When they arrive at the ambassador’s estate, two women come running as the carriage pulls up the gravel road to the main house, arms waving in the air. They’re plump, of middling age, both with wild curls—one blond and fair, the other brunet and olive-toned; the blonde’s hair is longer—and both are wrapped in layers of colorful skirts hitched up into their belts, their bodices loosely tied. They each wear tall laced-up boots; the blonde wears black leather and the dark-haired one wears brown.
The ambassador and his husband stand behind them.
The manor is grand but simple, made of stone and timber, with paned windows and paneled doors. Cal already feels more comfortable here than he did at the Girt estate and he hasn’t even been out of the carriage yet. Like all Renovian holdfasts, there is a lush garden, chock-full of vegetables and herbs, and beyond that the barn and the fields.
Shadow can hardly wait for the carriage to halt completely before throwing the door wide-open and leaping from it, nearly tripping on her own skirts while doing so. “Auntie! Auntie!”
They meet at the edge of the road, the three of them embracing and laughing. At first this scene makes Cal feel happy for Shadow, but that happiness turns quickly to sadness—he has nothing like this, and maybe never will. His parents both dead, and no other family. Does Shadow know how lucky she is?
They break apart. The dark-haired aunt notices Cal standing awkwardly near the carriage and calls out to him. “The infamous Caledon Holt!”
He nods. She waves him over. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come give us a hug!”
Cal walks up the path toward the house. The fair-haired woman grabs him and gives him a warm hug. “I don’t know if you remember us. You were just a wee thing last we laid eyes on you. I’m Moriah, Shadow’s aunt. This is Mesha.”
The dark-haired aunt steps over and hugs him for a long time. “I haven’t seen you since you were a small lad. Do you remember me?”
She does look somewhat familiar, but Cal shakes his head. He wishes he did. He instantly sees why Shadow talks of them so often. They are full of warmth and genuine affection.
“Let’s go inside and get you two something to eat. You must be famished!” Aunt Moriah says.
“Yes, let’s go. We have lots to talk about,” Aunt Mesha says. Then she calls out to the footmen at the carriage. “Thank you; we will call on you again when it’s time.” She points to the chimney.
Ambassador Nhicol and Lord Mathieu greet them as well. “Moriah, Mesha, we will take our leave for the evening,” Nhicol says, as the two of them disappear up the stairs to give Shadow’s family some privacy.
But where is Shadow’s mother, who arranged this meeting?
* * *
CAL WANTS TO KNOW more but neither of the aunts offers to explain, and he figures they will tell him soon enough. The ambassador’s abode is Renovian in every way, with cozy chairs, colorful rope rugs, and bright paintings hung on every inch of available wall. It is a relief after all the artifice of Montrice.
There’s a woman in the sitting room, on a tufted rocking chair in the corner, partially obscured by darkness. She’s dressed shabbily, in dingy brown-and-tan peasant skirts and clunky wooden clogs on her feet. She wears a linen cap on her head and opaque spectacles—the type worn by those without sight.
“Mother!” Shadow says. She immediately kneels before the shabby woman who wears an ornate emerald ring on her finger.
Mother? This is Shadow’s mother? The Guild spy?
“I’m terribly sorry for everything,” Shadow says.
Shadow’s mother’s voice is as cold as any Cal has heard. “We will discuss your insubordination later. For the time being there are more important things to discuss than your running away.”
Running away? Cal is confused but doesn’t say anything. Wasn’t Shadow sent to him on orders from the queen?
“Come, eat, child,” says Moriah, ushering her and Cal to the formal dining table, where they all gather. All except for Shadow’s mother, who remains silent in the rocking chair. Moriah passes out bowls of thick beef stew. “There’s a fresh loaf of bread on the table, and fresh butter too.”
Cal doesn’t wait for bread or even for the stew to cool off; he takes a bite immediately. It’s too hot but he doesn’t care. “Delicious,” he says, mouth full.
