They were going to die.
They might as well go ask Darken Rahl to tell them where they could find the box.
Kahlan walked up to the Bird Man, then suddenly threw her arms around him.
“Remember me,” she whispered.
When they separated, the Bird Man looked around at the people, his face drawn. “These two need some men to guard them safely to the edge of our land.”
Savidlin stepped forward instantly. Without hesitation, a banc of ten of his best hunters came to stand with him.
Chapter 29
Princess Violet turned suddenly and slapped Rachel’s face. Hard. Rachel had done nothing wrong, of course—the Princess just liked to slap her when she least expected it. The Princess thought it was fun. Rachel didn’t try to hide how much it hurt—if it didn’t hurt enough, the Princess would slap her again. Rachel put her hand over the sting, her bottom lip quivering, tears welling up in her eyes, but she said nothing.
Turning back to the shiny, polished wall of little wooden drawers, Princess Violet put her stubby finger through a gold handle and slid open another drawer, taking out a sparkling silver necklace studded with large blue stones.
“This one’s pretty. Hold my hair up.”
She turned to the tall wood-framed mirror, admiring herself as her fingers hooked the clasp behind her plump neck while Rachel held her long, dull, brown hair out of the way for her. Rachel eyed herself in the mirror, inspecting the red mark on her face. She hated looking at herself in the mirror, hated seeing her hair, how it looked when the Princess chopped it off short. She wasn’t allowed to let her hair grow, of course, she was a nobody, but she wished so much it could at least be cut even. Almost everyone else had their hair cut short, but it was even. The Princess liked chopping it for her, liked making it all jagged. Princess Violet liked it when other people thought Rachel was ugly.
Rachel shifted her weight to her other foot and rolled her free ankle around to ease its stiffness. They’d been in the Queen’s jewel room all afternoon, the Princess trying on one piece of jewelry after another, then primping and turning in front of the tall mirror. It was her favorite thing to do, trying on the Queen’s jewelry and looking at herself in the mirror. Being her playmate, Rachel was required to be with her, to make sure the Princess was enjoying herself. Dozens of the little drawers stood open, some a little, some a lot. Necklaces and bracelets hung halfway out of some, like sparkling tongues. More were scattered around the floor, along with brooches, tiaras, and rings.
The Princess looked down her nose and pointed to a blue stone ring on the floor. “Give me that one.”
Rachel slipped it over the finger held in front of her face—then the Princess watched herself in the mirror as she turned her hand this way and that. She ran her hand over the pretty pale blue satin dress, admiring the ring. Letting out a long, bored sigh, she walked over to the fancy white marble pedestal that stood by itself in the opposite corner of the jewel room. She was looking up at her mother’s favorite object, one she fawned over at every opportunity.
Princess Violet’s pudgy fingers reached up, pulling the gold jewel-encrusted box off its honored resting place.
“Princess Violet!” Rachel blurted out before she had a chance to think. “Your mother said you mustn’t touch that.”
The Princess turned with an innocent expression, then tossed her the box. Rachel gasped, catching the box, horrified it might crash against the wall. Terrified that she had it in her hands, she immediately set it down on the floor as if it were a hot coal. She backed away, fearful of getting whipped just for being caught near the Queen’s precious box.
“What’s the big deal?” Princess Violet snapped. “Magic keep it from being taken from this room. It’s not like anyone’s going to steal it or anything.” Rachel didn’t know anything about any magic, but she knew she didn’t want to be caught touching the Queen’s box.
“I’m going down to the dining room,” the Princess said, lifting her nose, “to watch the guests arrive, and wait for dinner. Clean up this dreadful mess, then go to the kitchen and tell the cooks I don’t want my roast cooked like leather, like the last time, or I’ll tell my mother to have them beaten.”
“Of course, Princess Violet.” Rachel curtsied.
The Princess held her big nose up. “And?”
“And… thank you, Princess Violet, for bringing me, and letting me see how pretty you look in the jewelry.”
“Well, it’s the least I can do—you must get tired of looking at your ugly face in the mirror. My mother says we must do kind things for the less fortunate.” She reached in a pocket and brought out something. “Here. Take the key and lock the door when you’re finished putting everything back.”
Rachel curtsied again. “Yes, Princess Violet.”
While the key was dropping into Rachel’s outstretched hand, the Princess’s other hand came out of nowhere, slapping Rachel’s face unexpectedly, and unexpectedly hard. She stood stunned as Princess Violet walked out of the room, laughing a high, squeaky, snorting laugh. Princess Violet’s laugh hurt almost as much as the slap.
Tears fell from her face as she crawled around on the floor on her hands and knees, picking up fingerfuls of rings from the carpets. She stopped and sat back a moment, carefully touching her fingertips to the place where she had been slapped. It hurt like anything.
Rachel deliberately worked around the Queen’s box, giving it sidelong glances, afraid to touch it, yet knowing she would have to, because she had to put it back. She worked slowly, meticulously laying the jewelry in its place, carefully pushing the drawers closed, hoping somehow she wouldn’t finish, so she wouldn’t have to pick up the box, the Queen’s favorite thing in the whole world.
The Queen wouldn’t be happy at all if she knew that some nobody had touched it. Rachel knew the Queen was always having somebody’s head chopped off. Sometimes, the Princess made Rachel go with her to watch, but Rachel always closed her eyes. The Princess didn’t.
When all the jewelry was put away, the last drawer closed, she looked out of the corner of her eye, down at the box sitting on the floor. She felt as if it were looking back, as if it might somehow tell the Queen. Finally, squatting down, eyes wide, she picked it up. Holding it at arm’s length, she carefully shuffled her feet over the edges of carpets, terrified she might drop it. She set the box in its place as slowly as she could, carefully, gingerly, fearing a jewel might fall out or something. She quickly drew her fingers away, relieved.
Turning back, she caught sight of the hem of a silver robe that touched the floor. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t heard footsteps. Her head slowly, almost involuntarily, rose up the line of the robe—to the hands stuck in the opposite sleeves, to the long, pointed, white beard, to the bony face, the hooked nose, the bald head, and the dark eyes looking down at her startled face.
The wizard.
“Wizard Giller,” she whined, fully expecting to be struck dead any second, “I was only putting it back. I swear. Please, please don’t kill me.” Her face wrinkled up as she tried to make herself back away, but her feet wouldn’t move. “Please.” She stuck the hem of her dress in her mouth, biting it as she whimpered.
Rachel scrunched her eyes closed and shook as the wizard began sinking, lowering himself to the floor.
“Child,” he said in a soft voice. Rachel cautiously opened one eye, surprised to find he was sitting on the floor, his face even with hers. “I am not going to hurt you.”
She opened the other eye, just as cautiously. “You’re not?” She didn’t believe him. She saw with a start that the big heavy door was closed, her only escape route blocked.