“He is,” said Quor, reading his mind. “He had no choice but to do what Magnus and Julia told him.”
“There is always a choice, Quor. What will become of Magnus and Julia now?”
“That is up to Princess Catherine,” Quor reminded him. “For now, we are taking them to a small chamber where the minerals in the rock block out our intercommunication. They cannot influence anyone there. It is where people are usually held before they are sacrificed. Surely, that is where you would be now had you not won the Duray Principas, Cyril.”
Six Cinnans came and took Pulquin and Soah with them. Of course, Pulquin and Soah are bound by the Duray Principas, just as Menard and I were. Pulquin cast a fearful look over his shoulder at Cyril. His hand still clutched his bow.
Cyril craned his neck at the crowd. Magnus and Julia were being led away by a stern-looking group of Cinnans. He recognized three Speakers among the guards. A fleeting feeling of unease nagged at him as he watched them depart. This was swept away by the sight of Catherine making her way toward them, her face radiant. The talisman hung around her neck. Cyril watched her graceful approach. She is so beautiful! She reached Cyril and looked at him with such admiration that he caught his breath.
“Thank you, Cyril. You were... wonderful!” she exclaimed, shyly touching his arm. He immediately felt a rush of heat. His gaze dropped to her lips. She is so close. I will not stop myself this time.
“Sire? This whole crowd is wondering what Princess Catherine will do with Julia and Magnus.” Cyril tore his eyes away from Catherine’s gray-blue regard. Menard hadn’t called him “sire” in days. It was a subtle hint, he knew: He was king of Candlewax and Catherine was princess of Crystallia. Decorum and fulfillment of duty were expected. He looked around them. Not to mention that there are thousands of people watching.
“Right,” he said absently, wishing it wasn’t so. As he turned away he caught sight once more of Catherine’s shining eyes and parted lips. Without thinking, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her.
* * *
Catherine was aware of nothing but Cyril’s arms around her, his lips meeting hers, his long, lean form pressing against her. Surprise and surrender coursed through her. Only the feel of his body kept hers from becoming completely untethered, as if she might float away without him. Her thoughts were a fiery blur of passion, yet even as she melted she knew the certainty of his love for her. The force of it surrounded her, accepted her, beckoned her.
He loves me.
Somehow the knowledge of it was both recognition and revelation in one. As if this moment, forged long ago, had sent the past rushing headlong into the present, shaking Catherine to her core. Dimly she heard what sounded like the beating of drums. Is that our hearts?
Then Cyril broke away and gently stroked her hair, and she looked up to glimpse his fleeting smile of awe. He feels what I feel! Cyril glanced quickly at the crowd around them before his eyes returned to her face, searching her expression. She bent her head, resting it upon his chest, breathing in his scent, not wanting to be wrenched back to reality. The beat was growing louder, reverberating in the mountain air, until it was deafening.
Catherine raised her head and looked around. Thousands of Cinnans were stomping their feet in the stands, the sound rolling like thunder over the fields. Quor approached, a broad smile on his face. “It is known to all of Cinna that Cyril has strong feelings for you, Catherine, but until now you did not wish to yield to the love for Cyril that you kept well hidden, even from yourself.”
Catherine felt Cyril breathing deeply. He knows. He felt it. How could he not? She sensed the charged expectation in the crowd around them. This was destined.
“Catherine.” Cyril’s voice cut through the din and Catherine felt her body respond to it. His eyes bore into hers. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, and she gave in to the temptation to slide her fingers through it.
A hush descended on them. “Catherine,” he said again, taking both of Catherine’s hands in his own and dropping to one knee. Catherine heard Bessie’s excited gasp as if from a distance. Catherine gulped, unable to tear her eyes away from Cyril’s.
Solemnly he continued, “Will you accept me as your betrothed? Will you consent to be my queen?”
Catherine’s heart leapt at his words. He looked so vulnerable, there at her feet. His face was tense, readying for her response, and she wanted nothing more than to soothe his expression, to draw the heated man who desired her away from the king who now waited, somber and kneeling. “Yes,” she whispered. She swallowed hard and felt her legs go weak.
