Gazing down the row, she saw that the other girls looked as bad as she. She spat onto her palms and rubbed some of the dirt from her face. Then she used her fingers to comb the knots from her hair. There could be no telling who might come to them, and she wanted to look as presentable as she could.
Mallory took another look around. The palace was very busy, an unnatural sense of urgency prevailed. Cooks, liveried servants, and musicians scurried up and down the halls, each carrying the tools of his or her trade. More curiously concerned warriors hurried here and there.
Formally dressed men and women wandered about aimlessly, like some recent tragedy had befallen them. Some were strangely tearful and carrying what looked like elaborate ball masks. Aside from its grandeur, the scene wasn’t at all what the Fledgling had expected.
Mallory saw two figures approaching. At first she took them for wayward children, searching for their parents. But as the pair neared, Mallory’s eyes widened and her jaw fell. She elbowed Ariana and tilted her head in the strangers’ direction. Ariana became equally astonished.
The little man was about three feet tall. The woman by his side was a bit shorter. He wore a pair of blue bibbed overalls atop a red work shirt. His hair was red, and an equally scarlet beard adorned his wizened face. A black watch cap sat jauntily on his head. His upturned shoes had seen considerable use. A corncob pipe jutted from between his teeth; one of his hands possessively grasped an ale jug. As smoke curled lazily from the rough-hewn pipe bowl, his penetrating eyes carefully regarded Mary and the eight young girls.
If these two little people were palace servants, the woman by his side seemed more appropriately dressed. Her intelligent face was as wrinkled and worn as the man’s bibs. Her wiry gray hair was collected in a severe bun in the back. The sharp, calculating eyes were bright blue. Over her simple gray dress she wore a white apron.
Her shoes were sturdy, no-nonsense things, their laces tied in double knots so that she needn’t be bothered with retying them during the course of her busy day. Thick calluses marked her palms. Everything about her proclaimed the simple values of practicality and common sense. Whoever she was might be, she was a hard worker.
Oddly enough, the woman was pushing an elaborate stroller. But Mallory knew that she was far too old to be the child’s mother. Then she saw that a golden lion and broadsword adorned the stroller, which prompted her to wonder even more. The gurgling child inside was female and seemed to be nearing two Seasons of New Life. Mallory could easily see how protective the little old lady was of her young charge.
Mallory shook her head. The man, woman, and child formed an unexpected and incongruous trio. This was certainly proving to be an interesting night.
Mallory was about to speak when Ox approached. He pointed a muscular arm at the girls.
“These be the ones,” he said.
The little old lady barely reached the warrior’s knees. “And Princess Shailiha?” she asked worriedly. Her voice sounded nearly as stern as the warrior’s did.
“Princess, Sister Adrian, and Tyranny all notified,” Ox answered. “They were supervising digging, but be coming now.”
Mallory watched the little man take a practiced, one-handed gulp from his jug. He then smoothly transferred his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other without touching it. Both actions came as naturally to him as drawing his next breath.
“What about the wizards and the sorceress?” he asked.
“Ox not sure,” Ox answered worriedly. “Maybe Shailiha know.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” they all heard a voice say.
Mallory looked up to see a woman exiting another hallway. Long blond hair graced her shoulders. Her blue gown was strangely covered with some form of gray dust. Her eyes were hazel and resolute, her jaw firm. A gold medallion carrying the imprint of the lion and the broadsword hung around her neck on a golden chain. Having lived at Fledgling House since the age of five, the girls had seen few grown women. They stared at her in awe.
A huge violet-and-yellow butterfly sat perched atop one of the woman’s shoulders. Mallory had never seen anything like it. Gently folding and unfolding its diaphanous wings, it seemed to be quite at home with its mistress.
Two more women arrived. One was wearing a dusty red gown, and her hair was short and dark. Where the first woman seemed regal, the second appeared more dangerous, predatory. Then Mallory regarded the third woman. As she immediately recognized the stranger’s clothing, her heart skipped a beat.
