The light of day cast an eerie glow over the ruins of the outer walls as Caleb approached Blackthorn. Smoke and dust hung in the air, though most of it had settled by now. The lack of bodies served as evidence that Philip’s men had broken and ran, even with the threat of their homes and families being overtaken by enemy forces.
It had been difficult for Caleb to hang back, but he’d done it. Anticipation overwhelmed him as he approached the castle. The fact that no word had come of his brother being located or Philip being captured was unsettling. He did his best to stay calm, and as the soldiers took note of him, stopping to salute, or raise a fist and give a cheer, he kept his confidence.
The last of the prison wagons was pulling out, laden with soldiers who would make the long journey back toward Arteria whether they wanted to or not. Supply trains would take their place, but as Caleb dismounted, he was aware they wouldn’t have much time here unharassed. Clovington might have fallen, but Gradenia was likely to become involved soon, and Leopold’s men would not tuck tail and run. At least the route would be shortened now that Blackthorn was securely in their hands. They would no longer have to travel through the Lowetian Forest. Instead, supply wagons could head straight east, cut through the corner of Zurconia, and straight toward Castle Caine. It would still take about a day and a half in the slow-moving wagons, but better terrain meant more speed, which should translate as less of an opportunity for attack.
“Sir,” one of his officers said, raising a hand in salute. “Casualties were minimal. We were able to take the fortress with little resistance.”
Caleb nodded, trying not to show his irritation. Not only could he see that, he’d already received dozens of reports indicating the same information. Looking up at Blackthorn’s walls, he wasn’t sure if he should try to hold it, or obliterate it.
David stepped through what was left of the large doors that had blocked the main entrance. Both were splintered, shards hanging from broken hinges, other sections littering the ground. His expression was grim. Caleb wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say yet. “Battering ram?” he asked, indicating the door.
His friend nodded as Caleb pretended to study the aftermath. With a deep breath, he turned to face the officer, bracing himself for bad news, although the fact that no one was outraged sparked hope that perhaps no body had been found. “Well?”
Clearing his throat, David folded his arms and pushed a piece of debris around with his boot. “He’s… not here.”
It wasn’t the worst news he could hear, and it also didn’t come as a complete surprise. Of course, Philip wouldn’t let go of the one asset he had left. “Damn,” Caleb muttered, wishing he had something to punch. “No sign of him?”
For once, David looked unsure of himself. “Possibly.” Cocking his head to the side, Caleb let him continue. “We found what appears to have been his cell. It’s in that tower, up there.” He pointed behind Caleb. Turning around, he noted it happened to be the highest spire in all of Blackthorn “Would you like to see?”
“Of course.” Caleb stared at the turret a moment longer, wondering what he might find there and then turned to follow David through the remainders of the door. For the most part, the castle appeared to still be orderly. It looked more like a festival had taken place than a battle, save the occasional bloody spot on the stone floor.
“We also found this, in what appears to be Princess Katherine’s room.” David produced a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Caleb. He realized he’d given little thought to Philip’s betrothed. If it hadn’t come to his attention that Philip had requested she come to Blackthorn while Caleb was in the process of invading the kingdom, he probably wouldn’t have considered her at all. The idea that Philip was either a moron for needlessly endangering her or simply trying to draw Nadoria into the fray had been the only conclusion he’d been able to draw, and since neither mattered to him at the time, he’d let it go. Now, when he realized the paper was a coarsely drawn map, his thoughts shifted again. “What is it?”
“It appears to be a rendering of the tunnels below the castle,” David explained. “Presently, there’s no true way of knowing for sure if this has any connection to Matthew, but it looks like the picture shows the secret staircase we located in the wall, the one that leads directly to the prison cell we believe he was being held in.”
Caleb flipped the paper over as David paused in front of him near an opening in the wall. On the back of the paper, he could make out some writing. It was smudged, the paper wrinkled. Stepping toward a torch on the wall, he held it up. “What’s this?” he asked. “Does this say, ‘I am scared?’”
David didn’t move to look at the paper, and Caleb imagined he’d already studied it closely. “Yes, I believe so. But it doesn’t appear to be in your brother’s handwriting. Perhaps Katherine wrote it? Maybe she was attempting to escape herself. We’re not sure of her location at this time. We assume that she escaped with Philip, but we can’t say for sure.”
