Blinding Beauty (51 page)

Steps approached his room, and
someone pounded on his door. Before he could answer, the door was
kicked in, and Sir Absalom tossed a large bag into the room with a
thump. The look he gave Launce was cruel, and though the purple and
blue light glimmered in his eye, the hatred in Absalom’s glare was
real.

They stood there, the large bag
laying between them for a long time. Finally, without saying a
word, the awful knight left.

Launce considered looking at the
bag’s contents after he met with his father, but a rustling inside
of it caught his attention. He stared for a moment, wondering if he
should find some gloves or a weapon, just in case the bag contained
something that might bite. There was no telling what strange prank
Sir Absalom had played on him while he wasn’t under the enchanter’s
direct orders. When another sound came from the bag, this time a
very human groan, Launce didn’t hesitate. Loosening the drawstring
with fumbling hands, he threw it open.

Inside, Ansel’s face was covered
in dark, sticky blood, and his eyes were swollen shut. Launce’s
chest constricted as he struggled to yank the rest of the bag off
of his father’s limp, battered body. As soon as Ansel was free,
Launce fell beside him and cradled his father’s head in his lap.
Tears made it hard to see as he tried with shaking hands to wipe
the blood from his father’s face.

“
Father? Father, can you hear
me?”

Ansel couldn’t quite open his
eyes, but after a few moments, swallowed weakly and opened his
mouth.

“
Launce?” When his voice finally
worked, it was raspy.

“
I’m here, Papa!”

But his father could say no more.
His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, and he could hardly open
his eyes. The hands that had held, disciplined, and instructed
Launce now trembled like an old man’s.

“
I’m sorry,” Launce whispered,
trying to keep the tears from blinding him entirely. “I’m so
sorry.” Part of him was dying, screaming to find a healer, anyone,
even Gigi, who might know how to help his father. But with
Bronkendol in charge, there was no assurance that anyone he asked
would help him at all. The helper might harm Ansel even further if
he or she was under orders.

Without the slightest knowledge of
how to care for someone so wounded, Launce lifted his father from
the floor as gently as he could and laid him in the king’s gigantic
bed. The thick, wide mattresses might be too much for Launce, but
his father deserved the best.

A clean cloth and fresh water had
been laid in one of the two porcelain basins for Launce to use
before bed. He took the cloth and wet it so that he could try to
get the worst of the blood from his father’s face. Then he checked
for stab wounds and broken bones. There appeared to be no
punctures, but from the way Ansel cried out when Launce had lifted
him, there was a good chance he had broken a few ribs at the very
least.

Once he was done with that, Launce
sat on the edge of the bed and watched his father. It was
impossible to tell if Ansel slept or not, but he did stop trying to
move as much. As he watched, Launce wanted to kick himself for
ignoring the field wound treatments Everard had tried to teach him.
What he wouldn’t do to have his infuriating brother-in-law here
now.

But, a small voice of hope
whispered, someone else was nearby that might know how to help. As
soon as the thought was in his head, Launce was off of the bed, and
plowing ahead towards Olivia’s room, barely remembering to lock the
room and bring his key in the process. He couldn’t have anyone else
entering to hurt his father further.

Launce sent up a prayer of thanks
as he met no one in the halls. Not even servants or guards were to
be seen at the late hour. It struck Launce as odd, but, he decided,
it must be the Maker finally moving events in his favor. That
revelation buoyed him on even faster until he reached her chambers.
Once there, however, he slowed. The thought of entering a young
lady’s room without escort, or even knocking, heated his face. But,
he decided, he couldn’t risk being discovered and thwarted by Gigi
or any of the other women who constantly hovered nearby.

If the enchanter has his way, he
thought, you’ll be sharing chambers soon anyways. This thought made
him flush even more, and he hurried to banish it as quickly as
possible. His father’s life was at stake.

Launce snuck into the room as
quietly as he could. It only took him a moment to find the bed, and
when he did, he was overjoyed to realize there were no other women
sleeping in the room as well.

The moon spilled through an open
window and onto the girl’s face as she slept, her face more
peaceful than he had seen it since they had met.

“
Olivia,” he whispered as loudly
as he dared. She stirred but didn’t wake, so he tried again.
“Olivia! I need your help!”

“
Launce?” she mumbled. Slowly, she
rolled over and sat up, rubbing her eyes. When she did, however, he
froze, panic squeezing his chest.

“
Launce, what are you doing here?”
She pulled the covers up higher against her chest, suddenly more
awake. “This is highly improper!”

Launce struggled for words as he
stared at the blue and purple glimmer in the corner of each of her
beautiful, almond eyes.

“
I…” he swallowed, not sure what
to say. He could hear footsteps approaching in the hall, so he had
to try. Perhaps her feelings for him would show her the truth. “My
father was injured! I need your help to take care of
him!”

“
Master Launce!” Gigi stormed in,
holding a candle and looking quite shocked. “You must leave this
room and return to your own chambers at once!”

“
Please, Olivia!” Launce yelled,
not caring anymore who heard him. “My father might be
dying!”

At this, Olivia’s eyes softened,
and a look of compassion came over her face. Maybe, just maybe she
had heard him, even through the enchanter’s lies.

“
I’m sorry, Launce,” she said
gently. “But it’s better this way.”

Shock paralyzed him and rendered
him powerless as Gigi fussed and pushed him from the room. Olivia’s
cruel words echoed in his mind as the door was shut in his face.
Deep down, he knew her words were not Oliva’s, but the enchanter’s.
Still, his hope of swaying her heart with his affections had been
dashed. Launce had failed, and because of him, his father might
die.

