Page 43 of To Ride the Wind

“You were outside? In the evening? What do you think your mother will do if she hears?”

“She hasn’t heard?” Gwen should have felt relieved, but she already had larger misdeeds hanging over her head.

“Princess Gwen.” Alma sighed, her manner more motherly than Queen Celandine’s had ever been. “You are fortunate. If it had been different guards that found you…” She shook her head.

Gwen’s brow creased. “Are you saying they had a reason not to report me?”

“Did I say they didn’t make a report?” Alma snapped, only to rub a hand against her forehead as if overcome with exhaustion and anxiety. “How do you think I know of it?”

“I don’t understand,” Gwen said slowly, trying to make sense of Alma’s cryptic words. “You said my mother didn’t know of it yet, and now you’re saying they did make a report.”

Alma straightened and gave a rough chuckle. “Do you think the guards who patrol the grounds report directly to the queen? For someone who grew up here, you have an odd notion of how a palace works.”

“Oh.” Gwen frowned. “Yes, I suppose…”

The situation still didn’t make sense to her, but Alma seemed irritated by the questioning, and she didn’t want to put her in a bad mood before she got to much more important questions.

“My mother intends to marry me off,” Gwen said, getting straight to the point. “Do you know of that too?”

Alma’s eyes widened. “She told you about him?”

Gwen gasped, clutching Alma’s arm. “You know who it is? She wouldn’t tell me, except to say that he’s from beyond the mountains.”

Alma grimaced, her expression suggesting she had made a mistake. Gwen’s suspicion hardened into certainty. The captive servants—her only allies in the palace—knew a great deal more than they had ever revealed to her.

She pushed aside the feeling of betrayal. There would be room for that later. For the moment, she had to make the most of this brief opportunity. She tightened her hold on Alma’s arm, not letting go when the woman tried to gently tug herself free.

“What do you know, Alma?” she pleaded. “You have to tell me!”

Alma’s expression of unease morphed into one of sorrow and compassion.

“Please, Alma,” Gwen whispered, tears coming to her eyes.

She didn’t have to dig for the emotion—it was already there. Her desperation for answers went deeper than even Alma could guess.

Alma opened her mouth and then closed it again, her eyes sliding away from Gwen’s before coming back to her face. She was clearly torn.

“We didn’t like to do it,” she whispered, making Gwen’s fingers dig tighter into her arm. “The few of us who know have often debated if we should…” She sighed. “But it’s dangerous, and you’re not the only youngster we have to consider.”

“Youngster?” Gwen managed a smile although it felt distant and strange on her lips.

Alma smiled softly, finally removing her arm from Gwen’s grip and taking her hands instead.

“To one as old as me, you’re young still, Princess. But so is Miriam, and others like her. Surely you can understand our hesitance. We have seen all you endure, but you are still—”

“My mother’s daughter.” The words slipped from Gwen’s lips, burning on their way out.

“That doesn’t make it right!” Alma said with muted ferocity. “What sort of mother drugs her own child? It’s almost enough to make the rumors about the mountain people seem true.”

“What?” Gwen stared at Alma. “My mother drugs me?” Her voice rose on the final words, and she glanced guiltily at the closed door.

Alma bit her lip. “I didn’t…You mustn’t…Princess, you mustn’t say anything! There’s no one else who knows about it, so if the queen finds out you know the truth, she’ll know who told you. You must promise me—”

“She drugs me!” Gwen repeated, at a quieter volume but with no less heat. “How often? Why?”

But even as she asked, she already knew the answer, at least to the first question. Her unnaturally deep slumber every night had seemed unnatural. But even knowing her mother, she had suspected illness rather than deliberate poison. Why had she never drawn the connection with the sleepiness that always overtook her after the evening meal?

She could only conclude it was because it had been her reality for so long. And she sometimes felt sleepy after a large lunch as well.

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