“Master Ymell and Mistress Yriatt destroyed a group of Silletsian spies in Carthell. Afterward, the duke saw his error,” Lottres said with what sounded like a dry understatement. “He will march to Crutham's aid, though I must caution that Carthell is still unreliable. If the circumstances permit it, Johanz may yet attempt to place Albrett on the throne.”
“Oskar is the king of Crutham,” Alustra replied with fierce resolve.
“I agree,” Lottres hastily answered.
“Did you also know that Oskar has vanished?” Alustra asked with a cold edge to her voice.
“No,” Lottres admitted. “We knew the enemy was somewhere in Harburg. Until we heard you saying so, we didn't know he might have taken Oskar's place.”
“What do you mean, you heard us?” Therula interrupted. “You weren't even here!”
Lottres gave Pikarus a surprised glance. “Didn't you tell them?”
“It hadn't come up,” Pikarus answered.
“What are you speaking of?” Alustra demanded.
“I am also a student of Mistress Yriatt,” Lottres said. “I’m learning to be a wizard.”
“You?” Therula blurted incredulously.
“Why not?” Lottres gave Therula an exasperated look.
“Well, I —.” Therula fumbled.
Lottres, a wizard? The gawky boy, forever with a parchment in his hands? It didn't seem possible he should do something so drastic. So...romantic. And yet, hadn't she just been thinking something was different about him?
“You are a king's son,” Alustra said, cutting off Therula's jumbled thoughts. “One must wonder where your loyalties lie, with your ancestral domain or with your new masters.”
“Since Mistress Yriatt was my father's ally, I don't see the conflict,” Lottres answered. Therula could tell he was trying to control his anger, but the dull red in his cheeks gave him away.
“Then you will fight for Crutham,” Alustra went on, ignoring his reaction. She glanced at Shaelen with cool question. “Both of you?”
“Of course,” Lottres snapped.
“If we are permitted,” Shaelen spoke for the first time. She had a slight accent, but Therula was surprised to hear that her Cruthan was quite good. “If our presence is too disagreeable...”
“No,” Lottres broke in.
The two of them shared a long glance, and Therula could fairly hear the silent argument between them. Then Lottres looked squarely at Alustra.
“I accept your right to command me,” he said. “You are the queen, and I will do as you order. But this is my home. I won't be driven out by superstition.”
“Very well.” Alustra didn't acknowledge his accusation. “As long as you do obey.”
“Then,” Pikarus hastily put in, “why did you return to Crutham, your highness? You might have remained in Carthell with... the others.”
Shaelen shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Lottres was so careful not to look at her that Therula had to wonder what they were hiding.
“It's Brastigan,” Lottres confessed. “We both sense he's in some kind of trouble.”
“That's nothing unusual,” Alustra sniffed, annoyed all over again by the reminder of her least favorite princeling.
“This time is different,” Lottres said. “He's in real danger. Especially if Pikarus is right about Ys... uh, someone having taken Oskar's place.”
“Your majesty,” Pikarus said, “Javes and I have been searching for Prince Brastigan since we realized that our enemy must be here. We cannot find him.”
“Compared to the fate of our missing king,” Alustra retorted, “I fear that is of little consequence.”
“Brastigan has a right to be here, just as I do,” Lottres began with real heat.
“Mother, Lottres, please don't argue,” Therula begged. “Not now.”
Alustra turned for a moment, her brows raised in stern surprise. Therula held her own gaze steady. She knew Unferth's constant infidelities had hurt Alustra. Indeed, after her own doubts of the past few weeks, Therula understood better than ever how her mother felt. Yet the one good result was that Unferth's many sons were all highly motivated to keep Crutham free. This wasn't the time for Alustra to cling to past grievances, not with their kingdom teetering on the brink of destruction.
“Therula is right,” Lottres said, though his arms were folded stubbornly across his chest. “If we get into family history, we'll be here until dawn. Perhaps we should concentrate on the matter at hand.”
Alustra didn't acknowledge Lottres's rebuke any more than she had before, but Pikarus quickly picked up the subject.
