Legends of Astræa: Cupid's Arrow Book 1 (Legends of Astræa Series) Page 29

  “I am not a gold digger or an impostor, and I want nothing from your kingdom or from any loser Royal and… I am also not interested in any queenie proposals, even if you put yourself on your knees and beg,” I cried out.

  Gavril twitched his eyes and frowned. Count Something-Ruthless was grinning wider at my words.

  “Lord Tarbelli, His Royal Highness hasn’t been in the palace and in charge for almost a year. Whether she is who you say she is or not, you are committing an act of treason against the crown by concealing the location of a criminal or the possible existence of the criminal’s daughter. Though, I might negotiate your life for the location of her traitorous mother if she is who she says she is.” He paused. “Reginald will uncuff you as an act of good will on my behalf. I expect you to respect the crown’s laws.”

  So the Count expected Francis to betray us? Crap. I shook my head. Francis was, as always, late with the info. He had too many explanations to give. Reginald finished uncuffing Émil, Gavril, and Francis, and he reached for me.

  Reginald stepped carefully, facing me. He had a nasty grin on his face as he stood looking at my hands… Correction, the knave wasn’t looking at my hands. Crap.

  I raised my chin and gave him my best glare. He was amused as he squatted a little and took his time to take my handcuffs off. He was provoking me, hoping I would put him down a second time. I wasn’t going to give him that excuse.

  “We don’t know anything regarding Helen Pearson. That is why we seek audience with His Royal Highness,” Francis said.

  “I see… and how does this relate to Prince Émil exactly, if you mind not my curiosity?” Count Something-Rubbish asked. God, he was a terrible dresser.

  The crank monk is a prince, and here I thought fairy tales were a thing of the past. Gavril was being sarcastic again. I rolled my eyes, not understanding sometimes how no one seemed too worried about Émil.

  A that moment, Émil started ranting, holding his head, rocking his entire body. “The voices are back,” he cried, unhinged. “I hear them saying that global warming is destroying their homes. They want us to help them.” He paused and composed himself back to normal, as if he hadn’t acted crazy just a moment before.

  Was this the result of losing one’s Draugr? How dreadful. He stood up, looking at the Count, straight into his face. “I need to see my brother. You must take me to him now,” he commanded.

  What? I mouthed to Francis for any kind of explanation. His mind answered my question.

  The late king was his young brother. When Émil lost his Draugr, he had to abdicate his crown to him and became a crusader and a monk later I suppose, Francis explained without losing his cool. I wondered how well he knew Émil that he thought it better not to interfere, or was it that he didn’t care at all?

  “Oh, Émil.” The Count tsked. “I will take you to see your brother, but first you must tell me, where is the medallion?” the Count asked.

  We all hated him for using Émil like that. I stepped forward to finish this charade. The king was dead. And why was this Count looking for the medallion? Crap. Things were going definitely the wrong way.

  Don’t! Émil is helping you. Any small mistake will put you in peril. Francis stopped me with his hand firmly over my shoulder. His eyes never deterred away from the Count’s actions.

  I was already in trouble, why should Émil take the heat? Dismayingly so, I realized each of them would take the heat—even risk drowning, demons, evil Fallen, and swords for me. It was unfair; I was fuming.

  “The voices are back. They speak of the destruction of the world. It’s all scrambled…” His voice was sad now. He lost his train of thought not before we all witnessed Émil tapping his hand on his head more forcedly than he should. He paused to give the Count a secret. “The medallion never existed. I know it doesn’t. I looked and looked and never found it.” He broke into crazy rocking again.

  The prince-monk isn’t as crazy as I thought, Gavril told me. I held back my smirk. No, but he was a great actor. My mind focused on Scary-face.

  Merde. Where is the stupid Medallion? And this puny girl won’t take that crown from me. I won’t allow the crown prince to wed. The crown will be mine and wholly mine, Count Something-Horseradish plotted. Crap. So making money as the kingdom’s fashion police was definitely out of the question.

  “Guards, bring Prince Émil for questioning. Reginald, take our guests to their nice accommodations downstairs,” the Count commanded. More questioning. Uh oh.

