Chapter 32
By the time Tess tumbled back into Den Five through the nook window, her legs felt like they might give way. Taking deep breaths, she attempted to slow her thumping heart.
“My lady?” Linden came to the door. He started, seeing her high in her nook as she shakily replaced the green glass. “What are you doing?”
“Crescent Cave.” Tess descended from her bed, gulping air.
Linden squinted with confusion. “When last we spoke, you were not so—”
“I’ve changed my mind.” Tess strode unevenly past him. “I shall go to find it.”
“A moment.” Linden followed her into the main room. “Where have you been?”
The room was quiet and dim. Wyndeling, back from her morning hunt, snoozed in one of the pantry baskets.
“Where is Osiris?” Tess demanded.
“He’s gone to patrol Old Glademont,” Linden said, barely hiding his exasperation.
“Oh, for Xandra’s sake.” Tess had never wanted to ride Jesse more than at that moment. Faster than she had ever ridden. The room seemed to close in on her.
Firmly, Linden ushered Tess into one of Osiris’s overstuffed chairs and fetched a mug of water. “Catch your breath,” he said.
Tess sipped the cool stream water. Linden shifted beside her.
“I went out my window to think,” Tess said, fingering her mug. “I thought I knew what I had to do, but it seems Ryon doesn’t need me. That is, if those birds told the truth and he really has joined this . . . what was it? Friends of the Militia?”
“My lady, the FOM was founded by my greatest friend.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Currant hoped for an animal alliance with Glademont.”
“And who is Currant?”
He smiled. “A prince among the elk of the southern woods. We became friends last winter.” Then, with sudden realization, Linden fidgeted with his bandage. “I should have told you.”
Tess shook her head. “I don’t know what kind of a fighting force your elk prince has scrounged up,” she said, her dark eyebrows wrinkling. “But it won’t be enough against Pider and his men.” Her heart skipped faster as she recalled Tynaiv leaning against the sugar maple, carrying his pipe.
Linden rubbed his chin. “I’ll need some time to chart our course to the cave. . . .” He looked to the shenìl, still clenched in Tess’s hand. “But Currant may buy us enough time to unravel this mystery.”
To help calm her nerves, Tess occupied her hands by braiding her hair again, weaving the orbs deep into the strands. “Tynaiv followed me in the woods,” she said, avoiding Linden’s eyes.
“You saw him?” He bolted upright. She nodded.
“He’s convinced that you and Aideen intended to overthrow Nabal.” She finished her braid and looked on his taut face. “What did he mean in the Ruins? When he said there was a death to avenge?”
Linden shuddered. “I could not say.”
Tess clenched her jaw. Always a secret.
Glancing at her, Linden ran a hand through his hair. “You are displeased.”
“You seem to be in the habit of keeping me in the dark,” she said. “And I do think it an odd coincidence you should be training for war just months before it is upon us.” She stood and turned her back to him. “It also seems strange for Queen Aideen to be attacked by a member of the Atheonian court when the dione has had no diplomatic relations with Atheos since Nabal took the throne.”
“What did Tynaiv say to you?”
Tess gripped the back of her chair. “Whose death does the queen have to avenge?”
Linden stood, too. “My father’s.”
Tess searched the prince’s face. His expression had darkened to bitterness. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. She shook her head. “King Antony? It was an accident. He was thrown from his horse. . . .”
“There was no accident. His murder was covered up to avoid malice toward Atheos. To avoid war.” He stifled a mirthless laugh. “When King Yuir was still on the Atheonian throne, Father went, as you say, for a diplomatic visit. Yuir was concerned his people were stirring up against him.” He dug at his eyebrows with his knuckles. “He was too right, by the skies. My father came just in time for Nabal’s coup. Nabal and his men killed Yuir and everyone in the castle, including Father.”
Tess wrung her hands on her nightgown. He sounded so sincere, his emotional torment written on his face.
“I swore I’d never die like that,” Linden said. “If evil comes for me, I will not be slain like a netted fish.” He reached for his longbow and massaged the handle. “That is why I dreamed of forming a militia. I saw how weak we were, but I knew the queen and advisors would object. . . .”
