“But it’s not unwise to eat and drink their food.”
“We have been for over twelve hours now,” Sondra said, with some impatience. “Did you think we wouldn’t test it before giving it to you?”
I winced, rubbing my forehead. “Apologies. I’m not thinking at all yet.” With resignation—after all, how much worse could things get?—I toasted her with the mug and drank the stuff, braced for another of Ambrose’s vile-tasting concoctions. It wasn’t bad, actually. I’d been prepared to make a dash for the window. Better to vomit on whoever or whatever lay below than stink up our nest. But it was only a little bitter and mostly minty. The coolness soothed my throat and took away the foul taste.
Best of all, the headache immediately receded and my stomach settled. I might be able to put two thoughts together. “Thank you,” I said to Ambrose, giving him a nod, too. “That was exactly the thing.”
“Fortunately a simple remedy to a basic nature magic. Could’ve been much worse!”
I decided to focus on my appreciation rather than growl at him for getting us trapped like this. And to focus on Sondra. She stood nearby, arms folded, a scowl darkening her face. Though clearly angry with me, she at least would give me straight answers. “Once more, from the top—what exactly happened?”
She sighed and threw up her hands. “Ask him!” She pointed her chin at Ambrose, who grinned back at her, and continued without waiting for him. “All I can tell you is what I saw. You charged up those steps like a crazed bull in heat. The two lowermost ladies moved so fast I couldn’t track it. They looked like they embraced you, and you stiffened. Remember that guy in Irst who was on that tower in the storm and got hit by lightning? You looked like that, only without the burning, bubbling flesh.”
“Small mercies,” I replied drily. Feeling better, I got to my feet. “Keep talking.”
“There’s not much more.” She raised her brows as I paced to the nearest window, then the next. A sheer drop to the gardens on one side—much too far for the vegetation to cushion the fall—and all the way to the sea at the next. I leaned out and craned my neck to look up, verifying we were indeed at the top. We could possibly climb up—and sit there to roast in the sun. “Conrí, I already checked possible escape routes. Without rope to rappel down, we’d only kill ourselves.”
“Indulge me. And tell me the rest.”
She huffed a breath. “You stiffened. Lost consciousness and toppled backward like a felled tree. Everybody laughed, then applauded. The guards took the sword you dropped, relieved us of weapons, including Ambrose’s staff—”
“But thoughtfully gave me this walking stick to lean on,” Ambrose inserted. “Quite civilized people, all in all.”
“—and escorted us here,” Sondra finished. “All things considered, Ambrose is correct that they’ve treated us with a surprising amount of civility.”
“Except for their plan to turn us over to Anure, to be tortured, executed, and made into a horrific example.”
“There is that,” she agreed.
“Really, you have to sympathize with Queen Euthalia,” Ambrose said. “She can hardly do otherwise in her position.”
I ignored him. The last thing I felt for that overpainted viper was sympathy. Pacing the room, I found nothing more than I’d already seen. The screen hid only a covered chamber pot. “How did they bring us in here?”
Sondra silently pointed at the floor. Crouching, I studied the faint outline of a square hatch set in the polished stone floor. Sondra joined me. “I tried prying it open,” she said, “but nothing in here that I’ve found is strong enough. Beneath this is a ladder that can be withdrawn, with easily a drop of three times my height to another stone floor, which is guarded.”
I grunted. A tight prison, but where there’s a way in, there’s a way out. Ambrose had wandered over to the food table, humming and filling his plate as if he attended a party, feeding tidbits to Merle, who perched on his shoulder. “Ambrose—isn’t there some spell you can work?” I tried to ask it politely. What was the point of having a wizard companion if he couldn’t help us out of situations like this?
Ambrose turned and gave me a considering look. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. You’re the magician.”
He looked pained. “Please. Wizard.”
“Right. You’re the wizard. Can’t you fly us out of here—float us to the ground, maybe?”
“Conjure a really long rope,” Sondra suggested. “Or a short rope, a lever to open the trapdoor, and something to kill the guards with.”
I nodded. “Anything at all?”
Ambrose gave us a smile that looked oddly sad. “How do you think magic works, anyway?”
