I didn’t say, This is his fault, but I thought it. “And Derek. Then we will return and do what we can. Agreed?”
Bren smiled for the first time in days. “I’ll try the kitchens. Maybe I can talk us into some food.”
Innon and I waited with the horses until he returned with a small bag of provisions, then the three of us were off to Delfina—and Diannah Wood.
four
“That book by Adamas Dei of the Black Sword was so old-fashioned I didn’t get very far. Who was he, exactly?” asked Bren, later that day.
“He wrote a lot of wise stuff that Peitar likes to quote,” I replied. “He was an ancestor of Lasva Dei the Wanderer, that’s all I know. I’d rather read about her.”
Innon said, “He’s one of the very first of the Dei family, who go back at least a thousand years. They were really important in Sartor, almost as important as the ruling family, the Landises.”
“But isn’t Sartor controlled by Norsunder?” Bren asked.
“For the past century. Nobody can get in or out. Anyway, Adamas supposedly had a sword whose blade was black steel and could cut a rose petal without making a bruise, but he gave up being a warrior and became . . . what did Peitar say, the first day I met him? A visionary.” Innon grinned at me. “Like your brother is. Minus the sword.”
“Ha!” I exclaimed. “So that’s why nothing he quotes from Adamas makes sense—half the time Peitar doesn’t either. Two buds on a branch.”
Bren snorted. “No wonder I had trouble reading it. Sounds like a noble poetical spouter—that’s what Derek calls ’em.”
There was a pause, and Innon squinted upward. “It’s good to get out of Miraleste, but ugh! It’s hot.”
“Nasty weather for anything,” I said, looking around the parched but untouched land. Maybe the revolutionaries had only been in towns, estates, and cities. “I vote for a swim as soon as we reach the Miseos River.”
Our horses plodded steadily southward into a wide valley. Patches of tangled hickory and red cedar dappled us with shade. Wild blueberries grew everywhere. We stopped a few times to pick and eat them.
I think our horses were as glad to see the river as we were. We watered and tethered them loosely so they could crop grass and watercress, then splashed in fully clothed. The boys had a water fight. I just floated, my eyes closed against the blazing sun as a couple of lazy fish nibbled at my toes. Songbirds warbled in the brush.
My mind kept going back through the horrors of the past week—like when you can’t help touching a bruise just to see if it hurts as much as you think it does. I couldn’t quite believe that Father was really dead. I wondered what Peitar was doing.
Finally we dragged ourselves out, our clothes wet and heavy, but cool, and shared out a small loaf that had been stuffed with greens, chicken, and cheese. It was so small that afterward I was still hungry—but Bren was used to hunger, and Innon and I had begun getting used to it.
We resumed our ride. The road turned from the river to the mountains, which grew larger through the day, fading at last into shadows a shade darker than the sky. By then we were dry, but thirsty and ravenous. The horses were drooping. Finally, the road crossed one of the Orleos River’s branches.
“How about camping near that bridge?” Bren suggested. “My dad taught me how to catch fish with my hands, and I got a sparker from the palace.”
After we saw to the animals, Innon and I went to gather sticks. Bren had caught two small fish by the time we returned, and they were soon cooking over a merry fire. Along with a stale bun and an end of cheese, it was a delicious meal. But those were the last of our provisions. Tomorrow we’d have to forage.
We lay on sweet-smelling grass under a clear, starlit sky, listening to the rush and chuckle of water, and in the distance the rustlings of small animals, the cries of night birds. The air was too warm for us to need blankets, and everything was peaceful, but my heart seemed to lie inside my chest like a stone.
Bren said, “Lilah? Peitar will be all right. Derek’ll make sure that no one harms him.”
“I wish that was true.” Memory arrowed back to Derek’s words in that hot, stuffy little room. “He might want to. He might try. But if anyone wants to hurt Peitar, can Derek really protect him? And I don’t mean just rioters—my uncle’s out there, too. I know he blames Peitar because Peitar is friends with Derek. I think Uncle Dirty Hands is the biggest threat of all.”