All of Tynaiv’s warnings crowded Tess’s thoughts. Linden admitted to having a good reason to hate Nabal, and yet she was to believe he did not seek vengeance. How could she trust a man who never trusted her? Perhaps he and his mother did conspire against her, against the peace of Glademont. Aideen might have feigned that Tess was set apart from the rest, when really she thought Tess too vain and simple to do any harm—a decoy for Pider to chase. Perhaps, in reality, Tess was as disposable to Aideen as a shepherdess of Wallaton.
Tess’s suspicion struggled against her conscience. None of it made sense, and she knew Tynaiv was a smooth talker. But Prince Linden had never been completely honest, either. In the end, the only thing Tess could place her hope in was the shenìl. Regardless of the queen’s true motivations for giving it to her, Tess knew in her bones she could wield it, if guided. There was only one way to save her family from King Antony’s fate: find the Thane’s Hold.
“Do you believe the shenìl can save Glademont?” she said to Linden.
“I want to believe,” he said quietly.
She stared at the cold hearth. “What of my role in all this? I am not queen, or even princess. And I would be disobeying your mother by seeking this training ground.”
“Well, she isn’t Irgo, you know. I never delivered that infernal letter as she instructed, did I? In any case, I believe we’ve crossed into a time of bending the rules.”
They smiled at each other, though Tess’s anxiety was hardly eased.
Wyndeling suddenly flew to her shoulder, apparently awake from her nap. “Just wait until you have seen the lady wield the object’s magic, Your Highness. You will see that your queen was right to entrust it to Tessamine’s care.”
“Wyndeling.” Tess stroked her friend’s breast. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough to know that His Highness is wasting precious time. Did you not have a course to chart, Prince Linden?”
He chuckled. “Right away.”
Chapter 33
Passing two overstuffed lords on his way into the royal tent, Tynaiv touched the cuts on his cheek. Pider would not see them, of course. But he hoped the king would not ask about them. He found King Nabal leaning over the plans of Glademont Castle. Plans Tynaiv might have completed had he not found the shenìl hanging from Tess’s hair in the royal gardens. He had hoped his deal with Pider would end that night. Pider would have his object and Tynaiv would be free. Free, perhaps to settle in Glademont . . .
“General Tynaiv,” Nabal said, running the blade of his axe over the renderings of Glademont Castle. “First, you hand over this useless collection of half-finished drawings. Then, you barge into my tent without a summons?”
“Ah,” Tynaiv replied. “Do forgive me, oh king.” He yielded a short bow.
“Well?” asked Nabal. “What do you have to show for it?”
“Your Majesty?” Tynaiv folded his hands behind his back. It had never been difficult for him to play innocent, particularly in front of brutes like Nabal.
“Don’t clown around with me, boy.” Nabal drew himself up, towering over his table, his beaded beard dangling. �
��Pider tells me you’ve been hunting Glademont’s last heir. Have you found him?”
This was a relief to hear. Pider’s story actually coincided with Tynaiv’s movements over the past few days. Of course, he had actually been sent to capture Tess and the shenìl, but Nabal knew nothing of the shenìl. He knew nothing of Pider’s skill with red magic, either. The man was utterly superstitious about all magic, in fact. Brute force was the only thing he trusted.
“Prince Linden has been disposed of,” Tynaiv said, mustering an easy tone. He needed Pider to hear the calm in his voice. He needed to be above suspicion so he could retrieve Tess on his own terms.
“Is that right?” the king said. “Got your salty hands stained with blood?” Nabal grinned.
Tynaiv burned inwardly. What did this barbarian know of him? When he was fifteen, he slew two men to escape his fate as peace treaty collateral. Until he was eighteen, he sailed the Stella Sea as a pirate, fighting alongside a crew that would eventually betray him.