The third woman was wearing a dark red robe. The robe was collected in the middle by a black knotted cord. There could be no mistaking it, for Mallory had been aspiring to that same costume for the last thirteen years. The third woman was a graduate of Fledgling House.
The woman in the blue gown turned to look at the butterfly perched atop her shoulder. “Hover, Caprice,” she said simply.
The miraculous butterfly immediately soared toward the ceiling to start making lazy circles in the air. Something told Mallory that wherever the woman in the blue dress ventured, so did her obedient creature.
The butterfly mistress regarded the girls narrowly. “Which of you is Mallory?” she asked.
Mallory sprang to her feet. “I am Mallory of the House of Esterbrook,” she said. “And if it might please the court, whom am I addressing?”
The beautiful woman clasped her hands before her. “I am Princess Shailiha,” she answered simply.
A collective gasp came from the girls, and the blood rushed from Mallory’s face. She had never dreamed that she might one day stand toe-to-toe with someone from the royal house. Immediately remembering her etiquette, she curtsied, then bent to kiss the back of Shailiha’s gloved hand.
“An honor, Your Highness,” she said as she stood back up. “Please forgive our appearances. We have come far and suffered much.”
Hoping that she wasn’t overstepping her bounds, Mallory added, “In case you are unaware, I regret to report that Master Duncan is dead. Martha was spirited away by strange flying creatures. We do not know what became of her.” Turning, she looked down the row of disheveled girls. “We eight are all who remain of Fledgling House,” she added sadly.
Shailiha gazed sternly into Mallory’s eyes. “How old are you?” she asked.
“At nineteen Seasons of New Life, I am the oldest,” Mallory answered.
“Are you really who you claim to be?” Shailiha pressed. “I have no time for frivolous escapades. Lying will do you no good-we have ways of determining whether you tell the truth.”
“We are indeed,” Mallory answered respectfully but firmly. “A simple check of our blood signatures against the parchments in the Hall of Blood Records will prove it.” A concerned look suddenly came over her.
“We are desperately worried about our fathers,” she added. “Long before Fledgling House was attacked, they stopped visiting us. No reason was given. Not one of us has seen her father for nearly two years. Can you tell us if they are all right?”
Mallory’s words pulled hard on Shailiha’s heartstrings. If these forlorn girls were who they claimed to be, how could she tell them that their fathers had become traitors? Or that she, Tristan, and the mystics had been actively hunting them down and killing them, if need be? She looked thoughtfully into Mallory’s worried face.
“If you are who you claim, your answers will come soon enough,” she said.
Mallory was disappointed, but she understood. “Very well,” she answered.
Shailiha continued to regard the plucky girls. If they were indeed refugees from Fledgling House, Martha had trained them well in the social graces. But Shailiha knew that it wouldn’t do to reveal too much before she knew more. Until Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay were freed from the Redoubt, she would have to wait.
Then an idea came to her. There was another way to determine their identities. It would not be as conclusive as blood records, but in the wizards’ absence it would take them one step closer to the truth.
Shailiha loo
ked at Mallory. “Please be seated,” she said.
As Mallory reclaimed her chair, Shailiha walked to stand before Mary. “Who might you be?” she asked.
Following Mallory’s example, the brothel madam stood and bowed. “I am Mary of the House of Broderick,” she answered respectfully. “I am but a loyal servant who saw fit to help these girls in their time of need. I’m afraid my story is a long one.”
Shailiha nodded. “Not so long as theirs, I’d wager,” she answered. “Until all of this is sorted out, you will also remain our guest.”
Leaving the group seated along the wall, Shailiha ushered the others out of earshot. She looked at Sister Adrian.
“Do you recognize these girls?” she asked quietly.
Adrian shook her head. “No,” she answered. “Then again, there’s no reason why I should. I have been gone from Fledgling House for more than twelve years. If Mallory is indeed nineteen, we would have missed one another.”
“Pardon me, Princess,” Shawna said, “but what of Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay? Will they be all right?”
