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BRAVEHEART

As she trudged from her storeroom prison into the hallway, dutifully trailing a clearly elated Craswell Crabbit, a strange thing happened to Mistaya Holiday. One moment she was subdued and submissive, riddled with self-doubt and fear, her future a bleak certainty from which she could find no escape, and the next she was so angry that the rest of what she had been feeling was swept away in a tidal wave of rage. It happened all at once and for no discernible reason that she could identify, a shift of such monumental proportions that it shook her to the core.

It also focused her in a way that nothing else had.

Her posture changed, her mind cleared, and her confidence hardened. She was not going to let this happen. It might seem to those who sought to use her so badly that it would, but they were in for a big surprise. Whatever it took, whatever she had to do, she was going to put a stop to all of it.

And to them.

In that instant, she was once more the child of three worlds and three distinct cultures, the little girl born of Landover, fairy, and Earth all grown up and ready and willing to fight. She had stood against Nightshade, the Witch of the Deep Fell, and defeated her when it seemed impossible. She would do the same with His Eminence and The Frog and all their minions. She would not stand by and let them ruin her life and betray her country and her parents for their own personal gain. She would not let them disfigure Libiris or subvert and misuse her books. She would find a way to prevail.

As they passed Rufus Pinch, standing watch before the door of the storeroom in which Thom was held prisoner, the little man called out, “Have a good life, Princess!”

She stopped at once and turned on him. The look on her face sent Pinch stumbling back against the door, hands raised defensively, face terror-stricken. “What I meant, Your Majesty …,” he tried to say as the words dried to dust in his mouth.

“Thank you for your good wishes,” she replied sweetly. Then, turning to Crabbit, who was waiting for her, she said, “I want Thom to witness this.”

His Eminence frowned. “That is a terrible idea. He might do something foolish to try to stop it. Worse, he might further antagonize his brother. He is better off where he is.”

“He won’t interfere. Let me speak with him, and I will make certain of it. If he disobeys, the fault will be mine and the penalty will be his to bear. But I want him there. I have to be certain he accepts that this marriage is real.”

His Eminence looked as if he might deny this out of hand, but then abruptly he shrugged. “You may speak with him. If he promises to behave, he can come out. But Mr. Pinch will be watching him closely.”

Pinch appeared to be on the verge of a heart attack. “Crabbit, you fool, you can’t trust … !”

“Mr. Pinch!” the other snapped, his voice as hard and cold as ice. “You forget yourself! Remember your place! You serve me at my pleasure and not the other way around. You are here at my sufferance. Remember that, as well. And do not ever again call me by name!”

Pinch had shrunk to the approximate size of a walnut, which given his general appearance wasn’t as difficult to do as it might seem. Reluctantly, he unlocked the door to the storeroom and stepped aside. Mistaya, giving him her sweetest smile, walked in.

“The door will remain open, Princess,” His Eminence called after her.

Thom stood up from the bench on which he had been sitting and came to her immediately, the relief in his face obvious. “I thought something bad had happened to you!” he whispered excitedly.

“Something bad has happened to me,” she said, feeling his strong hands on her arms. “Now back up, away from the door.”

He did as she asked, guiding her into the deeper shadows, never taking his hands from her. “What is it?” he demanded.

“I’m to marry your brother,” she told him. “No, don’t say anything!” she continued as he started to object. “Just listen to me! I don’t intend for the marriage to happen, but it has to look as if I do. His Eminence has agreed to let you watch, but you have to agree in turn not to do anything to disrupt the ceremony or cause trouble. Will you do that?”

He looked horrified. “No, I won’t do that! I can’t just sit by while my brother …” He broke off, unable to finish. “Why would you agree to this in the first place? You’re a Princess of Landover; you don’t have to marry someone like him!”

“If I don’t agree to it, they will give you over to be killed.”

“Then let them do so!”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “No, Thom, I won’t. But I won’t let them marry me off, either. You have to trust me on this.”