But trying to prove his worth to the king of Atheos would be a waste of time. Soon Tynaiv would have his reward, and taking orders from a half-witted king would be a thing of his past. He just needed to deliver to Pider, and then he would be free. Tynaiv reached into his vest and produced the letter with a broken Glademontian seal. “The prince carried a letter addressed to you. A letter he would not have parted with had he lived.”
Snatching the paper, Nabal sat at the table. His eyes roved over the words. Then he shoved the letter under Tynaiv’s chin.
“Make yourself useful and read it to me, boy.”
Illiterate oaf. Tynaiv smirked. “With pleasure, oh king. ‘Sir, it is with great distress that I write to you in the wake of a brutal attack on myself, which I can only conclude was carried out without your knowledge. There is a magician in your midst.’”
Here Tynaiv paused. He felt the lifeless stare of Pider as the bird hopped onto the table, making a low hissing noise. Nabal did not notice; he hated magicians worse than aristocrats. He couldn’t understand them. Tynaiv knew the king’s interest was piqued. Too piqued.
“Well?” Nabal waved a sinewy arm at Tynaiv.
Tynaiv cleared his throat with difficulty. “‘A powerful deceiver.’” He wiped a hand on his shirt, carefully avoiding Pider’s dead eyes. “‘His name—er, I do not know his name.’”
It was a poor cover-up, and the barbarian leaned over the table, his overwhelming perspiration crowding the air. Tynaiv did not flinch, only tensed. He began to run a finger over the lines of the letter, attempting to lend himself some credibility.
“‘Certainly, we have no reason to be friends; my son and I have suffered much at the senselessness of my late king’s death.’” Tynaiv forced a snicker and chanced a look at Nabal. But the king’s suspicious glare remained. Could the man really think the queen’s words to be genuine? Until that moment, it was clear enough to Tynaiv how pitiful this damsel in distress act was. But the tension in the room told him a seed of doubt had been planted. Pider would be displeased.
Tynaiv swallowed and continued, carefully avoiding what he could. “‘Nevertheless, it is in both our interests that this magician be stopped’ . . . uh, so on and so forth . . . ‘As a token of my sincerity and confidence, I have sent this message with my son, whom I trust I will see again soon. Long live the Home of the Heart’ . . . etcetera.”
As Tynaiv neatly folded the letter and held it out, Nabal growled. “Written by Aideen?”
“There, you see the seal, Majesty,” Tynaiv answered.
King Nabal thrust his fingers into his wiry beard. “There’s no magic left in Atheos,” he muttered. “We banished the magicians.” The king pointed at his crow. “You saw to it yourself. Slithering lords and ladies, rolling in silver they conjured and wallowing in parties and wine. I know better than to keep the serpents around, waiting to pounce whenever they itch for the crown.”
“My king,” Pider said without a hint of distress. “It is likely Aideen knows of your feelings toward magic, and seeks to weaken your mind. She would have you looking over your shoulder for any enemy but herself.”
“She is a spiteful cow,” the king said. “She thinks she can take her revenge on me with a few pitiful men of my guard. Ha. I’ll go back in time and kill her fool of a husband myself.”
“He was a fool indeed,” Pider said, “to think he could stop your glorious ascent to the throne, my king.”
King Nabal’s eyes darted between Pider and Tynaiv. “But what of this magician?”
“A diversion, my king,” Pider said.
“Those hounds . . .”
“Are merely slaves to their masters. Their powers are limited only to the orders of the mercenaries.”
“Plague’s corpse,” Nabal cried, throwing back the tent flap and scowling at the castle carved into Zere Mountain. “This is a land of lies and riddles. I hope for your sake, Counselor, that you speak the truth.” Dust swirled behind as Nabal stormed out of the tent.
“Sort of a finicky fellow, isn’t he?” said Tynaiv, retrieving his pipe. His secret was safe. Nabal trusted Pider so completely, a single letter wasn’t going to sway him.
“You half-witted sea rat.” Pider hopped along the table toward Tynaiv, his beak clicking. “You nearly cost me everything.”
“Have I, Counselor?” Tynaiv mumbled around the pipe between his teeth.
