Chapter XXII - Powerless

~ Well; here's more Zoe for you. :) I have hardly reread it, and I have done NO editing. It needs work, but it's a first draft (as you all well know by now). Let me know what you think. I was not satisfied with the second half of it at all; I envisioned the whole sequence completely differently, but it'll have to do for now. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them--especially about the second half. Thank you and I hope you enjoy.

Emily (Firebrand *grin*) ~

Chapter XXII

“In the name of the Almighty, and by the witness of all these present, Prince Jaquin and Princess Brysa have now pledged their troth to each other.”

Brysa’s eyes clenched shut momentarily as Father Hendwich, the elderly priest who resided in Ruma, pronounced her doom. The betrothal rite had been short. Her father had opened the ceremony and then allowed Father Hendwich to complete it. The affair had not even taken ten minutes, and the words spoken by Brysa, Jaquin, and the priest had been few.

Yet it had changed so much.

Brysa’s hand was held fast in Jaquin’s meaty one. When her lashes opened, she was faced with his greedy leer. “Lady Brysa, you shall be a glorious queen for my people. It has been long since we had a lady residing in our royal hall.” His gaze swept over her in a disconcerting way and then returned to her face. “I look forward to our future together.”

At least one of us looks forward to it, she thought mordantly, feeling sick at the sight of him.

“Daughter, you may retire to your quarters now,” Brastus told her, a rough edge to his voice.

Brysa quickly slid her hand out of Jaquin’s and replied, “Yes, sire. I bid you good evening.”

Before anyone could say anything to stop her, Brysa turned, lifted her skirt and exited the room quietly. She gripped the fabric of her skirt tightly so as to hide her trembling hands.

I’m betrothed. It’s final. Jaquin and the Wild Men are my future and I cannot change that. My fate is sealed.

Rebekka and Gwenneth followed her, their feet padding quickly along the hallway, unknowing of the princess’s depressing thoughts.

Halfway back to her chambers, Brysa paused by a window and looked out into the night. Drinking in deep breathes of the crisp air, she struggled to regain her poise. She despised losing control of her emotions, even when the only witnesses to her discomposure were two maidservants. She rested her forearms on the stone ledge and leaned out slightly, looking down into the palace courtyard.

A few of the guests who had attended the feast and ceremony were leaving. Torches lined the edges of the square, shedding light on the exiting guests. She could make out the forms of men as they stumbled out. Obviously, all of them were more than a little intoxicated. Her lips pursed and then turned downward in a frown.

Several moments later she absently focused on a man who was coming into the courtyard. A latecomer? Her eyes followed his progress toward the entrance of the palace; suddenly, her gaze sharpened.

What is he holding? No, not holding; dragging would be a more appropriate term. But… Her thought trailed off as she realized the man was pulling a person with bound hands along with him. A prisoner? Who?

Her thoughts abruptly took wing and flew away. A name, almost forgotten, came to the surface of her mind: Cormac Alstair. She remembered that a merchantman with that name was being investigated a month since. Yes. Rebekka told me of the Meruvian trader some time ago. Could her father’s minions finally have found proof to bring against him, or was this some other unfortunate individual who was guilty of something other than spying?

Brysa watched the strange man drag his prisoner into the palace. He must be going to the dungeons, she thought. Oddly enough, the dungeons of Ruma were located beneath the palace. Daily, Brysa observed prisoners being hauled into the dank stone prison—or dragged out, usually to their unpleasant terminations.

Unexpected and intense curiosity grabbed hold of her. Abruptly she drew back from the window and turned toward Rebekka and Gwenneth with a swish of her skirt. “Quickly. Come with me,” she ordered, beginning to stride swiftly down the hall. If she was fleet enough, she would be able to intercept the man and his captive before they reached the dungeons.

“My lady?” Rebekka’s breathless voice came from behind Brysa as they continued half-running along. “What are you doing?”

