by Elise Allen
“What happened next?” she asked, pulling Gilward’s attention back to her. “After you found the baby?”
“I looked for her, of course,” Gilward said. “Asked all over the palace if anyone had seen her. Some had, but no one knew where she’d gone. I called in every favor I could, reached out to people in her village, but she’d told the truth—she was long gone from Kaloon. All because I was nothing but a court jester.”
The story was settling in for Galric, Sara could tell. She could almost see that baby in his face, sad and abandoned.
Then he set his jaw, cleared his throat, and ran his hand through his hair. “None of this matters,” Galric said. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the curse.”
“But it does!” Gilward insisted. “You deserved a mother, and I deserved a wife. I still loved her. I knew I’d be good to her. And all I had to do was elevate my position. Become more than a court jester. And I knew I could do it because I was a mage. I started practicing my magic, training it, getting it stronger. But at the same time, no matter how strong I got, I knew it was hopeless. I could be the strongest mage in Kaloon, but it would only get me sent to the Twists. So I got angry. I was furious that I’d never be able to reach my true potential, and I blamed the king and queen for that. I believed they were the ones holding me back. I wanted justice—not just for myself, but for you, Galric. For the life you should have had.”
Gilward’s face was red and his nostrils flared. Sara suddenly wished she hadn’t taken off her hood. The mage hadn’t recognized her yet, but so far, despite the tragic beginning, his story went along with everything she had always heard: He was a man with a grudge against the royal family, and out for revenge.
“I wanted justice,” Gilward reiterated, “but I didn’t know what to do. And then I started getting these notes. Unsigned. Slipped into my shoes, my pockets, on my lunch plate. Notes that said I needed to make a statement. For myself, and for all hidden mages.”
That didn’t make sense. Sara jumped in. “Wait. If you hid your powers, how would anyone know to leave you the notes? How did they know you were actually a mage?”
Gilward pointed to her, his eyes twinkling. “Excellent question! One I didn’t bother thinking about at the time, but believe me, I have over the years. I told you I’d been practicing. I thought I was careful about it, but clearly I wasn’t careful enough. Whoever left those notes saw me do magic. And the very fact that they could leave the notes in my things meant that it was someone who worked in the palace, so they knew my situation, and how angry I was. They preyed on my weakness and told me what I wanted to hear. The notes said I could use my powers to show that mages weren’t meant for hiding but for greatness. They said I could prove I was even more powerful than the royal family or the Keepers of the Light, and I could do it by casting a curse on the queen and her unborn child at the party to celebrate her ninth month of pregnancy, right under the Keepers’ noses.”
“And that was supposed to make you, what, a hero?” Galric asked. “Killing the queen and her babies?” He quickly caught himself and shook his head. “I mean—baby?”
Gilward didn’t seem to notice the slip. “Hero, yes,” he said. “Killing, never. No one was even supposed to see me cast the curse. My magical signature is subtle and easy to miss. My plan was to put the queen to sleep. That’s what the notes recommended, and that’s what I wanted to do. Not a long sleep. A week maybe. Just enough time for all Kaloon to worry before I heroically swept in, showed off my true magic, and removed the curse just in time for the baby to arrive. I’d be celebrated throughout the land. And then, Galric, your mother would know I was far more than a court jester, and she’d come back to me.”
Sara took a second to try to match that with the story she’d always known. It didn’t line up.
“But…the story says you pushed to the front of a huge crowd to cast your curse,” she said. “And then you thrust out your hands and started screaming words that no one else understood.”
“Yeah,” Galric agreed. “That’s not subtle.”
“No, it’s not,” Gilward said. “But I didn’t do that. Whoever cast the real spell was watching me. As I was casting it, that mage controlled my body and made me take everyone’s attention. The shouting should have been enough to prove it! Who needs to shout to cast a curse? No mage does! None that I know.”
It was true that Gilward was the only mage Sara had ever heard of who shouted strange words to cast a curse, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. And getting his body taken over by someone else sounded like an awfully convenient excuse.