Moriah chuckles. “Glad you like it!”
“It’s been so long since I had food like this,” he tells her. He hasn’t eaten anything but prison gruel or aristocrat nonsense in many weeks. When’s the last time he had a hearty home-cooked meal? He can’t recall.
Moriah claps her hands. “Excellent! Now that that’s settled, let’s get to it. Where to start?”
“So I take it the ambassador recognized me,” says Shadow.
Shadow’s mother coughs. Aunt Mesha glances in her direction. Aunt Moriah nods. “Yes, he was at the party to confirm your presence. We had alerted the Guild the very day you disappeared. And it goes without saying that we threw a locus spell straightaway.
“It didn’t take too long for them to discover that you’d made your way into Deersia—at least we assumed it was you, considering that Caledon was also missing, sprung from prison ahead of schedule, by a novice stable hand no less, and then appeared in Montrice with a sister matching your description. I mean, honestly, Shadow, hardly subtle. Ambassador Nhicol sent a messenger immediately to let us know what he’d found. We called you here because no other correspondence is safe, and it is imperative that you know what we’re facing immediately.”
It takes a few seconds for Cal to absorb everything that’s been said. He blinks a few times and puts a hand up to halt the conversation. “My apologies, but I was under the impression that Shadow was sent to Deersia by Queen Lilianna, in order to serve as my apprentice.” Now that he’s spoken it aloud, he doesn’t know why he ever believed her. That was, of course, ridiculous. He was so eager to leave that cell, and so distracted with his orders from the queen, that he didn’t think.
There is silence around the table.
Shadow can’t quite meet his eye.
It is Moriah who answers. “You were supposed to be freed by Ambassador Nhicol, who arrived at the prison undercover, as a Montrician spy. But a few days after he arrived, you were gone.”
“Ambassador Nhicol was the Montrician spy! I thought I recognized him; I certainly recognized his voice!” says Shadow.
Cal is stunned.
“Wrongdoing aside, I, for one, am rather impressed by how far you got,” Mesha says, motioning her head toward her niece. “She has no formal training whatsoever.”
“Yes, well, we will sort this all out later,” Moriah says. “We need to stay focused on what’s ahead, not behind.”
Mesha walks up, holding a small box in her hand. “This is why you’re both here.” She opens the small case. Its pillowed interior is lined with dark red satin. On that sits a small shard of iridescent black glass.
Shadow’s eyes widen. “Where did you get that?” She looks from one of the women to the other.
“The Aphrasians have been mining it at Baer Abbey.”
“What is it?” asks Cal. “We found some in the woods at Duke Girt’s estate.”
“And we had a bit of trouble with it on the road, when we ran into a group of monks.”
“You’ve seen this before?” Aunt Moriah asks.
“Yes,” Shadow says. “We had a scuffle with some—well, we thought they were Deersia guards—but it turned out they were Aphrasians. They captured us when we were fleeing Deersia.”
Shadow’s mother stirs from her perch in the sitting room.
“And while we were trying to escape, I used some of the energy conjuring you taught me . . .” She is speaking so fast she nearly trips over her words.
The aunts look at each other and smile proudly.
“But it ricocheted back at me. Knocked
me out. When I came to, I noticed the guard had some kind of shield sewn into his vest. But it wasn’t normal, not made of metal. It looked almost liquid, except it was definitely solid. It looked exactly like that.” She points to the box.
Now the aunts exchange a wide-eyed look of alarm.
“We were hunting with the duke when we found another piece,” Cal adds. He examines the shard in its case.
“It is obsidian,” says Aunt Moriah. “An ancient and very powerful substance. It can do many things—strengthen the magic of the one who wields it, and keep one safe from outside magical forces.”
“And the Aphrasians have it,” says Shadow, her face paling.
“So that’s what they were doing back at the abbey,” says Cal.
