A small creak from the direction of the door jerked her eyes open again, and she froze. But when a few moments passed with no further sound, she relaxed a fraction, though her heart still raced. She had to think. How would Carlich and Vinhor react, when they found out she’d failed? It wasn’t her fault the spell hadn’t been successful; she’d tried her best to obey. They’d understand that King Froethych’s spell bound her as much as Carlich. Probably they wouldn’t punish her. They’d just find some other way to go forward with their plan.
New horror flooded Maryn, and she slumped back in her chair, despairing. King Froethych’s spell hadn’t saved Barilan after all, not for long. Carlich would recruit someone else to perform the soul transfer. Vinhor might even overcome his scruples enough to do it himself. Nothing Maryn could do would stop them. Despite this reprieve, Barilan’s soul would perish anyway, and his body would become a vessel for some other child’s soul.
She froze, her breath coming fast and shallow. If she begged, would they still allow her to perform the second half of the spell? If she couldn’t save Barilan, at least she could still have Frilan back. That wouldn’t be wrong, surely? There would be no virtue in refusing to call Frilan’s soul into the body left vacant, if Barilan’s soul was doomed whatever she did.
She wouldn’t have to do anything to make it happen. Just tell the truth when Carlich asked. She was still the obvious choice to finish the spell; most likely he’d order her to do it. She could go passively along, not attempting resistance that would only prove useless, and her heart’s desire could still be hers.
She wanted it, just as much as before. The faint echo of imagined screams rang in her ears, ready to overwhelm her again if she let them. But she was wiser now than she’d been a few minutes ago. She was glad King Froethych’s spell had stopped her. Much as she still longed for Frilan, she could no longer honestly say she was willing to do anything to get him back. Barilan’s life was too high a price to pay.
She stared at the baby in her lap, determination flooding her heart. She had to save him, somehow. She had to find a way. Dear Holy One, please make it possible, please show me what I must do. I’m sorry, forgive me, I’ll never think of breaking your law again, I swear. Just let me save Barilan from Carlich, please, oh please…
She struggled to think of some way, willing some glorious divine revelation to burst into her mind. But only one possibility presented itself, and Maryn was miserably certain it would never work.
She would have to lie. She couldn’t let Carlich and Vinhor suspect that her spell had failed. Instead, she’d have to fool them into believing she’d completed the soul transfer as ordered, and keep up the ruse as long as she and Barilan remained captives. Though she didn’t see how she could maintain the deception. Surely the first thing Vinhor would do would be to repeat the scrying spell. When the glowing crown appeared over Barilan’s head her lie would be exposed.
Setting aside that worry for the moment, she considered other practicalities. Had the compulsion spell weakened sufficiently to allow her to lie? She thought it had. Vinhor had spent a long time instructing her; it was at least four or five hours since the spell’s last renewal. That was usually about the time she could begin to defy it, if her need was great. She’d held back from following Vinhor’s orders right away.
At that thought, Maryn felt a stirring of the urge to seek out Carlich and inform him. Her mouth twisted in a grim smile. That was a sure sign that defiance was now possible.
Maybe she could use her new knowledge of sorcery to improvise something to interfere with Vinhor’s scrying. He’d said any gesture could be used—
Carlich’s voice came from outside the door, muffled but comprehensible. “What’s taking her so long?”
“Patience, my prince. Give her time. We wouldn’t wish to interrupt her.”
“She’s had plenty of time. One more minute, and then I’m going in.”
It was too late to try anything. Barilan wiggled, and Maryn scooped him into her arms. She tried to imagine how she would feel if the spell had gone forward as planned. Guilty, but burying it deep. Happy, joyful even. She gazed into Barilan’s face, imagining Frilan’s soul behind his dark blue eyes. For a moment the pretense was so vivid she almost believed it, and she gasped with the tearing shudder of elation that ran through her. She shook, and wept, and pulled aside her shift to bring the baby to her breast. Barilan, puzzled but willing, latched on and sucked enthusiastically.