Brysa’s reply was quick and succinct: “I don’t know.”

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Tancred stood and stepped over the bench as Princess Brysa fled from the Hall of Kings, taking care that his booted foot did not connect with the lolling head of Tyler Mannion the Cheap. It was always good policy to leave drunken sleepers alone, he thought with slight amusement. Turning, he saw that Jaedon had also stood and stepped away from the bench. Around them the revelry had begun again and would continue through the night. Tancred did not intend to take any part whatsoever in it.

“Had enough?” Jaedon asked quietly.

“More than enough,” Tancred replied in a matching low voice. His burgundy cloak flickered as he turned and started toward the Hall’s outlet. He stepped over a broken wine vessel and avoided the crimson stain that had spread across the stone floor. Exiting without a word to the guards or anyone else, the two men strode down the hall with firm, purposeful steps.

They were near the main gateway of the palace when Tancred halted and raised his hand, signally Jaedon to do likewise.

His friend immediately stopped. “What is it?”

“Listen,” Tancred breathed, tilting his head.

The sound of many footsteps could be heard a little further ahead of them, along with the distinctive sound of a lady’s rustling skirt. Tancred’s eyebrows twitched up when he heard the princess’s voice ring out in the corridor around the bend.

“Halt immediately, in the name of Princess Brysa Alustate!”

Walking quietly forward but careful to keep his demeanor from becoming overly suspicious looking, Tancred peered around the corner. Princess Brysa stood erect and darkly beautiful in the orange torchlight, her expression displaying the proud haughtiness that seemed characteristically inbred to royalty. She was facing a man whose features Tancred could not see, and who was supporting a cloaked figure whose face and form was likewise unknown.

Brysa spoke with an air of command. “Who are you and what are you doing with that young man?”

An unpleasant and memorable chuckle sounded and Tancred’s hand tightened into a fist as he recognized the figure of the man standing in front of Brysa. Montel.

Lieutenant Montel dipped his head to the princess and replied, “I’m just doing my civic duty and ridding the city of dangerous spies, m’lady,” he said. His voice was slightly lazy and lacking in respect. Judging by the stiffening of Brysa’s spine, she had noticed the missing deference as well.

“Is that how you address the Crown Princess of Elangsia?” she demanded imperiously.

Montel shifted the weight of his drooping prisoner. “Excuse me, Princess Alustate,” he replied, but did not offer his apologies. “My name is Lieutenant Montel. I must dispose of my captive, if you don’t mind.”

“I do,” she told him coldly. Peering closer at the prisoner in question, she inquired, “What is his name and crime?”

Montel’s voice was disgruntled as he responded. “For starters, it’s not a he. She is a dangerous spy against Elangsia and I unveiled her for the traitor she is.”

She? Tancred frowned deeply, his mind spinning. No. It can’t be.

Brysa’s voice was skeptical. “A woman?”

“Aye,” Montel grumbled. Moving swiftly, he pulled the hood of the cloak down and a frayed braid of brilliant auburn hair fell down the young woman’s back as he tilted her face toward the light of a torch, throwing her features into view. “She’s just beginning to wake up now.”

Zoe!

For one second, rage so hot and furious blazed through Tancred that he was afraid he would lose all control, march out, and slaughter Montel right where he stood. Zoe’s jaw was badly bruised and a trickle of blood ran out of her mouth. Her eyelashes fluttered as she began to come back to coherency.

Jaedon’s enraged mumble sounded from behind Tancred’s shoulder as the older man recognized Zoe as well. Tancred forced himself to step backward into the hall and turn his face away from the scene playing out before him. His chest heaved as he tried to restrain his fury. Deus! What must I do? I cannot leave her. I cannot rescue her. I am powerless! With a muted growl of frustration and anger, he slammed his fist into the stone wall with a dull thump. What must I do?

Brysa’s voice came again, sounding quiet due to the roar that filled Tancred’s ears. “You shall not be taking her to the dungeons,” she said authoritatively. “Take her to my quarters.”

