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Donella’s tears lasted only a single night, and then, when she had finished telling herself she was a worthless whore and had worried enough about turning into her mother, she began to think more practically about her situation. She took stock of her surroundings—the narrow window, the heavy door, the lock, and the thick cellar walls.
“I have to get out of here,” she thought. She might be ruined, she might be doomed to a life of tawdry despair. But it would be a life chosen by her, not by the blasted Earl of Hyrne.
In the course of her amateur writing career, Donella had penned any number of daring escapes. Lord Byron Heartsbane, hero of her epic series of forty-three stories, had been trapped in dungeons, dragons’ caves, sinking ships, and burning houses. He had gotten out of every scrape with skill and aplomb, and often with a buxom young lady at his side. The trouble was that none of those stories gave her any hints on how to escape now. There were always doors left unlocked by overconfident villains, or suddenly bribable guards, or miraculous twists of fate that put a rope or file or knife in his path at the right moment.
In retrospect, she thought, a lot of those stories weren’t very good.
She had read a book once where someone tunneled out of prison, so she decided to try that. At breakfast, she managed to slip her spoon up her sleeve without the guard noticing. But after hours and weary hours of scraping, all she managed to accomplish was to bend the spoon irreparably out of shape and put a dent in the mortar so tiny that no one would have noticed if they hadn’t been looking for it. She tried a fork at lunch and a knife at supper, but neither utensil did much better than the spoon.
Not long after supper, though, as the light through her narrow window started to fail, she heard whispered voices coming down the hall.
“Which one is it?” This was a girl’s voice.
“I don’t know. Should we try them all?” A man this time, and strikingly familiar. Was that Andras? Donella’s heart raced.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said the first voice. “Which one is it, Rada?”
“The one at the end there,” said the voice of Lady Rada, the Sahasran woman who had captured her at the spring. What was going on here?
“Donella, are you in there?” said Andras in a loud whisper.
“Yes!” she cried, rushing up and pressing her hands to the door. “Yes, I’m here!”
“Give us a second,” said the first girl’s voice. “I’ve got the keys.” There was a metallic rattle, and a screech of metal, and then a frustrated oath. “Bugger it all. I’m sure this is the right one. What in the Void is going on here?”
Then Rada: “There’s...there’s a spell on the door. Look at my ring. It’s detecting the magy.”
“Did you put it there?” asked Andras.
“No. It wasn’t me.” The Sahasran woman sounded genuinely scared for a moment. Then apparently she rallied. “Look, old places like this often have charms and curses on them. Everyone stand back. I’ve got a few termination spells in this ring. I simply have to find the one that works.”
The first spell did nothing. The lock remained jammed. The second spell made the lock glow red hot for a few seconds, blistering the wood of the door around it. But the third spell Rada tried did the trick, and in moments, the door was open.
The first person Donella saw was Andras. In fact, he was the only person she really saw at all. She threw herself on him and kissed him. And he was kissing her back, strong arms pulling her in tight. He had come to rescue her! She wanted him right there and then. Even if she didn’t have the ring, she still wanted him, and somehow he wanted her, too. It was like a miracle, and she almost wanted to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. But then he bit her lip, which was more or less the same thing, and she knew this was real.
Someone cleared her throat nearby and said, “This is lovely, but I should point out that we still need to get out of the palace.”
Donella came up for air, turned, and to her shock, she saw the speaker was Elwyn Sigor. Beautiful, cold, austere Elwyn was here, helping her. Smiling at her, in fact! The princess gave Donella a little curtsy, and Donella, mindful of her manners even at that moment, curtsied back.
Then she had to ask, “What are you doing here, your royal highness?” Technically, since they were of equal rank now, she didn’t need to use the title, but the habits of childhood died hard.
“I’m striking a blow for true love,” said Elwyn. “Shall we get going then?”
“In a moment,” said Rada. “The guards won’t change for a few more minutes, and in the meantime, there’s something I need to say to Princess Donella.”
The Sahasran Yotha nearly broke down a few times as she relayed a most shocking and sordid tale about a love potion she had made, which the Earl of Hyrne—in defiance of his promise to Rada—had put into the wine for Elwyn and Andras.
“Just so you know,” Elwyn added quickly, “we managed to resist temptation.”
“But you see,” Rada continued, looking at Donella, “you and Andras ended up drinking the wine, so what happened between you is my fault.”
For about ten seconds, this was an enormous relief. She wasn’t turning into her mother, after all! But then she saw the worrisome side of this news. What about the burst of passion she had just felt for Andras? Was any of that real at all?
“Um, how long do the effects of this potion last?” she asked nervously.
“Oh, only an hour or two,” said Rada. “It depends on the dose, obviously.”
Elwyn sidled over and whispered in Donella’s ear, “That means whatever you and Andras are feeling right now is completely natural. Don’t worry.”
So all those turbulent, lustful feelings were real. It wasn’t necessarily reassuring. But at the same time, now that she knew Andras felt something for her, too, it didn’t seem so bad. Whole new vistas of delightful possibilities opened up before her. It was different if they loved each other. They could do anything in that Sahasran sex manual, and all sorts of other things even more depraved, and it was alright, if they were together. It wasn’t like her mother and the endless, pathetic series of disposable young men. Being in love made all the difference. She took Andras’s hand and smiled at him, and he smiled shyly back, before leaning down and kissing her again.