And yet Sara herself had had her body taken over by a lioness’s magic, so she knew it was possible. Still…
“Okay, what about the hero thing?” she said. “You just told us you thought you’d be a hero when you removed the curse, but a curse can only be removed by the mage who cast it. If you had cursed the queen with a long sleep, like you said you wanted to, then waited a week and saved her, you wouldn’t have been a hero at all. You’d have proved you were the villain.”
“Untrue,” Gilward said. Then he raised a withered finger. “Generally, yes, it’s much harder for a mage to take off someone else’s curse, but a mage with the right strength can do it. And I would have made everyone believe I was a mage with that kind of strength. I was sure of it.”
Then his face clouded over and his voice dulled. “I was filled with hubris, you see. Anger and hubris. And whoever sent me the notes knew it. That mage knew what I’d planned—what he’d planned—and timed his curses right along with mine. He moved my body; he filled the room with bright light, no doubt to hide my own magical signature, which wasn’t as strong or as lasting; and he cast his own curse on the queen at the exact same time as I cast mine. Of course, when magic meets magic, the result is unpredictable. It’s why everything is so chaotic in the Twists: The whole realm is made of the mixed magic of the time’s strongest mages. In my case, the magic recoiled. I was hit with a blast of mixed magic, and became what you see now. I entered that room a young man; I left it stooped, withered, white-haired, and feeble, and I was sent to the Twists before I could even try to prove my innocence.”
Gilward looked at them now, waiting for their reactions. Sara glanced at Galric. He looked angry, sad, and uncertain all at once. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but he had pushed his chair back and his hands were in his lap, kneading one another as he worked through his thoughts.
“I don’t know,” Galric said. He wouldn’t meet his father’s eyes.
“I’m not saying I’m blameless, son,” Gilward told him. “I let my pride get the best of me. Maybe for that I even deserve this body, this exile. But I need you to know that I did not do the crime for which I was sent here. I did not try to kill anyone. Never.”
Then Sara realized something so terrible it sucked her breath away.
“But if you didn’t put this new curse on the queen, you can’t take it back off,” she said, her voice small and broken. “You were only going to pretend you were that strong. You can’t help us at all.”
“You’re right,” Galric said, putting the pieces together along with Sara. Then he slid back his chair and turned to Gilward. “And that means we have no reason to bring you back.”
Gilward paled. “What?! The reason is I’m innocent! I told you! And as for the curse, my magic is much stronger than it was then. I’ve had twelve years to do nothing but practice. If the queen is cursed, I can remove it!”
Sara shook her head. “We saw you. You couldn’t even cut a hunk of cheese. If your magic’s so strong, why didn’t you use it for that?”
Gilward rose and leaned heavily on the table. Spittle clung to the sides of his withered mouth as he cried out desperately, “Look at me! I’m old and feeble. Every time I do magic it weakens me, and I need time to recover, so no, I won’t do it to slice a hunk of cheese. But that doesn’t change the power in me. If you want a curse taken off the queen, bring me to her and I can do it—and you
’ll be liberating an innocent man in the process.”
Galric looked at Sara, lost and uncertain. Sara wasn’t sure what to do either…until the perfect idea exploded into her mind.
“I’ve got it!” she shouted. “We have a friend who was cursed. Her wings are stuck to her sides and her beak is stuck closed. If you can remove the curse, we’ll know you can help the queen. And if you do it in front of Galric, he’ll see your magical signature, so he’ll know if you’re telling the truth about the past too.”
Gilward smiled. He nodded so hard that his whole body bobbed up and down. “Yes,” he said. “Bring her to me. I’ll do it.” Then he turned hopefully to Galric. “And you’ll watch?”
“I will,” Galric said. “But…the Rule of Three…”
“I won’t be here,” Sara said. “I’ll wait with Fl—”
She stopped herself, remembering that Gilward still didn’t know who she really was.
“With my sister. You get Primka and bring her back here. If we see her fly out, we’ll know it worked!”