“But, my lady,” Montel protested, clearly aghast. “She’s a spy, a dangerous—”

“Do you question me?” Brysa’s reply was sharp.

“N-no…”

“Then obey me at once!”

Tancred stepped forward to look around the corner again, not really knowing what he was doing. He forced himself to remain in the shadows of the hall, though it tore his spirit to remain motionless. The quandary he was in was devoid of a clear escape. If he moved out to intervene, he would be arrested himself. If he left her there, he would never forgive himself.

Montel wrenched Zoe around with a mutter of frustration, obeying Princess Brysa’s command. But, before they had completely turned, Zoe’s green eyes opened and pierced the shadows around Tancred.

Somehow she found and held his gaze. Her face was marked with concentration as her split lips parted and she whispered a single word to him in a voice that was laden with significance. “Grace.”

“Shut up,” Montel snarled, jerking her fully around. Tancred’s shoulders went taut as he silently seethed. “Begging for grace from the princess doesn’t suit you anyway, spy.”

Pain flashed over Zoe’s pale countenance, and Tancred saw for the first time that her right side was completely drenched with blood. Montel’s face twisted with malice; he reached forward and then cruelly dug his fingers into Zoe’s wounded shoulder. With a whisper of a moan passing between her lips, she fainted.

Tancred growled fiercely beneath his breath, thinking bitter thoughts.

Immediately the princess rebuked Montel, her tone sharp. “That was going too far, lieutenant! She is my prisoner now. As such, you will treat her with deference.”

“My apologies, Princess Alustate,” Montel replied with ill-masked displeasure, stooping down and sliding his arms around Zoe’s prone form. The lieutenant grunted a little as he lifted the young woman’s large-boned form.

Before Tancred had time to think of anything to do, Zoe had been carried out of sight down a hallway; accompanied by Montel, Brysa, and the two silent maidservants.

For one horrible moment, Tancred stood still, transfixed by what had just occurred. What have I done to deserve this, Deus? he cried out with a touch of desperation.

He felt Jaedon’s hand on his shoulder but said nothing to his older friend. What could he say? Jaedon knew the ramifications of what had happened. They need not discuss it right then. Tancred’s fists clenched and loosened methodically at his sides. His thoughts were scattered and he struggled to gather himself.

Grace. That is what Zoe had told him. She had not been pleading for mercy from the princess, as Montel had assumed. Tancred slowly exhaled, trying to release tension that refused to go.

It all came together. She was going to free the little girl by herself tonight, just as she always told me she would. I was a fool to miss the fact she would try for that tonight. Montel must have followed her and apprehended her. Now…. Tancred stared down the hall she had disappeared down. Princess Brysa had taken Zoe into her custody, saving Zoe from the dungeons. But how long would the princess be entertained by the sharp-tongued firebrand? The sheer enormity of the cataclysmic situation crashed over Tancred.

Now, she is in perhaps the most dangerous place in all Elangsia.

Fear, raw and powerful, smote him. Deus, guide me.

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Pain.

The moment Zoe stirred, hot streaks of agony darted through her right shoulder, causing her to think better of moving. She laid still, her mind slowly returning to comprehension. Where am I?

Grace. She had been trying to free the little girl when Montel found her. Her shoulder…the pain…yes, Montel had pierced her shoulder with her own dagger. I must be in the Elangsian dungeon, then. You fool, she dimly berated herself. Had you been but a little more careful, you wouldn’t have been caught. But her self-incrimination faded as quickly as it had come. It’s too late for that now, she thought grimly.

Zoe remembered waking up in a stone hallway, and that Tancred had been standing in the shadows. She had tried to tell him about Grace but did not want to reveal his presence to Montel. Somehow she must have had to presence of mind to know that if Tancred were seen by Montel, he would be in danger of arrest himself. Thinking back with ever-sharpening alertness, Zoe was amazed she had not blown his cover when in her hazy mental state.

