by Terry Brooks
She glared at him. “Frankly, I don’t know what you might do. You haven’t exactly distinguished yourself so far where this business of Laphroig is concerned. I don’t want to go off hoping you’ll do the right thing and come back to a surprise marriage!”
“I’m not going to marry you off to Laphroig!”
“Or anyone else, if you please!” She huffed, pouted, and wheeled away. “Besides, Libiris is beyond help. Even Questor said so.”
“Questor is going with you. You can use the travel time to discuss the matter. In any case, it was his idea in the first place.”
She wheeled back. “I don’t believe you.”
“The library was once an important part of the Kingdom,” he explained patiently. “It was built because one of my predecessors understood the value of books and reading. His undertaking fell apart after he was gone because no one else made an effort to keep things up. But you could change all that. This is a worthy project, Mistaya. If you can reorganize and repair Libiris, we could use it to better educate the people. What could be more important than that?”
She shook her head. “Have you ever been there?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Do you know what’s in those books?”
“No, but I—”
“Or even if the books are still intact? Doesn’t paper fall apart over time? What’s to say the whole library hasn’t been reduced to a giant rats’ nest?”
He composed himself with some effort. “If it has, then you can come back home, all right? But if not, you have to agree to stay.”
She shrugged. “I’ll give it some thought. Maybe after I’ve heard you tell The Frog he can hop on back to his lily pad, I might go. But not before then and not while I’m feeling like this!”
Ben stood up. Enough was enough. “You are fifteen years old and you don’t have the right yet to determine what you will and won’t do! Your mother and I still make certain decisions for you, and this is one. Your education begins anew at Libiris. You can have today and tomorrow to pack your things and make ready to travel. Then you are going. Is that clear?”
She gave him a look. “What’s clear is that you would do anything to get me out from underfoot. You might even marry me off to someone despicable. That’s what’s clear to me!” She sneered. “Father.”
The door opened suddenly, and Willow stepped through. She glanced purposefully from one to the other. “Why are you both shouting?” she asked. “You can be heard all the way to Elderew. Can you please conduct this conversation in a quieter fashion?”
“This conversation is over!” Mistaya snapped.
“Will you please be reasonable—” Ben started to say, but she stomped out of the room without waiting for him to finish and slammed the door behind her. Ben stared after her in dismay, slowly sinking back into his chair.
Well, that didn’t go very well, he thought.
Willow crossed the room and sat down on the other side of the writing table, her gaze settling on him like a weight.
“Don’t say it,” he said at once.
“I think you could have handled that better,” she said anyway.
“You weren’t here. You didn’t hear what she said.”
“I did not have to be here, and I did not have to hear what she said. It is enough to know that you both kept talking long after you should have stopped. But you, especially. You are the parent, the elder of the two. You know better. Pushing her to do things—worse, telling her she must—is always a mistake.”
“She’s fifteen.”
“She is fifteen in some ways, but she is much older in others. You cannot think of her in the ways you are used to thinking of fifteen-year-old girls. She is much more complicated than that.”
She was right, of course, although he didn’t much like admitting it. He had been drawn into an argument that he was destined to lose from the outset. But that didn’t change what he knew was right or necessary.
“I know I can do better with her,” he conceded. “I know I lose my temper with her when I shouldn’t. She knows how to push all the right buttons and I let her do it.” He paused. “But that doesn’t change things. She is still going to Libiris with Questor the day after tomorrow. I have my mind set on this, Willow.”
She nodded. “I know you do, and I know that it would be good for her to go. But I am not certain she sees it that way.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter how she sees it. She’s going whether she wants to or not.”
He was bothered by how that pronouncement sounded the moment he was finished making it. In the days ahead, he would have cause to remember so.
FLIGHT
Mistaya marched back through the castle to her sleeping chamber without speaking to anyone—not even to a bewildered Questor Thews, who tried to ask her a question—closed and locked the chamber door, and sat down to contemplate her undeserved misery. The day was bright and clear and sunny outside her window, but in her heart there was only gloom and despair.
How could her father be so unfeeling?
It was bad enough that she had returned home under a dark cloud, suspended from the prestigious boarding school to which he had sent her with such high hopes, her future a big, fat blank slate on which she had no idea what she would write. It was worse still that she was almost immediately confronted with a marriage proposal she didn’t need from a man she didn’t like, a proposal so outrageous that it should have been rejected out of hand and yet somehow wasn’t. But to top it all off, she was now looking at months of exile to a place that no one in their right mind would visit under any circumstances, a gloomy and empty set of buildings that were crumbling and breaking apart, that were filled with dust and debris, and that housed moldering old books no one had opened in decades.
At least, that was the way she envisioned it in her mind as she sat before her mirror and looked at her stricken face and thought to herself that no one should have to endure this.
