Cage of Deceit(85)

Regaining her wits about her, Allyssa knew she needed to act quickly and couldn’t afford to make a mistake since the sword was digging into her throat. Closing her eyes, she took a shallow breath, slamming her heel down on the soldier’s foot. At the same time, she shifted her body and swung her elbow into his stomach. When his grip loosened and the blade was no longer at her throat, she whipped out a knife from a hidden slit in her pants, and plunged it into the soldier’s side. He dropped to the ground, and Marek jumped on him.

Something warm dripped down her neck to her chest. Reaching up, she touched blood. Lightheaded from blood loss, she staggered and then collapsed.



Allyssa woke up in Jarvik’s arms. The dark night sky loomed above as he carried her, his brows pinched together with worry.

“Hurry,” he ordered the remaining soldiers. “She’s lost a lot of blood. We must take her to a healer.” His face blurred as she passed out again.

The next time she woke up, she was lying on a cot in a dimly lit room.

An elderly woman with dark, wrinkled skin hovered above her. “No signs of poison,” she said. “Only blood loss. I’ll stitch her together and bandage her up.”

“Thank you,” Jarvik said. “What can I do to help?”

“Give her this.”

Jarvik reached down and lifted Allyssa’s head. “Drink,” he encouraged her. He held a cup to her lips, and warm liquid slid down her throat. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fell asleep.

The next time Allyssa woke, the room was dark. She tried to sit up, but a hand reached out, gripping her shoulder.

“Rest,” Jarvik whispered. She leaned back against the pillow. “The healer doesn’t want you moving too quickly. You must regain your strength.”

When she went to say something, her throat seared with pain as if it were on fire. She hadn’t realized the soldier’s sword dug so deep into her skin.

Tears filled her eyes when she remembered Grevik’s lifeless body. A sob escaped her.

“Shh,” Jarvik said, rubbing her arm. “It’s going to be all right.” He brought his chair closer to her cot so she could see his face. “I’m having Grevik’s body brought to the castle. His mother has been told. I’ll make sure she’s heavily compensated for her son’s sacrifice.”

Tears spilled down Allyssa’s face. Her friend was dead because of her. She’d never hear his laugh, see his dear face, or chase thieves with him again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jarvik insisted.

She closed her eyes, wanting to go to sleep so she didn’t have to feel the pain of her best friend’s death.



When morning came, the sun shone through the room’s only window, mocking her. Jarvik slept slumped on the rickety, wooden chair in the corner. Allyssa pushed herself up into a sitting position. The furnishings were sparse, the room small, and no healers lingered nearby. This was not the medical wing of the castle.

Jarvik jerked awake. “How are you feeling?” he groggily asked.

“Better,” she said.

“Let me get you something to eat.”

“Where are we?” she asked.

Jarvik rubbed his eyes and yawned. “The servants’ wing. I thought it would be safer for you here. The decoy is in your bedchamber recovering.”

He went to the door, mumbled something to the person standing on the other side, and then he sat down again. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to her neck.

She reached up and felt several bandages covering her skin.

“No, on the chain.”

“Oh,” she said lamely, not sure what to tell him. “Just a gift.” She lifted the necklace the rest of the way out from under her shirt. Strung on the delicate chain was the wooden ring she’d received as a gift. Based on her research, it most likely came from Fren. She suspected Prince Odar had given it to her, although it didn’t seem like something he would do.

“You’ve been wearing it this entire time? A simple ring?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her throat sore. “It means something.” She wasn’t sure how to express that this gift was more valuable to her than all the diamonds and jewels others had bestowed upon her.

“Do you know what it means?” he asked.

“I know there’s an old peasant tradition where a wooden ring is given from a man to the woman he wishes to court. If she fancies the giver, she wears the ring on her finger.”

“Do you know who gave it to you?”

She fingered the smooth ring, turning it over on her hand. “I’m not certain.”

“Then why do you wear it?”

“For what it represents—hope for love that has nothing to do with crowns or kingdoms, but love for love’s sake.”