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Gemma ransacked the place, looking for blankets, provisions, anything she could take. It wasn’t safe to return to Ostfold. She was better off hiding in the forest and at the base of the mountains. In a few weeks, maybe she could venture into the outskirts of Ostfold to ask Lady Linnea for help.

Gemma would have to abandon her relationship with Grandmother Guri. It was far too dangerous to risk seeing the older woman. And as sad as it made Gemma to lose her, she wouldn’t allow anyone to be killed because of her. Gemma, in the middle of swinging open a cupboard door, paused. The captain said his life and the life of his men would be forfeit if I escaped…No. I cannot afford to think of them. I must hide, she decided, glancing inside the cupboard and moving on.Advertisement

She climbed a ladder to find a loft filled with straw and peppered with swan feathers. Her conscience railed at her as she climbed down, and she sagged against the ladder when she stepped off the bottom rung. They were kind to me, and surely they have families and loved ones who will miss them.

Gemma leaned her cheek against the dirty ladder. “What does it matter? I must think of myself. No one would think of saving my life—not my drunkard father, nor my mother who hasn’t the strength for it. No one would…except for Lady Linnea.”

Gemma closed her icy eyes and balled her hands into a fist. “By the Snow Queen,” she cursed before releasing a great sigh. “Lady Linnea is right. I am foolish,” she said before exiting the shack. She retreated back up the shoreline, picking up the abandoned laundry when she found it. She dawdled on the lakeshore for a few moments (enjoying the sunlight on her skin in spite of the blustery wind) before walking back through the royal gardens and into the palace.

She set the stolen laundry down in an empty hallway and wandered deeper into the palace. It took her a while to find the dungeon stairs, and when she happened upon them, she stared for a few minutes before she took in gulps of fresh air and set her shoulders.

Gemma fixed her face into an expression of strength, then plunged down the stairway. Her heart beat heavier with each step she took, and every instinct screamed at her to run. But she followed the stairs all the way to the dungeon. When she reached the bottom stair, she leaned forward to look down the aisle formed the boundaries of the cell blocks. The door to her cell was open, but there were no guards to be seen. Obviously, someone had freed the man who delivered Gemma’s breakfast.

Gemma tried to walk the remaining distance to her cell, but her legs stiffened and froze. So she plopped down on the lowest stair, hunched over her knees in a miserable ball, and waited to be discovered. Her shoulders shook in a moment of despair. Panic clawed at her, and her emotions threatened to overtake her. It isn’t fair. I never asked for this, I—Gemma impatiently crushed the thought and threw her arms over her legs, resting her head on her arms. She didn’t look up when several sets of heavy footfalls raced up the aisle.

“Any news from the palace guards?” a male from one end of the dungeon called.

“None. She did not go out the front gates—or if she did it was before we notified them,” a different man at the opposite end shouted.

“Contact the dog master,” the first man said.

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“I already have; he asked for her blanket,” the second soldier said as he ran past Gemma and the staircase. “If we’re lucky it will have her scent—,” the soldier cut himself off and backed up to stand in front of Gemma and stare down at her.

Gemma lifted her head up. “Good morning,” she said, impatiently wiping at her eyes that were, irritatingly enough, burning with tears.

The soldier pinched his eyes shut and rubbed them before staring at her.

“Foss,” the guard from the opposite end called. “Foss! What is wrong with you, man?” he said, his voice growing louder as he drew closer. “Are you—,” the guard—or the captain, as Gemma recognized him once she could see his face—cut himself off when he joined “Foss” at the dungeon staircase to gawk at Gemma.

Gemma finished wiping her eyes and stared back at the pair. “I would walk myself back my cell, but my legs have given out at the moment,” she said.

Her words kicked Foss into moving. “We should tell the others—no! First we need to put her in her cell! Where are the keys—,” he quieted when the captain placed a meaty hand on his shoulder.

“Why?” the captain asked.

Gemma met the captain’s gaze with her sharp, intense eyes. “Why what?” she prompted.

“Why did you come back? There is a very good chance we wouldn’t have found you. You were free.”

Gemma rolled her shoulders back. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” the captain said.

Gemma stared at Foss and the captain. Foss shifted and squirmed, but the captain was an unmovable mountain. “Because you and your men don’t deserve to die. Is that an acceptable answer?” pqdm.com