossbow bolt. Vard could not avoid screaming this time,
and the dark took him.

Vard awoke some time
later and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Scant light
from a fire to his left revealed jars of spiders, brains and other
objects on a shelf and he remembered. Had he been wise to ask the
witch woman for help? He felt across his chest and shoulder for the
wounds left by the crossbow bolts. The injuries were still there
but the pain much less. A quick glance through the window showed a
faint lightening of the sky.

“You can get
up when you feel strong enough,” Hetty said, as she entered the
kitchen, “and know how lucky you are. Those bolts went as close to
killing you as a man ever wants to get to death.”

Vard thought
again that death might have been preferable, but then Alecia would
be left to fend for herself. “My thanks. How can I repay you?”

“First threats
and now gratitude! Well, you can thank me by getting on your way
the moment you can put your boots on by yourself. Leave
Brightcastle, Captain. I don’t want you near the princess.”

Vard wiggled
his toes and discovered his boots had indeed been removed while he
was unconscious. “You’ve a strong connection to her, Hetty. What is
it?” He had a niggling in the back of his skull that wouldn’t go
away, and the witch’s words had just stirred it up.

“I owe her a
debt and that’s all I’ll say to the likes of you. Harm her and
you’ll answer to me.”

A chill washed
over Vard and he fought back a growl. It was time to test his
strength before the witch lost her patience. He levered himself up.
The tender flesh where the bolts had penetrated ached in
protest.

“Get yourself
home. I’m sure there’s a scullery maid as will fix you a good
hearty breakfast.”

Vard pulled on
his boots and Hetty ushered him to the back door. As he went to
step into the alley, she grasped his arm. Her beady black eyes
bored at him, the odour of mothballs and garlic swirling up his
nostrils.

“Forget the
mercenary murders, Captain,” she said. “I know you killed the first
man, even if the prince doesn’t. Those men were guilty of their own
blood crime: they killed the son of a farmer who wouldn’t hand over
more taxes. No one will weep over their deaths and Prince Zialni
won’t thank you for laying the culprit of the second murder at his
feet.”

Hetty pushed
him from the doorway and slammed the door in his face. He stood for
a moment, trying to understand the cryptic words. Then he laughed
bitterly.

“Time to face
the music,” he said as he hugged the shadows back to the
palace.

Alecia sat on the
carved stone bench in the castle park, below the huge oak that held
the hawk’s nest. The odour of horse manure floated to her from the
stables on the other side of the castle entrance. She did not mind.
It made a change from the stuffiness of her room. She sighed; she
would have to dress for breakfast soon. It would be easy to hide
herself away in her chambers but that would enable her father to
ignore the harm he inflicted upon her. She would present herself,
head raised, like the princess she was, and she would not cry in
front of anyone.

Her stomach
churned. There had been no word on Vard since the assassin’s attack
the night before last, but she would know if he were dead. The
birds in the trees hopped from branch to branch, cooing softly as
they prepared to greet the dawn. If only she could be as carefree.
Their soft rustling ceased and Alecia scanned the shadows between
the bushes for signs of a predator. She shivered, the memories of
the bear too fresh. Perhaps it was best to return to the castle
now. She stood and found Vard ten paces from her.

His clothes
were grubby and tattered, the tunic ripped right up the front.
Black stubble covered his chin and dark shadows lay beneath his
eyes. His gaze gripped her, the gilt specks in his irises
mesmerising.

“Princess,” he
said. That was all, and yet she heard much in his tone that spoke
of suffering and uncertainty.

“You should
not be here,” she said. “My father has soldiers out searching for
you …and the bear.”

“I can
explain.”

“I do not want
to hear anything you have to say. You cannot convince me that I saw
something other than what I did. I should tell my father.”

“You have
not?”

“I could not,”
she said. “You are free to answer his questions in whatever way you
wish.”

Vard took a
step forward.

Alecia threw
up a shaking hand to ward him off. “Stay where you are.”

He flinched as
though she had struck him. “Please, hear me out.”

The
pleading note in his voice speared her heart. Vard should never
have to beg
-- not her
proud captain. But he was also the bear. She nodded
anyway.

