The bear scoffed. “Ye must see the irony there. A wild animal, who thought she could be protecting you with only her natural power?”
Tess lowered herself to her knees and leaned toward her good side. Ryon joined her, placing Wyndeling gently on the ground.
“What do you mean?” Ryon said. “Why couldn’t she protect us?”
“Don’t tell me ye cannot see the difference between this wild creature and . . . say, yer steed, here?”
“Jesse is no bird . . . ,” Tess replied, looking up at Osiris.
“That be not the sort of difference I mean. She be only a wild animal. This fellow here”—Osiris nodded respectfully to Jesse—“he be of the sacred oath. Our duties to our persons do grant us terrible privileges, young gem.”
Tess nodded politely, but inwardly she burned with curiosity. Four months ago, she thought the academy had taught her everything she needed to know about Glademont. But if the past days had taught her anything, it was that she knew nothing.
“Please,” Ryon pleaded. “Is there anything you can do for our friend?”
“Not I,” Osiris said. “’Tisn’t I who can heal this foolish creature.” He glanced at Tess and tapped his moist nose with a massive paw. “The young dryad be yer best bet.”
Tess reddened. She had been pondering wild animals and sacred oaths until that moment, and suddenly the conversation had turned to her again. The tingling in her hand had spread up her arm, as though it were submerged in a barrel of ice.
“I’m afraid I still haven’t the hang of it,” she said, biting her lip.
“In all my years never have I seen a woman dance on the water like a dragonfly,” Osiris said gravely. “There be great power in thee, and no question.”
Tess looked to Ryon, who nodded. “Show him,” he said.
“What ye be showing me?” Osiris said.
“It is a secret,” Tess said.
“Not just a secret,” Ryon said. “A secret weapon. It must be kept hidden from our enemies, but Osiris is no enemy. Isn’t that right?”
“Let us see this weapon of yers,” the bear said.
Shaking, Tess pulled the shenìl from her hair and held it in her right hand. In so doing, she realized her left arm had lost all feeling.
“Mmmmm . . . ’Tis magic, there be no question.” His quick eyes focused on the curious medal that hung from the leather strap. In the center, Tess could still see the woman with long hair and what looked like flames emitting from her abdomen.
“Mmmmm . . . ,” Osiris repeated. “That lady be holding this very trinket.”
Tess’s eyes widened. Floating above the etched palms of each upturned hand was a small circle, which must have represented the golden orbs of the shenìl.
The shenìl began to glow.
The great bear nodded. “Madame trinket be liking me.”
“Is that the way I am supposed to hold it? I have just been holding it in my one hand or leaving it on my hair.”
“The lady there be having long hair, madame gem, like yers.”
“You don’t suppose she is me, do you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, young one.” The bear chuckled. “Ye be having a good fit of pride if ye think that trinket be made ’specially for thee.”
Tess blushed. “I only thought . . .”
Jesse broke his silence. “It is in your charge now. You must become worthy of it.” His eyes glinted kindly at her through his ivory forelock.
Tess nodded and knelt before an unconscious Wyndeling. An orb of the shenìl glowed in her right hand. The other orb hung from her palm, the medal dangling halfway along the strap. Tess tried to reach for the swinging orb and gasped.
“Tessy.” Ryon came to her side.
“I can’t move my other arm.” Tears streamed down Tess’s face as she tried to keep her right hand in the proper position.
“I can help.” Ryon pulled back Tess’s cloak and choked down a gasp. Tess’s limp arm was mottled with swollen purple bruises.
Ryon lifted the arm, and instantly a piercing pain lanced Tess’s left side while dark splotches erupted across her vision. Desperately, Tess bit her lip, closed her eyes, and hoped against hope that the shenìl would take over before she lost consciousness.
Ryon placed the other orb into Tess’s left hand, so Tess now held a glowing copper orb in each upturned palm, the medal hanging between. Ten more seconds and Tess knew she would black out. She focused on Jesse’s words. She wanted to be worthy.
“Fire,” Ryon shouted. But Tess could only hear him faintly.