Caleb slipped the paper into a pocket and followed David up a narrow stairwell, his stomach flipping as he imagined what lay ahead of him. At the top of the stairs, a blood stain soiled the stone floor. He paused to run his boot over it and determined it wasn’t fresh. Still, the blood had to have come from his brother. He drew in a deep breath and followed David into the cell.
Keeping his expression neutral was nearly impossible. Not only did the room smell worse than a soldiers’ privy, the conditions were revolting. The filthy mattress, the bloodstained remnants of sheets, the overflowing chamber pot in the corner.... Emotions threatened to overwhelm him as he imagined his brother trying to survive here for over six months. It was all he could do to keep his anger under control.
David’s calm tone had kept Caleb from reacting rashly on more than one occasion, and this one was no different. “It appears as if he hollowed out the back of this cabinet and hid inside. He must have waited for guards to open the door, see he wasn’t here, and then slipped out behind them.”
Caleb glanced back at the cell door, wondering how Matthew had managed to trick them. He bent down to inspect the locking mechanism. He could see a coating of some sort inside and stuck his finger into the keyhole. “Is this… masticha?”
David’s forehead wrinkled as he approached and did the same thing, rubbing the sticky material between his fingers and sniffing it. “How clever,” he said, meeting Caleb’s gaze.
“He couldn’t have possibly done this one his own.”
“No, he must have had help.”
“And, if that is the case, then, someone, somewhere knows something.” Caleb felt his heartbeat quickening again. “We need to determine who it was that helped him plan his escape and figure out if he or she knew precisely where Matthew was headed.”
David agreed. “Once we get the prisoners to Caine, we can see if anyone has anything they’d like to share. Chances are, whoever it is will be willing to tell us. Assuming we have the person in our custody.”
Taking a deep breath, Caleb attempted to focus on the positive. He might not have his brother yet, but there was a glimmer of hope that he had escaped—and someone knew where he was. The king wanted to speak to the prisoners himself, which would mean a ride back to Caine, but if he could encourage someone to speak up, it would be worth it.
As he turned to go, a flicker of something white amid the tattered bedsheets caught his eye. He took a few steps closer and saw something other than straw ticking sticking up out of the holes in the mattress. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling out a piece of paper.
“I don’t know,” David said behind him. “We must’ve overlooked it.”
Caleb held his breath as he unfolded the paper to reveal familiar handwriting. It was a note—Matthew had left them a message.
To whoever may find this:
I, Matthew of Zurconia, am fleeing from my imprisonment this day. My intention is to reach Arteria and the faithful arms of my dear brother. Caleb, should you be the one to find this, please take care of my dear Angel. She has the map and will let you know how she rendered me aid in my darkest moments. Should I fall on my journey home, know that I am in better hands with the Lord my savior and those who have gone before me. Pray for peace for my poor tormented soul.
Caleb finished reading the letter and handed it to David before his emotions got the better of him, and he turned his attention to the mattress. While he hoped there might be another clue as to Matthew’s whereabouts, the idea that he needed to destroy something seemed urgent. Tossing handfuls of straw and bloodied sheets across the floor, he took the bed apart. In the aftermath, he found only a few pieces of cloth and a drawing of a pair of eyes.
“All right,” David finally said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
Caleb realized he was breathing heavy. Pieces of straw floated through the air. He batted them away as he surveyed the mess. If there was anything else here, his men would find it. Bending down, he snatched up the picture of the eyes and shoved it into his pocket, along with the map and the note David returned to him. He’d let his anger get the better of him again, a demon he battled as fiercely as any opposing army, but at least he hadn’t hurt anyone
David followed him down the stairs. “Perhaps we can figure out who this Angel person is. She may have some more information for us.” His tone was optimistic, and Caleb wanted to take the same attitude, but it was difficult to know his brother had escaped on the brink of Blackthorn’s fall. The logic behind it was sound, and Caleb imagined the same soldiers who’d unlocked the door to let him escape would’ve been leading him to the gallows or stolen him away with Philip. Still, the situation was less than ideal.
Caleb didn’t stop until he reached his horse. “Stay here. Find my brother,” he said, meeting David’s gaze before he threw a leg over his saddle and grabbed for the reins. His most trusted friend gave him a solid nod, and Caleb turned his horse away from Blackthorn, toward home and the promise that someone was waiting at Castle Caine who could tell him where he could find his brother.
