“Why did Three-Tongues have a map of it?”
“I drew the map. He asked me to.”
“And do you know what he planned to do in the passage? Was he the one in charge, or was he only part of a larger plot?” Dormongara asked.
“He didn’t tell me things like that. I didn’t want to know. For just this sort of reason. In case someone questioned me. In case I got Dar in trouble.”
“Too late for that,” Dormongara said. “Dar is definitely in some trouble.”
“But he didn’t do anything!”
“If that is so, he will be dealt with fairly, but he will not be in the royal guard any longer. Dar knew you were messing with bandits. There is some guilt by association.”
“Please let me go. Please let me die.”
For all the torment that Flower had inflicted on Velsa, for all that Velsa knew Flower’s tears might not even be real, she still disliked that they were holding her soul like this, beyond death. If the Daramon philosophy was true, she ought to be reborn as a Fanarlem all over again to suffer for her cruelty. Velsa liked to believe she might get to have a better life the second time, one where she wasn’t bought and abused when she was even younger than Sorla.
“I think we should let her go now,” she said.
“I’ll let her go when I’m sure she is no use to me,” Dormongara said.
“We’re done with her,” Velsa said. “She doesn’t really know anything. What she just said about the map didn’t really tell us much. I don’t like this.”
“You are too kind, bellora,” Grau said. “She had no problem with forcing you to kill yourself in a terrible way, or with killing me. She never even apologized to us.”
“She’s a cruel soul but also a tormented one; it doesn’t do any good to keep her here. I don’t even want her apology. It’ll be fake.”
“Very well. At least it frees up this crystal for other purposes.” Dormongara folded his hand over the crystal and dimmed the light. “I’m going to the Royal Treat. Since you’ve come this far, you’re welcome to join me. If I’m correct about this poison, it kills people by adhering to their skin, and Fanarlem are immune to it.”
“Happy to,” Grau said. “Kessily, do you mind staying here with Sorla?”
“But I want to meet the prince!” Sorla said. “I’m a Fanarlem, too, why can’t I come along?”
“We don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I can’t get hurt!”
“A telepath could hurt you,” Velsa said. “And you certainly can be damaged. We’re already running up quite a bill with Mr. Trinavel as it is. But—you know—she might as well come. This ought to be quick. We’re just warning the royals and checking the passage, right?”
“I’m staying put,” Kessily said. “I have wyvern urine to clean.”
Dormongara teleported them into the lobby of the Royal Treat, which so startled the crowd gathered there that some of them dropped to the ground with their hands over their heads.
“Good gracious,” Dormongara said, but it quickly became clear that something was already going on. There was shouting and commotion outside, rifle shots and then a small explosion.
“The Keeper of the Dead!” shrieked one of the women who had dropped to the floor. She was clutching the silver headdress that crowned her fair hair like someone would steal it; everyone inside the theater was finely dressed, long skirts and braids spilling on the floor. “Are we all about to die?”
“No, no, that’s a myth. I don’t show up before you die, I show up after. What is going on outside?”
“Protestors,” another woman said. “Violent. They’re against the trade deal.”
“They were chanting ‘dragon killers’,” a man offered.
Dormongara cursed. “What is wrong with these people? We can’t afford this internal dissent. You three—you can find the passage, can’t you?” Dormongara handed the map to Grau.
“Of course,” Velsa said.
“Take care of it for me.”
Grau moved forward, careful not to step on any capes or trains. Presumably, everyone inside the theater was nobility and high-ranking sorcerers and merchants. Some of them had filed into the theater through three sets of double doors; Velsa glimpsed a vast hall of seats and a stage loaded with candles and flowers, but no coffin or body. She wasn’t sure of the Miralem funeral rituals. They found a flight of stairs, but were promptly blocked by two guards.
“Guests only.”
“We’re here on behalf on Dormongara. We need to warn the king—there might be a explosive poisoned potion inside the building,” Grau said.