Shailiha nodded. “They are unharmed. The Minions are digging them free as we speak. Overall, we were lucky. It seems that Faegan’s unconscious attempts to destroy the Redoubt were limited to his quarters and their immediate surroundings. There is much work ahead of us to restore the damage, but the Redoubt’s many treasures are safe.”
“There seems little more that can be done tonight,” Tyranny said.
Shailiha looked over at the disheveled girls. “That’s not altogether true,” she said. She looked at Adrian.
“For the time being, I want you to oversee the girls’ welfare,” she ordered. “If they really are from Fledgling House, you will have the most in common with them. Until we are sure, under no circumstances are they to interact with the boys in the Redoubt Nursery, nor are you to answer any questions they might have regarding their fathers. See to it that they are bathed, clothed, and fed. Then assign them quarters. Let them rest. Tomorrow you may show them the palace. But under no circumstances are they to enter the Redoubt. I want them under the constant supervision of both you and those three warrior guards. The same goes for that woman calling herself Mary. We know even less about her.”
Adrian nodded. “In the meantime, shall I question the girls about Fledgling House?” she asked. “It might go a long way toward proving or disproving their stories.”
Shailiha shook her head. “I have a better way.” She looked at Ox.
“I want you to fetch Martha,” she said. “Wake her, if you must, but bring her here as soon as you can. Tell her it’s urgent. After Celeste’s death she took up residence in the city. Sister Adrian will give you her address. She returns to the palace from time to time, to visit the boys in the Redoubt Nursery. If these girls are who they claim to be, Martha will know. In the meantime I want everyone to go back about his duties. I believe this night is far from over.”
Shailiha looked wearily down at her daughter Morganna. The child had fallen asleep in the stroller. The princess looked back at Shawna.
“Care for Morganna while I cannot,” she said. “In the space of a single night, my responsibilities have become legion.”
Tears started welling up in Shawna’s eyes. She quickly brushed them away.
“On my life,” she answered softly. As she looked at Shannon the Small, her no-nonsense demeanor returned.
“Come on, old man!” she growled. “You heard the princess! There’s plenty more work to do! And if you don’t keep that pipe smoke away from the child, I’ll kick your arse from here to Shadowood!”
As the group separated, Tyranny stayed with the princess. Producing a cigarillo, the privateer struck a match and lit it. After luxuriously inhaling the smoke, she glanced disparagingly at her ball gown.
“Do I have your permission to get out of this ridiculous getup, Your Highness?” she asked with a grin. “My seagoing attire suits me far better.”
Shailiha nodded but did not smile.
Tyranny pursed her lips. “It’s Tristan, isn’t it?” she asked. “I know. I’m worried about him, too.”
Shailiha grasped the gold medallion hanging around her neck, then looked into Tyranny’s eyes. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I fear we may never see him again.”
Saying nothing more, Shailiha looked to Caprice and gave her a silent command. As the princess and the privateer left the hallway, the yellow-and-violet flier followed dutifully overhead.
CHAPTER XIV
“AWAKEN, JIN’SAI,” SAID A HOLLOW VOICE. “IT IS TIMEto greet the dawn.”
Tristan stirred, then sat up. At first he didn’t recognize his surroundings. Then he saw the familiar campfire burning in the cold morning air, and he knew. He instinctively checked his weapons to find that they remained in place over his right shoulder.
Looking farther, he saw the sun breaking over the eastern horizon. The Sippora still refused to flow, the birds did not sing, and the wind remained still. Shadow and another mount stood a short distance away, still tied to the night line.
His back to the prince, Xanthus sat in the early-morning light. His weapons lay beside him. As Xanthus turned, Tristan braced himself to confront the Darkling’s hideous face.
Although he wore Xanthus’ clothes, the being before Tristan was human. The unremarkable face regarded him calmly. Waving one hand, the stranger called the craft, and breakfast materialized. It landed softly atop a blanket that had been stretched out beside the fire.
