“No, you’re right,” Therese said. “I can’t let the fact that she’s my sister color the truth. If Lilith is willing to do as she’s done when she knows full well she’s not the rightful leader, then I’m sure she wouldn’t let something like Mara’s claims stop her. And I agree with you that we can’t know what influence she may have had, or may even now be imposing, on the Council.”
“I tend to agree,” Dixon said. “There are serious repercussions if someone goes to the Council without sufficient evidence of the claims she makes there. What’s more, as Mara has consistently pointed out, going to the Council could mean that she would disclose the girls’ whereabouts.”
“So then, Mara, you think it best to simply leave the city? To seek refuge elsewhere?” Fidel asked.
She nodded.
“What are your plans for now?” Therese asked.
“They haven’t changed. We’ll still meet up with Lucy when we leave here. But I’ve been thinking . . .”
Again, Basha questioned Dixon with a raised brow. He tipped his head in response, indicating that he didn’t know what was troubling Mara.
“Excuse me, Mara,” Basha said.
“Yes, I’m . . . sorry.”
“Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn.”
Mara looked around at the others, only to find raised brows, pursed lips, and eyes that wouldn’t meet her own. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Actually, that’s what I was going to ask you. Something seems to be bothering you. You know, maybe you should take a breather—get out for a bit. The girls would be fine with us for a time. You need some exercise and a change of scenery. Sometimes it’s important. It can help you to regain focus.”
Once again, Mara glanced around. No one’s gaze met her own except those of the Oathtakers in the room: Basha, Dixon, and Ezra. She closed her eyes. “Whewwww,” she breathed out heavily. “Actually, that’s what’s troubling me.”
“What’s that?” Basha asked.
“Leaving the girls.” Mara blinked hard to keep the tears that welled in her eyes from falling. “I feel I have to leave them again for a time and it seems almost too much.”
Dixon grasped a carafe of wine. He filled a glass, then lifted the bottle in silent offering to the others. One by one they looked his way, then each shook his head “no” or quietly waved away the offer. He moved the glass toward Mara. “Here,” he said gently, “take this.”
She twirled the liquid and breathed in the aroma, then slowly took a drink.
“What’s on your mind?”
She took another swallow, then put the glass down. Her hands shook. “You know, we’ve concentrated on whether to leave the city, when to leave the city, where to go . . . We’ve discussed the possibility of taking the crown with us for safekeeping . . .”
“Go on.”
“Well, Fidel and Leala, you say when I leave the city, I should take the crown.”
“That’s right,” Fidel said. “It belongs to the girls by rights. You should take it to a place of safety.”
“And the sword is with Lucy,” Mara said, turning to Dixon.
“That’s right.”
“But the last any of you knew, the scepter was at the palace, yet we’ve never discussed it.” She watched her cohorts shuffle. “You see, don’t you? You see that I have to go to there to retrieve it before Lilith goes back there or sends someone there for it—assuming it’s still at the palace at all.”
“Mara,” Basha said, “that could be very dangerous. No doubt Lilith has taken precautions with it. She might have taken it with her. What’s more, everyone at the palace believes she’s its rightful possessor.”
“But she is not.”
“No, she is not.” Basha hesitated. “So you believe you’re to go to the palace in search of it.”
“Yes. And you, Basha, are to accompany me.”
“Wait a minute!” Dixon exclaimed. “I—”
“No, Dixon,” Mara interrupted. “Don’t you see? They all think you’ve done something wrong. They all think Therese is dead and she’s better off if they continue to believe that. They don’t know anyone else here,” she said, gesturing, “except for Adele. And she certainly can’t return. Lilith probably told everyone she helped you to escape.”
“I don’t want to go back,” Adele said.
“Don’t worry,” Nina assured her, “Mara wouldn’t make you return to the palace.”
“No, Adele, I wouldn’t make anyone do anything they thought was not right. What’s more, I’ve other plans for you. It wouldn’t make any sense to take you with me. Basha knows her way around the palace and they trust her there.”
“She’s right,” Therese spoke up.
“Therese—” Dixon said.
“What plans for me?” Adele asked.
“She’s onto something,” Ezra added.
“But what about—” Jules began.
“Stop, everyone!” Mara cried. “I’m sorry. Look, all your opinions are valuable and I want you all to be free to voice them—and also your objections. They’re important. But please, one at a time.”
Silence descended.
“Adele,” Mara said, “in response to your question, my plans are that after Basha and I return, assuming we find the scepter, a small group of you will take it to Lucy’s for safekeeping. So, you could start preparing things for that trip. The rest of us would follow in due time.”
Adele grimaced, but said nothing.
“But, Mara,” Dixon said, “I should go with you to the palace. Basha should stay with Therese. And what’s this about splitting the group up? Why send the scepter ahead? Then it wouldn’t be under your protection.”
“No, Dixon, Mara’s right. Basha should go,” Therese said. “She’s the best choice. She came and went from the palace regularly in the past, so it’s unlikely anyone would question her return. She could bring Mara in openly, as a guest. Besides, Samuel and Jules are accustomed to assisting me. It all makes perfect sense.”
