by Anthea Sharp
“We must go,” Bran said, scooping up the remains of his cloak. “If there is a gate into this garden, surely we can find another one out.”
She nodded. Wearily, they stepped into the shadows beneath the trees.
In the harbor below, the ship waited to take them home.
The red-robed warden sat in the center of the cracked floor in the ruined inner sanctum of the Twin Gods, cradling his maimed hand. Waves of pain ran through him, leaving him sweating and trembling. He would never use that hand again.
The agony he endured meant nothing, though, compared with the knowledge that the Twin Gods had granted him.
Their power was real.
And sorcery was not something imagined, to be found only in fanciful tales. He had seen it with his own eyes, how the tall man had cast bolts of blue flame from his hands. How the woman had swept everyone in the room up in a wave of irresistible slumber.
They had been sent by the Twin Gods to show him the way. Perhaps they had been avatars, to wield such power, and he an unwitting bystander to the struggles of the gods themselves.
He would never know where they had come from, or why, but he knew enough. From now until the moment of his death, he would work to unlock the secrets of sorcery. He would form a clandestine sect within the wardens of the Twin Gods, made up of others who had seen the power, and knew.
It might take years. Centuries.
But one day, the priests of the Twin Gods would possess such magic that the entire world would bow beneath their feet.
24
As the captain of the guard towed Anneth through Castle Raine’s great hall, she glanced about, looking for Lily. Thankfully, there was no sign of her.
The last thing Anneth wanted was to drag the Gearys into trouble. Plus, the fewer different versions of her origins the captain heard, the better, and she didn’t trust Lily not to babble if she were questioned.
Anneth’s stomach knotted while her mind worked furiously. She was in trouble now, no doubt about it. She only hoped it wouldn’t grow worse—but surely, after questioning her, the castle would let her go.
Without a last dance with their prince, however. One didn’t allow suspects, no matter how innocent, to consort with the crown prince.
At least he’d argued in her defense, despite knowing almost nothing about her. She was glad that he’d seemed to believe she was blameless—or, at least, he hadn’t thought the worst of her. She’d saved the King of Raine, after all, no matter who believed it.
Captain Crane escorted her a short distance down another corridor, then yanked open a door and propelled her into what must be the gold parlor. The room was dim, but a moment later a servant hurried in to light the sconces lining the walls and the lanterns set upon the low tables.
It was far less convenient than simply speaking the rune for light and seeing foxfire spring up to illuminate the room. Anneth supposed it was the best a people without magic could do, and truly, whoever had first discovered the ability to create fire had been very clever indeed.
Who, she wondered absently, had been the first Dark Elf to speak the word for light?
“Sit.” The captain thrust her at a chair upholstered in yellow fabric.
Slowly, she sat and folded her hands in her lap. He remained standing, a scowl on his face.
“What’s your name, girl?” he demanded. “Your full name.”
With a stab of horror, she recalled that she’d told the prince she was a Geary. A misstep indeed, and one that she must rectify. Yet she must keep her lies from tangling together, or matters would only become worse, especially if the captain and prince compared stories.
But no matter what, she must protect Mara’s family from falling afoul of the castle.
“Anneth… Cleary.” Please, by the brightmoon, let that be a well-used Rainish surname. With luck, the prince he would think he’d misheard.
Her false answer seemed to pass muster, as Captain Crane loomed over her with his next question. “And where, precisely, are you from?”
She’d known he’d ask, and this time he wouldn’t accept a vague answer about hailing from the other side of the forest. As he’d led her from the hall, she’d scoured her memory of the scrolls she’d read, trying to dredge up any mention of towns near the northern edge of the Darkwood.
One had come to mind, and she desperately hoped it was still inhabited. Claiming to come from a long-abandoned village would not go over well with the captain, but refusing to say where she was from would be even worse.
“Shallowstrae,” she said, burying her fear and meeting his gaze calmly. “As I said, on the far side of the forest.”
He scowled. “Convenient, that. Too far for me to send a man and hear back tonight whether you’re lying. Make no mistake, though, I’ll have a guard on the way shortly. And you’ll be enjoying our hospitality in the castle until he returns with an answer on the morrow.”
Oh, no. She swallowed. There was no possible way she could spend the night at Castle Raine. She must return to Ondo so he could recast the human illusion over her.
If only she hadn’t taxed her magic earlier by summoning the rune of revealing…
But she would not change what she’d done. If not for her actions, the King of Raine would be dead, and quite possibly the prince as well.
“Sir,” she said, “have you found the man posing as a servant? I fear there’s a plot in motion against the throne of Raine.”
“Do you?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “And what would a country girl from Shallowstrae know about such things?”
“I saw the man put poison in the ale,” she said, her temper rising. “He was trying to kill the king.”
“We have only your word for it. Too bad that the entire tray of ale spilled.” His tone implied he didn’t believe that had been by accident.
“Squeeze out the servant’s rags, then, if you want proof—but you must believe me. Why would I lie?”
The captain crossed his arms. “Because you’re an agent of the Athraig, here to disrupt the ball and create confusion.”
