To The Princess Bound (39 page)

Victory frowned, remembering the streak of white along the side of Dragomir’s right temple.  “So
that’s
what that is…” she whispered.  “His scar.”

“Shoulda died,” the brother at the fence said.  “Even Mom said he shoulda died.”

“Somethin’ kept him alive,” the closer brother agreed.  “Ma says it wasn’t his time.”  He lifted the gate latch and let them inside. 

“And he healed fast, too,” the boy beside her added.  “Way too fast.  Ask Thor.  Like you could almost see his head closing up.”

“Yeah,” his brother agreed.  “He was only out a few days, and when he came to, he started healing himself just like he healed Rachel tonight.  Real angry-like.  Nothing scary as a pissed-off Emp, lemme tell you.  That Praetorian only had a week-long head start before Drago was packed up and out after him.”

“Brought back his head,” the nearest boy said, full of teenage awe.  “Killed him with his bare hands.”

Victory snorted.  “He said he shot him a few times, first.”

The Cooper boys looked at her, then both began laughing at the same time.  “Uh, no,” the one at the gate chuckled.  “He didn’t.”

“Yeah,” his brother agreed.  “Only gun in the town belongs to Greg Braddock, and Greg had it on him all the time after Drago tried to kill himself.  He sure as
hell
wasn’t letting him near it again, not so soon after Meggie.  I mean, the healer?  Killin’ hisself on your gun?  You’d be thrown outta the village in a second flat.”

Dragomir didn’t use a gun to kill the Praetorian?
 Victory frowned.  “So he used a bow?”

The closer boy shrugged.  “Doubt it.  He went up there to die.  Everybody knew it, but nobody could stop him.” 

“All
I
saw on him was a knife,” the boy in the lead said.  “And he came back with a head.”

“Yeah,” the boy agreed, nodding, his eyes growing distant as he watched old memory replay in front of them.  “Came back with a
head
.”  He was obviously impressed.

“Braddock made him burn it,” the boy in the lead said.  “But he had it on his front door for awhile.  Let the crows pick the eyeballs out.”

The closer boy nodded.  “Yeah.  The
eyeballs
.”

“And he stopped washing or eating, too,” the boy leading the cart added, really starting to get into the story, now.  “Just came out every morning to sit on the porch and stare at the head.  Momma said he was goin’ crazy, and Dad had to help Thor and a couple other guys drag him down to the river and bathe.”

Suddenly, from the trail behind them, a big male voice boomed, “I ain’t gonna have to tell your mother you two boys’re tellin’ stories that ain’t none of your business, are you?”

Both of the boys went crimson and spun to face Thor.  “She asked about Drago and the head,” the boy at the gate said meekly.

Thor strode up, Whip on the end of his leash.  His eyes were fixed on Dragomir, and he was frowning.  “What happened to the poor sot this time?”

“He healed Rachel,” the boy holding the horse said instantly.  “Made her cough up a pile of snot.”

“Yeah,
snot
,” his brother affirmed.

Thor sighed and put a hand to his brother’s head.  He winced, obviously not liking what he found there.  “Well, thanks for bringing him home.  I’ll take the fool inside.”

“Momma told us to stay,” one of the boys said, warily glancing at the other.  “To feed goats and such, until he was on his feet again and told us to leave.”

“I’m telling you to leave,” Thor growled.  He reached down and, as easily as if he were picking up a sack of potatoes, threw the huge man over his shoulder.  “Go on home.  Get yourselves some dinner.”

The brother’s looked at each other, then the one at the gate said nervously, “Uh, if it’s the same to you, Mr. Shipborn, we’d rather just stay here until he tells us to leave.  Ma’s in a mood.”  Beside him, his brother vigorously nodded his agreement.

Thor looked at them a long moment, then heaved a huge sigh.  “Fine, but you’ll be sleeping on the floor.  You know the shoddy shape of the place, since he lost Meggie.  Probably won’t be a spare blanket in the house.”

“We brought blankets,” one of them said, gesturing to the cart.

Thor grunted, then turned and carried Dragomir into the house.  Victory, still attached to the chain around his waist, had no choice but to follow.

Thor carried the Emp through the hovel, down the hall, and into the tiny bedroom.  With all the gentleness one would give a sack of potatoes, he dropped Dragomir into the bed, then yanked the cover around him.  He gave Victory a warning look.  “You be on your best behavior, missy.  Just because he’s helpless, it ain’t mean he ain’t got plenty of help, right outside this door.”  He gestured to the hall leading into the bedroom.  “And before you ask, no, I don’t know where the fool put the key, or I’d just free your idiot self and let you go run off and get yourself killed in the woods.  Save us all a lot of heartache.”  His blue eyes were intense.  “Get me?”

Victory swallowed and nodded.

Thor grunted.  “Wasn’t my idea to drop you out here, and it sure as hell isn’t my idea to keep you, so just be grateful you’re alive and breathing, keep your mouth shut, and let him get some sleep.  I’ll bring in some dinner in a bit.”  At that, he got up and left, leaving Victory alone with the sleeping Emp.

A Plan Foiled

Adjudicator Keene followed the guards down a long, dark passageway, then waited as they stopped and unlocked a darkened cell.  “Lights,” he said.

Immediately, the lights flickered on, illuminating the tiny stone cubicle and its bleary-eyed-yet-defiant occupant.

“So, I assume by now that you’ve figured out that I figured out what you did,” Adjudicator Keene told his son.  He stepped within the cell walls and leaned against the bars, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Did you actually think for a minute that I wouldn’t?”