“But that’s assuming she should go at all,” he argued.
“Dixon, you said it yourself earlier,” Mara said, “about my leaving the girls. You said that sometimes it can’t be helped, and that I’d been right about returning to Polesk. I believe I’m right about this also.”
He patted his knee, thinking. “But before we went to Polesk, you thought the oracle supported that decision.”
“And so it does now.”
“Oh? And what cryptic message did it leave this time?”
She grinned. “You won’t like it.”
“Well?”
“Again, it just says, ‘Go.’”
“And you take that as confirmation that you should go to the palace?”
“It’s the only . . . It’s the issue over which I’ve particularly struggled of late.” She tried to banish the other issue she’d also wrestled with, the issue about her feelings for Dixon. “It’s the only thing it could mean,” she said, perhaps as much to convince herself as the others. But she wondered. Was the oracle actually suggesting she go on without Dixon?
“All right, so you go to the palace and you take Basha along. What’s this about sending part of the group away with the scepter, if you get it, after your return?”
She twirled her half empty glass. “It just makes sense. I still need to learn whatever I can from sanctuary resources, but that’s going to take time. I don’t want to retrieve the crown until I have to. Why risk that when it goes missing, the city becomes subject to the authorities’ searches? In the meantime, I might at least get the scepter to safety.”
“She’s right,” Jules said. As per their usual behavior, he and Samuel had been quiet throughout. Perhaps it was their reluctance to offer comment during discussion that gave their conclusions such an air of authority when finally they voiced them.
“I agree,” Samuel added.
“Are you sure I can’t accompany you?” Dixon asked.
Mara looked at him and smile
d. “Thank you, Dixon. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m quite sure that I should take Basha. It makes sense. You have to admit that.” She saw that he didn’t seem pleased. “You’ll just have to forego the pleasure of traveling by magic this time.”
“Well, I guess I know when I’m beaten.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“I’ve got her, Mara.”
“Oh, but just—”
“I’ve got her.” Nina put her hand out. “It will do you good. Go, now. Get out for a walk. Dixon’s waiting for you in the pub. You told him you’d go. Now don’t keep him waiting.”
“I’ll be back soon. Just—”
“Just go,” Nina interrupted, “and take your time.”
“What was it Dixon said? ‘I know when I’m beaten?’”
“They’ll be fine. You have a good time.”
Mara waved to Therese and Basha visiting in the common room, then brushed past Samuel and Jules standing guard in the hall. She mused about the girls having three levels of protection. That much was comforting at least.
She entered the pub. Guests laughed raucously and clapped their hands, delighted with the antics of the magician who was back to entertain them.
Dixon stood near the bar with Ezra. He looked at Mara as she entered the room. He waved her over, his eyes never leaving her, drinking in the sight of her.
“So you’re going to catch some fresh air, huh? It’s high time,” Ezra said when she approached.
“So they tell me.”
“It does a soul good, Mara. You’re lucky to have friends like these.”
“Right you are, Ezra.”
“You kids have a good time now,” the innkeeper said. Then he looked at Dixon. “Careful, now,” he cautioned.
Dixon bit his lip and nodded.
When Mara reached the front door to the inn, he opened it for her. As she stepped ahead, he placed his hand on the small of her back. What is it about that gesture, she wondered, that feels so strong, so protective? Is it the guidance, the support it seems to offer? Or is it the unspoken, “I’ve got your back” that it suggests? Or perhaps it’s just the touch, the intimacy of a moment . . .
She warred with her emotions, not wanting him to take his hand away, yet knowing that his closeness was becoming a greater danger to her emotional wellbeing all the time. She frowned.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing, just . . . thinking.”
“Anything you’d care to share?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Which way? Toward sanctuary? Or toward the river?”
“Toward the river, I think.”
“Toward the river it is.” He turned right. Once again, he guided her with a hand to the small of her back, to the inside of the walkway, away from the bustling traffic, leaving himself in the position of protector.
They walked in silence. It was an unseasonably warm winter evening. They passed busy taverns and inns. Coaches for hire rushed by.
They stopped outside an inn to watch a wedding celebration within. The partiers raised glasses, made toasts, laughed, and drank. The newlyweds’ delight mesmerized Mara, yet left her heavyhearted at the same time. She tore her eyes away, willing herself to think of something else.
They left the busier streets to follow a path along the canal that ran through the city. Longboats quietly floated by. Now and again a ripple of laughter wafted through the still night air. Soft lamplight had replaced the light of day. Benches scattered along the pathway invited guests to stop to enjoy their surroundings.
The further they went, the slower Mara walked.
Occasionally Dixon glanced her way, but she didn’t speak, so neither did he.
After several minutes, they passed by a fiddler. He played a sweet, soft melody that floated on the breeze. It was haunting, sad, doleful, mournful even. It seemed to urge, to beg listeners to entertain deep, hidden, emotions.