After hours of walking through dark and treacherous conditions, Matthew’s feet ached and his back was stiff from leaning forward. His mind had already begun to play tricks on him, and once he was certain he was about to be overtaken by Philip’s guard. Now, he thought he heard horses hooves and paused.
Squinting, he could make out what appeared to be thin rays of light in the distance and realized he was looking at the end of the tunnel. A solid wall in front of him, and a metal grate just above it, would end his journey here. Despite his pains, he hurried forward, ready to taste freedom.
Sunlight poured over his face, and he closed his eyes and basked in it a moment, though he was certain he heard voices accompanying the pounding of hooves. It would be easy enough to reach up and move the grate, but without being able to see what he was walking into, it would also be foolish.
The tunnel was fairly dry here, and with a bit of fresh air and warmth from the grate, Matthew decided to wait for cover of darkness. He settled against the wall, taking a swig from the canteen and digging out a bit of bread. The longer he listened to the shouts above him, the more certain he became that the Gradenians had arrived, and while it would’ve been nice to think the tunnel had led him to Caleb’s men, he would never be so fortunate.
Confident that the grate was obscured enough from the soldiers in the distance, Matthew rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, the scent of freedom filling his lungs. He was almost there.
Gradenia was a wretched, dismal place, and as Philip rode through the village near Castle Graden, he wondered why anyone would ever want to live here. Even the homes were a dark gray color, matching the shades of stone that jetted out from the barren mountains all around him. Every face he passed wore a scowl, and the sharp wind blowing down from the mountains chilled him even on the inside.
The sun had risen but brought no warmth. He blamed the shaking in his hands on shivers and not anxiety, though every time he thought of all he’d lost, he wanted to scream or cry—or both. Graden loomed in the distance, and he could picture Leopold in there, on his throne, a smug smile on his face as he insisted Philip drop to his knees and praise him. Perhaps he should’ve stayed behind and met the sharp end of Caleb’s sword instead.
Philip was alive, though, that was the most important part. And he hoped that Charles and Katherine were, too, though he had no way of knowing. He’d thought that they would eventually catch up to him, or send a messenger ahead to let him know they had escaped. Hearing nothing made him anxious that they’d been captured—or worse. While he was confident the Arterians wouldn’t purposely kill a woman, he was fearful Charles may not have made it out of Blackthorn alive.
Pushing the thoughts aside, Philip watched as the coach carrying his mother and uncle rolled to a stop ahead of him at Graden’s doors. He’d caught up to the carriage late last night but had soon fallen behind after catching an ear full of his mother’s distraught reflections. Edward hadn’t said anything, but Philip had been certain if he stuck around long enough, his uncle would give him a tongue lashing. Not that any of this was his fault! It had been Edward’s idea after all—all of this disaster was solely the responsibility of his fat, repulsive uncle whom should’ve been left behind to rot.
Once the carriage was emptied and Philip had given his mother and uncle a chance to be escorted inside and out of his sight, he reluctantly brought his horse forward, the few guards who had accompanied him still alongside. The guards at Leopold’s gate were unimpressed and short tempered. “King Philip,” one of them said, his accent thick and his word choice condescending, “King Leopold is expecting you. You will be escorted to private chambers until he is prepared to meet with you.”
Without a reply, Philip swung himself down, hoping the guards didn’t notice the waver in his knees as he steadied himself. It had been a long journey, he told himself. He followed the soldiers into the darkened halls of Graden to a decent, if not luxurious, bedchamber with an accompanying sitting space and was thankful when they closed the doors behind him—particularly when he spotted a wine service set up in the corner.
His hands continued to tremble as Philip removed his gloves and poured his own drink. He downed the first goblet full in two swallows and then refilled, wiping a hand against his damp forehead. Once the glass was refilled, he sank into a chair, taking this one a little more slowly.
His thoughts were immediately invaded with images of all he’d given up, and anger swelled inside of him. With a little more time to himself, he might’ve destroyed the room in a fit of rage, but he was only alone for a few minutes before someone knocked on the door.
“Yes?” he called through clenched teeth.
The door opened and a servant with the same sort of attitude everyone else seemed to have here stated, “King Leopold will see you now.”
Philip eyed him over his goblet, which he drained before he set the vessel aside and slowly pulled himself to standing. He might not be King of Gradenia, but he was still a king. Wasn’t he? He wouldn’t be ordered around by the likes of this small man.
Unimpressed, the servant turned in a fluid motion and headed down the hallway. With nothing else to do, Philip followed, listening to the sound of his boots, the only pair he now owned, echoing off of the stone floor.
