Page 49 of The Good Daughter

It ought to have been easy to feel sorry for King Titus. He was the model of what a king used to be in the olden days, he would have ridden magnificently through fairytales, slaying dragons, rescuing princesses, and being generally fabulous, showing off his man-mountain musculature, unbelievably handsome features, and his flowing blonde hair, and no one would have cared that he was a bit of an idiot.

But times had changed, and a moron on the throne stood out all the more when he sat next to Sylvia, whose intelligence was as penetrating as a diamond-tipped drill. So, it should have been easy to feel sorry for him, but an idiot can be nasty as well as someone smart. King Titus had grown up pulling the wings off flies, and though the flies had gotten bigger, he was still basically doing the same thing.

“Where is our father?” They were the first words I’d said since being brought in here. We’d been separated earlier, Uther and I. I’d been dragged off to be put in irons and he’d been taken someplace else.

“You should be more worried about yourself,” said Sylvia, her smile etched in acid.

“I asked about our father.”

Sylvia shrugged shoulders you could have cut yourself on. “He is quite safe. Remember, he is of use to me. Ineedhim. You, on the other hand, are more or less superfluous to requirements. I could have you flogged to death now and no one would make a peep. Except for you, of course.”

“Let me see our father.” I ignored her threats. This was how Sylvia operated; she liked to be in control, to see the other person squirm.

Which didn’t mean that she wouldn’t carry those threats through.

“You’ll see him if it becomes necessary,” replied Sylvia. “For now, he is quite comfortable. I have no reason to be hard on him. Particularly when I need his word.”

“To make you Queen of Wincham.”

“It must be killing you,” sneered my sister.

“I couldn’t give a rat’s shit about Wincham,” I snarled back. “I only care about our father.”

“He is quite safe as I said,” Sylvia went on, a little put out that I wasn’t squirming as she’d hoped. “For now. I may need you to convince him to remain so.”

“I thought I was superfluous to requirements.”

Sylvia shrugged—it was a gesture for which that angular body could have been designed. “You should be. But I like to have a secondary plan. Frankly, I see no reason why our father should not make me his heir—particularly in his current condition. I could probably convince him to eat a lemon the way he is now, addle-minded old fool. But if, for whatever reason, he proves uncooperative, then you will convince him to do the right thing.”

“I’ll never tell him to give up his throne to you,” I growled back at my sister.

Sylvia pointed her finger at me. “You’ve become very combative since living in the mountains. I don’t know if Aunt Leah made you this way or if you were always a belligerent little cow and she just helped you to be yourself. I’m inclined towards the latter. Anyway, you misunderstand, I do not need you to verbally convince him. If King Uther chooses not to make me queen, then we shall simply torture you in front of him until he sees sense. I wonder how long and how loud your screams will have to be before he gives in. Especially, as he doesn’t currently seem to remember you. It will be an interesting experiment.”

I said nothing.

My fate was sealed as was my father’s, and the fate of the lowlands along with us. Sooner or later, my father would make Sylvia queen. Wincham might resist, but even if they didn’t then Latran certainly would. One way or another it would be war. Though I’d probably be dead long before that.

And I had no one but myself to thank.

“Take her away.”

***

The jail cells of Gaunt were as unpleasant as you would expect. They occupied a tower on the outer edge of the castle, and I was sure that it was positioned so that the inmates could look out and see the wilderness spread before them; all that freedom, and they had no part of it.

I sat in the darkness, trying to think and at the same time, desperately trying not to think. I wanted to come up with a plan for my escape and then for my father’s rescue. But as soon as I focused on as much, then I came up against the fact that there was no escape. I couldn’t get out of this cell and when the door opened, I’d be met by guards.

I buried my head in my hands.

At least Uther—at leastmy fatherwas safe—for now. But how long would that last? Once he’d signed over his rights as monarch to Sylvia, then his existence would become an inconvenience to her.

There had to be something I could do!

But there wasn’t.

As I sat there, feeling increasingly sorry for myself, a noise reached my ears from outside; a strange one but one I recognized none the less. It was the sound I’d heard the night Devon had come back injured. A leathery sound accompanied by the rushing of air. This time, it seemed more controlled, the rushing air coming in great gusts that finally stopped in a crunch that seemed to come from directly outside my window.

Well… I had nothing else to do.

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