Blades Of Illusion: Crown Service #2

by Terah Edun

  “What’s going on?” Margaret asked in a hushed tone.

  Sara shrugged.

  The mist began to fold in on itself in odd places, forcing Nissa to fold with it.

  First, her right leg bent back at an odd angle, then her foot snapped forward with such force that if Sara hadn’t dodged while pulling Margaret back with her, she was fairly sure Nissa wouldn’t have been the only one with a broken bone.

  Sara eyed Nissa’s newly-folded leg, particularly the broken tibia, and gulped. “Think she felt that?”

  “I hope to the gods she didn’t,” Margaret said in a hushed tone as they watched a completely silent Nissa undergo her transformation.

  The only sound in the tent as the minutes passed by was the snapping of breaking bones and the sickening mushy sound as her skin and muscles found new formations. Sara had never heard anything like it before, and she prayed she never wouldn’t again.

  Nissa grew smaller and smaller as the breaks in her bones allowed her body to fold in on itself and reform as something that weighed half as much as before, was generously covered in fur, and stood no more than two feet in height.

  By the time it was done, Sara was sick to her stomach, and Margaret gripped her hands so tightly that Sara was sure the rings on the girl’s fingers would leave imprints in her palm.

  Slowly exhaling, they watched the now hunched form of Nissa Sardonien stretch out with little kicks and then go still as a stone.

  “The shackles are gone,” said Margaret.

  “Just repurposed,” Sara said quickly, “They’ll reappear when she reappears and she can’t use her magic like this anyway.”

  Is she awake? Sara thought.

  “You sure she’s alive?” asked Margaret frankly, unconsciously echoing Sara’s concern.

  Sara snorted. “She’s breathing.”

  “That’s not saying much,” muttered Margaret. “The living dead breathe. Doesn’t mean they’re alive.”

  Sara looked at her askance. “The living dead?”

  Margaret waved away the question with an impatient motion of her hand. “It’s a Kade thing.”

  “Of course it is,” said Sara derisively. She was beginning to think the reputation of the Kades was more myth than fact.

  A lot of things attributed to them, Sara thought, could just be natural occurrences. Like a poisonous swamp.

  Or at least, that’s what she told herself. Anything to keep at bay the thought that she was meddling in affairs worse than the secrets she hoped to uncover.

  Way worse.

  “She’s fine,” said Sara decidedly. “She just needs to rest.”

  Margaret eyed her askance. “You’re sure?”

  No, thought Sara.

  “Yes,” she said aloud. Quite frankly, there was nothing she could do to help Nissa in any case, and this was the perfect way to transport her—unconscious and vulnerable. It would make for a quick dash through the camp and back to the healers. Hopefully.

  “Well then,” Margaret said, gesturing with her arm. “Go ahead.”

  Sighing deeply, Sara pulled out a short cloak from her knapsack, wrapped Nissa in it, and carefully put the tiny creature inside the bag, slinging it over her shoulders again when she was finished. Then she set the refraction orb down in Nissa’s place, made sure the illusion of a bound woman tied to a pole was accurate, and hoped the guards didn’t feel like torturing the missing woman for the next two hours.

  Chapter 27

  Five minutes later, they arrived at the healers’ encampment. They had emptied the knapsack once they left sight of the torture tent, and Sara had carried the bundled up Nissa-turned-Florien like a baby in her arms.

  She was silently muttering prayers to herself that this would work. She didn’t really have anything else to throw at the healers. She could threaten them, but it was a hollow threat if she couldn’t get inside first.

  As they approached the outer edge of the barred facility where Ezekiel was being held, Sara thought wryly, I never imagined I’d be trying to sneak an escaped prisoner into a fortified facility in order to reach a free man.

  Sighing heavily, she stopped just short of the giant dome and said, “Hello! Hello, I need help. I’ve got a sick individual you’ll really want to see.”

  Margaret coughed and stepped beside her. She aimed her voice in the same direction and said, “It’s a Florensis!”

