"Who are you?" the king asked in short, clipped words.
"Caralyn Gellder, Your Grace. From Kell."
The king scratched his full beard. "Your parentage?"
"My mother is Sura Gellder. I don't know my father's name."
King Henrik looked at her as if she were a game piece he had yet to decide where to place on the board. The queen had fear in her gaze. Cara shifted from foot to foot, wishing that Alex were with her, or even the earl.
"What are you?" the queen asked. "I saw your face: you looked like a prowler."
Cara hesitated, a mouse caught between a cat and a fox. The earl had told her to keep her powers a secret, yet it was treason to lie to royalty. She had no choice but to tell the truth. "I'm not a prowler. I...I am born of a mortal mother and undead father. Lord Alexandro called me a sulpari. When the beast rises, I turn into something similar to a prowler. But I'm human, and would never harm the innocent." I hope.
The king's eyes blazed. "So the Strilus knew what you are?"
Cara nodded. He rubbed his temple and said, "Sir Eric, send for Jacobi. I want to see Earl Seastone and his brother before the day is done."
The knight bowed and left. Alone now in front of the king and queen, Cara swallowed back her fear. Would they have me imprisoned? Executed?
"Are you trained in combat?" asked the king.
"Yes, Your Grace. My mother paid a mercenary to train me."
"How did a woman gain the wealth for such a thing?"
Cara shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen her in years. She also had me learn reading, writing, arithmetic, and history."
The king's eyes narrowed. "A woman who fights and reads...even if you were not akin to the prowlers, I would find you suspicious. Why are you here in Riverfen? What business have you with the Strilus?"
"I need their help," Cara said, shifting her weight and flexing her hands. She told them about Renna's disappearance and the Hooded Man's attacks.
The queen rubbed her stomach, then said, "So you sought an audience with me on the earl's orders? To find these people?"
Cara affirmed this, and the king leaned forward. "Does the earl believe this Hooded Man to be a threat?"
"He does."
"Dark magic was banned in Dotschar by my father," King Henrik said. "I will lend my weight to these investigations. They may be tied to today's events; prowlers appearing in the palace can only be the work of dark powers." He straightened, and spoke with a king's commanding voice. "While we are grateful for the queen's life, we have not determined your place in this court. You are to remain in Riverfen until we have spoken to Earl Seastone and our advisors and come to a decision about you. You are dismissed."
Cara bowed and left the room, glad to escape the royals. They were vultures, circling above her, ready to swoop once she showed usefulness. A pair of guards escorted her to her rooms. Everyone looked at her as she passed, at the blood on her underclothes and the cut on her hand, and they murmured behind their hands.
This time, Cara found it much more difficult to ignore them. She felt naked and unsure, as if the loss of her secret had weakened her.
Alex waited for her. He gave a soft exclamation at her appearance and embraced her. She melted into his arms.
"You're hurt," he said, his hands feeling at the scratches on her back.
"They know," Cara said, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his chest. "The king and queen know. They'll want to speak with you and the earl, and I'm so sorry, I couldn't lie, I didn't know–"
"Shh, Cara. It will be alright. Druam knows how to handle the king. But word will spread; we can't help that." Alex pulled her into the washroom. "Worry about Renna and the Hooded Man. We'll take care of everything else."
Cara slumped in the bath as the cuts on her back protested. She held Alex's hand. "I'm no closer to finding her, Alex. I'm lost, and everyone is looking at me now."
"Rest now. You'll feel better soon." His comforting words burned through the upheaval in her head, and she closed her eyes. The suspicious faces of the king and queen danced behind her eyelids. As Alex kept soothing her, the images eventually disappeared.
"Don't leave me," Cara mumbled, her body finally relaxing in the peaceful water.
"Never," he said.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Gwen
DAY BY DAY drudged past, each candle longer than the last, each night an eternity of aimless sleep interspersed with restless waking. The draughts Avallune gave to Gwen made her both restless and tired, alert and half-awake, all in shifting bursts. Though her Gaiar no longer troubled her, she wasn't herself; her humors felt as awful as if she had a fever.