“Her majesty has requested that my squad search for the king,” he said. It was a careful choice of words. Only Oskar or Garican could issue orders. Alustra had to make requests. “Will you both assist us?”
“We have to be careful,” Lottres cautioned. “He will sense it if we use our magic. Then we're all done for.”
“There's no reason you couldn't accompany us,” Pikarus said. “Your eyes are as good as any man's, and we may need magic to free them, regardless of the risk.”
“If the same enemy has taken both of them,” Shaelen ventured, “they may be held together. In finding one, we may find both.”
“That would be a great good fortune,” Alustra said. Therula was relieved to hear her make some effort at reconciliation.
“When do we begin?” Lottres asked. “Supper is still going on in the Hall downstairs, but it won't last forever.”
“We must wait until high night,” Pikarus said. “But I think we shouldn't remain here much longer.”
“We need to rest, anyway,” Lottres said. “We've been traveling all day. Where can we wait and not be seen? In the barracks?”
“No, you'd be noticed,” Pikarus said. “Rumors would spread.”
“Your own quarters are occupied, I'm afraid,” Therula said. “Eskelon and Sebbelon needed a place to sleep, and I don't know where else we can put them. I don't think anyone is using Brastigan's room, though. He's supposed to be in it.”
Lottres gave Shaelen another questioning look. She shrugged uncomfortably.
“That will have to do,” Lottres said.
He and Shaelen rose, and Pikarus did, too. As they all trooped toward the door, Therula was left at the table with her mother, among the beautiful dishes and half eaten delicacies. She turned in her chair, watching Pikarus leave without touching her, without saying a word. Therula stared at her plate and stiffened her chin to keep it from trembling.
Alustra reached across the table to take her hand. She looked tired again, Therula thought. Perhaps the sparring with Lottres had reminded her of too many past conflicts, battles in a war which, truthfully, she had lost years ago. But a woman of Alustra's pride did not surrender, no matter what the situation might be. Though her skin was loose with age, her grip was as firm as ever.
“I have learned,” Alustra said softly, “that a woman must never permit herself to be ignored.”
“Oh, Mother!” The blunt advice startled a laugh out of Therula. She came around the table to embrace her mother with fierce emotion. “I'm so glad you're back with us.”
Then she sprang to her feet and ran after Pikarus. Therula found the three of them in the corridor. Lottres was turned toward the door, as if he had known she was coming.
“I'm sorry about Mother,” Therula said as she joined them. “She will come around. Expedience overcomes ego, you know.”
“I wish she wouldn't always throw it in our faces. It's not like we wanted to be born out of turn.” Lottres slouched down the corridor, still irritated. The others followed him around the corner and down the stairs toward the inner courtyard.
“I know,” Therula soothed. She also knew Alustra wasn't the only one who ought to apologize. Therula turned awkwardly to Shaelen. “If you don't want to use Brastigan's room, you can borrow my bed. I don't think I'll be going to sleep early.”
Not while Cliodora was likely to burst in with all her questions the moment
Therula returned from dinner. Not to mention her own worries about Oskar and Brastigan and the future of Crutham.
“Don't be a prude,” Lottres snorted. “Nothing will happen.”
Therula felt her cheeks tingle as he misunderstood her concern. As if she didn't know Brastigan had had women in his bed before!
“Thank you,” Shaelen murmured. “That is kind of you, princess, but I think we should stay together.”
“I agree,” Pikarus said. “You're both too vulnerable as it is.”
“Shaelen can sleep in the bed,” Lottres went on. “I'll sleep on the floor.” Then he jumped, as if Shaelen had stepped on his foot, but Therula hadn't seen her move.
“We won't be in the bed at the same time because one of us must keep watch,” Shaelen said. Strangely, Lottres was grinning at her.
They had crossed the inner courtyard and now descended the ramp toward the outer court. The sky was darkening above, and the towers of the keep were the color of a dove. Light from the windows of the grand hall spilled patches of color over the cobblestones. Vague forms moved behind the glass. Therula had the weird sense that she was an outsider in her own home. As if the evil being who impersonated her brother had walled her away from the true life of the keep. She found herself shivering.
