Ona squeezed her expanding belly into the secret passage. But if she was going to make the exchange, she’d just have to grit her teeth and suffer through it.

She had experience with suffering without complaint. First being forced into this ridiculous marriage, then her mother-in-law trying to whittle her sturdy mountain body down to a useless princess stick, and now this pregnancy. Ona shuddered at the memory. At least her husband was fertile, for all his inclination toward stableboys instead of milkmaids; she’d only had to be embarrassed once. As soon as she’d quickened, he scampered right back to his usual activities, leaving her in peace.

At the thought of her husband, Ona’s mind went naturally to his parents, and Ona swayed, grabbing the wall for support. Bravado aside, her father-in-law, King Roche, terrified her. A warrior king in every sense, he loathed his weak-willed son. Not a day passed when he didn’t berate his wife for not providing him with a more “martial” heir. Ona wanted to be gleeful during those conversations, for the woman certainly flayed Ona with her sharp tongue enough, but his vicious comments provoked sympathy for their quaking victim. Ona had withstood similar onslaughts herself, but at least he never tried to hit her. Not a day passed without Queen Marguerite sporting a new bruise hidden under sheer veils.

Gathering her will, Ona continued. She had been planning escape for some time, but with the court soothsayer (troublemaker, she thought, as she always did) predicting a boy out of Ona’s birth, flight was now urgent.

After the announcement, Roche eyed her with a more speculative air than she liked, and she knew why. With a grandson on the way, he didn’t need to be so . . . careful about his son. And once he was gone, Ona knew her days would be numbered indeed.

Ona had stumbled onto this hidden hallway by accident, luck, or somebody looking out for her. She’d known exactly what to do with it once she’d followed it and found it led to the outside, among other places.

Forehead beaded with sweat, she forced herself through the last few feet, tripping a bit as she left the castle confines, and fell into unfettered air. “Ahhh.” Basking in the wind for a moment, she looked around. Ona strained to see by starlight of a few stars and a sliver of moon. Where was— “Princess Ona. We are glad to see that you are still well.” Ona bit her lip to keep from shrieking and whirled angrily to face the elf behind her. “You promised not to sneak up on me in this manner, Lord Eladrial.”

His lips curved in what Ona assumed was a smile. “We do apologize, Princess.” As always, Eladrial radiated with elfin grace, adorned in spotless green silk, with long braids in his silver hair. The dim light gave an ethereal sheen to his costume.

She grumbled in the back of her throat, but pummeled her fury down. It did no good to become angry with an elf; they just became more amused. “I am sure.” She reached for the pouch she carried at her waist, but the elf held up a slim white hand.

“Bide a moment, Princess Ona. We wish to speak to you some more about this arrangement.”

Ona sighed. “What is it now?”

The elf stared at a point to the left of her. A grave and faraway look crept over his face. “We are wondering if perhaps the parameters could be altered in our situation. Truly, we do enjoy working with you, but we are wondering if we are truly receiving enough reward for our part in your game.”

She clenched her hands so that her nails bit into the palms of her hands. “This is not a game. I may not like King Roche, but I’ll not help you take over this kingdom. At least when he is cruel, he does not laugh at his victims. We have a bargain; you can’t change it now. It’s signed in both our blood and inscribed to my God and your Moon. Don’t try to bewitch me, elf.”

“So fiery,” said the elf, his voice smooth with pleasure. “You are a nice change of pace from the usual people with whom we negotiate, we must admit. Very well. We will stay within the original agreement.” He stroked the belt at his side, too arrogant to hold his hand out for his payment.

Ona opened her pouch and spilled sunstones into her hand. While exploring the tunnels within the castle’s thick walls, she had come across a now-defunct mage room. King Roche had abused the last magic worker so much that he’d disappeared one night, hiding his tiny workroom before he left. The sunstones had been tucked under a loose flagstone, and she’d appropriated them for her cause. She poured her third payment into Eladrial’s cupped hand, careful not to spill any. When she dropped a gem the first time, he’d refused to leave until she’d gotten down on her hands and knees and found it again.

