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  Ben nodded, then motioned for a couple of soldiers to escort the remaining group inside. Bezoar ordered the body to be dumped in the pit and the messenger to be taken to the holding cell until the dragon’s feeding time.

  Princess moved to follow Ben when a strong hand clamp down on her arm. Darnel yanked her around so she was face to face with him.

  “It’s your fault that man died.”

  She started to protest that he had the dagger not her, but he cut off her words.

  “Stupid child. When will you learn that I mean to sever anything or anyone who denies my authority? If you refuse to serve me, I will find other means of curbing your disloyalty.”

  From behind her, the messenger yelled, “Don’t give in, freedom is at hand!”

  She watched as the soldiers dragged him to the dungeon.

  Darnel gripped her chin, his fingers still wet with the man’s blood. He turned her face back to his. “You are running out of time, daughter. My patience with you wanes.”

  “Will you also feed me to the dragon, Master?” she asked, emboldened by the messenger’s chants of Freedom! filling her heart.

  “I’ll not give you such an easy way out, my dear.” He shoved her away, then strolled toward the castle with his governors following. The troll-man kept looking back over his shoulder at her, smirking.

  Princess reached into the inner pocket she’d sewn into all her skirts and pulled out a small golden disk which fit perfectly inside the palm of her hand. A tree had been engraved on one side. The other side had a fire flame surrounded by what might be a burst of light. Her medallion was similar to the messenger’s yet different.

  “For freedom!” He continued to chant. Suddenly, the sound of a loud smack brought complete silence from within.

  There wasn’t much time. She needed to hurry.

  Chapter 2

  “Princess!” Ben’s deep voice echoed off the stone walls. “Where is that ungrateful brat?”

  She hurried inside, wiping the blood from her face while she tucked the medallion back into the hidden pocket.

  Ben’s wide eyes glared in stark contrast to his ebony skin. Thin lines criss-crossed his umber cheeks and forehead, giving his narrow face a wizened look. He paced in the guard room, cane rapping loud on the floor.

  “How am I supposed to persuade them?” Ben whacked the stick against an oak table. “He kills their Sage right before their eyes. And now I’m to sweet-talk them into going along with his grand plans? I can only do so much.” He smacked the table a few times more. He spun to her, pointing the dirty tip in her face. “This is your fault. You impertinent child!”

  “I’m sorry. I know. I…” She cringed, waiting for the blow most likely to come.

  He moved toward her, grabbing her long, brown braid in his hand. “No excuses. You help make this right or I’ll surely flog you myself this time.” He shoved her away. She stumbled, landing on her back. Air whooshed from her lungs. He towered above her, digging the cane’s tip into her chest. “If this goes ill, I’ll do worse than a flogging, you understand? The messenger can be that blasted dragon’s dinner. I don’t care. But if I lose one more person because of your big mouth, so help me—”

  “Tell me what to do, Ben. I’m….” She stopped herself from apologizing again.

  The cane smacked the side of her head. Lights flashed. She rolled over, leaping back to her feet and darting out of reach.

  “Get to the kitchen. Find something excellent to serve. Once they are fed and comfortable, then perhaps I can reason with them.” He turned to the cells, stroking the thin beard growing down the sides of his full lips. “They will need clothes and blankets as well. I’ll send for those. You take care of the grub.” He kicked at her, but missed. “Get. Now!”

  Princess ran from the room to the narrow-winding staircase leading to the cookery. A dark passage opened on the left, reeking of the rotten stench of decay and dampness. The tunnel led to the place for keeping those destined to meet the dragon. The rich, deep voice of the messenger echoed from the darkness. She paused to listen. A song? He was about to die ... and he sang?

  They couldn’t feed the dragon until nightfall. Her mind raced to form a plan to get to him before then. First she had to appease Ben. Rushing up the stairs, she burst into the cookery, a hub of activity with banging pots and loud voices.

  “Hey there,” she called to the kitchen chef. “I need good food for the new detainees.”