“Where is this potion?” the guard asked.
Can we trust him? Velsa projected the thought to Grau. Dar was a guard too, after all.
Grau gave her back an expression that said, No time to think about that.
Downstairs, doors burst open and by the sounds of it, a mass of people poured into the lobby.
“Get the king and his family to safety,” one guard told the other.
“But not in the secret passage,” Grau said.
The other guard ran off while the first guard held up his halberd to Grau’s face. “What secret passage?”
There was no time to waste, if they did step into the passage. Velsa tried to use telepathy to persuade the guard, flashing the concept of their mission at him with a thought. “We need to get by.”
He stepped back, although he looked uncertain. As they were trying to go up the stairs, other people were trying to come down. Some ladies looked more indignant than anything, clutching fur coats; younger people were running and asking questions to their friends; one man carried two screaming babies. The guard tried to block them from escaping. “You might be better off staying put. The Fur and Hide men have broken in.”
Grau and Velsa flew up the stairs; Velsa didn’t realize until they reached the top that Sorla lagged behind, her wooden skeleton strained by quick movements.
“I’m sorry,” she said, when Velsa noticed her. “Go ahead.”
At the foot of the stairs, a rush of scruffy looking men tackled the guards. Another wave of scruffy men crashed into the first, even as one of the guards managed to step on the heads of the first and jab people with his halberd.
“Sorla, hurry!” Velsa cried.
“You hurry!”
Velsa felt like a very bad mother, but she did go ahead since Sorla wasn’t too far back and Grau was leaving them both in the dust now. At least, until he tripped on the edge of the golden rug that lined the hall.
Velsa was at his side now, offering a hand.
“Damn.” He hauled himself up. “I’m still getting used to myself. The door—“
Two guards blocked what must be the entrance to the royal box. They looked no more impressed by a ragtag band of Fanarlem than the first pair of guards. But now Velsa was close enough to project a telepathic message to the royal family through the doors.
Don’t escape through the secret passage! she told them.
Who? Who is that? a woman retorted back at her.
We’re here with Dormongara.
“Open the doors.” The woman spoke now, from the other side. She had a sweet voice, and Velsa was surprised, when the doors opened, that the queen—clad in a jeweled crown and a red robe with a fur collar—was such a willowy, ethereal looking woman with long braids like spun gold. Prince Seldon obviously took after his father, who was tall with sharp dark eyes and had a black beard, although beards were not at all in fashion and might be less so after the mess with the hairy protestors downstairs. Prince Seldon and his sister Princess Ingnara were just behind their parents, the prince with a protective arm around his sister. A few gunshots fired somewhere, sounding close.
“Why are they attacking us?” the queen asked, sounding anguished and quite young.
Four guards were in the room with them, weapons at the ready. One of them had opened the door to the secret passage. “You should make your escape before it’s too late.”
“Go on. Quickly. You better be telling the truth.”
“Dormongara will explain when he catches up,” Grau said, sounding a tad frustrated that they were meeting so much skepticism—but Velsa couldn’t blame them. It must be hard to know who to trust.
They entered the passage, which was clearly a place for a little tryst, with a velvet couch and artistic paintings of beautiful women with come-hither eyes. A spiral staircase led away to the shadowed depths of the building.
“It’s still entirely possible the potion was never placed,” Grau murmured, lifting his crystal, attempting to sense the room. Outside, there was a roar of voices coming closer and closer.
“If the passage is empty and they’re killed out there—we would be better off leaving it alone.”
No sooner had she said this than they heard the small pop of a cork from beneath the sofa.
At the same moment, the guard shoved the king and queen through the doors and shut them.
Chapter 15
There was a small boom of teleportation. Two of the guards escaped. Whatever was escaping from that cork was odorless, soundless, and invisible, but the king and queen immediately started coughing. Their skin broke into red welts. Prince Seldon flung open the door.
