The Secret Princess (10 page)

Luke shook off those thoughts, unsure where
they’d come from or what business he had thinking them. They had an escape to make, soldiers to meet with and countermeasures to plan. If it was still possible, he wanted to avoid war with Illyria. Barring that, he’d prefer to meet in battle on his own terms—and on Illyrian soil, as far from the pregnant queen as possible.

There was still the situation in the caves near Sardis to be sorted
out, as well. And he needed to report back to his brother all he’d learned. Hopefully they’d find King Garren’s son Prince Warrick still at Castlehead visiting Elisabette. As long as they had control of him, they’d have some measure of control over Garren’s actions. King Garren had only one son left and a daughter who, if Bertie was to be believed, wished to flee her father’s household. Not even
King Garren would be foolish enough to endanger his only heir.

Luke’s tired mind swam with unanswered questions. The birds above them stirred to life and filled the air with their greetings to the sun. Luke ran alongside the trotting horse as quickly as his tired feet would carry him, praying they’d be fast enough to stay ahead of King Garren’s men.

* * *

The horse beneath her stopped,
and Evelyn awoke just in time to pull her brother back to keep him from toppling forward as the mare bent her head to drink from a stream. Prince Luke crouched beside the clear water, scooping it to his mouth in big handfuls, and Evelyn felt the parchedness of her own throat as she swallowed.

“What?” Bertie mumbled as he roused.

“Water,” she explained, and steadied him as she scooted
from the horse. Luke raised a hand and helped them both down, and she stumbled, still groggy with sleepiness, toward the stream.

“Drink well,” the prince urged them as he filled his flask, then reached for Bertie’s and topped it off. “We should reach my outpost camp in under an hour, but that assumes we proceed unaccosted.”

After quenching her thirst, Evelyn splashed the cold water onto
her face and arms, as well, washing off the worst of the grime from their travels and the climb through the muddy ravine. Her dress, which had never been very warm or sturdy, boasted a new tear on one sleeve. A tattered section along the bottom hem had pulled away completely, and most of the garment was streaked with mud. Tufts of her hair had been pulled free from her braid, but without a comb
she had no hope of restraining them. She tucked the worst of them behind her ears and looked up to find the prince watching her.

She blushed, knowing well that she looked wretched. Reminding herself that her appearance didn’t matter—that Luke would only ever see her as a slave, no matter what her feelings were for him—she asked the prince, “Would you like to ride for this next leg of the
journey?”

An amused smile played at the corner of his lips. “No. It isn’t far now. You may ride. You need your rest.”

“I’m awake now. I’ll run along beside—it will help me wake up. I want to stay alert.” She glanced around the woods as she spoke but saw no threat and refrained from suggesting any lest Bertie grow afraid.

“Last of the tarts? Anyone?” Bertie held out three crumbling
pastries in his open palms.

“One each.” The prince nodded his thanks. “Let us eat while we travel. Bertie, will you ride?”

Bertie scrambled onto the mare’s back and they started off again, the prince leading the horse at a brisk walk, impeded by branches and the uneven terrain. Evelyn had no trouble keeping up with the prince. Bertie, who had to have been just as exhausted as she felt,
quickly nodded off again slumped over the horse’s mane, his arms wrapped limply around the animal’s neck.

“Your secrets trouble me, Evelyn.” Prince Luke’s words pierced the otherwise quiet morning, stabbing straight to her fear-filled heart.

Her only hope of protecting her brother lay in keeping the secret of their father’s identity—at least long enough to put Lydia and Illyria behind
them on their journey north to their homeland. She didn’t dare confess anything now. The prince already knew enough of her background to guess the name of her father if he mulled the question long enough. It seemed only his gratitude for her healing work, his derision toward her father and the great chasm between the two kept him from guessing already.

Unsure how to respond and unable to
find her voice, she could only glance at him.

He met her eyes and surely saw the fear there. “You said your father was half Frankish and half Illyrian. Was he one of Rab the Raider’s men?”