  “A Florien,” hissed Sara out of the side of her mouth.

  Margaret shrugged. “Same thing. They heard us. They’ll come.”

  “You hope,” Sara said while cradling Nissa to her chest and keeping an ear tuned to her regular breathing. She was still sleeping. That was one of the few things Sara had to be thankful for in this mad plan.

  Sure enough, they didn’t have long to wait. A hole opened in the side of the invisible dome and Sara could see a healer, a female this time, waiting on the other side.

  Short and squat, she glared at them with some kind of stick in her hand and a mean expression on her face.

  Sara cleared her throat and stepped forward to put Nissa’s transformed self in better light.

  “It’s true, we have a Florien,” she said quietly.

  “A sick one,” Margaret stressed from behind her.

  Sara stood silently, hoping for some sign of encouragement from the healer.

  “Lower your arms,” the woman said finally.

  Sara did as asked, letting Nissa drop to waist-height so that the woman could comfortably peer into the blankets.

  “Well,” said the woman in delight quickly, “this is quite the find. Where did you possible get an extinct creature?”

  Sara chuckled with unease. “She came out of the swamps. We just thought perhaps you’d find her interesting.”

  The woman looked at her with cunning in her eyes. “The swamp huh? What an odd place.”

  Margaret piped up, “Lots of untouched and uncharted territory there.”

  You’re telling me, thought Sara dryly.

  “Doesn’t matter how we got it. Just that we did,” Margaret said quickly.

  The woman peered up at Margaret’s companion with squinty eyes. “Hmm, maybe not from the swamps after all.”

  Sara kept her face expressionless, but Margaret shifted guiltily from foot to foot.

  She might as well be waving a red flag that something’s wrong, Sara thought in disgust. I knew I shouldn’t have brought her along.

  Before she could intervene, Margaret said slyly, “Perhaps not.”

  Sara tensed.

  The female healer said with cunning on her swarthy face. “Stole it, did you? Or perhaps you bought it with stolen coin?”

  Sara let out a pent-up breath in relief as Margaret said, “Again, it doesn’t matter where we got it. Just that we did.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes and nodded. “Fine, fine. We’ll pay a hefty price, as promised.”

  A price? Sara wondered.

  Margaret nodded eagerly.

  The woman turned to motion at another attendant before turning back to them. “What will it be? Army script or gold shillings?”

  Margaret looked all too eager to name a coin, so Sara intervened. “Neither.”

  The woman turned to look at Sara with a cold glare in her eyes.

  Sara quickly added, “Our price is admittance.”

  The healer looked her up and down. “Admittance is free. If you’re sick, we’ll treat you regardless of payment or not. The empress covers all of that.”

  What an enlightened attitude for someone who professed a willingness to buy a creature paid for with stolen goods just a moment before.

  “Nevertheless,” Sara continued nervously, “that’s our price.”

  The woman crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” said Margaret with a poke at Sara that had her tensing, “But there is something wrong with a dear friend that’s inside your camp. A dear friend we’re dying to see, if you know what I mean.”
<
br />   If anything, her expression grew dourer.

  She realized how that sounded. “We need to see him,” Sara said firmly. “And we won’t take more than fifteen minutes.”

  The woman raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You want entrance to our healing ward filled with infectious diseases and all manner of poisoned people in order to talk to someone?”

  “Talk and persuade,” said Sara vaguely. She wasn’t even lying this time. She might need to resort to unpleasant means to convince Ezekiel and Nissa to tell her what they knew. A small shiver went down her spine.

  The woman’s eyes darkened. “My patient, my rules.”

  “Listen,” said Margaret. “Resting in your arms is one of the rarest creatures in the empire. Maybe in the whole world. And it can be yours if you let us in.”

  “Let us in, make sure we’re not disturbed, and ensure the person we want to see is lucid,” clarified Sara.

  “Who is it?” the woman demanded.

  “Do we have a deal?” Margaret shot back.