Pulling her mind away from that, she considered what she had done. Speaking Grace’s name to Tancred had probably been the only thing she could have done, in view of the circumstances. But had he understood what she had been trying to convey?

“My lady, she is awake.”

At the sound of a female voice nearby, Zoe’s eyes snapped open. She quickly became aware that the place she was in was not the dungeons. Not unless they have luxury chambers in prison, she thought acerbically.

She was lying on what felt like a bearskin rug, and the surrounding candlelight of whatever room she was in was pleasantly dim. Her shoulder throbbed dully with every pulse of her heart, but it was not physical pain that arrested her immediate attention. That voice. I know that woman’s voice....

Turning her head to the left, she looked up into a face with familiar contours. Blinking slowly, she whispered hoarsely, “Rebekka?”

The golden-haired woman looked down at Zoe with soft blue eyes. “Yes,” she replied, also in a whisper. “I confess, I never thought I would see your face again, Zoe. Least of all in this place.”

Zoe’s mind was spinning. Was she dreaming? Why is Rebekka here? What place is this? Where am I?

Without thinking, she tried to raise herself into a sitting position. Instantly bolts of white-hot fury attacked her injured shoulder, and she fell back with a small cry that she quickly bit off into a moan. No, this wasn’t a dream. Dreams weren’t this painful.

“You must lie still,” Rebekka said quickly, placing her hand firmly on Zoe’s undamaged shoulder. “I washed your wound and stitched it up, but it will take a long while before you are well again.”

“How bad did he damage it?” Zoe gritted out, trying rather unsuccessfully to block out the insistent throbbing.

Before Rebekka could answer, a new voice broke into the conversation. “It is a bad wound; very deep. You will heal, but you will likely have to work hard to get your right arm back into the condition it was in originally...if it ever regains its old strength.”

Zoe tilted her head and looked up to see a dark-haired woman standing above her. She appraised the pale, richly-clad figure for a long moment. “Who might you be?”

The woman’s eyebrow quirked and she said nothing. Rebekka cleared her throat meaningfully. “That,” Rebekka said with a trace of sternness, “is Princess Brysa Alustate of Elangsia.”

Princess! Zoe tried to conceal her surprise. She had no memory of this woman.

“Yes; princess,” Princess Brysa said in tone that Zoe thought rather scornful.

Immediately a feeling of inferiority came over Zoe, and she clenched her teeth. She hated being made to feel lowlier than she was. Calm, Zoe.

“Why might I be in the chambers of Elangsia’s princess?” Zoe asked, enunciating each word slowly and raising her eyebrows.

“I rescued you from the clutches of Lieutenant Montel.” The princess surveyed her coolly. “In exchange, you have become my slave.”

Zoe’s heart skipped a beat and then began thundering so loudly she felt it might gallop out of her chest. Powerful feelings of shock and degradation swept through her, temporarily blinding her. No. How can this be happening—again?

Anger soon joined the array of emotions and, clamping her right arm tightly against her chest to hold it relatively motionless, she contracted her abdominal muscles and pulled herself erect. Rebekka gasped and extended her hands as if she were about to make her lie down again, but Zoe sent her such a look that the Aerilyan maidservant immediately stayed her motions.

Turning her flashing eyes on Brysa, Zoe responded to the princess’s statement in a voice both icy and dangerous. “I am no one’s slave.”

Princess Brysa’s mouth turned wryly. Apparently she was not intimidated by Zoe’s simmering wrath. “Truly? It appears you are mine, despite your strong words. And,” she added quietly, “you might rather be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” demanded Zoe, her face flushing. She did not take kindly to this noble woman’s haughty demeanor. She had some audacity to think that Zoe would immediately start groveling at her feet, eager to serve!

