Katerina had an idea.
She wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her earlier, but she’d been so scared, so alone, so trapped in the vine, that she’d forgotten all about it.
“Tuhl . . .” she said out loud. What was the strange word again? Katerina furrowed her brow and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t remember.
She began to panic. Sergei would return soon, and he might take the ring from her.
Katerina took a slow, deep breath, releasing the air as she calmed herself. A princess of Vezna must be strong.
“Tuhlas,” she said. Nothing. “Tuhlaranas.” Still the ruby was dark.
Was it a trick? Had the woman deceived her somehow, like the man who once made a silver deen appear behind her ear?
“Tuhlanas,” Katerina said.
The symbols etched around the ring’s circumference lit up with fire. The ruby sparkled and grew brighter and brighter as if shining from the inside. Katerina grinned and strained to touch the ruby to the vine. The living tendrils cringed and pulled away from the growing heat, but Katerina kept up her attack. The vine shied away from the bright stone and of its own accord unraveled itself from Katerina’s arm. She kept pressing the ring to the vine again and again, freeing her limbs, wriggling herself out of the clutching strands.
Soon Katerina was free.
The girl stood and stretched, hearing her back crack as she felt blood return to her tingling limbs. She looked at the door, where a living lock held the wood fast.
Katerina stumbled to the door and set to work.
High Lord Grigori Orlov stood on the balcony outside his bedchamber and sighed. He gazed out at the moat surrounding the Borlag and then at the Juno Bridge, the living walkway connecting the Borlag to the rest of Rosarva.
The Juno Bridge reminded Grigori of plants, which made him think of seedlings, which then led him to think about Katerina. Grigori’s wife had died giving birth to Katerina, and his daughter was everything to him; he feared for her constantly. Veznan history was filled with intrigue and betrayal. When a high lord’s son or daughter was kidnapped, it never ended well.
Everything living made him think of Katerina. A small sprout made him think about her fascination with seeds and seedlings. A dwarf tree made him think of how small she was, yet how quickly she’d grown. A crystal tree made him think about how fragile she was.
Grigori had to admit to himself: he was terrified. His only hope was that when Sergei finished with the Alturan woman, he would finally have the answers he demanded. Just a moment ago Grigori had walked down to the dungeons, close enough to hear her screams. He’d smiled in satisfaction before returning to his chambers. Amber Torresante would talk.
Grigori absently noted someone crossing the Juno Bridge, but whoever it was knew the password, and the bridge let him pass. He turned around and went back inside, once more looking into Katerina’s bedchamber before heading back to his own. He fell down to his bed, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.
“Papa, what are you doing?”
The voice sent a tremor running through Grigori’s body, stabbing into his heart with a sensation like being woken with a red-hot poker.
Grigori sat up. Katerina stood inside the doorway, looking at him with her head tilted. Tears had carved streaking passages through the dirt on her face, and he saw bits of leaf and dirt entwined through her clothing.
“Katerina. Katerina!” Grigori cried. He rushed over and pulled her close, holding her to his chest as tightly as he could. He held her at arm’s length and scanned her body, grabbing hold of her limbs one by one and checking her for injuries, before hugging her again and again. Aside from some circular bruising on her arms and legs, she was unharmed.
“Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you.”
“It was him,” Katerina said.
“Who, Katerina? Who?”
“Him! Please, Papa, keep me safe!”
Grigori pushed his daughter back by her shoulders. Terror filled Katerina’s face as she pointed toward a figure in the doorway.
Sergei stood open mouthed, staring at them both with a face drained of all color.
Then Sergei reached for his belt, but he wasn’t wearing his sword. Sergei’s hand clasped on empty air, and he looked up at Grigori with shock.
“You!” Grigori roared. “It was you!”
Grigori swept his daughter out of the way and charged Sergei, knocking him to the ground. Katerina screamed as the two men rolled, first Grigori on top, then Sergei, then Grigori again. Each man fought to gain a stranglehold on the other, and it was an even match: Grigori was the bigger man, but he could sense that Sergei was fitter, better trained.
Suddenly Grigori was face down on the ground, with Sergei twisting his arms painfully behind his back. Grigori felt a heavy weight as Sergei pinned him to the floor, and then Sergei’s hands were on his throat.