“I’m a
Defender, sworn to protect the innocent and the vulnerable. The
bear is one of my forms, but one which I find difficult to control.
When I told you someone had aided me in the darkest moments of my
life, well…it was the bear he helped me control. I need to find
another Defender who can teach me to master the bear…but that
doesn’t matter right now.” He stepped forward again but did not
touch her. His eyes reached out, scouring her soul, as if he sought
to reassure himself that she cared. “You must understand, this
gift, this curse…” His voice was bitter. “It is who I am. I have no
choice…”

Alecia
understood that last, the lack of choice, only too well. But then,
there always
was
a choice if
you were willing to sacrifice everything. What Vard asked her to do
-- to understand him, to forgive him for what he was; it was too
much to ask.

She made her
voice cold. “Leave me and return to your quarters. Present yourself
to my father and he may take you back. I do not want to see you
again.” She watched Vard’s eyes harden. It nearly broke her heart
but she had to protect herself. Despite her fear, her body ached
for his caress, her lips for his kiss. She closed her eyes to block
his hurt from her gaze and took a deep breath, forcing the desire
away. Instead, she pictured the bear as it loomed over her, as she
embraced certain death. Alecia knew what he was now and she could
not accept him. When her heart was steady and strong, she fixed her
gaze upon the man who had been her protector. “Go.”

He stared at
her for a moment longer, and then stalked off into the bushes. She
collapsed on the bench, trembling, and still the tears would not
come.

Vard stood before
Prince Zialni, his chest bare to the gaze of the ruler, his teeth
clenched. Why did he put himself through this humiliation? He
should have listened to his instincts and left the prince and his
daughter to their fates. Instead, his concern for Alecia had
brought him back
-- only
to find that she despised him. Well, he had expected as
much.

“You recover
quickly, Captain. I have seen wounds like those kill a man and yet
here you stand. What is your secret?”

“I’ve
discovered much on my travels.” Vard’s short nails dug into his
palms. “The forest holds many wonders for those who care to
learn.”

“You are
telling me that this marvel was accomplished with leaves and
spit?”

“It’s more
complicated than that, Your Highness. Suffice to say that certain
remedies have aided my recovery. I was gravely injured, which is
why I couldn’t return sooner.”

The prince
stared at Vard. “You left my daughter in danger.”

“I took two
crossbow bolts for your daughter.” Vard clung to self-control by a
fingernail.

“You think the
assassination attempt was aimed at the princess?”

“I think it
wise to assume the worst until proven wrong.”

Prince Zialni
frowned and walked across the chamber to stand before the windows.
“Perhaps you are right. Regardless, I am not content with your
answers. Lord Finus wants you removed from the care of his
betrothed and I am inclined to agree. You will vacate your chambers
forthwith. Lieutenant Vorasava will take responsibility for the
princess’s safety. You will find the murderer who plagues
Brightcastle Town. Vorasava has launched regular night patrols of
the town and will advise you of any progress he has made. Be
grateful; Lord Finus wanted you banished, however I have uses for
you yet. See that you do not fail again.”

The
prince turned away. Vard gathered his shirt around him and strode
from the chamber, his hand clutching the stone. On the threshold of
his room, he stared at the marks he had carved in the door.
Memories of that night crashed down on him. He was like a thistle
seed, blown hither and thither by the wind, with no control over
his life. Alecia held him in Brightcastle. Knowledge crashed
through him and he staggered against the door frame.
I love her!
His feelings didn’t matter.
Alecia needed him, and he’d been given the means to stay near her
-- or at least within reach. His changeling nature repulsed her
but, he
would
watch over
Alecia, no matter how she felt about him.

Vard stepped
into the room and began to stuff clothes into his saddlebags.

Alecia was pacing her
sitting room when there was a knock at the door and Lord Finus
strode into the room.

“Princess
Alecia,” he said, “you look delightful.” He took her hand and she
flinched as his mouth brushed her fingers. “I came to advise you
that Anton has returned. He has been relieved of his duties.” Finus
did not let go of her hand.

“What do you
mean?” Alecia could barely gather breath to speak.

“The captain
is no longer responsible for your safety, Princess. I could not
take the risk after he abandoned you. Lieutenant Vorasava will make
a much more suitable protector.”

“Where is the
captain?”

Lord Finus
drew Alecia to him, his eyes fixed on her mouth. “That is no
concern of yours, my love. If I did not know better, I would think
you had developed a fascination for the man. That would never do.”
He leaned closer until his lips brushed Alecia’s neck. She could
not hide the shudder this time and pressed her eyes shut,
determined to ignore his lips as they worked their way from her
earlobe down to the hollow at the base of her throat. This close,
the odour of smoke on his breath made her stomach clench.