Page 70 of Storm to Victory
Empress Bella’s smile remained that far-too-grandmotherly one as she gestured to either side of her. “Prince Edmund, meet my son, grandson, and great-grandson. My line of succession is well-established.”
“Good for you,” Prince Edmund drawled with that sarcastic edge.
“Family, this is Prince Edmund. The man who poisoned my grandfather.” Empress Bella’s smile showed a sharp edge for the first time, something glittering in her perfectly blue eyes.
“Still parroting your father’s lies, I see.” Prince Edmund’s nonchalant look dropped, replaced with something hard. “I didn’t kill your grandfather, and you know it. Your father was the one who poisoned him and me. After all, why would I poison myself?”
“Perhaps you are an inept poisoner?” Empress Bella drummed her fingers on the armrest of her throne. “Or you were never poisoned at all. You escaped with rather a lot of energy and agility for someone who claims he was poisoned.”
Pip would have been rather confused at this conversation, if Prince Edmund hadn’t told them the story of what had happened back then. The roots of this war extended all the way to those events seventy years ago.
Prince Edmund’s jaw worked for a moment, as if that rejoinder had actually struck a nerve. His tone turned even harder. “I do wonder. How did your husband die? He passed away quite young, conveniently for you.”
“It was indeed a tragedy, losing my dear husband as I did.” Empress Bella’s tone was so sincere Pip might have believed her, if she hadn’t seen the sharp edge to her smile. “But enough of this chitchat. Prince Edmund, you were discovered in my kingdom in a hijacked airship and wearing a Mongavarian uniform. I am well within my rights to have you shot as a spy.”
“But you aren’t going to do that.” Prince Edmund sounded far too sure of that.
“No, I won’t. Not yet, anyway.” Empress Bella’s smile turned even more sharp-edged. “You have far too many valuable secrets in your head, and I’m determined to pry them out of you.”
Pip’s chest seized. Was the empress implying what Pip thought she was implying?
The empress made a languid motion with her hand. “Take them away.”
Pip found that her legs were shaking as the hood was placed over her head again. She was hauled through several more corridors and down a set of stairs. After a jangle of keys, a door opened with a creak, her hands were unshackled, and she was pushed forward.
She stumbled, nearly falling to her knees. She yanked the hood off, tossing it to the ground and spinning around as a large door formed of metal bars was swung shut behind her. The guard gave her a sneer as he twisted the key in the lock, shutting her in.
Or so he thought. The whole front wall of this cell was one giant piece of metal she could manipulate if needed.
She hurried to the front of her cell, gripping the comfortingly solid metal bars as she peered one way, then the other.
The guard retreated down the passageway and climbed a set of stairs until he disappeared through a metal door at the top.
The passageway on the other side ended in a dark corner. The cells on both sides had barred doors while the occasional torch lit the space.
But there was no Prince Edmund.
“Prince Edmund?” Pip whisper-called the word.
No answer. Not even another prisoner calling back to her.
She was alone. Absolutely alone.
Pip paced backand forth across her cell as she tried to decide what to do. Her cell was actually quite spacious at seven feet by ten feet and included a cot with an astonishingly clean straw mattress and wool blanket. The corner out of sight of the dooreven had a metal sink and a rudimentary toilet rather than the bucket or hole in the ground as she might have expected.
A window set high in the wall peered into the castle courtyard at cobblestone level. It was blocked by bars and glass, of course, but large enough that Pip could wiggle through the opening if she removed the bars and broke the glass.
Should she escape? Try to find Prince Edmund?
Although she had her magic, she was woefully unprepared for escaping an enemy stronghold and hiding out in enemy territory. She couldn’t even manage to fake a Mongavarian accent.
There was a clang from the direction of the stairs, and Pip jumped, hurrying to the barred door of her cell.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and two guards came through, dragging a limp body between them.
Pip gasped and gripped the metal bars to steady herself. That was Prince Edmund. She could only recognize him because of the color of his hair, his head hanging, his boots scraping against the stone floor.
The guards hauled him into the cell across the passageway from hers, taking the time to chain his hands to the wall instead of merely shoving him inside. With a final kick, the two guards left the cell, locked the door, and retreated up the stairs, the door at the top clanging shut with a grim finality.
