“Where in the sky is there an ear?” she whispered.
“I can’t recall.” Tynaiv pulled her to him and kissed her. Tess closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders. This was the moment she’d imagined. But it was not Prince Linden stealing her breath. Nor was she wearing a cream gown covered in pearls, with a dione applauding before her. No, she was hiding in a garden with a stranger, trying desperately to forget all she had lost.
Abruptly, Tynaiv left her lips and put his hand to his chest. “Forgive me, my lady, but something has stung my ribs.”
Tess flushed. “Oh, something in my hair. I am to hide it from . . .”
“Oh? May I see?”
“It’s nothing. A token. I suppose Her Majesty felt sorry for me. . . .”
Tynaiv lifted her braid, started, and then dropped it.
“Master Tynaiv? Are you all right?”
Tynaiv’s expression had changed entirely. His eyes were fixed on Tess’s braid, his shoulders stiffened. “What is that?”
Tess clutched the shenìl in her hair. “I—I don’t know exactly.” Her voice lowered. “I think I must take my leave.”
Tynaiv slowly stood. “Certainly.” His hand went to a pocket in his checkered trousers, but then he froze. He seemed to be deciding something.
The wind whistled through the rosebushes, and Tess felt the night press upon her shoulders. Tynaiv stared at Tess, his face stone-still. His easy posture had changed to paralyzed, even pained. He shook his head.
“If I may say so, my lady, it is not wise to trust the royals so blindly. Their interests are never what they seem.”
It was time to go. After a hasty, silent nod of farewell, Tess gathered her skirts and started down the path.
“Take heed of my warning, Lady Tessamine. I do not give it lightly,” Tynaiv called after her.
One stocking was falling down Tess’s leg, but she didn’t care. Her mind whirled as she charged into the castle. What had she just done?
Tess raced through the royal family’s private wing to the banquet hall. There, young Glademontians still queued to volunteer for the emergency militia, while parents and scholars pleaded with them. Nory Rootpine called for more to step forward while Rette Cherrywater answered questions and told the men where to report. Tess pushed through the lines to the table.
“Nory,” she shouted. “Have you seen the prince?”
“He left, my lady,” Nory said, still beckoning men forward. “Said he’d be gone for days. Can you believe that? Left Rette and myself with the training. But we’re up to it, eh, Rette?” Rette nodded a strawberry blond head and patted a thick leather vest that was clamped around his slim torso. Nory was wearing one to match.
“What are those? Where did you get them?”
“We made them,” Nory said. “With His Highness, mind you. What do you think he’s been doing all this time?” He winked. Tess felt sick. Everyone had lost their minds.
“Lady Tessamine.” A black terrier appeared at her feet. “I advise you go home and stay indoors until further notice. I will send word to Colonel Thorn that you are to be under strict surveillance, by order of the queen.”
“General Bud, I must speak with Her Majesty,” Tess said.
“Out of the question,” he said with a slight growl. “You have your orders. Now go to, young lady.”
“Tessy.” Dahly approached with a glum-looking Ryon in tow. “Where have you been? You changed your hair. . . .” The concern in Dahly’s voice caused Tess’s throat to catch.
“Xandra’s horn.” She gulped quietly. “Let’s just go home.” She looked over her shoulder for Tynaiv, but he had not followed her.
Tess and her siblings found their father debating in a circle of advisors, while their mother stood anxiously nearby.
“You have been so brave, dearest,” Lady Matilde said. “It was prudent of you to take some time to yourself.” Guilt gnawed at Tess’s heart.
Ryon let out an exasperated groan. “Mother, let me volunteer. I can fight with the prince. I can—”
“That is enough.” Sir Brock turned from his colleagues when he saw his family had been reunited. “This militia is illegal and borderline treasonous. I hate to speak against the prince, but I cannot understand what prompted him to take such a radical stance.”
“The queen was attacked, Papa,” Dahly said.
“First light tomorrow,” Sir Brock addressed his fellow advisors. “This cannot stand.” Then General Bud called out from the abandoned orchestra platform.
