by Jenna Glass
“Kailee has something to tell you,” Tynthanal said, shaking his head ever so slightly at his wife, who bit her lip and stared at the floor.
Alys had never seen anything from Kailee other than confidence and good cheer—despite all the hardships of her life—and this clear show of distress was raising the hair on the back of Alys’s neck.
“Go on,” Tynthanal prompted more gently when Kailee hesitated to speak. “I promise I’ll protect you with my life if necessary.”
That brought a hint of a smile to Kailee’s lips, and if Alys weren’t so worried about what Kailee had to say, she might have been heartened by their ease with each other.
Kailee cleared her throat. “Let me start by saying that I don’t for a moment believe what Sister Norah says. Mairah assured me there was no way to reverse what she called the Curse, and she strongly implied that she was stringing her king along with false promises.”
“I understand that’s what she told you,” Alys said, for Chanlix had of course relayed that information when Kailee had shared it with her. “And I understand why you might believe it. But—”
Kailee waved a hand impatiently and cut her off. “I know you all think I’m being naïve. But I spent far more time with her than any of you, and I trust my own judgment.”
Tynthanal gave her a subtle nudge with his elbow. “Remember that you’re talking to the sovereign princess, not just your sister-in-law,” he said, and Kailee blushed.
“Forgive me, Your Royal Highness,” she said quickly. “I am…out of sorts.”
“It’s all right,” Alys said. “You and I have always spoken plainly with each other.”
Kailee let out a relieved sigh. “Yes. But I’m sorry anyway.”
“Apology accepted. Now what is it you need to tell me?”
Kailee raised her chin and stiffened her spine. “I gave Mairahsol a Trapper spell.”
Alys groaned and sank back down into her chair. Until now, no one had quite understood how Mairahsol had managed to disappear so quickly. The innkeeper had seen her leave and immediately reported it via talker. Making that report could not have taken more than a minute, and yet by the time the innkeeper stepped outside in pursuit, she’d seemingly vanished.
“I was trying to convince her that it actually was possible for her to get away from the delegation. And I am sure I succeeded. If Sister Norah hadn’t come running to you and scared Mairah off…”
Kailee’s voice died, and she scuffed one foot against the carpet. Tears glistened in her eyes, but Alys had the distinct impression that they were due to sadness at the loss of her friend—and pet project—rather than remorse for what she had done.
“You gave a woman who is trying to destroy us a way to escape with deadly magic,” Alys snapped, suddenly and comprehensively furious with the girl. And with herself, for allowing Kailee to get so close to Mairahsol, for accepting her offer to act as a spy when she had nothing resembling experience.
“She is not trying to destroy us!” Kailee protested. “She couldn’t do that even if she wanted to. She is powerful, but not that powerful. And one needed to spend no more than five minutes in their presence to know that Sister Norah hates her with a murderous passion. I would stake my life that she is lying.”
“You have staked all our lives on it!”
Alys rose from her chair once more, unable to sit still. The revelation had done what the strong tea could not, and she was now wide awake and full of restless, angry energy. She wanted to take Kailee by the shoulders and shake her until she saw sense.
“To be fair,” Tynthanal said into the tense silence, “Kailee’s powers of observation are remarkable. She reads people better than just about anyone I know. If she says Norah is lying, I have a tendency to believe her.”
Alys saw the grateful smile Kailee sent his way. And she also noticed when her brother took her hand and gave it a squeeze to express his support.
“So we should just call off the search?” Alys snarled, irrationally angry that Tynthanal seemed to be taking Kailee’s side over her own.
Tynthanal’s expression hardened, and he retained his hold on Kailee’s hand. “There’s no need to be nasty about it. What’s done is done. It’s still possible we’ll find her before she gets out of our reach, and then we can examine her spell ourselves to see if it’s a true threat.”
Alys closed her eyes, trying to contain the rage and panic that roiled inside her. The thought that Mairahsol might undo everything, might doom them all to death, was…unbearable. Not after everything she had lost and suffered and endured! Predictably, the image of Jinnell’s head rolling in the dust rose to assail her, as it did whenever her emotional walls were compromised. Her breaths came short and fast, and for a moment she thought she might collapse like some storybook maiden in distress.
“Breathe, Alys,” Tynthanal’s voice suddenly said from right beside her, and she felt his hand on her arm as he guided her back into the chair before she fell. His hand stroked over her back as though she were a child in need of comfort, and in that moment the comparison seemed apt as her world threatened to shatter around her. “We will get through this.”
Slowly, Alys pulled the threads of herself back together. She shoved the memory she could not burn from her brain into a dark corner and focused, as Tynthanal suggested, on drawing in one breath after another.
“All is not lost,” Tynthanal soothed. “There is a danger, yes, but then there is always danger for us. But I trust my wife’s judgment, even if I don’t approve of her methods.”
Alys sat up straight and swiped at her eyes, embarrassed at her undignified breakdown. Perhaps staying up all night had been a mistake after all. She did not have the resilience she once had, and it was unseemly for a sovereign princess to show such weakness in front of anyone. Even family.
