Page 85 of A Thieving Curse

They waited for several excruciatingly long minutes. If she didn’t get to see Gareth soon, Raelyn feared she might burst. At long last, the palace doors opened, and a middle-aged man with a balding head emerged. He wore a knee-length bright blue tunic with crimson embellishments and a cynical expression. The guard snapped to attention as the man marched down the steps and stopped in front of them, his cold gaze fixed on Raelyn.

“You’re Princess Raelyn Argent of Eynlae?”

She curtsied with all the poise she could muster. “Yes, your lordship.”

He frowned. “I am Sir Prescott, His Royal Excellency the king’s steward. If you’re the princess, where have you been, why are you here now, and why do you look like…this.”

Her face heated. “I was separated from my parents near the top of the Gonah Way—what we call the Thetlane Pass.” Prescott raised a brow, as if impressed she knew that detail. “We were attacked by a manticore. My horse startled and fled into the woods.” She hunched her shoulders and mimicked an appearance of fear. Thinking back on her early terror, it wasn’t difficult. “I was captured by a dragon who has been holding me hostage in his cave. I finally managed to escape and wandered in the mountains for days until this kind man”—she motioned to Peter—“found and helped me. He gave me a ride in his horse-drawn cart until his palfrey went lame and has walked with me the rest of the way.”

Peter bowed. “It is my pleasure to serve the crown.”

“For a price, I imagine,” Prescott said, his mouth turning down.

Peter shrugged. “If it pleases His Excellency the king.”

“Right.” Prescott’s lips twisted. “I suppose there is only one way to prove your story. I hope for your sake that you’re telling the truth, or your death will be swift. Follow me.”

He led them through the orchard to a low stone building that abutted the wall, opened the door, and motioned them inside. Two armed guards sat at the single table in the small one-room building. A single door was in the back wall, which appeared to be the inner palace wall itself. The guards looked up in surprise, then stood and bowed to the steward.

“More prisoners?” one asked, tilting his head.

“No,” Prescott said. “Visitors, of a sort. Watch the man, he can wait here.” Raelyn followed him through the door in the back wall, down a stone staircase illuminated by mounted candles, and into the dungeon.

The air grew dank, and fear tempered Raelyn’s excitement to see her brother. What state would she find him in?

Lonely cells with rigid iron bars stretched out on both sides of a curving aisle that extended to the right and left. Every fourth cell had a tiny window set with bars at the very top of the wall, through which came a tiny amount of sunlight. Torches flickered every several feet.

Prescott led her to the right, passing several empty cells before he turned to a windowless one. She could just make out a figure slouched in the far corner, his back to them. Prescott tapped on the bars.

“Visitor for you, Your Grace.”

The figure harrumphed in a familiar way and stood. He moved toward the bars, and the light of a nearby torch fell on his tired face and scraggly beard.

“Gareth!” Raelyn cried out as she pressed against the bars, reaching toward him.

Gareth sucked in a sharp breath and lunged forward. “Raelyn?” He grabbed her hands. “You’re alive,” he breathed.

She nodded, too choked up to speak.

He sobbed and leaned his head against the bars, their foreheads almost touching as he wept and clutched her hands. “Rae. You’re alive. I knew you were.” He shifted back and looked her over, his cheeks soaked with tears. “I don’t understand. What happened? How are you here?”

She forced her tight throat to work. “Dragon. Oh Gareth, I’ve been so worried…” She remembered her story. “I didn’t know if you survived the manticore attack. And then I heard in Hathlon that you were being held prisoner, and I didn’t want to believe it. What happened?”

He snorted. “I may have punched your betrothed. Repeatedly. Sorry.”

“What?” Raelyn gasped. “Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t go looking for you. Because he didn’t care. And I decided I didn’t like his face.”

“Is it…an ugly face?”

He snorted, drying his tears on his sleeve. “Irritatingly, no. But what about a dragon? I—”

Prescott cleared his throat. “All right, Your Grace, you have sufficiently proved your identity. If you will move out of the way, I will release your brother, as your miraculous appearance does fulfill the terms of the treaty and of his release.”

Raelyn gladly obliged. The moment Gareth was out of the cell, he hugged her close, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

“I looked for you, Raelyn,” he mumbled. “I looked for days. I tried to get Mother and Father to let me keep looking. I tried to talk Prince Tristan into searching. I knew you weren’t dead. I could feel it.”

---