by Nora Roberts
He was just as agitated. “Oh, no! Not my shape-changing powder! Watch out!”
The warning came too late. A flash of light, a clap of thunder, and a violent explosion shook the Caverns of Mist. Crystals showered down from the roof like drops of rain. A great puff of eerie red smoke filled the air. When it cleared at last, Illusius and Niniane seemed to have disappeared. In the cavern nothing was left intact except for the frozen Myrriden…and two large green frogs, glaring at one another.
Tressalara was weary when Cador reined in at the rebel camp, deep in the Mystic Forest. The people in the camp stopped their activities to stare, and Brand scowled from his place by the fire. Cador dismounted and helped Tressalara down. She almost stumbled from tiredness. Excitement had kept her going, but now that she had achieved her goal, she felt drained. Grief and the aftermath of her daring adventures had taken their toll. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep.
She was taken aback when he handed her the reins. “See to my horse and gear.”
Tressalara bit her tongue. Better to remain in her disguise until she scouted out the lay of the land: For all she knew, these rebels might be inclined to rid themselves of their princess and set up one of their own upon the throne. Perhaps even Cador himself.
Brand threw down the harness he was mending and rose. “You should not have brought the boy here. He is unknown to us, and there is no one to vouch for his loyalty.”
His arms akimbo, Cador declared, “I vouch for him! Young Trev has proved himself to be quick-witted, brave, and no friend to Lord Lector. As his actions earlier have shown.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you expect me to lead you and your men to victory, Brand, you must trust my judgment—and accept my decisions.”
For a moment tension spun out between the rebel leader and the highlander. Then Brand nodded his head. “Very well. We have need of every such one we can muster. But he must swear the oath of secrecy.”
Tressalara stepped forward. “I will swear.”
Cador drew his sword. “Place your hand on the pommel stone in my sword.”
Tressalara reached out to touch the dome of rock crystal that held a jeweled amulet in the center of the sword’s hilt. A shock ran up her arm. She stared at the jewel. The glowing opalescent stone in the pommel shone with familiar blue and green and gold lights. It was surely one of the missing pieces of the Andun Crystal.
Besides the original, only one other was known to exist—and its whereabouts were unknown. Tressalara’s eyes widened for just an instant before she recovered herself: she was very aware of the sharp edge of Cador’s sword inches from her hand and had no doubt that the wrong word now would send it arcing in her direction. She fixed her eyes on the crystal, noticing the ancient symbols carved into its surface:
“Do you, Trev, swear that you will never reveal the location of this camp, nor the names of these brave men and women who have gathered to free Amelonia from the hand of tyranny?”
“I so swear!”
“Rise, then, and keep your oath under pain of death.” Cador sheathed his sword. “Nidd, show the newcomer around camp. After he sees to the horse.”
A sullen boy stepped forward, eyeing Tressalara warily. Along with half the camp, he’d already heard tales of this slender youth’s quick thinking and extraordinary riding abilities from Brand. In the course of an evening, Trev had won the unqualified approval of Cador, something he himself had not yet earned. And, he thought woefully, his own fear of horses could not be gainsaid.
“This way,” he said curtly, and Tressalara followed, leading the mighty black gelding as if it were a lamb.
Several of the young ladies in camp eyed the two as they crossed to where the horses were kept. Among them was Ulfin, the pretty girl Nidd worshiped from afar. Trev would easily capture her admiration, just as he had done with Cador. Gloom descended over Nidd. He would have to find a way to put this upstart Trev in his place, once and for all.
An idea formed in his mind, but he would have to wait until Cador was gone to put it into action. Meanwhile, he could sow a few seeds as the opportunity arose. He wandered off, leaving Tressalara while she watered and rubbed down the black gelding, then returned to show her the layout of the camp.
The rumor that Princess Tressalara was missing had made its way from one end of the encampment to the other, and opinion was equally divided. Many thought she was hiding somewhere within the castle precincts; the others were sure that she was dead, either by Lector’s hand or her own.