  Shit, not the dungeon, Gavril said.

  Crap. The circus guards and Reginald took Émil. My gaze followed them as they walked away with Émil. He left without even a glance back at us. I wondered if Émil was going to be all right. Francis closed his eyes briefly, frustrated with the events.

  We were in trouble. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Chapter 30

  My hand traced the slimy stonewall as I balanced myself on the narrow stone steps that led to the dungeon. I couldn’t see my hand. It was pitch black in every direction, and the smell of old ditchwater mixed with something else I couldn’t quite tell. It was not quite as pungent as wastewater but putrid and disgusting nevertheless.

  I thought you were joking, I told Gavril.

  Our accommodations better have tea served with cute little cucumber sandwiches. Gavril made lemonade out of lemons, yet we knew were in trouble. Demyan’s words haunted me. Married or killed.

  All right. I was wrong. Mock all of them, Strzyga, all you want. So far, they were pompous and ridiculous aristocrats. And I hated them.

  I felt my soiled wet socks splash in the chilly water. I hoped it was not real sewerage. One of the guards lit real fire torches along our way. Crap. Didn’t they know about electricity? Good thing I had good memory. I counted my wet steps.

  I looked at Francis for guidance, but he was unusually quiet and compliant. I wondered why, not that I could discuss this with him anytime soon.

  Do not fret, Francis said to me as if he had read my mind, except that it was practically impossible for me to remain calm. This is a temporary situation. As a future immortal, you should understand that one ought not to run from the kingdom when one is immortal. Running forever isn’t a good idea. Do you understand?

  My mom was running from them. Was that the reason she left me at St. Mary’s? Forever was a very long time… Maybe I was beginning to understand. However, Francis was never unprepared. He had a plan of sorts, that much I knew. At least I prayed he did. I wished he would share it with me. We all followed the ridiculous guards in circus outfits.

  A large number of swords suspended in the air in perfect alignment escorted us. I held my breath nervously at the invisible Draugr holding them.

  Trippy, isn’t it? Gavril commented in my head.

  The tunnel opened to four different paths. It reminded me of Émil’s carved chambers. What was it with Strzyga and underground tunnels? I noticed large hairy critters moving around, not cute chinchillas. I gasped and froze for an instant. Rats. Enormous French rats with unusually long hair. I wondered if that smell was that of rats or death. It smelled like death. Some historians swore that before the French revolution, the common people had nothing to eat, so they ate these.

  Eew. Fortunately, the gigantic rats moved away from me, not bothering with us. As long as we kept moving, they avoided us.

  “They are coypus ragondin, French nutrias that sneaked from the large pond into the dungeons,” Francis said as he saw my hesitation.

  I gave a sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted to do was come out of there screaming hysterically like a little girl in front of Reginald.

  Reginald opened the first cell. It was like a stone cave with an open hole in the wall with thick iron bars that matched the ones on the door. A Draugr shoved me inside it and closed the lock. I turned to see Francis and Gavril. Their eyes said not to worry, but I knew better. Crap.

  They put Francis and Gavril in the cell across from mine. Theirs had no bars. I watched the faces of my friend
s for a last time with a frown as Reginald closed the thick, heavy iron door with a little window hatchet. The echo gave me goose bumps.

  Reginald smirked at me, gloating at his doing.

  “Hey, Reginald.” I knew Francis and Gavril were going to be upset with me, but I didn’t know what possessed me. It was beyond me. Reginald turned his face offering a smirk back at me. “What kind of girl name did your parents give you?”

  He narrowed his sight on me.

  I smirked. “What?” I pretended I had said nothing.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Pearson. I will be pleased to instruct you on how a real Strzyga female should act, when the time comes.” Reginald’s veiled threat didn’t go unnoticed by Gavril who muttered a growl behind the thick metal door.

  I raised my chin daringly, standing by the door. Anytime, Reginald.

  I turned my back toward him as they left us alone. I examined my prison. A dusty wooden plank affixed to the wall served as bed. An empty wooden bucket sat on the floor. I realized they expected me to use it in lieu of toilet. Eew. However, my body didn’t seem to care much. I had been holding it for too long, so I did—really fast, praying I wasn’t caught in such humiliating position.