“Mother!” Now he was coughing too, trying to pull her toward the door, but there was fighting just outside. Velsa saw weapons flash as the two remaining guards tried to defend the royal family. Princess Ingnara had climbed under a chair.
Sorla dropped to the ground, grabbed the potion bottle, and jammed it down her throat.
“Yes—yes,” Velsa said with relief. The vanishing spell in their throats was much more useful than she would have guessed.
Sorla couldn’t manage to swallow the bottle; she had to hold it in her mouth until the potion had escaped. Her eyes crinkled painfully, like they wanted to water. The queen was coughing and crying. At the same time, a man in a tattered brown tunic burst into the passage, swinging an axe.
Grau rushed at him, the axe striking his arm and driving him into the wall, but now, as the man tried to pull back for another blow, Grau thrust him into the other wall with a wind spell. Prince Seldon had drawn a knife from his belt, and stabbed the man through the heart.
Velsa tried to help the king and queen toward the spiral stairs. The queen made it a few feeble steps before she wilted to the ground. Her breathing was shallow.
“My dear?” The king coughed. “We must purge the poison. She’s already been so fragile lately, grieving Somon. We need a healer!”
“Why is this happening…at his funeral?” she whispered.
Grau and Seldon were at the door, fending off more attackers. Ingnara crawled into the passage between their feet and went to her mother.
“It’s my fault,” the king grunted. “The trade deal was a mistake. The people want to fight.”
Seldon was holding the axe now, clashing against a sword held by a woman in blue—a fighting priestess?
“Don’t you?” the king asked her. “You want revenge for the dragons?”
“Well—yes,” she said, easing off out of surprise, so Seldon could knock her back.
“She thinks she wants revenge for the dragons, but this conflict has been agitated by the merchants from Atlantis,” Seldon said. “They have been sowing the seeds of dissent in our country to make us go to war so they’ll profit on our battles.”
“I don’t listen to merchants from Atlantis!” the woman said. “The goddess demands that we defend her sacred creatures! Revenge for Drai! It has nothing to do with merchants.”
The king lifted his hand. “Please, my son. Please, daughter of Vallamir. I don’t want to see you fighting. That energy should be turned toward our true enemy.” He stepped out into the midst of angry protestors and more guards who had joined the fray.
“Listen to me!” he shouted. “Put down your weapons! I have heard the voice of my people, and I am on your side. I was wrong. We must cease our trade. Kalan Jherin can’t be trusted; the dragons must be avenged.”
The priestess lowered her sword. The crowd went silent.
And then, a cheer—or perhaps more of a battle cry—went out among the “Fur and Hide crowd”. Some of them bowed to the king.
“Death to the Daramons!” some of them shouted.
“Death to the followers of Kalan Jherin,” the king said, attempting to keep things from getting out of hand.
Only Prince Seldon looked like he wanted to keep fighting.
“I agree with the prince,” Dormongara said later, when the dust had settled. “But it’s too late for such sentiments. The king, once again, caves to the whims of the moment.”
“You must be awfully confident there are no listening spells or secret chambers or snoopy telepaths in this palace,” Kessily said.
“Reasonably confident.”
The king and queen had given them rooms in the palace for the night, although Velsa would honestly have rather stayed in the hotel. The palace seemed no place for them; they were still poorly dressed and it was uncomfortable to have servants knocking on the door every hour or more asking if they needed anything. All of the furniture looked a century old and very imposing; the bed offered to her and Grau looked almost like a carriage that would carry them off in the night. Their bedroom walls were adorned in deer horns, moose horns, and still more unidentifiable horns.
For now, they occupied a sitting room that joined Grau and Velsa’s room with Sorla and Kessily’s.
“The merchants of Atlantis are influencing the political climate here?” Grau said. “It wouldn’t surprise me either…but is there any proof?”