Innon sat up, silhouetted against the stars. “D’you wish Derek had killed the king, then?”
“Not like that,” I said quickly. “And . . . oh, I don’t know what I feel, except I don’t want to see him again—ever, ever.” My throat tightened. “I just know I need to find a way to help Peitar make things right again. Somehow. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Silence from the boys.
I managed to sleep, but the murmur of voices filtered in, twisting my dreams into nightmares. I woke with a start to hear two soft, fierce almost-whispers.
“. . . I don’t care what Derek says he is. I mean, I like Peitar, too, but he’s not a leader. He’s not.” Innon’s anger didn’t match up with the easygoing boy I’d first met.
“So the revolution’s all in our heads?” Bren, on the other hand, had not lost a jot of his sarcasm. “Derek told me that Peitar was Number One—and Derek is a leader.”
“No, he isn’t. He started that revolution—anyone can start a fight. You didn’t spend a week in Miraleste, watching bullies beat people up and take what they wanted. Derek makes all kinds of speeches, but he can’t stop it.”
“He says people have to decide for themselves. That’s what freedom is. No one is a lord, or everyone is a lord for himself.”
“My father says most people are content to follow—”
“Your dad’s a noble! Of course he’ll say that! Derek’s strong. He’s fought off a lot of the king’s bullies.”
“Strong doesn’t mean smart. Stupid, mean, and evil can be strong—and that’s who’s going to be ruling under Derek’s ‘freedom.’”
“He isn’t going to just sit around and watch that happen,” Bren retorted.
“He can’t stop it. I tell you, I was there. I walked around yesterday, trying to find something to eat, and heard people wishing that the king would come back. And they weren’t nobles—there aren’t any nobles around the city anymore.”
“I don’t believe anyone said they want Dirty Hands back.” Bren sounded fierce.
Innon didn’t answer, and I drifted off, not waking until morning.
• • •
WE CONTINUED SOUTH. Most of the time we were alone on the road, as there are no great cities or market towns just south of Miraleste. To the west stretched the plains on which flax and wheat had grown in better times. To the east lay the broadening river valley, where rice beds stretched between river branches.
And to the south lay the long, dark line of Diannah Forest.
“I really don’t like having to go there,” Innon said finally.
“Peitar told us that we’d be safe,” I reminded him.
“How? No one’s safe in Diannah Wood! The king mounted a couple of surprise attacks to clean it out—both times, the outlaws found out and vanished. And I guess there wasn’t enough money in the treasury to put a garrison in the forest just for a few caravans.”
“Peitar seemed to think we’d be all right,” I repeated. “Derek, too. Maybe the outlaws only come out for nobles and rich traders. I’m not going to worry.”
• • •
THE NEXT TWO days brought us ever nearer to Diannah. Bren was the best at catching and cooking fish for our meals, but Innon was handy, too. He’d roamed for entire days up in Tasenja, his parents’ province, and had learned what was good to eat and what to avoid.
Finally, great trees closed around us, b
locking even the mountains from view as we rode into the cool, shady maple forest that bounded the deep heart of the wood. Our horses picked their way over mossy logs and spongy undergrowth. The occasional broad-wing hawk drifted silently through the dark canopy above, making us feel we were being watched.
It was a strange feeling, especially after so many days in which we’d seen almost no one. I thought it was my imagination until I saw Innon looking around uneasily—Bren, too, as the light began to fade. He pulled out the small paring knife he’d taken from Selenna House.
Dark came faster than it had out in the open. Bren said, “Maybe we’d better dismount and scout out a campsite. Lilah, you see best in the dark—”
“Halt,” a voice ordered.
“Uh-oh,” Innon muttered. “Let’s get out of here!”