Tynthanal was kneeling beside her chair, looking at her with a compassion that outweighed his still-present resentment of her decision to marry him to Kailee. And Kailee stood behind him, wringing her hands, looking forlorn and miserable.
“If you had it all to do over,” Alys asked her with a scratchy voice, “would you do anything differently?”
Kailee took a deep breath and raised her chin once more. “I couldn’t have told you or Chanlix what I was planning to do. You would not have approved.” Her shoulders hunched. “But I should at least have told you I’d given her the Trapper spell after the fact. I’m very sorry I didn’t.”
Alys leaned back in her chair as Tynthanal rose to his feet and took his wife’s hand once more. Another sign of shifting allegiance? Or just a kindhearted man giving comfort to whomever needed it most at the moment?
Alys’s nerves were too frayed to accept the apology as she ought—as Tynthanal said, there was nothing to be done about it now. “I hope by everything that is holy that you are right,” she said.
* * *
—
Alys curbed her impatience and gave the man who attempted to kidnap Shelvon a night and a day to think things over in the tiny Women’s Well jail that had so far never had more than one or two inmates at a time. There was a stockade at the Citadel for military offenders, but the worst crime Women’s Well had experienced so far was the occasional petty theft and drunken brawl.
Truth be told, the delay in questioning Shelvon’s attacker had more to do with Alys’s need to rein in her own temper than anything else. Shelvon was badly shaken and had required a healer to see to her cracked ribs, but she was otherwise well. But it wasn’t only on Shelvon’s behalf that Alys’s temper teetered on the brink.
When she’d learned of Mairahsol’s escape, Sister Norah had immediately changed her tune, all but jumping up and down screaming that Mairahsol’s potion had been a fraud all along and that her disappearance proved it. The Khalpari escorts had tried to shush her—on the quaint assumption that their hosts in Women’s Well had no idea Ma
irah had been working on a potion—and had resorted to violence when she’d not heeded them. Alys had no love for Sister Norah, but it had infuriated her to see the old woman’s bruised face after the fact.
Sister Norah’s new story, however, was a boon to Women’s Well, as it absolved them of all responsibility for Mairahsol’s disappearance. And she supposed it would help Norah as well, for if Mairahsol had fled of her own volition, then it was possible whatever revenge she had arranged in her absence would not be triggered.
Alys was more than happy to see the delegation depart, but she was still furious at the bruises on Sister Norah’s face and was in a foul temper when she arrived at the jail to question Shelvon’s attacker. She was met at the door by Lord Jailom, who looked at her with undisguised concern.
“Please, Your Royal Highness,” he begged, not for the first time, “let me question him. It is…beneath you to set foot in such a place or be in the presence of such scum.”
It was not her honor he was trying to protect, she knew, though he would never come right out and put his objections into words. She had no royal inquisitor—it hardly seemed necessary for their tiny principality—but questioning a prisoner was a task more appropriate for her marshal or her lord commander.
“We have already discussed this,” she said, letting an edge of annoyance color her voice, though she fully understood his reluctance. He was a good man, and he had adjusted to bowing to a sovereign princess instead of a king or prince with barely the blink of an eye. But he was too accustomed to thinking of women as the gentler sex, and it offended his sensibilities to imagine her taking such a masculine role.
She held up her hands, displaying the selection of rings she wore. Several of them were merely ornamental, but many contained some of the special spells that had been developed in Women’s Well. “Women’s magic will hold a special kind of terror for a man like this.”
Jailom stubbornly remained between her and the door. “You know nothing about this man.”
“I know he attacked a woman, expecting her to be helpless. Do you tell me that he’s the type to risk being humiliated by a woman yet again?” She shook her head without waiting for an answer. “I may not know this particular man, but I know bullies.” She’d grown up with Delnamal, after all. “He will talk to me, or he will pay the price. It’s time for you to step aside.”
Jailom’s body language screamed his continued reluctance, but he bowed his head. “Very well, Your Royal Highness,” he said, pushing the door open for her and then stepping out of the way.
Alys took a quiet, steadying breath, hoping she wasn’t overestimating herself. If she was wrong and the ruffian refused to talk, did she truly have the appropriate level of cruelty to force him? She could always leave the more aggressive questioning to Jailom if she failed to elicit answers. It was hardly unheard of for a sovereign to leave such matters to others, but her father had always frowned on such abdication of responsibility.
“If someone is to be tortured on my orders,” he’d once told her grimly, “then I would feel a coward to turn my eyes away.”
It was clear to her that he had not enjoyed the duty, but his insistence that it was his duty in the case of crimes against the Crown had made an indelible impression on her. She and her father had had innumerable differences over the course of her life, but now that he was gone, she realized he’d always been an honorable man who had done whatever he thought was best for his kingdom, often at great personal expense.
The Women’s Well jail was not as dark and gloomy as she imagined the dungeons of Aaltah to be, but even with its small size and relative youth, she immediately felt a sense of oppression when she stepped inside. The windows were kept covered when there was a prisoner in residence, the only light provided by dim luminants.
