Lords of Trillium

by Hilary Wagner

  “Elvi, I had no idea how deeply you’d been wounded,” said Juniper, watching her small, cloaked frame curl over her teapot. “You’ve always been so self-assured. I suppose it never occurred to me that your scars from the past could run so deep . . . and for that I am sorry. As for your stolen heart, I’m afraid it’s still very much with you. In fact, you’ve a bigger heart than any rat I know. Texi is proof of that. You’ve built up her confidence, and we are all grateful for that, but just as you’ve built her up, I’ve noticed she’s become rather dependent on you. It seems she can’t even breathe these days without asking your permission first. She needs to make up her own mind, make her own decisions.”

  Turning around with the sweetest of smiles, Elvi cocked her head. “You always put things into perspective, Juniper. Here I thought it was good for her, but perhaps I have been a bit iron-handed. I only thought I was helping her.”

  “You have helped her,” said Juniper, “but it’s high time she stood on her own two feet.”

  “Agreed,” she said, reaching for two teacups in her small cupboard. “Standing next to Clover will be a special reward for Texi. She has earned it.”

  “You’ve earned it as well,” said Juniper. “Without you as a teacher, Texi could not be the self-assured rat she is today. Elvi, you should be proud. You deserve it.”

  She grinned broadly. “You’re right. I do deserve it.” She set a teacup in front of Juniper.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” said Juniper, holding up his paw. “I must admit I feel more energized lately, more lucid. Probably just happenstance, but it all started when I stopped drinking tea.” He chuckled. “I know it sounds foolish, but for that reason alone I’ll politely pass.”

  Taking the teacup, Elvi slowly turned back to the cupboard, concealing her resentment in a taut grin. She gritted her teeth as she spoke. “Where, then, does Maddy see our Texi standing in the wedding party?” she asked stiffly.

  “Well, Clover asked her to be the maid of honor, and though I don’t know much about these affairs, I suppose Texi will stand beside the happy couple.”

  With much effort, Elvi controlled her shaky breath and trembling paws as she replaced the teacup in her cupboard. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. Time was drawing near. Soon everyone in Nightshade would know the name of Hecate.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Payback

  THE BELANCORT QUARTERS BUSTLED with energy. Mother Gallo whirled around Clover, checking and double-checking every inch of her perfectly pressed yellow silk sash. Mother Gallo’s older sons were supposed to be keeping Julius and Nomi calm, but their own excitement only led to more bedlam. Hob, Tuk, and Gage dashed about the quarters, chasing Texi, Julius, and Nomi, who screamed in blissful terror each time one of them reached for their tails.

  Juniper walked up behind Clover as she regarded herself in the mirror. He rested his paws on her shoulders. “You look stunning, my dear.” He sighed. “But are you certain you’re ready for this? You don’t have to get married, you know. Vincent will wait.”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” she said decisively. She laughed, smiling at her uncle in the mirror’s reflection. “Besides, you love Vincent.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” agreed Juniper, “but aren’t all doting fathers expected to try to talk their daughters out of marriage just before they walk down the aisle?”

  “I suppose so,” said Clover.

  “Barcus would love Vincent too, but knowing my brother, it’s exactly what he’d say to you if he were here.”

  Clover glanced up. “I’ve a feeling he is here . . . and mother and my brothers. I can feel them all around us.”

  “So can I,” said Juniper, giving her shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

  Clutching a needle and thread for last-minute mending, Mother Gallo rushed up beside her husband. “Now Juniper, you aren’t expecting to wear that mucky cloak and ragged old satchel to the wedding, are you? Why, you look like a vagrant! Please, for Clover’s sake, take them off.”

  Chuckling, Juniper kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Anything for you, dear.” He reached for his leather bag, about to take it off.

  Clover spun around. “No, Uncle,” she said firmly. “Stay just the way you are.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mother Gallo, aghast. “You don’t want your uncle dressed like this at your wedding, Clover.”

  “Actually . . . I do,” she replied. “It’s who he is. I’ve never known him to look another way. I want the same uncle who rescued me from the Catacombs to be at my wedding.” She giggled. “Not some dapper imposter.”