The door swung open and Carlich strode in, Vinhor close at his heels. “Well, girl?” Carlich demanded. “Did it work?”
“Yes,” Maryn whispered, forcing the word out past the compulsion spell. Then, louder, “Yes. I…I can hardly believe it. But this…this is Frilan….”
She ducked her head over the baby, hoping that the strain in her words would be attributed to emotion, rather than the difficulty of fighting the spell.
After a moment of silence, she heard Carlich’s elated voice. “She did it! The Kingship is free! Voerell won’t have access to the powers of the Regency, and you can crown me king!”
“Not so hasty, my prince.” Vinhor held up a hand. “Before we proceed, I want to repeat the scrying, and confirm that the Kingship is indeed no longer bound.”
“Do we have to bother?” Carlich stepped toward Maryn, his hand lifting. “One good slap—”
Maryn cringed and hunched her shoulders over the happily nursing baby. She hadn’t thought of that. Was her deception going to be exposed so quickly? As soon as Carlich realized he still couldn’t harm Barilan, he would know.
Vinhor scowled. “Crude violence will tell us nothing. It’s still Barilan’s body; I doubt your father’s spell is sophisticated enough to differentiate. I would expect it to operate just as before. Only scrying will give us the truth.”
For a moment Carlich hesitated. Then his hand lashed out, too quick for Maryn to react. It glanced off the air inches away from Barilan.
Maryn twisted Barilan away and glared at Carlich. The motion jerked Barilan off her breast. He gave a cry of protest and groped until his mouth once again found her nipple.
Carlich shrugged, and crossed his arms on his chest. “Very well, your Grace, you’ve proved your point. Get on with the scrying, then.”
Vinhor shot Carlich a dark look, then turned to Maryn. “Give him to me, girl.” He reached for his knife.
Maryn clutched Barilan tighter, rising shakily to her feet. “But—he tried to hit Frilan!”
“Your son is unharmed.” Vinhor beckoned sharply to her. “And will remain so as long as you continue to cooperate with us. Now give him to me.”
“Of—of course, your Grace.” Maryn’s pulse hammered in her ears. Frantically trying to think of some way to stop Vinhor, she made as long and slow a production as she could of detaching Barilan from her breast and adjusting her clothing. Just as she could delay no longer, inspiration struck. “Um, your Grace, I hope this won’t take long. See how he’s kicking like that?” She gestured at a random motion of Barilan’s legs. “Frilan always used to do that right before he made a big mess in his diaper. I’d hate for any to leak out and spoil your beautiful robes.”
Vinhor drew back. “Ah. No.” He lowered the knife that had been about to prick his finger. “Perhaps it might be wiser to wait until after that’s done and you’ve cleaned him up.”
Carlich laughed. “Good move, your Grace. I promise, you don’t want anything to do with that one’s messes.”
“Are you sure?” Maryn held Barilan out toward Vinhor. “It will probably be a few minutes. If you’re lucky.”
The priest made no move to take the baby. “There’s no rush. Take him back to your room. I’ll summon you in the morning.”
Heart racing at the nearness of the escape, Maryn stepped toward the door. She suppressed a wild urge to giggle. Men might be able to face all manner of blood and gore without a qualm, but the prospect of a little harmless baby mess turned them into squeamish cowards.
Carlich p
ut a hand on the doorframe to block her and turned to Vinhor. “I was hoping we could perform the ceremony to invest me with the Kingship tonight.”
Vinhor shook his head. “It’s not so simple, my prince. We can begin making arrangements, but it will take time to bring about the necessary circumstances. When the Kingship is freed, with no heir to settle in, not just anyone can claim it. You must first win the acclaim of the people. A large enough group of Milechans must publicly demand you assume the Kingship for me to be able to work the magic that will bring it home to you.”
Carlich scowled, but after a moment’s thought his face relaxed into better humor. “That should be easy enough. Voerell won’t have much luck winning them over without the Regency bolstering her. You said our supporters have already begun to arrive?”