“Show some respect, Aerilyan,” a new voice broke in. Zoe turned her head and saw another girl, dressed in a maidservants clothing, watching her from the far side of the room. Her mouth was pursed in a petulant way, though her features looked as if they would be quite beautiful were she wearing a different expression.

“Be quiet, Gwenneth,” said Rebekka, a trace of harshness in her tone as she swiftly replied to the brown-eyed servant girl. She looked back down at Zoe and her tone turned soothing. “Princess Brysa saved you from that Lieutenant Montel. He is a most brutal man. He would have hurt you even worse once you were down in the dungeons.”

Her story rang true, but Zoe closed her mind to reality. Thanking this Princess Brysa was not something she was about to do. The thought made her stomach turn. She was sickened, angry, and humiliated at the notion that she was once more owned by someone else. Owned. For what reason and purpose? Was there something about her that made people want to enslave her?

She looked at Brysa and managed to grit out one word: “Why?”

“Why did I save you from Montel?” Princess Brysa’s blue eyes were flat as she uttered a short laugh. “I wish I knew. Looking at you now, I suspect I have merely brought more trouble upon myself.”

Zoe said nothing. What was there to say? She knew with ever-increasingly dismay that she was utterly powerless.

Princess Brysa suddenly knelt beside Zoe, bringing the two of them on eye-level. Green eyes clashed with blue; Zoe’s sparkling with anger and defiance, Brysa’s shining brightly as she concentrated.

“Yes…trouble,” the princess finally murmured. “You are brave, are you not? You think yourself strong enough to do anything. That both attracts me to you—and violently repels me. I often wish I possessed the same kind of brash valor I see emanating from every fiber of your being.”

Zoe continued in her silence, her lips thin as she tried to restrain any of the number of fiery retorts that were coming to mind. She could think of nothing else to do or anything halfway polite to say. One thought persisted in pounding through her mind, and eventually it obliterated all else. It was telling her the exact words she didn’t want to hear.

Your fall has come, Zoe, just like Tancred predicted.

Now, she must face the doom that she brought upon herself. Zoe distantly wondered what new scars she would sustain after she emerged from this trial.

If, she amended grimly, I emerge at all.

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What have I done? Brysa asked herself, keeping her face blank as her thoughts raced away. Why do I even trouble myself with her?

The princess rose to her feet, feeling Rebekka’s pleading gaze on her the whole time. Rebekka had recognized the unconscious girl directly after Montel had dumped her in Brysa’s quarters. Brysa had swiftly discovered that Rebekka and Zoe had previously been slaves together but were separated when sold to different masters. Apparently the disconnection had not severed what bond the two women had managed to form while slaves together, Brysa thought. It had been Rebekka who gently tended Zoe’s wound while Zoe lay unconscious on the makeshift bearskin bed.

In contrast, Gwenneth, the newest maid assigned to Brysa, had acted with cold indifference. She had made it very clear she thought Zoe was not to be trusted.

Brysa turned away abruptly from Rebekka, Gwenneth, and Zoe. Zoe’s single-syllable question had been a good one: why indeed did Brysa trouble herself with the young prisoner? Everything from Zoe’s hard glittering eyes to her strange, rough garb shouted that she was tough, confident, and unrepentant. She would cause Brysa nothing but nuisance and possible danger. As of yet Brysa did not know what Zoe’s moral values were. Murdering the princess of Elangsia might not daunt Zoe in the least. The only way to find the answer to that is to ask.

Rebekka’s soft tones sounded, followed by Zoe’s deeper timbre as the two friends talked. Brysa took a deep breath and turned to face them, making sure her face was set in unreadable lines. “Zoe.”

The young woman’s jade-like eyes darkened until they were almost black in color but her tone was noticeably controlled as she responded coolly, “What is it?”

“Are you Aerilyan?”

Zoe’s answer was slow in coming. Hesitant when giving up personal information, Brysa noted. Not an unusual trait in a spy.

“No. I came from a place far from here.”

