He tries to move away from me, but I won’t let him. I hold him with gold threads. He can’t go yet. I’m desperate to show him. He has to understand how important my work is with the fae. I show him Flitt. Her games, her aid. I show him the Ring and the fairies dancing. I show him Margy and Twig in the palace, reading me the first story about the warrior who came to Kythshire. Revealing the prince’s treachery to me.
Da squeezes his eyes closed, breaking the connection. He shoves me away from him and stumbles back against the kitchen basin, panting. I realize my mistake too late.
“The palace. They’re in the palace,” he murmurs. “They’re in the palace, and they’ve got the princess.” His knuckles go white as he grips the edge of the basin. He spins to face me. “How could you know this and never say a word? That was nearly three years ago, Azi! Are they still there? Are they still spying?”
He crashes toward me and grabs my arms again. He shakes me frantically. I see my own face in the reflection of his wide eyes. The golden mark glows sharply as it curls around my left eye.
“Are they still there?” he yells and shakes me.
“Da, please!” I cry, terrified by his reaction. “It’s not like that…”
Someone’s hand slips into mine. Rian. I grip it hard as my father bears down on me.
Rian thrusts his free hand out whispers a spell that settles thick and pink over Da. His eyelids grow heavy and drift closed. His grip on my arms loosens and his hands slide down. He starts to droop to the floor and I catch him.
“Good thinking, Rian,” Mya says as she rushes in. “That was getting out of hand.” Bryse fills up the rest of the doorway behind her.
“I heard yelling,” he says. “Hey, when’d you get back?”
“Just now,” Mya answers for me. “Good that you’re here, Bryse. Get Benen to bed, please.”
Bryse stoops through the kitchen door and comes to my side.
“Thanks,” I whisper shakily to him as I heft Da up.
“I got ‘im.’ Bryse loops an arm around Da’s chest and picks him up with ease. His eyes linger on my face for a moment and he shakes his head and averts them, but not before I notice a flash of the same confusion Da looked at me with just moments before. Tears spill down my cheeks and I wipe at them angrily, wishing with all my heart that I could push away the Mark just as easily.
“Thank you Bryse,” I try to whisper, but nothing comes out.
“Rian,” Mya orders, “go to Lisabella and Donal. Tell them to ride home. Azi, come with me.”
“See you soon,” Rian pushes to me, and I feel a kiss on my cheek as his hand leaves mine.
“Quickly,” Mya says, and guides me through the back door.
We slip into the corridor and pass by Mya’s house. I assume we’ll be heading to the palace so I reach up and close my visor again to keep anyone in the street from noticing. To my surprise, instead of leaving the guild hall, Mya stops at Cort and Bryse’s door and knocks.
“Cort,” she calls with an urgency that makes the hair on my arms prickle. The door opens and Cort peers out at the two of us. He’s dressed in a plain sleeveless tunic, short trousers, and bare feet, and his braids are swept back from his face and piled on top of his head.
Without a word, he ushers us inside and closes the door behind him. He kicks aside several unmatched, discarded boots and sandals and leads us to the small sitting area. The only sofa is piled with pillaged sacks, crumpled maps, weapons and empty drinking skins. Cort shoves them to the floor to make room for us to sit, and perches on the arm beside me.
“What’s going on?” I whisper. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been inside this house. It hasn’t changed much over the years, aside from gathering more clutter.
“I’d ask you the same,” Mya says in a hushed tone. “Show Cort your face.”
Cort’s dark brow furrows as I consider it. I don’t want a repeat of Da’s reaction, but it’s not right to keep a secret like this from the guild. Reluctantly, with my heart racing, I sigh and shove my visor up yet again.
As soon as the sight registers, Cort gasps. He stumbles from his seat and rushes to the laundry-ridden stairs, taking them two at a time. We hear him rummaging around upstairs for a while, and then he slides back down the banister, barely touching a step on the way down.
“Where’s Bryse?” he asks.
“Tending to Benen,” Mya replies vaguely.