  “Not until I know who you’re seeking,” the woman said in irritation, “Florien or no, I’m not going to wake up a man from a healing coma if I think for a second that doing so will be detrimental to his healing process.”

  Sara nodded, faintly impressed. “Very well,” she said.

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “Well then?”

  Sara let out a slow breath. “Ezekiel Crane.”

  “He was struck down by the swamp fever,” added Margaret helpfully.

  The woman said, “Stay here.” She walked off before the agreement had been struck, and she started speaking with a man whose back was turned to the entrance.

  Margaret said eagerly, “I can still see her. She left the door open! Now’s our chance! Let’s get inside.”

  “Not so fast,” said Sara sharply as Margaret stepped from around her and towards the ward. She could see it glimmering faintly in the entrance. Not as strong as the rest of the dome, but clearly armed enough not to let anyone passed without authorization.

  “It’s still armed,” muttered Sara without moving.

  “Aww, rats, sheepcheeks,” said Margaret.

  “Uh-huh,” said Sara. She continued to cradle a sleeping Florien and watch the nurse.

  Soon enough, the woman returned with the man by her side. “You’re in luck,” the healer announced.

  “How so?” asked Margaret.

  “The person you want. Ezekiel Crane,” the healer said. “He’s awake.”

  Sara felt hope rise in her chest. “Sounds like the first thing that went right today.”

  The woman snorted and motioned. “Give us the Florien.”

  “Let us over the barrier first,” Sara said placidly.

  The woman glared and did something to the barrier. “Pass.”

  Sara and Margaret calmly walked inside, where they could see dozens and dozens of healers milling about between tents that Sara hadn’t been able to see before.

  She counted eighteen large tents, nine on each side of a straight path.

  Okay, Sara said. Simple enough.

  “Florien,” demanded the healer like a greedy child.

  Reluctantly, Sara handed Nissa over.

  “This man will take you to Mr. Crane. Remember, fifteen minutes, and not a second more.” Then the woman scampered away with Nissa in her arms.

  Sara stared up at the sun through the semi-translucent barrier. They had about five minutes before Nissa woke up and came to find them. Five minutes was enough time to ask Ezekiel some personal questions first.

  Sara turned to look over at their new guide and had the second shock for the night. Purple eyes met her own orange cat-like glare.

  The man smiled pleasantly and said, “Sara Fairchild, I’ve been looking for you for some time.”

  Sara froze and breathed out slowly. “I don’t believe this. You were a mirage.”

  “Nothing as ephemeral as that,” the man said slowly as he turned away and walked in front of her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked in a stressed voice.

  He replied, “To the bedside of Ezekiel Crane.”

  Sara still didn’t move.

  He turned around and looked at her. “That is your destination, is it not?”

  “Well, yes,” admitted Sara.

  “Then shall we carry on?” he said with a pleasant smile.

  “Who are you?” demanded Sara crossly. They were standing in the middle of the path, and her outburst drew suspicious stares from nearby healers. Margaret pulled at her tunic, but Sara ignored her.

  The man raised an eyebrow. “A friend.”

  “A friend I’ve never met until one of the most perilous journeys of my life,” Sara said.

  “Isn’t that when the boundaries of true friendship are tested?” the man bantered back.

  Sara crossed her arms and glared. Not moving.

  He shrugged and said, “Suit yourself. I’m still going ahead.”

  Sara stared at him, wondering what he wanted with Ezekiel. She didn’t know whether to hold him back or go help him. She didn’t know if he was friend or foe.

  Then Margaret hissed. “Sara.”

  Exasperated, Sara turned around and looked at her. “What?”

  Margaret huffed in exasperation. “How can you be looking for a person and not know who that was?”

  “I know what Ezekiel looks like,” Sara retorted back.

  “No,” said Margaret with her curls flying, “That’s not who I’m talking about now.”

  Sara threw up her arms. “Then pray tell. Who do you mean?”

  Eyes wide, Margaret said, “That was Matteas Hillan.”