Gwenneth snorted derisively. “Not Aerilyan? You must be lying.”

“Enough, Gwenneth,” Brysa ordered. “You may leave now.”

Gwenneth’s lips tightened, but she obeyed without question, leaving for her quarters down the hall with suddenly red cheeks.

“Not from Aerilya,” Brysa repeated, turning back to Zoe. “Where, then?”

“Far from here,” Zoe repeated with a hint of defiance.

Brysa’s hands curled into fists. “You dare to mock me?” she asked calmly. Zoe wisely did not respond. Brysa took a deep breath and forced herself to let the unspoken challenge pass. She changed her line of questioning slightly. “Why did Montel arrest you, especially with such…violence?” Her gaze dropped meaningfully to Zoe’s bound shoulder.

Zoe’s eyes flickered. “I was freeing a slave-girl,” she replied.

Brysa was taken aback but did not show it. Freeing a slave-girl? No wonder she was apprehended. There are too many guards and soldiers in this city to ever make it out without being caught.

“An odd pastime,” she commented.

Zoe shifted a little, grimacing as her injury was aggravated. “You would likely find most my pastimes odd,” she managed to retort.

Brysa studied her for a long moment. For reasons she could not define, she felt no ill-will toward Zoe. In fact, she felt more and more drawn to her as the minutes drifted by. The idea of being drawn to a prisoner, an enemy of Elangsia, was contrary to everything within her. Yet, she could not bring herself to call a guard to take Zoe to the dungeons—where she likely belonged.

Nevertheless, she must understand more of the strange young woman if she was to keep her from a prison cell, for certainly news of Brysa’s interference with Montel’s prisoner would wing its way to Brastus’s ear.

Brysa felt a streak of power, strengthened with defiance, sweep through her. She had stopped one of her father’s soldiers, in the king’s own palace, and intercepted a prisoner that technically belonged to Brastus himself. A dangerous move; perhaps foolhardy...but oh, so satisfying.

She tore her mind away from her half-gloating thoughts. Before she did anything else, she had to know one small but extremely important detail.

“Do you know Cormac Alstair?” she asked abruptly.

Triumphantly she noticed a telltale flash of emotion in Zoe’s expression that gave away the vital bit of truth even as Zoe replied flatly, “No.”

“You’re lying,” said Brysa bluntly. She was guessing now; she had no solid facts, but she could certainly make her case sound convincing if she wished to—and right now, she wished to.

“The only reason Montel discovered your disloyalty to Elangsia was because he suspected you were an ally to Alstair. He followed you tonight, hoping to find a way to pin a legitimate charge on Alstair. Instead, he caught you freeing a slave and decided to charge you with treason. Am I right?”

“You have no facts. You cannot prove anything.”

“I don’t need facts to send you to a prison cell, nor must I prove a thing if I wanted Cormac Alstair arrested. I am the crown princess. What I command will be carried out by any of my father’s loyal subordinates.” Brysa hardly intended to send a contingent of men after Alstair, but Zoe did not need to know that.

Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “Leave the merchantman out of this,” she said warningly.

“Ah, so you do wish to protect him, then,” Brysa murmured.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You did not need to.” Brysa felt a twinge of kindheartedness rise in her as she continued softly, “Your eyes tell me all I must know.”

For the first time since they began speaking, Zoe’s gaze faltered and then dropped. Brysa waited with apparent serenity, refusing to show her inner tension to either Rebekka or Zoe. This unspoken pressure intensified when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps down the hall that led to her bower. They were not the softly padding steps of a servant who wished to go unnoticed by everyone of importance; they were firm and steady. Unafraid; soldier-like.

Well, then, she thought grimly. Zoe and Rebekka both raised their heads and listened. They heard the approaching men, too. Brysa only wished she had had a little more time to prepare herself. It was clear that somehow her father had heard of her new prisoner.

And Brysa felt certain that he would want some sort of explanation for her actions—an explanation she did not currently have.