Cogling (44 page)

Do you see my courage?

ke punched the ogre’s ribs as the mutant tried to shove him into a cage. The ogre’s massive hands swallowed Ike’s shoulders, but he braced himself against the metal. The unused cogling slipped out of his pocket and hit the floor. The ogre kicked it aside.

“It seems that’s useless now.” Mother Sambucus laughed from the doorway to the little room, the sound like waves crashing against a cliff. The space had been used for Ike’s father’s private meetings. The desk, chairs, and bookshelves had been replaced with four metal cages, but the landscape paintings remained on the walls. The homey atmosphere clashed with the iron bars as thick as Ike’s wrist. Black velvet hung over the three windows, so the only light came from gas lamps on the walls.

Two cages: one contained the King, the other empty for Ike. Anger surged through his veins, powering the strength behind his fists.

Once, when Ike had visited his father in this room, King Elias had sat at the desk writing on papers, his green-tinted glasses resting low on his long nose. Ike had knocked on the door, afraid his father would be angry. Instead the king had smiled and held out his hand. “Come here, son. My meeting ended and I want to check these papers before I take them to my study.”

He’d sat on his father’s lap and watched a glass stylus dance over papers covered in figures that meant nothing to his five-year-old mind.

Ike glanced at his father now, but the hunched man in the cage stared forward with glassy gray eyes. New lines had formed in his skin and a thick, graying beard sprouted from his face. How dare the hag hurt him when he’d only tried to do the best for his people? Ike racked his brain for a way to save his father, but his thoughts clouded—he had to save himself first.

“In with you,” Mother Sambucus said. “The guards won’t come after you. Most of them are my coglings.” She closed the door behind her and the
click
echoed through his ears.

“In ya go.” The other ogre pushed Hilda into a free cage. She hit the back bars with a grunt as the guard locked the door. Ike’s heart sank as Hilda sat, her chignon mussed and clothes askew. His cousin never looked so disheveled.

When the ogre pushed Ike again, Ike head-butted him. The other ogres roared.

“Get the whelp,” one grunted to his felled friend.

The ogre staggered back as his teeth closed over his thick tongue, allowing Ike enough time to twist backwards. He kicked the ogre in the groin. While he recoiled, roaring, Ike jumped onto the top of the cage. He grabbed the nearest painting off the wall, snapping the string on the nail, and slammed it down over the ogre’s head. Glass shattered, canvas tore, and the frame cracked. The creature’s face reddened, his eyes bugging. A siren buzzed, indicating a royal painting had been tampered with; the squeal became a taunt to Ike’s ears:
if you retaliate, the ogre might die
.

Ike ducked beneath the ogre’s swinging arms and pulled the club from his wide belt before he could recover, then struck the ogre in the side of the head. The heavy club strained his muscles, but Ike swung again. The club connected with the ogre’s head with a splitting
crack
. Blood sprayed out, splashing the floor along with hunks of skin and brain. The ogre crumpled.

Ike lowered the tip of the bloodied club, chest heaving. Death stained his hands like a visible cloud, thick as ink. His mother’s voice whispered through his mind.
Never kill another living being.

The other ogre drew his club from his belt. Ike lifted his eyes to the villain who plotted against humans and had helped Mother Sambucus lock up his father. Perhaps this ogre had also aided in his mother’s death. Ike’s nostrils flared. His kind mother manhandled by these brutes. He gathered courage to face another. He survived or they lived; he voted for himself.

With a roar, Ike charged the ogre. The beast swung his club over Ike’s head—too high. Ike leapt and crashed the club into the ogre’s head. Fueled by his jump, the club shattered through the ogre’s skull.

Ike staggered and crouched, panting. He’d just killed two ogres. Bile rose from his belly to burn his throat. He vomited, dropping the club.

Even when the hags had come after his mother, she’d never cringed. Her eyes had adopted a cold blankness. He could be strong like her, even if his legs trembled.

“Let me out,” Hilda called.

He stumbled over the gore and bodies to reach her cage. As he pulled his lock-picking kit from his jacket pocket, he studied her face, but found no revulsion there.

“You’ve killed before?” He worked on her lock. The pick slid in the sweat of his palm.

“I have.” Hilda blinked. “Are you surprised?”

He swung her cage door open. Hilda was the cousin his mother wrote to occasionally, the cousin he’d met a few times because she attended a boarding school near Langston Palace. He might not know her well, but he’d always compared her with his mother, yet even his soft-spoken mother who loved everything had eventually rebelled.

“No.” His heart thudded in his chest.

“Good. Now free the king. I’ll work on his advisor.”