“They have, your Highness. We should meet with them tonight to begin forming our plans. Lord Negian is here with his men, and several other of the local lords. Messengers have arrived from those farther away, promising their allegiance. By the end of the week there will be enough to begin your move on Loempno, and more will join us along the way. You should have enough to challenge the forces who stand with Voerell.”
“Good. We can depart after the Sabbath.” Carlich threw an arm around Maryn’s shoulders. “My great thanks for what you’ve done. I know no reward can be greater than what you’ve received already. Yet even so, be assured I’ll remember your service generously when I’m king.” He looked down at the baby. “It’s perfect. No one will ever be able to tell the difference. My congratulations on your reunion with your son.”
“Thank you, your Highness,” Maryn murmured. A wave of grief for what could never be swept over her. She kept her eyes downcast, but forced a tremulous smile to her lips.
“I’ll escort you to your room. I’m sure you’ll appreciate some privacy to get reacquainted.” Carlich looked again at Barilan in wonder, and shook his head. “To think, his soul was with the Holy One just a few minutes ago. What could you tell us, little one, if you could speak! Though I suppose by the time you learn, you won’t remember, any more than any child does.” There was something almost wistful in his gaze as he reached out and let Barilan grasp his finger.
“It is indeed a holy wonder, my prince,” Vinhor said, taking Carlich by the elbow and drawing him away. Carlich shook his head, gathered his composure, and strode down the hall. Maryn followed him.
Sixteen
They arrived back at her room just as the guard shift was changing. Maryn’s heart leapt when she saw that Tior was on duty again. He tried to catch her eye and convey some message by his expression, but his wagging eyebrows and contorted grimaces were so exaggerated she turned away lest Carlich notice him and become suspicious.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Carlich cut his arm and began the compulsion spell. She worried in the moments before it took effect that she might be forced to reveal her secret. Thankfully, he seemed in a hurry, for he didn’t question her, only reminded her not to tell anyone of his control over her.
Maryn nodded mutely, and Carlich swept out, shutting her in. She collapsed with Barilan into her chair by the fire. There was no point trying to fight the fresh spell, but she didn’t care. It was a relief to be able to rest from all the emotional and magical turmoil of the last few hours.
A servant brought her supper, more of the rich, delicious food she was quickly becoming accustomed to. She ate, and changed Barilan’s diaper, and played with him, and sang a lullaby, and nursed him until he dropped off to sleep. She was trying to summon the initiative to rise and ready herself for bed when the door creaked open. Tior’s anxious voice called quietly, “Miss Maryn?”
She slid Barilan to the seat of the chair without waking him and went to the door. The initial heavy dullness of the spell was just beginning to wane a bit, but she could muster none of the pleasure or enthusiasm she should have felt. “Yes?”
“I brought Madam Siwell, just like you asked. Go on in, quick. Kempich will be back soon. I’ll tap when I manage to get rid of him again.”
A cloaked and hooded figure slipped in. Tior eased the door shut, and the figure threw back its hood to reveal Siwell’s angular features. “Dear Maryn, I came as soon as I heard. Are you all right?”
She threw her arms around Maryn in a fierce embrace. Maryn could only stand, unresponsive.
“Maryn? What’s the matter? They haven’t hurt you, have they? Tior said you were terribly upset; that you could barely manage to ask for help…” Siwell held Maryn out at arm’s length, and looked closely at her face. “What’s Carlich done to you?”
The compulsion spell forced Maryn to shake off her grip. “I’m sorry. You must be mistaken. I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong.” She turned toward the fire. Underneath she fought with all her strength to say something, anything, that would give Siwell a hint of the real situation. But it was still too soon for her efforts to prevail against the power of the magic.
“You’re sure? Carlich hasn’t harmed you?”
“Prince Carlich has been very kind to me. Now, please, go.”
“If you’re really all right…” Siwell took a step back. Then her voice hardened. “Wait. There’s something wrong here. He’s worked some spell on you, hasn’t he?”
Maryn shook her head, miserable inside. How could she let Siwell know her suspicions were correct? She kept shaking her head, unable to do anything else. The spell even prevented tears from forming in her eyes.