“Don’t ye dare let go, young master,” Osiris cried. Tess did not care what they were shouting about, determined to wait for the shenìl to act. But the shenìl had already taken its cue. The medal had burst into flames, and the orbs ignited into dazzling white lights—like diamonds in the sun, floating above Tess’s trembling hands.
Then the pain in Tess’s arm started to subside. She let out a tearful sigh.
Pick her up, said the now-familiar voice in Tess’s head.
Before she could change her mind, Tess leaned forward and scooped Wyndeling up with her good arm. Soft feathers and rough bandages gave way under her fingers. A gust of wind swept over the flame in front of Tess. Its tongues extended and enveloped her left arm. Another gust blew upon the flame, which swirled around Wyndeling. Tess felt Wyndeling’s sides expand with a deep inhale. The bandages fell. The fire faded from Tess’s hands, though she longed for the warmth to stay. She lowered Wyndeling to the ground. The owl’s wings and talons gently stirred. The wounds from Buchanan’s attack looked as though they’d been healed for weeks.
“Mmmmm.” Osiris nodded approvingly. “The proceedings be brief an’ modest. Ye be a good dryad, aye?”
Ryon stared at Tess in disbelief. “By the skies,” he breathed. “Your arm.”
Tess held up her left hand, which was its natural freckled pink again.
“By the skies,” she whispered.
“Ah, my wing seems to have finally healed. I should think I’ll be able to eat now.” Righting herself on the leaf-strewn ground, a perfectly fit Wyndeling busily smoothed her wayward feathers down with a curved beak, utterly unaware of the party surrounding her.
“Just like a wild animal to fuss o’er her feathers when her very life be saved,” Osiris said.
Startled, Wyndeling fell backward and stared at Osiris’s unkempt head. “Oh, my! This isn’t that nutty bear, is it? I had hoped we would avoid you.”
“Wyndeling,” Tess rebuked.
“I beg your pardon, my lady. But if the rumors are true, this bear practices all sorts of unnatural nonsense.”
Tess knew better than most that it was a mistake to agitate Osiris. An ominous growl had already begun to work itself in his throat.
“Wyndeling,” she said hurriedly. “You were dying of fever, and Osiris helped us heal you. You owe him your life.”
The growl subsided. “Now, madame gem, yer powers brought yon fool back to life. Though I’m not too pleased she be with us again.”
“Behave yourself, Wyndeling,” Tess said, setting the owl on her shoulder.
“Very well,” replied the indignant owl. “I extend my gratitude to you both. I shall be glad to take to the skies again.”
Tess rubbed her newly healed arm. If the shenìl could perform such miracles, perhaps it really could save Glademont. But how could it be used as a weapon? She had to know more, and quickly. Yet, Profigliano was still nowhere to be found. “We must find the Ruins. But our guide has vanished.”
Osiris snorted. “It be Old Glademont Castle ye be seeking, madame gem. Only two hours’ walk.”
“Do you really know the way? That’s wonderful news. We will find the Thane’s Hold in no time.” Tess looked around at her friends. She had intended it as a reassuring declaration, but her heart tremble
d at the thought. Would she be able to reproduce the fire once they found this talisman training outpost? Or worse, had she misunderstood the queen, and there was no such place?
“I’m not going.”
All eyes landed on Ryon, who already had his satchel strapped to his back. “Profigliano is out there somewhere, and either he can’t find us, or he’s in trouble.”
“Ryon, what about Glademont? What about Mother and Papa and Dahly? We haven’t any time to—”
“Fig promised to help us save our family, and he deserves help from us, too.” Ryon hitched his trousers. “He’s a loyal friend, and the whole Council of the Nest is looking for him and . . . well, vermin and vinegar! I just have to go.”
Stunned, Tess looked on as Ryon checked the position of the sun.
“I will accompany you.” Jesse shifted on his powerful legs.
“What?” Tess said.
Ryon smiled. “Good. We’ll find him faster that way.” He climbed onto Jesse’s bare back. “Meet you here, at Den Five, within the week, I hope. Good luck, Tessy.”
