Then, in the fraction of a second that remained before that deadly missile hit its mark, its shaft began to bend, curving upward, tracing an arc that sent it flying over Alaric’s head, higher and higher, until it bit with tremendous force into the trunk of an ancient pine.
Lord Brochton and a few other knights dashed headlong into the trees, determined to flush out the assassin. The rest reined in their horses, causing a crush as more came thundering in from behind. The air filled with shouts and curses.
“What the devil?” someone cried. “What’s going on?”
“The king! The king! Is he wounded?”
“Look! That’s the arrow, right there! Did you ever see the like? Bent like a bloody sickle!”
Alaric and his party quickly turned off the path and made their way warily through the forest until they’d reached the clearing. There, the knights formed a human shield around him, all of them facing out, their weapons drawn, and waited for Lord Brochton and his men to return.
They came back half an hour later, scowling. The archer had escaped. But they’d found King Gonzalo farther down the line, and he’d immediately sent out a score of men with scent hounds to scour the forest. The greater numbers, plus the addition of dogs, would certainly make the task easier. Perhaps they would find the man.
Meanwhile, Lord Brochton didn’t think it wise to stay in the park any longer. He suggested they leave immediately for the safer and more controlled environment of the palace. Alaric wholeheartedly agreed.
So they mounted their coursers and headed south, the king once again surrounded by a tight formation of knights. This made them all feel better, though they knew they couldn’t protect him like that every minute of every day. Alaric had business to do; he had to meet with King Gonzalo and attend royal dinners. And every time he left his villa he put himself at risk.
Whoever it was that wanted him dead would likely try again. The next time he might succeed.
Day Thirteen
23
Illegal Move
MOLLY HAD MADE PLANS for this morning, the first real time she’d had to herself since Alaric had fallen ill.
For better or worse, he had gone off to the palace to resume the negotiations. Molly (and pretty much everyone else) had argued strongly against this. The king had been poisoned, then nearly skewered by an arrow, and all in the course of a week. He needed to rest and gather his wits before facing Gonzalo again. But Alaric had waved away their caution. He had to get the business over with as soon as he possibly could. He was afraid that if he dragged it out a single day longer, he might go completely mad, and that wouldn’t help with the negotiations either.
Molly had to agree; this was a very good point. And anyway, there was nothing she could do to change his mind. So she took her free morning as a gift and planned to use it well. Alaric might not need time to pull his wits together, but she certainly did.
The cat had returned the night before.
“The game of chess is governed by a set of laws,” he’d said.
He was on the marble railing again, pacing back and forth with some agitation; she’d been amazed by how delicately he’d made the turns, considering his immense size.
“I know,” she’d replied.
“If a player moves a piece in a way that is contrary to those laws, it’s called an illegal move.”
“Are we talking about moves that have already been made or moves that are yet to come?”
“The game isn’t over. It grows more difficult now.”
“Oh, please, Leondas—tell me something useful!”
“Remember what Sigrid said: your spirit will tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.”
“Is that it, then?”
“You have defeated a powerful opponent before,” he said. “Now you must do it again.”
None of this had really come as a surprise to Molly. It just affirmed what she was already feeling—that the forces that had been gathering, like clouds before a storm, were poised and ready to strike. It wouldn’t be long now; and when it came, much would be demanded of her. What exactly she’d be called upon to do she had no earthly idea; her spirit didn’t think she needed to know. But at least she had this moment of calm to prepare. She’d take a walk in the garden, find herself a quiet place to sit, and try to get herself under control.
And then, just as she was imagining it, her little gift was snatched away. A note arrived from the princess, inviting her to come and play chess. It was graciously written, but it was a summons all the same. Molly had no choice but to go.
And who could tell—perhaps the summons had come not just from the princess of Cortova, but from Molly’s own spirit as well.
They took their usual places across from each other—Molly playing white, Betta playing black. And according to the rules of chess, white must begin.
Molly brought out one of her middle pawns—two squares, as was allowed on the first move. Now she waited for the princess to take her turn.
The door to the royal bedchamber had been left open, and for some reason Molly felt drawn to look inside. There was a gilt table against the far wall with a bowl of flowers on it. And beside the flowers she saw the Loving Cup.
Molly’s heart did something strange in her chest: a leap followed by a twitch.
The princess was waiting. She’d also moved a middle pawn two squares. Now the two pieces stood face-to-face.
“Remember that pawns can only capture diagonally,” Betta said, “and can only move straight ahead.”
“So we’re stuck.”
“These two are, for the moment.”
Molly stared at the board for a while, but she wasn’t thinking about chess.
“Were you pleased with King Alaric’s gift?” she asked, still looking down fixedly. When her question was greeted with silence, and that silence went on for an uncomfortably long time, Molly raised her eyes. Betta’s expression—probing, curious, slightly amused—made her squirm.
“Alaric . . . the king showed it to me,” Molly stammered. “Before, you know . . . Well, I mean, I thought the cup was so very handsome. And I just wondered . . .”
