After making sure the prisoners were well contained and guarded, I climbed out of the cavern into the rain that fell steadily and cast a chill over our camp. The low clouds and fog had returned, settling in amongst the rocky outcroppings and obscuring the half dozen cave entrances that made up the bulk of our dwellings. At the center of the camp, a large covering made of hides had been secured to four tall posts and provided a shelter during both rain and snow. A center hole in the hides allowed smoke from the fire pit to escape.
Felicity stood at the fire in front of a pot hanging from a tripod. The waft of fish told me she was cooking fish chowder, one of our usual fares. Next to her, Irontooth sipped from his large pewter stein covered in intricate raised engravings of knights doing battle. The lid was in the shape of a knight’s helmet with fancy plumage rising and serving as the thumb lift. Irontooth didn’t say so, but others speculated the stein had been a gift for his service and bravery from Norland’s old king.
“Veil,” he called as I attempted to sneak past. “I need to speak with you.”
His tone was severe, and the others who’d been loitering under the shelter dispersed. I didn’t blame them. Irontooth wasn’t an easy master to please and even more difficult when he was irritated.
I wanted to call out that I’d meet with him later, but I suppressed my natural inclination to order people around as I always had in the days when I’d been a princess and forced myself to approach him.
Felicity remained at the pot, her expression serene. At my approach, her pale lips curved into a warm smile and her colorless eyes met mine, assuring me I had nothing to worry about.
I nodded in return, thankful for this friend. At least a decade my senior, she’d taken me under her charge from the day I arrived and taught me how to survive in this rough wilderness. After I’d revealed to her my true identity as Princess Pearl of Warwick, Queen Margery’s oldest child, she’d hadn’t treated me differently. My royalty hadn’t impressed her the way it did most people. At first I hadn’t been sure I liked that. But now, after the many passing months, I realized her acceptance of all people regardless of station or stature was something I’d do well to emulate.
“What else did you learn of the prisoners?” Irontooth wiped foam from his mustache.
I relayed to him a summary of the few details I’d gleaned from Mikkel during our walk from the boat to camp. But it was a paltry amount, and I wasn’t surprised when Irontooth guffawed. “You’d better get him to reveal more than that, or I will kill him.”
“Have no fear. I shall succeed.” I’d perfected the appearance of confidence over the years. “If you had watched him run the gauntlet, you would like him.”
“Perhaps he should run it again, since all I’m hearing is how good he was.”
“Perhaps he should. But first he needs his wounds cleaned, or you will indeed kill him from neglect.”
“That’s one way to do away with him.”
“He deserves the benefit of the doubt until he proves otherwise.”
“Until he betrays us all to the Inquisitor.”
“You gave me a chance to prove myself,” I said more gently and with a note of teasing. “And now you cannot imagine the camp without me in it.”
Irontooth mumbled under his breath, then took a swig from his stein. Even with his severity, he was a caring man at heart.
“Perhaps he will be an asset,” I added.
“Or he could be the ruin of us all.” Irontooth’s brow furrowed as he glanced in the direction of the dungeon. Older than my father by many years, Irontooth had become a father figure to me nonetheless.
“We are strong and capable of defending ourselves against one man.”
“But he isn’t like us.”
I wanted to remind Irontooth I wasn’t like the outcasts either. But the truth was, I no longer saw the differences. I only saw the ways we were all alike.
“Do whatever you need to in order to get the truth from him. And if you can’t stomach torture, I’ll send Tommy down to do it.”
I followed Irontooth’s gaze to the dungeon entrance, where Tommy stood guard. With the unnatural growth of thick hair covering his body, he almost resembled a bear. At times he acted like one. One of the biggest and most muscular men on the island, he was a ferocious fighter, sometimes too much so for my sensitive heart. “You gave me a week. I shall use my methods and shall not tolerate any interference.”
“Take care.” Irontooth lowered his voice. “He might be a spy for the queen.”
I nodded. We’d discussed the possibility that the queen might know I was still alive. After all, when the huntsmen had returned without my body, the queen would have questioned them further. And what if she’d tortured and extracted information from the huntsman who’d set me free?
I needed no further urging from Irontooth to be careful. I had enemies on all sides, and I couldn’t forget that. However, Mikkel was chained hand and foot to the dungeon wall. What harm could come of wresting more information from him this week by befriending and softening him so he would tell me all his secrets?
With a final word of assurance to Irontooth, I sped away and gathered medicinal supplies to tend to the prisoners’ wounds. A short while later, Tommy opened the door and lowered the ladder. As I climbed down with my torch in hand and supplies in a bag over my shoulder, I could feel the prisoners watching me warily.
I hopped down, walked to the center, and then studied each of them, trying to decide if Fowler and Gregor had wounds that needed tending too. From what I could tell, they were nicked and bruised but would easily heal. Still, I crossed toward them.
“If you must inflict more pain,” Mikkel said, “please spare them and abuse me instead.”
I halted.
“I beg of you.” His voice was strained. From his own pain? Concern for his comrades? Or both?
I paused for several moments, hoping he believed I was considering his offer. Then I spun abruptly and stalked toward him. “Very well. If you insist.”
“No.” Gregor yanked against his chains, attempting to protect his master but failing.
When I reached Mikkel, I held the torch up to shed more light upon him. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut with purple and blue surrounding the puffy skin. His other cheek was bruised too, likely from Irontooth’s fist. Both sleeves were saturated with blood and stuck to his arms. The front of his tunic was smeared with blood, from the cuts on his arms or elsewhere I couldn’t determine.
There was only one way to find out.
I lodged the torch into a wall holder, set the bag of supplies down, then slid my knife from its sheath. I held it out, letting the light glint off the sharp blade. I kept my attention focused on Mikkel’s face, gauging his emotions. Was he afraid of me and what I could do to him?
Even battered as he was, he was still handsome, perhaps more so now that I’d seen his kindness and consideration toward Gregor and Fowler. Certainly more so than any noblemen I’d ever met.
He didn’t look at the knife but leaned his head back against the wall, his body as relaxed—or as much as possible with his arms spread out and manacled to the crevice where the floor and wall met. His position might not be entirely comfortable, but at least I’d spared him having his arms chained to the wall above his head.