“Primka?” Gilward asked. “A bird named Primka? When I worked in the palace, there was a bird named Primka….”
Sara thought it was best to avoid this conversation. “Good luck!” she called. Then she raced out of the cottage, flying over the bridge discs like she was made of air.
If Gilward was telling the truth, she and Flissa were finally well on their way to saving their mom.
“I would give anything to see what’s going on in that room right now,” Flissa said.
She and Sara were sitting on Klarney’s back, staring at the faraway cottage. Since she’d returned, Sara had told Flissa Gilward’s entire story. The whole time Sara told it, Flissa shook her head, not buying a word of it. The pieces all fit together too neatly for Gilward and gave him an excuse for everything.
At the same time, if someone had framed him, and they’d been smart about it, every piece of evidence would point to Gilward, and anything he said to deny it would sound like a far-fetched story, too complicated to be true.
Plus, Sara had come up with her brilliant idea that would uncover the truth, so they didn’t have to take Gilward at his word at all.
“If we still had Katya’s pouches, we could ask for a pair of binoculars,” Sara said.
“Or you could just ask me,” Klarney said. “I have very good eyesight. I can see in the side windows.”
“What?!” Flissa cried. “You didn’t tell me you could see inside the cottage! Sara was in there forever and you didn’t tell me anything.”
“You didn’t ask,” Klarney said. “Besides, we were having a lovely conversation about the proper care and feeding of horses, which I for one enjoyed tremendously.”
Flissa smiled. “I liked it too. But since you can see…do you think you could tell us what’s happening?”
“My pleasure,” Klarney said. “Galric and the bird just entered the cottage a moment ago. Now Galric is holding the bird out to Gilward, who has his hands out to accept her. He has a big smile on his face, like he’s eager to do the job.”
“Or because he knows her,” Sara said. “He remembered her from his time at the palace.”
“Oh dear,” Klarney said. “Primka is thrashing around like crazy. She does not want Gilward to touch her.”
“’Course not,” Flissa said. “Even if Galric told her everything, I doubt she believes it. She probably thinks Gilward’s going to kill her.”
“Poor Primka,” Sara said.
“Luckily she’s small, so she’s very easy to corral, even for the old man,” Klarney went on, “especially with her wings and beak stuck. He has her now…he’s holding her cupped in his hands….”
Flissa had a sickening worry that they were wrong, and Gilward would hurt Primka. She imagined the old man crushing the tiny bird in his hands, while they did nothing to help. Worse, they’d be the ones who sent her to her death.
Flissa’s upper lip broke out in beads of sweat, and she gripped Klarney’s mane tighter. “Do you think we made the right choice?” she asked.
“He won’t hurt her,” Sara said. “Not in front of Galric. The worst that’ll happen is he won’t be able to remove the curse.”
Flissa hoped she was right. “What’s happening, Klarney? What do you see?”
“Gilward’s concentrating…. He’s closing his eyes…. Oh my!”
“‘Oh my’?” Flissa echoed urgently. “‘Oh my’ good or ‘oh my’ bad?”
“‘Oh my’ his head dropped back so far it looks like it’s about to fall off,” Klarney said.
“Oh my,” Flissa and Sara said in unison. They both leaned forward as if to get a better view, but they couldn’t see anything at all, just the glow of the faraway window.
“Gilward’s hands are shaking now,” Klarney said. “Shaking quite violently, I have to say…oh, and now they stopped. He’s standing quite upright, no stoop at all. And very stiff, like there’s a steel pole running through his whole body.”
“Ow,” Sara said.
Then Klarney whinnied, delighted. “It worked!” he cried. “Her wings are moving! And her beak too!”
“What about the magical signature?” Flissa asked urgently. “When he magicked away the curse, what was his magical signature?”
Flissa could hear the satisfied smile in Klarney’s voice. “A light lemon-yellow mist. Difficult to see, and very easy to overlook.”
“He was telling the truth!” Sara cried. “He was telling the truth, and now he can come take the curse off Mom!”