She grew tired rather quickly of feeling sorry for herself and turned away. She walked over to the window, stared out at the countryside for a moment, then opened the window and breathed in the scents of Bonnie Blues and Rillshing Cedars. She loved her home. She loved everything about it, and what hurt her most about everything that was happening was that she was going to have to leave it. Technically Libiris was also her home, since it was a part of Landover, but not all parts of Landover were created equal. Consider the Fire Springs and the wastelands east, for instance—nothing in that part of the country was particularly charming. But Libiris was worse still.
Or so Questor had led her to believe.
She thought about her friend and mentor for a moment and could not quite make herself believe that it had been his idea to send her there. But her father would not lie about such a thing; it would be too easy to find him out if he did—and besides, he never lied. He did a few other irritating things from time to time, but not that.
She drummed her fingers on the windowsill and thought. There was no point in sitting around feeling sorry for herself. She would have to do something about her situation if she wanted it to improve.
Her first impulse was to talk to her mother. Willow was more sympathetic to her plight, more understanding of her struggles in general. But her mother was unlikely to cross her father in this instance and would probably suggest that Mistaya give Libiris a chance. Questor and Abernathy supported her father already, so there was no point in pleading with them.
She sighed. This was all so unfair.
She had a sudden urge to cry, and she almost gave in to it. But crying was for babies and cowards, and she wouldn’t do it no matter how much she wanted to. She stiffened against it, reminding herself that teen angst was for those movie magazines and romance novels that she had discovered in her father’s world. In Landover, there was no place for it.
All right, her mother was out. Her friends were out. Whatever help she was going to find, she would have to find elsewhere.
Right away, she thoug
ht of her grandfather, the River Master. The River Master was the leader of the fairy-born—a collection of creatures that had forsaken the fairy mists that encircled Landover to come live in the world of humans. They made their home in the lake country south of Sterling Silver and more particularly in the city of Elderew. She could go there, and her grandfather would take her in and give her shelter and might not even tell her parents—at least, not right away. Willow was his daughter, but their relationship had never been all that strong. Willow’s mother was a wood nymph whom he had never been able to tame or hold, a wild creature that refused to marry or even to settle. Willow was a reminder of her, and her grandfather neither needed nor wanted reminding. He liked Ben even less, an interloper from another world become King through a series of happy coincidences who didn’t really deserve the job. Her grandfather tolerated him, but nothing more.
She had learned all this while growing up, some of it from Questor and Abernathy and some from her own observations and experiences. She had never appreciated her grandfather’s attitude, but she could see where it might come in handy in this instance. Because even though the River Master was not close to her parents, he loved Mistaya intensely.
Of course, there was always the possibility that he was angry with her for not having come to see him for more than a year. That might require a little repair work on her part—perhaps even a little groveling. She thought about it a moment and then shrugged. Well, she could grovel, if she had to. She would find a way to win him over, whatever it took. Going to Elderew was the best option open to her.
She folded her arms defiantly and nodded. Yes, she would run away to her grandfather. And she would do so immediately. No waiting around for the inevitable; no praying for a miracle. She would leave tonight.
She would pack some clothes and sneak out of the castle while everyone was sleeping. That might not be so easy. The castle was guarded, and her father’s retainers were under orders to keep a close watch over her. It helped that Bunion was off checking on The Frog, but there were other eyes. If she tried to leave carrying a suitcase or a backpack, someone would notice and report it and she would be hauled back before she got halfway to Elderew.
Even more troubling was the fact that her father had ways of finding her, even if she didn’t tell him where she was going Once he discovered she was gone, he would use the Landsview or one of his other magical devices to track her down. Then he would simply mount up and come looking for her. She would have to find a way to thwart him.
She frowned with irritation. This couldn’t happen in his old world, where you could be found only through technological means and not through magic. But she wasn’t about to go back to where she had come from.
Was she?
No, of course not, she chided herself. What was the point of going back to the very place where she had been so miserable? But it did suggest another possibility. She could pass out of Landover into any world; like the fairies in the mists and the dragon Strabo in the Fire Springs, she had that ability. Once she was outside Landover, her father might never find her. It was an interesting thought, and she mulled it over for a long few moments. In the end, however, she discarded it. Leaving Landover wasn’t acceptable. She had come home to Landover to stay and stay she would—just not at Libiris.
She flounced back over to the window, breathed in the scents of the countryside, rushed back to her bed and threw herself down, staring at the ceiling as she tried to work out the details of a plan. But planning wasn’t her strong point. She reacted to people and events almost solely on instinct—the result of being a child of three worlds, she imagined—so thinking ahead too far was counterproductive.
She was still considering how to make her escape unnoticed when one of the pages knocked at her door and informed her that she had a visitor—a G’home Gnome, he advised with obvious distaste.
At once she had the answer to her dilemma.
She rushed down to greet Poggwydd, who stood uncertainly at the front entry, gnarled hands clasped as gimlet eyes tried to take in everything at once, his posture suggesting that he had every expectation of being thrown out again momentarily.