“He will now be looking for a magician in his court.” Pider thrust his shiny head up at Tynaiv, clenching his talons. “She names me in that letter.”
“I skipped that part,” Tynaiv said, finding a chair. “And even if he could read the full letter, it makes perfect sense that the royals would accuse you. They are suspicious of any animals that aren’t household servants. Is there any food in here? I’ve had nothing but water and apples for a day.”
“There will be no food or rest for you until you tell me exactly what happened in those woods.” Pider flew to the back of Tynaiv’s chair and pecked his neck with a sharp beak. His jabs pricked the wound from Prince Linden’s arrow. Tynaiv suppressed a moan and stumbled to his feet.
“All right. I tracked the girl, as you asked. But then I came upon the prince. I questioned him regarding the shen—”
“Shut up, you fool.” Pider’s words slurred into a caw. “You are never to mention the object by name. Do you understand?”
“Of course.” Tynaiv concentrated on his tone again. He didn’t want the crow to know he was nervous, afraid, even. He had seen what Pider could do to an enemy. When Tynaiv’s crew members sold him as a slave at Gull Port, it only took one spell for Pider to decimate the slave traders. One boiling-hot spell, and three bodies lay charred on the dock.
“As I say,” continued the seaman, placing plenty of strength behind his words, “I questioned the prince, but he knew nothing. I locked him in a cell in the Ruins—”
“You returned to the Ruins?” Pider stared in Tynaiv’s direction, slightly to the left. “Why?”
Tynaiv rolled his shoulders. “It was the only place I could detain him safely,” he said. “I . . . I thought I might question him, considering how close he was with the girl.”
Pider’s sleek back hunched as he muttered, “That place is full of suffocating memory.”
“Why did you show me the place all those months ago, then?” Tynaiv strode to the table, eager to deflect the subject away from himself.
“Clues, hints, rumors, changes in the wind—the object leaves a trail wherever it goes, if you know how to look.”
Tynaiv turned his back to Pider, tracing his pipe over the charcoal renderings. He thought of the first time he saw Tess’s face in the corridor, her cheeks stained with tears. He thought of holding her in the dark as a thunderstorm drenched the Ruins above them, and the way she leaned into his kiss. He saw her under the sugar maple, brandishing the shenìl at him. Standing in the bright leaves, tellin
g her his life story, he was so close to holding her trust. Then he let her go. Again.
A long minute of silence passed, and the flames in the lanterns grew dimmer. Then the crow spoke.
“Did you find the girl?”
Tynaiv took a breath, then another. “I am afraid not. She must be deep in the forest by now.” Tynaiv turned, hardly making out Pider’s outline in the candlelight. He tried to keep his movements slow and relaxed. “What do you plan to do with the object?”
“What do you care? You shall have the peace you desire,” Pider said dully. “You will be untouchable so long as you live. But”—Pider’s talons scratched against the wooden chair and his voice lowered—“you must bring me the girl.”
Tynaiv leaned forward, studying Pider’s stony eyes. “What will you do with her?”
Pider cackled—a short, ruthless laugh. “After I rescued you from slavery and practically tied that general’s sash around your ungrateful belly, you think you can tell me what to do with this girl?”
Tynaiv was no longer able to keep his muscles from tensing. “She was not part of our deal. The terms were retrieve the object and deliver it to you. I can still do that, without harming Tess.”
“I will ask you in plain words.” The crow hissed. “You have not even the slightest idea of what I am capable, so I advise you to answer well: Where is she?”
Tynaiv’s shaking fingers found his pipe. He needed to remember what he set out to do when he leapt out of his father’s ship. His pipe was a symbol of the future he craved: the free man’s leisure, the pirate’s indulgence.
“How would you like to be stripped of your rank and left to those cutthroats out there?” Pider said. “How long would you last, do you think? Perhaps they will hear of the price you would fetch.”
“I can get you the object. Soon.”
“Where is she now?”
“With that bear.” Tynaiv paced. His voice was not doing what he told it to. It was oscillating too much. “They’re hiding underground, somewhere east of the Ruins.”
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