Oberin’s gaze followed me as I left the table, but I didn’t turn back. Scalding tears of frustration trickled down my cheeks. I huffed over to the kitchen and delivered the order for mint tea myself, steaming. Earlier that day I’d thought the twins saw something in me. Hadn’t I noticed the sweetish smell, just like one of them had?
I couldn’t get anyone to listen. Three more days!
I’d planned to return to the old man right away, but my temper was hot, and I needed to work off some energy. And not by doing the dishes.
I’d learned how to move quietly, without being observed, while hunting with my father. Elementals were large and would leave tracks. If they’d gotten loose and tracked me down, we were in danger.
Shandon had told me I was to run to Kea for help. Yet there was an entire company of Mannites right here—a Red Robe, two Yellow Robes, and the Council members.
Kea had already proved his valor once, though. The Mannites hadn’t done anything so far except eat and drink their way through a week’s worth of stores.
* * *
I retrieved the sword I’d hidden, tucked my slingshot into the pocket of my tunic, and made a circuit around all the buildings, on the alert for anything strange. Something felt off. I was so focused on looking for tracks or getting another whiff of that cloying sweetness that it took me a while to realize what it was.
The night was quiet. Far too quiet. I raced back to the kitchen door. An eerie silence met me, rather than the tromp of servers and the clank of dishes. A tray of brandied prune tarts sat abandoned on the table, with a lone fly making the rounds. Pans soaked in the vats of cooling water. I took the long way around to the dining hall door, afraid I would signal my presence if I accidentally bumped against the dishes.
My mind raced: the Water Demon had tracked me down and the Elementals had slaughtered everyone. Or perhaps the dead man had brought a pestilence with him and everyone had suddenly died. Or maybe everyone left for a meeting, without finishing their meal and drinking to the health of the twins and the Council?
I reached the archway leading into the dining room. There was a strange acrid smell in the air, though no hint of the cloying sweetness that had hovered around the corpse. People lay on benches, slumped on chairs. The smell was much stronger now, choking. I lifted my tunic to cover my mouth, leaving my legs exposed. I could hear breathing. So not dead, just asleep. Thank Krossos.
Most had their heads down on their arms, but one of the Browns had slid off the end of the bench onto the floor. Popyrin was napping on the weaver’s lap, which made me briefly smile, since they did not get on well. Even the tall Yellow, Oberin, was sprawled in his chair, mouth slightly open. Everyone slumbered in peace.
No, not everyone.
A movement caught my attention. Georsi was at the fireplace, grubbing around in a bag. “It’s time. It’s time now. Then I can sleep forever. Georsi’s last deed.” He snuffled, and I realized he was crying. The rest of his words were lost.
Everyone else was asleep. I felt my own concentration fade and the wish to curl up, right there on the threshold, was almost overwhelming. Sensual feelings flooded my body, which felt delightfully languorous and heavy.
What kept Georsi alert?
I jolted awake with the realization that Georsi might have drugged the entire room. The old man seemed to be on the outs with the rest of the Mannites. Might he have killed the Red himself earlier today? As a Green he would know his poisons. Georsi had something in his hands, something blocky and heavy. He held it, staring into the fire. I couldn’t catch his words. His voice sounded as if he were reminiscing.
I had to stop him, but my body disobeyed my commands. So heavy. If he had poison, he must have the antidote. My arms felt too weak to hold the sword I’d poached. I forced myself to crawl toward the bench where he’d sat, abandoning the weapon. I poked myself with the sharp point of a fallen knife as my eyelids started to close. Then I pulled myself up next to the snoring Biruac, panting as if I had just run for miles.
I was met by the sight of a crystal vial with rose-colored powder, the reed still inserted in its narrow neck. The powder sparkled like snow. Now that I was upright, I also spotted the source of the acrid smell. In the corner there was a censer with blue smoke still wreathing out. My eyelids fluttered, and I nearly collapsed onto Biruac. Desperate, I grabbed for the reed and took a deep snort.