Tressalara was cheered at the size of the rebel forces. “Lector’s men are better armed,” she told her companion, “but your numbers are higher than I would have expected to have gathered together so quickly.”
“Once Cador agreed to join forces with Brand, they came from every cot and farm. There are no fiercer fighters from the mountains to the great sea!” Nidd put on his most important-sounding voice. “Cador said his victory would be assured if he could just get his hands on the princess.”
Tressalara’s heart sank at those ominous words. She lapsed into silence while Nidd rattled on, thankful that she had not given in to impulse and revealed herself to the handsome highlander. It seemed that she’d jumped from the griddle straight into the hearth fire.
But later that night, sleeping on a rug at the foot of Cador’s camp bed, she comforted herself. No one was likely to look for her among this ragged band of rebels. As long as she kept her identity secret she was safe here. As safe as she could be from everything except her own emotions.
She listened to the sounds of his breathing. Was he still awake? The urge to confide in him was strong; yet she must trust no one until she had reason to be sure of their loyalty. It seemed that Cador had his own eye upon the throne. If she remembered rightly, he had been outlawed for trying to overthrow his cousin, the Duke of Morania.
And, now that she thought of it, the oath he’d made her swear had been to him and to his people. There had been no mention of loyalty or duty to the House of Varro or the rightful heiress to the throne. No, better to wait and spy out the lay of the land until she knew more.
Cador lay awake long after Tressalara’s breathing deepened and she drifted off, but his thoughts were much the same. He’d known her for a female the moment he’d pushed her up against the tavern wall. That had been quite a shock, and it had set him thinking of the missing princess. They were of an age. And her hands, although scraped raw, were soft and white beneath the grime, unused to hard physical labor. Definitely the hands of a lady.
Or a princess.
Certainly she had the coloring of the royal family. She might hide her hair beneath a cap, but there was no disguising those amethyst-colored eyes beneath winged brows. He smiled in the darkness. It couldn’t have gone better if he’d planned it. Princess Tressalara, heiress to the throne of Amelonia, had dropped into his hands like a ripe plum.
Now he would have to figure out exactly what to do with her.
5
In the Caverns of Mist two exhausted frogs squatted on the floor, eyeing one another balefully. No matter how hard they tried, they had each failed repeatedly in their attempts to clamber back up the table to where the huge spellbook lay open. The large, darker frog made one last attempt, only to flop gasping onto its back. The spots on its pale belly were curiously shaped, almost like small stars and moons.
“This is all your fault,” Illusius said between gasps, flailing his webbed toes in the air.
“Nonsense,” Niniane snapped, hopping fretfully back and forth in short, nervous arcs. Although human time meant little to a wizard’s apprentice, she was tired, her jumping muscles ached, and there was nothing to eat but a bug perched on a rock. She’d die before she ate bugs! It took all her willpower to keep her long tongue coiled neatly in her mouth.
“Oh,” she said with a sigh, “how I do wish we’d been turned into something that could fly. At least that way we could reach the table to read the spells and try to figure a way out of this fine mess you’ve gotten
us into. And my poor princess is in terrible danger.” An idea came to her. “Illusius! See how that wand is tipped up at one end? If I got on the other side and you hopped on that end, you might be able to flip me up to the tabletop. Then I could hunt through the students’ handbook for a spell to free us.”
The darker frog hopped over to the wand and examined it. “It might work. But how do I know you’ll keep your word? You might just change yourself back and leave me croak!”
Niniane rolled her big, bulgy eyes at him. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
He didn’t move, just waited with his toes splayed out. “Oh, very well. Hop on.”
Before Niniane had even reached the wand, a curious thing happened. A puff of sparkling smoke twinkled through the caverns. When it cleared, she found herself in daylight, floating in a river’s shallows on a lily pad. She was, to her intense disappointment, still a frog.
“What happened?” Illusius croaked beside her.