“Exactly, and this also explains why they’ve suddenly gained so much power after lying dormant for so long. We think the ore was discovered there, possibly when they were building a new vault or something of that nature. The Guild believes the hills at Baer are full of it. Only exactly how deep or where or even how to extract it, we don’t know. Yet.”
Shadow sips her tea. “When I was at Baer,” she says, taking time with her words, “something odd happened. It happened once there, and again when I touched the floor of the great hall at Deersia.”
“When were you at Baer?” Moriah asks, almost shouting. She stops herself, takes a breath. “You know what, never mind.” She waves her hand in the air.
“What happened, child?” asks Mesha.
Shadow looks at her aunts. “I had a vision—but it was more than a vision—it seemed like I was actually transported. The first incident was at the tree . . . I went back in time and witnessed the end of the Battle of Baer.”
Cal sits back and crosses his arms. Why didn’t she tell him this before? The aunts gasp. Shadow’s mother inhales loudly, as if bracing herself.
“The second, at Deersia, wasn’t nearly as disturbing, but I saw it when it was brand-new, a thousand years ago. Omin of Oylahn appeared to me.”
Aunt Moriah turns to the sitting room and nods to Shadow’s mother, a look passing between them.
“Did the mage say anything to you?”
“‘Follow your path,’” says Shadow.
They are all silent for a moment.
Cal breaks the silence. “So the Aphrasians not only possess the scrolls, but it appears they now have a powerful magical weapon as well.”
“Exactly. It is even more vital we uncover the Montrician conspirator and eliminate the threat,” Aunt Moriah says. “What have you found so far?”
“The duke and duchess are imposters,” says Cal. “We believe that they murdered the real duke and duchess more than twenty years ago. Or at least, the duke did; the duchess is quite young . . . or merely looks it.”
The aunts nod, and Shadow’s mother leans forward. So this is the great Guild spy Shadow told him about.
“We have no evidence that the duke is working against the Renovian crown. However, we do believe the duke is a mage,” he says. “But is he Aphrasian? That we do not yet know.”
Everyone gathered at the table ruminates on this information. Shadow looks nervously at her family; Cal can tell she’s worried that they won’t allow her to help him finish their work. But her aunts only sigh, and make no move to reprimand or order her to stay.
“There is a plot to assassinate Princess Lilac,” Shadow’s mother says finally. “The princess is in Montrice with the queen, and she is not safe. The two of you must discover the truth about the duke as soon as possible. The queen herself orders this.”
“Where are the princess and the queen now?” asks Cal.
“All I can tell you is that they are safe in Montrice,” says Shadow’s mother.
Shadow perks up. “I am given this assignment as well?”
Shadow’s mother studies her for a long time, then nods.
The princess has always been a target, Cal knows. His own father told him this. The Aphrasians will stop at nothing to render her death.
Aunt Mesha bustles at the table. “Would anyone like more to eat?” They all decline. Cal wishes he could fit more away, but he just can’t. He stands and clears the table for his hostesses.
Once the table is clear and the dishes are done, Aunt Mesha takes Cal by the arm and walks with him to the front door. “Darling, would you mind terribly if we have a moment alone with Shadow?”
“Of course.” She puts him off guard by giving him a quick hug before walking back inside. He decides to admire the gardens while Shadow speaks with her aunts and mother.
Though he’s some distance from the house, he hears everyone talking before it falls eerily silent again. A minute or two later he hears stomping and shouting, then Shadow bursts out the door. Cal sees she’s changed. Agitated. She heads straight to the road without looking at him. Her aunts follow after her. Moriah’s eyes are red and puffy. She holds on to Mesha for support. Shadow’s mother does not come out of the house.
“Is everything all right?” Cal calls out. None of them pay attention to him—they seem to be lost in their own world—unaware he’s there anymore. They just walk past him, toward Shadow.
He watches them from afar as they argue, or rather, as Shadow does, her arms flailing around. The aunts seem to be trying to calm her down. Cal stands around near the house, unsure what he should do. Should he go inside, talk to Shadow’s mother maybe?
