by Lian Tanner
By now, everyone in the castle was awake. The alarm bell tolled and servants ran hither and thither. Off-duty members of the royal guard stumbled into the library, their boots half buckled, their faces white with shock. The hunt for the assassins was already under way.
Physician Hoff arrived in her nightgown. “More furs!” she bellowed, rolling her sleeves up her plump arms. “Light some torches so I can see what I’m doing. And get those stoves going. We must sweat the poison air out of him.”
“Will he live?” said Frisia.
The physician held a potion to the king’s lips. “Who knows?” she muttered. “It is in the hands of the gods.”
(Flick your fingers. Quickly.)
Frisia did not understand where the strange voice in the back of her mind had come from, or why it was talking to her like this. But it had helped save her father, and so she was willing to trust it. She flicked her fingers. Ser Wilm looked at her curiously.
Physician Hoff had managed to get the king to swallow a very small amount of the potion. The king spluttered and began to cough. His eyes flickered open. “What is—” Cough cough. He shook his head, and some of the color came back into his face.
The physician begged him to drink more, but the king pushed the bowl away. His voice was like the crackling of old parchment. “What is this—you are feeding me—Hoff? Are you trying to—kill me?”
Physician Hoff’s plump face was unreadable. “I am simply trying to mend you, Your Majesty,” she said.
“Consider me”—cough cough—“mended.” The king tried to raise himself on one elbow, but he was too weak. “Was it von Nagel’s—assassins? Of course it was. The treacherous creatures—they nearly got me this time.” His fierce gaze swiveled to the princess. “And Frisia”—cough—“saved me? Good. Good. You are your father’s daughter.”
He turned back to the physician. “What was it they used? The smell—”
A woman’s voice came from the doorway. “Burning stinkroses. They drugged the guards and slipped a fire-pan into your chamber.”
The speaker was tall, elegant and extremely thin. Her eyes were dark, and her gray velvet gown was trimmed with rat-skins, lying nose to tail around the neck and wrists.
Frisia had no idea who she was.
“Common stink-roses,” said the woman. “Who would have thought they could do such harm?” She strolled up to the daybed and kissed the king’s pallid cheek. “I am glad that you are still with us, Ferdrek.”
Physician Hoff cleared her throat. “The stink-rose, Lady Katerin, lets off poisonous vapors when it is dried and burned.”
Aunt Katerin. Of course. Frisia shook her head. How could she have forgotten? What was wrong with her this morning?
The king tried to say something, but he was overtaken by a coughing fit that sounded as if it might tear his lungs out. When he was quiet again, Physician Hoff leaned over the daybed and murmured, “I recommend just a little more of the potion, Your Majesty. And some for the princess as well, in case she breathed in the poison.”
Aunt Katerin sniffed the bowl and wrinkled her nose. “I cannot imagine that doing my brother any good. Take it away, Hoff.”
By now the stoves were packed with wood and the room was growing hot. Frisia could feel the sweat running down her back. At the same time, her hands felt cold again. She looked at Physician Hoff, and at Kord and Smutz, standing to attention on either side of her, and knew that there was something she must remember. Something important. But what was it?
(A day and a night. Be ready for when it stops.…)
What? wondered Frisia. When what stops?
“Where is Grand Duke Karl?” growled the king. “Bring him to me. Bring all of them. There is much to be done”—cough cough—“if the army is to sail for Halt-Bern tomorrow morning.”
“But Your Majesty,” said Physician Hoff. “Surely you cannot go to Halt-Bern now?”
“No doubt that was the—purpose of this attack,” rasped the king. “But we are not so—easily beaten. Karl will lead the army in my stead.”
“And I will be there to help him,” said Frisia quickly.
The king grunted. “Not without me. Not—this time.”
Frisia’s heart beat like a war drum in her chest. It was her destiny to fight von Nagel. She must go!
“Father,” she said, as calmly as she could, “the troops are expecting me to be there.”
