She found Queen Alethea there, kneeling on the floor, vomiting discretely into the space between the nightstand and the royal bed. The king lay still, covered with a sheet all the way up over his face.
“Mama,” said the little girl, “I think I’m sick.”
The queen’s face looked sunburned red, and her eyes swelled with tears. “Me too, dear,” said the queen.
Tori tiptoed to the bed and touched her father’s leg through the sheet. “Should we wake daddy?”
“No.” The queen mopped her eyes and lips with the sheet. “Let him sleep.”
“I think I got most of it out,” said the princess, “but I made a mess in my wash bag.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart. Will you please draw Mama a warm bath?”
“Sure, Mama.” Tori loved to do things for her mother. Feeling slightly better now, she got right to the task. Soon Alethea heard the tub valve open and the drain plug squeak closed.
The queen lifted herself to her feet, pushing emotion aside so her intuition could flow freely. She felt the Destaurians approaching, even before she heard their heavy footfalls in the corridor.
Three Destaurian soldiers ran in, bows raised. One shouted: “You! Get down on the floor! Get down on the floor!”
The queen squinted, and all three men collapsed to the floor. “I knew you’d be back someday,” she said. She ran to them, appropriated one of their bows, and shot each of them once through the head: Crack…Crack…Crack. “I hope your lives were full,” she said.
“Mama!” Tori was back, her jaw hanging open at what she’d just seen her mother do.
Alethea called out: “Stay close.” With Tori at her heels, she ran to a writing table near the windows, got out a pen, a square of paper, and a length of string, and scribbled a note.
“Sacreah!” shouted the queen. A falcon soared down from his perch high on the wall. The queen rolled up the note and tied it to the bird’s leg.
While the queen was busy tying, two more enemies rushed in, shouting. One of them shot. The bolt just missed Tori’s head and obliterated one of the room’s huge bud-shaped windows. The princess whimpered, clutching her toy rabbit, and the skittish falcon flapped his wings.
“Stop it!” the queen shrieked, and the men collapsed to the floor. “Do you really want to die too?”
She finished tying, and the bird soared out the broken window. Frigid air was surging in. Alethea led her daughter out the middle bud window, which doubled as the door to the balcony.
“It’s freezing out here, Mama,” said Tori. “And Daddy and Jaimin are still inside.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” Leaning out over the rail, the queen focused on the exterior of the long stained-glass window that arced above her tub. She shielded Tori’s face with her arm.
Kshhhhh! The window exploded, pushed outward by enchanted bath water. Tori crouched and peered through the balustrades to witness a rainbow of glass shards flittering down to the stone courtyard. Strangely, the water that had broken the window didn’t fall as fast as the glass. After a few seconds, the water reversed its fall and rose.
The queen scooped up her daughter and vaulted the rail with her, as another bolt from a powered crossbow burst the window just behind them.
The ancient crack in the planet’s crust might have been the most direct route into the belly of the Arran range, but for Kotaret and his refugees the going was painfully slow. The grieving youngsters had to squeeze through narrow clefts in the granite, duck under low ceilings, and keep their footing on slick, slanted surfaces. The mineral-encrusted walls were thorn-sharp in places. The survivors had just two lamps, so most of them had to make their way blindly by holding on to Kotaret’s rope.
When the caravan emerged into a wider underground chamber, Kotaret called a halt. He set down his lamp.
Once all were in, Kotaret revealed to his group what Nastasha had told him: that Nurse Isabel had tried to murder the court by poisoning their daily elixir. In shock, they reflected on how they had been spared. Nastasha’s classmates—Kotaret, Sylvia, Charlise, Joelle, Edmond, Julia, Sherran and Dylan, all sons and daughters of government ministers—were only alive because they had drunk Nastasha’s custom elixir instead. Sylvia had shared Nastasha’s safer brew with her younger sister, Aura. Edmond had shared it with his younger brother, Patrick. Thalia and Erika abhorred Isabel’s elixir, and only pretended to drink it every night. The infants—the week-old Ella and four-month-old fraternal twins Jeremy and Jasephet—had been breast-fed, and they hadn’t eaten after their mothers had downed the foul mixture at bedtime. Twenty-eight-year-old Assistant Minister of Finance Carrine had just forgotten to take the stuff.