I exchanged glances with Sondra, who shrugged with a resigned grimace. No help there. “We don’t know, do we?” I said with reasonable patience. “You’ve never explained.”
“Much of how magic works defies explanation,” Ambrose said, nodding in agreement.
I set my teeth against the urge to snap at him. “So … was there an answer to my question in there somewhere?”
Ambrose popped a grape into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “Merle can fly,” he offered. “But then, that’s his nature, and he has wings.”
I waited. Ambrose ate more grapes.
“So,” I finally said, “you can’t do anything to get us out of this.”
“None of the things you asked for are things I can do,” Ambrose replied. “Particularly without my staff and other tools.”
Figured. I dug my fingers into my scalp, willing the solution to come to me. There had to be one. We’d escaped inescapable Vurgmun. We could escape a pretty tower in paradise.
“Besides, I wouldn’t anyway,” Ambrose continued.
Dropping my hands slowly, I lifted my head to glare at him. Incredulity robbed me of words for a moment, and I stared at him, speechless. “What.” I cleared my throat. “What did you say?” I advanced on the wizard, who had his back turned, filling his plate yet again.
Sondra interposed herself between us. “Don’t throttle the wizard, Conrí. Please.”
My fingers twitched, already curled to do it. “Perhaps you didn’t hear him,” I said slowly. I could throttle her first, then him.
“I heard. But you need to listen.” If she hadn’t looked so pleading, I might not have been able to restrain myself.
“All right.” I stepped up to the table, found some kind of cold poultry under a screen, and snagged a piece. Might as well feed myself while I figured our way out of this. “I’ll bite. Why wouldn’t you help us escape, even if you could?” I tried to sound interested, even friendly, but Ambrose winced, casting me a cautious look.
“Because we’re right where we want to be?” He posed it as a question, hesitant with it.
“Is that a question or an answer?” I smiled and he took a step back.
“Conrí—don’t kill the wizard.” Sondra edged herself between us again.
“I haven’t touched him.” I said it very reasonably. I’d already stripped all the flesh from the drumstick, so I fished out another. “I’m asking Ambrose to explain.”
“If you’d just think,” Sondra muttered, “you’d know why Ambrose says we’re where we want to be.”
“You can’t woo Queen Euthalia unless we’re on Calanthe,” Ambrose filled in, giving Sondra a smile of gratitude. “We did a great deal of work to get exactly here. And while your attempt to attack her will likely count as a strike against you—”
“Stupid to lose your temper like that,” Sondra inserted, lowering her brows meaningfully.
“All in all, you’ve made a brilliant start!” Ambrose finished.
“I have?” They made no sense. The food, though, was good. I’d go to Anure’s torture chamber well fed.
“Oh yes. Have some of these—they’re excellent.” Ambrose handed me a plate of some sort of bread smeared with black stuff. “You intrigued the Queen of Flowers. That’s not easily done.”
“She may be young, but she’s j
aded,” Sondra added. “A hard shell on her. She’s maybe more cynical than any of us.”
I gave her a black look. “How can either of you possibly know these things?”
“I was paying attention,” Sondra snapped back. “While you were flirting with her, I observed.”
“As did I,” Ambrose said, nodding.
Sondra snorted. “You only had eyes for the Abiding Ring.”
“Extraordinary, isn’t it? All we hoped for! So is the queen.” Ambrose elbowed me. “Didn’t I promise you she’d be beautiful? Smart, too, and cagey with it. She’s perfect.”
“A match like Ejarat to Sawehl.” Sondra gave me a sweet smile.
I took my time chewing, at least able to use my teeth on the flesh of something. “First,” I said when I finally swallowed, “I was negotiating for our lives, not flirting. Second, I don’t care if this Euthalia is the most beautiful woman in the world—”
“She just may be,” Ambrose mused.
“—or if she’s clever or a babbling idiot,” I continued, talking over him. “All I want—all I’ve ever wanted—is Anure dead at my feet.”
“By the grace of Ejarat, make it so.” Sondra touched her forehead as she murmured the vow.