Evelyn swallowed. It wasn’t a question she could answer—not if she wanted her brother to survive.

The prince continued. “You mentioned also that your father died last fall. Many died in battle
against Sardis.”

“That’s where he died.” Evelyn heard the anguish in her voice.

“So he was an enemy of my kingdom.” There was no accusation in the prince’s words, nor was there any indication of surprise, only resignation and acceptance.

“Not by choice,” Evelyn offered, then wondered if her words were true. Her father had killed King Theodoric of Lydia. Obviously he’d done things
she didn’t understand. Perhaps it was presumptuous of her to assume she knew the man who’d raised her and her brother since their mother’s death.

And perhaps she’d been overconfident to presume she and Bertie could keep their father’s identity a secret from the prince. He knew many things and had many connections. If he didn’t guess at the truth, someone might well tell him. Her father’s
men and all of Garren’s household knew her true identity. Indeed, her father’s brother, Warrick, was betrothed to Princess Elisabette, Prince Luke’s sister. Warrick had left Fier to visit his betrothed. The Illyrian heir could quite easily give away their secret the moment their paths crossed—an encounter that would come soon enough if the prince took them to Castlehead.

Prince Luke had fallen
silent.

Evelyn realized what she had to do. Quickly, before she lost her courage or her secret was spilled. “Your Highness?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve spoken before of your debt to me for saving your life. Indeed, you have surely repaid that debt many times over with your kindnesses to me and my brother.”

“I have not repaid that debt.” The prince spoke with noble authority. “If anything,
I owe you all the more for seeing me safely from King Garren’s fortress when I was imprisoned there.”

Evelyn might have argued whether he owed her anything, but for what she wanted to ask, it was best that he feel indebted—deeply indebted. So she didn’t argue. “In exchange for that debt, may I ask of you one favor?”

Prince Luke had worn a stern look throughout their conversation, but
now his face relaxed as he bent back a large branch for her to pass. She waited for the horse to make it through, then followed.

“Ask whatever you will. I am eager to settle the matter.”

“For my brother’s life.”

Alarm filled the prince’s eyes. “His life? Is it in danger?”

“Please.” Evelyn hurried to explain what she could, choosing her words carefully to avoid giving away any
more clues that might indict them. “He has done no wrong. He has committed no crime. Bertie wants only to return to the Frankish lands of his birth, not to linger in these lands any longer. Please grant him leave to make that journey. Banish him from these lands if you will, but spare his life.”

Though they’d reached a level spot where a trail led forward on a clear path, the prince slowed
his steps and studied her face. “He is a child. I cannot see how his life would be in danger, certainly not now that we’ve passed out of the Illyrian lands where he was a slave.”

Evelyn felt tears trickle down her cheeks and she swiped them away. “You have spoken of my father. His crimes, I’m afraid, were many. Indeed, I do not know the full extent of them, but that is why we were enslaved
in King Garren’s household. As you’ve guessed, we were not born slaves, but it was for the debt of our father’s crimes we have been serving.” She sucked in a shaking breath. “Please, I ask only for one promise. Spare his life. Do what you will to me, but spare him.”

They strode in silence for full minutes until Evelyn could stand the wait no longer and, in spite of her fears, glanced up from
the path to the prince.

He stared at her as he walked along, his brow knit, his expression stern. Had she angered him with her request? Had her words given away too much and let on to him just who they were? Had she by speaking only hastened their execution?

Prince Luke had spoken before of how he loathed her father. What if he decided to exact his vengeance right here on the road? He
was an armed warrior. Could she hold him off long enough for her brother to make good his escape? It didn’t seem likely. And yet, what other plan did she have? She’d already begged him for mercy. Judging by the way he stared at her now, he didn’t seem likely to grant them clemency.

Chapter Ten

L
uke stared at the woman as he pushed doggedly toward the encampment that lay just ahead. His feet felt heavy with exhaustion, his mind nearly numb from lack of sleep. But not even his fatigue could explain Evelyn’s tearful plea for her brother’s life.