She hugged Flissa from behind, and Flissa smiled. She wanted to be as elated as Sara, and she was, certainly about saving their mother. But if Gilward was telling the truth, the whole story of his curse and what happened the day they were born was just one more thing she’d always believed that turned out to be a lie.
And if Gilward didn’t curse their mother twice…who did?
“Sara,” Flissa asked. “Do you think Mother and Father know that Gilward was innocent?”
“Are you kidding?” Sara asked. “No. No way. They have no idea. But we’ll tell them. We’ll tell them everything. We just have to get back home and make sure Mom is cured. Flissa, we’re gonna save her!”
Then Primka soared out the door. Small as she was, Flissa and Sara could see her shadow against the light from Gilward’s window. They saw her loop exuberantly upside down, before she flew off beyond where they could see.
“Where is she going?” Sara asked, but Flissa knew right away.
“Rule of Three,” Flissa responded. “She knows we have to get back to the marketplace and meet Dorinda by dawn, and if Galric’s bringing Gilward, she needs to stay away.”
“What about Nitpick?” Sara asked. “We haven’t seen him since—”
Klarney cut her off with a whinny and nodded up toward the large moon, now low on the horizon. Standing out against the green orb, Flissa and Sara saw the silhouette of an apple-sized bird, carrying a kitten in her feet.
Flissa smiled. Primka had Nitpick. Everyone was safe.
Klarney’s ears perked up and he leaned forward.
Flissa stiffened, nervous.
“Is Gus signaling you?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, and it’s fine,” he said. “He says your friends are with him, and they’re asking if the plan is still to get to the marketplace by dawn.”
“It is,” Flissa said. “And I’m sorry, Klarney, I hate to make you go back there….”
“It’s fine,” Klarney said. “This close to dawn it’s highly unlikely the mages who horse-napped us are still there. Most importantly, we said we’d be at your service, and a horse’s word is his bond.”
As Klarney reared back and signaled Gus, Flissa looked back up at the sky. The moon was still full, and most of the sky was still black, but the edges were turning lemonyellow, and on the opposite horizon Flissa could see the tiniest hint of purple from the rising magical sun.
“Do you think we can make it on time?�
� Flissa asked.
“Only if we ride preposterously fast,” Klarney said. “Lucky for you, preposterously fast is the speed Gus and I like best. Hold on tight!”
With that, Klarney tore off. Flissa felt Sara’s arms wrap firmly around her waist, and for a second she wondered how Gilward was handling the ride. Sara had said he was very frail and that magic took quite a bit out of him. She could only hope that Galric kept him steady on Gus’s back and nothing went terribly wrong.
Unlike their trip to Gilward’s cottage, this time Klarney knew exactly where he was going, and he never let up speed for even a second. Flissa couldn’t have spoken to Sara even if she’d wanted to—they were buffeted by far too much wind. Honestly, it was better that way. After everything Flissa had learned, she was thrilled to empty her mind and simply ride.
Flissa wasn’t even shocked by the Twists’ regular pitfalls anymore. When they ran through a desert filled with thorny tumbleweeds twice Klarney’s size, she just kept her head low and trusted his dodging skills. When they tromped through mounds of bright red snow that wasn’t cold but made her itch, she clenched her fists to stop herself from scratching and was thankful the snow was powdery enough for Klarney to plow through without slowing down. And when they zoomed through a forest of giant fire-spitting cobras that were rooted into the ground like trees…well, that was terrifying, but Klarney got through them as fast as he could, while she and Sara ducked under their cloaks and waited for it to pass.
By the time they arrived at the marketplace, the sun was more than peeking over the horizon, and the square was a shell of its nighttime self. Vendors were sparse, and customers sparser.
Flissa immediately glanced across the way for Kravein’s tent. It wasn’t there. Raya’s carriage with the prison box behind it was also gone. In its place was a small single-horse-drawn carriage towing a large open wooden cart with slats on the sides and a closed back.