Leopold sat on his throne wearing a thick black, fur cape. The rest of his garments were the same dark shade, which made his blonde hair look almost white. Philip understood why the women found his cousin attractive, even though the two of them looked nothing alike. His cousin fingered his mustache, studying him as he entered the room, and Philip was reminded of how ridiculous he’d always thought Leopold looked with his upper lip waxed to a dark black, like his cousin’s eyes but in opposition to his mane. Philip imagined his cousin’s soul was even darker than his prized facial hair.
His cousin wasn’t known for his kindness, that was certain, but he was extremely intelligent. He always seemed to know when to toss his hat into the ring and when to sit and wait. As Philip stopped before his throne, he wished he’d taken his advice, but he could hardly say that now.
“Philip, cousin!” he exclaimed, his smile wide though disingenuous. “How was the ride? You must be exhausted.”
Philip bowed his head to the other king but did nothing more, and Leopold demanded nothing, only stood and embraced him, pounding his back solidly. “I am exhausted,” Philip admitted, once the king was reseated. He stood before him with his hands folded, disheveled, unthroned, and alone.
Leopold took him in for a moment, his head rocking back and forth. “I am sorry to hear of your losses. It is a shame.” Philip nodded. “Perhaps you have drained some of Caleb’s resources at least?”
Philip’s eyebrows shot up. What an unusual question. Was Leopold thinking of going on the offensive now that he was no longer needed? “Some,” Philip replied, not sure what else to say. “I should send word to Nadoria. Perhaps now they will offer assistance.” The chances were slim, and once again Philip was reminded that he was alone, without his bride.
Leopold adjusted in his seat, his eyes revealing he was settling on which question to ask next. “You think they will assist you?”
“I hope so.”
The king shifted again. Philip wanted his cousin to commit to assisting instead but knew even if he intended to challenge Caleb, he wouldn’t say so, not now. “Where is your wife? I heard she was not with you.”
Clearing his voice, Philip replied, “I do not know.”
Again, Leopold nodded at him. “That’s too bad. I have heard of her beauty. I would’ve liked to have met her.”
Not wanting to discuss Katherine any further, Philip did not respond. “My mother and uncle made it here safely.”
“Yes, and I have provided them the most luxurious accommodations.” Leopold twirled his mustache in a manner that made Philip’s skin crawl slightly, but he wasn’t sure why. “Where is Matthew?”
Philip shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The thought of Matthew escaping was both embarrassing and anger inducing. “Apparently, my incompetent guards somehow managed to let him escape.” Leopold’s eyes shifted but he didn’t speak. “However,” Philip added, attempting to sound optimistic, “we believe that it is possible he is still somewhere in Clovington, on foot, and has not been rescued by his brother. Perhaps, if your cavalry is observant enough, they might be able to track him down.” It was a hope he’d held on to since he realized Matthew wouldn’t be making the journey to Gradenia with him.
“You have lost your entire kingdom in pursuit of vengeance, cousin, all for the sake of holding a king ransom and mishandling it decisively. Now, you want me to risk everything and attempt to track him down?”
The words stung, but Philip couldn’t argue with any of them. “Not risk everything,” he clarified. “I’m only saying, should the opportunity arise....”
“Perhaps you’re confusing your aspirations with mine.” Leopold’s tone was even and calm, but in his eyes, Philip could see he was considering what such a move would do for Gradenia. Now was not the time to press, however. He bit back a response.
“You must be tired. You should return to your chambers and rest. I shall call for you later, for the evening meal.” With a wave of Leopold’s hand, servants were moving in on Philip to escort him out before he could even respond.
It was just as well. He had nothing left to say to Leopold. He followed the same servant as before back toward his chambers. In the distance, he heard a commotion and paused.
“Citizens of Clovington are arriving,” the man explained. “We shall accommodate them.”
Philip nodded, but he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. He had no way of knowing if they were villagers from the castle, aristocrats who’d left in the middle of the night like him, or if Caleb continued to press past Blackthorn and claim even more of his former holdings.
Back in his chambers, Philip poured another drink and wandered over to the window. His view was of the mountains—not a surprise. But he could also see the castle gates from here. A ragtag mob of displaced Clovington citizens were making their way toward the castle, but the sight that pulled his mouth up into a snarl was a clear view of hundreds of members of the Gradenian cavalry barreling down the road toward Clovington.