Page 26 of The Consolation Prize

“If this is the maidservant,” Otho said, walking over to the dead female, “then this is likely the entire household.” He peered down. “It is she.”

Una took one look at the knife handle protruding from her chest and had to look away.

“You did well, sister,” Otho said gruffly, and Una looked up in surprise. Otho had not permitted her to call him brother for many years, not since they were children and he decided it was unfit for a princess to acknowledge her bastard-born sibling.

“You too, brother,” she replied. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”

“That was for your sake alone,” he answered, his lips flattening into a thin line.

“I am aware.” She had started to shiver now and noticing it, Otho exclaimed.

“I should find you some brandywine,” he muttered. “But I don’t like to leave you alone in this chamber of death.”

“I confess, I do feel a little shaken, but I would be happy to sit here and wait for your return.”

He hesitated. “You’re certain?”

“Oh yes.”

He looked grimly satisfied. “You’re stout of heart, Una. The Blechmarsh dragon is strong in you.”

She gave him a wan smile. “And in you, Otho.”

He smiled a little at that, and then turned and left the room in quick strides. She sat alone for five minutes or so, her eyes fixed on the paneling and away from the grisly remains before she heard Otho’s stride along the passage outside. He reappeared carrying a stoppered bottle and two cups.

“Here,” he said pouring some out for her. “This will restore some color to your cheeks.” She accepted it gratefully, and he poured himself a liberal measure and crouched down beside her. “He should not leave you alone like this,” he muttered. “Not after the upset you just suffered.”

“I am not alone,” she pointed out. “For you are here.”

“He does not take care of you as he should. As a Northerner would,” he insisted.

“Being treated as a princess is the last thing I want,” she said in a low steely voice. “For I am no longer one.”

“In the North you will always be the last of the Blechmarshes!” Otho said hoarsely.

She looked at him in despair. “None of you ever listen to me or what I want,” she said bitterly. “Why can I not just be your sister, Otho? Why must you insist that I occupy some exalted position I do not want? Am I not good enough, if I am not royal?”

He looked startled by her words, his mouth falling open. “Where has this kind of speech come from?” he spluttered. “Have those Southerners indoctrinated you into their false beliefs?”

“Otho, please listen to me. I do not want a crown, I never have. I know you all looked up to our father as some godlike figure, but to me he was a tyrant and a cruel, unfeeling man.”

He stared at her. “Una, this is treason!”

“Never did he give us one scrap of fatherly affection. I feel no loyalty to him, Otho. None whatsoever.”

He looked pale and distressed. “You do not know what you are saying,” he said shakily,

“For the first time in my life, I am speaking what is in my heart,” she said simply. “I bore no love for the Northern King. Every day I spent in his household was one of misery for me. It seems,” she continued sadly, “that you do not really care for me as your sister, Otho. Like all those other poor fools who followed his banner, you just see me as a figurehead for our father’s cause.”

He staggered to his feet. “That is not true,” he said, passing a hand over his brow.

“If that is so, then you will not keep trying to divert me from my current course. I am a married woman now. My name is Una de Bussell. If you can’t accept these facts, then I must ask you to part company from us on the morrow,” she said gravely.

He swallowed and opened his mouth, but quick footsteps approaching made him close it with a snap and he reached for his sword.

“Hold!” Una said sternly. “It is my husband who approaches.”

He lowered his hand with some reluctance and Armand appeared, climbing out of the paneling. “Our fortunes are made,” he grinned, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s a labyrinth back there, but there’s plenty of gold!”