“A gem dryad’s magic is marked by fire?” Tess asked.
“Aye.” Osiris pointed at Tess with his impressive claw. “Fire does the gem dryad’s bidding, and she never be burned by it.”
Tess self-consciously ran a finger over the medal of the shenìl.
Prince Linden took another swallow of water. His cheeks had returned to their normal color. “I was under the impression the ballet was a folk story,” he said. “About good queens and rash kings. It never sat well with me. An excessively emotional king burns the land he is entrusted to rule, and the forgiving level-headed queen comes along and puts it all right?”
“She’s helped by the gem dryad, remember,” Tess said. “Fyrian gives her a new breath. The Breath of Life so she can heal the land. It is really the dryad who saves Dorian.” She couldn’t think why she was feeling so defensive.
“Yes, I remember,” Linden admitted. “That’s the part of the dance with the long orange scarf.”
“Exactly,” Tess said.
“You wore crystals in your hair,” he said.
“Yes.” Tess stared at Linden. One side of his mouth pulled to a half smile.
“I remember,” he said.
Something stubborn in Tess kept her from returning his smile. Eons ago, when dance consumed Tess’s life and all she worried about were costumes and keeping her balance, she would have given anything to know what the prince thought of her in that ballet. But now? Now she was just plain tired. And worried. And so confused.
“Your Royal Highness,” she said, dropping her eyes. “Perhaps you wish to eat and rest a little while, before we decide on our next course of action?”
Linden cleared his throat. Out of the corner of her eye, Tess saw him dab the cut on his lip. “Perhaps that would be wise,” he said. Tess reached for Tynaiv’s satchel that had been left at his camp. She offered it to the prince.
“I hope you don’t mind pillaging our prisoner’s supplies? Sadly, mine are running low.”
“It would be a pleasure,” Linden said.
The company settled around Tynaiv’s camp. Soon, all were dozing off, even Tess. The last thing she saw through heavy eyelids were the treetops rocking against a billowing wind, and the first, silver clouds of a storm.
Chapter 26
an echo of a voice drifted on the churning wind. Tess sat up. Above her, thunder boomed distantly, but the voice’s clear pitch called urgently over the coming storm. There were no words—only a melodious humming. But Tess knew the voice was beckoning her.
Despite the ominous sky, the rest of Tess’s party still slept. She looked around for the source of the voice and saw something move against an aged column. A delicate copper form disappeared from the edge of the stone—the silhouette of a woman.
Secure in the knowledge that she was only in a dream, Tess rose from the campsite to follow. The silhouette hummed to her as she walked through the bruised, towering ruins of the old castle. Every few breaths, Tess caught another glimpse of the silhouette, swaying against the surface of a crumbling archway. Finally, the glittering figure paused at the tower. She gestured to the door that led underground.
Tess hesitated. Since Tynaiv was now in the cell below, would he be in her dream, too? The memory of her first, painful encounter with Osiris sent fear through her veins. Perhaps dreams were not so harmless, after all. Perhaps she should wake herself up.
The silhouette waited. Tess blinked emphatically. She tried to become aware of her body—her real body—so she could tell it to wake up. But the dream was so lifelike; she could not seem to grab hold of any other consciousness. Winds rattled the leaves at her feet and thunder beat against her chest as she tried in vain to banish the vision of the silhouette. And still, it waited.
“Stars keep me,” she whispered, and stepped into the tower.
The shining copper woman’s form lit Tess’s way. It descended a short staircase, then padded toward a door. When the silhouette arrived at the door, it did not wait or gesture. As Tess approached, the old metal swung open to reveal the cell where Prince Linden had been imprisoned only hours before.
Tess’s heart leapt in her mouth. She expected to find Tynaiv waiting for her, cocky and remorseless as ever. Instead, she saw another man, sitting on a bed of straw, carefully drawing on a parchment. He was drenched in warm sunlight, streaming bright as midsummer through the high window.