“Are you cold?” Pikarus asked. He moved beside her, not quite touching, yet near enough that she felt his presence like a woolen cloak. “Perhaps I should escort her highness to her chambers.”
“That's fine. I know where we're going,” Lottres said. As they separated, Lottres added, “But you aren't fooling anyone, Pikarus.”
Therula pretended not to hear him. She lifted her chin and marched off toward the women's wing. “I'm not sure I like him as a wizard,” she grumbled as Lottres and Shaelen disappeared into the men's wing.
“I suppose he can't help showing off,” Pikarus said. He sounded unperturbed. That bothered Therula almost as much as Lottres's teasing.
She should be glad, Therula thought. Pikarus wasn't purposely ignoring her. He had been distracted, and rightly so. His news—Oskar gone, a stranger in his place—was grave. Therula shouldn't have assumed his silence was sinister. She was a princess. She ought to know that everything wasn't always about her.
Candlelight inside the building made Therula blink. The flames seemed harsh and bright after the gray dusk outside. They walked in silence, though Therula's temples throbbed with tension. So many words, held in so long. She felt she must choke with the need to speak.
“Come in for a moment, Sergeant,” Therula said when they reached her door. It was the same bland order she always gave, only now twisted by her tension.
“Don't let Lottres upset you,” Pikarus said, accurately guessing some of her mind. He made sure the door was tightly closed before turning into the room.
“But he's right, isn't he?” At last Therula dropped her pretense, let Pikarus see the fear in her eyes. “It's what we've been doing all along—hiding!”
“We both agreed that privacy is best.” Pikarus took her small, cold hands in his great warm ones.
“I just don't want you to think I'm ashamed of you,” Therula blurted out.
“I never thought that,” Pikarus scolded affectionately. He drew Therula into his arms. She clung to his strength and wished she could stop shaking.
“Everything has been so confused,” Therula told him. “And I missed you so much! Father died, and then Oskar was acting so odd, and that stupid gamble of his. I was so afraid of what you would say.
“You couldn't have known it,” he said, “but King Oskar must already have been replaced when you made your wager with him. The dragon has ways to make you agree with him, even if it wasn't what you wanted. Don't dwell on it, my love.”
“I hadn't thought of that.” Therula leaned against Pikarus, feeling a flood of relief. “Even so, I was afraid you would meet another woman on your journey. It seemed like Father did, every time he stepped out the door. I couldn't bear it if you didn't want me any more.”
“Never think that!”
Pikarus bent toward Therula. She sighed with sweet relief and clung to him while they kissed passionately. Ah, this is what she had longed for all day. No, all week—all month! Soon Therula was warm from head to toe. She no longer had any doubt of her lover's feelings.
Even when their lips parted, Pikarus held Therula close.
“Our enemy has made you question yourself,” he murmured. “You must be strong, for the danger is still great. Now I must go. Javes and our squad will need to prepare for tonight's work.”
“I know.” Therula nodded reluctantly. She stood on her toes to kiss him again. “Go. Send word when you've found either one of them. And be careful, my love.”
* * *
Brastigan lay on the pallet, waiting for his emotions to fade along with the pain and nausea. Emotion, he thought with disgust. That had been his problem all along: emotion. Ever since he left Harburg on Yriatt's quest, he'd been so turned around, he didn't know what he was doing. Emotion drove Lottres away from him. Emotion made him turn to a girl who was only half there. Emotion over Unferth's death blinded him to danger.
It was time to remember he was a warrior. A great warrior, he reminded himself. If Ysislaw was vain enough to think this one skirmish meant victory over Brastigan, so much the better. He would teach the tyrant, in time.
Strangely, Brastigan found himself grinning. He no longer felt hung over. He was invigorated, alive with purpose. No more of this sitting around, waiting —as the girl would wait—for someone to tell him what to do. Brastigan knew what he had to do. It was a relief to have a clear goal, even if it was as simple as getting out of this prison.