“What on the continent is happening?” Tess said, dazed.
From her perch on Tess’s shoulder, Wyndeling clicked her tongue as Ryon and Jesse tore off through the redbud grove.
“Impetuous, that lad,” Wyndeling said with an air of affected wisdom. “It will lead to untimely danger, I’ll wager.”
“Ho ho,” Osiris cried. “If that ain’t the heaviest helping o’ irony been said today, then I be a caterpillar.”
Chapter 18
It was well into morning when Linden woke. A glaring light flooded the small round room where he lay. Along with the pulsing in his head, his legs stung from various scrapes and cuts. Two enormous shackles, rusted and misshapen with age, surrounded his ankles.
He blinked through swollen lids until the room came into focus. A dilapidated wheat barrel stood in the corner against a wall of fragmented rock and sun-dried clay. The light came from an arched, barred window near the ceiling, too high to reach and too small to fit through. Opposite the window loomed a thick metal door. Above the door hung a tarnished silver plaque. The prince pushed himself to sit on the bench where he was lying. He squinted at the words. The style was cedarscript, a combination of illustration and verse used in official documents before the Forest War. It was some sort of patriotic poem:
Therefore, Glademontians, be sure
While love of land confessing,
Ye who now will bless its creatures
Shall yourselves find blessing.
Linden suddenly remembered something and fumbled through his pockets.
“His Highness is not too uncomfortable, I hope,” the Atheonian’s voice echoed from behind the door. The prince moaned as he caught sight of his jailer’s eyes through a slit in the door. Then he heard the turn of a key and the piercing shriek of long-neglected hinges.
The Atheonian smirked, dropping the key into his blue sash. “I was as careful as I could be,” he said. “But considering your very princely height, dragging you in here proved more of a challenge than anticipated.” The man rolled his arms at the shoulders, making a show of his physical efforts.
Linden said nothing, but he made note of the blue sash—the liar was still wearing the mark of an Atheonian officer. The man followed Linden’s gaze.
“Ah. You are wondering which rank I hold? This is the color of a general.”
In his attempt to swallow, Linden felt a sting in his throat, and his eyes ached. “Where are your men, General?”
“No men at present.” The Atheonian showed no embarrassment. “I travel alone, as my mission is of a confidential nature.” He pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket and tapped it against his lips so Linden could see the half-torn forest-green seal of Glademont. “If I were a Glademontian, Your Highness, I’d feel great concern for your queen.”
Although Linden’s face flushed, he did not answer.
“I knew she was ill, but this . . .” He unfolded the letter to display the queen’s plea for Nabal’s cooperation. From the moment his mother had written that cursed letter, Linden had wanted to set it on fire. Now he wished he would burn along with it.
“Well”—the Atheonian shook his head reprovingly—“it seems the desperate entreaty of the dying, wouldn’t you say?”
“Are you a scout?” Linden croaked, shaking the memory of his mother, of the horrible mark on her neck.
“A scout, Your Highness?”
“I know Nabal plans to attack. You were sent to study the lay of my dione, to form a strategy—”
“My dear prince.” The Atheonian again shook his head with mock sympathy. “King Nabal’s troops were dispatched weeks ago. They went south through the hills, while a rather rough band of hired muscle came through the forest. An attack was already launched on your castle. Didn’t you know?” He crossed to the high barred window, ignoring Linden’s moan.
“No, by the skies,” Linden said hoarsely. He closed his eyes to subdue the aching. It was too late.
“Well,” his tormentor continued with an air of business. “As I say, I am no scout; I am a general in the Atheonian army. An army that has already descended on your dione. An army that this pitiful note would not have delayed. I have ferreted you out, Your Highness, in connection with the confidential matter I mentioned.”
“General what?” the prince spat.
“Hm?”
“What do they call you?”
The Atheonian paused. With quick tan fingers, he folded the queen’s letter.
“General Tynaiv,” he said.
