“You needn’t fear Indigo, Your Grace, he’s actually a flywacket,” Jaylor said from the center of the room.
The cat ran to him as if greeting a long absent friend. Jaylor obliged him with scratches under the chin.
But the two little girls, who should have been delighted by the presence of the animal, did not respond. They huddled together in one of the big chars by the hearth, arms about each other, foreheads touching, gazes locked together as tightly as their red-blonde curls tangled into one mop of hair.
“Jaylor,” Darville greeted his old friend with relief and an outstretched arm. They grabbed elbows and slapped upper arms in affectionate, masculine greeting. “You came.”
The heavy weight of kingship sloughed off his shoulders. A little.
“You summoned. I obeyed.” Jaylor released him, turning his attention back to the little girls. Glenndon knelt before them, stroking their hair and mumbling soothing words.
Darville cocked his head in their direction in silent question.
“I need their observation skills.”
“But . . . ?”
“Valeria has never been strong.”
“What do you need?”
“We need a healer,” Glenndon said, rising from his crouch.
“She has always recovered after a hearty meal and a night’s rest,” Jaylor said hesitantly.
“The hearty meal I can provide,” Darville said. He turned to the bell pull to summon a servant.
Glenndon shook his head before he grasped the decorative rope. “She needs more than food this time. Her body is shutting down. As it did when . . . before. Before . . .” He looked to Jaylor for permission to complete his sentence.
Jaylor shook his head.
“What are you keeping from your king?”
“Magician’s business.”
“Magician’s business should be my business,” Darville affirmed.
“Not this time. You are my oldest friend. My one true friend. But in this matter, it is best you do not carry this information at all.”
“Do you fear my indiscretion?” Anger and hurt twisted in Darville’s gut.
“No, dear friend. Never that. I fear rogue magicians hired by your Council to read your mind and bring you down.”
“My Council?” Darville laughed, without humor. “Magic and magicians frighten them more than Simurgh himself!”
“What of Simurgh’s black offspring?”
Something in the set of Jaylor’s shoulders scared Darville. “Not sure I ever heard any legends about our dragons allowing the bloodthirsty demon to live long enough to spawn.”
“In the last year Baamin and I have fought six Krakatrice. Marcus and Robb an equal number—each. None of them were the matriarchal black snakes with six wings, thank the Stargods. Only juvenile males. My spies tell me they are returning to the Big Continent and someone is smuggling their eggs into Coronnan City.”
“Are they as immediate a problem as your very ill daughter, or five of my lords gathering armies outside the city?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“If the lords are going to attack each other or join forces to attack you.”
CHAPTER 37
MY FATHER HAS BETRAYED ME. He has taken Lady Graciella to wife. To wife, S’murghit. She is already pregnant, having lived in his household less than a moon. I am no longer good enough for him as his heir. I am still only the bastard son made legitimate as a stopgap, a temporary solution. He is so smug he does not even camp with the army we have gathered for the other lords to join forces with us against the king.
I shall show him the folly of his ways. Graciella may produce only a female. She may miscarry. There are ways to make certain that happens. My lovely tells me of herbs and poisons that I can add to Graciella’s wine, as Graciella added the poison to the king’s beta arrack.
Graciella switched the king’s cup for me. She used her small, untrained magic at my direction. She did it to please me, I had her first. She hoped to marry me, the heir. She begged me to let her help me in my mission to gain the throne. The child might not even be my father’s. Little does she know that my true quest is to rid Coronnan of the corruption of magic. The throne is just a means to an end.
First I will make certain there is no child. Then I will ensure that my father is no longer lord. As the new lord, I will be in a much better position to marry my little princess. Especially if I loan the king my army. First I become his ally, then his son. When all is in place I will turn my little pet against him. The big weapons I will save for the dragons.
“P’pa?” Linda hesitated in the doorway. Her face and hands felt icy cold while her stomach twisted into a fiery knot.
“Linda, you should be in bed,” her father said, not unkindly, but with enough sternness that she knew he meant for her to leave immediately.
She couldn’t. Not now.
“I think I have seen one of those Krakatrice eggs,” she told him more boldly.
The broad man, who could only be Senior Magician Jaylor, stepped around P’pa and approached her with haste and determination. He sketched a curt bow to her by way of introduction then speared her with his gaze.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t lie, couldn’t do much of anything but let him examine her soul.
“Describe what you saw,” he ordered.
“Da, you didn’t even introduce yourself,” Glenndon protested from his place beside his sisters. They didn’t look well at all. The more slender of the two looked so pale her veins showed through her thin, almost translucent skin like a light purple tracery. The deep hollows around her eyes were a darker shade of the same color.
A part of Linda needed to sit beside them, hold them close and let them heal, much as she did when something frightened Manda and Josie.
Or was that Glenndon’s memory of holding the twins? So much had passed between them while joined during the magic spell, she no longer was certain which memories were hers, and which his.
