She ran back toward the only other entry, passing the mirror. Waves shimmered in its depths. A portal? The moment she approached, the shimmering vanished.
At her back, the main door banged open.
Too late.
Securing the band in her bodice, Princess Saris Bertillian closed her eyes, took a deep breath, turned, and faced her fate.
Six soldiers stood in the hallway, adorned with the purple sigil of the high king of Tirra Neu. All were armed, several of their swords stained with blood. She swallowed hard. Whose blood? Someone she knew? Her family? Please, no, not her family, though her body could soon join others of her people who’d not see the sunrise.
She buried her hands in her skirts to hide their shaking.
The tallest soldier wore an additional emblem on his armor, possibly marking him as a leader. His mouth opened and closed a few times. Then, for a moment, he froze in what might have been the beginnings of a bow. “Princess Saris.”
Saris didn’t know the soldier, but his recognition might save her from a sword to the gut. She inclined her head. “I am she.”
The soldier recovered his composure. “Come with me, please, and I beg of you, do not give my men a reason to harm you.”
“I shall not.” She extended her hand.
A furrow appeared on the man’s forehead. He gazed from her hand to her face.
She placed her fingers lightly on his arm with deliberate motions as though he escorted her onto a dance floor instead of to possible death. Did he detect the slight tremor in her fingers?
Were they taking her to the dungeon? Out to the courtyard for a public beheading? She’d heard of King Umbri’s justness when warranted and ruthlessness with enemies. Would he allow her family to live?
The other soldiers fell into step behind them. Saris held her head high. She was the daughter of Gustaf Bertillian, King of Myrgren. No matter what awaited her, she’d go to her end with grace.
Halfway down the stairs, she murmured to her escort, “Do my brothers yet live?”
“I do not know, Highness.” At least her captor respected her position, if not her family. Better than nothing. He hadn’t said no. She’d cling tightly to any hope.
At last, they emerged onto the main level of the castle—the reek of smoke, blood, and unwashed bodies mingled with leather, metal, and stale perfume. Courtiers lined the corridors, some in nightclothes, others appearing hastily dressed. Men wore their shirtsleeves unbuttoned, women minus their jewels—jewels likely now lining soldiers’ pockets. A little boy with wide eyes clung to his mother’s skirts.
All stood against the walls at sword point. Saris’s heart went out to the boy, who appeared roughly the same age as her younger brother.
She’d hastily thrown on the gown her maid set out the night before, leaving off brushing her hair, allowing the frost-white strands to fall down her back. A peek in the sorceress’s mirror said she’d made herself presentable. Smoke clung to the brocade fabric of her gown, her hair.
At least she appeared enough of a princess to earn obeisance, both from the citizens of Myrgren and the enemy soldiers. The crowds parted, dropping into bows or curtsies, letting her pass.
The… captain? … led her through the great hall, a place of celebrations, balls, and her father meting out judgments. Now someone else sat in the seat of honor to pass judgment.
On her.
Saris tuned out the whispering around her, placing one foot in front of the other.Doom, doom, doompounded the blood in her ears.
Tension wound in her chest, laboring her breaths. Today could very well be her last. She staggered. Her escort caught her, keeping her upright. “All will be well, Princess,” the man said, giving her a sad smile. “You’ll see.”
Spotting a small form crowned with familiar white-blond hair loosened the tightness around Saris’s lungs. “Wycke!” she nearly shouted, running the last few paces and collapsing onto her knees. Tears of relief slipped free of her eyes. Oh, thank the ancestors. “You’re here. You’re safe.” Who cared for decorum? Saris wrapped her arms around her brother, kissing his cheek, his chin, his forehead. “Are you unhurt?”
Wycke clung to her. She must stop scaring her brother with her crying. Wycke. Scaring Wycke. She whipped her head up, scanning her surroundings. No mages. No sorcerers. At least not yet. Hiding her actions in a hug, she slipped the band from her bosom, placing the runed metal around her brother’s wrist. The thing warmed under her touch. The band seemed larger now, the perfect size for Wycke’s arm. “Do not remove this for any reason.”
Wycke nodded against her shoulder.
May the band indeed be a magic suppressor.Suppose any mages discovered Wycke’s abilities. In that case, they’d create some offense, some bogus reason to strip him of power for themselves, like Lady Nyanda and her followers. Saris shivered. Why had she gone to Nyanda instead of seeking out her family?
No harm must come to Wycke. Saris’s older brother controlled less magic than a toadstool. Her mother taught her to hide her minimal gifts, but Wycke? Wycke possessed more magic than any Bertillian in centuries. A secret Saris had gone to great lengths to hide—even from her father and older brother. Wycke didn’t yet understand his potential but played along with Saris’s “game.”
“Umm… Princess?” Her escort offered her a hand up. “You must take your places.”