“Lords, ladies, citizens, and governors. I beg your attention once again. Her Majesty, Queen Aideen, requests a council in the court hall immediately. All advisors and judges are expected.”
“Even better,” Sir Brock said, kissing his wife’s hair. “Good night. I shall be late, I think.”
Mechanically, Tess followed the rest of her family to the castle doors and allowed the servants to cover her with her cloak and help her into the royal carriage. Crowds loitered outside the castle, some making hurried arrangements to depart for their homes, others begging the servants to allow them to stay in the castle, as they feared sleeping another night in the campgrounds. Through the carriage window, Tess saw Belle and her mother walking hand in hand. After the prince’s speech, no one else would dare travel at night without a horse or caravan. But here they were, alone on the road, with nothing but a staff in the woman’s hand.
Tess pressed her forehead against the windowpane. She did not deserve that little girl’s admiration. She would never deserve Prince Linden’s, either. The queen had chosen the wrong girl.
Chapter 5
Tess glided through an old forest. Something smooth and hot pulled her by the hand. Lush trees brushed against her arms until she reached a clearing where a winding lake was filled with crystal-clear water. The object in her hand pulled harder, and she heard herself call out, “I am the new guardian of Glademont, sent to free you!”
“Get dressed, quickly,” Lady Matilde whispered, shaking Tess awake. A stout candlestick lit her mother’s worried face.
“What? What time is it?” Tess grumbled.
“We have to get to the castle as quickly as possible. Wake Dahly and come downstairs.” Lady Matilde disappeared down the hall.
Tess stumbled out of bed and pulled on a pair of riding boots. She touched her braid to make sure the shenìl was still there. Dahly stirred in the bed across the room.
“I’m awake, and I’m not happy about it,” she whispered hoarsely.
Still in their cotton nightgowns, Dahly and Tess shuffled downstairs. They followed muffled noises through the servants’ corridor and to the kitchen. There, they found their mother and brother silently packing satchels made of painted leather. The cook and housekeeper must have retired to their cottages hours before. Only a few candles were lit, and cold starlight crept in from the kitchen window.
“Are we going to be picnicking at the castle tonight?” yawned Dahly.
“Girls, why aren’t you dressed?” their mother whispered. “Oh, it’s too late now. Get your cloaks and stay away from the windows.”
Tess and Dahly fumbled in the dark to obey their mother. Beside the cloak hooks, the door that led out to the stables swung open, and in stepped Sir Brock, still in his velvet from the wedding festival. He peered out the window. “The horses are ready. Hurry, Matilde. I saw torches up the road.”
Lady Matilde handed Tess a sack of walnuts and pointed at the satchels. Dahly dropped into a chair by Tess, still groggy from her rude awakening.
“Where’s Reggie? Is he all right?” Tess asked as her mother handed her a bar of soap.
“The Colonel’s on watch outside,” Lady Matilde said. “Girls, the queen has ordered all noble families to take refuge in the castle—tonight.”
“Refuge?” Tess’s hands shook as she broke the bar of soap into pieces for each sat
chel.
“Is this about the assassin?” Dahly said.
“You there,” called a familiar voice. “Show yourself, in the name of Queen Aideen!” Outside, Colonel Regency Thorn growled ominously, and a strange dog growled in reply. The three young Canyons dropped their tasks and rushed to the window.
In the starlight stood the Colonel, straight and strong. He raised his hackles as he faced the gloom of the apple orchard. A red bloodhound stepped out of the darkness, teeth bared. Even when crouching, the bloodhound was at least three times as large as the terrier. Unmoved, the Colonel barked again.
“I warn you, scum. Take your rabble off of this estate, or you will be shown no mercy.”
The bloodhound snarled and began to cross the bridge. Half a dozen torches materialized, carried by strange men. Each wore a belted woolen tunic and loose trousers tucked into high boots. Against their thighs hung wide blades. Tess had never seen a dagger in person, only in old tapestries and murals. The sight of them kindled a rising panic in her throat.