What had he missed? Had the Frankish slaves been so abused and threatened by King Garren that they could see no
hope for kindness in spite of all Luke had done for them and the protection he’d offered them? Truly, Evelyn’s experience in the fortress of Fier had been awful—he’d caught enough of a glimpse of it to know that for certain. And King Garren was a deceptive man, full of tricks and ruses.

Did Evelyn believe she was being tricked again—led away to Lydia only to be punished for her father’s crimes?
How could he make her understand he meant her no harm? Or was she too exhausted to believe him, no matter what he said? He felt far too weary to begin to know how to respond to her plea. He had no intention of harming her brother, but she clearly feared otherwise. Too tired to sort it all out and unsure how he could impress upon her his sincerity, he remained silent.

Besides, more pressing
questions concerned him at the moment. Their encampment was close by, not far from the ruins of the burned village of Bern, which the Illyrians had destroyed once Luke had escaped from there the previous fall. Luke watched carefully for any sign of Illyrian activity in the area, but saw nothing.

Quietly, they approached the low hut where he and his men kept their stores of provisions and
enough pallets to sleep a dozen soldiers under the thatched roof. There wouldn’t be that many there now—indeed, his best hope was that all six men who’d accompanied him the night before had returned safely.

To Luke’s relief, he recognized the guard stationed in a concealed spot near the door. So, Dan had returned safely from their skirmish with the Illyrians. That he guarded the door meant
others lay inside. But were they wounded?

Dan rose as they approached, relief and recognition filling his face.

Luke pressed the horse’s lead rope into Evelyn’s hands, then hurried forward to consult with Dan. “How are the men?”

“All accounted for.” Dan’s expression turned somber. “Vasil and Farris are injured, sir. We’ve done our best to stop the bleeding, but they need the help
of a healer. Sacha rode to bring back more men and a litter. They cannot ride as they are, Your Highness.”

“Let me see.”

Dan nodded and left the wooden door open for light as he led Luke inside. The men lay on pallets, their injuries obvious. Vasil’s lower leg had been bound with an improvised cloth bandage, but his blood had already soaked it through.

“An Illyrian arrow. It pierced
him down to the bone.”

Farris lay on his stomach, his face to the side, a bloodstain welling from his bandaged back near his shoulder.

“Farris was also hit by an arrow as we made our retreat. We’ve removed the shafts, but they’re barbed heads, buried deep. We dared not disturb them further.”

Luke nodded solemnly. “Have we a needle among our supplies?”

“Always, sir.”

“The
pale-haired woman saved my life.” Luke stepped back out into the sunshine to find Evelyn helping her brother down from the horse. “She should be able to help these men, as well.” He switched from Lydian to Illyrian as he called out to her. “Evelyn. My men were injured last night defending you from King Garren. They are in need of your healing touch.”

* * *

Evelyn blinked away exhaustion
as she stitched, praying her fingers would do their work well in spite of her need for sleep. She might have dared to ask Prince Luke to pardon her brother in exchange for her work, but the prince had made it clear she owed these men a debt already. Besides, she feared she’d pushed the prince too far with her last request.

The men had carried the wounded outside into the daylight, where the
warm sun provided illumination for her task. Bertie and the prince had taken pallets inside, and Evelyn had been promised rest once she finished her work. They’d fed her, at least—raisin cakes and smoked fish. The food helped revive her, though every so often she had to stop and rub her eyes to keep from nodding off.

Removing the arrowheads was delicate work, though she was familiar enough
with the Illyrian barbed points and had removed them before when Garren’s men had suffered training accidents. After many hours of work, she finished stitching the men shut. It was late afternoon when she left them in the care of the guard and found her way inside the hut, where she closed her eyes and fell asleep on a pallet beside her brother.

Urgency filled Bertie’s voice as he shook her
awake, whispering, “Evelyn, come on, there are men outside. Wake up. Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”

“What is it?” She opened one groggy eye and found the inside of the hut almost completely dark, save the low glow of coals in the fireplace. There wasn’t even so much as a crack of light under the door. “Is it night?”