Haii! At the sound of my involuntary exclamation, Georsi turned around, eyes wide in shock. Hilarity possessed me. He looked like a river crab, hunched over the fireplace. One, two springs and I was upon him. Power coursed through me; my hair seemed to stand on end. The fire crackled merrily in greeting. Georsi moaned. I looked down, only now noticing I’d seized his arm, and was twisting it. Shocked, I let go. He was still an elder and a Mannite.
There had been a thud when I grabbed him. I followed his eyes and noticed the heavy black book lying on the floor. I was quicker. I grabbed it, held it close. “You were going to burn that, weren’t you?”
“It needn’t concern you.”
“It must be important. Since you put the entire hall to sleep so you could burn it.”
“Did you get your grubby little paws on my Kalahari Breath?”
“Is that what it’s called?” I held the book out of his reach as he tried to grab it. It was a handsome leather volume, engraved with runes that livened in the firelight. “I don’t hold with burning books. If someone took the trouble to write it down, it must be worth saving.”
He squirmed in an agony of need. “That book is dangerous. Let me deal with it.”
“I’m not helping you. You killed a man today,” I accused.
“Killed a man? What makes you say that?”
“The man with the swollen blue tongue. You must have done it.”
He shook his head. “I told you, it was an Elemental—an Earth Elemental. They like to use quicksand so they don’t have to touch us, but this one was in a hurry.” As I took in his words, he lunged at me. For such an old frail man, he was strong. He wrested the book from me and threw it into the fire.
“No,” I wailed. I snatched it out, crying out as the pain hit me. Some pages were burning already.
He must be the traitor. Which meant I had to save whatever he wanted to destroy. I batted at the flames, hissing in pain. The pages of the book wafted in the heat, slowly blackening. A bronze word caught my eye. A spell, no doubt.
I was desperate. I cried out the word. “Engalad.”
The fire curled in on itself, slowly retreated, and the pages lightened from charcoal black to gray, to the ecru of parchment. The book closed itself with a definite thud.
Georsi’s mouth hung open. “You’re the Girl of Fire. Figures I’d run into you. Curse my luck.”
His words felt like arrows, piercing any remaining sedation. “Did you tell the Demon I’m here? Did you?”
“What? No.”
I grabbed him. “You did something to all these people. Why? Are you working with the Demon?”
“No!”
“Why did you put everyone to sleep?”
“I admire Krossos Mannine, but not what the Mannites eventually became. Now it’s their turn to suffer.”
“What would you punish them for?”
“Treachery,” he bit out.
I couldn’t imagine Shandon entrusting the particulars of the prophecy, which warned of a traitor, to this bedraggled Green Robe. “What are you talking about?” I demanded.
“The gift from the Ally to the Elders. A comely Council member wheedled it away from the Vendrisi Prime and brought it to Yassin instead. The Elders were betrayed.”
“That must have happened ages ago.”
“Six hundred years ago, child. Since then I’ve longed for the Mannites to feel the wrath of the Elementals. And now they will.”
I couldn’t think straight anymore. The drug coursed through my veins, mixed with the terror. The sword was in my hands now, though I didn’t remember lifting it.
; I stared into the blazing fire, feeling stronger and braver by the moment. My mind slowed again. A flicker of movement caught my eye. Georsi was moving stealthily toward the book. I had laid it down on the edge of the table when I made my grab for a weapon.
I moved to block him with the sword. “I’ll spare your life if you tell me where Shandon is.” It was a bluff, of course. Even in the grip of my mania, I wouldn’t have cut down an unarmed old man. I think he knew that.
Yet he answered me. “He’s traveling. He should be back at Yassin in a few days.”
Fire has intuition as a gift. I didn’t trust the strange old man but thought he spoke the truth about Shandon. I couldn’t while away three days while the gluttonous twins sipped mint tea. I’d go to Kea, and together we would find Yassin.
