“Perhaps he’s ready to talk. Look at him.” A shorter, stockier guard jammed a finger at the Fool’s chest. “He’s already pissed himself.”
“Nah, I think he needs a little more incentive.” And with that, the bigger of the two men delivered a crushing blow to the Fool’s stomach. The guard dealt another blow to the side of the Fool’s head, knocking him off his feet. He felt his teeth tear at the soft skin of his cheeks and tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.
Sprawled on the floor and unable to move, the Fool nearly nodded off into the sweet escape of unconsciousness. But before his eyes could flutter closed, the short guard dumped a pail of frigid water over him, forcing him to stay awake. The Fool curled into a ball, sure he was going to die from the kicks to his small, delicate frame, the jabs to his stomach with the guard’s heavy boot, the strikes to his shoulders. He rocked on the floor, humming to himself, thinking of his little dog and his sweet face, wishing he could disappear into his silky white fur.
The torture went on for what felt like hours, and finally the Fool fell into a heavy black sea of oblivion. He floated free of his broken body and looked up at his old friend the Moon, Marco.
The Fool had helped a friend, an innocent. He had done the right thing.
He opened his eyes to a rough tugging at his scalp, disappointed to find that he had not truly left this land. Bassett crouched down over him.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know.” The Fool’s voice was barely a whisper. “Then please, just kill me.”
The guards lifted the Fool and carried him as one would a small child, winding back through the tunnels and up to the King’s chambers.
* * *
“What have you done?” The color drained from the King’s face when he saw the Fool. A look of horror and regret flashed across his features. “Was this necessary?”
Senator Bassett stood silent, arms crossed, flanked by the two guards from the cell.
The King knelt down next to the Fool. “Look at me, son. Will you tell me the truth?”
“She was brilliant,” the Fool began, his eyes darting around the room, his speech slurred. “She created a world, a magnificent world. A place to escape from you and your rigid rules.” Tears fell down the Fool’s cheeks, and while his words ran like water, he kept the truth of how the Magician had helped Anna locked deep inside.
“I spied on you, and when I found out you were going to kill Anna, I told her.” The Fool looked the King straight in the eye.
The King sucked in his breath. Senator Bassett clucked, unsurprised.
“How could you betray me?” the King demanded. “Have I not loved you like you were my own son?”
The Fool shook his head. “You were wrong. You were wrong to lock her up, to call for her execution. She is just a girl—an innocent.” He spoke freely, knowing he would probably not live to see another day.
“How did she destroy the Tower? Where did she go?” the King pressed.
“I’ve no idea,” the Fool answered honestly. “I warned her, and then I left the door open.”
Bassett rushed toward the Fool, but the King held his hand up.
“Do you believe she is a powerful sorceress? That she destroyed the Tower with her magic?” The King tenderly pushed the Fool’s blood-soaked blond curls away from his face.
The Fool thought of the Magician. “I’m sure she is the most powerful sorceress that has ever lived.” His head lolled onto his shoulder.
The King took the Fool’s limp hand in his own. “Just tell me you are sorry.” His heart ached to see the Fool so weak and so broken.
“You had all the power in the world and no idea how to use it,” the Fool whispered.
“You truly are a fool,” the King said, letting the Fool’s hand fall to the floor. “Take him back to the dungeons where he can rot.”
“You said you would kill me,” the Fool muttered. “Have mercy, Sire.” The waves came, black and strong, and the Fool slipped away into darkness once more.
It rained every day and every night for nearly a week. At first the people of Cups were excited by the novelty of the murky gray sky, the nearly black sea. But then everyone began to grow restless.
“I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin.” James drummed his fingers on the table, and Anna gritted her teeth. She shot him a look and he paused mid-drum.
“Sorry.” James winced.
Anna shrugged. While everyone around her was going nearly mad with cabin fever, she tried to remind herself that confinement could be much worse.
“Let’s play a game,” Anna suggested.
James looked at her warily. “I can’t imagine anything we haven’t already played. I don’t see why Daniel won’t let us go outside.”
“The sun is about to set anyway. Maybe tomorrow,” Anna said.
Anna looked out the rain-streaked windows of the common room and listened to the drops pounding on the roof. Dreary weather was common in the Hierophant’s Kingdom, and while it had gone on long enough, Anna had found it strangely comforting when it started a few days back. The unrelenting sunshine of Cups made her feel like she was missing out if she rested.
“What’s the game?” James asked.
Anna sat up and crossed her hands on the table. “I’ll say something, and you have to tell me the first thing that comes into your head—no thinking. Then I’ll say what comes to my mind from your answers.”
“Fine, I’ll play.” He sat back up.
“Rain,” Anna said. James rolled his eyes at her. She held her hands up. “I’m kidding.” He cracked a smile. “In all seriousness—kissing.” Anna raised an eyebrow.
James paused.
“No thinking!” Anna shouted.
“Touching,” James said, leaning forward.
“Touching,” Anna repeated.
“No thinking,” James admonished her.
“Okay, okay.” Anna scrunched up her face. “Feeling.” Anna slid her clasped hands across the table.
“Skin,” James asserted, reaching forward, his fingers grazing Anna’s.