“Then they will be disappointed,” growled the king. “But they will fight nonetheless.”
And although she pleaded with him, he would not change his mind.
Frisia had first heard the rules of warfare when she was six years old. Since then, she had come to realize that one of them was more important than all the others put together.
Know your enemy.
The king was fascinated by the fates. He liked to consult them whenever possible, especially on the eve of war. And so, as soon as the grand dukes and margraves were gathered around his daybed, muttering to each other in shock and outrage, Frisia took a deep breath and stepped forward.
“Father, may we have a fate-telling for the campaign ahead?”
The king dragged himself up to a sitting position. “Good”—cough cough—“idea. Who will do it? The Wilm lad?”
“Yes, Father.” Frisia raised her hand, and Ser Wilm strode forward, with his servants fluttering around him.
“You will find this—interesting,” said the king to the gathered nobles. “I had not seen a telling done this way—before last week. It is even better than a goose’s entrails.” He waved weakly at Ser Wilm. “Get on with it.”
Ser Wilm’s servants dragged a number of books and manuscripts out of the various cabinets and laid them open on the long table. Then one of them took Frisia’s hand. “Close your eyes please, Highness, and put your finger on each book, anywhere you please. But do not peek.”
Frisia closed her eyes and stretched out her hand. Once again she had the feeling that she was sharing her body with someone else. And that the other one, the one who was not Frisia, had as much riding on the fate-telling as she did.
“Thank you, Highness,” said the servant, when Frisia had touched all twelve books. “You can open your eyes now.”
“Is that it?” growled the Margrave of Numme.
“No, the interesting bit comes next,” said the king.
Ser Wilm handed six of the books back to his servants. The others he moved around according to a pattern that Frisia could not see.
“But this is not the fates,” protested the Margrave of Numme. “He could turn it any way he wished.”
The king laughed. “That is the beauty of it. The lad cannot read. He does not know what the fate is, any more than we do. There now, he has finished. Frisia, tell us what it says.”
Frisia approached the books cautiously. Ser Wilm put his finger on the first word she had chosen. “Fire,” she read.
The second one was destroy the household. The third page listed all the weapons in the royal armory, but the bit that Ser Wilm pointed to was one longbow, inlaid with silver. The fourth was an illuminated drawing of a snarling wolf cub. The fifth was another drawing, of a ship this time, sailing toward the horizon with no land in sight. The sixth said, do not hold back.
“Makes no sense to me,” said the Margrave of Numme.
“It’s like a code,” said Frisia. “You have to work it out.”
The king’s face was gray with exhaustion; nothing but his iron willpower still held him upright. But he nodded, pleased. “Go on.”
“First, the fire,” said Frisia. “It might mean anything, but it comes just before ‘destroy the household.’ I think the household is probably Merne. And the fire is von Nagel, setting out to destroy us.”
The grand dukes rumbled their agreement. Their beards and mustaches wagged and they leaned forward, interested now.
“The longbow is obvious,” said Frisia. “Our bowmen are one of our greatest strengths. And the emblem of the wolf flies on all our banners
.” She paused, looking for something in the last part of the fate-telling that would declare her destiny to the listeners. But she could see nothing.
Her heart sank. “The ship is—it is our army’s voyage to Halt-Bern. And the last one tells us that we must not hold back, we must go with great urgency and fight with all our strength.”
There was a moment of silence, then the king said, “It is good—to have our plans confirmed. But I confess—I was expecting more. Never mind, there are plenty of other things to—” Cough cough cough.
All this time Physician Hoff had been hovering in the background with a look of deep disapproval on her face. Now she jumped forward. “Please, Your Highness, this is too much. You must rest. And take more of the potion, I beg you.”
“I will rest,” growled the king, “when I am ready.”
He raised his hand, and the gathered nobles knelt to take their battle vows. In rumbling voices they swore that they would fight till every drop of blood in their bodies was gone; that they would slaughter von Nagel and his followers, or cut their own ears off in shame. Then, with a great creaking of leather boots and rattling of swords, they stamped out of the library. Only Grand Duke Karl stayed behind.