Finally, Aunt Mesha walks back toward him. “The coach will return in a little while and bring you back to the Girt estate. There is little time to spare. If the Aphrasians have a way to deflect magic and strengthen their own, then even the Guild does not stand a chance against them. We don’t know how much time we have before the enemy strikes. You must uncover the conspirator before they reach the princess. Lilac must live.”
“I understand,” Cal tells her.
“I’m not sure you do. But we believe in you. Both of you.” She smiles at him. “Find the Montrician conspirator and take care of them, by whatever means necessary.”
Cal nods.
She pauses, then continues. “There’s not a lot we can do to assist you, but we’ll do what we can. For now, we’d like to bestow a protection charm upon both of you, if you are agreeable to it. From that, we can give you each a talisman to carry.”
He’s never experienced something like that, but he doesn’t see how it can hurt. “Thank you,” he says. “I would be grateful.”
* * *
CAL WALKS OUT TO the back field with Mesha to meet Shadow and Aunt Moriah in an open space behind the barn.
They join hands around a small stone fire pit. Shadow stares blankly into the flames. He is eager to know what happened in the house. For now he’ll have to wait.
The women begin chanting in unison: “Deia, hear our call; please assist these dear souls as they fight to do right, mend what’s been broken, and restore the rightful ways of the world.”
The flames flicker. A soft breeze blows past them. The aunts exchange a knowing smile. “Now you two may join hands so the spell can be sealed,” Mesha says.
Cal takes Shadow’s hands in his. She keeps her eyes down. The aunts walk around them, spreading salt and dried herbs from tiny drawstring pouches they’ve pulled from their belts. They continue the chant: “Deia, hear our call; please assist these dear souls as they fight to do right, mend what’s been broken, and restore the rightful ways of the world.”
Cal feels a tug, an invisible rope, wrap around them as the aunts walk and chant. Shadow closes her eyes, so he does as well. The sensation grows so that he swears he can actually feel it, physically, the warmth around his legs and torso and arms, extending between the two of them and all around them, an undetectable shield.
And then his hands, holding hers, begin to feel hot, and he feels the same sensation fastening their hands together, and he wonders if he’s merely imaginin
g it or if it’s happening to her too.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Caledon
THE NEXT MORNING, SHADOW IS uncommonly pale and tight-lipped the entire trip back to Montrice. Cal asks her, only once, what happened while he waited outside. She tells him—forcefully—that she doesn’t want to talk about it, but that she will when the time comes.
He wishes they could have stayed at the ambassador’s manor for longer. Despite whatever upset Shadow so much before they left, he had a good feeling about the kindhearted women who raised her, although her mother gave him a bit of a chill.
Shadow’s aunts gave them each a drawstring pouch, and instructed them to keep the charmed talismans on their person at all times. It was the closest thing to parental affection Cal had experienced since his father passed. Perhaps they could tell how he felt, though, because while they waited for the carriage, Mesha and Moriah told him stories about Cordyn from their days at the Guild. They said he was one of the top students, and also one of the most mischievous, often reprimanded by the training council for his pranks and rule-breaking.
While they were telling him this, it almost seemed that Cordyn was with them. Cal felt the familiar presence, the spirit of his father. Who knows? He might have been there. Cal is willing to believe in many more things than he used to.
* * *
THE ENTIRE RIDE BACK to Mont is somber. The butler informs them that the duke and duchess have gone out of town and to their country estate, as the duke had to take care of some unexpected business. That’s fine with Cal and Shadow, better even. They retreat to their rooms without fanfare and take the rest of the day’s meals there.
By all accounts the party to honor them is set to carry on as planned—that much is clear enough in the hustle and bustle of the staff as they dash from one wing of the house to another carrying chairs and vases and glassware. They leave them alone, and Shadow retreats to her room without inviting him, and so Cal takes the time to puzzle out the pieces of the conspiracy.
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