  “Very well,” said Mother Gallo, throwing her paws in the air. “It’s your wedding, and if you want to be given away by this grimy excuse for a rat, then so be it.” She straightened the collar of Juniper’s cloak. “I suppose it will have to do.” Try as she might, she couldn’t help but smile. “He’s still quite handsome, this one, muck and all.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Juniper with a wink. “Now then, I’m off to petrify the groom about the many pitfalls of matrimony, starting with his lovely wife harping on his appearance for the rest of his pitiful life.”

  “Oh you,” said Mother Gallo, swatting his arm.

  Juniper looked around at the frenzied activity. “I daresay you’ll have no objection to one less rat in the house.”

  “Goodness no,” said Mother Gallo as Julius and Texi whizzed by her, “and please, take the boys with you.” Nomi squealed as Tuk and Hob snatched at her tail. “It’s absolute madness in here!”

  “It is madness,” agreed Clover as she took in the chaos, thinking back to her many silent, solitary days trapped in the Catacombs, “but the very best kind.”

  The carts and vendors of Nightshade’s city square had vanished, and in their place were long vines interwoven with honeysuckle and purple saxifrage, hanging from the grand rotunda. The white and purple flowers thrived in Trillium’s chilly climate, and Mother Gallo thought they were a perfect testament to Vincent and Clover’s endurance through the many trials of their young lives.

  Nightshade citizens had funneled in from the corridors, each resident gasping at the transformed city square, a hanging forest of white and purple, its sweet perfume winding through the ordinarily musty underground city.

  Vincent sat next to his brother on the steps leading up to the makeshift altar. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he said to Victor, furrowing his brow. “I think we should have waited. The Hunter rats are still missing, and here we are having a wedding, my wedding. Somehow it gives me an ill feeling I can’t seem to shake.”

  “Cheer up,” said Victor sharply. “For Saints’ sake, it’s your wedding day. The citizens need a distraction, and so do you. You’ve always been a worrywart, you know.” Vincent opened his mouth to reply. “And before you say it, I realize you’ve had your reasons to be worried. You had to raise me, for one.

  “What I’m trying to say is you deserve a little happiness. For once in your life it’s all right to be selfish, brother. No one will fault you for it. You’ve earned it.”

  “For the record, I’m not a worrywart”—Vincent playfully punched Victor’s shoulder—“but you are a good brother. You’re relentlessly annoying, but you’re a good brother all the same.”

  “Practically the whole city’s here,” said Victor. The front rows had filled up with close friends, family, and the Council. He saw Hob, Mother Gallo’s youngest, sitting next to Kar. Kar looked around the room as though trying to spot someone. Victor’s forehead wrinkled. “Speaking of good brothers, where are Suttor and Duncan? Kar’s looking a little lost, sitting there next to two empty chairs.”

  Using two upside-down buckets and a small wooden crate, Suttor and Duncan had set up a makeshift table and chairs in the prison corridor.

  Even with some of the prisoners commenting and complaining in the background, Duncan felt at ease. He had Elvi to thank for that. She’d released him from his fear and made him realiz
e just how silly he’d been all this time. It gave him high hopes for the future, when they would navigate the museum with him leading the way.

  Suttor talked with his mouth full, already on his second biscuit. “Your timing is so good,” he said in a muddled voice. He finally swallowed his bite. “I’m starving!”

  Duncan poured them each some tea. “When do you get to leave for the wedding?”

  “My replacement should be here soon. I’m glad we get to eat before the ceremony. They always seem to drag on, and by the time it’s over I’m famished.”

  “Me too,” said Duncan, pushing a cup of tea in front of Suttor.

  “Here,” said Suttor, pointing to the basket of biscuits. “Take another before I eat them all.” He picked up his cup and drained it. “Ah . . . that’s better.”

  Duncan laughed. “Slow down,” he said. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “Lali’s biscuits and Elvi’s tea,” said Suttor. “If I’m going to get sick over something, it might as well be the two things I love!” He exhaled contentedly. “Pour me another cup, will you?”

  As Duncan picked up the teapot, Suttor put a paw to his forehead and rubbed it. “You all right?” Duncan asked.

