The man’s expression turned blank, but not before Posy had seen it—that flash of remembrance, that recognition of the truth. Kyran had seen it, too. “Yes,” the man nodded, “the Plot has changed right in front of our faces, despite the king’s claim that it must never change or waver. It has been so long we have forgotten. A fog has covered our eyes from seeing the truth.”
“The truth? And what is that? Young man, if you have any secrets you wish to tell, tell them now!” The old man had lifted his eyes to Kyran now.
“It’s fear,” Kyran said quietly. “You are afraid to admit what your heart already knows. That the king is not the author of this story. He is no longer even the protector of it, for he has changed it for his own good. And we have more power than we thought. We may not be able to write the story, or change the whole—but we can make a difference.”
This proved too much for the men. One of them rose and left the group silently. Posy heard the word treason muttered by someone. And the innkeeper, short and round, came rushing forward from where he had been eavesdropping some distance away to say, “Now, now, I cannot tolerate this talk any longer. I won’t have words like these spoken in my inn. If you want to commit treason against the king and the Plot, do it elsewhere, far from here.”
The group was dispersing now, the men laying their copper coins on the table and departing for their own homes and beds. Posy felt the room spin around her. It teetered sideways, and her vision blurred. She didn’t think she lost consciousness, but she slumped in her chair, her hands held to her head as if to steady it.
The woman who had greeted them at the door, the innkeeper’s wife, hastened across the room. “Oh, for shame!” she said with an accusing glance at Kyran. “Sir, how could you let your wife come to this state? She must be tired to the bone, and hungry besides.” She called for a maid and told her to prepare a room.
“Posy, are you all right?” Kyran’s voice held deep concern as he reached for her hand.
“Brother,” Posy’s voice came thickly as she tried to sit up in her chair. Her hands were shaking. “He’s my brother, not husband. You’re my brother,” she looked at Kyran.
“Ah.” The woman gave each of them an odd look. “Well, never you mind, love. We will take care of everything.”
Posy was bustled and bundled off and up the dark narrow stairway. When she turned to look over her shoulder, she saw Kyran, leaning forward across the table, speaking with the only man who had stayed behind. Alvar.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Whisper of War
Whether she was more tired or hungry, Posy couldn’t decide. But when the innkeeper’s wife dropped her gently onto a bed, in a small room where a fire had been lit, her body began to sink into sleep without another thought. Sometime later, she was woken by noises of movement in the room. She squinted through her lashes to see two maids, one carrying a tray of steaming food, and the other leaning to tend to the fire.
“He’s handsome, there’s no denying that,” one of them giggled.
“Yes,” the other agreed. “He is that. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you, Shannon.”
“And why not?” Shannon turned from the fire with her hands on her hips. “Perhaps his sister will put in a good word for me, if I play my cards right.”
The other girl gave her an odd look. “Hmm. So you believe that story, do you?”
“What story?”
“I mean that they are brother and sister.”
“Why shouldn’t I believe it?”
“Well, Meriel told me she’d never seen a brother look at his sister in such a way. She didn’t believe it for a minute. But she won’t say anything, though, and neither will I. Perhaps they are fugitives from the Wild Land? Or perhaps they are running away to be married? No, I won’t say a word other than to wish them good fortune.”
“Thadra!” Shannon cried, then clapped a hand over her mouth with a glance at Posy, apparently asleep in the bed. She lowered her voice. “You must be a fool if you think they are anything but brother and sister. I will say, though, they don’t look much alike. He’s handsome as the day is long, and she’s a plain little thing. But he never gave her a look that was more or less than brotherly if you ask me.” She vigorously shoveled ashes into a bucket, sending up a black cloud around her.
“Stop that, Shannon, you’ll make a mess—what are you doing? Finish up so we can leave. And,” Thadra turned a doubtful look on the other girl, “you never had a chance to see the way he looked at her. Meriel says if her husband had looked at her like that she’d have married him in a month instead of two.”
Shannon stood from the fire, bucket in hand. “Two months, was it? Would no one else have her, then, that she only waited two months for that lump of a man?” And both girls doubled in giggles as they rushed from the room.
Posy was awake now, and the smell of food lured her from the warm bed. The maids’ words had brought confused thoughts into her head, but she pushed them away. She had barely had time to sit and begin eating when there was a light knock on the door. Kyran poked his head through. Posy motioned for him to come in and he crossed the room in a couple of strides to sit at the table with her.
“So?” she said.
“So ….” His thoughts seemed far away.
“What were you and Alvar speaking of down there?”
He shrugged.
“Listen,” Posy said, fixing him with the threatening look her mother had given her many times, “I’m here, I’m in this. I’m risking my life too. Don’t you think I deserve to know what you’re up to? What is it you’re planning, Kyran?”
“We spoke of ... well you heard most of it. We also decided that perhaps it’s time ... time to –”
“Time to what?”
“To make some changes ourselves. To try to break away from the Plot as it is now.”
“Kyran –”
“No, hear me out, Posy. I know what you are thinking. You think we are searching for Evanthe.”
“Well, aren’t we?” Posy gave him an incredulous look.