She had no idea who the Athraig might be, but now was not the time to reveal her ignorance. Frustrated, she put her hands in her lap and laced her fingers together, to keep from squeezing them into fists of annoyance. Any tension she revealed to the captain would only be taken as a sign of her guilt.
“I am not an agent of the Athraig,” she said steadily. “I was invited to the ball to dance with the prince.”
“Then why were you skulking about earlier in the private areas of the castle? No—I’m afraid we’re keeping you under lock and key for the time being.”
He glanced up as the king limped in, accompanied by his guards. Anneth looked down at her hands and took a breath, trying to calm herself. For a moment her illusion of humanity wavered, revealing her long, clawed fingers.
She froze, heart clenching in sudden panic. Why was the spell fading? It was too early! She must get away immediately. Her gaze darted about the room, going to the tall windows. They were black with night, showing only the blurred reflections of the parlor lamps.
The captain was telling the king about his suspicions, his attention momentarily diverted. Tensing, Anneth sprang to her feet.
“Look!” she cried, pointing at the open doorway. “The traitor just went past.”
The king’s guards moved to the door. Quickly, she spun and dashed to the window, knocking over the chairs between her and the captain.
“Stop,” he shouted, lunging at her as she scrabbled to open the window.
The catch released and she flung herself through. A leafy bush caught her headlong fall, and she managed to roll free and gain her feet. Gasping, she pointed at the window and whispered the rune of closing. By all the stars, let her have enough dregs of magic left that the spell would work.
The casement slammed shut just as the captain reached it.
She didn’t wait to see how long the window held, but took her skirts up in both hands and ran. After two
steps she realized that the magic binding her slippers on had faded, too. With every other step, her bare sole met the cold ground. In her rush to escape, she’d left one of the beaded slippers behind.
Too late now.
Blessing her ability to see in the dimness, Anneth pulled off her remaining slipper. Clutching it tightly, she fled toward the sheltering darkness of the trees rising behind the castle. The sound of breaking glass and confused shouts followed her into the night.
Owen endured his next six dances, each one passing in a blur. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was free to go see what the captain of the guard had decided to do about Anneth.
She wasn’t a traitor; Owen was sure of that. But there was no denying there was something unusual about her. Beyond her unusual name and height, she carried herself like one of the nobility and spoke with the air of someone accustomed to having others listen and obey.
Yet she had come to Castle Raine dressed like a commoner, claiming no title.
He also couldn’t overlook the fact that somehow she’d found her way into the deeper confines of the castle without any guardsmen apprehending her. It was all quite suspicious—but unlike Captain Crane, Owen didn’t think Anneth was a traitor or a spy.
Although why he thought her innocent of plotting, he couldn’t say.
Perhaps it was her touch of naiveté, or the genuine joy in her laughter. Both of which could be feigned by an accomplished saboteur, he knew, but still he could not believe ill of her. Despite their very short acquaintance.
The moment he finished his waltz with the last girl in the current group, he made her a short bow and strode out of the great hall. The corridors of the castle were full of hurrying guards, and Owen’s chest tightened with unease. He lengthened his steps, almost running until he reached the gold parlor.
At the threshold, he paused. His heart sank when he saw the captain with a thunderous expression on his face, and the king, looking equally troubled, in urgent conversation in the middle of the room.
There was no sign of Anneth.
“What happened?” Owen asked, stepping into the parlor.
“Your traitor girl escaped.” Captain Crane gave him a grim look. “Jumped out the window and ran into the night. We’re in pursuit, of course. She can’t get far—there’s only forest on one side, and we’re preparing to conduct a house-to-house search in the village.”
Owen pressed his lips together. Voicing his opinion that Anneth was innocent would not be well received at the moment. Especially as the evidence seemed to prove otherwise. Why had she run?
“Did she tell you anything?” the king asked Captain Crane.
“Nothing. She claimed to come from Shallowstrae, across the forest, but I doubt it. I’ve sent a man to confirm.” The captain scowled at Owen. “You danced with her. Did she let anything slip?”
He shook his head. “She told me the same—that she was from the other side of the Darkwood.”
A cool breeze blew in from the broken window at the far side of the room. Avoiding the shattered glass on the floor, Owen went to peer out into the night.
“One of my guards went after her,” his father said. “They’ll catch her soon, I’ve no doubt.”
“And then it’s the dungeons,” Captain Crane said, a satisfied note in his voice. “We can’t have Athraig agents roaming freely about.”
A glint of silver caught Owen’s eye: the edge of a beaded slipper winking from beneath the wind-tossed curtain. He reached and tugged it free from where it was wedged at the corner of the sill. Surely it belonged to Anneth. He recalled the light catching the ornate beadwork as they danced.
Silently, he tucked the slipper beneath his coat, then turned back to his father and the captain. Neither of them seemed to have noticed.
“I’ll have the royal emissary go over the roll of invitees, immediately,” the king said. “Anneth is an unusual enough name that it will stand out.”