“You’re mighty quiet,” Dixon finally said. He glanced at Mara just as she stopped in her tracks and turned away, then grasped the back post of a nearby bench, leaned forward, and wept.
“What is it?” He reached for her and helped her to the seat. He turned her toward himself and wrapped his arms around her.
She sunk her face into his chest.
“What is it? What’s troubling you?”
She shook her head.
“What is it, Mara?” He tightened his hold. “Do you have doubts about going? If so, you shouldn’t go. You should trust yourself. I don’t question you because I’m trying to be contrary. I’m just trying to help.”
Again she shook her head. She cried as though her heart would break. Like the music that wafted on the breeze, she seemed to be in mourning.
“You think you should go?”
She nodded, her face hidden in his chest. Oh, dear Good One. It feels so good. I don’t ever want this moment to stop.
“But you don’t want to go.”
She shook her head.
“All right. Why don’t you want to go?”
She pushed against him and tried to turn away.
“On, no you don’t,” he said. He held her even more tightly. Then he whispered in her ear. “Please, Mara. Please . . . don’t turn from me. Please don’t make me . . . let go.”
She sucked in her breath, then tried again to push away.
“Please. Please, don’t. Tell me, what is it?”
She gave in to his embrace. She sobbed as he rocked her gently.
“It’s all right. It’s all right,” he said over and over again.
After some minutes, her tears momentarily spent, she once again, tried to break free.
“Please, no,” he said. He swallowed hard. “I don’t . . . I don’t ever want to let go,” he whispered.
Fighting against herself not to return the embrace, not to breath in deeply of his warm scent, she leaned back and looked up at him. “It can’t be, you know.”
He didn’t let go. “Just because you’re an Oathtaker, that doesn’t mean you’ve no life of your own.”
A tear spilled down her cheek. “But it does, Dixon. You know it does. An Oathtaker cannot be unequally yoked. I’ve sworn a life oath.”
“But—”
“Please, Dixon,” she cried, “you’re playing with fire here. It’s like you’ve poured oil out around the both of us and you’re asking me to light the flame.” She wiped her tears away brusquely. “You know better, Dixon. You know . . .” She choked back a sob. “I owe my life to the girls. You know it’s not possible.”
“Mara—”
“Dixon, I’m begging you to stop!” Her voice fell to the softest of whispers as she fought to get her next words out. “I know you’d never ask me to break my oath. You of all people know its significance. And you know the danger of encouraging that from me. You’d forever after wonder when I’d break my word with you.”
A long quiet moment passed.
“I’d be all wrong for you anyway,” she whispered, as she finally broke his hold.
He turned to face her full on. “What are you talking about? I’ve spent how long with you now? I’ve watched you, worked with you, prayed with you, fought with you. I know you, Mara, and I know that—”
“You don’t know me,” she said between renewed sobs.
“Of course I do. You’ve a good and kind heart. You seek to do the right thing. You honor Ehyeh. You honor life!”
“Really, Dixon,” she wept, “you don’t know me. You don’t know what a . . . fraud I am.”
Reluctantly, he turned away, giving her some space. He leaned forward, clasped his hands and dropped them between his knees.
She turned forward as well. She took in a deep breath and looked out at the river.
“I’m sorry, Dixon. I’m sorry if I’ve not used the proper care where you’re concerned. I guess when I found . . .” What was there to say? Wouldn’t making admissions of her own weakness just make this all the worse? Wouldn’t that be exactly the flame thrown
to the oil she’d referenced? How could either of them rely on the strength of the other when both knew the weakness of the other? In that moment, she realized she’d been counting on Dixon’s strength. Had she, in doing so, somehow absolved herself of the responsibility to avoid exactly this?
She struggled to hold back her own admission. Don’t. Admitting how you feel will only make this harder. Be strong. “I’m just so, so sorry.”
He sat up and stretched his shoulders back. He ground his teeth. “So what terrible thing is it that I don’t know? What giant fraud have you committed that you think would change my mind about you?” He shook his head and then, hearing nothing, said, “You’re wrong, you know. Nothing could be so bad. My mind won’t be changed. I’ll wait for you—however long it takes.”
Once again, Mara’s eyes welled with tears. That would be quite a sacrifice! For me? She grasped the edge of the bench and looked down. She sighed, then glanced out over the river. Starlight twinkled upon the waters.
It seemed he instinctively knew that he should remain silent, that he should give her room to think, time to speak.
“I find it nearly impossible to leave the girls,” she finally said.
“You’re their Oathtaker. That’s not unexpected.”
She shuffled her foot. “No, it’s not that. Not just that anyway.”
The musician’s mournful music played on. Note by plaintive note, the discordant melody sang of sorrow felt, pain endured, love lost, youth spent.
“I don’t know if I can leave a child again.” She glanced his way, then looked out again. “I left a child once before, Dixon.” She hesitated, but now that she’d started, she just wanted to unburden herself. “I was very young. That’s not an excuse, it’s an . . . explanation? I thought . . . Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what I thought.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Some years ago, I met a man I thought I—a man I cared for deeply. But he, Jack, wasn’t so . . . committed.”
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