“What happened to Benen?” Cort asks.
“Later,” says Mya. “Do you have it?”
Cort tucks himself between me and Mya on the sofa. He rests his closed fist on his knee and turns to look at the Mark on my face again.
“All this time,” he says to Mya with a grin of awe, “it was her.”
“Are you really surprised?” Mya laughs softly.
“What?” I sputter, completely confused by the two of them. “What was me?”
“This,” Cort opens his hand to reveal a note that has been folded several times. The tattered parchment seems to glow brightly against his deep brown skin even as worn as it is.
“An old master approached me in Stepstone almost two decades ago. Said he’d pay me well to go to Cerion,” he explains, “for a job. I was happy to take the work and get away from ah,” he glances at Mya, “being a deckhand for a while.”
Mya shakes her head and smiles, but doesn’t say anything to that. We both know the truth. Before he came to Cerion, Cort was a mercenary pirate. That’s why he’s never been knighted even after all of his years in the Elite.
“He gave me this,” he continues. “He told me when the time was right, the golden one would reveal herself to me here. When she did, I was to give it to her.” He nods to the folded note, offering it to me. “Longest job of my life.”
“Me?” I whisper. They both nod, and I take it with trembling hands and unfold it gingerly. Even that small act seems to impress the two of them.
“She opened it,” Mya whispers.
“Can you read it to us?” Cort sits up and leans closer to me.
The words on the page are scrawled in the flowery hand of a Mage. The ink glistens freshly, as though it was written just moments ago. It takes me some time to stop the words from swimming. When they finally seem to settle on the page, I read aloud.
“Champion of Light,” I croak, and the place where the fairy queen’s orb met my forehead tingles softly. “Long have we awaited this moment…”
Chapter Twenty-Three: Confrontations
Tib
Zeze gives a little meow and leaps gracefully from my arms as I hit the green carpet hard and roll into the corner. Margy’s dolls and mushroom pillows cushion me from slamming hard into the wall.
Across the room, Zeze saunters casually to the bed. Hops up. Fades into Margy. Twig hovers over her. The princess sighs and stretches and pushes herself up on her silky purple pillows. She blinks sleepily and looks around the room.
My heart pounds with fury. All this time, she was Zeze. She put herself in danger. Why didn’t she tell me? I would have protected her more. I never would have let her wander around like that. I push myself to my feet and stalk across the room toward her, ready to tell her so. Twig sees me coming. He darts across and puts both hands on my lips. Shakes his head frantically. Points to an armchair beside the bed. Tirie’s there. Sound asleep. I take a step. Hide myself in the Half-Realm.
“Hum,” Margy says softly, and Tirie’s eyes fly open.
“Princess! You’re awake! How do you feel? Do you feel ill?” she whispers frantically as she rushes to Margy’s side and presses a hand to her forehead.
Margy sinks back into her pillows. She lets Tirie flutter around her. She looks like she’s trying hard not to be impatient. She steals a glance at me and looks away quickly.
She can see me, but Tirie can’t. I test it. I walk up beside the older woman. She goes on fussing over Margy. Doesn’t notice me at all. It scares me. If I wanted to, I could kill them both. I wonder how easy would be for one of them
to get in here. The Dusk.
I glance at the windows. It’s night, almost. I move closer to them. Feel the wards there. They’re strong. Layered. Dozens of protections, one over the other. Days old, months old. Years. Decades.
“She’s safe,” Twig murmurs to me. “See? No one is getting through that.”
“You did,” I whisper.
“I couldn’t until she brought me in from the garden,” he explains.
“Azi and Rian could,” I keep my voice low, so Tirie doesn’t hear.
“They were already welcome in the palace, before they could travel through the Half-Realm,” Twig says. “Men’s spells are complicated. They have lots of rules and contingencies.”
“Complicated means there could be holes,” I scowl. “They could still get her.”
“I’m hungry,” the princess sighs softly. She looks up at Tirie with wide, innocent eyes. She could be seven years old again. A little girl, tucked in her enormous bed.