“Poggwydd!” she shouted at him with such exuberance that he nearly dropped to his knees in fright. She rushed across the room and embraced him like an old friend. “So you were paying attention to me when I told you to come see me!”
He stiffened and gave her a halfhearted bow. “Of course I was paying attention! I took you at your word and then decided to see how good that word was!”
“Well, now you know.” She smiled, took his hand in her own, and dragged him forward. “Come see the castle. But don’t try to steal anything, all right?”
He mumbled something that she took to be an assent, and for the next hour they wandered the halls of Sterling Silver, looking in all the chambers—(save those her mother and father were occupying)—and talking of how life in the castle worked. She only caught him trying to take something once, and since it was an odd little silver vase, she let him keep it. Gradually, he relaxed and began to act as if he belonged, and they were soon talking with each other like lifelong friends.
As the tour finished and the urgency of her intended mission to escape began to press in upon her, she suddenly had a brilliant idea.
“Poggwydd, can I ask a favor of you?” she said.
He was instantly suspicious. “What sort of favor?”
“Nothing complicated or dangerous,” she reassured him. She shrugged disarmingly. “I just want to give you some clothing to keep safe for me until I need it. Can you do that?”
He frowned. “Why would you give your clothing to me? Why would you need to keep it safe?”
She thought quickly, and then leaned in close to him. “All right, I’ll tell you why. But you must agree to keep it a secret.” She waited for his nod. “I have some clothes my parents gave me that I want to give to someone else who needs them more than I do. But I don’t want my parents to see me taking them away because it will make them feel bad.”
He struggled with this a moment, his monkey face screwed in thought, and finally he said, “Oh, very well. I can keep them if you want.” Then he stopped abruptly. “Wait. How long do I have to keep them? I don’t have anywhere to put them where they will be safe, you know.”
She nodded. “You just need to keep them safe until tonight. I will come meet you after it’s dark and take them back from you. All right?”
She could tell it wasn’t, not entirely. Taking things in the course of scrounging or stealing was perfectly all right, but taking them any other way seemed odd. Poggwydd was clearly thinking that this could somehow come back to bite him, taking the personal clothing of Landover’s Princess, whether it was her idea or not.
“Poggwydd,” she said, taking his hands in her own. “You won’t be getting into any trouble, I promise. In fact, this would mean I owe you a favor in return.”
He seemed to like the sound of that, and he gave her a crooked smile. “All right, Princess. Where are these clothes?”
She took him to an anteroom off her bedchamber and had him wait while she pulled out travel clothes and packed them in a duffel bag she could sling over her shoulder. Not much, but enough to see her through the few days it would take to reach the lake country and her grandfather. She added a compass, a virtual map ring (really a handy tool for nighttime travel), a small fairy stone (a present for her grandfather), and a book on wizard spells that Questor had given her before she left for Carrington, which she had only just started reading again. This last might offer something useful in the days ahead, and since it was pocket-sized it was easily carried. Then she wrapped the duffel in an old sheet, tied the corners of the sheet in knots to secure everything, and took it out to him.
“I’ll meet you at the Bonnie Blues tonight,” she promised as she walked him to the front entry. A few curious glances were cast their way, but she ignored them and no one said anything. “Just remember to be there to meet me,” she added.
/> She ushered him back through the gates and went up to her room to wait for nightfall.
It was all very exciting.
She managed to put up a good front through dinner, even pretending that she would think more about going off to Libiris—(as if!)—and would take her father at his word that there would be no more encounters with the marriage-minded Laphroig. She had more faith in him on this one. But she was fifteen years old, and no fifteen-year-old ever took the word of a parent at face value and without reservations. It wasn’t that parents were deliberately duplicitous—although sometimes they clearly were—but rather that they tended to forget their promises or to find a way to misconstrue their parameters. Whenever that happened, it somehow always ended up the child’s fault. Given where things stood in her life, Mistaya was having no part of that.
But she talked and smiled and laughed and pretty much acted the way she knew they wanted her to act and didn’t let her anxiety over managing a clean break interfere with their meal. She loved her parents, after all, and she knew they wanted only the best for her. Mostly, they delivered. But in this case they were going to have to start over and find a better route.
When dinner was finished, she excused herself on the pretext of wanting to do some reading and retired to her bedchamber. There she sat down to wait, biding her time until the castle stilled and her parents retired. They always followed the same procedure, looking in on her before going off to bed, so she couldn’t try to leave before then. Because she had slipped them a sleep-inducing potion in their ale at dinner, they were likely to check in on her much sooner than usual. So she sat patiently, and before long there was a knock at her door.
“Mistaya?”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Your father and I are going to bed now. But you and I will have a talk in the morning about what’s happening. Your father means well, but he is impetuous and sometimes oversteps his parental boundaries. Sleep well.”