“But what can you do to stop it?”

In truth, she didn’t know. She just knew she would do something. “I’ll find a way,” she assured him. “Just wait for a sign to break free of Pinch. He’ll be watching you closely.”

Thom shook his head. “I should just stay with you—”

“You should just keep quiet,” she said, cutting him short.

He stopped talking and stood there, looking at her.

“Kiss me,” she told him impulsively. “Right now. Like you mean it. Like you might not get another chance.”

He did so, on the mouth, a long kiss that caused Pinch, standing in the doorway, to gasp and mutter in dismay. She closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss. So sweet, so exciting.

“Enough, children,” His Eminence called over the other’s shoulder. “Do we have a bargain or not?”

“We do,” Mistaya said, breaking off the kiss reluctantly but not looking away from Thom. “Don’t we?” she asked him softly.

“We do,” he whispered reluctantly.

His Eminence beckoned Mistaya from the room and shoved Pinch in to replace her. “Take young Thom aside and wrap him up in a cloak. Bring him out only after the ceremony has started. Do you understand me, Mr. Pinch?”

Pinch glared at him and hustled Thom away. His Eminence watched them go, shaking his head. “So hard to find good help,” he mused. “Come, Princess.”

She followed silently, eyes downcast as if she’d become entirely submissive, while her mind worked furiously. If she was to do anything to help herself, she had to free her hands. Everything depended on being able to invoke her magic, and her magic was needed if she was to free herself from the spell that bound them. But how could she persuade His Eminence to release her long enough for her to invoke a spell that would help? And what sort of spell would it take for her to gain freedom? Not just for herself, but for Thom, as well. It would do no good for her to escape without him. She thought of the many forms of magic she had learned from Nightshade. She thought of all the spells that Questor had taught her to cast. Which among them would work to help her here? A battle fought with killing magic would be risky for everyone involved, but what sort of magic could she call upon that would effectively put a stop to the plans of His Eminence and Laphroig?

Then suddenly she knew exactly what she must do. It was so simple, she was surprised she hadn’t thought of it earlier. She almost smiled, but managed to keep from doing so by remembering that her plan might still fall flat.

Just at that moment she caught sight of something moving along the wall far ahead, nearly lost in the shadows. It was there and gone in the blink of an eye, and she had not seen enough to be certain, but she thought it might be Edgewood Dirk.

Or not. She grimaced.

They reached the door to His Eminence’s office. Crabbit glanced back at her as if to reassure himself that she was prepared for what waited on the other side, his oblong head cocked as he fixed his gaze on her young face. “It is surely a pity you have to be given to him,” he commiserated. “You would have been better served with another husband, but such matters are not for either of us to decide. We only do what we must, don’t we, Princess?”

She wanted to wring his neck and promised herself that when she got the chance, she would. “Yes, Your Eminence,” she agreed docilely.

He opened the door, and there stood Berwyn Laphroig. All in black, his pale frog face radiating expectation and a few other unmentionable things, he charged forward to greet her. “Princess Mistaya!” he purred. “How lovely to see you again. I trust our last encounter hasn’t left any bitter feelings? There mustn’t be any of those. But you are here! Dare I hope that you have reconsidered my proposal to wed?”

He certainly didn’t waste time with small talk, she thought in dismay. “I have reconsidered,” she agreed. “His Eminence has been very persuasive.”

“A well-considered decision, Princess!” He was practically jumping up and down, his froggy eyes bulging, his tongue licking out. “And Crabbit! Excellent work, Crabbit!” He gave His Eminence a short bow of acknowledgment. “We must proceed immediately with the wedding, then!”

His Eminence ushered her all the way into the office and closed the door behind them. “Yes, well, there are a few legal matters to be settled first. Paperwork to be filled out, agreements to be signed, that sort of thing. A consent to the marriage agreed upon and signed by both parties is requisite.”

Laphroig flushed. “Well, get about preparing it then! Don’t keep the Princess waiting!”