Princess Tori screamed. She’d always been warned not to climb on the railing lest she fall to her death. Now Mama had yanked her over it on purpose! What would happen when she hit the pavement?
But she and Mama weren’t falling as fast as they should be. And they weren’t falling straight down, either. Had Tori looked behind her, she would have seen a sheet of bathtub water coalescing behind and under them, slowing their descent and pushing them laterally through the air. All she saw was the castle’s outer wall getting closer and closer. We can land on the wall walk!
But they were coming in too fast, and would have to rely on the parapet to halt their momentum. The queen twisted so she, not Tori, would bear the impact. Crunch!
The steaming wave hit next, drenching them and flooding the walk. Tori was okay; she helped her gasping mother to her feet. “One more jump,” croaked the queen. “Hold your breath.”
Before Tori could even capture another breath, her mother had hold of her and they were leaping again into empty air. This time they plunged straight down—thirteen meters down—into the icy water of the moat. The queen depressed the water’s surface just as they hit to lessen the impact. When they stopped sinking, Alethea still had hold of Tori, and Tori still had hold of her rabbit. They swam frantically upward, gasping when they finally breached the surface.
Tori wanted to scream—she was so frightened and cold—but she held it in.
There were no ladders or stairs they could climb to get out of the moat, and the mossy outer wall rose three meters from the water’s surface. Kicking to stay afloat, the queen used her free hand to lob water at the outer wall. The splash formed into a wobbly, transparent rung. “Grab onto it,” said the queen, pushing her daughter toward the curious handhold.
Tori tried to be brave. She swam a few strokes, smashed some thin, sharp ice near the wall with her fist, and then grabbed the rung. It held her weight. Alethea flung more water farther up on the wall, and each splash morphed into another rung. The little girl pulled herself up the liquid ladder. The queen paddled over and climbed too, noticing, on the way up, that both of Tori’s calves were bleeding. She helped Tori up onto the path that ringed the moat, and the instant the ladder was no longer needed, it dribbled away.
Alethea knew she and Tori would die within minutes if they didn’t warm up. They were sopping wet and lightly dressed. They ran around the southwest corner of the castle wall via the park path, and then slipped into the shadows of the merchant district’s narrow alleys.
The queen pushed open an iron gate thick with red ivy. Beyond it was a courtyard paved in tile so cold it sucked out what little heat was left in their bare feet. The queen rapped on a sculpted wooden door at the end of the courtyard. When there was no reply, she knocked again. The door opened.
Talidale ushered them in. Seeing what state they were in, he handed them some blankets, which they wrapped themselves in as they staggered toward the stove in the great room. “Come, come, warm yourselves!”
A congenial man of fifty, Talidale was the most successful jeweler in the kingdom—well known for his detailed metalwork, his precision gem cutting, and his impeccable service.
“Our clothing,” said the queen. “We haven’t much time.”
“Of course,” said the jeweler. In front of the stove, Alethea and Tori peeled off the
ir saturated nightclothes. The cuts on Tori’s legs weren’t too bad, and there was no embedded glass. Talidale’s wife hurriedly brought in a pile of towels and dry garments.
The queen and princess came back into the anteroom drier and warmer, with blankets around their shoulders, thick socks pulled up high, and their hair tied up in towels. Tori had wrung out her rabbit the best she could. Talidale had two trunks stacked near the door. “How bad is it?” he asked.
“It’s beyond what we imagined. The castle has fallen,” Alethea said. “The king is dead,” she whispered.
“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty.”
“If the army retreats,” Alethea told him, “it’s not because we’ve abandoned the people—it’s all part of our strategy. Make sure those who need to know are aware of that. Tell them the prince is alive.”
“I shall, Your Majesty.”
“And make sure the subjects do whatever the invaders ask until we return. Keep their spirits up. Radovan may treat them well if they cooperate.”
“Your Majesty,” he whispered, “in Celmarea he wiped out everyone.”
