Most of the outcasts believed I concealed deformities of one kind or another behind my veil. And so far, none of their assumptions had bothered me. But with Mikkel’s curiosity—and pity—I couldn’t keep my embarrassment at bay. I didn’t want him thinking I was hideous.
As before, I had the urge to lift the silk and show him the truth, that I had skin as perfect and smooth as the pearl after which I was named. My flawless features, womanly figure, and long ebony hair had drawn the admiration of many. Brave knights had written poems about me. Wealthy lords had pledged me their fealty. Foreign diplomats had offered marriage proposals on behalf of their princes and kings.
“I am truly sorry.” He apparently took my silence as affirmation. “Families ought to be a place of unconditional acceptance for who we are and encourage us in the potential for what we can yet become.”
“Spoken wisely, my lord.” I couldn’t keep from studying this man. From all appearances, he wasn’t much older than my nineteen years. Probably twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. “If you have found such acceptance and encouragement from your family, then you are indeed blessed.”
He plodded uphill, growing silent once more, his expression unreadable.
I would likely get no more information from him than he would from me. Alas, Irontooth would find ways to extract what he wanted to know. And once he had, he’d assign Mikkel as a slave to one of the men. I’d speak little to the nobleman in the days to come. Soon the two feuding leaders would arrange an exchange of prisoners. Mikkel, Gregor, and Fowler would return to the southern part of the island, and I’d never cross paths with them again, especially once I left.
With the arrival of Midsummer’s Eve last week, summer was passing too quickly. While the others in camp had danced and feasted to celebrate, I’d hiked to the top of one of my favorite arches and spent the eve in somber quietude. The solstice in my country had always been one of terror—the eve when the fairest maiden in the land was sacrificed to Grendel.
Like most maidens in Warwick, I’d lived with the worry that one day I might be considered the fairest maiden and given to Grendel to appease his rage. I’d feared my mother would do nothing to prevent it, might even be glad for it.
I’d never understood why my mother resented me. Of course, servants had whispered that she disliked me because I rivaled her beauty. Others said she was jealous because the king spent more time with his children than with his wife.
Father had indeed spent much time with us. I had many fond memories of my childhood with him. He’d loved to hunt, and when I’d grown old enough, he’d taken me with him on nearly every hunting expedition.
It wasn’t until I was older I’d understood that in marrying Queen Margery, he’d gained the title of king but had few responsibilities and almost no authority. Fortunately, he’d had a pleasant temperament and easily deferred the decision making to the queen.
He’d disagreed with her over one issue—the yearly sacrifice to Grendel. He’d pleaded with her on more than one occasion to allow him to attempt to kill the beast, but she always refused, fearing too much for his life.
Of course, I’d been torn over the matter. On the one hand, I’d wanted my father to put an end to the custom as the dreaded Choosing Ball loomed ever nearer for me. On the other hand, I’d agreed with the queen that I didn’t want him to die fighting Grendel.
When I’d voiced my fears to Father, he’d ruffled my hair and told me not to worry, that he’d always be there to make sure I was safe. If only that had been true . . .
And if only Mother hadn’t seen me as a threat. Although my younger brother, Ethelbard, was first in line to inherit the throne, the queen feared I’d try to usurp her. The truth was, I had no aspirations to rule Warwick and had never even hinted at trying to take the throne from my mother or Ethelbard.
Yes, I’d heard the rumors amongst courtiers that I’d make a better ruler than the queen and Ethelbard combined. Nevertheless, I’d never taken such talk seriously. I attributed the discontentment to the growing poverty in Warwick, especially as the nation’s main industry, the gem mines, had produced fewer of the emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds that had once been excavated in abundance.
Whatever the case, my mother had never accepted or encouraged me. Not in the least. And in those last few years after Father’s heart attack, our relationship had grown more strained. Even so, I hadn’t expected her to plot my death . . .
A sharp pain flared to life inside. My mother, my own flesh and blood, had tried to have me murdered. If she hated me so much, why hadn’t she simply chosen me to be the offering to Grendel? After all, the Choosing Ball had been less than a month away. She could have waited for Grendel to kill me and saved herself from having blood on her hands.
A shrill bird call told me the lookout had spotted our return and alerted Irontooth and the others. At the crest of the hill, our path leveled off and narrowed. The heavy pine boughs overhead shadowed us, making the day appear gloomier than it was.
“This warring between the two bands of outcasts is unnecessary.” Mikkel searched the treetops and paused at each of our lookouts, finding them too easily, though they were well hidden.
The longer I was with our prisoner, the more I was convinced he was no ordinary nobleman. Though I’d distracted him to my advantage in the boat when I’d overtaken him, he was undeniably a skilled warrior. In addition, everything about him from the way he spoke to his bearing indicated he had a purpose for being on the island. And it had nothing to do with his servant. Irontooth was justified in his desire to capture and question this man.
Was he a spy? Perhaps for the Inquisitor?
I nearly stumbled at the thought and caught myself before anyone noticed. Surely he couldn’t be a spy, not after living on the island for two months. Blade would have figured out the duplicity by now and killed him.
“I don’t understand why both groups don’t join forces,” he continued. “If we work together, we’ll be stronger and better equipped for fighting the real adversaries.”
I released a scoffing laugh. “Blade and Irontooth are sworn enemies. They have despised each other for as long as they both have lived.”
“What is the cause of such animosity?”
“It is of no consequence.” In truth, I didn’t know what had turned them against each other. The one time I’d dared to ask Irontooth, he’d yelled at me for five full minutes and then stormed out of the cave. I hadn’t asked again since.
“It is of consequence.” The chains around Mikkel’s hands and ankles clinked together as he walked ahead of me now. “One should bridge the rifts if at all possible.”
“Perhaps that is true in your world, but not in mine.” After the malevolence my mother had heaped upon me, I had no wish to bridge our rift. In fact, I’d rejoice if I never had to see her again.
Before Mikkel could speak further, shouting and jeers clamored from the path ahead. The misfits who made their home amongst the caves had come out, brandishing their weapons, ready to give the newcomers their usual greeting.
Fowler, at the front of the line of prisoners, came to an abrupt halt. Gregor’s face remained expressionless, but Mikkel’s features hardened, and he stiffened his shoulders, evidently surmising the welcome would be anything but pleasant.