“Yes,” the princess said. “I liked his gift very much.”
Molly let out the breath she’d been holding, then sucked in more air. “He was hoping you’d drink a toast—”
“To friendship, yes. That was very elegant of him.”
“And did you? Drink a toast?”
The princess was grinning now. “Why, of course,” she said. “Did he not tell you?”
“He was preoccupied; we had no occasion to discuss it. But I’m glad you did. I’m sure it pleased him. And he’s a good man, deserving of your kindness.”
“I know that.”
Molly felt her face flash hot with embarrassment and shame. Could she possibly have been more clumsy and transparent?
She looked down at the two pawns standing face-to-face and took a deep breath.
“What should I do now?” she asked. “I mean, what should my next move be?”
Oh for heaven’s sake, she thought, blushing again. Everything that came out of her mouth seemed to carry some embarrassing double meaning. And the truth was, she really didn’t know what her next move should be—with the princess or in the game.
“How about your knight?” Betta said, kindly ignoring Molly’s discomfiture. “Take a look. Can he help you?”
Molly stared, mentally projecting the knight’s odd L-shaped pattern of movement onto the board. “Oh,” she said. “If I move this one out, he’ll be in place to capture your pawn.”
“Good. Go ahead.”
Molly did, feeling a brief moment of triumph—until Betta brought out her own knight, mirroring Molly’s move. So if Molly captured Betta’s pawn, Betta would take her knight.
“We’re stuck again,” she said.
“Yes, but the board has changed. Your move.”
Molly focused hard. Then she saw her chance and moved her bishop—one square, two s
quares, three squares. As matters stood now, unless the princess sacrificed her knight by moving him into the bishop’s path, Molly could take one of her pawns and would be in position to threaten her king.
“Well played! Isn’t this fun?”
Molly rubbed her chin, thinking how to answer.
“I like stretching my brain,” she said. “And it’s fun when I come up with something clever, as I did just now. But it’s also bloody hard. I know you’ll just counter my wonderful move with a better one of your own so that I’ll be in danger again. And it’ll go on like that, getting harder and more complicated with every move, until—”
“Until the game is over,” Betta said. “So very like what’s going on around us now.”
Molly stopped breathing.
“Don’t look so amazed. We can be plain with each other.”
“Can we?”
“Of course.”
“And you never say anything you don’t really mean.”
Betta smiled and gave the faintest nod.
Molly sat up straighter now and looked squarely at the princess. “Then tell me honestly—how will it end? And I’m not referring to chess.”
“I don’t know. I rather thought you might.”
“Me? Why ever would you think such a thing?”
For once the princess seemed at a loss for words. “It’s just something I’ve heard,” she tried, clearly not pleased with her effort. “Forgive me, Molly, but people say you have a gift for seeing the future.”
“What people? We’re being plain, remember?”
“My father’s spies, who heard the stories in Westria.”
“Well, thank you for your honesty.”
“And yesterday, when that attempt was made on Alaric’s life, there were some around you who said you behaved strangely. They swear you saw that arrow in your mind before it even flew and that it was you who changed its course and saved your king from certain death.”
“People say all sorts of ridiculous things.”
“So they do. Just a fairy tale, then? No truth to it at all?”
“Betta, did you invite me here today so you could ask that question?”
Once again the princess struggled to find an answer. “Not entirely,” she finally said, “and not so blatantly as you make it sound. I genuinely wanted your company; I’ve missed seeing you this past week. But I also hoped the stories were true and that as my friend, you would tell me what the future holds. My life hangs in the balance, you see.”
“Wouldn’t you do better to ask your father?”
She dismissed this with a bitter laugh.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t tell you, either, because I don’t know what’s going to happen. And that’s God’s honest truth.”
“Oh, well,” she said, cocking her head to one side and gazing up at the sky.
“If you knew the answer,” Molly went on, still working on the thought as a dog worries a bone, “if you were privy to your father’s intentions or had found it out by using your magical powers—would you tell me? My life hangs in the balance too.”
The princess turned back to Molly, an odd expression on her face.
“Let me ask it another way. Are we friends or opponents?”
“We are both.”
“I see.”
“All I do, I do for the good of Cortova. You do the same for Westria. So our goals are not exactly the same.”
“Fair enough.”
“But I am also your friend. And if I knew how this game was going to end—and I could tell you without betraying my country—then whatever else it might cost me, I would tell you.”
On impulse, Molly reached across the board and took the princess’s hand. “I believe you,” she said.
The cat was waiting in the garden as she passed through on her way out. She almost laughed when she saw him, for of course he would be there. Everything around her was alive with portent. She could almost hear the wheels of fate grinding away, every small moment of every passing day bringing her closer and closer to that secret future in which there would be things that she could change and others she could not because they were written in the stars. And she was right on the cusp of it now; she could feel it in her bones.