Then there were the thoughts that someone had done this to her, someone who knew of her magic and wanted to bring her harm. When those dark musings intruded, Gwen found it difficult to make them go away. She spent candles imagining the queen, or Ambassador Daghorn, or even an unknown enemy tipping poison into her glass.
Eventually – Gwen lost track of the days – her humors came back into balance. With Avallune's blessing, she eased back into her magic, casting a small cantrip each morning. But no more, according to his orders. Despite her growing strength, she did not want to return to the feasts or parties, nor did she wish to even think of the Masque. She feared the whispers and askance looks of the courtiers, and hadn't the fortitude to bear their scorn. Books had lost their charm, and she didn't want to drudge through yet another history of the kingdom. Without parties, reading, or constant magical practice to distract her, Gwen became irritably bored.
Druam, though he had been constantly comforting, had grown frustrated with her. One day, as she paced her chambers, he said, "I do wish you would find something to occupy yourself. Embroidery, or singing, or the like."
"I have embroidered half the candles of my life, and sung for most of that. I'm tired of both."
"Then what if I gave you something to care for?"
Gwen paused. "What do you mean?"
"I meant it to be a surprise after the Masque, but where's the harm in an early gift? Come, my love. I have something to show you. Are you well enough for a long walk?"
Druam led her from the palace into the gardens where they'd first met. Soon, she realized that their destination was the conservatory, a vast glass complex at least two acres wide and three long with translucent blue and green windows on its sides and roof. Even so, she couldn't see inside it, as trees and shrubbery lined it both inside and out. She knew that none but Druam, his gardeners, and the extremely rare guest were ever allowed inside. Druam told her it was his sanctuary, a place to escape the worries of the kingdom and immerse himself in the beauty of the natural world.
Inside, an overwhelmingly sweet smell assaulted her: tulips and roses, lavender and herbs; every flower she could imagine, sweeping the walls and climbing trellises, carpeting the floor between stone paths and gurgling streams. Trees grew here, too, massive things that had been carefully trimmed to provide a leafy roof overhead. Here, they were still green, only just turning to their autumn colors. Manmade rivers and streams ran throughout, an imitation of the city below, with bridges over them built in an architectural style reminiscent of old Gallic designs.
Druam and Gwen meandered the path. Once Gwen adjusted to the smell, she noticed the trill of birds and calls of small animals. A fox darted across the stones in front of them, only pausing long enough to sniff at the intruders. Gwen wondered aloud how many animals lived there.
"Hundreds, I suppose," Druam said. "I've collected birds from all over D'Ehsen and from across the sea. Lizards, turtles, wild cats and foxes, even a nightcat once. At night the lantern faeries come out, as do the dragons."
"Dragons? How could they even fit?"
Druam laughed. "No, not the large wyrms and wyverns people often call 'dragons.' These are small creatures, some the size of cats, others as large as a sheep. They eat fruit and plants, and while some of them eat fish, most prefer plants. But they're much rarer now than in years b
efore," he said sadly. "I fear some species are only found here, hunted to scarcity in the broader world. They live an extraordinarily long time, you know. And breed infrequently."
Though Gwen strained to catch a glimpse of one of the wondrous creatures, she saw only the gently swaying branches and shrubs.
They came to a section of the conservatory which was walled off by wooden partitions and creeping vines, with an exquisite metal gate wrought in the shape of a pair of peacocks. Druam unlocked the gate and opened it, gesturing for Gwen to enter. She stepped into the hidden world and gasped.
A huge hanging willow dominated the landscape, its branches trailing through a set of circular concentric pools. In the green space between each pool, thousands of exotic flowers in all colors climbed over and between shrubs, small trees, and green-veined marble boulders. The water in the pools held brightly blooming lilies and croaking frogs that hopped from pad to pad. Chirruping birds sang from above. A mosaic path wound through the whole scene, connected by stepping stones across the water and leading to a stone bench strewn with cushions that lay next to the willow's trunk. A cat uncurled itself from a sunny spot, gave Gwen a lazy look, then yawned and stretched itself over the tiles.
