Page 50 of Feathered Thief

During his first miserable year of captivity, Kazik had wondered if he might go insane, trapped in the castle grounds with dozens of sleeping people and animals. He’d done a good deal of shouting in the chapel, and he wasn’t proud of the fury and despair that still washed over him at times.

Iga was his only company, except at random times when he could hear Helena’s voice in his mind and almost-but-not-quite feel the caresses she lavished on the magical toy horse. Kazik always answered her, and sometimes he believed their hearts connected.

Who would have thought the little wooden horse he’d carved for the girl he loved could help preserve his sanity and keep hope alive? The realization that his mother just might have guessed always made him smile. Someday he hoped to thank her . . . for so many things.

At times he still worried about the future, but mostly he lived in the present. Early on, he had explored his limits. All of Castle Valga and its grounds were open to him, but he could neither cross its drawbridge nor take so much as one step beyond the outer gardens and pastures. From the castle towers he could watch distant peasants and townspeople go about their daily lives, plowing, planting, and harvesting their land without the requirement of paying tribute to their sleeping king. He often wondered how the curse affected them. Were they able to leave their farms or villages?

After the first weeks of captivity amid a few hundred sleeping strangers, he’d decided to, well, rearrange them. For one thing, it seemed rude to watch people sleep. For another, some of the people not only snored but often talked or laughed in their sleep, which creeped him out. After much thought and preparation, he had gently shifted, one-by-one, every human, canine, and feline sleeper onto a blanket and dragged them all into the Great Hall, where he arranged them in orderly rows. Next, he’d dragged the outdoor animals small enough for him to roll onto a tarp into the stables. Moving all those inert people and beasts had exhausted him in unexpected ways, but once he finally closed the doors, he could almost forget they were there since they had no physical or emotional needs. They all seemed content and comfortable.

More than once he tried to use his magic to escape, but to no effect.Caroventhough he was, he couldn’t hope to overcome Bogumil’s fay magic. On the bright side, in any room in the castle he could sit beside a gently crackling fire that never needed stoking, or he could read an entire book with light from a candle that never burned down.

He was the only man in the place whose hair and beard grew. At first, he’d enjoyed looking like a wild man, but as the months and years passed, he’d tired of that look and became a decent self-barber.

Unlike the sleepers, he had normal bodily functions. He’d learned to cook meals for himself (as a change from the perpetually available porridge). The kitchen provided endless food staples. Also, wild creatures such as rabbits, pheasants, deer, and once even a wild hog wandered onto castle property and fell prey to his bow. He harvested fruit from the castle orchards and vegetables from the greenhouses. Berries and other fruit grew in plenty each summer, almost as if invisible gardeners tended them. He was as healthy as a horse.

Speaking of horses, Iga also thrived on fresh grass, grain, and hay that never ran out. Kazik was immensely thankful for her company.

His original clothing had never worn out, but it had become tight and short, so he’d pilfered clothes from various wardrobes. As the seasons and years passed, to his inexpressible delight and gratitude, he’d finally grown taller.

He set up daily, weekly, and monthly routines for himself, and he followed them. He practiced archery and swordcraft. He rode Iga through the gardens, pastures, and stable yards, and together they practiced tilting at the rings. He also ran laps around the courtyards, climbed the walls (literally and figuratively), ran up and down every staircase in the castle, did daily body-weight exercises, hefted bags of sand, and threw largestones. He finally had the physique he’d longed for when he was younger.

The bathhouse in the castle’s basement was a bonus. He swam in the lap pool there every morning and night for exercise and for the sheer pleasure the beautiful place offered. Like a taste of freedom that soothed rather than tantalized. A promise of hope.

The castle’s extensive library and beautiful chapel were essential gifts. Access to plenty of books and regular activities kept his mind and spirit healthy and active. He even assigned himself reading goals. Who knew? He just might have the time to read every book in the castle.

He observed Sundays and holidays, aware of his need for rest and refreshment of his spirit. He taught himself to play the pipe organ (for his ears only) and sang hymns. Despite current circumstances, he knew that he was never abandoned.

And he had the amazing gift of his magical heart-connection to Helena. He refused to let her down by falling into despair, and he prayed for her safety, courage, wisdom, and faith amid whatever circumstances she faced.

He simply lived in the moment and hoped for the future. But, oh! If he could only know for certain that he would see Helena again . . .

14

TRUTH AND MERCY

Peering at a clear blue sky through a barred window, Lenka at first tried to stem the flow of her apparently inexhaustible tears. But if being arrested, threatened with death, and chained in a cold brick gaolhouse wasn’t an excuse to cry, what would be? Feeling justified, she sobbed and panicked . . . not that it helped anything. In pure emotional exhaustion, she finally curled up on the cot until sleep finally came, clutching her little horse to her heart.

Waking up while chained to a dusty cot in a drafty stone jail was bad enough, but Lenka sensed watching eyes and peered through her lashes at a pair of plump pretty girls.

“He is too fine-featured, don’t you think?” One of them observed, her voice low and cultivated. “A beard would improve his appearance. I do so like whiskers on a man.”

Irritated, Lenka sat bolt upright to face her uninvited guests, who gasped and clutched each other, gawking between the bars at the trespasser and thief.

The other girl recovered first. “Too skinny and effeminate for my taste.” She studied Lenka’s scowling face. “But whiskers are old fashioned. I like muscle on a man. Prince Kazimierz wasshort, but he had lots of muscle, and he was just starting to get interesting when he vanished.”

“He never gave you a second glance anyway.”

That name, Kazimierz, and their faces . . . “Who are you?” Lenka looked from one to the other.

A heartbeat later, she realized that she understood their language, the language of this strange land. She had been understanding and speaking it since she and Papa entered the country, and he’d never said a word.

Did Papa know she was in jail? Did the fox?

The first girl’s brows rose high. “You don’t know? Our father is Baron Aleksy of Lómza. I’m Princess Kornelia, and she’s Princess Malgosia. We’re honored to have you break into Chelm Castle, our home.”

The hint of dry humor surprised Lenka. “Technically, I didn’t break in. I walked in.”

“Whatever.” The younger princess, Malgosia, rolled her eyes. “Twelve thieves—thirteen, counting you—have tried to steal that horrible bird, but they always got caught and executed. I don’t know how they sneaked into the castle without alerting the guards, but the bird always screamed and gave them away. It’s terribly tragic!”

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