As in her vision, the cat seemed distressed. He danced around her as she walked, nosing at her ankles and getting in her way. It was as if he wanted her to stop, as if he wanted to tell her something. So Molly squatted down and scratched him behind the ears. “What is it, Leondas?” she crooned.
But he couldn’t answer, of course, and he didn’t want to be petted. He pulled away and began to circle her, rubbing up against her and stroking her with his tail. Curious and uneasy, Molly remained as she was, squatting on the walk and watching the cat. And in the silence that followed she heard something: a rustle in the bushes, then the slap of sandals on stone. Someone besides the cat had been hiding in the garden; now that person was running away.
Molly rose and followed the sound. She wasn’t sure why, except that her senses thrummed with danger and her instincts pressed her forward. Down the covered walkway she went, thinking strategically. She was nearing the point where the colonnade took a turn to the right, beyond which, of course, she couldn’t see. So she slowed her pace, kept hard to the left so she’d have a better angle of observation, and prepared herself to fight.
When she reached the corner, Molly paused, scanning frantically with her eyes. Then she saw him and melted with relief. For there in the shadows, leaning against a wall, looking very small and not the least bit threatening, was young Prince Castor.
He had a furtive look about him and seemed to be holding something behind his back. Molly guessed that he’d been spying on his sister and had probably stolen from her as well. Neither would surprise her. Castor was an odd little boy. Unnatural, possibly even disturbed. Spying and stealing were just the sort of things he would do.
Still, it was awkward. He was the crown prince of Cortova, and Molly was just a guest—a guest who didn’t wish to offend the royal family and make trouble for her own king. So she dropped a nice curtsy, said, “Good morning, Prince Castor,” and continued on her way. But before she’d taken two steps, the boy had moved away from the wall and now stood directly in her path. Instantly, Molly’s defenses went up again.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to step around him; but he moved again to block her. Angry now, she made a scolding face, as nursemaids do to naughty children. Castor shot back a look of such unvarnished malice that she had to remind herself that he couldn’t really hurt her, that he was just a nasty, spoiled little child who’d been caught doing mischief.
All the same, she needed to get away.
So she made a quick move, darting around him and sprinting down the corridor, half afraid he would come after her and a bit concerned that the thing he’d been hiding might have been a knife. But there were no following footfalls, only silence.
When she reached the safety of the gate, Molly looked back to see if he was still there. And so he was, exactly where she’d left him, except that he’d turned around to watch her run away. And he was grinning now in a demented way that said he knew something, that the joke would be on her, and wouldn’t she be sorry!
It chilled her to the bone.
She had just arrived at the door to her villa and was about to go inside when something told her to turn around and look at the royal compound. That’s when she saw it: a delicate plume of smoke rising in the air.
24
Fire
ESTELLA PUT AWAY THE chess set and prepared the table for the princess’s midday meal. As always, there was a bowl of fruit from the palace orchards. The main course was squab, poached with figs. And the wine, brought to the table in an antique ceramic flagon, had been well watered and chilled, the way her mistress liked it.
The flagon came with a matching cup, but Estella had decided to take a chance and put out the fancy new goblet instead. It was too formal for a simple afternoon meal eaten alone in th
e garden, and the princess would probably scold her. But it was such a very pretty thing, and a gift from the lady’s suitor (the handsome one, not the pudgy boy with the strange, pale-colored eyes). It seemed positively criminal to have such a treasure and not to use it. If Estella had been given such a beautiful cup (and by such a beautiful man)—why, she’d use it every chance she got. She’d rinse her teeth with it in the mornings!
As it happened, the princess didn’t scold her. She just laughed, muttering something about bringing out the gold platters, too, while she was at it, then waved Estella away. The slave smiled with satisfaction, having gotten her way for once. Then she went to stand with Giulia against the far wall, as they always did when the princess dined, or entertained guests, or played chess—always at a discreet distance, where they would be beyond notice yet near enough to be ready at hand should anything be needed.
Estella thought the princess seemed distracted. She got that way sometimes—moodylike—but far more often of late. She was even ignoring Leondas, who was trying very hard to get her attention. Probably thinking about her suitors, Estella decided, that must be it—though what there was to think about, she couldn’t imagine. The choice was obvious.
Giulia leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Do you smell something?”
Estella sniffed. “Smoke from the kitchen,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
Estella shrugged.
They continued to stand as they were, backs to the wall, hands clasped in front. The princess continued to pick at her food and ignore the cat, who now rose up on his hind legs and pawed at his mistress’s elbow. How she could fail to notice these attentions was impossible to imagine—and yet she did. She had that look on her face she sometimes got when she was working out a move on the chessboard, as if her mind was completely engaged to the exclusion of everything else.
The garden was uncommonly quiet all of a sudden. Even the birds that nested in the vines had fallen still. In the eerie silence they could hear only the unending, faraway rush of waves on the shore far below—and a strange, crackling sound.
The Princess of Cortova Page 14
