Electra Rose
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swordpoint diplomacy chapter 11
🕑 Added 2022-08-31 16:34:48 +0000 UTCCHAPTER 11
Rose wrenched herself upright, scrambling to put a little distance between herself and the skirmish. Her leg was broken. She ran her left hand over it, feeling a panic struggle to get out behind the soap bubble that seemed to separate her from the world.
All of the soldiers were in Harrod's livery. She couldn't tell which ones were fighting to protect her and which ones were her enemies.
One of the men hefted his warhammer high. He was too slow. A nimbler soldier stabbed his exposed armpit. The scream was immediate and horrible.
'Some of them are following Harrod's orders and some of them are not. What did Harrod tell them to do?'
The swordsman didn't move back fast enough. The bigger man dropped his hammer. It came down with a sickening crunch on the swordsman's foot.
She didn't know what to do. Rose was frozen.
There was a roar in her ears. Maybe that was why she didn't hear anything before another arrow landed. The swordsman that she'd been watching staggered. There was an arrow sticking neatly out of his throat. Another pair of fighters were moving closer to her, maybe by accident.
She twisted to see the initial threat. She'd forgotten they were running towards the group, and forgot how close they would be by now. It was hard to gauge the distance. The world listed to the side.
Faces blurred together. Rose blinked furiously but her vision didn’t clear.
There was a squelch. Hot liquid splashed over her face. She sputtered, trying to get the blood out of her mouth. She tasted metal. Someone was gasping, horrible little flutters in their voice. Then there was an ugly slap.
Silence.
She couldn’t see. Rose felt her breath coming fast. She panted, straining to hear what was happening now.
“Princess. Are you well?”
It was… she didn’t know who it was, actually. She didn’t know the voices of the men who’d been sent with her.
‘I lost,’ she realized blankly. ‘I don’t know what happened. What’s happening to me?’
“Princess Rose?” She heard the rustle as someone knelt in front of her. She felt the heat of their body. “Can you hear me?”
Confused and afraid, she lashed out. The palm of her hand connected with something. There was a pained grunt and then a warm hand on her shoulder.
“Princess, it’s fine.” The voice was a bit choked now, but kind enough. “There’s something wrong with you. I think you’ve been drugged. Let me help you.”
“Help me?” she echoed. Her brow furrowed.
“Yes,” the man said patiently. “I’ll help you walk. Let’s go.”
Rose leaned helplessly into the warm body that pressed against her and hefted up with an arm around her back. Her fingers were grazing something hard- some kind of armor.
Well, that made sense, she reasoned blearily. They were all soldiers here.
Her gut was telling her something. She kept coming back to the situation that she’d analyzed, the thing that she’d seen unfold. How could she be safe? Was she safe? Guiltily, Rose knew that she should be thinking more, she should be acting and not reacting. But it was quiet now, someone was helping her move, and she really didn’t feel like trying any more.
That was the last thing that she remembered, for a time.
There was no way to know how long it had been. Rose blinked her eyes open and frowned. Her body still felt heavy. She had a wretched headache. She sat up and clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach roiled. Luckily nothing came out. She wasn’t optimistic about that remaining true. There was a sick, deep ache in her left leg.
Oh, shit. Her leg. She flipped back the covers, expecting the worst. In a way, that was what she saw.
All of her equipment and clothing was gone. She was dressed in a white shift. Rose rubbed a bit between her fingers and felt fairly certain it was linen. She had to move awkwardly to hike up the shift and see her leg. It was bandaged with neat, professional lines that wound around her thigh. If she’d ended up at all dusty or bloody, someone had cleaned her up while she slept. And they had clearly moved her. She must have been totally insensate.
She didn’t know where she was. Uncertainly, she looked around. For the first time in weeks, she was inside a proper building.
‘I’m inside the keep. Something has gone very wrong. Or very right?’
Rose put her feet to the cold stone floor and explored optimistically. For no particular reason, she went towards the door rather than the windows, eyes on the rug that centered underneath a desk. She kept a hand on the wall as she went, keeping the weight off of her injured leg. She was in a fairly large room, which was dressed for a guest. She mentally added one point to the tally suggesting that her people had broken through the wall and left her here to recover from whatever she’d been poisoned with. Would a prisoner be given (she dug her bare feet into it victoriously) an antique rug?