  The head cook, a bristly man covered in red sauces and white powder growled back, “Don’t ya see I’m busy? We’re preparing for the banquet tonight. Don’t bother me wit your filthy prisoners.”

  Her jaw clenched, time slipping away. “Don’t make me call Ben. He’s not in a good mood.”

  At one time, such a threat would provoke people into action, but lately, its effects were wearing as thin as her boss.

  The cook grunted. “Take the porridge left from breakfast. There’s bread behind you. Now leave me be!”

  Porridge? Princess groaned. Porridge wouldn’t go far in getting her out of trouble.

  She spotted a bag full of apples, oranges, and pears. Fresh from someplace called Denovo. Anything good here was shipped in from outside which explained Darnel’s incessant greed for obtaining new towns and slaves… or people, she corrected herself.

  She slung the burlap sack over her shoulder. Using the hem of her skirt to grab the pot handle, she then turned to get the loaves of bread. Tarek stood there holding them for her.

  “Um, thanks.” She wasn’t sure how she’d carry it all anyway.

  He also gathered a couple bottles of ale and headed out of the kitchen and down the winding stairs back to the dungeon. She followed close behind wondering what he wanted now. Shafts of light poured in through the rectangular windows along the circular wall, falling across the steps. Through the narrow openings, the sun nearly reached the noon sky.

  “What’s this new group like?” Tarek slowed until she caught up with him. “Anyone interesting?”

  The heavy pot burned when the heated metal bumped her leg with each downward step. She cringed, realizing he sought information. He’d never believe her. Tarek believed Darnel was too good of a king to kill a Sage in cold blood, or send a messenger to a slow agonizing death.

  He grinned. “Wait till they get a look at all this food. I bet they’re thrilled to be here.”

  “Right.”

  His expression darkened as he pressed his lips together. “Not everyone is stubborn like you, Princess.” He shook his head. “You had everything a person could want, and you snub your nose at it. I’ll never understand.”

  “Nobody expects you to. I don’t.” She stopped and switched the pot to her other hand. “Not everyone is given cushy jobs like your family, Tarek. And not everyone came from a bad place. Some might have come from homes they loved and … just want to find a way back.”

  He stopped on the stair below her, brows furrowed. “Had much luck finding an escape route through any of those tunnels, Princess?”

  Her breath caught. He’d tracked her? Heated anger burned her cheeks. Why would he follow her around? He certainly didn’t like her. He made fun of her name and constantly told her how stupid she was for leaving the job she’d had as Darnel’s apprentice.

  “King Darnel would be angry if he knew about your free-time activities. Wouldn’t he?”

  Princess almost dropped the pot. “You’d be the one to tell him, wouldn’t you? Is that how you plan to advance your position? By being Darnel’s snitch?” She pushed past him. “What a miserable little bug you are.”

  They’d reached the landing. She set the porridge on the table. Ben would serve the prisoners himself, using the opportunity to calm them with his comforting words. Despite his temper, he had a gift of persuasion and winning people over to his way of thinking.

  Tarek placed the bread and bottles beside the kettle. “I’d never—”

  “Just leave me alone! Stay away from me and mind your own affairs.�
� She shoved him.

  He muttered a string of curses before retreating back to the kitchen. She didn’t care. Why was he following her around if not to rat on her? She shuddered over the thought of Master finding out she’d been exploring those tunnels. He’d not only make her life miserable, but what would he do to Ben?

  Maybe she shouldn’t have been so hateful to Tarek. She started for the stairs wanting to reason with him.

  “About time.” Ben rounded the corner, his arms full of blankets. “I’ll pass out the-” He lifted the lid and cringed, “-porridge? That’s the best you could do?”

  “They were really busy. I did get fresh fruit.” She held up a bottle. “And mead! This should help calm their nerves, you think?”

  He snatched the ale from her and pulled out the cork his yellowed teeth. The bottled tipped straight up as he gulped down several long swigs. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, Ben sighed. “Works for me. They can have water.” He recapped the bottle. “Let’s get to work.”

  If it kept her out of trouble, she couldn’t care less what he did with the drink.