After adjusting to the jarring light, Tess studied the man. He seemed completely oblivious to her presence. His clothes, though dusty and torn, seemed fitted for a nobleman. The sheen of silk on his sleeve still winked through the grime that covered it. A faded emerald collar rubbed against his long terra-cotta jawline. The quill in his hand scratched slowly against the parchment, spraying flecks of black ink across the page and over his fingers. Then the man fumbled to return the quill to its inkwell, sitting beside him on the straw bed. His movements made Tess feel as though he were sitting in a dark room, though the light shone so cheerily. He looked up with deep-set mahogany eyes. Tess started. The copper silhouette had disappeared.
“I . . . I’m sorry to intrude,” she began. But the man did not seem to notice her. In fact, he seemed to be looking through her. The man rose, his eyes fixed just past Tess’s right ear. His ink-stained hand held the parchment gingerly. Slowly, he shuffled forward, counting his steps in whispers. His face twisted with frustration as he approached. His feet ventured haltingly over the rough floor. Tess stepped aside as the man reached for the corner of the cell. His fingers brushed the barrel, which looked as new as if it had just been built. The man finally placed his parchment on top of the barrel.
“There is magic more powerful than you can fathom, Ember,” he said. The voice sounded familiar, like a memory from a nightmare.
A soft flutter came from the window where Tess and Wyndeling had come to Linden’s rescue. Now there sat on the sill a crow. It stepped between the bars, its beak full of vegetation. The bird carefully placed its harvest on the sill and cawed for the man’s attention. Tess expected the sound to terrify her, but it was not the same sound that Pider had made when he had chased her into the forest. This crow called to the man with a single soft note. And its eyes were clear, bright, and black.
“Ah, Cedric,” answered the man jovially. “What did you find for me today?”
“Wild onions, my lord,” answered the crow. He scooped the onions into his beak and glided to the barrel. Like the prisoner, the crow, too, did not acknowledge Tess, though his vision seemed good enough. “You’ve finally written the letter, my lord? I am sorry I was not here to assist you. Where shall I deliver it? I’m sure whomever it is will have you freed—”
“Leave it there,” the man said. “I will be free soon enough.”
“Oh, my lord.” The crow shook his shiny head. “If you mean the bear, it is no use. He has lost his mind. He thinks there is still a Glademont to serve. He swears—I am so sorry, my lord—he swears he will die before he sees you freed from this rubble. I cannot reason with him. We must find another way.”
“You are a good friend, Cedric.”
The crow puffed his chest. “Thank you, my lord, but a bondfellow is yet more than a friend. I am proud to have my soul bonded to yours. And now that Queen Miriam has blinded you—forgive me, my lord—you may rely on me. I will free you. We will leave this cursed forest and start anew.”
“Thank you, Cedric. I believe you are right.”
The crow bowed, pleased with his little speech.
The man sighed. “And I accept your invitation to rely upon you, my friend. After weeks of keeping me alive in here, while the stench of battle has wafted through that window, day in and day out, your wish for my freedom will be fulfilled. With an enchantment.”
“No, my lord,” the crow begged. “You promised me that we would never touch magic again.”
“I cannot live out the rest of my days in t
his tower, Cedric.”
“I will find another way!”
“May I rely on you, my bondfellow? Let us not contradict each other now. Not when I am so close to freedom.”
The crow hopped about the barrel top, shaking his head. “I do not like it. I do not like it.”
“There is no one left to be harmed here, is there? The kingdom is dead and gone. The animals avoid the field like a plague. The damage has been done. All I wish to do now is to start anew. Just as you say. Will you help me? Will you allow me one last spell? Look at me, Cedric.” The man held a fistful of tattered silk and offered a grim smile. “I am nothing but a castaway. I have nothing, not even my sight. Do I seem like a danger to you?”
Cedric’s ebony chest oscillated with nervous breaths. “I . . . I do not know. I am afraid.”
The man raised a palm. “Fear has no place between us. Remember how bravely you defended me, when they came to arrest me?”
The crow shuddered. “That was the last time I saw you cast red magic.”