Wait.
She squinted down at it. Was it depicting the sack of the Pearl Isle? Rose traced a toe along what appeared to be a vanquished defender, sprawled at the foot of a knight in blue. His blood reached out twice his body length and was splashed on the boots of the knight.
“Cheerful,” she said under her breath. “At least we aren’t the only savages around.” Rose stepped gingerly over the rather bleak rug and began opening a chest of drawers to rummage around. She lifted some spare sheets, noting the yellowed embroidery. Rose searched her memory about important foreign figures, but couldn’t figure out who JS might be. “Probably long dead,” she mumbled to herself. “And then someone couldn’t quite stand unpicking the initials, so it went into storage. This isn’t a guest room, is it?” she mused. “You don’t have visitors use Grandpa’s embroidered sheets.”
The next thing that she found confirmed it- old fashioned clothes. Rose grimaced and let the lid shut gently. There wasn’t going to be anything useful in there.
‘Why would someone put me in this room? Is everything else full?’
She gingerly turned a circle, this time noting how… closed off the room was. She had a sinking feeling. There was only one door, and she hadn’t tried to open it yet. There were windows letting in pale light, high and narrow, but that was hardly odd for a castle.
The desk. She tried the desk next. The little drawer was locked. When she rattled it, she heard something slide around inside.
Hmm. If Etienne was here, he’d look around for something small to try to jiggle the lock. Or maybe a blade to pry the damn thing out?
Rose slipped down to her knees and leaned her head to the side so that she could see the underside of the drawer. She punched it.
It crumpled with a very satisfying crunch. It didn’t come totally apart- the board broke into odd strips. She bent them down and out of the way, leaving some of them hanging by threads. Then she stuck her hand up and rummaged around inside of the drawer.
Her fingers closed on the familiar shape of a small book. She drew it out to look at.
Somebody’s journal?
…She briefly considered being respectful and putting it back, never mind that it probably belonged to a dead man. Instead of doing any of that she hobbled back to the bed and hid it under the mattress for later reading if she got bored.
She sat down on the bed. She felt pretty crappy, if she was honest with herself. She might heal her leg a lot faster if she just went back to sleep. On the other hand, it would be mortifying to admit that she laid down to take a nap after realizing she’d been poisoned and either taken captive or, uh, rescued by allies who didn’t leave someone waiting with her to wake up. The second scenario… it didn't seem likely at all. Therefore, napping would be bad.
“What else,” Rose hummed to herself. “I think I’m a prisoner, but should I try the door?” She eyed it, not feeling very optimistic. “Seems so unlikely that I shouldn’t bother.”
She couldn’t be well-guarded, that’s for sure. Someone should have looked into the sound of wood breaking. On the off chance that she was with her people, she started idly preparing a lecture in the back of her mind.
…Not that she had much room to talk regarding incompetence. She cringed, hard. “I ruined that,” she said, sotto voice. “I just fell down and watched people fight. I was poisoned? Did I-” she cursed. “That shitty wine.” Disgusted, Rose forced herself back off the bed again. She needed to move faster than her thoughts.
‘Did I ruin the invasion plan? What happened out there? How long has it been?’
Her head throbbed again. She wished she had more information.
Well. There was nothing for it. Slowly, painfully, she made her way over to the door and turned the handle.
Locked.
‘That’s settled.’ A hard lump sank into her stomach. ‘I’m a prisoner. Someone planned an ambush.’ She shouldn’t be worried, honestly. If anything, she was now the safest person in the area. Either she’d be ransomed back to her father or she’d be rescued- or she could escape, of course. No one would dare hurt her.
Her leg throbbed that much harder.
She went back to exploring. The desk was a dead end, the chest had been boring, but there were still some shelves with knick knacks. Rose was holding up somebody’s rather ugly homemade vase when the door clicked.
Rose took a deep breath and wiped all expression off of her face, except a haughty little head tilt. She turned enough to see the door in her peripheral.
It opened to show a face that was fairly familiar from a portrait that was still on her dresser back home. The portrait version had been a little more handsome, if she was honest.
“Hello, beloved,” Prince Marcel said dryly. His gaze flicked to the pottery in her hand. “Are you admiring the art?”