  * * * *

  After everyone had been served and given a few comforts, Princess returned to the leftover food and took an apple for herself. Ben sat in a chair rubbing his swollen knees and finished the ale.

  “Any porridge left?”

  She lifted the lid and nodded. “Enough for a bowl or two. You want it?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I should take some to that messenger fellow. Perhaps—”

  “You’ll never change his views, Ben. I don’t know where people like him come from, but what craziness, huh?” A beam of an idea lit in her mind. “But there’s no sense in wasting. I can take him some.”

  Ben’s brows crinkled.

  She’d better try harder than that. Ben might turn a blind eye to her exploring the tunnels, but he wouldn’t be too easily swayed about letting her get around an unruly prisoner.

  Setting a kettle of water on the fire pit, she waited for the bubbles to form along the edges. Once wisps of steam rose from the surface, she dumped in a few rags. On the shelf above the hearth sat a jar of ointment one of the healers had prepared for Ben’s sore knees. She scooped a glob of the smelly gel and ordered Ben into bed. He uncovered his legs and allowed her to rub the cream onto his swollen joints.

  “Are you going to the ball tonight?” She took her time, knowing that between the mead and her massage, he’d soon be asleep.

  He moaned a disgruntled affirmation.

  “Well, it’s been a long day already. You’ll need to rest while you can. There’s still a lot to do with the pris… uh, guests.”

  Ben groaned and took another swig of drink.

  With a pair of tongs, she pulled the hot rags from the steamy water. Her hands stung from wringing out the excess moisture. “You rest and let this ointment do its work while I take care of everything else.”

  Once Ben drifted to sleep, she set off. Water rivulets ran down the passage walls, and the damp air nearly suffocated her. With the bowl in one hand and the last apple in the other, she stepped carefully along the wet, slimy floor. Luckily, a few of the torches still burned. She soon entered an enclosure of six cells. All of the thick wooden doors stood ajar, except for one in which a lively song was being sung.

  The shuffling of her feet must have caught his attention because the top of his face peeked through the narrow barred window.

  “Well, well,” he chuckled. His voice sounded strained, like he’d swallowed gravel. “The little rebel, I presume?”

  She stiffened. How’d he make that assumption? Breathing deep, she proceeded with caution. This prisoner was not one of the scared rabbits like the villagers, but rather a sly fox looking for a means to overcome his predicament.

  Chin jutting out, she cleared her throat and announced, “I’ve brought you food. Please be kind enough to step ba—”

  “Ah, no thank you. If I must end my journey this night, then I’ll do so with a clear mind. I’ll not allow that imposter’s poison to fog my thoughts in these last moments.” His nose rested on the window frame. Purple bruises covered his swollen eye. “What is your name child?”

  “My name is of no importance to you.” Not that she had a name to give him anyway. She’d certainly not tell him the name people really called her.

  Why wasn’t he more frightened? And what did he mean by imposter’s poison? Perhaps he really was mentally unstable.

  “You have questions in your eyes, my little sister. Speak.”

  She scowled. “I’m not related to you, sir. I better go.”

  Oh, he was definitely crazy. She bit her lip, part of her bubbled with questions and the other, more reasonable side, warned her to flee before it was too late. If anyone beside Ben found out she’d come down here to speak to him…. She shuddered.

  As she turned to leave, the messenger said, “I saw how displeased your master is with you, child. Yet, you are even more displeased. This land holds no pleasure for you, does it?”

  She froze. How could he know? On second thought, their conflict was probably obvious.

  “You find your life here drudgery.” His words grew more pressing. “Despite how hard you try to live his way, you fight every step. All the wonderful possessions this land offers still leave you empty and yearning for something more. And deep down, you know there is more.”

  Her heart raced so fast, her vision swam. She closed her eyes to steady her spinning head.

  “Your master’s attempts to break that yearning inside of you have been unsuccessful. He fails because once one has tasted truth, they can never fully swallow the lies he has to offer.”