Cyril rose quickly at her answer, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her into the air before spinning in circles and enveloping her, dizzy and laughing, in a tight embrace.
Bessie, standing to the side, abandoned all pretense of dignity and squealed in delight. Menard looked relieved. He shook his head with a sigh and a smile. “More or less back to where we started—only better. Much better. ‘Course there will be an official betrothal in Crystallia before the marriage.”
“Marriage? Betrothal?” Quor looked baffled. “These words are foreign to me, Menard. Explain the meaning of ‘betrothal.’”
“It is for people who can’t read minds, Quor. We need time to get used to the idea of lifelong commitment,” Menard answered jovially, clapping his hand on Quor’s shoulder and turning him back toward the fortress. Quor brightened in comprehension, but then shook his head in adamant disagreement. He and Menard argued about it as they made their way across the field.
Spelopokos nudged Catherine’s hand, his eyes sparkling like emeralds in the sunlight. “The prophecy says, ‘The heir of the Ancient Onyxes will forge a bond with the king of Candlewax that will strengthen all of Lackanay.’ When you told me of your father’s command for you to wed, I could only guess that you might actually fall in love. Besides, a marriage without love would be a weak bond indeed, no good at all for Lackanay.” Pokos turned his head and looked beyond her, his expression enigmatic.
“I would never have believed you,” mumbled Catherine. Did my father know about that part of the prophecy, too? She followed Pokos’s gaze to the mountains, toward Lackanay. She could not help but feel as if she were a leaf floating on the surface of a fast-moving stream. A kind of vortex had opened up with Cyril’s proposal, taking all of them with it to unseen events and peril. We are being commanded by something greater than ourselves. And yet, Catherine felt blissful and at peace. She would be with Cyril and that was right and good. She had cast aside her doubts, holding no misgivings in her heart, and her love for Cyril was larger than the sky and more solid than the mountain under her feet.
The crowd had thinned around them. Just ahead of her, grinning, was Cyril. He held out his hand. Catherine smiled and ran to meet him.
A ripple of panic began at the entrance of Cinna Fortress and traveled through the crowd as one of the Speakers, still wet with mud, ran down the steps toward Quor and Menard. He pushed the spectators aside, tripping in his haste, his face twisted in anguish.
The smile quickly slid from Quor’s face, leaving features as hard as stone. He craned his neck over the crowd, at the same time saying something to Menard, who was pulling on his arm. Menard’s face turned white. Mekrita pushed through to her cousin’s side. Catherine felt fear wash over her, and exchanged a look of alarm with Cyril.
“What is it? What is wrong?” Catherine demanded breathlessly.
The other Speaker pointed to the crowd and gasped in pain, clutching his chest. “Magnus and Julia have fled. It must have been planned. None of the high priests or priestesses were at the Duray Principas except Pulquin and Soah. The others must have been waiting to help Magnus and Julia in the event that Cyril won.”
“What happened to the other Speakers and the guards?” she asked.
The Speaker shook with noiseless sobs and lowered his head. Quor put his hands on the man’s shoulders and pulled him to his chest. Strange, muted wails, more terrible for their silence, began
to rise from the crowd of Cinnans still grouped around them. Many turned to run up the steps to the fortress. The grieving Cinnan Speaker pulled back from Quor and nodded, more composed and purposeful.
“Twelve are dead. Six wounded,” Quor said, confirming their fears. The entrance of the fortress was clogged with anguished people pressing to get into the passage that led to the interior.
“But where will Magnus and the rest of them go?” asked Cyril.
“Cinna is a big land, Cyril.” Quor pressed his lips in a thin line. He turned to Catherine. “By the Duray Principas, you still hold Magnus’s and Julia’s fates in your hands. Cinna is bound by your right of judgment, Catherine.”
“How many of them are there?” asked Menard gruffly.
“Forty-nine, including Pulquin.” Quor shook his head, as if trying to make sense of it.
Cyril’s mind was racing. “Pulquin has gone with them?”
“It seems so, Cyril. And yes, he has taken the longbow.”
Menard made a sound of disgust. “I say chase ‘em down. Drag ‘em back and execute Magnus and Julia and all of their followers. They are bad blood. Leaving them alone will only make a bigger problem down the road.”