Ignoring the inward pressure on his temples, Linden took a moment to study this man in the light. Too much sun on his face to have inherited such a high ranking. Too young to have fought in previous wars and climbed the ranks. His posture was loose and haughty; it lacked all discipline. The man didn’t match the title. “Tynaiv, is it?” The prince fought the urge to slump. “You are no general. You are a deceiver, a foreigner, or both.”
For a moment, Tynaiv’s eyes brightened with rage. Then a thought seemed to come to him, and the anger dimmed. “A mischaracterization that, I may say, the Lady Tessamine did not herself make when we met.”
Linden closed his eyes again and grinned, lowering himself on the bench. “You’ve played that hand, Tynaiv. You did not capture Lady Tessamine any more than you earned that sash.”
Tynaiv shifted, but Linden did not lift his head to see where.
“I’d like to think I have captured her in a way,” Tynaiv said.
Linden’s stomach turned, but he willed it to be calm. It was a cheap tactic to throw the prince off balance. Linden told himself to focus. He needed to be free of this wretched man and on his way back to Glademont. There was a chance, a small chance, he could still save his dione. Or die defending it.
“Ahem.” Tynaiv’s self-satisfaction was almost deafening. “I brought you here, Your Highness, because conducting an inquiry in the open forest is hardly advisable.” He strolled back toward the door and leaned against the wheat barrel, folding his arms and examining the prince. “You look unwell, Linden.”
“Careful, pretender.” Linden met Tynaiv’s stare. He had found a weak spot.
But Tynaiv’s angry glare vanished again before he yanked a pipe from his shirt pocket and rubbed the bowl against his pant leg. “If you wish to be released, Your Highness, I suggest you answer the following questions truthfully.”
“As though truth were your trade.”
“In a way, yes. I seek the bare facts.” Tynaiv crossed his ankles, still leaning against the barrel. The bright late-morning sunlight reflected his long wheat-colored hair, pulled to a knot.
“The lovely Lady Tessamine has gone missing. She was last seen at your royal soiree—it was a wedding festival, wasn’t it?”
Linden stared at the ceiling, feeling his face flu
sh again. His many mistakes had culminated in that night. He should never have agreed to marry in the first place. He should never have left Glademont. . . .
“This same enchanting lady was given a trinket by your mother, the queen. Does this sound familiar?”
Linden sat up, focusing on the floor to keep his head from spinning. Learning how Tynaiv had gathered so much information was not as important as escaping his power. After a moment, Linden surveyed the man from beneath his eyelashes. If he could keep Tynaiv talking, perhaps he would cross the room again. Certainly Linden had enough strength left to bring the man down if they were close enough. He thanked the skies only his ankles were bound and not his wrists.
“What do foreigners to this continent consider trinkets? Scrap metal charms?” Linden said at last.
Tynaiv bit his pipe stem. “A thin leather strap, fastened on either end with a small copper ball.”
“Glademont boasts of finer jewelry than that.” The prince smiled weakly.
“Soon there will not be a Glademont,” Tynaiv said without feeling. “You have seen the object. You were in the room when the queen handed it over.”
“Were you skulking nearby, then?” Linden forced a soft chuckle. “Now that fits: Tynaiv the spy.”
Tynaiv stood and approached. Linden gripped his own knees, checking Tynaiv’s side for a weapon. There was none.
“What did Aideen say in that room?” Tynaiv said. “What properties does the trinket possess? What is Lady Tessamine’s role? How do I find her?” Tynaiv paused a moment, then he bent to Linden’s eye level. “It takes naught but a few days to die without water, Your Highness. And I can spare the time. Your dione, on the other hand . . .”
Linden lunged, wrapping a hand around Tynaiv’s neck and knocking the pipe from his mouth. Quick as a cat, Tynaiv twisted his arm above Linden’s and brought an elbow down hard on the prince’s shoulder. Linden yelled in pain, lost his grip, and fell to the floor. His lip broke open against the filthy rock, and with a wave of shame he tasted his own blood. Months of training, and he would die with no more honor than his father did.
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