Anna was about to answer, when they heard a loud banging on the villa’s two giant front doors. Everyone in the room went silent, and Daniel leapt up from a cushion on the common room floor. His hand was no longer bandaged. The healing wound ran down his palm in a puffy line of yellow and purple.
“Everyone is here, aren’t they? Everyone’s been accounted for?” He looked to Lara. She nodded, eyes shining with worry.
Anna felt a chill. Had the King finally caught up with her? She stood up and, without thinking, marched toward the front doors. James ran around the table and caught her hand, stopping her.
A deep voice shouted, “Anybody in there? I’m completely drenched!” Followed by more pounding. James dropped Anna’s hand and rushed for the doors, a look of relief spreading over his face. Anna looked to Lara for an explanation, but she, too, was heading toward the villa’s entrance behind Daniel. Anna followed closely behind them, hoping to get a look at the stranger. James reached the doors first and thrust them open.
A tall, painfully thin young man with nothing but a rucksack stood on the threshold, drenched.
“Topper! You made it home.” Daniel ushered him inside and pulled him into a bear hug.
Anna’s heart caught in her chest. Topper, the traveler who had actually been to Pentacles. She slowly backed away, hoping to get lost in the small crowd that was gathering around the front door.
James and Topper embraced, laughing and clapping each other on the back.
Topper shook out his wet yellow-blond hair. “I nearly didn’t. The seas were rough, almost more than my boat could take. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it rain this hard in Cups.”
“You have no idea,” Daniel said gravely, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
&
nbsp; As Topper walked farther into the room, Anna kept her head down, hoping he wouldn’t identify her as a newcomer. But he was quickly descended upon by familiar faces in the crowd and showered with offers of baths, dry clothes, and a hot meal.
“Traveler,” Anna whispered.
Trouble was the first word that came to mind.
“What’s happened?” the Hermit asked, his eyes shut tight. He was sitting cross-legged beneath a large silver birch in the garden. The Magician shivered against the biting cold.
“The Fool is missing,” she announced.
The Hermit’s eyes flew open. “What do you mean, missing?”
“I found Bembo in his chambers barking his head off, and his staff was leaning in the corner. I did a few laps around the Keep, but I couldn’t find him anywhere.” The Magician covered her face with her hands. “This is all my fault.”
The Hermit jumped to his feet and grabbed the Magician’s shoulders. “Where could he be? Have you seen Drake?”
The Magician dropped her hands and sighed. “No, I haven’t, and I have a very bad feeling. I’ve looked in the dining room, the library, and the kitchens. The Fool’s not in any of his usual spots.” The Magician bit her lip. “And he would never go for a walk without his staff, not to mention Bembo.”
The color drained from the Hermit’s face. “Do you think they know what we’ve done?”
The Magician huffed. “This worrying is not like you. You have to . . . get centered, or whatever it is you’re always on about.” She pulled away from him and straightened her robes and cloak. “We’ll make our morning rounds to the King as usual, and we can find out what’s going on.”
The Hermit took a deep breath and, as he was pulling his cloak over his head, something whizzed near his ear and then exploded in the birch’s trunk with a loud thwack.
“What in stars’ name was that?” The Hermit put a hand to his ear, which buzzed with heat, and whipped around to face the tree. An arrow had lodged into the trunk with a piece of parchment wrapped around the shaft.
“A message?” the Magician wondered, looking around suspiciously as she walked toward it.
“It almost took my ear off,” the Hermit mumbled.
The Magician pulled the parchment off the arrow and unrolled it. The Hermit read over her shoulder.
Meet me in the beer cellar below the old buttery. NOW.
—D
Make sure you are not seen!
“Drake?” whispered the Hermit.
The Magician nodded. She crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it into the air while muttering, “Fotayah!” The piece of paper burst into flames and disappeared.
The Hermit stared at her.
“What?” The Magician cleared her throat.
“With no wand? No potions?” He raised his eyebrows.
She shrugged. “I’ve been practicing.”
“And you don’t feel sick?” He put his hand on her shoulder and eyed her closely.
“No, but I will start to if you don’t remove your hand.” She squinted at him in warning. “We need to go now.”
The old buttery was tucked into the abandoned great hall, Whitehoof. A new facility had been built, and no one ever entered the neglected space, except for occasional servants looking for a quiet spot for a tryst.
The long narrow room was dusty and dark. The Magician and the Hermit walked side by side as they entered the quiet old hall.
“It’s so eerie in here,” the Hermit said.
“Supposedly this is where the Queen and Marco used to meet.” The Magician raised her eyebrows.
“Oh.” The Hermit nodded in understanding.
The Magician stopped at a door that seemed to appear out of nowhere halfway down the length of the massive room. She turned a dusty brass handle and it gave right away.
They found themselves in pitch-blackness.
“Spatitha!” the Magician hissed. A glowing ball of blue rolled in her hand, lighting up the windowless room.
“The beer cellar should be underground. Let’s look for a stairway,” suggested the Hermit.
The Magician held up her glowing ball and illuminated shelves filled with old wine barrels covered in dust. She waved her hand around until the light rested upon a set of old, rickety steps that led to an even deeper darkness.