“Then claim her hand,” Ambrose said, all seriousness now, the sense of magic gathering around him like a cloak. “Woo her, claim the Abiding Ring along with her hand in marriage, and Anure will fall.”
I took a deep and calming breath. “You promise this.”
“Yes. This is what I’ve been telling you.” He waved his hands in the air as if he found me exasperating.
“Can you give me any clues why she would want me?”
“You are the crown prince of Oriel. That means something in her world.”
“I was the prince. Oriel no longer exists, nor does the crown. That title died with the kingdom that belonged to my father. I won’t buy my way with a dead man’s name.”
“Not even to avenge him, Conrí?” Sondra asked quietly.
“Not even for that.” I couldn’t explain it any better. I’d no more claim Oriel than I’d dig up my father’s corpse.
“Then win her on your own terms, Conrí,” Ambrose said. “You already interested her without telling her who you are. You can do this.”
Doubtful, but I’d followed the wizard into this trap. If I wanted out, it would be by the same path. I looked around our delightful prison. “I’m going to have a hell of a time wooing her from this cell.”
“And you don’t have much time,” Sondra reminded me. “By noon tomorrow, if our other ships haven’t heard from us, they will attack. That’s likely to sour any courtship.”
“That’s if Queen Euthalia hasn’t already shipped us off to Anure,” Ambrose pointed out. “Better act quick.”
I swallowed my pride and the frustrated ire. “Do either of you have helpful suggestions?”
Sondra wrinkled her nose. “Clean up. Let me trim your hair.”
“No one is cutting my hair.” She should know better than that.
“Would I do that to you?” she shot back. “I said trim. Just to make it neater. You’re scruffy, too, and need a shave. And maybe we can ask for some better clothes. Euthalia clearly appreciates the finer things. And you, Conrí, do not look fine.”
“It’s true.” Ambrose studied me ruefully. “When she sends for you, you should look your best.”
“No private audience, remember? Why should she send for me when she can simply ship us off to Anure without dirtying her fingers?”
“It will work out.” Ambrose smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll see.”
Closing my eyes, I wondered how I’d come to this. Maybe I’d get lucky and my own soldiers would lob vurgsten at the tower and kill me quickly.
17
“Arise, Your Highness. The realm awaits the sun of Your presence.”
I swallowed my groan of protest. Though I’d woken when the rising sun hit my eyelids, instead of the meditative dreamthink, I must’ve fallen into sleep again. At least the nightmares hadn’t returned with it. If I’d hoped capturing the rebels—Conrí, Sondra had called the man—would banish the dreaded torment of nightly hauntings, I’d been not only wrong, but grievously so. If anything, the dreams had worsened, doubling in length and intensity. I felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. Now that I had the sound of his voice and the sense of his physical presence, the man had been that much more vivid, his pain enough to break a heart I’d thought incapable of sympathy.
As long as I lived, I only hoped I’d forget that look in his eyes when he vowed never to wear chains again. I had to get him off Calanthe before I forgot my priorities. I wished I could fall asleep and stay there—dreamlessly—for a hundred years.
“Euthalia—are You awake?” Tertulyn whispered in my ear. “It’s past the usual hour.”
I opened my eyes and stretched my lips into a serene smile. Perfectly dressed, her hair adorned today with blossoms of the deepest blue, Tertulyn stepped back, folding her hands over her heart and bowing. The other five bowed also, their delighted smiles appearing as authentic as on any morning.
I sat up, my weary body protesting. The sun had indeed risen high. Tertulyn had let me sleep far too long.
“Good morning, Tertulyn, ladies,” I said, looking from the sun to Tertulyn. She only gave me an apologetic smile, making me wonder if I hadn’t been the only one to oversleep. The parties celebrating Calanthe’s triumphant capture of the Slave King and his minions had been in full swing when I retired to my solitary bed, riddled with guilt and remorse. And unable to do anything to save either of us.
Now that I looked closely, I could see shadows under the artfully applied makeup of several of the ladies. Late nights all around apparently. “Who is our guest today?” I asked. As always, resorting to unthinking ritual saved me.