  Sweat filled her palms, the bowl slipping from her grasp. She faced him again. Her throat felt full of old cloth.

  “What else is there besides this?” she croaked.

  “A white road, dear daughter. It will take you to his very throne.”

  “Whose throne?”

  “King Shaydon, the true King. Ruler of all, including this evil imposter.”

  She drew in a shuddering breath, having heard that name before. “He’s only a fable. A bedtime story to put children to sleep.”

  “Is he? Are these the lies your master has fed you? Spit them out now! They are poison. King Shaydon is real. Aloblase is the beautiful city where he dwells. That apple you hold in your hand is a rock compared to the bounty which grows in his land. What I speak is all very real indeed, child. I have walked along the streets of Aloblase many times.”

  A trembling started in her knees and traveled up to her damp hands. She no longer saw the dark dungeon, but rather the city from her dreams. “Are there beautiful beings that seem to glow? I always see them standing next to a gate or archway of some sort.”

  The messenger’s face pressed against the rusted bars as his voice grew excited, and his bloodshot eyes sparkled. “You have been there! When child? How did you end up in this wretched land?”

  The bowl clattered across the dirt, the apple rolling into the shadows. Princess shook her head. They were only dreams. Reason warned her to go back now before Master found out she’d been disobedient. Again.

  “Do you have a medallion?” He thrust his golden pendant through the window. “It looks similar to this.”

  Everything froze. Her words, her breath, even her legs refused to respond. Slowly, she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out her medallion. She stared at the round disk resting in her sweaty palm. Torchlight reflected off the flame-emblem embossed on the surface.

  “The Illuminate’s mark,” he whispered, his dark eyes widening. “Only those who’ve stood in King Shaydon’s presence have one.”

  Her fingers closed around the pendant as she backed farther away. They were dreams, weren’t they? Dare she hope? How could she be sure? A crazy idea tumbled into her head.

  “If you have, child, run back home!” he yelled after her. “A medallion signifies that you are a citizen of Aloblase and under the king’s protect
ion! Return home to where you truly belong!”

  His words pursued her along the dark, slippery tunnel, nipping her heels and driving her to consider attempting the most insane plan. Dare she? If she got caught… no, she’d not think about the consequences.

  Chapter 3

  Quiet as a breeze, Princess crept through the kitchen. Ben, passed out on mead, would sleep long enough for her to check out the messenger’s claim.

  Cook barked orders, shoving people aside as he marched between the oven and stoves. Pots clanged and glasses clinked. Tarek sat at the end of a table where his mother made pies. He stuffed a whole tart into his mouth and received a smack on the head with her wooden spoon.

  Princess, slipped into the dark pantry. Hands extended, she followed the shelf until bumping into several brooms propped next to the far wall. Pushing them aside, she ran her fingers over the smooth, wooden surface finding the knob. A quick twist and the hidden exit creaked open. She eased through. When she closed the door, some of the brooms tumbled into the opposite shelves. The cacophony of bangs exploded in her ears.

  “Oh no, no!” Hopefully the cooks were too busy to hear the racket.

  Not waiting to find out, she raced up the narrow staircase, dimly lit by several small square openings in the turret walls. Webs clung to her hair and clothes. Something scuttled over her shoulder. She swiped it away.

  Six years ago, she’d stumbled on the hidden route while hiding from her tutor. The secret passage proved useful for looting snacks from the kitchen and moving between floors quickly when avoiding Master and other bothersome people.

  Once she reached the forth door along the stairs, she stopped and pressed her ear to the dusty wood. With everyone preparing for the ball this afternoon, she’d need to be extra careful to keep from bumping into any floor servants. Or worse, Darnel.

  Convinced all was clear, she pushed against the flap and ducked inside. Shelves of blankets and linen lined the walls on each side of the four-by-four room. Feather dusters hung beside the door. She took one of the towels and brushed the dirt and cobwebs from her worn, dingy dress and hair before daring a peek into the expansive hall. Statues and armor stood guard between the four rooms on this wing. Darnel’s suites and study took up the entire east hall.