He slipped the stones into his belt-case. “We thank you. You will contact us with the beacon when it is time?”

She nodded.

“Until then, Princess.” Bowing just enough to make it an insult, he left, melting into the shadows.

Ona took a moment to calm down, feeling a wave of rage spill over her. The smug creature! If there was any other way to escape with her life—

But there was not, and she knew it. She took a few breaths of the warm night air to comfort her in the stuffy castle, and clambered back into the secret passage. Now, she just needed to wait until the right moment.

****

A few days later, while she readied herself for sleep, Ona’s contractions began. She lolled on her bed, clutching her bedding to offset the pain.

Her only maid bustled about, cooing reassurances and applying rags to her forehead, making Ona want to smack her. “Would your Highness like anything? A soothing drink, perhaps?”

Ona nodded. “Something that has been flavored with mint, to ease my stomach.”

“Of course, Highness.” The maid curtsied and hurried away.

Moaning, Ona waited a minute for her to be out of hearing range. Then, gasping, she got to her feet and removed the elfbanes, iron ornaments that ringed the window. She hid them under her bed then collapsed into it again.

The maid returned with her drink, and Ona downed it. “Your Highness,” the maid said hesitantly, “His Majesty asked about your health.”

“I am not surprised,” said Ona grimly. “You may report to him that I am alive and well.” Then she gasped as another wave of pain hit her, and Ona lost any taste for clever remarks.

Her mountain breeding held true, and within two hours, just after nightfall, she held a wailing, red-faced boy in her sturdy arms. He looked just like her, she thought, pleased.

“He’s beautiful, Highness!” said the maid, clasping her hands under her chin.

“Indeed.” Ona struggled to look happy and normal. “He shall be a strong, brave boy.” Glancing at the moon, she searched for the carved wooden beacon she’d hidden in her bedclothes. When her fingertips closed around it, she looked at the maid, cleaning up from the chaos of the birth. “I wish you to fetch my husband.”

The maid raised her eyebrows at this, but simply curtsied and left.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Ona snapped the stick.

“Princess. We see that the joyous event has occurred.” The elf bowed, then faced the other way. “We would not disturb you in your disarray.” “There is no time for pleasantries,” Ona retorted. “Do you have something to carry him in?” Eladrial held out a large blanket made of silvery material. “But of course, Princess.” Ona hugged her son, planted a kiss on his forehead, then handed him over to the elf. “You had better take a great deal of care with him,” she warned the aloof creature. “I have paid you more than enough for this.”

Eladrial’s face went blank. “We think you had better remember to whom you are giving your child. Perhaps it would behoove you to recall that we are an honorable race, and do not take kindly to either insults or threats.” He held the baby out from his body, as if disgusted to touch him.

The woman froze, feeling sick. “I apologize, Lord Eladrial,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Please understand, birth is a difficult time for a woman, and the stress has only been compounded by the larger concerns surrounding it.” Ona knew that she had pushed the elf as far as he was willing to be pushed.

He eyed her. “Apology accepted. We know that you are not a sophisticated woman, when it comes to court intrigue, and of course you have been under a great deal of pressure.” The slight curve to his mouth returned.

Ona let the insult pass. “Thank you, Lord Eladrial. Now—the changeling?”

Nodding, he pulled a mandrake root from his belt pouch. Placing it in Ona’s outstretched hands, he made a few passes over it.

The root shook, then grew three times its size, forcing Ona to lower her hands from its weight. The twisted limbs of the mandrake grew into twisted humanoid arms and legs. An oversize head, devoid of eyes or ears, and with only two slits for a nose, appeared. A grotesque mouth, full of pointed teeth, grew last. The creature opened its maw, took a deep breath, and began to scream.

Ona gasped at the unearthly, nauseating sound. “It is hideous!” she shouted, struggling to control her revulsion and maintain her grip on it.

The elf shrugged. “We thought that you wanted a ‘demonic’ child.”

“True, but—” Ona winced. “No, you are correct. I was simply not expecting to have my wishes so amply fulfilled.”