  “I think so,” said Suttor. “You’re right, though, maybe I shouldn’t overdo it. I feel . . . a little funny.” He began to sway slightly on his stool. “I . . . I . . .”

  “Suttor?”

  Suttor dropped to a heap on the dirt floor.

  Falling to his knees, Duncan grabbed his brother by the shoulders, gently shaking him. “Suttor, wake up!” He put his ear to Suttor’s chest, but all he could hear was the dizzying rush of blood going to his head as panic struck him.

  The prisoners began to shout and curse. They banged impatient fists against the bars and scratched their doors with eager claws.

  “That’s it, boy!” called out a voice that Duncan quickly recognized as High Major Foiber’s. “Be loyal to your High Ministry!”

  There was a banging on the outer door. Duncan gasped. A gray rat with yellow eyes stuck his snout in between the bars of the small window. “What’s going on in there? Let me in straightaway!”

  “My brother!” shouted Duncan. “Something’s happened to him. He’s passed out on the floor. Please, help me!” He ripped the leather cord off of Suttor’s neck and raced for the door, fumbling with the key. “I don’t know what happened. He was fine just a minute ago!”

  The rat pushed his way past Duncan. He crouched over Suttor and patted his face. “Yep, he’s out like a light. Good work!”

  “Good work?” said Duncan, horrified by the comment.

  The rat laughed riotously. “Stupid oaf! I’m amazed you pulled it off. Now go, before I release these cutthroats upon you!”

  “What—what are you talking about?” demanded Duncan. He looked vacantly around at the growling prisoners. “Re . . . release them?”

  The rat rolled his eyes wearily. “Never have I encountered such a mealy-mouthed, slack-jawed rat. And look at you; you’re built like a mountain! What a waste. Now go!”

  “You—you want me to leave? What about Suttor?”

  The rat stood upright, nudging a motionless Suttor with his foot. “Hecate was right,” said the rat. “ ‘You’ll see,’ she told me, ‘I’ll pull on his oversized heartstrings and the big orange one will do whatever I say.’ ” He laughed some more. “Oh, positively priceless!”

  “Who’s Hecate?”

  “You really are stupid, aren’t you?” asked the rat. “Hecate is Elvi. Your beloved little Elvi, the rat Juniper and the others knew from the old days, is long since dead—killed years ago when we were all forced onto that abysmal ship during the Great Flood. No one realized we were fighting for the other side—we were the enemy! Well, they soon learned! Hecate is small and gray, just like that sugary Elvi was. I was glad the day we got rid of her, with her constant cheeriness.” He snickered. “They matched even down to their black eyes, they did. After we returned, the scorching Toscan sun was the perfect excuse for any changes in poor little Elvi’s appearance.”

  “I—I don’t understand!”

  “Of course you don’t, you soft-headed lump. Elvi is Hecate—they are one and the same.” He pointed to the growling majors. “And this handsome lot, they’re with me.”

  “But I thought you were the guard—my brother’s relief so he could go to the wedding.”

  “Oh yes, the guard. That chap’s going to have quite a headache when he wakes up—if he does at all. I made sure of that.” The rat vanished out the main door as he spoke, quickly returning with a large burlap sack. He dumped it on the ground, lethal weapons scattering everywhere. “You, young rat, have brought back the High Ministry—Killdeer’s High Ministry. If you weren’t so dense, I might bloody well thank you.”

  Duncan began to shake uncontrollably. “The—the High Ministry? Killdeer?”

  “You’re looking at one of his lost majors—one who never had a chance to enjoy the easy life in the Catacombs. Me and my boys spent a decade on that wretched island with Hecate, biding our time. Now we’re back to reclaim what is rightfully ours.” He shouted at the prisoners, who cursed and snarled from their cells. “Ready, lads? We’ve been waiting a long time for this!”

  “Hurry, Major Ragwort!” Foiber called out. “I can’t take another moment in here!”

  “Yes!” added Schnauss. “Just let me at Juniper and his precious Council. I will rip them limb from filthy Loyalist limb!”

