Page 26 of The Masked Princess

“I must speak with Princess Annalise,” he said.

The man nodded and stuck out a hand. “I am Linnean Padrin, captain of Chief Telimary’s guard. We tracked these bandits for several days when we heard the sound of your attack.”

Soren shook his hand. “Soren Kierson, captain of Princess Annalise’s protection detail.” He frowned as a thought struck him. “It is rather convenient timing that you were already following the bandits just as we caught up to them.”

“Not so surprising when you realize that they’d raided one of our outermost villages before attacking your caravan. Chief Telimary declared they must pay for their crimes, but we wanted to see where they were going before we made our move so we could ascertain who their master is.”

“And? What did you find?”

Captain Padrin’s lips pressed together. “Not much. Tend to your men, Captain Kierson. We have a long day tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 20

Ten years ago

“Be brave, my sweet girl,” Queen Elvira said, squeezing Annalise’s hand even as pain wracked her body.

Annalise squeezed back, willing her mother to get better.

Queen Elvira had been sick for several weeks—far too nauseous and with too fierce of a headache to get out of bed. She was six months pregnant, the longest she’d carried a baby since having Annalise. Guildmaster Trenk’s treatments hadn’t worked, and in desperation he’d summoned an old friend from the eastern border of Dovea.

The new healer was a kind old man named Lornan who wore a serene smile and always smelled like fresh forest moss. He was a former Master Healer, but had retired from the guild over a decade before to spend his golden years with his family in his home village.

With her mother ill, Annalise did what she could. She helped Lornan gather the herbs and make tonics and medicines. She filled the days reading books aloud and telling stories and embroidering an infant’s dressing gown so her new sibling would have clothes. She insisted on staying by her mother’s side and slept in the chair in the room just in case her help was needed.

Lornan had only been attending the queen for a short time when she took a sudden turn for the worse and went into labor. It was far too early in the pregnancy for the baby to be born, and while Guildmaster Trenk and Lornan kept up a positive attitude, Annalise had seen their expressions when her mother had closed her eyes to rest. She’d heard the urgency and fear in their voices when they were discussing the case outside the bedroom door. She knew the situation was very dire indeed.

Throughout the entire labor, her father, the King, was nowhere to be found, although Lornan, Guildmaster Trenk, and several midwives buzzed about the room working feverishly. From the look in their eyes, a pit formed in Annalise’s stomach.

Despite their best efforts, Annalise’s little brother was stillborn. To make matters worse, her mother had lost far too much blood in the delivery.

“They’re going to take care of you, Mama, don’t worry. You’ll feel better soon, and then we’ll go out into the garden, and we can sit and smell the roses. I know it’s been a long time since you could do that. Won’t it be nice?” Annalise asked as a lump rose in her throat.

Queen Elvira closed her eyes and smiled, her face nearly as pale as her cream pillowcase, and her hair, which had once shone like the sun and glowed with health, was now limp and greasy. “That would be lovely. It’ll be a warm, sunny day. We’ll find a patch of flowers, and I’ll make you a flower crown fit for a princess. I’d like that.”

Annalise was refreshing the bed’s foot-warmer—her mother’s feet were cold even though it was the height of summer—when the door slammed open and King Everet stormed in.

“Where is my son?” he bellowed.

Lornan bowed so low his white beard almost reached his knees. “The young prince was stillborn, Your Majesty.”

“Stillborn?” The king’s eyes flashed, and he stepped toward the bed, his hands balled into fists. “This is your doing. I told you that it was useless to laze around all day. You didn’t let your blood flow, and you starved my son of the will to live.”

Lornan moved in between the king and Queen Elvira’s bed. His head barely came even with King Everet’s chin, and his thin shoulders were stooped as though he carried the weight of the world. However, his brown eyes were still as bright and clear as a man a quarter of his age, and his clear voice didn’t waver. “Her Majesty the Queen has been greatly indisposed; it was at my recommendation that she rest. The pregnancy drew heavily on her life force, and the birth has severely weakened her. She requires peace and quiet to heal.”

Annalise marveled at the firm and steady way that Lornan spoke to her father, as if he was a shepherd guiding a belligerent ram away from a den of hungry wolves.

The king snapped. He drew his sword before Annalise could draw breath, and Lornan fell to the ground, slain by her father’s hand.

There was a beat of silence, then her mother spoke. Her voice was quiet and weak in volume, but so full of conviction she might as well have shouted. “You are an evil man.” Queen Elvira pushed herself up, reclining on the pillows behind her. Her golden tresses fell in lank clumps around her face as she stared accusingly at her husband. “An evil man and an evil king. Do you have no kindness or compassion in your dark heart?”

“Kindness and compassion are for those who are not powerful enough to command respect, wife,” King Everet spat the last words as if they were a mouthful of rotten fruit.

“Lornan did nothing to you. He helped me out of the goodness of his heart and his love for our kingdom, and you repaid him with death. You are an evil, cruel man whose malice knows no bounds, and I refuse to be bound to you any longer.” The queen raised her hand. Thanks to King Everet’s absence while Queen Elvira was sick, the most recent bruises had almost all faded away, but the fire of anger and hurt in her eyes, stoked from years of abuse, burned brightly. She began chanting in something that sounded like the Old Tongue, the language of mages and magic.

Annalise’s tutors had told her about the Old Tongue, although none had taught it to her. Until now, she hadn’t known her mother could speak the language. The queen spoke so rapidly that Annalise doubted she could have distinguished the individual words even if she knew what they meant.

Just as the chanting reached a crescendo, the king grabbed Annalise and jerked her in front of him. Suddenly, every word felt like a fiery brand on Annalise’s skin. She cried out and tried to wrench herself away, but he refused to let go, holding her in place until her mother collapsed back onto her pillows, face pale and hands trembling.