  Sara stared. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Afraid not,” quipped Margaret.

  Without another word, Sara took off hot on the heels of the mysterious man.

  They caught up to Hillan as he disappeared into a white tent. “What do you want Hillan for, anyway?”

  “He was the last one to see my father’s body before he died,” said Sara in excitement.

  Finally! The reason I came on this godforsaken journey in the first place, she thought as she ducked into the smaller tent after him.

  From the outside, it had looked big enough to house three or four beds. From the inside, it was just the same. At first glance, and to Sara’s momentary horror, it seemed that none of the beds were occupied. Instead, a man stood next to a bed and was folding a jacket while Matteas approached him with ground-eating strides.

  Sara quickly recognized the man nearest the bed as Ezekiel Crane, even with his back turned.

  “Ezekiel, behind you!” she called out involuntarily.

  Ezekiel turned with surprise on his face. Sara started to move toward him, but Hillan was mere feet away.

  Hillan made short work of that distance, hauled back a fist, and slammed it straight into the side of Ezekiel’s jaw.

  Ezekiel fell back on the bed with a crash, cradling his face.

  Sara unsheathed her sword and got between the two of them.

  “What was that for?” both she and Ezekiel managed to utter at the same time.

  “That,” said Matteas Hillan while shaking out his hand, “is for being a horrible cousin.”

  Sara blinked and straightened up. “Cousins? You’re cousins?” She realized she was shouting, but it didn’t sound loud in her head. Just angry. Very, very angry. Sara turned in a lightning-fast move, bringing up her sword and placing it near Ezekiel’s whole and healthy head.

  Ezekiel gave a tremulous smile and tried to inch away from the weapon while staying flat on his back. “Sara,” he said quietly, “Nice to see you again.”

  “Ezekiel Crane,” Sara said with restrained fury. “You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

  He chuckled nervously as he pushed at the side of the blade with the tip of his finger. It didn’t budge.

  “Perhaps in more comfortable circumstances?” Ezekiel suggested tentatively.

  “Not a c
hance,” said Sara flatly. “Start talking. You knew I was looking for Matteas Hillan. Sometime during the period when I was hauling your sick bum through the swamp, you could have mentioned that, oh, not only do you know the guy, but he’s family!”

  “To be fair,” Hillan said from behind her back, “He didn’t know me as Matteas Hillan.”

  Sara turned a disgusted glare to the man her father had told her to find at all costs. “Then who exactly are you?”

  Hillan didn’t have time to answer her query. Neither did Ezekiel. Not before Nissa, dressed in stolen healer’s garb, burst into the tent with a frenzied look on her face and her shackled arms outstretched.

  Chapter 28

  “We’ve got a problem!” Nissa said in a hurry.

  Sara frowned.

  Nissa’s gaze found Matteas, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  Sara frowned and took a step to stand beside him. “Nissa, calm down. What’s wrong?”

  The expression on Nissa’s face only grew tenser as she looked at Matteas and shouted, “You’ve found them. Can you do it? Can you get out of here with enough time?”

  Without pausing, Matteas answered, “Yes.”

  Sara frowned deeper. “No one’s going anywhere until I have some answers.”

  Ezekiel frantically stood and grabbed his jacket. “Whatever questions you have, Sara, now is the worst time to ask them.”

  “No,” Matteas said. “Now is actually the best time.”

  “Elan,” said Ezekiel, exasperated. “We have to go.”

  “She needs to know who I am before we proceed.”

  “I’d like to know who you are before we proceed,” snapped Ezekiel. “The man I grew up with wasn’t a revolutionary, and he certainly wasn’t the type of person to work as an imperial mage.”

  “All a means to an end, cousin,” said Matteas. “All a means to an end.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what that is?” Sara suggested tensely.

  Matteas turned to face her fully. “My name is Elan, Sara Fairchild, and I—“

  Nissa shouted, “There’s no time. They’re coming.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” shouted an exasperated Elan.