  Ragwort wasted no more time. He unlocked the metal box that held the keys to the cells, and snatched as many as he could in his claws. He leered menacingly at Duncan. “If I was you, lad, I’d run.”

  The citizens murmured, all growing impatient as time ticked by. “We’ll have to start without them,” whispered Juniper, glancing at the wedding official, who twitched his whiskers impatiently, rocking on his heels and huffing as he waited to begin the ceremony. “The guard relieving Suttor is probably running late. He and Duncan will be here soon, I’m sure.”

  “But Suttor is one of my closet friends,” said Vincent, about to take his place at the altar. “I don’t want to start without him.”

  “I know, son, but these things happen. Suttor will understand. Lali has piles of food ready and waiting for the reception. She’ll have all our heads if it gets cold.” He reached up and touched a purple flower dangling just above his head. “And Maddy will give us both twenty lashes if we leave these flowers to wilt any longer. Besides, single lads are more concerned with the festivities after the nuptials.” He winked. “It’s the celebration that’s special to them, dancing with a pretty girl or two.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Vincent.

  “Good lad. No more time to waste.” Vincent took the last step up to the altar, Victor taking his place by his side. Juniper nodded at the official. “We’re ready.”

  Duncan barreled down the corridors, his heart feeling as if it might rip apart in his chest. He could hear the Kill Army majors thundering behind him. He turned the corner, dashing down the last corridor that led to the city square, the wedding official’s raspy voice echoing through the rotunda.

  He saw a sea of seated citizens in the distance, Clover and Vincent above them at the altar, giving him the faintest glimmer of hope that maybe there was still time to stop this.

  Gasping desperately for breath, Duncan called out, “Juniper! Cole! The—the prisoners, they’re loose! Elvi is—” He heard a loud crack that resounded through his head, his voice losing all power. His whole body launched forward, striking the ground. He couldn’t talk or take in air. As he stared at the ceiling of the corridor, a long gray form took shape above him. It was the rat with the yellow eyes.

  The rat poked him with a long wooden cudgel. “I do applaud you for trying. You’ve got more pluck than I thought. Too late, though, lad . . . you’re done for.” The rat lifted the cudgel over Duncan’s head.

  Juniper glanced around the city square. Still no sign
of Suttor or his brother. There was no reason for concern, but still it was odd. Suttor was never late. Juniper’s ears perked, and his gaze stopped on one of the corridors. He heard a noise that sounded like shouting. He listened intently for a moment. Whatever it was, it was gone. He shook his head and turned back to Clover and Vincent at the altar.

  Mother Gallo leaned in close to him. “Everything all right, dear?”

  “Yes,” he whispered, patting her paw. He regarded his niece. “She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?”

  “Our maid of honor, too,” added Mother Gallo, watching Texi smile proudly as she stood at the altar across from Victor, the best man.

  The official continued. “Vincent Nightshade, what say you? Do you wish Clover by your side, through good and ghastly, dark and daylight—two rats who build a bond, furthering our kind?”

  “I . . . wish it,” said Vincent shakily, more nervous now than he’d ever been even in the most perilous of circumstances. Victor snickered, causing Carn to do the same.

  “And do you, Clover Belancort, wish Vincent by your side, through glee and grief, dawn and demise—two rats who build a bond, furthering our kind?”

  Clover paused a small moment, taking everything in. She wanted to always remember Vincent’s face, her family and friends, the city square—everything—just like it was at this very moment. She took a satisfied breath, then all the hairs on her body suddenly stood on end. A shiver shot up her back as a vaguely familiar sound flooded her ears. “I—” She couldn’t make it out at first, but then it was quite clear. She remembered it from four years ago in the Catacombs, the night Vincent and Juniper helped her make her escape—the sound of pounding footsteps, vibrating through the corridors, coming for her. She looked at Vincent. “Do . . . do you hear that?”

  He nodded and glanced uneasily around the square. Vincent’s gaze fell upon Elvi in the second row. For some reason she’d stood up. Excusing herself politely, she made her way to the center aisle, and as she did so, rat after male rat stood up from the crowd of seated citizens. Vincent recognized many of them; various rats who lived in Nightshade, no one he knew in particular—the types who kept low profiles.