“Yes, of course. But it’s more than that. Evanthe ran away for a reason. For a principle. She didn’t believe in the Plot either. She wouldn’t speak of it much to me—I think she thought it would keep me safe not to know. But I’m no fool. I could see her unhappiness in our mother and father, and in the way things were. She didn’t run from fear of what she must do ... but because she knew she was basically a slave. None of us has a choice as to our parts here—none. And as hers was the pivotal role in the Plot, who better to rebel, to throw things into chaos?”
“Kyran.” Posy tried to keep the panic from her voice. “We are meant to find Evanthe, that’s all. Not start a revolution.” What would happen to her if war broke out in this place?
“A revolution is just what Evanthe wished to cause by leaving, don’t you see?” Kyran explained patiently.
“But where would she go?” Posy asked. She had no idea what the extents of this world were. Did it drop off as you reached the edge, like the margins of a page? Where could Evanthe hope to exist beyond detection?
“She went into the Wild Land, Posy. I know it. Falak may have questionable motives, but he spoke the truth there. I know Evanthe. She’s always had a curiosity for that place, an instinct that it wasn’t what we all believe it to be. And we must follow her there quickly, for I believe Falak won’t be off our tail until we are beyond the Borders.”
“But he wanted us to let him know ...”
“Posy! Do you honestly think I would let him know anything of our movements? This is our quest now, not his. And we don’t do it because he commanded us. I don’t trust him.”
Posy knew it, too, really. She felt the same, the intuitive doubt in Falak’s intentions. But she wasn’t ready to write him off yet. Neither, though, was she willing to argue for him.
“You are tired.” Kyran’s dark eyes took her in. “Get some sleep. My room is next door, although I won’t be there for a while yet. I’ve a few
things to do,” he said vaguely.
“Hmph,” Posy said, rising from her chair and moving toward the bed. “Things?” she asked. “Things like amassing an army, I suppose.” She smiled. Kyran’s silence, and the look he turned to her, made her smile freeze on her face as her heart began to pound.
“Kyran ...! You aren’t ...”
“Trust me, Posy,” was all he said, and then slipped out the door, silent as a shadow.
* * *
The light that flooded through Posy’s window the next morning was almost unbearable. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up in bed, but let out a cry, as the light seemed to pierce her head with pain.
The innkeeper’s wife, Meriel, came bustling in with breakfast, a smile gleaming on her round face. “Such news!” she said.
“News?” Posy groaned.
“A reader!” she burst out. “We have a reader at last! Surely you could have guessed it, dear. I imagine you and your—er, brother—will need to be getting somewhere soon so you can begin your roles.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but continued a bit pensively, “When a reader comes, our whole world changes, really. Everyone springs into action. The sun becomes brighter. The wind becomes stronger. I remember a time,” she said with a sigh, “that these things were said to happen not because of a reader ... but merely because the Author had written us. That,” she finished slowly, “was the meaning of our lives.”
Posy remained silent. She didn’t have to ask if those times had gone.
“Anyway, dear,” Meriel said, snapping out of her reverie, “I just thought you would be excited at the news. We here in the village certainly are. When a reader comes, our businesses do better, our services are needed more often, and we all live so much better, I can tell you. People flock toward the castle, and our inn gets double the business it usually does.”
“But why do people go to the castle when a reader is here?” Posy asked.
Meriel gave her a questioning glance before explaining, “Why, they may be needed for the Plot, you see. All these characters, most of which have no part to play in the Plot at all other than being mentioned as part of the Kingdom—they wish to play better parts, that’s all. Oh, there will be parts that are minor, of course—characters that have no names at all, such as kitchen help or gardeners. But it is agreed among us that those lesser parts are not played by the same person twice. Those who wish it may have a turn.”
“I see,” Posy said. She was thinking, proof again, proof that the Plot can change, even if in minor ways. Right under the king’s nose, too. She wondered what they would do for the princess’ role, now that Posy was gone as well. She imagined the castle was in an uproar. Posy snapped back to attention when she caught Meriel staring at her as she stood thinking to herself.
Just then, the door was flung open, and Kyran stepped into the room. The innkeeper’s wife excused herself and left the room.
“I’ve just come from Alvar’s house,” Kyran said immediately after the door closed.
“His ... house?”
“Yes. We had to speak. We have decided it is best to make a beginning ... to start gathering followers. We will find those who are unhappy with the Plot as it is, with the council of owls … ”
“And with your father as king?” Posy put in.
“Well, yes—I suppose—”
“Anyone who will wish the Plot different than it is will inevitably put blame on King Melanthius, Kyran, you must see that,” Posy said gently.
“But they will remember he was once a good king, wise when he was not under the influence of Falak.”
“All the same ... he has changed—he is different now—and that is what the characters will see.”
Kyran grew silent, and for a moment Posy thought he was angry with her, that he would deny what she had said. He proved her wrong.
“You are right, Posy; they will blame my father. Perhaps I can change their minds about him, if he is put under better counsel. Perhaps I can speak with my father, and he will agree to change. And perhaps not. That is a chance we will have to take.” His voice was strong, but Posy detected the uncertainty in his face, in his eyes, and she felt the urge to reach out to him. She suppressed it and went back to eating her breakfast.