“She knows who I am, and I know her, she looks just like her mother with some of her father’s keen disregard for personal safety.”
P’pa snorted something rude.
Linda half smiled at the accurate description of the king.
“Now describe the egg,” Jaylor ordered.
“On Market Isle. I saw it. All blood red with black lines of magic writhing around it.”
“Stargods! Who could be so stupid as to nurture the evil thing? And sell it?”
“The stall was at the end of the island, beyond the cobblestones, the farthest from the bridge to the city proper, closest to the port.”
“A most disreputable part of the market,” P’pa growled. “What in Simurgh’s name were you doing there? Did Miri and Chastet go with you?”
“Sort of, P’pa.” Linda hung her head, not at all sure how to explain her actions.
One word at a time, Glenndon urged her. She caught a glimpse of watching Lucjemm fondle the egg, enthralled by it. Glenndon must have access to her memories as she did his.
“Your Grace, I must take full responsibility.” Lucjemm appeared in the doorway as if Linda’s memories had summoned him. He looked damp, weary, and had a smudge of something dark and shiny streaking his left cheek. The skin beneath the stain looked raw, like he’d fallen on his face into a puddle of something disgusting.
“Explain yourself, young man,” P’pa ordered.
“I escorted Her Highness through the market that day. I found the egg. The egg my father ordered imported from the Big Continent. He has the hatchling from it and from the previous one he bought three years ago. I have left his household and offer myself totally into your service. I will not tolerate his hypocrisy any longer. I will not sit back and watch him use magical creatures to destr
oy all of Coronnan because he hates magic and wants to end your reign and all possibility of magicians returning.”
“Um . . .” Linda didn’t remember the incident in the market in quite the same way.
Enthrallment, Glenndon reminded her. Someone manipulates him.
How much of what he says can we trust?
Glenndon shrugged. As long as the snake is not with him, he’s thinking on his own.
“Let us retire to my office and order food,” P’pa said. His gaze drifted over to the two little girls.
“P’pa, may I stay with the girls? I think I know what to do to help Valeria,” Linda said softly.
“How do you know?” the king asked. Very much the king, standing straight and tall with an air of authority in his voice and the set of his shoulders.
“I . . .” She tilted her shoulders slightly toward Lucjemm.
What? Jaylor asked directly into her mind, like Glenndon used to do before he learned to speak. Learned from her.
She thought very hard, concentrating on getting her words into Jaylor’s mind.
Nothing happened.
Since the spell to remove the magically poisoned acid from me, we share many memories, Glenndon inserted for her.
Then why doesn’t he know what to do? Jaylor swung his attention back and forth, keeping everyone in the room in view and within reach.
“Because they are his memories and have been with him so long he doesn’t know what is significant and what is not. They are new to me. Things stand out as either being part of a larger pattern or outside the pattern.” She hoped that was the right wording.
“What needs to be done?” Jaylor asked, sharply. His love for the little girl bled through his posture and tone.
The flywacket, Linda sent, hoping she’d learned enough from Glenndon’s last sending to repeat it.
Both Jaylor’s and P’pa’s eyebrows reached for their scalps.
“Lucjemm, please await us in my office. I will be with you shortly,” P’pa said, in his formal court voice.
Eyes wide with wonder, Lucjemm bowed sharply and exited. Linda thought she heard him move toward the staircase. But she couldn’t be sure.
“Fred!” P’pa stuck his head out the door as he called for his bodyguard.
Rapid steps pounded down the narrow staircase from a higher level in the family tower. “Yes, Your Grace?” Fred asked, breathing heavily.
“Keep an eye on Master Lucjemm in the office until I get there. Then you will guard this room. My son and daughter, and Lord Jaylor’s daughters need complete privacy.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Fred hurried off again.
Jaylor gestured with a flat hand, pushing downward. Keep the words quiet so they wouldn’t travel beyond the room.
“Indigo was born a dragon. A dragon spirit animates Valeria’s life force,” Linda said.
“So?” Jaylor asked. He had to know some of this to remain so calm.
“Valeria needs to become a flywacket. For a time.
Then she spotted Indigo poking his fuzzy head out of the nest he’d made of the girls’ laps.
“Am I right, Indigo?”
He purred loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. Then he meowed something in a questioning tone.
“What?” Glenndon asked him, using words to make sure both fathers were involved in the conversation.
“Glenndon, talk to your mother before you do anything. My Lord Jaylor, come with me.” And the room emptied of the tall and masterful presences of the king and his magician counselor.
“Are you sure, Linda?” Glenndon asked.
Linda looked at the tangle of two little girls, so very alike, and yet different. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason for the difference, just that she knew instantly which was Lillian, the strong and capable one, and which was Valeria, the fragile and wise one.
“I’m not sure of anything,” Linda confessed. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if it will work or will kill her once and for all, as she nearly died at birth. It just seemed like the only answer.”