“Which way?” I asked—just as someone grabbed the bridle of my horse. Then I was pulled from the saddle and landed with a thump on the mossy ground. Innon stood silently near his horse, a slim woman beside him, her drawn sword resting point down. Bren tried to defend himself, but a man knocked the knife out of his hand.
We were led through dense forest to a sheltered, campfire-lit grotto and an older, bearded man, standing with a group of adults. Bren glowered, Innon looked terrified, and I kept thinking over and over, Peitar said we’d be safe, Peitar said we’d be safe.
“We haven’t done anything to anybody,” Bren said.
I was about to add that we had nothing of value, when fingers twitched the book out of my sash, and I yelled, “Hey! That’s mine!”
“Who are you, little fire-eater?” the bearded man asked.
“Lilah Selenna,” I blurted before I could think, and Bren moaned.
The man accepted the book from the forester behind me. “And these others?”
“Innon Tasenja,” Innon said, coming to stand beside me.
“Bren Breneoson.” He sighed.
“Well. Let’s just see what we have. Fashion sketches?” the bearded man said in a voice of amazement, and the other adults laughed. I fumed. By the light of the fire, he read out some of the descriptions of the gowns, to more laughter. Then he paused. “Now, here’s something different.” He continued reading in silence, then looked up and frowned. “I see Selenna’s name—not surprising. But here’s Derek Diamagan, and King Darian Irad. Would that be the same as ‘Uncle Darian’? I can’t make out many of the words. Come here, girl. You read it to us.”
“I refuse!”
“Then I’ll throw it in the fire,” the man said.
I remembered what Peitar had done with his letters. “So burn it.”
“All that work, so quickly consigned to ash? What can you be concealing, I wonder?”
I looked at the waiting adults. They looked back, and though they knew two of us were nobles, and one wasn’t, they hadn’t separated us or made any threats. Peitar said we’d be safe.
So I started reading aloud, faltering when my abbreviations confused me. There were some chuckles at first. Otherwise, they listened in silence.
When I paused for breath, the man said, “Skip to the mention of the king.”
I paged to the day of the revolution, and read to where Peitar, Bren, and I left Miraleste. Then I shut the book, for I wasn’t going to talk about what had happened to Father.
It seemed to be enough. The man stared down into the fire, then looked up. “So. You were there for this revolt. What have you to say for either cause?”
He wasn’t looking at the boys but at me.
I shrugged, feeling awkward. “I don’t know. I want—I want justice, and freedom, and all the things Derek talked about, but I don’t want it the way it’s been. I don’t want any more people getting killed.”
“Do you think your brother knows what to do?”
“If anyone does, it’s Peitar,” I said stoutly. “Or if he doesn’t now, he will. That much I’m sure of. It’s just that I don’t know if anyone will listen to him, because he can’t fight with a sword, and he has that crooked leg, and he doesn’t always make sense.”
“Your account of his words makes plenty of sense,” the man retorted, but not unkindly. Then his tone changed. “When you see Lord Peitar Selenna again, you tell him if he has need, he can send a message here to Diannah Wood, to Deveral, and there will be what help we can muster.” I gaped at him. “Deveral. Can you remember that?”
“Deveral. Diannah Wood.” I added in a tentative voice, “Um, how should he send a message? How will you know to believe it?”
Deveral gave a sudden smile. “If he speaks to Lizana, the message will get to us. When she’s not by, he’s to send someone and use her name.” Lizana? More secrets! He addressed the others by the fire. “Feed them, and in the morning put them on the road to the valley.”
five
A girl not much older than us brought our horses and led us down a path. Shafts of gold-green morning light filtered down overhead, birds called to each other, and there were more wildflowers than I’d ever seen in the tangled garden at Selenna House. The sight and scent squeezed my heart with unexpected sadness for all we had lost.
Our guide talked readily enough. “This is one of the oldest forests in the world, though I’m told that the woodland up in Everon and Wnelder Vee is older—there, and even farther north.”