"It's beautiful," Gwen said. She hadn't the words to express more. She looked to Druam, and saw, for perhaps the first time, true happiness spreading across his normally reserved features.
"It's yours."
Too amazed to speak, Gwen wandered into her own pristine garden, stooping to sniff the flowers that caught her eye and marveling at the fish swimming in the pools. Any bad humors melted away in the humid air. Taking a deep, clean breath, she suddenly wished she were not wearing a tight-laced bodice so she could completely fill her lungs.
Druam followed her across the stepping stones. "I've scoured plants and flowers from the known world: Demar lilies, Dedarian orchids, Rengu trees, Lofalin tulips; anything I could think of and cultivate these last few deshe. The animals, too, came from all over: ten different bird species, three types of frog, lizards, fish, ferrets, possums..." He trailed off, and Gwen saw a hint of uncertainty creep into his expression. She rushed back to him.
"It's wonderful," she murmured, her head buried in his chest. "It's the most...it's...no one has ever gifted me anything as incredible as this. Thank you."
"Come here whenever you like. The gardeners will tend it for you, but if you wish, I can show you how to care for the plants and animals." Kissing the top of her head, he said, "I cannot express how glad I am that this pleases you."
"It's perfect, beyond anything I could have dreamed. I wonder...since no one else comes here...perhaps, when I am well again, Mavian and I could practice magic here?"
"I hadn't thought of it, but I suppose, if it would help you, then it cannot hurt."
They sat on the bench and spoke more, mostly of lighthearted affairs. Druam pointed out plants or birds and explained them. At midday, he stood and told her he had councils to attend. He promised to send Mavian later on. Content, Gwen relaxed on the bench, watching the cat chase a frog.
Some time later, a guard opened the gate to let Mavian in. Mavian took a moment to marvel, then stepped over the pools with a heavy tome she hadn't seen before. Gwen said, "I have missed you so! These days have been so dull without you. How have you occupied yourself?"
"Oh, with this and that," he said with a sly grin. "I have won the hand of a charming lady, and finally been given her father's blessing."
"How wonderful!" Gwen kissed his cheek. "I wish you both great happiness, though I hadn't known you were courting. You must tell me more about her."
"In time," he laughed. Then his expression grew serious. "I heard about your illness."
The memory of her boiling Gaiar and the agony of purifying it made Gwen shudder. "It was awful."
"Do you know what caused it?"
"Avallune isn't sure, though Druam tells me that he's spent a lot of time trying to find the contaminant."
Mavian regarded her with a dark look. "You attended many parties. Someone could have poisoned you during them."
"I know." The thought had plagued her throughout her confinement.
"I told you it was too dangerous."
"I'm sorry," Gwen said. "But I promised Druam–"
"Druam knows nothing of magic and Gaiar. Did you ever think that he could be the one who caused this impurity, or that he wanted you to see the wickedness of your Gaiar?"
"Stop it," Gwen said even as doubt made tendrils through her mind. But Druam was so afraid for me; he would never...
"I know that you love him, but he is cunning. He can guide people to his way of thinking in the most subtle of ways. This could all have been a ruse to force you away from your magic."
"What book did you bring?" Gwen said abruptly. She couldn't bear the thought of Druam doing anything against her, and Mavian's words distressed her.
"This is A Gathering for Baldthera," Mavian said impatiently. "There's a spell in it that I think would help you see more clearly: a scrying spell. It allows for the caster to project themselves somewhere else, a great distance away. They can see and hear everything going on."
"Wullum..." Gwen murmured. She fingered the gold-filigree title on the ancient tome. "I could see him. Could I speak to him?" He can help me see what I'm missing, help me find the truth. She smiled at the idea of seeing her brother again.
"Perhaps. It doesn't say one way or another. The spell is quite complex, so I asked the gardener to fetch its materials; they may help you cast it."
"I don't know if Druam would approve of me doing something so large so soon..."
"You don't need his permission, nor his approval. Would you let him ruin your ability to reunite with your brother?"
"I do wish you wouldn't speak of him so. Why hold such disdain now?"