Brastigan sat up, holding out his hands for a close look at the bindings. The single, long chain ran through a round steel eye in the wall behind him. It connected the two metal cuffs on his wrists. Ah, but the cuffs weren't solid metal bolted together by the chain. They opened or closed with a hinge. Each had a spring-catch, and the black slot of a simple lock.
Here was something he could work with. Brastigan grinned again, blessing the many days he had wasted at the Dead Donkey. He yanked off his empty sword belt. With the buckle's flat tongue, he set to work on those locks. It might take a while to worry them open, but he would manage. At the moment, he had nothing but time.
FINDING THE LOST
The manacles came off easily enough, but Brastigan soon found escape wasn't such a simple matter. The door could only be unlocked from outside. Brastigan pressed his ear to the crack, but heard no voices or movement. When he knelt to peer beneath the door there was only blackness on the other side.
So Ysislaw had left no guards. He must not think he would need them. Well, he might be right about that. Isolation was an effective prison on its own.
Brastigan rested on the floor for a moment. Then he sprang to his feet, not bothering to move quietly. He should have known it was going too easily. Here he was, free! Yet still trapped. Free and trapped at the same time. Wasn't that the story of his life?
Brastigan prowled his small cell with restless energy for a time, then slouched down on the pallet. As soon as he sat still, he felt his eyes burning with exhaustion. His mouth opened on a yawn as wide as the plains of Daraine. Passing out drunk didn't count as resting—he was still worn to the bone.
Since he couldn't break out, Brastigan did the only other thing he could do. He stretched out and rolled over with his back to the door. Holding the steel cuffs, he curled his arms against his chest so that anyone who checked on him would think him still in chains. Then he went to sleep.
* * *
Brastigan's room was quiet and dark. Dark, because Lottres had put out the candle when all the occupants of rooms around them had settled into sleep. Quiet, because Shaelen was resting at last, and he didn’t want to disturb her.
Upon reaching Brastigan's room, they had both spent a good deal of time examining the archway between the sitting room and the bedchamber. They both sense
d residual energy there. Shaelen thought the arch could have been the center of a transportation spell, like the Dragon's Candle—or Dragon's Well, depending what side you came from. If Pikarus was correct that Brastigan had been abducted, it could have happened in this very room. As it was, the archway was more tantalizing than helpful.
Lottres shifted in his chair. He would have welcomed a pot of tea, but since that was denied him, he relied on his own thoughts to keep him awake. Certainly they were thorny enough to do the job.
Therula's harsh judgment, based solely on appearances, had bothered Shaelen a great deal. Lottres didn't like it, either. He hadn't remembered Therula being so prissy. Still, Lottres tried not to hold it against her. Of all Alustra's children, only Therula ever went out of her way to be civil to the rest of the family. Yet she was always putting herself across as so worldly and sophisticated, when she was hardly more than a fluttering, frightened girl. The deception disappointed him.
Soon enough, Lottres got bored with fuming over small slights. He sat still and listened, as he had all the way through Altannath. It wasn't hard to locate Ysislaw, of course. His power and presence filled the main keep as light fills a lamp. Such enormous self-confidence made Lottres feel small. He wondered how they would ever fool Ysislaw, with his ages of cunning. They would just have to hope that whatever blocked magic from outside Harburg would conceal them, too.
Lottres yawned, then told himself he'd better stop doing it. Unlike him, dragons didn't even have to sleep. Yriatt said they found sleep pleasurable, and this was how the eppagadrocca had managed to ensnare Ymell, but it wasn't essential. The dragons could recover their energies through meditation. Shaelen had said she knew how, but that this wasn't the time for lessons. Lottres agreed. He could imagine Ysislaw up in the keep somewhere, listening for any hint of their presence just as Lottres listened for him.
Besides, Lottres's head felt so heavy, he probably would have fallen asleep if he tried meditating. He shifted in his chair again, trying to remain alert and focused.
Faintly, from the harbor, Lottres heard the moan of a fog horn. It sounded like a very large cow. Or voices in a dream. The mournful bellow came again. Lottres stifled another yawn. He was about to get up and see if Shaelen was ready to join Pikarus, when he heard a voice.
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