Page 47 of Beguiled
“You were not in the mine pits.” I wanted to move into the firelight but forced myself to remain where I was. “Were you?”
“Aye, of course we were.”
“Then tell me how you left Slave Town.” There was one way in and out of the mine pits—a suspension bridge made of ropes and wooden slats. It hung over a deep ravine and was frightening to cross. It had swayed the entire time I was on it, and I’d feared at any moment I might fall to my death.
The prisoner hesitated. “I can’t tell you now, can I? Or more prisoners would end up revolting.”
“You cannot tell me because you have never been there.” I shifted in my saddle, wishing I could get down and wrest the truth from him.
“I’ve been there. I swear it.”
I locked gazes with Mikkel. “He is lying.”
“What shall I do to elicit the truth from him? Skin him alive?”
Mikkel would never do such a thing, but I played along with him. “Yes, but scalp him first.”
“Very well, my lady. Your wish is my command.” He unsheathed his knife and stalked toward the prisoner now tied to one of the trees. Mikkel’s blade was longer and sharper than most, and it glinted in the firelight. Upon reaching the prisoner, Mikkel grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair at his temple and then pressed the knife to the spot.
The prisoner screamed—more from fear than pain, for Mikkel had drawn only a scant amount of blood. “You’re right. We weren’t in the mine pits. We were in the dungeons beneath the palace.”
Mikkel withdrew his knife a fraction. “Who released you and why?”
“The queen’s guards. They told us we were free and to do what we would, but that we had to tell people we’d escaped from the mine pits.”
Mikkel pulled his knife away, then thrust the man’s head back as though disgusted with him.
I was more disgusted with my mother than with these criminals. She’d set them free? And for what reason? Did the reason even matter? Was there any excuse for giving such dangerous criminals license todo what they would? And why would she want to cause Vilmar distress, especially after he’d put an end to the dreaded ritual that had cast a pall over Warwick for so many years?
Mikkel mounted his horse and gave instructions for the family regarding the criminals. When we were on our way, Mikkel rode silently. I sensed his tempestuous mood and so remained quiet as well, letting my thoughts gallop far ahead. What was my mother thinking?
The truth was, I’d never been able to understand her. Especially not her plot to have me murdered.
Shortly after I turned eighteen, she had planned a hunting trip with courtiers and friends. Only two weeks before the Choosing Ball, I’d assumed it was one last gift to me, that she suspected as well as I did that there was every real chance I’d be sacrificed to Grendel. I hadn’t been overly frightened by the prospect, had decided if someone must die, then I would give my life. I only regretted having to leave Ruby behind.
I’d started the hunting trip determined to make the most of my favorite pastime. Little had I known the queen had arranged for one of the royal huntsmen to coerce me away from the others with tales of a beautiful white buck. I went with him, only to have him creep up behind me and start squeezing my neck.
Thankfully, another of the huntsmen had been suspicious and followed us. He knocked out his companion from behind, warned me of the queen’s scheming, and told me to run away and not come back. I was indebted to that lone huntsman for looking out for me and prayed he had escaped the queen’s wrath when she learned I hadn’t died after all.
I had to accept the truth no matter how much it hurt. She’d never loved me. Not even when I’d been a little girl. I’d always fallen short of earning her favor and attention. Mostly she’d used me like an object on display, having Ruby and me trail her in our glorious gowns and brilliant jewels as an extension of her glamour.
However, in the last few years, I’d consistently drawn the attentionawayfrom her rather thantoher. But was jealousy enough to lead to murder? Especially of one’s daughter?
“Why does your mother want to kill my brother?” Mikkel’s voice broke through my reverie. Accusation dripped from every word.
My attention snapped to him. Though the darkness of the woodland shrouded him, I could sense the rigidness of his posture.
Did he think I was connected with my mother’s scheming against Vilmar? Or that I was in some way to blame? My ire flared to life as rapidly as dry windfall catching a flyaway spark. “And why do you think I would know such information? Have you forgotten that my mother wants to kill me too?”
I kicked my mount into a trot, moving ahead of Mikkel. Now that we were so close to Kensington, I knew the forests well. I’d hunted this land oft enough over the years with my father. I had many good memories of my adventures with him, which only served to heighten my sorrow.
“She is angry with Vilmar for capturing Grendel,” Mikkel stated, his voice still hard. “Therefore, I conclude she had need of the madman in some way. You must tell me what it is.”
Had the queen needed Grendel? I’d always believed her resistance to capturing the monster had to do with her unwillingness to put my father at risk. But she could have assigned her toughest warriors to the task, could she not? Why hadn’t she?
“Speak the truth, Pearl. I must know everything.”
“And I have told you everything.”