“Come sit in my hand,” the man cooed. Cedric paused, then obeyed. “This enchantment will work,” the man continued, his thumb stroking the crow. “I promise. And no one will be harmed. Simply close your eyes, and keep them closed. The magic will be very bright.”
Tess’s heart raced. She wanted to burst into the scene, steal little Cedric away and hide him in safety. But she knew her presence in that cell was like that of a ghost. The silhouette had brought her to the past, the days after the Forest War. Something was about to happen in that cell that filled Tess with dread and sorrow. Something she could never change.
A gentle breeze swept into the cell. It swirled around the man and his crow, lifting black feathers and torn silk as it went. It developed a scarlet hue. The wind grew redder, its speed increasing. The window dimmed, and the room was enveloped in a dark, red swirling cloud.
“My lord!” Tess heard Cedric cry. But the man did not answer. His free hand slowly rose, and the wind with it. Tess pressed herself against the door to keep from being blown away. Finally, the man yelled and threw his hands down, including the one holding Cedric. The room exploded with red light. Tess covered her eyes and fell to the ground.
The winds had stopped. The room was dead silent. Only when Tess heard the distant twitter of insects outside did she venture to open her eyes. Before her, on the cell floor, the man and the crow lay motionless. Tess crawled to the crow first. Had he survived? One wing covered his face. His feathers were coated in dust. She held her breath. Then the crow stirred.
“Cedric,” he said, blinking. “Cedric, is the window covered?”
The voice coming from the beak was not Cedric’s. It was the blind man’s. It was the voice from Tess’s nightmares.
Nearby, the man groaned but did not reply.
The crow hissed. “I still cannot see! I cannot see!” He cawed the raspy, hateful caw that had chased Tess from her burning house. “It can’t be.” The crow floundered on the floor, still cawing. Its wings beat the air wildly. Tess looked on with horror as the bird left the ground. It landed on the bed, panting. Its wings extended like ungainly arms feeling their way toward the pillow, which lay directly beneath the window. With another bout of desperate winging, the crow arrived at the windowsill. A final, bitter cry, and the crow disappeared from view.
Tess tried to go to the motionless figure of the man, the body that Pider had forced his bondfellow into. She wanted to tend to him, to comfort him. But the vision was pulling away from her. The more she tried to move forward, the farther the cell retreated, until soon she was kneeling on the other side of the door, staring at its rusted metal. Her surroundings continued to blacken, until she could no longer see the door, either. A crack of thunder pounded overhead, and Tess’s body startled into wakefulness. Heavy rain rattled against the tower.
“My lady?” Tess heard from somewhere in the dark.
“Lady Tessamine, are you down there?” said Prince Linden.
“I . . . I’m here,” she answered.
Lightning flooded the underbelly of the castle ruins with white light. Tess saw her companions descending the tower staircase, shaking rainwater from their heads. “Lady Tessamine, what are you doing down here? A moment,” Linden said, clearly agitated.
He shuffled his way through the dark, and soon Tess saw the spark of a match. Linden had found a lantern, its candles still intact. He came to her. The roar of the heavy rain crescendoed on the tower walls.
“My lady, I instructed you not to speak to that spy,” he said, touching her elbow.
“I was doing no such thing,” Tess said. She got herself to her feet without Linden’s arm. “Simply taking cover from the storm.”
The prince did not respond, but he hovered near her, his eyes moving from the cell door to her face.
“What this company could use is nice big bowls of soup and a warm place to be curling up.” Osiris lumbered into the candlelight. “’Tis the perfect time to be heading to good ole Den Five. Then we’ll all be having a rest. The way to me back door be just over yonder, through Whisper Passage.”
“Ugh.” Wyndeling groaned from the stairs. “That infernal den. Do you mean to say we are to spend hours passing under the same terrain we passed over this morning? If this place really exists, it is the least convenient residence in the forest.”
“Silence yer chattering beak, little owl,” Osiris boomed. “Den Five be a mighty fine home, and no mistake. Stay here at the castle, if ye like. Peck and pick at the ground, and see what ye will be finding.” With that, Osiris left the glow of the lantern, and his grumblings echoed down the corridor. “’Tis time for going home, aye.”