“Provided that’s her actual name.” The captain frowned. “More likely she’s under an alias—or came in that way. But don’t fear, your majesty. We’ll find the girl and get to the bottom of this Athraig plot.”
“Meanwhile,” Owen said, “we must stay vigilant. Clearly someone tried to poison you, Father. I doubt that’s the work of one person acting alone.”
If Anneth was innocent, as he still believed, that meant the true enemy was still at large. And that his father was in grave danger.
25
Anneth dashed through the underbrush and wove between the rough trunks of cedar and hemlock, her toes digging for purchase into the soft loam underfoot. Slowly, the sounds of pursuit faded, the flickering torchlight growing dimmer behind her.
A shape moved between the trees, and she drew up short, heart pounding with exertion and fear.
“Who’s there?” she asked sharply, wishing for her blade and bow.
“It is I, my lady.” Ondo stepped from behind the sheltering branches.
“Thank the moons.” She sagged in relief. “We must travel deeper into the Darkwood, and leave no trace.”
He nodded. “Follow in my steps.”
“Why are you here? Not that I’m disappointed to see you.”
The scout frowned. “It is my duty to look after you, milady. I could not enter the castle, but I have been following your movements and keeping watch. Just in case anything were to happen.”
And happen it had. She let out a deep breath, then fell into line behind Ondo, carefully placing her feet where his had been. They traversed fallen logs and leaped across the bracken, leaving no broken ferns or imprints of their footsteps in the soft loam.
“We must remain hidden until Prince Bran and Mara return,” Ondo said.
Anneth was about to agree, before realization hit her. She paused, throat tight.
“I cannot. The castle will be looking for me.”
“Exactly.” Ondo glanced over his shoulder. “That is why we must go to ground. I don’t think the humans will think to search deep into the forest, but we cannot be sure. Come, princess.”
“No.” She wrapped her arms about herself. “I’ve put the Gearys in danger. The castle will trace me to them, and I refuse to let them bear the punishment. Whatever it might be.”
Despite her subterfuge, she knew the captain would scan the records and speak with the prince. It was only a matter of time before the Gearys were questioned. She didn’t trust the grim captain of the guard not to toss the entire family into the dungeon, and then what would become of them and their livelihood? She simply couldn’t allow it.
“You are a princess of Elfhame,” Ondo said. “Your safety is paramount.”
“I can’t let Mara’s family suffer because of my actions.” Even though she had saved the king. “I must return and surrender.”
“No.” Ondo’s tone was fierce. “You would endanger all of Elfhame, should you be discovered.”
“My magic is nearly restored,” she said. “I was even able to summon a few runes today. Another night’s rest, and I should be able to hold the illusion.” She hoped. “As your princess, I command you to obey.”
The scout said nothing for a long while as they moved carefully through the forest. Finally he stopped in a clearing silvered by starlight, and faced her.
“Tomorrow, when the sun rises, I will scry your brother,” he said. “If the prince agrees, then I will have to allow it—but I have no liking for this mad scheme.”
“I’m not terribly happy about it myself.” She was careful not to mention the prospect of the dungeon awaiting her. “But Mara’s family cannot be punished for helping me. If anything, it’s my fault for wanting to attend the ball.”
She should have stayed in the forest with Ondo. Or at least remained in the Gearys’ cottage. But no—her curiosity had been her undoing, and now she must pay the price.
“I’ll let them detain me in the castle,” she continued. “As soon as Bran and Mara return—which shouldn’t be long—I’ll use my power to escape.
We can warn the Gearys to go into hiding before we return to Elfhame.”
It was the best solution she could see to her predicament. She hoped her brother would feel the same.
Ondo ceased arguing with her, maintaining a stony silence until they finally reached his simple camp. Anneth sighed at the prospect of a night spent on the hard ground, but at least, since Ondo had the bulk of her belongings with him, she could change out of her much-abused gown and sleep in her own tent.
Even if Bran agreed with her plan to return to Castle Raine, there was no point in charging back until she could cast the illusion spell upon herself.
She had every hope that when the blazing ball of fire ascended the sky on the morrow, she would be able to assume her mortal appearance on her own. Despite her confident words to Ondo, though, she had to admit to a twist of apprehension when she thought of Captain Crane and his talk of the castle dungeons.
I have magic, she reminded herself. It would be enough.
When the first light of the rising sun filtered into her small tent, Anneth awoke. She felt surprisingly rested, under the circumstances. Perhaps the quiet hushing of the cedar boughs in the dark had soothed her, the peace of the night forest seeping into her mind. In any case, when she reached for her wellspring, she was relieved to feel it spark in response.
Rising, she glanced at the much-abused ball gown she’d folded and set aside, then down at the comfortable leggings and tunic she’d donned before bed. She wasn’t looking forward to putting the dress back on—but she must return to the castle in the same state she’d left it. Bare feet, muddy gown, and all.
With a sigh, she changed back into the gown and then ducked out of her tent.
Ondo, of course, was already awake. He squatted before the nearly smokeless fire, stirring a pot of porridge. Two mugs of herbal brew sat steeping on the flat rock he used as a table.