“It’s time,” said Rada softly.
Elwyn tapped Donella on the shoulder. “Save it for later, when the two of you are alone. Let’s go.”
Andras took her arm as they hurried up the stairs and through the darkened servants’ corridors of the little palace. Twice, Rada held up a hand, and they stopped as she peeked around a corner, but they didn’t see anyone around. The whole place seemed oddly deserted, and Donella—who had written a great many poorly-plotted escape scenes in her time—started to worry this was too easy.
They got to the last turn, though, and they could actually see the back veranda and the garden through a window, and Donella was starting to hope they could really do this. But then a door swung open, throwing blinding light into the hallway, and Vikker Sarassen stepped through to block their path.
“I felt your spells downstairs, Rada,” he said. “And I was wondering how long you’d keep me waiting.” He bowed and waved a hand into a brightly-lit parlor. “Please. Come join us. We have so much to talk about.”
Rada raised her ring, apparently trying to cast a spell. But there was a flash of blue light, and she sank to her knees, clutching her midriff and retching. Princess Elwyn jumped over her, trying to grapple with Vikker. She succeeded in ramming her knee into a very tender part of him, but after a burst of Krigadamite profanity, he grabbed her hair, practically lifting her by her dark braid, and hurled her through the door. A quick shove sent Rada after her.
Andras started to draw his sword, but the handle glowed red hot, and he was forced to drop it.
“Try not to be fools,” Vikker said, still grimacing from Elwyn’s attack. “Come talk with us, and I’m sure you’ll realize it’s in everyone’s best interest.”
There was nothing to do. Andras and Donella, hands firmly clasped, walked past him and into the brightly-lit parlor. After a second, their eyes adjusted, and they saw Elwyn helping Rada to her feet. Beyond them, though, seated on low wicker couches with ragged cushions, were the Earl of Hyrne and young King Edwin. Neither of them looked happy to be there, and the earl’s expression turned to one of outright alarm when Vikker came and stood beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s good we’re all finally here,” said Vikker. “It’s time for people to get what’s coming to them.”
Donella squeezed Andras’s arm for strength, then said, “You can let everyone go. The wedding is off. The one between Elwyn and Andras, I mean. We’ve settled it between ourselves. Andras and I love each other.” She looked up at Andras, and he looked back, smiling.
“We do,” he said. The earl tried to sputter out some red-faced objection, but Andras cut him off. “It’s true, sir. I love Donella, and Elwyn and I have agreed it’s best if we don’t get married.”
“That’s very sweet,” said Vikker, “but I’ve moved beyond our initial plan. I feel a bit more ambitious now. I feel like I deserve a reward for my efforts.”
“I have no idea who you are,” said Elwyn. “But you already seem like a prize jackass. Is that enough of a reward for you?”
“How droll. How pointlessly brave,” said Vikker, shaking his head. “No, here’s what’s going to happen. Elwyn and Andras will be married tomorrow.”
The earl nodded in a revoltingly self-satisfied way, though Edwin gave Donella an apologetic look, bless him.
“What?” cried Donella, clutching Andras’s arm tight to her chest. “No! That’s not what you told me at all!”
“Our needs change,” shrugged Vikker, “and so must our tactics. Read Kallias sometime, my dear girl. It’s most illuminating.”
“I won’t marry Elwyn,” said Andras stoutly.
“And I have no intention of marrying him,” said Elwyn. “Try and make us.”
“Oh, I could do anything I wanted,” said Vikker. “And I’m afraid I will. I’ll be performing a few little spells on the two of you to ensure you can never have an heir. I’m sure you understand.”
“What?” cried the earl, trying to rise from his couch. “You never told me about any of—”
But Vikker forced him back down. “Meanwhile,” Vikker continued, “the beautiful young Donella will marry...me.”
“You have to be joking!” cried Donella. “Why would I ever marry you?”
“So we can go to Formacaster, and you can introduce me to your father and brother. And I can become their greatest, most trusted ally.”
“I refuse.”
“I think you’d better reconsider. There are several ways to keep Andras and Elwyn from being able to conceive. And some of them are much less pleasant than others.”
Donella screamed and rushed at him, but before she had made it six feet, he gave a lazy wave of his arm, and it was as if she had run into a stone wall. She was thrown painfully backwards into Andras’s arms.
“Sir, you do not strike a woman in this house!” cried young Edwin. He rose from the couch, drawing a knife from his belt, and ran at Vikker. Elwyn raced after him, though whether to stop him in this mad course, or to help him, Donella never knew.
Vikker raised a hand, and there was a clap like thunder that made dust fall from the ceiling and set all the furniture wobbling. Everyone—including Donella and Andras—was instantly knocked to the ground. All except Vikker, who walked over to Edwin and kicked the knife away.
“You know,” said the Krigadamite hillichmagnar, “I was wondering what to do with you, ‘your majesty,’ but now I think I’ll see to it that you have an unfortunate accident. So many steep cliffs around here. So many waterfalls. So many deep lakes. It solves so many problems.”