“Osiris, come back,” Tess called, trying to follow. But after a few paces, the lumbering noises had already grown faint. “Oh, Wyndeling.” Tess moaned. She longed to lie in a bed again and feel the weight and safety of a proper blanket. Linden came forward, determination etched in his face.
“Wyndeling,” he said. “Stay with Lady Tessamine while I get the prisoner.” The red owl flew easily to Tess’s shoulder.
“You may take the lantern, Your Highness,” the owl said. “I can see perfectly well for both the lady and myself.” Wyndeling shifted close to Tess’s cheek with warm, soft feathers. Linden nodded and pulled an old length of rope from the lantern’s ring. With the rope coiled in his hand, he retrieved a knife from his vest and headed for the cell.
“Are you sure we should take him?” Tess called out weakly as Linden bore the lantern away. He did not answer.
It was difficult to see anything but the flickering flames, though an eerie shaft of gray light shone onto the staircase from outside. Tess strained to hear some sign of Tynaiv as the key turned and the screech of the metal hinges rang out.
Another painful minute passed as Tess heard Prince Linden speaking roughly to his prisoner. A searing blast of white light flooded the tower and Tess saw Tynaiv emerge from the cell, Linden’s dagger at his back, his hands tied in front.
They approached with Linden holding the lantern aloft.
“Good evening, Lady Tessamine,” Tynaiv said. “Are we going exploring?”
Linden roughly spun Tynaiv about. “You will go where I tell you and you will not address the lady.” In the dim light, Tess thought she saw Tynaiv’s fingers flickering. But then they were still again.
“Certainly, Your Highness,” he said, and the next instant he thrust his bound hands upward. Something jagged in Tynaiv’s hands struck Linden in the palm, and Linden’s dagger clattered to the floor. Encumbered by the lantern, Linden could not get to the dagger before Tynaiv kicked it away. Enraged, Linden swung the lantern at Tynaiv’s head. But the seaman ducked and threw his shoulder against Linden. The lantern fell. The flames went out.
Tess heard the grunting of wrestling men. Panicked, she clutched the rough wall behind her with one hand and the shenìl in the
other. Then someone cried out—but who?
“My lady,” Wyndeling said. “The Atheonian has found the dagger and is cutting the rope.”
“For pity’s sake,” Tess said. “Help the prince.”
“He ordered I stay with you—”
“Oh, vermin and vinegar.” Tess tore the owl from her shoulder and tossed her in the direction of the struggle.
Another minute of confusion followed. Tess could not tell from the sounds who had the upper hand. Then, a hoarse, pained yell echoed against the dark walls.
“Your Highness?” Tess shouted. “Wyndeling, what’s happened?” Another blast of lightning lit the pantry, and Tess could see Prince Linden kneeling alone. His knife lay beside him. He saw it, too, and reached for it.
Darkness returned, and Tess heard hurried steps approach her. Before she could move, she felt a firm grasp on her upper arm. Just as she was about to scream, she was quieted by a hearty kiss. Warm breath remained at her ear for a moment before her arm was released. Then, by the dull light on the staircase, Tess watched Tynaiv slip out into the storm.
Chapter 27
Tess’s heart thumped in her ears as she touched where Tynaiv’s kiss had landed. She felt hot and dazed.
Wyndeling guided Linden back to Tess, warbling peevishly.
“Well, the scoundrel did not evade my talons,” she boasted. “I was able to keep him from taking the dagger with him.”
Grumbling, Linden placed the lantern at Tess’s feet and relit it. “The blackguard had a wooden shard. He must have splintered that cursed barrel while we were out of earshot.” He held his hand to the light. It was covered in blood, with a long gash from his wrist to his little finger.
“Your Highness.” Tess knelt to look at his wound. “We must get you to Osiris’s den. I have nothing to dress your hand with. Wyndeling almost died from infection—”
“I will do no such thing,” Linden said. “I am going out in pursuit of that spy.”
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