Mavian muttered, "If you won't allow me to disparage him, allow me to convince you to cast this working. Would you try it?"
After a moment's hesitation, Gwen said, "Yes."
The spell took up an entire page, the words written in a small hand. As she read it, she mouthed the words, feeling their rhythm. They had a similar cadence to the melody Wullum would sing to her after their mother's death: a warm, simple song that held a litany of memories.
A gardener came into Gwen's sanctuary with a bowl in each hand. The sweet smell of incense rose from one, while the other held water with rose petals floating in it. He bowed, then departed.
After a deep breath, Gwen splashed her face with the water. Then she placed a petal on her tongue while she breathed in the incense. Her mind felt cleared. As she chewed the foul-tasting petal, she concentrated on her Gaiar. It rose up to her throat, fluid and cool, awaiting her working.
Gwen closed her eyes, swallowed the petal, and began her song. The magic buoyed her limbs, and she felt weightless even though she still rested on cushions. Gaiar flowed over her skin as she sang. It tickled and pricked, but did not overpower her. Once she finished the working, she opened her eyes.
Gwen lay on a smooth tiled floor, and saw not the bright garden with its birds and flowers, but Wullum's throne room. Tall pillars lined each side, carved with vines and scenes of battle. At the head of the room was the high throne, polished wood inlaid with ivory. Gwen stood half-behind one of the pillars, and two men were in the center of the room. One was Wullum, the tattoos on his bald pate shining in the torchlight, and the other Isten Angi, his adviser.
"Ebarren is dead, Wullum," Isten said. He had a hunched back and seemed to cower before the liegelord, though Gwen knew that he was unafraid of Wullum. "Hanged yesterday morning."
"Damn," Wullum muttered. He ran his hands over his head, his rings flashing. "Damn, damn, damn. What of our security? Have the reinforcements made it past the siege?"
"No. They were heavily rebuffed; we have no recourse but to surrender."
"Horseshit! I will not allow my kingdom to fall into Rolf's hands. Send a messenger to my commanders on the walls, tell them to do whateve
r they can to boost the mens' morale. If we make it through the night–"
"The men are nervous, Wullum. They've heard the rumors of Gwen, and now there are accusations against you, too. Rinar, the handmaid who disappeared after Gwen escaped, has come forward with evidence of magic from Gwen's chambers." Isten put a hand to Wullum's shoulder, and Gwen crept closer. Neither man noticed her. Isten said, "You must flee the city while you still can. The battle is already lost, the Inquisition too strong. They will kill you, your wives, and your sons and daughters."
"The Liegelord does not flee."
"Wullum, think–"
"I said, the Liegelord. Does. Not. Flee." Wullum strode to his throne, sat down and grasped its arms. As he did, the grand double doors at the end of the hall burst open and a lone soldier collapsed to the floor.
"Enemies!" the soldier gasped. "Enemies have breached the walls!"
"Go!" Wullum shouted to Isten. "Don't let them into the castle!"
Isten hurried away, past the dying soldier, as Wullum paced in front of the throne. He ran his hands over his head again, muttering to himself. Creeping out from her hiding place, Gwen approached him. He looked up, his hand going to the dagger at his side. Then he gaped, frozen, as Gwen came closer.
"Gwen...?" Wullum said weakly. His commanding demeanor collapsed into a boyish joy, and he ran to her. When he tried to touch her, though, his hands passed through her as if she were a ghost. "What is this?" he said, stepping back. "Is it really you?"
"It's me, Wullum," Gwen said. She cupped his cheek, though could not actually touch it. "I'm here. I had to see you again."
"But...how? Whose magic is this?"
"Mine."
"You should not–"
"It is not evil, Wullum. I have so desperately wanted to write to you, to tell you how much I miss you. I'm married now to Earl Seastone, and it is with his blessing that I am growing in my magic. Please, Wullum, forgive me, but I could not live without it."
For a moment, she thought that he would not accept her, but he said, "I'm just glad you are alive. Demarren has grown far worse in your absence, and every moment I've regretted sending you away."
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