“Grand Vizier,” Ike corrected on impulse. He started picking his father’s lock. The man didn’t budge. Ice stabbed through Ike’s heart. What if the spell Mother Sambucus had cast caused his father to forget him forever? His last living parent—a stranger.

“They have been enchanted, so they may not move,” Hilda warned from the other cage.

Ike swung the cage door open.

Ike grabbed his father. The King didn’t resist his pull. His elaborate clothes hung off his frail body. Long before, his father had been thick with muscle thanks to his daily workouts. Now he felt like a street urchin.

Ike hugged him anyway. “Father, it’s me. Ike. I’m back.” Worry gnawed his mind—his father needed his help to regain health. When he did, what would King Elias say about the life Ike had chosen to live?

“He can’t react.” Hilda heaved the Grand Vizier from the cage. “He can hear you, though, if that makes you feel better.”

Ike hugged his father harder. “I’ve missed you.”

“We must go.” Hilda pulled the freed Grand Vizier toward the door. “We’ll show them to the public. As long as we guide them, they should be able to walk on their own. If not, we drag them.”

“And we find Edna.” Ike clasped his father’s hand, following them. The men walked, although they swayed on their feet.

Hilda smiled at Ike. “And the others, right? Rachel and Harrison.”

He coughed. “Of course.” He couldn’t allow his emotions to become too obvious; Mother Sambucus might use Edna against him.

“Anyone can see you’re smitten with her.” Hilda pushed the door open a crack. “Don’t lose your heart over her. She won’t survive this.”

Ike wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Don’t say that.”

“Hate me all you want,” she whispered, “but we can’t all make it through this. Come on anyway, the hallway’s clear. You lead. You know the way better than I do.”

Ike pulled his father through the doorway. The man followed like a child, his steps unsteady. The hallway’s wooden floor was as polished as he remembered, the walls just as white, and the gilding around the doors shone, yet the air felt too cold. Goose bumps rose on his skin.

He led them around the corner, expecting to see a hag or ogre, but the hallway was clear. The villains were probably deeper in the castle where few guests traveled. If he followed this hallway, it would take him to the library. That room stretched upwards for three stories, covered in bookshelves and windows. He’d spent hours in there with his parents every night. Remembering how they’d taken turns reading to him brought stinging tears to his eyes.

He turned the next corner. The new hallway would take them to the main foyer, and they could leave the castle, then return later for—

“Edna,” Ike exclaimed. She, Rachel, and Harrison stepped through a doorway, blinking at the hallway. They turned at his call and smiles spread across their faces. At the sight of Edna, he couldn’t stop the grin that stretched his lips.

Ike released his father to run the three steps it took him to seize Edna around the waist and yank her against him until she squeaked. Her arms looped around his neck and his breath hitched.

“We must keep moving.” Hilda’s voice tore him away from Edna. He stepped back, cheeks flushed. Edna’s eyes glowed with a brilliance he could’ve sworn was magical. “We’re taking the King and his advisor outside where they’ll be safe,” Hilda told the others.

“That’s the King?” Rachel stiffened, coughed, and bowed. “Your Majesty, it’s an honor—”

“He can’t respond,” Hilda snapped. “We’re wasting time. Formalities don’t stand here.”

“After we know they won’t be harmed,” Ike said, “we’ll come back to deal with the hags and ogres. We’ll plan something then.”

“I know how to do that.” Edna smiled as she rubbed her cameo.

“Now is not the time to play the hero,” Hilda growled.

“I’m not.” Edna met the hag’s gaze without flinching.

Ike’s heart swelled. The lost girl who relied on him to save her brother had vanished beneath the armor of this brave young woman.

“What do we do?” Ike fiddled with his collar.

“This is ridiculous.” Hilda snorted. “Ike and I will decide what to do, and we’ll go for help, and—”

“Are you willing to risk your life for this cause?” Edna interrupted.

Hilda’s eyes bugged. “Of course I am. What a horrible question to ask.”

“Then Rachel will take the King and Harrison will take his Vizier.”

“Soldiers will see two unknown children abducting them,” Hilda countered.

“Not when they realize the King and Vizier have been drugged with magic.” Edna nibbled her lower lip before she lifted her chin. “I know what to do.”

Do you see my hopes and dreams?

dna and Hilda followed Ike up the steps to his bedroom. Edna’s boot slipped on the polished marble and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out when her shin struck the next stair.

“We’d better not run into anyone.” Hilda lifted her skirt as she ascended.

“I have a feeling the hags will avoid the front lest anyone sees them from outside. They don’t want to be viewed. Not all of them are as prestigious as Mother Sambucus, and they won’t want to be connected with drugging the King or his Vizier.” Ike’s voice wavered. “The hags will stick to the back of Langston.”