Because Women’s Well had no easy access to metals—and what metals they had were needed for far more vital purposes—the cells resembled giant wooden crates more than cages. Only the locks and hinges on the doors were metal. The wooden slats were spaced just far enough apart that the prisoners could not hide from view, and the cells were barren except for a single straw-tick mattress on each floor and a covered chamber pot.
Aside from the four cells—three of which were empty—there were a pair of tables at which the guardsmen on duty could sit, and a plain closed cabinet that Alys assumed held weapons. The two guards who were currently on duty rose and bowed as Alys swept into the room, hoping she exuded confidence rather than nerves.
The man who had attacked Shelvon sat in the far corner of his cell, his back against the wall and his arms wrapped around his legs. A stained bandage on his arm revealed where Shelvon’s sword had bitten. He had been given only enough healing to ensure he would not expire from infection before being questioned. He glanced up briefly when Alys entered, raised his eyebrows as if surprised, then let his head droop back down as though uninterested in what he saw.
Silently, Jailom picked up one of the guardsmen’s chairs and set it in front of the cell. The prisoner pretended to ignore her as she took her seat, smoothing her skirts while observing him from beneath her lashes. His hands were scarred and rough, his clothes were tattered homespun, and she could smell the reek of his body odor from across the room. Whoever he was, he was not a nobleman, nor was he likely to be a professional soldier. Jailom had speculated that he was a mercenary—though not a highly skilled one, or he could have afforded to dress better—and Alys suspected that was indeed the case. And no matter what his usual profession, she was sure someone had hired him to kidnap Shelvon. The question was, who?
Alys had no wish to remain in the jail—or smell the prisoner’s body odor—for a moment longer than she had to, so she decided to dispense with any preamble.
“I have already signed your death warrant,” she said, and though the prisoner maintained an outwardly stoic, uninterested expression, she heard the faint catch of his breath and saw the tension in his shoulders. “I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear that after what you did.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek, and the knuckles of his hands went white as he pulled his legs closer in to his body.
“Someone must have offered you an impressive sum of money for committing what you had to know was a capital offense. I suppose you thought it would be easy money, that Lady Shelvon would offer no resistance—or that you could overcome whatever resistance she did offer.” She smiled ever so faintly as she thought about Shelvon—meek, gentle, shy Shelvon—fighting off her attacker with a sword. Surely Falcor had never expected such an occurrence when he had first started teaching her.
“Too bad for you things did not turn out how you’d hoped,” she continued. “Now the only question is how terribly you will suffer before you die.”
Once again, she heard the soft hitch in his breath that belied his impassive face. His eyes were fixed and staring at nothing, and he made no obvious indication that he had heard her, but she was quite sure his pulse was pounding fiercely as he imagined just what creative ways she might dream up to make him suffer.
“The difference between a quick death and a very slow and very painful one is simple,” she said. “You tell me who hired you to kidnap Lady Shelvon, and you tell me where you were supposed to take her, and you will be hanged. The noose will be spelled to ensure a quick break so you do not strangle to death, which I imagine would be a great deal more unpleasant.”
The prisoner did not respond, and still refused to look at her. But there was enough fear in his eyes that Alys did not feel discouraged. The likelihood of someone as ragged-looking as this man being a zealot with unshakable loyalties seemed very small, which suggested the only reason he felt the need to keep silent was his masculine pride.
Alys looked over her shoulder and gestured to one of her honor guardsmen, who carried a small but heavy stone coffer. He brought the coffer to her, holding it out with both hands and waiting until she h
ad a firm grip before letting go. Even knowing the coffer was heavy, she had to brace a bit to keep from dropping it. She set the coffer carefully on the floor, making sure the prisoner could see it through the slats of his cell. He continued to feign disinterest, but his act wasn’t even close to successful.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of man who keeps himself abreast of current events,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “You probably haven’t heard of how Queen Ellinsoltah dealt with a traitor she discovered among the members of her royal council.”
The prisoner’s nostrils flared briefly, and he wasn’t able to suppress a small sound of distress, which made Alys smile fiercely.
“Ah, so you have heard.” It was true that the growth spell Alys had sent to Ellinsoltah had had quite the dramatic effect, so she wasn’t entirely surprised that even this lout had at least heard rumors about it. “Well, let me give you a little demonstration of how it works.”
She bent down and opened the coffer, scooping up the small handful of seeds that lay in its bottom. She held them out for display.
“You may or may not have noticed that there were quite a number of seeds just like these in your morning meal,” she said as she poured them back into the coffer and let the lid fall back down so that it made a loud thump to demonstrate just how solid and heavy it was. She fastened the lid with a solid metal lock.
Brushing off her hands, she opened her Mindseye and plucked a mote of Rho from the air, then loaded that mote into one of the rings she wore. A ring very like the one Ellinsoltah had used to kill her then–lord chamberlain. She moved her chair and waved all the guardsmen as well as Lord Jailom to the other side of the room so that her back was to everyone but the prisoner.
“Everyone stay well back,” she warned, and saw how the prisoner drew his legs even closer to his body and pressed himself more tightly into the corner. She gave him a flinty smile. “The force of this spell will be directed forward,” she told him. “It may not affect you at all, or you might catch the trailing edges of it.”