“It’s been night. Soon it will be morning again.” Bertie pressed
his face near hers as he whispered, though he spoke in Frankish, so even if they were overheard, it didn’t seem likely anyone would understand what they spoke of. “They’re loading the wounded men onto litters to carry them back to their city.”

“Do they need my help?”

“No, you helped already. Aren’t you awake yet? Pay attention, now. They’re talking about something and they’re quite excited
about it, but I don’t know Lydian and I can’t make any sense of it.”

“I don’t know any more Lydian than you do.”

“No, but the prince will talk to you. Can you get out there now and find out what’s going on? You know our lives might depend on it.”

With that warning, Evelyn hurried to her feet and stepped outside and found the sun had tinged the eastern sky with its dull predawn glow.
So she’d slept through the evening and most of the night. Prince Luke stepped back from the litters as the men made their final preparations to travel.

Evelyn mustered up her courage and approached him, first asking the prince how her patients were doing. To her relief, he seemed pleased with what her efforts had accomplished.

“The fresh bandages show no sign of bleeding through. Your
stitches have served their purpose well. The men are stable enough to travel, so we’re moving them now, before the Illyrians return,” Prince Luke explained. “The men who brought the litters from Sardis passed Illyrians along the way.”

“Soldiers?”

“One was a page headed to the city with a message for Warrick. He wouldn’t say what it was, but I suspect King Garren is calling Warrick home
or hatching a plan right under our noses.”

“That can’t be good.” Evelyn recoiled at the thought of her father’s brother, who’d killed her father in battle. Warrick knew she and Bertie were Rab the Raider’s children. Garren’s heir could easily give away their secret—in fact, if Warrick was with Luke’s brother King John, and if the prince had indeed mentioned her and her brother to the king,
Warrick might have given away their identities to the king already, and Luke would learn the whole truth as soon as they arrived. They might be riding to their deaths. The thought silenced her.

Fortunately, the prince kept talking, though he watched her face carefully as he spoke. “The other Illyrians were a group of horsemen dressed as woodsmen, headed toward some caves near Sardis. They’ve
been gathering there by the dozens of late. Do you know anything about what they are doing there?” As he finished speaking, he looked behind her, and Evelyn turned back to find that Bertie had approached them in silence, no doubt intent on hearing for himself what the prince had to say.

“Caves?” Bertie repeated, joining them.

“It’s a dangerous area. Not only are there caves but underground
tunnels, as well. The ground is very unstable. We Lydians avoid the place because of incidents in the past when the ground has collapsed and swallowed up livestock, even people.”

Bertie’s expression grew earnest. “Are they cutting trees for support beams?”

Prince Luke raised an eyebrow as he nodded. “I saw many trees that had been chopped down and stripped of their limbs, lying in great
piles. Do you know what they’re for?”

“I’ve heard the king giving orders to his men. They’re support beams for the mines, to keep the caverns from collapsing.”

“Mines?” Evelyn repeated, then recalled something her grandfather had said to Omar. “And they’re in the Lydian borderlands? Are they looking for gold?”

“Gold,” Bertie said, growing more animated. “Do you know where it is?”

“Where what is?” Prince Luke clarified.

Bertie explained. “The gold. The mines. The king has been plotting for many months. During the siege on Sardis last fall, some of his men retreated that way and found the caves when they were looking for a place to hide. They brought back gold, and now the king wants to mine it. He’s furious because he lost the land in the peace treaty.”

“Is
that what the gold talk is about?” Evelyn pieced together bits of things her grandfather had said in previous months, which she’d ignored because the greedy king was always scheming and talking of gold, but none of it had ever concerned her before.

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Legend says there is gold in those hills, but anyone who’s ever tried to reach it has died an early death. Wise men
are content with what they have and do not risk the lives of their loved ones in an effort to grow rich.”

“I agree, Your Highness.” Evelyn met his eyes. “King Garren is crafty, but I would never call him wise. He is also insatiably acquisitive.”