The scuff of slippered feet and the stomp of heavy boots came through the door.

“Prepare yourself!” Ona whispered, then the king and queen burst in.

“Let us see our grand—” King Roche began with triumphant tones, breaking off as he saw the tableau in front of him.

Ona and Lord Eladrial pretended not to see him. It was difficult for Ona, especially with the mandrake-creature trying to bite her arm with its fangs.

The elf sneered. “Thank you, Princess. In exchange for this, your first-born child, we grant you an unholy power so that you can kill your father-in-law.” He chuckled evilly, amusing Ona with his commitment to the deception and his theatrical presentation.

“What unnatural doings is this?” thundered King Roche, his face purple with rage. “Wicked woman, consorting with the heathen elfkind in our own castle!”

Eladrial jerked his head, pretending to have just noticed them. “A deal is a deal, Majesties,” he said, making an insult out of the title. “The child is mine, and there be nothing you can do to stop me!” With a gesture, he covered the baby with his cloak and disappeared.

Ona sighed with relief, then cried out as someone grabbed her hair. They dragged her in front of the king and threw her to the floor. The mandrake-child slipped from her fingers and fell onto the bed. Thankfully, as soon as it left her grapes, it turned back into the root.

He hit her in the face. “Witch!”

Spitting out a tooth and some blood, Ona kept quiet. She could not provoke him further, lest her death occur, uselessly, in this room.

The king hauled her to her feet and shook her. “How dare you? You have committed treason against us, worked with demons, and stolen our grandson. I should strike you down where you stand!”

“She should burn for her crimes!” shouted the queen, her eyes wide with fury, stretching her hands and flexing her nails, as if she would tear Ona apart. Roche nodded. “It is the fitting punishment.” Releasing her, he sneered as Ona fell, no longer able to support herself. “Gather wood and pile it in the square. In the morn, she will be made to suffer under the pure flame of justice!” One of the king’s knights grabbed Ona’s arm and pulled her upright. “And until then, your majesty?” “Throw her in the dungeon.” The knight nodded and left, dragging Ona with him. She tried to stay on her feet, but he often pulled her off-balance, forcing her to bump against the cobbles until she struggled into a standing position again. They came to the dungeon, and he threw her into the nearest cell, a dank, dismal space that smelled of rotting corpses. Motioning to the jailer, who locked her in, he spat at her. “Witch! I know that even Lucifer will rejoice in your death.” Ona crawled to the furthest corner of the cell and curled up, trying to heal by will alone. She ached, but knew she must regain some of her strength, so forced herself to sleep.

When she woke, feeling stiff but stronger, Ona got her feet, leaning on the bars for support. Swaying, she limped to the opposite wall and searched for the appropriate brick. Finding it, she pressed the hidden lever and grinned, despite the new pain it caused in her bruised face. “Perfect.”

The concealed door swung open. Without a backwards glance, Ona stepped inside and pushed it shut behind her.

She trudged through the passage. Her deflated frame made it easier to get though, but she tired quickly and had to stop to rest often. She neared the end of the tunnel, and bracing herself for one last effort, Ona crawled free of the castle.

The elf stood there, holding her son with his fingertips. “It smells,” he said, handing him over with a sniff.

Ona took her child with relief, cuddling him into her shoulder. “Thank you.”

Eladrial laughed. “As if we do this to please you. But you should leave; they will come to ‘purge your evil’ soon. We suspect you would not wish to know what happens then.”

She nodded. As she began to walk into the forest, the elf called out to her. “Oh, and Princess?”

“Yes?” She turned, holding her son—Adan, she thought with a contented sigh—close against the wind.

The elf grinned, exposing his teeth. “You forgot to replace the elfbanes.”

A scream came from the castle, followed by another, and another, until the dawn rang with them.

Eladrial bowed, still grinning, and disappeared.

Her grip on Adan tightened until he wailed. She stood still for a moment, breathing hard and listening to the terrified sounds of the people she had left behind. Then Ona sighed and nodded. Hoisting Adan, she continued the long walk to her home country.