“Seldon has some evidence of networks between the merchants and the border bandits,” Dormongara continued. “He isn’t sure how much the Fur and Hide crowd play into it, but Three-Tongues certainly seemed to know that they would cause a stir at the festival. It will probably take months to unravel the extent of this plot and how many people were involved, if the king wishes to put his resources toward it. I doubt he will. He wanted this war all along; Seldon was the one who talked him out of it.”
“I just hope I never have to fight in any wars again,” Grau said, from the heavy carved chair he had settled in. His boots were up on the matching tufted stool.
“You’re in luck for now,” Dormongara said. “Fanarlem aren’t allowed in the army.”
“So much for equality.”
“I believe it’s because you are not sufficiently waterproof.”
Sorla sat on the stool by his feet and wiggled one of his toes. “Do you feel all right, Feirin?”
“Not bad. Just strung out.”
“I’m so very glad you’re alive and they’re dead,” Sorla said, stating the obvious. “And I got to meet the prince, sort of. We do get to go home now, don’t we? We can still live in Dor-Temerna now?”
“I’d say so,” Grau said, looking at Velsa.
She smiled and climbed into his lap. The chair was big enough for two. “I can’t wait to be back in Dor-Temerna.”
“Maybe I’ll set up in Dalaran’s shop and see how long it takes him to come back.” Grau smirked.
Kessily was leaning against the wall, occasionally glancing out the large window that overlooked a garden, but now she looked back into the room.
“I’m afraid I might need to move on,” she said.
“Move on?” Sorla asked.
“You have a little house. And I’m getting restless. I’m used to traveling around. I might go to Otare.”
“On your own?” Dormongara turned away from her, putting his chin in his hand. “Well, if you don’t trust me by now…”
“Oh, I trust you by now. I don’t trust your brother. I’m not going to your castle and I’m not having your heirs. But I’ll offer you this.” Kessily walked up to him and ha
nded him a browned, crushed little lump.
“What is that?” he asked, with vague distaste.
“A flower. I was going to make you dance with me the other night at the festival.”
“I’m afraid—my bad knee—”
She snorted. “Bad knee? Really?”
He took the flower and shoved it in his pocket. “I’ll dance with you in Otare.” He held up a finger. “Once.”
“I’m sorry we’re going to miss that,” Velsa said.
They were mostly left to their own devices that day. The funeral, of course, must go on. Dormongara left for the official dinner, but the rest of them stayed behind because Grau was not yet capable of eating. And Velsa was not sure if they were actually invited, in any case. They didn’t look worthy of a palace feast of any kind.
In the morning, however, the servants brought them some fine new clothes so they would look presentable, and even gloves to cover Grau’s burned hands. To Velsa’s chagrin, the clothes were reminiscent of something Madam Blazar would make. They had delicate lace collars, blousy sleeves, ribbon trims with patterns of embroidered flowers or fruit, wide sashes that nipped in their waists, and stiffened underskirts with a flounce at the hem so their skirts swished and swayed when they walked. The shoes tied with ankle ribbons and had elongated toes, still clinging to some of the styles of the even fussier Halnari people.
“We look so cute,” Sorla said, clearly delighted with the clothes, fussing with her hair in the mirror.
Thank goodness no hairdressers are around to give her Mary Pickford ringlets, Velsa thought. If we get to keep these clothes, I’m definitely making alterations,
Kessily had been left out, and Velsa envied that she didn’t have to change out of her travel-worn trousers.
“What do we need these for?” Grau asked, frowning at the floppy bow he was expected to wear around his neck. The rest of his outfit, at least, was simple.
“His and her royal majesty have requested your presence,” said one of the more authoritative servants.
They were summoned to the great hall, directed every step of the way. This room had tall windows of both sides, illuminating an aged interior with walls formed of carved wooden panels edged in gilt. The high ceilings were painted like the sky. Ladies and gentlemen of the court milled around in their finery, and the king and queen were seated in thrones with Seldon and Ingnara standing nearby.
The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3) Page 22