“Atheonians,” Sir Brock said over Tess’s shoulder. “But they are too rough to be soldiers. What is this?”
A grizzly Atheonian in front pointed his torch at the Colonel.
“Calm down, Sarge. We ain’t here t’loot. We’re on a special errand,” he said. “Smooth Crow wants t’speak with a lady.”
A large crow swooped to the low branch of an apple tree. As it fluttered to steady itself, its black body gleamed almost purple in the torchlight.
“A needless war has already been set in motion,” it said. “But I might be able to stop it if Lady Tessamine has what I think she has.”
The men holding the other torches shifted restlessly.
The Colonel stood his ground. “Tell your friend, sir hound, that no man or creature may enter the manor. I shall not yield until you and this poorly manicured flock have vacated the grounds.”
While the bloodhound advanced toward the Colonel with a menacing growl, the fourteen-inch salt-and-pepper governor nervously licked his nose.
Tess gripped her mother’s arm. Couldn’t she see those men were going to hurt Reggie? Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? Lady Matilde squeezed Tess’s wrist and put her finger to her lips.
Six torches lowered as the men started for the Colonel.
“No,” Tess shouted. “Reggie, run!”
The men stopped to look at the house.
“Alive, gentlemen,” the crow said from his branch. “I want her alive.”
“May the oath protect her,” the Colonel said, almost as though it were a prayer. Then, retreating two steps, the Colonel lowered his head to the ground. The bloodhound mirrored his stance. A colossal growl resounded from somewhere deep inside the Colonel’s chest. Tess had never heard anything like it. The jars in the kitchen pantries rattled. Ryon and Dahly held on to each other with fright.
“Come on, gents, into the house,” yelled the leader of the band. The men made a dash for the Canyon home. One dark-haired Atheonian had sprinted ahead of the rest, but suddenly halted, mesmerized.
“Oy, watch it!” he shouted, and pointed to the terrier.
The Colonel’s breath had transformed into a glowing, fluid gas, swirling from his nostrils and surging toward the Atheonians—a stream of golden air. The stream crashed against the dark-haired man and wrapped around his legs. Then, as the Colonel raised his head and barked thunderously, the golden stream burst about its target and flung the man high into the air. Over the orchard he flew, crashing hard on Nobleman’s Road. Even from inside the house, Tess could hear the man’s anguished moans.
By this time, the other men had taken shelter in the shrubbery surrounding the front of the manor, looking on their miniature adversary with horror.
“Come, you slobbering tree-chaser,” called the Colonel to the bloodhound. “You will answer next.”
His enemy responded with a flash of red from his nostrils. It snaked its way along the ground before wrapping itself around the Colonel’s neck. The governor rolled onto his back and struggled to breathe.
Tess gasped. “Red magic.”
The Colonel managed to pry a paw under the gaseous rope that squeezed his neck. It provided just enough room for a quick breath, and thin golden strands streamed from his nostrils. They converged and wound themselves around the red rope, causing it to dissolve.
“Smooth Crow didn’t say nothin’ ’bout no golden magic,” one of the bewildered Atheonians shouted.
“That’s why we’ve got the dog, bug brains,” another answered. “Let ’em fight it out. Into the house.”
Tess saw another flash of gold, and then flashes of red as the men rushed up the stairs to Canyon Manor. One of the dogs yelped in pain—but which one?
Five men bearing torches tumbled through the front door. Tess clung to her sister as she heard them barreling through the parlor and down the stairs that led to the servants’ corridor. Sir Brock met them in the narrow hallway, blocking their passage into the kitchen.
“We do not know violence in this home. If you wish to see my daughter, you will respect the law. Surrender your weapons.” His face burned with determination.
The Atheonians crowded around the kitchen door, laughing. “Did you hear?” one said. “His ladyship says we should mind our manners.” He lunged for Sir Brock’s arm and threw the nobleman into the kitchen. Grasping a chair, Sir Brock retreated, shielding his family.