People were stirring. The tall Yellow, Oberin, got up and rubbed his eyes. I couldn’t leave the Mannites without a warning. I raced to Oberin’s side. “An Earth Elemental killed Gessler.”
Oberin’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find that out?”
If I began an explanation now, I might not be able to leave. Chances were that Elemental was after me, and if I left, so much the better for everyone. “Go ask him.” I pointed at Georsi, who got up in alarm, sliding toward a side door.
As Oberin sprang after him, calling out for Biruac to help, I breathed a sigh of relief and slipped out the front.
CHAPTER 17
Shandon
Shandon noticed two things as his dream spun him deeper into its cocoon. He was humming a nursery tune. That seemed odd, but not worrisome.
The other was that the only one who looked real at the table was Bolin. Bolin’s eyes, the rich color of oak, shone. Tears trembled in them. This was new.
It contrasted with the dull eyes of the other people. Why could he not read anyone’s expression? Why did he not taste the food in his mouth?
The words began to fade into a senseless chatter as Bolin grew clearer in front of him. His face was lined. He was so pale and gaunt.
Shandon must have misunderstood the situation. If this was a feast, why would Bolin look so ill?
Bolin’s hands wove the spell of uncloaking. The dining hall grew dimmer, a tracery of lines, and then shimmered out. Shandon lay under a clear, starless night sky. He levered himself up through thought alone, understanding in the moment of weightlessness that he was on the Shadow Plain. His outline was ragged, nibbled. Across from him sat Bolin, more tired than Shandon had ever seen him.
Only ethereals could speak on the Shadow Plain. Yellow Robes learned a common pictographic language, which formed images in the air. Danger was represented by a knife. Great danger was a sword. Bolin created an image of three swords.
Shandon felt muzzy. What was he doing here?
Bolin reached out and touched him. It was a perilous thing to do. Living creatures never touched on the Shadow Plain, for the contact was rumored to have a slowly lethal effect. The body would become confused and be drawn toward the plane above.
The touch was like a bolt of lightning. Shandon snapped out of the Shadow Plain and woke in the skeletal wood. His leg was wrapped in greenish, sinuous filaments. His magic sword was in his hand.
I must survive. I must see Bolin.
The sword leapt up and pierced the globe. The globe drifted gently off, before tethers reached from the others to bring it back down. Shandon did not look up again. He crawled away, gritting his teeth and half closing his eyes, dragging his tainted leg along.
Water is patient. Water endures.
* * *
Shandon stumbled out of the forest and clawed away the last of the shriveling tethers from his leg. How long had he been in there? He prayed Hirschi had survived, not only for the sake of their friendship but because someone had to get to Yassin. There was no sign of his own beater, and Shandon was weak, though his head was improving.
He rose and stumbled, refusing to stop. If he stopped, he wouldn’t move again. Bolin had saved him once, but he couldn’t help him a second time.
Bolin was ill now. Perhaps dying. Probably dying. Even if Shandon couldn’t make it all the way to Yassin, he had to reach Bolin.
Shandon staggered along all day, chewing on his tongue to relieve thirst, rubbing his citrine and mumbling prayers. Toward night he encountered a caravan. They were happy to sell him a steady, strong horse in return for the gold ring of Angur. They gave him juice laced with a stimulant, and an old woman spoon-fed him gruel. Then they tied him to the saddle. He had enough strength for a final spell, one that would lead the horse to the border of Trea and Bolin’s home. Then he fell into darkness, registering only the rocking motion of his journey, the smell of the horse’s coat, and a deep sadness that would never lift again.
* * *
Had Bolin waited on the Shadow Plain for hours? Days? His friend couldn’t tell him. Bolin could barely talk.
They lay curled up like two pups, Shandon shivering and shaking like a man with ague, Bolin too weak to even shake. The flames of the candles quivered like the breathing of the two afflicted men. Nearby, a cauldron mounted on a ring stand gave off clouds of fragrant steam. Neither man moved to refill the cup at his side. It was too late for chrysanthemum and liverwort tea. It was too late for everything.