His Eminence sat down to work while Laphroig crowded close to Mistaya, looking her up and down in the way a buyer might a new horse, smiling as if all were right with the world. Or maybe just as if all were right with him. She tried not to shrink from him, did her best not to show her loathing, and held herself firmly in check.

“Would it be possible for you to free my hands?” she asked suddenly, looking not at His Eminence, but at Laphroig. “A bride on her wedding day shouldn’t appear in shackles.”

Laphroig glanced down and seemed to see for the first time the swirling ball of darkness that bound her hands. “What’s this, Crabbit?” he snapped. “What have you done to her?”

His Eminence glanced up, sighing. “It is for her own good. And yours.”

“Well, I don’t like it. How can it appear that consent is given voluntarily if she weds me looking as if she is shackled in some mysterious way? Even the appearance of coercion is unacceptable. Signing the consent is sufficient, I should think. Set her free!”

Craswell Crabbit shook his head firmly. “That would be immensely foolish, my Lord.”

“I promise not to try to escape,” Mistaya said quickly. “I won’t run from you. You have my word as a Princess of Landover. I have made my decision, and I will see the wedding through to its conclusion. But don’t make me marry you like this.”

She tried to sound pathetic and put upon instead of desperate, casting a pleading glance at The Frog.

“Crabbit seems rather convinced that it would better if you did.” Laphroig was experiencing doubts, as well. “The word of a Princess of Landover ought to count for something, I realize, but you are known for your troublesome nature, Princess.”

“But I promise! What more can I do?”

Laphroig smiled. “I am sure I could think of something.” He leered. Then he shrugged, refocusing on the matter at hand. “I can’t see that it would do any harm. Not if you give us your promise.”

His Eminence looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “You are seriously contemplating setting free a young woman with magic enough at her command to burn us all to ash? Have you lost your mind, Laphroig?”

“Watch your tongue, Crabbit! Unlike you, I am not afraid of a fifteen-year-old girl. I have fifty knights waiting just outside the door, and should she prove too troublesome, I might give her over to them for a bit of sport.” He gave Mistaya a look. “So I don’t think we need be concerned.”

“Your Eminence,” Mistaya said quickly, ignoring the threat. “My word is good. I will not break it. I have more than one reason not to do so, as you well know.” She flicked her eyes toward the office door, reaffirming her commitment to Thom. “Besides,” she added, “won’t I need my hands free to sign the documents of marriage? Won’t I need them in order to don my wedding dress? You do have a wedding dress for me, don’t you?”

His Eminence stared at her for a long moment. “Naturally, I shall provide you with a wedding dress, Princess. And since Lord Laphroig seems set on this, I shall set you free. But I warn you, disobedience at this juncture would be a big mistake. The matter is in your hands. Be careful.”

He made a few quick gestures, spoke a few short words, and the swirling ball that held her hands imprisoned faded away. She rubbed her wrists experimentally as His Eminence watched her like a hawk and then allowed them to drop harmlessly to her sides. “There, you see?” she said.

His Eminence went back to preparing the documents of marriage while Laphroig launched into a long, rhapsodic dissertation on the joys that awaited her once she was married to him. She nodded along agreeably, thinking through her plan as she did so. It was a risky gamble, but it was all she could do. If it failed, she was in deep trouble.

She found herself wishing momentarily that she could use her newfound freedom to break from the room, race to her bedroom, produce the rainbow crush, and stamp on it while calling for her father. But her father might be as much at risk as she was—perhaps more so, if what she had heard His Eminence say earlier was to be believed—so she would die before she summoned help from that quarter.

In any case, there was no time left for second-guessing and nothing to be gained by wishing for what might have been. She had made her choice, and she was going to have to live with it. If she were given half a chance, things would work out.

His Eminence straightened at his desk. “All done. Please sign on the lines here and here,” he advised Mistaya and Laphroig, indicating the required spaces.