All eyes turned toward Catherine. “These murders change things,” she murmured. “I hadn’t planned on killing them, Menard. Just winning the Duray Principas and then figuring out what to do. Perhaps it is best left to the Cinnans to resolve.”
Mekrita spoke, her voice calm. “When Cyril won the Duray Principas, Magnus and Julia lost face. The grip of fear they held over the people was broken. That is why they have fled. They also fear your judgment, Catherine.”
“If we go after them, how long do you think it might take to find them?” asked Cyril. He glanced at Menard. “No offense, old friend, but we may be dealing with powers of deception that are beyond our abilities. Can we even track them?”
“They will conceal their trail. They could go anywhere, but I think that Magnus will look for one of the abandoned Cinnan posts and ride out the winter.” Quor knelt down and drew a crude map. Catherine moved closer, fascinated. “Perhaps they are traveling here, to the top of the Long Ridge,” he said, jabbing the moist soil with his finger. “Or here, where the All Souls River cuts through the Northern Plain. If we guess correctly which post they seek, we might get them back here in a day, perhaps two. If we guess wrongly, the Cinnan winter could crush any attempt to find them. Soon the mountains will be impassable.”
Catherine straightened and looked from Menard to Cyril to Quor. Men. They are ever eager for the chase.
She shook her head. If Lackanay falls to the trodliks I’ll never forgive myself for making the wrong decision. She shook her head. “We must bring the fairrier cats back to Lackanay as quickly as possible, without this distraction.” Catherine spoke with assurance. Cyril looked surprised.
Menard frowned with concern. “Mark my words, girl: Magnus will never let you out of Cinna. We should leave now, while the trail is fresh and while we might catch some glimpse of them. We may not have their powers, but we have Spelopokos. Even if we can’t see their tracks, he can sniff them out!”
Catherine turned to look at Pokos.
The great cat’s eyes had narrowed, considering. “Yes. This trick of hiding tracks is the same one fairrier cats have always used. Perhaps we learned it here in Cinna. And as Menard says, it only works on humans, not fairrier cats. Not only can I smell them, I can also see their tracks.”
“But we’ve got the pendant back,” Catherine said, exasperated.
Menard rubbed his stubbly chin. “For now. Don’t think they’ve forgotten it. Sure, we have Cinnan friends, but we also have Cinnan enemies. At least the sides are clearly defined now. Best to nip ‘em in the bud. Magnus’s kind of evil festers like a corrupt wound.”
“And when we catch them?” Catherine asked.
“We’ll bring ‘em back—in pieces if we have to.” Menard’s blue eyes had never been fiercer.
Catherine looked at Cyril. He nodded in agreement, as did Pokos. Quor and Mekrita were expressionless. Bessie raised her shoulders.
“We must hurry, then.” Catherine marveled that her voice sounded so sure; inwardly she shivered at her own words. I might have just sealed Lackanay’s fate. The vortex was tugging at her; she felt its grip and closed her mind to it.
“You will be a good queen, Catherine,” Menard’s rough voice had softened, along with his expression. Queen? Catherine gulped. That was her mother or her grandmother. Am I ready to be queen of Candlewax?
Within minutes, Quor had rallied eighty Cinnans, their faces hard and pale, their eyes dark with fury. Catherine noted with satisfaction that there were many women among them. The Lackanayans watched in wonder as the Cinnans gathered supplies and equipment and assembled to depart. They moved with astonishing fluidity and speed. Cyril was armed with his crossbow and quiver of bolts, a sword hung at his belt. Menard carried Cyril’s longbow, strung and ready for use, his own sword in the scabbard and the spare bow unstrung and lashed to his back with a quiver of arrows.
Catherine’s pack was filled with everything she had brought into Cinna, including the maps and cartography supplies that Quor had found and returned to her. Her necklace was once again hidden under her shirt, next to her skin. In her right boot, tucked into the special sheath that Phineas had made, was her dagger. The warm sheepskin coat was unbuttoned in the cool air. Cyril, Menard, and Bessie wore the white outer garb of the Cinnans. If the weather turned on them, they would be ready.