Somehow, Launce made it back to
his room, although he couldn’t recall actually directing his feet
to carry him there. Curling up at the edge of the bed, he allowed
himself to weep, holding his father’s limp hand as tightly as he
dared.

He didn’t realize he had nodded
off and let most of the candles die until a light knock sounded at
the door. Sitting up, Launce rubbed his eyes as a shadow stepped in
to the edge of the room, light from the torches in the hall
spilling through the gap.

“
I’m sorry this had to happen.”
Bronkendol’s voice was low and soothing. “I told you, though, that
you need to carefully think about your choice.”

“
You think you’re helping the
world,” Launce snapped, wishing desperately that tears were not
running down his face as he spoke. “But everywhere you go, only
pain and death follows!” He stood and began to stalk towards the
short figure in the corner. He was going to kill this evil little
man. There would be no one to hear him scream if he shut the door
first.

“
Your sister will be at the
coronation tomorrow.”

Launce froze.

“
You should also know that I
cannot be so forgiving next time.” The shadowy figure crossed back
into the light, but before he stepped out, turned back once more.
“If you cross me again, I swear to you that there will be death.
And it won’t be yours.”

Launce collapsed on the ground and
beat his fists against the stone floor until they were bruised.
Angry hot tears drenched his face.

How dare this man threaten and
hurt his family? And how dare the stupid guests do his bidding? He
didn’t care if they were under a curse. He hated them
all.

But most of all, how dare the
Fortress allow such evil to endure?

“
I tried, Garin,” he choked out
into the darkness, wondering if the steward was near enough to
hear. Part of him hoped he wasn’t. “But I can’t lose anyone
else.”

CHAPTER
FIFTY-ONE

That No Prison Can
Hold

“
There now,
some of this will do you good. Drink up.”

Isa tried to open her eyes, but
they felt stuck. And so did the rest of her body. When she tried to
move one arm at a time, she found she could barely wiggle her
fingers. What was wrong with her? She felt as though she’d been
sleeping for years. And why was it so dark?

“
There you go,” the voice said.
“Now swallow.”

Isa did as she was told, and a hot
liquid slid down her throat. As it moved, her body began to
remember itself, and her memories began to return one at a
time.

A broken glass castle.

Ever’s promise.

The dungeon.

Isa opened her eyes wide when that
memory returned. Wildly, she looked around, but after a moment of
blinking the sleep from her eyes, she realized she was still there.
Instead of being down in the metal pit, however, she was laying on
the metal floor beside a large hole. In the dim light, she could
see Bronkendol leaning over her with another spoonful of what
looked to be soup. He held the spoon out even closer, but she
resisted, licking her lips instead.

There was another taste on her
tongue, and it wasn’t from the soup. It was older, as drops of it
had dried on her mouth. First, she tasted the sweet tang of a
nectar, but very quickly recognized the subtle bitterness beneath.
Isa couldn’t remember the name of the plant that made such a wine,
but she did remember learning that it could put a full-grown horse
to sleep in minutes.

“
How long have I been asleep?” she
asked, rubbing her head, which felt as though someone had laid a
pile of bricks on top of it.

“
Just one day and night, my dear.
You were distressed, and I didn’t want you to hurt
yourself.”

Ah yes. Despite the impossibility
of escape, Isa vaguely recalled trying desperately to do so. She
had even managed to work the bindings on her hands loose somehow.
It had felt as though the walls were closing in around her, and the
voice of reason that usually resided in her head had snapped. Then
the enchanter had come with his drink and forced her to sip it, and
suddenly, her unbound hands had made no difference as she had been
lowered, unable to move, back down into the pit.

“
Please, eat a bit more,”
Bronkendol said, pushing the bowl towards her.

Isa lifted the bowl and sniffed
the soup. It smelled like any chicken soup, but how was one to tell
whether or not he had hidden more herbs?

As she hesitated, Bronkendol
sighed. “I promise, it’s just soup.”

Isa studied him, refusing to let
go of her suspicion. How could she know for sure that she wasn’t
under the influence of the glass slivers even now? What if he had
placed some inside of her while she’d slept? She touched the outer
corners of her eyes, but felt nothing unusual. Still, would she be
able to tell if he had hidden them there?

Isa came to the conclusion that
the only way to know whether or not he had her under his influence
was by asking herself one question. How did she feel about him?
After a moment of thought, Isa decided with satisfaction that she
still loathed him. The fact that she was still imprisoned and
desired to escape only further convinced her that he was telling
the truth.

Reluctantly, she began to feed
herself. He smiled a bit, his boyish grin reminding her of why
she’d been so taken in at first by his sweet, enthusiastic ways.
How things had changed.

“
I’ve come to ask for your
help.”

“
My help?” Her voice sounded like
a bullfrog’s. She took another sip.

The enchanter nodded. “I want you
to know that though your power is gone, you’re still more valuable
than I can express.” He took a deep breath and looked her in the
eyes. “The people love you. You could still be great.”

“
And why would I help you? You
turned my husband against me. You’ve imprisoned me beneath my own
home. You even threatened those I love!” Strengthened by the food,
her voice began to rise as the familiar anger returned. “Why, for
the love of goodness, would I want to help you?”

“
In just a few hours, I will be
crowning your brother king of the Fortress. I—”

“
You can’t do that!” Isa jumped to
her feet, every ounce of energy returned. “The Fortress hasn’t
chosen him! He’ll die!”

Bronkendol stood, too, so that
they were nearly nose to nose, and his voice was no longer
patient.

“
You’ve been queen to a holy place
that rejected you after only a few months, and you think you have
enough understanding to tell me what is not acceptable?”

His words stung more than Isa
wanted to admit, but if there was any truth, any knowledge left in
her, she knew without the shadow of a doubt that Launce would die
if he accepted that crown.