Frisia stared at the floor, bitterly disappointed. She had been so sure that the fate would convince the king to let her go to Halt-Bern. But the whole thing had been a waste of time.
In the back of her mind, the strange voice whispered. (I think there’s more. Go deeper.…)
The princess’s neck prickled. She bent over the table. In the corner of the library, Ser Wilm’s servants put their white caps together and murmured to each other.
“Father,” said Frisia.
The king was lying down now, discussing strategy with the grand duke, and he was clearly annoyed at being interrupted. “What is it?”
“There is another message here,” said Frisia. Quickly, before the king could dismiss her, she said, “The first two parts are the same. The fire threatens the household. Von Nagel is setting out to destroy Merne. But the longbow—look, it’s no ordinary longbow. It’s inlaid with silver.”
“Pfft,” said the king. “That means nothing.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Frisia. “But when you look at the next part of the fate, it becomes clearer. The wolf cub.”
Her father stared at her blankly. “Don’t you see?” said Frisia, her voice trembling with excitement. “Who is the wolf of Merne?”
“The king, of course,” said Grand Duke Karl.
“Well then, if the king is the wolf, who is the wolf cub?”
The room was as silent as the empty dungeons. The king narrowed his eyes and glared at Frisia. She glared back at him. “I am,” she said. “And I carry a bow inlaid with silver rings from our conquered territories on the Faroon Peninsula—”
The king’s face reddened. “Are you trying to twist the words of the fates for your own ends, girl?” he growled.
“No,” said Frisia, standing very straight. “I am trying to discover their true meaning.”
“And what makes you think that you have found it?”
“Because it makes sense. You were right; we did expect more. And this is it. Look at the last two parts of the fate. The ship—I don’t think it’s a ship after all. I think it’s me, sailing away from everything I know. You see, the land is out of sight.… ”
“Hmph,” said the king.
“And then it says, ‘Do not hold back.’ Perhaps this is the wolf’s last chance to beat von Nagel. And you must throw everything against him.” She took a deep breath. “Including the wolf cub.”
She stopped. There was not a sound except for the crackling of the wood in the iron stove.
Grand Duke Karl cleared his throat. “I would not be sorry to have her with us,” he said to the king. “She does not have a quarter of your strength, but when it comes to courage and strategy, she is indeed the wolf’s daughter.”
“Hmph,” said the king again, and broke into another fit of coughing.
“Your Majesty—” said Physician Hoff.
“Wait,” growled the king. His eyes were sunk deep in his head by now, and his beard was like dry grass. But he dragged himself back up to a sitting position and turned his fierce gaze on Frisia.
“I expect you to come back with von Nagel’s head in a sack,” he rumbled.
Frisia’s heart leaped. “I will, Father. And the ears of his lords.”
The king laughed weakly. “Ha, that will give me my strength back.”
In the crowded depths of the princess’s mind, the strange voice whispered. (Be ready for when it stops.…)
Frisia put her hand on the hilt of her sword. She was ready. She didn’t know what was coming, but she was as ready as she could be.
“So, wolf cub,” said the king, “you will board the Falcon at first light and sail with the tide. Do you hear me? Well? Speak up.”
Frisia held herself steady. “I hear you, Father.”
Then she spun on her heel and marched out of the room. In the back of her mind, the voice set up a steady whisper.
(Be Ready.… Be Ready.… Be Ready.…)
Pounce leaned against a wall and watched the girl from Jewel behaving like an idjit. Walking through doors that weren’t there. Talking to people who didn’t exist. And all the time with that stuck-up expression on her face as if she thought she was something special.
He poked his tongue out at her, although he knew she couldn’t see him. Truth was, he was jealous. “Don’t seem fair,” he muttered to himself, “that a bunch of visitin’ snotties can catch a Big Lie straight off. Not when I been tryin’ for years.”