His son stared at him with a look of shock that Adjudicator Keene found amusing.  “Then you plan to hand me over to the Imperium?” the boy babbled.  More cowardly than Keene would have liked in a son, but at least he would be cooperative.

Idly tracing a finger down one of the grimy cell bars, Keene said, “No need for that.  I’ll free you the moment you tell me where you’re hiding your sister.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Prince Matthias lied.  He got to his feet, the chain from his wrist-shackles dragging upon the ground.  “My sister is dead.”  There was an odd tone to his son’s voice, and for a moment, Adjudicator Keene had to wonder if this pathetic, scared-looking kid was really his son.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Adjudicator Keene said.  “Stop wasting our time, Matthias.  What did you do with her?”

“She fell in the Boiling Rift.”

So the boy
did
know.  Smiling, Adjudicator Keene cocked his head.  “And how would you know that, if you hadn’t conspired to rescue her?”

Matthias quickly looked away.  Was he
afraid?
  Again, Adjudicator Keene had the odd feeling that he were talking to an imposter, not his strong-willed son.  But then again, fear was a welcome sign.  There were many things that Keene could do with fear.  “So,” Adjudicator Keene said, examining his fingernails.  “I’ve had the palace thoroughly searched, and found nothing except a few of her Praetorian, which have been subsequently imprisoned.”  He gestured at the other cells.  “Right down the hall, in fact.”

That got through to his son.  He saw a flash of despair, then it was quickly hidden again by hot, seething anger.  “You’ll never find her, worm.”

Worm.
  That was a new one.  Adjudicator Keene actually found himself surprised at his son’s impetuousness, especially considering his rather hopeless situation.  “So,” he said, “Since we’re both aware that your plans failed, and that your poor, dimwitted sister can no more orchestrate your freedom than she can pop a chambermaid’s cherry, it is my hope that you will see the stupidity behind your actions these last few days and simply relent to the fact that I
will
find your sister, and she
will
die, and the sooner she does, the sooner I will let you return to your normal duties.”

His son stared at him.  “My normal duties?”

“Of course.  You are training to be an Adjudicator.  I must have someone to take my place when I pass.”

But Matthias scowled.  “You think I’m betraying my sister so I can go back to being your lap-dog.”

Adjudicator Keene gave his son a patronizing look.  “Have you ever entertained the idea that you weren’t?”  He snorted.  “Really.  I thought you were smarter than that, Matthias.”

Matthias looked away, looking almost cowed.  “Get out.  I’ll sit down here and rot before I see Victory killed.”

Again, his response set off alarms in Adjudicator Keene’s mind.  Matthias was smarter than this…wasn’t he?  Adjudicator Keene frowned at his son, his eyes seeking out the nervous sweat draining down the child’s cheeks, his face as open and as readable as a book.  Reluctantly, Keene came to the unhappy decision that the boy was not as well-suited to the throne as he had thought.  “You disappoint me, Matthias.  A ruler needs to know when he’s defeated.  He must learn to make rational decisions.  This…” he gestured at the cold stone around them, the shackles, the bars, “…is not rational.”

Matthias snorted and said, “You never understood anything but your accounts.”

Which was bothering him.  Adjudicator Keene frowned at his son.  “Why has she not accessed her accounts?”  He could find her in an
instant
if she would just break down and buy some bauble, some tiny luxury…

Despite his fear, Matthias’s look gave no more away about his mental state of mind than had Adjudicator Keene been looking into the eyes of a stone tiger.  “I’d rather
die
than tell you anything to betray my sister.”

And he meant it.

Keene blinked at his son, anger slowly taking the place of surprise.  It was unfortunate, but the boy would have to die.  Adjudicator Keene couldn’t entrust his empire to someone so short-sighted, so wrapped up in emotion that he couldn’t observe the obvious.  Mercy’s economy depended on slavery, and a soft heart would make that system crumble completely.  Keene would simply have to find someone else to fill the boy’s shoes.

Still, he needed to find the girl and eliminate her, lest she pop back up unexpectedly a second time.  He was still trying to understand how she’d survived the first time.  If nothing else, it seemed his daughter had a penchant for survival, which was, to say the least, annoying.  That he
still
hadn’t found her was beginning to grate.

Musing to himself, now, Adjudicator Keene said, “I found the mine where you stashed the passengers and had your co-conspirators in the town executed.  I found the ship you used to deliver her to her destination, and while you cleverly removed the locator beacon and all flight recording equipment, it had been recently refueled, and the log suggested that it was some distance away, if the trip to the Boiling Rift was taken into account.” 

His son’s face tightened, but he looked away, saying nothing.

Keene frowned, thinking.  “The ship was atmo-only, so unless you delivered her across the planet to some crudely-fashioned space-pad, she is still on Mercy.  But where?  I found eleven of her twenty Praetorian, and am sure to find the last nine in the next couple days.  That means, somewhere on this rock, there is a princess without her royal guard.  One would think that such a princess, with nowhere to go, would tap into her old accounts to keep herself surrounded by the luxuries she was used to.”

When Matthias said nothing, he gave his son a long, considering look.  “Yet she has made no charges to her accounts, and yours have been seized.  This means she has a friend upon the planet.  A wealthy man—or possibly a woman, considering her condition—who is keeping her relatively comfortable enough that she has not yet attempted to access any of her funds.”

“Neither of your children are as stupid as you would assume,” his son said.

“Oh?”  Adjudicator Keene leaned back, listening, having long ago learned that, rather than pepper the guilty with questions, it was better to allow them to speak their piece.  They almost always gave away key facts in their feeble attempts to defend their actions.