  At least it’s larger than a prison, Gavril said, after a long while.

  How would you… You have been to—prison?

  Just for one night. I had a fight in a bar and… never mind. He stopped himself from babbling, probably embarrassed he said wa-ay too much. Then a deep silence reigned among us for the following hour, until Francis spoke.

  “One mark of a great soldier is that he fights on his own terms or fights not at all.” Francis quoted our dear Sun-Tzu. “He will win, who knows when to fight and when not to fight.”

  “All right, all right. Got it.” I stopped his quote ranting or memorized war teachings.

  “No, you have not. I am disappointed,” Francis said.

  I exhaled, shaking my head. Is he as pissed off as he sounds? I asked, looking for some moral support from Gavril.

  Hey, don’t look at me. I am with him on this. You are testing Reginald’s patience. Believe me, he has it in for you. Francis could be anything, but he is right on this. You are too bloody impatient and a bully.

  A bully? A bully? That was last thing I expected to hear today, especially under the circumstances. I had become Tiffany. It wasn’t amusing. In fact, I felt suddenly ashamed to be the bully for once in my life.

  “All right. Got It. Enough both of you.” I stood up and paced inside my cell. I was concerned for Émil. Did he or didn’t he know his brother was dead? Did he pretend not knowing? I had a very bad feeling somehow the crazy act was not going to work much more this time.

  “So what are primordials or royals for that matter?” I made my voice loud, so Francis could hear me out through the door.

  “The primordials are a private army of brain-washed, trained assassins. Their vocation is somewhat religious and fanatical as you can recall. They are commanded by Lord Aurous, who has become their highest authority and the last elder left alive.”

  So, he is the one looking for you, Gavril added in my head.

  “What happened to the other elders?” I asked, ignoring Gavril’s warning.

  “No one knows what happened to the other six of them . . .” Francis left his thought open ended.

  “What about the men in tights?” I asked.

  “They are guards who are sworn loyal to the crown royals’ commands. They could be naughty but harmless compared to the primordials.”

  “So we allow royal guards to imprison us because they are harmless? No, that is not confusing. Nope.” I used my usual touch of sarcasm. All right, I was tired, hungry, and crabby.

  “We don’t run from the kingdom we are sworn to protect,” Francis reminded me his mantra. Crap.

  Ask him if we are ever going to meet the prince, Gavril interrupted.

  Before I rolled my eyes, we heard a shrieking wail—no, more like an animal roar in pain—inside the dungeon that captured our attention and stirred all of us up. I crossed my heart, and judging from Francis’s thought process, he was also curious but spooked out like I was.

  Whoever, or whatever, made that sound is in profound, soul-reaping pain, Gavril said to me. The wailing continued.

  No kidding. I wondered what could cause such a painful wail. I approached my door and held onto the metal bars. My heart hurt to help whoever this was, and I was helpless inside that cold prison.

  I couldn’t leave the room physically, but what about my mind? My mind could travel and explore everything just as easily. I brushed the dust off the wooden plank before lying on it. Knowing all our thoughts were with Émil at that moment, we pretended resting, as if we could with all that awful wailing. I closed my eyes and followed Francis’s training procedures.

  I willed myself into that place where nothing could bother me. I opened my eyes and breathed the crisp, frigid air of the high mountain. A few snow flutters fell around me. It was beautiful. I inhaled and concentrated on the sound and possible source of that wail.

  Zoom… I was patting myself on the back for choosing this way of travel—not that I had much of a choice. There was no stink or large critters crawling around, or Draugr with heavy, sharp swords.

  I was standing inside a different dungeon, alone. Four empty cells were on each side of a dark hallway. I stood there for a moment or two, figuring out which cell was the one I was looking for.

  I heard a roar so terrible and so loud, it almost made me run away. Then I remembered I had no body to worry about. I was just visiting with my mind. So I followed the tremendous and frightful sounds coming from the farthest right-side cell. There was metal over metal sounds behind an iron door inside a dark prison just like Francis and Gavril’s. The poor creature roared again in some sort of dreadful pain.