“I know,” said the queen, “But he’s not the youth he was then. This time I think he’ll keep people alive if he can make use of them.”
“I pray you’re right,” he said. He took the soggy blankets and replaced them with two fur-lined cloaks. There was another secret knock at the door. It was an Arran royal guard. The queen pointed to the trunks and the guard lugged them outside.
“My friend,” said the queen to the jeweler, “be safe. We shall send a messenger within a few days.”
“Blessings, Your Majesty,” said Talidale.
The queen and princess ran out to the street, where guards helped them up into their horses’ saddles, draped armored cloaks over them, and spirited them northward toward Black Tube Caves.
Soon afterward, Destaurians flooded the city streets from the east.
In the little note Alethea had sent by falcon she had ordered a “scatter retreat.” This meant the Arran army was to disperse in all directions to confuse the enemy, and secretly regroup at an underground fortress in the north called Black Tube Caves, where additional reserve units were permanently based.
From there, they would assess the strength of their foe, and plan their next move.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jaimin and Elaina gaped at Alessa’s outfit and her news. “I didn’t bring my bow,” Jaimin said.
“I have mine,” said Alessa. In the light of the weak lamp she held, her eyes seemed unusually glossy, and her dark irises looked closer to black. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Elaina asked.
“North. Get your cloaks.”
Before the young couple got to the front closet to retrieve their cloaks, they heard horses outside. Jaimin and Elaina scurried behind the couch. Alessa put out her lamp and hid behind a tall mahogany clock, where she loaded and cocked her crossbow.
Elaina watched her mentor in wonder. She’d never seen her hold a weapon.
Lights from several sources outside streamed through the windows, casting dizzying, fast moving shadows across the walls and furniture. Someone came up the porch steps, and then a firm knock rang through the house. Elaina panicked and started for the second floor stairs. Jaimin went after her.
“Wait, you two,” said Alessa, coming out into the open. “That’s the guards’ knock.” She ran to open the door. Jaimin and Elaina threw on their cloaks. “Yes,” they heard Alessa say to someone on the porch. “It’s the three of us. Take these bags.”
Out front, four royal guards had dismounted. The only light came from their hand-held flares: the forest was always forbiddingly dark on the new moon. Dagan kept watch, scanning the trees for any hint of movement. Syan loaded Alessa’s two bulky green saddlebags onto his horse. Xander had fitted Tyrant and Nightmare with their tack and was leading them over from the stables.
The highest ranking guard, Marco, greeted Jaimin and Elaina by plopping heavy armored cloaks over their regular ones. Their knees just about buckled.
It took some muscle, but the young couple got themselves up onto Nightmare, with Elaina at the reins.
Alessa mounted Tyrant. She handed Jaimin a sheathed long sword, which he slid under his belt. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be any help with such a short range weapon, but it was better than nothing. “Don’t you have any more bows?” he asked her.
“You two just worry about keeping low. Ride beside me, in the middle of the formation.”
Marco and Syan mounted their horses and took the lead, and the six-horse team was off and running. All knew that enemy soldiers could be lying in wait in the darkness to their left or right, so speed was essential. Northward they fled, by way of the western bypass. Elaina rarely rode Nightmare that fast, but the horse seemed to enjoy the challenge.
They made it all the way to Kaela Rapids, northwest of the city, before they encountered any Destaurians. Just past the suspension bridge over the rapids, they saw in the distance two enemy soldiers, who were pushing their horses off the road into what they failed to realize was a thicket of big-leaf juiceberries.
“Keep riding,” Marco shouted. On seeing how fast the Arrans were approaching, the two leapt into the brambles, where they were immobilized by the plant’s thorny canes. Marco sliced into both men with a single swipe of his pole arm.
Elaina looked to the left and to the right as she rode through the wooded areas, and occasionally thought she saw lights far off through the trees. The enemy? There were no sounds of battle. The whole ride was surreal.
Not much farther on, they saw an orange flash from the front, and heard one of Radovan’s powered bows fired.