The Morning Glory curtsied when Tertulyn beckoned to her. The sky blue of the gown and wig suited this one, with her dusky skin and unusually light eyes.
“Welcome, Glory,” I said. “Assist Me from My bed.”
She only hesitated a moment before offering me her gloved hand. I took it with my left, giving her an extended opportunity to study the orchid ring. The wizard, Ambrose, had certainly been interested in it. And not in the way of most men. Ambrose hadn’t seemed acquisitive or curious—he’d acted more as if he knew something about it. More than I’d dared hope for—I’d found a wizard at last, and he’d recognized the magic of the ring.
If only I could figure out how to keep Leuthar from finding out about Ambrose. He hadn’t been named as a wizard in court—which at least showed circumspection and partially explained how he’d survived—so it was possible Conrí didn’t know Ambrose’s true nature. After all, Anure declared magic to be a silly superstition, therefore wizards couldn’t possibly exist. I’d never been able to discern if Anure believed his own edicts on magic or made them entirely to hoard magic to himself. If the former, he’d carelessly destroy the wizard; if the latter—worse for us—he would ruthlessly employ Ambrose’s abilities.
No matter what, I needed to find a way to keep the wizard on Calanthe.
If I had a prisoner condemned to death handy, I could dress him in the wizard’s garments and ship him off with Conrí and the Lady Sondra. Would they be happy to see their companion saved or would they protest and betray the subterfuge? If I could persuade Leuthar to separate the three, they might never know of my trick until it was too late. Still, I wouldn’t condemn even the worst miscreant to Anure’s brand of justice, even if I had one available, which I didn’t.
And truly, if I could keep the wizard, I could perhaps keep Lady Sondra with the same trick. She wouldn’t fare well in Anure’s grasp. Her face might not meet his standards, but plenty in his court wouldn’t care when her body promised pleasure. That might salve the eroding guilt that plagued me. Save two, and sacrifice one. If Conrí loved Sondra—as a lover or as his second—then perhaps his shade would haunt me less if I saved her.
Whatever I planned to do, I’d best do it quickly. Even if Delilah had seduced Leuthar into more excesses, he’d soon be up and about, eager to play emperor’s dog and retrieve the prize. And take the credit. Right now he had only reports of what my prisoners looked like. If I wanted to take advantage of that, I needed to act. Ejarat curse me for sleeping in.
I’d save the wizard and soon forget the man with the wolf’s eyes. I only wanted to wash my hands of the whole business. Ridiculous to feel any sense of guilt. Once I bathed and rid myself of the oily nightmare sweats, I’d feel better.
I touched my feet to the stone floor and used the leverage of the Glory’s hand to rise. She seemed surprised—I’d likely been too abrupt—so I swept off my head scarf and handed it to her, turning away so I wouldn’t have to witness her reverence. My bath awaited, so I strode for it. My impatience would hopefully be interpreted as haste due to the late hour of my rising.
While soaping my bare scalp, Tertulyn murmured, “Tonight we should set aside some time to shave Your head. It’s beginning to show.”
I doubted it would happen that night or the next. Not until I had Anure’s prize off Calanthe. Then life could return to normal. At least, as normal as serving under Anure’s tyranny could ever be. I supposed that, in my own way, I was a queen of slaves also, and a prisoner myself, with only the illusion of freedom. Would Conrí find that amusing? Somehow I doubted it.
They’d washed, oiled, and dried me, and I wore only my silk shift, sitting while the ladies tended to my nails and makeup, when one of the palace maidservants begged admittance. Curious.
“Calla, please see what she wants and send her on her way,” Tertulyn directed, not pausing in smoothing the foundation paste on my cheeks.
“No,” I said. Such an unusual request in unusual times might require my personal attention. “I’ll see her.”
Tertulyn quirked a brow ever so slightly, retrieving a long-sleeved robe for me, tying it high around my neck. Once I’d been covered, Calla went to admit the maid. The girl entered, wearing the uniform of the lowest serving staff and curtsying low.
“Yes, dear.” I spoke softly so as not to frighten her, as I would to a Glory. “You bring a message for Me?”
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