“I don’t have the froggiest…er, foggiest notion.” She hopped a few feet to the reedy bank and looked around. “But at least I know where we are—the rebel camp where Cador brought Tressalara last night. Let’s find her and see what she’s doing.”
Illusius was facing the opposite direction, across the riverbank “I already have, Niniane. And you’re not going to like it one ribbit!”
“Who are you calling a pimple-faced boy?” Nidd shouted. How dare this newcomer try and make him a figure of fun before the others, especially Ulfin.
Tressalara had tried to ignore Nidd’s taunting earlier, but things had finally gone too far. For the past two weeks he’d made her life miserable. Today he’d managed to push her into the horse manure, making her spill her morning’s allotment of bread into it as well, and now he had splattered Cador’s saddle, which she had just cleaned and polished, with claylike mud.
If she didn’t stand up for herself now, he would, like all bullies, make her life hellish from dawn to dusk. She stood with her hands on her hips. “If you have doubts, custard-face, look at your reflection in the river. Better yet, bathe in it. Saints know, it must have been long enough since your last washing, as anyone standing downwind of you can tell!”
She turned away with the laughter of the other young people ringing in her ears. That should silence Nidd for a while. Instead, there was the unmistakable sound of a weapon sliding out of its sheath. She whirled around like a cat and found Nidd mere paces away from her, with his rapier drawn. He lunged at her.
“Let us see how brave you are now, Sir Trev!”
She had only her jeweled dagger. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, she drew the weapon and switched to an alert, defensive posture.
“Not fair!” someone in the crowd cried. “A dagger is no match for a rapier blade.” The speaker, a sandy-haired older boy, took out his own weapon and tossed it to Tressalara. “This will equal the match.”
She hefted it and grinned. The balance was perfect, the blade strong and true. “A fine piece of the swordmaker’s art. I thank you for the loan of it.”
With a swish and a flourish she brandished it in the air. Nidd was too angry to recognize the skill evident in the way she handled the rapier. But the onlookers did, and they looked forward to an exciting test of arms. “Have at it, then!”
Tressalara waited for him to make the first move. Nidd thrust wildly, and she parried it with ease. He was briefly startled, then weighed in. Although she was well trained, with a quick eye and the reflexes of a cat, Nidd’s height and reach gave him a slight advantage.
What she lacked in strength or reach she made up for in wit and cunning. Tressalara danced away, darted beneath his thrust, and came up with her blade singing against his. A fast bit of footwork and she was out of reach again. “Catch me if you can!”
Time and again she evaded his rapier, laughing at his bewilderment. She was proud of the way she handled the blade and hoped that Cador was watching. It had become more and more important to her that she truly win his approval. Whether the stories told of the wicked outlaw of Kildore were true or not, she had seen no villainy in him—and much to admire.
Perhaps too much, for as her thoughts slid to Cador, Nidd gained a slight advantage. She turned her wits to the task at hand. The angry youth bore in once more, pressing her sorely. He thrust beneath her rapier, only to have his quarry slide her blade along his. He charged in once more, in deadly earnest. By the saints, he’d make this upstart Trev sorry he’d ever set foot in camp!
It took only a few moments for Tressalara to realize that Nidd was not interested in merely besting her—he intended to do her serious harm. Now that she appreciated the danger, she fought back with all the skill she’d learned from Jeday. Her only hope of escaping injury was to let him see that she could hold her own—and more. She led Nidd to give her the next opening, then darted through with a time-thrust, lightly nipping his arm. It had taken great skill to nick him without going too deep, and for a tiny moment she was proud of her control.
Then Nidd staggered back, clapping his hand over his sleeve. The fabric was stained with a small spot of red from where she’d nicked him. How many times had Jeday told her that pride and anger had no place in such a duel? Tressalara lowered her rapier, remorse flowing through her.
“Let us cry friends, Nidd. Come, I will bind up your arm for you.”
The look he gave her should have been warning enough, but Tressalara didn’t see it. As she stepped toward him, he stood mute, his complexion changing from red to white and back again. To be shown up publicly by this scrawny boy filled him with unbearable shame. The flurry of snickers from the onlookers was like a spear in the side of a maddened boar.
