Crossing Over - Anna Kendall [54]
“It’s the queen’s fool again,” a Blue soldier said. “The witch bounces him back and forth.”
“Aye, and she racks his bones with pain,” said another. “Poor oaf.”
There were more of them now, the dead soldiers. Some of the Blues stood guarding the unknowing old queen at the edge of the island. Others milled about, talked, kept their swords drawn. They did not know they were dead. They had believed me when I said this was Witchland, and they had repeated that belief to newer arrivals all too ready to believe it. Of course the young queen was a witch—hadn’t that been rumored for years? Of course she had sent them to Witchland! And that belief kept them animated—as alive as they would ever be again.
What had I done?
“Don’t come closer, fool,” one soldier said. “I’m sorry, boy, but the witch has you for fair, doesn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t come near us!”
I did not. A little ways off, a Green soldier lay tranquil on the ground. The Blue followed my gaze. “You see, fool, how evil is the witch-whore you are forced to serve! She magicks even the corpses of her own to Witchland. She dare not let their relatives find her mark upon their bodies, lest her witchery be plain to all—No, don’t touch him, we do not know if this be a trap of poison, or worse.”
I did not intend to touch the Green, nor anything else. In despair, I crossed back over and faced Queen Caroline. Blood seeped from my cut arm, sticky on the velvet. “Your Grace, I ... I’m sorry, I couldn’t find Osprey, I . . . It is such a big place! I had no time!”
She stood with her back to the fire and gazed at me from hard eyes. On the other side of the door, Lord Robert called urgently, “Your Grace!” I was near fainting from fear. To be run through with his blade, or burned alive, or . . . I knew there were deaths even worse. And I had failed her.
She said softly, “Did you really go there? To the country of the Dead?”
“Yes!” I stabbed about in my mind for something to convince her. “I saw the old queen!”
Swiftly she crossed the room and seized my arm. “What did she say?”
“I . . . nothing that ...”
“Don’t lie to me, Roger! What did the old hag say?”
My life balanced on my next words. Only honesty would convince her—she was so good at detecting evasions—might even implying that she had committed murder be construed as treason? Done if I spoke truth, done if I did not. Despairing, I choked out, “She . . . she said you . . . poisoned her. That she felt it in her belly and clutched her belly and died. She cursed you.”
The queen laughed, a high hysterical peal that, horribly, reminded me of Lady Cecilia. But this was no Cecilia. In half a moment she had herself back in control, and into another of her lightning changes of mood.
“You were there. I am sorry I doubted you. Those are exactly the lies my mother would utter, the old bitch. There, don’t look so scared, Roger, no one will hurt you. You did your best, I know, and in the future there will be more for you to do, and you will succeed. There now, little fool, it’s all right. Come along, and I shall allow you to see me take back my palace.” She gave my arm a quick caress, smiled at me. Then she opened the door to Lord Robert and forgot me.
And so, not daring to do anything else, I followed behind the young queen, who was now the only queen, into the part of the palace where lay the power of the living.
The palace had been secured. There seemed to be more Greens than the queen had commanded formerly, and this puzzled me until I studied their tunics. Some looked very new; others seemed ill-fitting. These soldiers must be former Blues, either recruited secretly ahead of Queen Eleanor’s death or else newly turncoat this afternoon.
For the first time, I saw the palace throne room. It was no more lavish than Queen Caroline