“Matilde, get them out of here,” he said, straining to keep his composure. Sweat dripped from his nose. Tess moved to pick up a chair herself.
“Get back, Tessy,” her father shouted.
“So,” sneered an Atheonian, slowly entering the kitchen. “That’s our gal?”
Sir Brock lunged, splintering the legs of his chair against the man. The Atheonian yelled and dropped his torch, and within seconds the cabinetry and wallpaper had ignited. The ensuing flames sent two men back through the hallway and outside as Sir Brock stood to contend with the three who remained. Matilde rushed to her husband’s side, desperately brandishing an iron pan.
“Tessy, watch out,” Ryon called.
A clanging sounded to Tess’s right, and something heavy crashed into the kitchen table. Tess turned to find an unconscious man lying crumpled on the floor, a dagger in his hand. Ryon stood over him, holding a water jug.
“What has gotten into you?” Tess shouted over the chaos.
“I told you I could fight,” he said. He tossed a red satchel at Tess.
“We have to get you out of here,” Dahly yelled. “The stables.”
Tess and Ryon stumbled to the door by the cloak hooks. As the house filled with smoke, it became more and more difficult for them to breathe.
“Mother,” Tess called.
“Go,” she heard Lady Matilde answer as an Atheonian howled in pain.
Dahly disappeared through the open door. Tess lingered, straining to see through the billowing smoke. Sir Brock fended someone off with the remnants of his chair. Tess could not see her mother. Ryon shoved her through the door.
Tess ran to the stable, clutching her red satchel. Her head buzzed from inhaling smoke, and her eyes stung. When Tess reached her stallion, Jesse, he was already saddled. She threw her arms around his neck and allowed herself one silent sob. Jesse’s butterscotch body and creamy white mane quivered in the starlight. Like all noble horses, he never spoke, not with words. Tess loved him as her brother. She pulled a white-socked hoof toward her chest and hugged it. At a full gallop, Jesse could outpace any horse in the dione, and that was what Tess was counting on.
“Ride for the castle.” Dahly spoke in a tense whisper. Tess stole a glance back at her beloved home. Smoke twisted out of the windows. Jesse shook his head and snorted.
“Mother and Papa are still inside,” Tess said.
“They want you, Tess,” said Ryon, hoisting himself ont
o Jesse’s saddle in front of his sister. “They’re not after Mother and Papa. We have to get you out of here.”
Jesse’s accord was clear enough. His strong legs pounded out of the stable, leaping over the creek and onto Nobleman’s Road alongside Dahly’s chestnut mare.
Ahead, two more Atheonians on horseback pulled onto the road, their saddles gleaming with fine clothes and silver. Tess’s stomach turned. The foreigners were looting Glademont’s nobles. Behind, four more torches fast approached, and Tess recognized the voice of the pack leader who had struck her father.
“There, Counselor. I see them on the road,” he called.
“Hey, Tess, can I get ’em with my sling?” Ryon said.
“What? Yes, you have it with you?”
“Of course,” Ryon reached into his pockets, which were bulging with stones and pebbles.
“Vermin and . . .”
“The ones in front, first,” Dahly called to Ryon, pointing at the Atheonians ahead, who were gulping from flasks as their horses trotted along.
While Ryon loaded his sling, Dahly galloped ahead, veering toward a tree and snapping a branch from its trunk. Then, leaning skillfully on her horse, she came upon an Atheonian by surprise and thrust the blunt end of the branch against his head. A metal flask clattered to the ground as the man collapsed.
The second man dismounted, shielding himself behind his own horse. He pointed a saber at Dahly as she circled back, daring her to try again. Ryon shouted for Tess to duck. She obeyed, her pulse racing as Ryon’s sling whirled over them both in great, whooshing strokes. A moment later, a stone hit the second man squarely in the temple, and he reeled. Seeing her opportunity, Dahly rapped her branch on the back of the dazed man’s neck. He fell and did not move.
The Atheonians from behind were almost upon them.
Dahly pulled her mare alongside. Her whole body was shaking. “We’ll need to separate them.”
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