“Are there any morvende here? Or any of the other magic races?” I asked.
She shook her head. “There’s been no sign of the morvende since Norsunder took Sartor.” She jerked her thumb westward. “Those mountains make the border, you know. We’re close—damn close.”
The bad word seemed uncomfortably apt. None of us had ever seen Norsundrians, but everyone knew that their country existed outside of time. Its rulers were more powerful than mages and did evil things. You could go there to avoid death and live as long as you liked—except the Norsundrians owned your soul and could consume it, and you, to make them stronger.
“So what do you do?” Bren asked. “Are you thieves?”
“Sometimes.” She was not in the least apologetic. “Though not many worth robbing come through Diannah. You can call us ‘guardians,’ for that’s nearer the truth.” She patted the nose of Bren’s mare. “We’re still going to exact a price from you. We want your mounts when you reach the transfer. Just send them back down the trail.”
“But the mountains go on and on,” I protested. “And some of them have snow all year!”
She grinned at me, her dark eyes friendly. “You won’t need the horses, once you do the spell. I promise you.”
At noon, she gave Innon a parcel of food and said, “Follow this trail all the way up, until you come out of the wood. You’ll know when. Fare well.” She clucked, and her longhaired pony trotted down the trail until the shadows swallowed them.
By late afternoon, the forest had thinned, and we stopped by a stream. The parcel contained nutbread, which served as dinner.
“When do we get to the magic?” I wondered.
“I tried it. Nothing happened,” Bren replied cheerily, rubbing down his horse.
Peitar said we’d be safe, I thought.
• • •
NEXT DAY’S RIDE took us steadily uphill, past rocky cliffs and soughing stands of pine. By midday the path had narrowed, skirting the edges of increasingly steep escarpments.
“I think it’s time to let the animals go,” Bren said.
Innon grimaced. “I don’t much look forward to walking up this cliff.”
But it was too dangerous for horses, so we sent them back down the trail to the foresters.
“Shall we try the magic?” I asked.
Innon looked dubious. “If it doesn’t work, it won’t do something terrible, will it?”
“Like make your ears fall off, or turn you into a tree stump?” Bren snickered.
> “I don’t know anything about magic, remember?”
“I don’t either, really,” I said, “but Lasva Dei said there are two kinds—light and dark. Light magic either works or it doesn’t. Dark magic can destroy you if you do it wrong—it’s more powerful, but it’s dangerous. And there aren’t any safeguards.”
Now Innon sounded even more anxious. “What kind is ours, light or dark?”
“It has to be light. After all, we aren’t harming anything.”
“Well, let’s try, then,” Bren suggested.
I tucked the book more securely into my sash. We taught Innon as Peitar had taught us, in the carriage to Miraleste—gestures first, then the words. After we were sure he knew it as well as we did, we tried for real.
And nothing happened. We tried again, slower. Nothing.
“I guess we need to keep going.” I sighed.
So we climbed until all three of us were panting. My feet began to slip.
We tried the magic again. And, again, nothing. Bren sat down, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “What now? Did we learn it wrong?”
I took a deep breath to answer and felt strange. Tingly, the way I felt stepping through a cleaning frame. And then curiously light, as if I could run uphill. I tried a leap over a rock—and came down softly, as if I were in water.
“How’d you do that?” Innon asked behind me.
I tried another leap, this time higher, and my body stayed suspended for a long breath before it began drifting down. I flung up my arms—and I rose into the air!
Bren gave a wild yell of joy. “Deon will love this!” He shot past me, soaring upward with frightening speed. Then Innon launched himself into the air, his arms windmilling. He turned in a slow circle, making noises of surprise and delight.
We were flying!
“Arms up for speed, out for steady,” Bren called. “Point your head toward where you want to go.” He skimmed across the sky, silhouetted against the sun, his body straight, his arms wide, fingers curved like the wingtips of a raptor.
The Spy Princess Page 12