Elaina saw Alessa suddenly seize her side. She’d been hit! “Keep riding,” Marco told the group. “I don’t think it’s that many of them.”
“Is it bad?” Elaina asked Alessa.
I don’t… think so, Alessa said in her mind, and Elaina heard. But Elaina also felt Alessa’s pain, and knew it was a bit deeper than a scratch. “Just tore off a bit of my armor,” Alessa said. “I’ll be fine.”
Alessa let her arrow fly toward where she’d seen the flash.
Crack! Crack! Two more bolts whizzed past Elaina’s head and almost hit Jaimin, behind her. Elaina shrunk down and bent as far forward as she could. She held on and tried to convince herself that everything would be fine soon. Jaimin held his body tightly to hers.
As the Arrans advanced, the light of Syan’s reflector flare soon revealed the two attackers. One man was down, with Alessa’s bolt in his collarbone. Another was trying to get away, but the slope was too steep. Marco reached far with his pole arm, and sliced into the man’s back.
It looked like another small victory for the Arrans.
“Hey, hold that light steady!” Marco yelled to Syan, who for some reason was pulling ahead of the group.
“He can’t,” yelled Jaimin. “He’s hurt!” Jaimin couldn’t see where Syan had been hit, but the man’s tottering was a clear sign he was in trouble. “Get next to him,” Jaimin told Elaina.
Elaina commanded her horse to sprint, and passed Marco to ride alongside Syan’s horse. An enemy bolt had penetrated Syan’s armor and pierced his chest. Blood gushed from around the shaft, streaming off overlapping steel plates that had failed to do their job. The guard couldn’t talk, and his bulging eyes begged for help, but he maintained a valiant grip on his flare.
Elaina knew exactly what Jaimin was thinking. “You’re crazy,” she said. “His horse won’t to be able to hold you.”
“Then I’ll make myself lighter.” The prince shook off both of his cloaks and flung them into the night, to the dismay of everyone else. He was still bare-chested beneath. With one hand on Elaina’s shoulder for balance, he pulled up onto his knees. Then, in one motion, he sprang from Nightmare, landing on the saddle just behind Syan. Syan’s horse almost tumbled sideways under the weight, but, after a few lopsided steps, regained its balance. Jaimin took control of th
e reins and brought the animal to a halt.
The others caught up in an instant, and they slowed. “Toss me his flare,” Marco told Jaimin. “Dagan, up here with me. Number three, stay in the middle. Number six, you’ll ride in back.” Elaina gathered from all the looks that she was “Number six.”
The group resumed their flight. “I can mend his wound,” Jaimin shouted to Marco.
“Not while we’re riding, you can’t,” Marco replied. “And we have to keep going.”
Jaimin knew Marco was right. The road ahead would belong to the Destaurians in minutes, if it wasn’t theirs already. “Just hang on,” Jaimin whispered to the man in his arms. “We’ll stop soon.” The best the prince could do was to keep Syan on the horse.
“Ha ba ba! Ha ba ba!” Elaina encouraged Nightmare with a familiar phrase.
They rode on. Far ahead, they saw three more enemies extinguishing a flare in the middle of the road. Marco brought everyone to a halt this time. “What now?” Dagan said to the others. “They’re going to pick us off.”
“Not if they can’t see us.” Marco snuffed out his flare with his glove. The other guards did the same.
“What are you doing? How are we going to see?” Jaimin asked.
“Just look right here.” On the back of Marco’s saddle, a green streak began to glow. He threw the jar of phosphorescent gel to Dagan, who painted a line of the oxygen-reactive goop on the back of his saddle.
With only the faintest inkling of where the edges of the road were, Marco led the group toward the ambush. Faster and faster the Arrans rode.
The Destaurians had nine bolts readied, and they fired all nine at the passing Arrans.
As the air exploded in chaos, someone fell from a horse and was trod on by Nightmare. Elaina was mortified, but she said nothing until Marco finally called another halt.
“Someone fell,” Elaina said. “Who fell?”
“I’m here,” said Alessa.
“It wasn’t either of us,” said Jaimin, who was still doing all he could to keep Syan from falling off the horse.
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