It was a demand for ransom, written in Amber’s flowing cursive. It proposed an exchange: the life of Katerina Orlov, the high lord’s daughter, in return for military support for Altura.
Amber looked pleadingly at the high lord. “This is not mine, and it also makes no sense. Why would I do such a thing? I’m not stupid, and I have a child myself. As you know, I wasn’t asking for aid for Altura. We’re simply asking the houses to help whoever calls!”
“Your motive is clear. If you thought this would work, you are gravely mistaken. No one will help your house now. Where is my daughter?” the high lord demanded.
Amber looked from one man to the other. “Sergei,” she said, “you know I wouldn’t do this.”
“Do not presume to use my first name,” Lord Marshal Sergei said coldly.
High Lord Grigori leaned over and shook Amber’s shoulders. “You thought this would get my help? Where is my daughter?”
“I don’t know!” Amber cried. “This evidence is false.”
“We intercepted your other letters,” the high lord said. “We’ve known the entire time you’ve been here. Do not try to lie. You’ve planned this from the beginning. Fortunately, Sergei is not as trusting as I am.”
“It isn’t true.” Amber fought the urge to sob, even as another part of her raged. Whoever had made this plot knew their business; the high lord’s wits appeared to leave him where his daughter was concerned.
“Lord Marshal, take her to the deep dungeons underneath the Borlag,” the high lord commanded. “Find out all you can. She knows where my daughter is. Do whatever it takes.”
Amber’s mind tried to grasp the ploy even as the palace guards picked her up, holding her roughly by the arms. Sergei’s men began to march her through the palace while servants looked on with wide eyes. Amber fought to defend herself and communicate her innocence, but her mind was refusing to clear, and she pinched herself to see if she was truly awake.
She was, and this nightmare wouldn’t end.
They weren’t gentle with her, and she stumbled more than once as the guards dragged her through the great hall to a part of the palace she hadn’t seen before. A heavy door requiring two men to open led down several flights of stairs. The stone grew colder and the air danker the further down she went. The walls became rough and moldy. The only light down here was cast by an occasional nightlamp. All else was shadowed.
Amber was aware of metal doors clanging open, and then she was in a dungeon, a terrible place where hoops of rusted iron stuck out of the walls, and individual cells were placed far apart from each other. This was a place where dark deeds were done.
The palace guards threw Amber into one of the cells, and her head hit the wall. The floor was slimy with mildew, and a wooden bucket in the corner was the only item in the cell.
“Leave us,” Sergei instructed.
As Amber looked with fear at the flaxen-haired, usually genial lord marshal, the palace guards retreated, leaving the two of them alone.
“I don’t understand,” Amber said, wincing as she touched her head. She wished she had something else to say.
“It’s simple,” Sergei said, suddenly flourishing his usual, charismatic smile.
Sergei waited until the last footsteps were gone. Amber wondered how a straightforward plan to enlist support could go so wrong.
“I’m sorry you got involved, but your arrival was too well timed not to use. You see, I plan to be high lord when Grigori is gone—he has no male children—and then he spoiled my plans by naming Katerina his successor.”
Sergei frowned, his face twisting with disgust. “Who would follow a woman? A female high lord? The very idea is repulsive. My plan is to remove two annoyances at once. I can get rid of Katerina, the spoiled monster, and at the same time I’ll make sure Grigori will never send our men in support of Altura. Our soldiers and nightshades will stay here, where they belong. The high lord was quite close to promising aid, I’ll have you know. It’s taken a lot of work to keep him reluctant.”
As the last of the cobwebs fell away and Amber could finally think clearly, she looked up at the once charming lord marshal. “You’re using me to become high lord? Think carefully, Sergei. My husband is a dangerous man.”
“Think carefully? My dear, that’s exactly what I’ve done. And I think your husband has bigger concerns. I wouldn’t expect any help from him anytime soon. By the way, your device, on Juno Bridge? The reflector, or whatever you call it? It’s been shining all night.”
Dread hit Amber forcefully, like a punch in the stomach. “What color?” she whispered.
“Green,” Sergei said with relish. “It’s a lovely color, but I’ve taken it down; no one need wonder at it anymore, and it’s quite bright. We all need our night’s sleep.”
Amber hung her head. Miro had activated the distress signal. Her homeland needed help. Miro needed her.