Page 8 of Caroline the Cruel
“Young Princess, you feel we have made a mistake?” the one she thought was Death boomed in a deceptively deep voice. Power flowed into her body, then her stomach rolled as she dropped to her knees from the God’s invisible touch.
“Justice,” the God who sat in the center said as it forced her face to turn upwards. Her assumption had been wrong.
Caroline trembled as she fought its control, then heaved, but swallowed the bile that was gurgling up her throat. Justice eased its grip, and she doubled over, spewing onto the stones. The contents of her stomach disappeared as fast as it splashed on the ground.
She regarded the Gods, wiping the back of her wrist across her mouth.
“Next time, don’t fight. It will be better for you,” Justice said.
She sniffed as she bowed her head in submission. It was told that compulsion often made the compelled ill if they resisted, but to be compelled by a God… Gooseflesh crawled up her arms. Many of the little cuts from the thorns were healing over and some were even pink with new skin.
She whipped her gaze back to them. She was alive.
“We are only here to help you, daughter. And we have conferred, because Thom did such a poor job in informing his child of the weightiness of this power, we shall be gentle this first time. But you should know, you may not wield such power without balance. When you use our Gift, you must pay what is due.”
Caroline glanced between them. “I will pay,” she said, standing more erect. If they deemed her worthy to carry this power—she shuddered to imagine the implications—but she would follow in her father’s footsteps and use the Gift to protect her kingdom.Herkingdom? Did this mean Caroline was the true queen of Everstal?
“Very well, Your Highness.” Justice gestured for the God to its right to rise. “Pain, make it swift.”
Pain stepped forward, and its robes swished as it approached Caroline. Perhaps this wasn’t such a clever idea. Her legs were shaking so hard she stumbled backward. An invisible strength wrapped around her, holding her in place.
“Remember,” the one on the outside of where Pain had risen from said, “don’t fight it.” A serene smile crossed its face and a foreign warmth radiated through her. That one must be Love.
Pain was standing in front of her now and raised its hands to clasp either side of her cheeks. The God tilted its head, and pressed its mouth into a tight smile, as if it might be enjoying this.
Oh, no—
A flash cleaved between her eyebrows and slammed into the back of her skull. Her body tried to double over, to fold in on itself, but Love’s power kept her upright. Her mouth opened, and a keening wail spouted from her throat, but her senses were so blinded by the pain she couldn’t hear it.
Liquid energy ripped down her spine and shot out the tips of her toes before everything went dark.
Caroline’s eyes fluttered open, but she slammed them back closed. Keeping her lids clamped shut, as if that might somehow shield her from what she might discover, she reached out, running her hands over the fluffy bedding surrounding her. Her fingers traced the ‘C’ embroidered on her pillows.She was in her bed. Had it all been one horrible dream?
She’d never had night terrors before. Caroline opened her eyes and surveyed the room. It was indeed hers. She looked down at her body under the covers, only to discover she was completely naked, the silver dress she remembered wearing no longer there. Also gone was any sign of the abuse she’d endured.
Reaching up, Caroline ran a hand through her hair. That was as she expected. She threw the covers off, swung her legs out of bed, and wandered over to the tall mirror that leaned against a wall in her room. She turned this way and that, inspecting her body. The blood and grime, the evidence of what she’d experienced, still caked, dried, and cracked on her flesh, but she couldn’t spot a single bruise or sign of a scrape.
She padded over to a pitcher of water and poured some into a basin. It seemed like a ridiculous thing to do considering what she’d just been through—what had happened to her family—what might still lurk in Roskide, but she needed to get the muck off her skin. Dipping the cloth into the cool water, she wrung it out, then scrubbed.
Dressed in the most practical attire she owned, which amounted to boots and a simple black sheath dress, Caroline stalked the castle halls, gripping a dagger she’d found in one of the rooms. She needed to know if she was alone in the castle and what had become of her family.
Her rooms were on the third floor, so she searched there first, climbing the floors of each spiraling tower as she passed through every wing. The first body had been a shock, but she’d passed half a dozen by now. And she hadn’t come across a single living soul. Her footfalls echoed down the silence of the stairwell as she descended to the second floor. It was the same as the third floor. More bodies. More abandoned rooms.
They’d killed everyone, attendants, and guests in residence alike. It explained how the royals had been able to sneak away outside of her father’s compulsion. His loving face flashed in her mind and grief hit her so hard she had to grip the wall.
She came to the Great Hall where her father had taken that first dagger. She debated entering to see what was left, but thinking of that rosenwood projectile which had come from out of nowhere, she decided she’d peek inside. As she approached the doorway, a pricking sensation skittered up her spine. She knew it. They were still here. She hadn’t expected to have to defend herself so soon and so directly.
Caroline spun and flattened herself against the wall, shimmying behind a planter and rosebush that grew from it. She scanned the atrium, looking for the source of her heightened awareness. Her heart started as her gaze caught on a figure hiding in the shadow of the mirrored planter on the opposite side of the door. Wide gold eyes stared at her from the hiding place and the figure put a finger to its lips, shushing her. Then it waved a hand in afollow memotion.
Caroline narrowed her eyes at the figure, but he stepped from beside the planter into the light and started creeping down the hallway. He was only a boy around her age, fifteen at the most. He turned back toward her, widening his eyes in an insistent gesture.
She waited for a warning sensation, like the prickle she sensed before, for a long moment. When it never came, she slipped from behind the planter, and fell in line with him. His pace picked up and soon they were jogging light-footed through the servant’s hallways on the ground floor. He led her to a small cupboard in the back of a dormitory and crouched down to crawl in. He fully disappeared inside it, gone for a few moments.
Whipping her head around, Caroline tried to repress the panic quickening her breath. He was still gone into the cupboard at her feet. Had he led her into a trap? But if that were the case, how would he know about this hiding place in Roskide? It made more sense that he was one of the castle worker’s sons who’d survived the massacre outside the tunnels while she’d been fighting for her life.
It was a miracle an assassin hadn’t found her while she’d been recovering in her bed—assuming they were still here. The boy poked his head out of the cabinet and gave her a quizzical expression before disappearing again. She released a breath, then knelt to follow him.
The cupboard opened into a small room that had a few cots which lined the walls. There was a basket with what appeared to be loaves of bread and cheese, and a pitcher, which she assumed he was using for water. In the far corner, there was another small door you’d have to crawl to pass through, created, so whoever sought this refuge would have a second way out.