“You go first; he likes you better,” said the Magician, nudging the Hermit forward.
“But you’re the one holding a glowing orb!” the Hermit argued.
The Magician handed the Hermit the ball. It was warm, and when the Hermit gripped it, he felt a little bolt of electricity prick his skin.
“Please go. You know I don’t like the dark,” the Magician pleaded.
The Hermit frowned. “For someone so powerful, you’re awfully—”
A voice floated up the stairs from the darkness, making the Hermit and the Magician jump. “Would you two stop arguing and get down here?”
Drake appeared at the foot of the stairs with a lit candle. The flame flickered, casting wavy shadows on the staircase.
“Give me that.” The Magician took her ball back and closed her fist over it. When she opened her hand again, the ball had disappeared. She pushed her way past the Hermit and hurried down the stairs to Drake.
Drake set the candle on a shelf in the small beer cellar as the Magician and the Hermit crammed into the small space. The stale smell of ancient beer and dust hung thick in the air.
“The Fool was taken by Senator Bassett this morning, and”—Drake’s voice caught—“and he was tortured.” He hung his head. The Hermit patted Drake’s shoulder, but Drake shook him off. He took a deep breath. “He was severely beaten for information about Anna’s escape.”
The Magician clapped a hand over her mouth. “Is he alive?” she asked. She tried to make her voice even, but she was clenching her teeth against the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
“He is,” Drake said. “Or he was this morning.” Drake collapsed onto the dusty floor and gripped his hair with his hands. The Hermit and the Magician looked at each other in the flickering candlelight. “At target practice today I heard a guard bragging about how much he’d enjoyed beating the”—Drake sobbed—“‘little, pretty Fool.’”
“I’ll go to him,” the Magician said. “I’ll sneak into his cell tonight and take some of his pain.”
Drake looked up from where he sat on the ground. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You can do that? But how will you get in?”
“You just leave that to me,” the Magician assured him.
“Thank you for telling us, Drake,” the Hermit said. “Now we all must get back to our respective posts. Act as if nothing has happened.”
Drake stood up and cleared his throat. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic and nodded. “Whatever you think we should do, I’ll do it. Just get him out.”
Anna was frantic. She ran upstairs and paced the length of her room, thinking of her inspiration for Pentacles. Had she dreamed of it? She must have heard or read the name in her studies, and had thought it was her creation.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. What was the worst thing that could happen? Topper would expose her as a lunatic. Or a liar. A liar who had put an entire land at risk by letting them hide her while a tyrant pursued.
For a moment Anna considered running, but where would she go? The only person with any knowledge of how to leave Cups was the very person she was trying to avoid.
Anna ran to the foot of her bed, grabbing her satchel and pulling out her growing stack of tapestry pieces. She rifled through them until she came to the Hermit, whose likeness she had woven during the first day of unrelenting showers, completing the depictions of her three best friends and beloved advisors. She could really use the Hermit’s guidance right now.
Studyin
g the image of the solitary figure, she tried to interpret it through the mind of the Hermit himself. Perhaps his lantern was lighting a path to her inner self. If she closed her eyes and pictured that path, it led to a warm light emanating from her center. Her thinking mind was giving way to something bigger. She didn’t have a name for it—maybe intuition? It was a place beyond thought, where spirit and instinct took over, and in this place she found a great sense of peace. Her mind became quiet.
Was this magic? Anna had never felt anything like it before.
She took in her surroundings as she shifted out of the almost trancelike state—the sound of the rain tapping at the windows, the smell of something sweet baking downstairs. Her eyes fluttered open, and the peace that had overcome her immediately evaporated as she thought of Topper and James and Daniel. Anxiousness crept back in. She padded across the floor to the door of her workroom, wrenching it open and marching to her loom.
Anna considered how she might represent the magical tranquility she’d felt in an image. In that moment Anna understood where her strengths lay—in her fortitude and resourcefulness. Whatever happened next, she would find a way through.
She chose a golden ball of yarn and set to weaving a lion with a mane that curled bright and orange like flames. There was a story about the strength and courage of a regal lion in the book that James had shown her in the cottage. She had loved the tale as a child.
While the other animals wept for what had been and the loss of home, the lion warned that their tears would cause another flood. He gathered all of the animals and gave them tasks. The zebras were to gather hay for shelter, the hippos were to carry the injured animals to safety, the rhinoceroses were to stand guard, the dolphins were to find sea plants in the floodwaters for them to eat, and so on. Soon the animals were too busy rebuilding a comfortable home for themselves to remember their sadness.
Next to the lion, she wove a young woman in a simple frock. One of her hands sat gently upon the lion’s massive head, while the other scratched under its chin. Anna wanted something of the Magician’s unwavering confidence in the image, so she wove the infinity symbol above the woman’s head. The Magician’s gift to Anna, her necklace, had reminded Anna of her own strength in times of sadness and stress. The Magician once explained that strength traverses two worlds, the inner and the outer. Sometimes it meant drawing on intuition or instinct; sometimes it meant physical displays of power, and other times, it meant asking for help from others.
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