Spelopokos pawed the ground and smelled it. The area right around the fortress was trampled with unimportant footprints. Several times he started out only to circle back and begin again. “No doubt Magnus will try to confuse his followers,” he snarled. Suddenly, he lifted his face to the wind and his eyes took on the color of grass in the spring. Catherine noted the change and smiled, despite her foreboding. Pokos sprang forward into the woods. He’s caught their scent.
She ran to catch up and heard Pokos muttering something about peppermint. Julia’s favorite herb. I wonder if she knows that it masks her evil scent and how it now betrays her.
“You smell them, Pokos?”
“Yes. And I can see their tracks as plain as day. They taught us well, the ancient Cinnans. Or we taught them.” Even the occasional bank of snow looked untouched to Catherine. Menard squinted, perplexed at the Cinnans’ ability to hide their tracks.
“It looks like they are headed toward the outpost on All Souls Ravine,” observed Quor.
“Magnus thinks he can take his time. The old man has not counted on me following,” gloated Pokos. “He must have expected Catherine to let him go.” Gazing from the tracks to the forest, he growled, “They are not far ahead!” He bounded off again, this time with eyes as hard as topaz stones.
Catherine scowled into the sunlight that streamed through a notch between two high mountain peaks. It wouldn’t be long before the sun dipped behind the mountains, bringing on the early dusk of a Cinnan evening. Pokos was no longer in sight, but his huge paw prints left no doubt as to which way he had gone. Menard, Cyril, and Quor stomped through the patches of granular snow that were still left from the last storm.
She looked behind her and slowed down for Bessie, who was trying to keep up with Catherine’s longer legs. Mekrita was next in line. There hadn’t been time for all of them to get fairrier cat fur from Pokos, but Catherine had managed to coax a small handful away from him back at the fortress.
The warmth of her pendant felt reassuring as it tugged on the back of her neck. She had missed it. Somehow having it back made her feel normal again. Of course, nothing had truly felt normal from the moment she had decided to run away to the second she set eyes on Cyril. She savored the memory of his kiss, his humble petition for her hand. Thoughts of his mouth on hers made heat flow right up to the surface of her skin. There had been no time for a second kiss or even a real conversation.
Mekrita walked along beside her. “He is carefu
l and observant, your Cyril,” she said with the precise pronunciation of a Cinnan Speaker. “You long to be with him, yes?”
Has she been reading my thoughts? I will never get used to not having my own privacy. Suddenly Catherine felt as if a gentle blanket had floated away from her consciousness in the cold Cinnan air. She looked over and noticed Mekrita’s face was flushed.
Catherine glanced ahead at Cyril, Quor, and Menard. Quor was in the lead. While Pokos was leaving his tracks for them to follow, Quor didn’t seem to pay them much mind. His eyes stayed forward and he moved with the purpose of someone who had no question of where to go. Catherine surmised that Quor and Pokos were linked mentally and that Quor was following Pokos’s thoughts like a beacon. As she watched, Catherine saw Quor plunge through some dense hemlock branches and disappear. Pokos’s lead was getting longer. The fairrier cat was setting quite a pace and Quor was trying to keep up. The rest of the party followed the girls.
A dark, rosy alpine glow radiated from the snow-capped peaks. The sky was turning a violet-tinged cobalt. Mekrita, Bessie, and Catherine raised their hoods and put on their gloves. The first star blazed in the east, a fiery white dot, all by itself. Pokos and Quor returned from scouting ahead to set camp. Menard and Cyril approached them. One by one, Catherine, Mekrita, and Bessie also gathered around.
“If only we were in Candlewax, we’d get them in no time by torchlight,” said Menard, slapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously.
“And there would be no man-eating fairrier cats to devour us,” said Cyril dryly.
“We must be vigilant tonight,” said Quor. Menard nodded. Cyril looked at Catherine and she felt a rush of heat in spite of the frosty air.
“Let’s build a huge fire!” said Bessie, stomping her feet in the growing cold.
“No,” countered Quor emphatically. “No fire.” Menard looked at him quizzically. Quor continued, “Fire will warn Magnus that we are on his trail. He might guess that we are following, but he can’t be certain. No fire.”
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