“Your words precisely describe my experience of the man.” The prince raised a gloved finger as he stepped toward his men, who’d finished loading
the wounded and now looked to him for their leave. “Wait here. We shall discuss this further in a moment.”

While the prince consulted with his men in Lydian, Evelyn switched to Frankish to assess the matter with her brother.

“Bertie, are you quite sure that’s what Grandfather is up to?”

“It’s got to be.” Bertie’s eyes continued to sparkle in a manner Evelyn found unsettling. It
reminded her, almost, of their grandfather—and not in a good way. “We must go find it, Evelyn. With enough gold, we could buy our way—”

“What?” She stopped him. “Didn’t you hear the prince? The land is unstable. The ground swallows up greedy men. It’s just gold, Bertie. You can’t eat it.”

“But we could go home, Evelyn. We could buy safe passage.”

“We could be killed.”

“Your
prince is going to have us killed anyway, just as soon as he realizes who we are. We can’t expect to keep our identities a secret much longer. I heard him mention Warrick. Our uncle has never tried to hurt us before, but he killed our father and there’s nothing to keep him from telling everyone who we are. We’re dead either way, but if we could get the gold first—”

Prince Luke had given leave
to his men and now returned to Evelyn and Bertie as the litters bearing the wounded were carried off through the woods.

“I spoke to them of these mines. They agree your theory is consistent with everything else we’ve learned, but we must consult with my brother King John before we decide what to do about it. You must tell me everything you know of King Garren’s plans.”

While Evelyn tried
to recall if there was anything else she could tell the prince, her brother spoke boldly.

“Can you take us to the place? I may be able to interpret a great deal more if I can see what King Garren’s men are doing.”

Evelyn watched the prince’s face as he considered her brother’s request. She knew exactly why Bertie had asked—because he wanted to find the gold himself. But Prince Luke did
not seem suspicious of the boy’s motives.

“We must first make our way toward Sardis. We can regroup there. I can send a message to my brother and select a party to travel toward the caves. But for now we must make preparations to get under way. I’ve spoken with my men.” Prince Luke crossed his arms and took a step back, looking Evelyn and Bertie up and down before nodding.

“As King Garren’s
slaves, you are his property. Our rescue, necessary as it was, could nonetheless be interpreted as a breach of the terms of the peace treaty. No matter that Garren himself has breached that treaty many times. He may well use this incident as an excuse to attack, especially if he catches up to our party while you’re still with us. We have a long journey ahead of us, and Garren’s men travel
these lands far too freely.”

Evelyn listened with mounting fear. “What are you suggesting?”

“We’ve clothing here—woodsman garments. We’ll disguise you and cover your hair with hoods. Anything to keep your identities hidden. You’ll be safer this way. We’ll all be safer this way.” He walked toward the hut. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Hurrying to follow, Evelyn and Bertie soon found themselves
left alone with a trunk of clothing, from which they picked the smallest items they could find among the garments sized for burly men. They found heavy cloaks with oversized hoods that would cover their pale hair and most of their faces, as well.

“I’m glad for this.” Evelyn examined her brother once he’d donned the disguise. “And not just because of King Garren. If Warrick recognizes us,
he could give away everything with one casual remark. From what the prince told me earlier, we’re sure to meet up with him at some point. The best we can do is keep our faces covered and try to stay out of sight.”

“I’ll keep well out of Warrick’s way.” Bertie tightened the rope belt that struggled to keep his clothes in place around his narrow hips. “As far out of his way as I can be.”

Evelyn watched her brother trot back outside. She knew Bertie was concerned about keeping their belongings safe from discovery. Important as that might be, Evelyn found herself troubled by what her brother had said. How far from Warrick did Bertie intend to be?

As far away as the gold-mine caves? She’d tried to warn him against the plan, but she knew her younger brother far too well. He
was every bit as cunning as their grandfather but without years of experience to guide him. Bertie got into trouble enough within the confines of the fortress of Fier. Out here in the borderlands, her little brother might do anything.