Red mist covered his vision. Nidd stood with his foil half raised, made as if to pull back, then lunged in, aiming for her heart. A gasp went up from the crowd. Tressalara was caught off guard by his cowardly attack. Although she reacted with all due speed, it was too late to fend off the blow entirely. The tip of his rapier slit her sleeve and sliced a thin line of fiery pain up her arm toward the shoulder.
Fear and anger spurred her reflexes. As she was forcing his blade away, another flashed up between their crossed weapons, and her rapier went flying out of her numbed and tingling hand
“Enough!” Cador roared.
He stood before them like an avenging angel, broadsword raised and the morning sun creating a halo around his head. There was nothing angelic about his face, though. It was dark with fury. The princess had almost been killed in a brawl, and his wrath was so great it boiled up in his chest like lava. He could scarcely contain it. Another instant and he might have lost her. Tressalara might have been dead in a pool of blood, and the fault was his. His heart thudded with the echo of fear, and with the first stirring of emotion he did not dare acknowledge.
The onlookers stepped back as one, and Nidd cringed. Tressalara stood her ground and lifted her chin defiantly. Violet lights blazed in her eyes, although her voice shook slightly. “I need no one to fight my battles for me, Cador!”
“And I need no quarreling pups to tear the loyalties of this camp asunder!”
She blanched, but he had already turned away to vent his anger on Nidd. “Nor do I need to count among my followers anyone so dastardly as first to attack an unarmed colleague and then follow it up with a coward’s treachery! Nidd, son of Hewel, you are hereby banished from this company!”
He gestured with his shoulder, and two burly men stepped forward, disarmed Nidd, and ordered him out of the camp. The others watched in utter silence. Not a one spoke up in his defense.
Cador faced Tressalara. “For all your slender build, you are a noteworthy swordsman. Your teacher was a master of the art.”
“Yes. Jed…” She caught herself before admitting that it was Jeday, King Varro’s captain, who had instructed her. “My brother Jed taught me well.”
Cador’s eyes narrowed. Yes, he thought he’d recognized Jeday’s techniques in the way she’d wielded that blade to parry
Nidd’s near-fatal blow. His heart had almost stopped when he’d seen it coming and known himself to be too far away to save her. He imagined the repercussions to their cause if the Princess Tressalara was murdered while under his protection.
There were other more disturbing considerations that he couldn’t acknowledge, even to himself. A film of sweat covered his forehead, and a fist of anger still knotted his stomach. There must be some way he could keep her out of any further trouble. Inspiration came.
“You need not think your swordsmanship will spare you from my punishment for brawling in camp, Trev. For the next few days, while I am away, you will be at the beck and call of the women of the camp, fetching and carrying wood and water and performing any tasks they may set you to.”
Tressalara swallowed a furious response. She wanted to protest the unfairness of being punished for a fight she hadn’t sought—but then she realized that she might discover far more about Cador and Brand’s motives among the women’s gossip than she could hope to learn from the more taciturn men. The women were more likely to see past the facade and into the heart of the matter. Or the man.
“As you will, Cador.”
He smiled reluctantly. “I hope I may always find you so meek and obedient.” From the set of her jaw, he somehow doubted it. All to the good. The sooner she admitted him to her confidence, the better.
He touched her arm with surprising gentleness. “I will see to your wound.”
At the contact Tressalara jumped back like a scalded cat. “Pah! A mere scratch. I’ll tend to it myself.” Clamping a hand to her bloody sleeve, she walked away with her head held high.
Brand joined Cador. “I see your instincts were on target. The new lad has a cool head and a well-trained arm. I was never more surprised.”
“Nor I!” Cador watched Tressalara’s proud retreat. A rare handful, that one! At least he didn’t have to worry about her while he was away; she could take care of herself. And he knew where to find her when the time came. Safe, among the women who cooked and laundered and saw to the mending. He wondered if, later, she would forgive him for that.