Kyran explained to her all that had passed between Alvar and him. Alvar had sent a note to the inn and Kyran had met him at his house early that morning. It turned out Alvar had long been unhappy with the Plot, the king and the council of owls. He told Kyran that he and several others had met numerous times to discuss what was to be done. They always arrived back at the same inevitable conclusion: war. Talking of war seemed to make Kyran’s face transform, Posy thought. It hardened and seemed to glow. She supposed this was how most men reacted to this sort of thing, with a sense of duty to a better cause, and imagining victory to come. But she found she could not. It frightened her; not only the violence of it, but the things it might bring about for the Kingdom and its characters. Whether she liked it or not, she was part of that Plot now, and its welfare concerned her. War was a huge decision, that once embarked on could not be taken back. She reminded Kyran of this.
“Yes, Posy,” was all he said. “I know you mean well. But don’t you see? It is no longer in our hands. That is the very thing Alvar and I spoke of. The war is no longer our choice. Skirmishes have been happening everywhere, even as near as two villages over, and you saw yourself that my father has stationed soldiers to guard the Borders. There is no longer a question of war, for there will be one. The question now is: who will be victorious?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Unexpected Treachery
The swish and flapping of wings made Posy and Kyran both start and look toward the window. Neither of them saw anything for a moment, and then Kyran leapt from his chair and reached to the floor. He picked up a parchment that was lying there, folded and sealed in red wax with the imprint of a claw.
“Falak,” he said rather grimly. He opened the letter and read it quickly, then flung it across the table toward Posy.
A reader has come, as you will have guessed by now. The princess’ maid, Olena, is playing the part of the princess Evanthe for now, as there was nothing else the king could think of to do with both princesses gone from the castle. She is deathly afraid and has to be prodded along constantly, so my hope—painful though it may be—is that she will play the part so ill that the reader will grow bored and stop reading the Plot altogether. I pray you, though, find Evanthe and bring her back as quickly as you can. When you both disappeared, the king flew into a rage such as no one has ever seen. He even threatened and blamed me, which he will come to regret. He will doubtless send out searchers for you, though they will most likely not venture beyond the Border. So, get you there quickly and don’t return without the princess.
The king has held a war council, and it seems war is indeed inevitable. I should not wish either of you to come to harm. Once you are beyond the Borders and the mist of the Kingdom can follow you no longer, you will need to contact me. Please do this at intervals, so I know of your progress; find one of my brethren and send him on with a message to me.
-- F.
“Oh, poor Olena!” exclaimed Posy with pity after she was done reading the letter. “She has to play my part! She will be so afraid!”
“I’m sure she will,” Kyran said absently, plucking the letter out of her hand and throwing it into the fire. “But we won’t find out, for we won’t be contacting Falak again for whatever reason. I don’t want him knowing where we are once we are past the Borders. Are you ready to go?”
Alvar was waiting for them near the inn, sitting atop a wagon looking as severe as he had the night before. As they approached, the smell hit Posy like a physical force. Manure. It filled the back of Alvar’s wagon along with other unrecognizable filth, the sickly sweet smell of it making Posy’s nose wrinkle in disgust. Alvar laughed when he saw her expression and said, “It’s a necessity, Miss, if you wish to get past the Borders undetected. It’s one of the onl
y—ahem—legitimate reasons for crossing into the Wild Land.”
“What are the other reasons?” Kyran questioned, handing Posy up into the seat next to Alvar and climbing in after her. “The ones that aren’t legitimate.”
“Well,” Alvar hesitated, urging the horses on down the street. “There are some—I won’t name names of course—but some get their livelihood from the Wild Land. There are healing herbs, game, and lumber there. Too close and too tempting to be left to nothing and no one. But it is forbidden to go there unless emptying refuse just beyond the trees. The king,” he said with a wry look, “must have his Kingdom looking and smelling clean I suppose. Although it may be more difficult than I thought.”
“What do you mean?” Kyran looked up, his eyes sharp.
“The encampment is heavily guarded, and more so every day. Just this morning I saw more troops marching past the village. And there are owls, too.” He flexed his great arms and shook his head. “Interfering pests.”
“So what are we to do?” Posy asked, eyeing the cart with a building sense of dread.
“Ah, that’s simple, Miss.” Alvar leaned forward confidentially. “This is my neighbor’s cart—my neighbor is ... well, he makes a good bit of his money off fruits of the Wild Land. So he has need of a wagon like this, he does.”
“A wagon with manure in it?”
“No, no,” Alvar smiled. They had come to the outskirts of town, beyond the last of the houses and shops. Alvar reined in the horses and leapt nimbly from his seat. “A wagon like this,” he said, yanking on a rope that extended from the side of the wagon bed.
Posy and Kyran climbed down and bent to see what he meant. A sort of trap door had swung downward from the bottom of the wagon, and Posy could see a dark opening beyond it.
“A false bottom,” said Kyran with a nod. “Well, Posy, are you ready?”
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