Glenndon gave her a curt nod. Letting her die will kill Lillian as well. They are two halves of a whole, he added on a tight line to her, keeping the communication away from the twins. As if they had any attention or energy for doing anything other than holding themselves close to each other.
“Then let’s do this. Indigo, where do we start?”
“Glenndon, wait. Shouldn’t you summon your mother; the girls’ mother, before you do anything.” Linda grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her and tell her the truth.
“Mama will only panic and abandon the little ones to come here. She won’t be thinking clearly for some time. She’ll try every herb and healing spell she knows before letting us do what needs to be done. She’ll also leave Lukan in charge. He’s not very focused.”
Linda had to think about that. How would her own mother, Queen Rossemikka, handle this kind of news if Manda or Josie, or even Linda herself, were in such dire straits? Would M’ma remain calm and direct the spell, as she had with Glenndon’s healing. Or would she run about like a flusterhen trying to do everything at once, shouting orders, and accomplishing nothing?
“We’ll summon her when it’s all over,” Glenndon reassured her.
“Is this going to hurt?” the stronger twin asked.
Linda sank to her knees in front of the girls. She imagined what it would be like if Manda and Josie were sitting there, her sisters, not Glenndon’s. And couldn’t. The two younger girls were so full of life and mischief and vitality that she could not picture either of them sick and weak unto death.
She didn’t want to think about that. In that moment she knew to the core of her being that she had to try this. For Glenndon.
She noted that the girls had each grabbed hold of Indigo’s neck ruff. The flywacket purred mightily, soothing them all, lulling them all into matching their breaths and their heartbeats.
“I don’t know, sweetie. I don’t know if it will work at all, but we have to try. And if it works, it will be worth whatever pain.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“She’s a princess, she has to follow up on her promises,” Glenndon reminded them all.
Success or failure now rested upon Linda’s shoulders, just like the success or failure of breaking the Council rested on her father’s.
At this moment she could almost feel the weight of the Coraurlia encircling her head, stabbing her with guilt.
And responsibility.
Did her father’s enemies have any idea what accompanied their lust for power?
CHAPTER 38
DARVILLE SETTLED behind his desk. With the massive piece of furniture between him and Lucjemm he resumed control of the interview. The vulnerability suggested by his unbound hair and sleep clothes vanished.
“Tell me about the eggs,” Jaylor demanded, leaning against the closed door, a solid barrier between the boy and escape.
“The eggs? Oh, yes, my father’s toys.” Lucjemm nearly spat the last word.
Was that a moment of calculated hesitation at the beginning, or had recent events jangled his nerves?
Darville’s nerves were certainly raw. “Go on,” he urged, forcing himself to keep his voice neutral and calm. The way Jaylor kept looking in the direction of Glenndon’s room where a different drama played out, he figured he’d have to conduct this interview without input or help.
“Well, ah, three years ago, Father brought home this curiosity. That’s what he called it. A curiosity.”
“Home? Home is where? Your castle in Saria or the manse here in Coronnan City,” Darville prodded.
“At the time . . . Mother—Lady Lucinda, the only mother I have ever known—and I were in Saria
. Father brought the egg home when the Council disbanded for the winter holidays.”
Darville forced himself to remember when he’d last seen Lady Lucinda, before Jemmarc had exiled her. He couldn’t. She was such a vague, wispy personality, he doubted he’d remember her if he saw her face-to-face.
Three years ago? That was just before Jemmarc brought Lucjemm to the capital and arranged the boy’s rite of legitimacy. They’d thrown a big party afterward at the manse. Had Lady Lucinda been there even then?
He couldn’t remember. Mikka had been ill at the time, and he’d made only a token appearance at the party.
“What happened when the egg hatched?” Jaylor asked from his post at the door. So he was listening, with at least half his attention.
If one of Darville’s daughters faced the trial little Valeria did, the king knew he wouldn’t be attending to political business at all.
“I don’t know for certain. Father and I were in the city for my Rite of Legitimacy when the egg hatched.” Lucjemm suddenly found his muddy boots fascinating.
“Tell us what you know,” Darville coaxed.
“Father remained in the city and sent me home right after the party. I was only thirteen, not old enough to train with the soldiers, too old for a tutor. He . . . he seemed distracted, like he didn’t know what to do with me since he didn’t have to hide me anymore.”
“And when you got home, what happened to the hatchling?”
“Mother kept it in her room. In a nest of dry straw and fed it raw meat.” Lucjemm still did not lift his gaze from his boots.
Jaylor shook his head slightly. He detected something wrong with the story.
“What else?” Darville pressed. If Lucjemm lied, surely Jaylor would detect it. Eventually. They had to keep him talking.
If for no other reason than keeping Jaylor occupied while Glenndon and Linda did whatever they needed to do.
“And . . . ?” Jaylor asked.
“And?” Lucjemm flung his head back. His queue loosened from the violence of his movement, sending stray tendrils across his face. His eyes darted right and left, not quite fixing on either Darville or Jaylor.
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