Laphroig signed without reading, impatient to get on with things. Mistaya took her time, skimming quickly but thoroughly, and found the promise not to harm Thom embedded deep in the document in language that was clear and concise. Whatever happened to her, she would have protected Thom to the extent that she was able to do so. She took a deep breath and signed, knowing that if the marriage went through now, it would be binding on her and on her parents under Landover’s laws.

She sat back, thinking that if all else failed, perhaps she could leave Landover behind and go back to school at Carrington for the rest of her life. As if.

“Now, about my dress?” she queried His Eminence.

Crabbit moved her back a few steps, worked a quick conjuring with words and gestures, and she was suddenly clothed in a stunningly beautiful white gown that left Laphroig with his eyes wide, his mouth open, and his tongue hanging out.

“Princess, I have never seen anything—”

“Thank you, my Lord.” She cut him short with a perfunctory wave of her hand. “Shall we go outside into the open for the ceremony?”

Again, His Eminence didn’t look pleased with this suggestion, but Laphroig leaped on it like a starving dog on a bone and proclaimed that, indeed, the wedding must take place outdoors before his assembled knights, who would act as witnesses.

So out the office door they went, then down the hall to the front of the building and out into the sunlight. The knights still sat their horses, and the G’home Gnomes were still bound and gagged atop their mule. Cordstick had gone from looking distressed to looking euphoric. Mistaya ignored them all, resisted the urge to look back for Thom, and kept her eyes fixed straight ahead as His Eminence marched her out to a small grove of rather wintry trees and placed her side by side with the Lord of Rhyndweir.

Craswell Crabbit cleared his throat. “Be it known, one and all, from the nearest to the farthest corners of the realm, that this man and this woman have consented …”

He droned on, but Mistaya wasn’t paying attention. She was thinking through her plan, knowing that she must put it into play quickly. If the wedding got too far along, there might not be enough time for things to come together as she needed them to.

Mistaya gazed out at the assembled knights, who had removed their helmets out of respect for the ceremony, whatever it was, and the girl, whoever she was, most of them obviously having no clear idea of what they were all doing there. The G’home Gnomes were moaning softly through their gags, and every so often the two guards bracketing them would lean over and cuff one or the other or both.

“Mistaya Holiday, Princess of Landover, do you take this man, Berwyn Laphroig, Lord of Rhyndweir to be—”

“What?” she asked, snapped back into the moment by the question. She looked blankly at His Eminence and then at Laphroig.

“Of course she does!” The Frog snapped. “Get on with it, Crabbit!”

Craswell Crabbit looked flummoxed. “Well, we need rings, then. One from each of you.”

Laphroig began pulling at the rings on his fingers, of which there were plenty, trying to loosen one to give to her. Mistaya glanced at her own fingers. She wore only two rings, both given to her by her parents as presents when she left home for Carrington. She grimaced at the thought of giving either up.

She made a show of trying to remove the rings, but in effect began the process of casting her spell, weaving her fingers and whispering the words of power. His Eminence was preoccupied with watching Laphroig, who was thrashing wildly now in his efforts to loosen one of the rings he wore.

As he finally succeeded, turning back to Mistaya, reaching for her hand to slip the ring in place, she said abruptly, “My Lord, I lack a ring to seal our bargain, but I give you this gift instead!”

She wove her hands rapidly, completing the spell. His Eminence tried to stop her, but he was too slow and too late.

Crimson fire blossomed across the sky above them, an explosion of flames that dropped the wedding party to its knees and caused the mounts of the knights to rear and buck and finally bolt in terror.

“I warned you, Princess!” His Eminence shouted at her, covering his head with his hands as he did so. “I warned you!”

Laphroig had dropped flat against the ground, his eyes darting every which way at once, trying to discover what was going to happen to him. “You promised!” he screamed at Mistaya. “You gave your word!”

Overhead, the flames parted like the curtains on a stage, and the dragon Strabo appeared.