“I’ll fetch the physician first. He’ll need to check you. And Their Majesties wanted to know the moment you woke,” Tirie pats Margy’s cheek tenderly.
“Don’t bother them at supper,” Margy pushes the blankets away and Tirie puts them back on.
“Nonsense,” Tirie scoffs. “Princess, you’ve been sleeping over a day. Nearly two, now. They’ll want to know you’re up.” She tucks the fluffy blanket around Margy’s body. When Margy goes to protest again, Tirie puts her hands firmly on her hips. “I won’t hear another word. I have my instructions. Would you have me lose my position?”
“All right. I’m sorry,” Margy yawns. Her eyes flick toward me again and away.
Tirie rushes to the door and opens it. A small group is waiting in the hall. Two pages, three royal guards, and a Mage. Tirie goes out and closes the door behind her, and I press my hands into the velvet coverlet and lean closer to Margy.
“What were you thinking?” I hiss at her. “How could you do that?”
“I had to find you,” she whispers and leans closer to me. She looks me right in the eyes. Hers are brown, flecked with gold and green. Just like Zeze’s. She’s not afraid at all. Not regretful. No, she’s charged with excitement. “We had to get you out of there.”
“You could have been killed!” I shout, and she grabs my hand and shushes me.
“You, too,” she whispers. Her hand on mine sends a rush through me. Like a spell, except spells can’t touch me. I try to resist. To make the feeling go away. It doesn’t, though. It’s not a spell. It’s a warm feeling. A wanting. Margy leans closer. Her face is so smooth. So soft and perfect. I want to pull her close. Tell her it’ll be okay. Then she speaks again, and I remember why I was so angry. “Don’t be mad,” she pleads. “I had to be Zeze.”
“But, why? How? I don’t understand. How long?” I yank my hand away. I can’t think straight with her touching me. She looks a little sad when I do. I don’t care. I’m too agitated. I move away from the bed and start pacing.
“A few months,” she whispers. “Think of the first time you saw Zeze. There was so much talk here in the palace. Rumors of an uprising. Fear of unknown magic. Even Master Gaethon, even Master Anod, didn’t know the source. Or what exactly it was. I was worried for the people. I was afraid. I had to see for myself what was happening in the kingdom. I had to know. Twig understood. He helped me.”
I glance at Twig, who has settled beside the princess in a fold of her blanket. His knobby knees poke up, brown and earthy against the pale lavender. He doesn’t look regretful. Not at all.
“This will be my kingdom someday, Tib,” Margy goes on. “I can’t have it fall apart before then. I won’t have the Plethore peace threatened.”
I close my eyes. What she’s saying is too sensible. It’s the way a queen would think. This is Margy. She’s young. Too young to have worries like that.
“I’m a princess,” she says, almost like she can read my thoughts. “This kingdom is my responsibility now just as much as it will be when I’m queen. Tib,” she whispers desperately, and I turn to face her. She looks older now than the little girl who was buried in her bed with Tirie hovering over her. She motions me closer. I stalk back to her bedside.
“I know what’s coming,” she says with a tone so hushed I have to lean close to hear. “I saw it before you were taken. In the High Court. The Sorcerers. My brother,” her voice cracks. Her eyes are rimmed with tears. “You’ve seen it, too. Firsthand. The Dusk. Paba is trying to ban magic,” she whispers in a rush as Tirie opens the door to come back in. “If he does, it’ll just leave us more vulnerable.” Her eyes flick to toward the windows, toward the wards.
I shrink against the wall as Tirie rushes in with a stern-looking man beside her. He’s got a leather sack which jingles mysteriously. He leans over the princess and presses a glass circle to his eye.
“The physician,” Twig whispers at my shoulder. I spin and snatch him out of the air.
“You,” I snarl. He doesn’t squirm. He rests his tiny elbows calmly on the crook of my thumb. Looks up at me dubiously. No, not dubious. Patient. Like he’s ready to ride out my anger. His skinny body pokes my hand like a stick. Like his name. Twig. I could snap him. “How could you let her do that?”