Truth was, it hurt to see Mouse caught up in someone else’s Lie. Pounce had been watching him for most of the day and all of the night to make sure people were treating him properly. To make sure nothing bad happened to him.
Now it was nearly dawn, but the rain had held off and the streets were still full of revelers. Pounce was sick of them, sick of the whole Festival. He hadn’t told a single lie ever since he’d found that Mouse was missing.
“Idjits,” he muttered as a group of old men danced past him. “Cretins. Stupid old fools.”
He turned around and kicked the wall with his bare toes. It hurt terribly, which was good, because it took his mind off the hurt inside him.
Truth was, he was the idjit. He should’ve known that Mouse would try and save the visiting snotties once he found out what was going on. The little boy had always been too soft. And now he was well and truly caught up in Harrow’s business.
Just the thought of it made Pounce shiver. “Don’t you touch ’im, Flense,” he whispered. “Don’t you touch my Mousie.”
He heard footsteps and spun around. Cord and Smudge were marching toward him. Pounce caught his breath, then remembered that they couldn’t see him.
The two men marched straight past, with their hands in odd positions as if they held weapons. They seemed to be heading toward the harbor. The girl from Jewel walked behind them, waving her hand to an invisible crowd.
Flense came next, right up close, as if she didn’t want to let the girl out of her sight. And there, trotting after Flense, was Mouse, with his pets lined up along his shoulders.
Pounce felt like grabbing him right there and then and dragging him off home. He would’ve done it too, except that folk said it was dangerous to pull someone out of a Big Lie before it finished. And he’d already put Mouse in danger. He wasn’t going to make it worse.
The skinny old cat strolled behind Mouse with its nose and its tail stuck in the air. The other two visiting snotties followed the cat. And behind the lot of them strutted the big black bird.
Pounce had nearly died of fright the first time he saw that flippin’ bird. It was bigger than a dozen pigeons stuck together, and blacker than the blackest sewer. It’d keep you fed for a week if you could get past those claws and that wicked beak. But Pounce wasn’t stupid enough to try.
When they’d all passed hi
m, he glanced up at the sky. It was just beginning to lighten, which meant that the Lie would finish very soon. And when it did, Flense, Cord and Smudge were going to chew up those visiting snotties and spit out their bones.
“But they’s not gunna chew up Mousie,” whispered Pounce. “Not if I got any say in it.”
And he turned and ran after his friend.
(Be Ready.… Be Ready.… Be Ready.…)
The little voice had been whispering in the back of Frisia’s mind ever since she woke. But as her carriage approached the waterfront, and the eastern sky lightened with the coming dawn, it grew to a shout.
(BE READY! BE READY!)
The waterfront was bustling. In the gray light, the last of the soldiers were boarding their ships. Quartermasters ticked off lists of food and weapons. Sailors licked their fingers and held them up to test the direction of the wind.
Frisia stared at everyone and everything she passed. She could see nothing out of the ordinary. But the danger was there. She could feel it. And it was getting closer. Much closer.
(BE READY!)
The royal procession drew up beside the Falcon, the king’s flagship. On deck, the captain was waiting to greet the princess. The tide had turned, and he was eager to be gone.
Frisia’s nerves were stretched as tight as the ropes that held the ship to the wharf. In the carriage behind her, Physician Hoff, who had insisted on coming to see her depart, was frowning, as if she had a headache.
(BE READY!)
There was a sudden sharp gust of wind across the harbor. Duchess Orla pulled her cloak tighter. A black feather fell to the ground.
“Don’t be silly,” Frisia told herself. “It’s just her glove.”
But the more she looked, the more she saw feathers. Now they were dropping from the duchess’s hair. As each one fell, Frisia felt a shock, as if the world she knew were trying to tear itself apart.
No one else seemed to notice. Physician Hoff was rubbing her forehead. Aunt Katerin was licking the back of her hand.
Licking her hand …?
Frisia shook her head. The danger was so close now that she could almost smell it. But she still did not know where it was coming from.