Except for Shandon to speak truth. “I remember the first time I came here. It wasn’t long after I’d left my home in Angur, and I was still hurting.”
“It was three years later,” Bolin managed, gasping for breath.
“I’d heard so much about you. How once you’d been Master of the Scrolls, but then you learned the language of wild things and withdrew to a cave. I was curious how you lived, foraging off the land. I grew up in luxury. Angur is one of the richest provinces. There were few expectations of me. Fight well. Breed an heir.”
“You have always fought well,” Bolin said.
“Not this last time.” Shandon choked back his tears. It was his fault Bolin was dying, his energy spent. He had killed the one person who meant more to him than anyone else.
Bolin’s voice was a low rasp. “The soul snare was an unknown weapon, newly created.”
“But I knew. I knew it was a lie to walk my father’s hall and see you there.” He touched a lock of Bolin’s flowing gray hair. “You sacrificed yourself to save me.”
“No, Shandon. I sacrificed myself for the Mannites and the future.” He frowned. “You must not waste your remaining energy with self-reproach.”
“If only I could do something for you,” Shandon said.
“You can do nothing. My life energy is ebbing. Soon it will be gone.”
“I love you,” Shandon said. He’d never said it before. Men did not say these words to each other.
Bolin hesitated. “It’s so hard to say it. I love you as well. I wanted us to grow old together. You would have brought warmth and comfort to my solitude. I didn’t want to be alone. This life chose me.”
“I won’t leave you then. I’ll stay with you.”
Bolin smiled, a wise and utterly sad smile. He pressed Shandon’s hand to his own mouth.
Shandon said, “I love you,” again. Bolin did not answer. His breathing was softer, just a dab of mist in the great darkness of the cave. Then even the vapor was gone.
A great and solemn silence filled Shandon. He sat there for hours, uncaring of the passage of day and night. He made some porridge and forced himself to eat.
Then he got back on his horse and kneed it in the ribs. Yassin was still a long way for a sick man, staggering under the weight of his guilt.
CHAPTER 18
Luca
He voyaged to the Shadow Plain again the next afternoon. Afterward, he lay on the chaise, perspiring and unable to rise. He felt like a sponge, saturated with new information. Leyla hovered over him with a cloth soaked in chamomile and linden blossom, dabbing his brow, until he waved her away.
“I can’t think,” he grumbled.
“What did the Ally say?” she begged.
“He’s st
opped asking for the Book of First Naming. He must suspect I don’t have it.”
“What about the trade winds spell?”
“He did not say yes. He did not say no.”
“How did you end? You can’t keep meeting.” She looked at Luca. “The potion we gave you is a poison. Angel trumpet.”
Luca coughed in alarm. She shrugged. “Once or twice won’t hurt. Your body is young. You can withstand it. I won’t give it to you again, though.”
“He thinks I’m coming,” Luca admitted.
“And you? You’re Prime. What have you decided?”
If he left, he could ask Calio to rule with Leyla. He was still taking a chance, though. Calio would not be happy. In fact, Calio might forbid his journey. He’d never gone against his eldest brother before. The tradition of choosing the fifth child as ruler was based on the idea that the eldest sibling would provide loving guidance.
Leyla stopped dabbing and absent-mindedly wiped her own face with the cloth. “Did you decide anything?”
“Our strategy. King Gale says the Demon can only be checked by the one fate appointed—a Mannite warrior.”
“So no heroic role for you?”
“I’m no fighter,” Luca said. It was true. All his life, he’d been taught the value of charm and manipulation to reach goals. Royals from the Heartland fought in jousts—bloodying, and occasionally killing, their men at arms. The men of Luca’s house avoided displays of violence. Luca once broke Danilo’s nose when they wrestled. He still felt bad about that.
He got up slowly, holding onto the back of the chaise for balance. “The Heartland doesn’t need another fighter,” he said. “What they need is a new kind of wisdom. The time when the Elders came and saved the day is past.”
He made his way to Mak, leaving her standing there.
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