Tristan looked down to see plates of quail’s eggs, ham, and sliced brown bread. A churn of yellow butter sat nearby, as did a pot of hot tea and two teacups. Tristan looked back into the unfamiliar face.
“Xanthus?” he asked softly. The man nodded.
“In human form,” Tristan mused.
“Yes.”
Xanthus lowered the hood of his robe to fully show his face. He then took an egg and struck it against a plate. After peeling it, he started eating. Tristan watched the silver pot rise into the air to pour two cups of steaming tea. As Xanthus sipped his tea, Tristan regarded him narrowly.
Save for his hands and face, the Darkling looked as he did before. He wore the same black robe, duster, trousers, and boots. The Paragon still hung around his neck. Tristan was relieved to see that the stone’s color remained vibrant, showing it had accepted Xanthus’ human side as its new host.
The prince looked closer at the Darkling’s face. Had Tristan met this fellow anywhere else, he would have scarcely noticed him. The visage implied strength, but was also sensual-looking. Brown, almost black eyes rested above a straight nose. The mouth was wide and the lips full. The chin showed a deep cleft, and his rather wavy hair was brown. Had he not been some abomination of the craft, he might be anyone.
Tristan looked skeptically at the food, then back at Xanthus. The Darkling smiled.
“We might be together for some time, Jin’Sai, ” he said. “You must learn to trust me.”
Deciding he had no choice, Tristan took a sip of the excellent tea, then filled a plate with food. After dipping a bread slice into the butter, he ate hungrily. He soon felt the forgotten ball mask rubbing against his skin. Reaching beneath his vest, he removed it. Xanthus eyed it knowingly.
“Before this day passes, you will come to hate me even more,” he said. “But less, I suspect, than you will hate me tomorrow.”
Putting down his plate, Tristan regarded the mask, then turned his eyes back toward the Darkling. He had never visited Everhaven, but he already mourned its citizens’ fates.
“Must it be this way?” he asked angrily. “Is there nothing I can do-short of going through the azure pass-that will dissuade you from this madness?”
“No,” Xanthus answered. “I have given you all the needed explanations. It is time to decide.”
Tristan looked at the mask. “I know why you gave this to me,” he said. “You wish me to remain anonymous as I watch the atrocities. What I do not know is why.”
“The ans
wer is simple,” Xanthus said. “If and when you return from the other side, the Heretics want no animosity existing between the populace and their prince. Only recently have your fellow Eutracians come to again accept you as their legitimate regent. Should they recognize you while I go about my work, your family house would carry the stain for all time. Such an unfortunate occurrence would prove problematic.”
“Why do the Heretics care about such things?”
“All in good time, Jin’Sai, ” Xanthus answered.
“You just said, ‘if and whenyou return from the other side,’” Tristan mused. “Assuming that I follow you into the pass, won’t you be returning with me?”
“No,” Xanthus answered. “Once I take you to the other side, my work is done.”
“What will happen to you?” Tristan asked.
“My existence’s sole purpose is to bring you to the Heretics,” Xanthus said. “After that, I do not know what will happen to me. I will be rewarded in some way, I suppose.”
Tristan looked thoughtfully into Xanthus’ human face. He couldn’t help but notice that in this form, the Darkling seemed less evil, less remote. If there was any chance that Xanthus might be dissuaded from his mission, it would be now.
But which side controls the other?
Waving an arm, Xanthus caused the breakfast things to vanish. Then the fire went out. The tack lying nearby rose skyward and secured itself onto the horses. Xanthus’ axe and shield rose to meet his saddle.
“It is time to go,” Xanthus said. “What is it to be, Jin’Sai? Shall I take us to the azure pass in a single heartbeat? Or do we go to Everhaven?”
Heartsick with worry, Tristan looked around. As far as he could see, the Farplains fields lay barren. He couldn’t kill Xanthus, nor could he escape him. His only two choices were to give himself over to the Heretics here and now, or to helplessly stand by while the Darkling tormented the Everhavians. He looked beseechingly into the strangely human face.
A March into Darkness dobas-2 Page 16