Siwell cocked her head, studying Maryn with a worried frown. Hope stirred in Maryn’s heart. Siwell knew Maryn. She must realize Maryn’s response was not at all what she would expect from the girl she’d helped give birth.
Maryn whipped her head from side to side so hard she felt dizzy. She’d tried this tactic before, with Vinhor and Tennelan, only they hadn’t been paying attention. But surely Siwell would notice.
“Prince Carlich would never put a spell on me. Never, never, never!” Maryn threw all her passion into her voice. Nothing in the compulsion spell or Carlich’s orders prevented her from defending the prince, or praising him, even in wildly over;-;enthusiastic tones. “He’s a great sorcerer! He’s going to become king of Milecha, and I’m going to help him. I totally and completely and fully and utterly without reservation support him. I don’t need help, from you or anyone else. Go away and leave me alone!” Maryn panted, staring at Siwell, willing her to understand.
The midwife stared back, her mouth open in shock at Maryn’s performance, her forehead drawn into baffled creases. “What in the world?” She blinked a few times, then her eyes widened. “Oh, dear Holy One, that’s just what he’s done. He’s ensorcelled you to speak only good of him. I’d heard he’d studied Hampsian gestural magic, I knew it was capable of some nasty stuff, but this…”
It was a joy to speak words that flowed easily within the spell’s constraints, knowing Siwell would realize what she meant. “He has not! He has not used gestural magic to put me under a spell. He has not compelled me to do exactly what he says. He has not renewed it every few hours since we left Loempno. He did not kidnap Barilan and me!”
As Maryn spoke, comprehension flooded Siwell’s expression. She gave Maryn a wry smile of approval, though her eyes remained clouded with concern. “So that’s how it is. I understand. Now, can I counteract it? He’s very good; I doubt I’ll be able to undo his spell completely. But it can’t be that strong, or how did you manage to ask Tior to fetch me? Ah, it must fade over time—every few hours, you said?”
The portion of Maryn’s mind controlled by the spell felt confused and panicked. An urge began to grow to seek out Carlich and warn him that the spell was not working as it should. She might not be able to keep tricking the magic much longer. “No! There is no spell! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Tior cracked the door open and stuck his head in. “Quiet!” he hissed. “Kempich’s coming down the hall. He’ll hear you if you keep shouting like that!” The door closed.
Maryn resisted the growing impulse to rush out and call for Carlich, but she feared it would soon overwhelm her. She kept her voice low. “Siwell, you have to go away. Please, hurry…”
Siwell set her mouth. “We’ll get you free of it in just a moment, my dear. I don’t have much training in blood work besides healing and cleansing, but I’ll see what I can do.” She unsheathed her small steel sorcery knife and sliced into her finger.
Her voice rose in an incantation. It took all Maryn’s strength to remain still and not flee to fetch Carlich. The blood sparked in Siwell’s hands. The midwife turned her palms outward, and a burst of light washed over Maryn. Energy poured into her mind and muscles. She stood up straighter, lifting her chin and putting back shoulders she hadn’t realized were hunched. It felt as if the crushing weight she’d been carrying had suddenly become much lighter. No, she’d become stronger, able to lift with casual ease the burden that used to bow her down. She felt powerful, competent, able to accomplish any task, no matter how challenging. The contrast with the helpless terror of her captivity was so great it made her giddy.
Siwell dropped her hands as she spoke the last words of the spell, the sparks fading. “Better?”
“Yes!” Maryn threw her arms around Siwell. “Oh, thank you!” The midwife returned her fierce embrace. Maryn stepped back, drawing a deep breath and evaluating the state of her mind. The desire to run to Carlich was still there, but reduced to no more than a nagging itch, easily ignored. She could think and speak as freely as when the spell was nearly gone. “What did you do?”
“Just a little spell to strengthen your courage and resolve. I use it when women are worn out by a long difficult labor. So you were under a spell?”
“Yes. I can fight it off, now. Prince Carlich’s been using sorcery on me all this time to make me do what he tells me.”
Siwell’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
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