  Outside the door, a clipboard with notes and dates hung on the wall. I realized whoever this creature was had been inside these murky stone walls for a whole year. Inhumane. I looked around and found a large plastic cooler, and on top of it, discarded needles and enormous stainless-steel syringes.

  I crossed thru the door, instantly regretting doing so.

  A mountain of hairy carcasses decomposing rested in the far-right corner. I gathered those were the cause of the disgusting roadkill smell inside the dungeon. Not that I could smell them as I stood there, very thankfully. Up closer had to be worse. Now I knew why the nutrias preferred our side of the dungeon, not that I blamed them. Something worse than rodents were dead rodents.

  I gasped in disgusted horror. I didn’t have to ask what killed them.

  No. The thing in the other dark corner was the scariest thing I had ever seen. The creature’s large body crouched inside his windowless cell, his wrists, neck, and ankles in shackles and chains to the stonewall. His large, enfolded bat wings had visible open scars, one that I thought was the main cause of his pain. His clavicle was sticking out of his shoulder. I wondered if he had dislocated it purposely as he tried to force free of his shackles. Judging from the unnatural size of his muscles and protruding face features, he was more animal than Strzyga.

  The creature instinctually sniffed the air, trying to make sense of my presence. But I couldn’t have a scent I was insubstantial. He repeated the sniffing. Or could I?

  His blood red eyes opened, looking directly at me from the dark shadows. A blood tear ran out of his left eye chillingly. He smiled at me, displaying his long sharp fangs. I stepped back instinctively with a jolt. He was all of Hollywood’s best and worst nightmares. He looked like the most horrifying… vampire, even without special effects, I had ever seen, and he was looking at me. Looking straight at me. How? Crap. How could that be? How was that possible? I was supposed to be an insubstantial observant.

  Scared witless, my primal reaction was to run. I left his prison cell and returned to my hard bed. I shouldn’t have run like a coward. I had acted just like the girls at the academy when they saw something they couldn’t unde
rstand. I felt ashamed.

  He was just a Strzyga, my mind kept saying. Someone was doing something evil to this poor Strzyga that was so physically altering. But what? I didn’t know. Would that stop me from finding out? My bet was on the scourge, Count Scarface. If he was the responsible one, then maybe he had information somewhere in the palace. I could find out.

  Once I calmed myself, I willed my mind into the palace. All I had to do was think of Count Rejectamenta and… Zoom. I was standing in a long hallway next to a large mirror. My gaze fixated on it. Then it struck me. I could see my reflection, just as the creature downstairs could. I was made of light. A bluish-green light. Crap. At that exact moment, the Count was walking toward me with his sight on the floor in front of him, lost in his personal thoughts.

  Crap. I was standing between him and the palace’s main staircase. I rushed into the closest wall. I couldn’t let him see me. I prayed the stone wall could hide me. His eyes caught the last of my darting glow as it disappeared within the wall. He stopped to touch the wall, shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. I sighed in relief. His mind had tossed it away as nothing and continued downstairs. This meant I had to be more careful. I wasn’t that invisible. Also, I didn’t know how much time I had before he would come back to the dungeons, so I focused on what I came for.

  My face came outside of the wall, and I watched him going down the stairs. I chuckled at the sight of his black beauty mark on his face again.

  I had seen the door where he came from in the hallway. Carefully, I directed myself there and crossed the wall like a ghost would. The last thing I wanted was for Draugr to see me. The irony was Draugr was a word for phantom.

  A mezzanine inside his room separated his office from a large bedroom. The room was seemingly empty. A long, swiveling mirror showcased the corner of his room. So this was where he approved his terrible sense of fashion. I turned my attention to his office.

  He had a desk full of notes, no computer, an old-style ink bottle… the Count was really in the Dark Ages. Then I saw three old leather notebooks. One was open on the desk while the other two sat on top of each other. I read the handwritten page. Nothing interesting was there, just a lot of dates and amounts. Since my hand was insubstantial, I couldn’t turn the page over physically.