I nodded, thinking, Oh yes, Your Grace. That you will.
Eleanor glanced over my shoulder to the darkness where my anxious friends waited. “Hectare told me of your strange travels. My friend speaks naught but truth, and yet . . .” When she glanced down the tunnel, there was such longing in her face, I couldn’t look away. “If I did not have a duty to my kingdom, I would wish to go with you. There is much I would know, but I shall not ask how my life turns out. That is for God alone to decide. I would ask one question of you, however.”
Reluctantly, I nodded. However much I wanted to, I couldn’t warn her. Couldn’t reveal the pain she would suffer when bitter jealousies arose to warp and ruin her family. But neither would I lie to this extraordinary queen.
“I’ll tell you what I can, Your Grace.”
Her voice was tentative, and I could see her brace herself for the answer. As she looked into my eyes I glimpsed the vulnerable woman behind the queen, the legend.
“So many queens before me have come and gone, their legacies washed away like sand beneath the tide. In that place to which you return . . . will my name fade as have so many before me? Will anyone remember?”
Against all royal protocol, I reached out and took one of her soft, ink-stained hands in mine. “Your Grace,” I whispered around the giant lump in my throat, “your legacy will never fade. You will be remembered. Even a thousand years from now, your name will live on.”
Chapter 40
I MADE SEVERAL WRONG TURNS AS I LED THE OTHERS through the twisting, turning passageways. The musty, damp stone pressed heavier as they followed me down and down. The torches Phoebe and I carried spat flecks of hot pitch onto our gowns, but I beat out the sparks, never slowing. When the walls tightened, forcing us to squeeze through sideways, my heartbeat faltered.
Oh no. Can’t breathe. Too tight.
I wouldn’t—couldn’t—lose control.
Not now.
Claustrophobia pecked at me. Peck. Peck. Peck. An evil bird nibbling away my reason. Collum frowned at me but said nothing as I moved faster through the tunnel. My brain filled with two words. Get out. Getoutgetoutgetout!
When the tunnel split into three smaller ones, I nearly lost it.
Oh God. Which way?
Phoebe shot me a scared look as my mother’s rhythmic groans grew closer together. We both knew what it meant. The baby was on its way. And we had to get home before it arrived.
I braced myself against the wall, choking on the sharp, metallic tang of fear and adrenaline. Beneath my palm, I felt a design, grooves carved into the stone. Something buzzed up from my memory, but I shoved it back at Phoebe’s shout.
“Oy! I can feel wind. This way.”
The torch’s flame trembled as a cold breeze wafted against my sweaty face. I nearly sobbed with relief.
Thank you. Thank you.
The tunnels ended at a grated entrance near the back of the abbey. I gulped for air as we emerged into the crisp winter night. Marveling, I realized we’d traveled underground all the way beneath the cobblestoned square to the rear of the cathedral. The large village that surrounded the palace and abbey was dark, all its occupants still abed. But that wouldn’t last for long. Dawn was approaching. And we had to be deep in the forest when it came.
Between us, Collum and I kept my moaning, barely conscious mother upright as Bran and Phoebe stole inside a nearby stable, absconding with several horses and tack. Without wagon or sled, we had no alternative. Wrapped in her cloak, Mom curled sideways on the front of Bran’s saddle. He held her in place with one arm, controlling the reins with the other.
Snowflakes floated down as we raced through the village, down a rutted road, past sleeping farms, until we reached the treeline. Mom’s guttural moans occasionally drifted up like smoke into the frigid air. Galloping at his side, I watched Bran grip her tighter, jaw flexed as he glanced my way. The bluish glow from the snow-covered ground shadowed his eyes and carved his face into a marble statue.
I must’ve looked worried, because he winked. “Not to worry, preety lady,” he panted in an awful Russian accent. “Am strong like bull.”
By the time we reached the spot in the woods where we’d emerged three days before, the snow had stopped. The moon peeked between rushing black clouds, illuminating the thick powder.
I jumped down and bolted to where Bran was struggling to keep my mother from tumbling off. I helped her down, keeping her upright while Bran dismounted. She was shivering uncontrollably. With no nearby place to sit but the snow-laden ground, we sandwiched her between us, sharing our heat as she convulsed. My mother’s belly pressed into me, high and round. Her knees sagged and her head dropped onto my shoulder.