Tomorrow's Kingdom by Maureen Fergus Page B

intrepid Lady Bothwell—how she’d tantalized him by flaunting her unusual appetites and treating him as a man like any other. He’d remember the sight of her being forced to the floor at his feet and the way her breasts had heaved as she’d struggled and begged—even if it was for the life of the cockroach. He’d savour the memory of how she’d promised him that she’d do anything —and he’d indulge himself in imagining that she’d willingly do anything and more , once she could be made to see how much the two of them actually had in common and how great they could be together.
    And he’d believe that Queen Persephone had found the healing Pool of Genezing and that the only reason she’d not saved her brother, the king, was that she’d returned to Parthania too late to do so. He’d believe that the royal fool who’d thought to thwart him had thus died in agony, knowing that if he could’ve clung to this world for just a few days more, the long life of health and happiness he’d ever dreamt of would have been his.
    For the sake of his beautiful bride-to-be, Mordecai hoped this last part was true.
    For if it was not, not even the gods themselves would be able to save her from his wrath.

TEN

    A FTER SEVEN DAYS on stormy seas, the ship on which Persephone was sailing finally dropped anchor in a deserted cove.
    Flinging open the door of the small cabin in which she’d been imprisoned, Hairy ordered Persephone to follow him. When she refused to comply until he told her where they were going, he shoved her face first onto the bunk and sat on her while he bound her flailing hands and kicking feet. Then, ignoring her threats and insults, he carried her up the steep stairs to the ship’s deck, tied a rope around her and lowered her down to Tutor’s waiting arms. By the time Tutor had gotten her safely stowed in the bow of the small rowboat, Hairy had made his way down the slippery rope ladder that hung from the ship’s rail. Throwing off the rope that tethered the rowboat to the ship, he seized the oars and rowed through the choppy water until they slid up onto a sandy beach. Tutor immediately reached for Persephone, and when she tried to bite his hand, he slapped her hard across the side of the head.
    â€œYou shall pay dearly for that someday,” she vowed in a voice that she hoped was dripping with menace.
    In response, Tutor dragged her out of the rowboat by the scruff of her neck and—whistling cheerfully—hauled her over to a waiting carriage. Dumping her onto the bare floor, he slammed the door, consigning Persephone to the gloom. She felt the carriage lean sharply to the side as the two New Men climbed up onto the driver’s seat and then, with the crack of a whip, they were off.
    The road along which they travelled was so badly rutted that Persephone had to clench her teeth to keep them from rattling. It wasn’t long before, company notwithstanding, she longed for the moment they’d stop for the night. They didn’t stop for the night, however, but travelled onward through the gathering darkness and the ever-deepening chill. Cold, hungry, thirsty, fearful of what Mordecai had planned for her and haunted by the lonely sound of the wind that never stopped blowing, Persephone slept fitfully. Sometimes she dreamt. Mostly these were nightmares—fleeting images of a tiny blue baby lying discarded on a dirty tabletop with its translucent hands clutching its raggedly cut umbilical cord, or flashes of auburn curls sodden with blood and blue eyes that stared unseeing at the screaming black carrion birds that circled overhead.
    Once, though, she dreamt that Azriel was not dead but as alive as he could be and lying on his side right behind her. The dream was so real that Persephone could feel the weight of his strong arm holding her close against his broad chest, could feel his warm breath tickling theback of her neck.