“Let her?” Twig chuckles. “You say that like you don’t know the princess at all, Tib. How could I have stopped her? Margy is quite capable. If not for me, she would have tried the Half-Realm, maybe. That would have far more dangerous. This way, as Zeze, is much safer. There are protections--”
He stops talking and shies away as Tirie and the physician creep closer to us and farther from the princess to whisper.
“Is it serious?” Tirie clings to his arm. Like he’ll have to steady her because whatever he’s going to say will make her faint.
“Is it serious?” Twig pushes to Margy, who sits with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes closed. The bed is at least twenty paces away. Far enough that the nursemaid and the physician think they can’t be overheard. I smirk and shake my head while Twig goes on repeating everything they say. Nice trick.
“My lady,” the physician murmurs, “as I have insisted many times before, there is nothing wrong with the princess. There are no physical ailments or illnesses present. She is the prime example of a perfectly healthy young lady. A testament to your fine care, if you will.”
“But the sleeping!” Tirie hisses. “You cannot assure me that it’s healthy for a normal child her age to sleep for days, sir!”
“Perhaps not,” the physician says thoughtfully, and Tirie gives him a smug nod. “But I would not presume to put Her Highness firmly in the category of ‘normal’.”
His words send a rush through me. He knows. He knows about Margy and her powers. Twig freezes. We both hold our breath. Even Margy leans forward in her bed, trying to hear.
“No?” Tirie’s eyes go wide. Her grip tightens on his arm. “And why not?”
“Think of what she’s been through,” he explains. “The girl just watched her brother executed. She’s no one to confide in who could possibly understand.”
“Nonsense. She can talk to me!” Tirie scowls.
“With all due respect,” he bows his head to her honestly, “she is a growing girl. She requires peers. Others her age who can keep her spirits up. If anything, her constant sleeping is an indication of low spirits. Let her be frivolous. Give her some small freedoms. That is my advice to you, as a physician, and that is what I shall advise His Majesty in my report.”
Tirie’s not as relieved by his solution as I’d think. Her lips purse into a scowl. Her eyes narrow just a little. She leaves the room with him and closes the door behind them.
Together, Twig and I let out the breath we’d been holding. He darts to Margy’s side.
“Maybe now she won’t hover so much,” she sighs. “And maybe it won’t be so hard for me to convince her to let you and Saesa come to call.”
“I thought maybe she suspected,” I whisper.
“I think she knows somethin
g’s different about Margy,” Twig replies. “I just think she’s trying to catch a gnat with too wide a web.”
“Tib,” Margy scoots closer to me. “What did you see in that place? What was there? Are they the ones who attacked the High Court?”
Her change in the subject sets my heart racing. Right away I’m back there, looking up at the Sorcerers’ keep. Walking through tunnels. Being confronted by dark, scaly fairies. I remember what I felt. Eron. Their prize. Their intentions. My eyes go wide.
“Yes,” I whisper. “It was definitely them.”
“Can you remember anything about it?” she asks. “Where it was? I was in a sack, so I couldn’t see when they brought me there. But the man who carried me said the same words Brother did before Sir Benen…” She swallows hard and looks away.
I describe the keep to her from what I saw of the outside. It’s not much to go on. She asks me all kinds of questions. Where the sun was, where the storm was. I tell her everything. Even the part about the floating chunk of stone.
“I have to tell Paba,” she says quietly. “I think I know where it is. We have to stop them from doing what they’re going to do. We can’t let them bring him back.”
She avoids saying Eron’s name, but I know who she means. I shake my head.
“How?” I ask. “How can you tell him any of this without telling him what you can do and what you’ve been up to?”
“I can’t,” she replies with a long, shuddering breath. “Which means it’s time for him to know. I have to tell him everything and hope he understands. He needs to know the truth. All of the truth. It’s time for the plan, Twig.”
Twig nods. He looks conflicted. Sad, but excited, too.
“I think you’re right, princess,” he says. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) Page 24
