“That’s good thinking. But your uncle is back at the palace, you know. What if he gets his hands on you?”
“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t know who I am,” I said. “I’m going to be Larei.”
“If—I say if—you are convincing, and he caught you and didn’t realize who you were, he’d condemn you to a common criminal’s death. Youth won’t stay his hand, not now. He’s far too angry.”
“I don’t care. I mean, I do care—very much. About staying alive, I mean. Not about him. And, anyway, that’s why we’ll have the Lure, in case we do get cornered.”
“We’ll talk more about the Lure in a moment. Lilah, have you considered the other alternative? That if your uncle sees you, he’ll know who you are?”
I shivered. “I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t.” Then I said cautiously, “You’re acting as if you might agree with us.”
“What I’m attempting to do is discern whether you really know what you face. It’s true that you witnessed some terrible things after the revolution, but I don’t think you’ve considered what it all means to those in charge. Peitar and Derek you might understand to an extent, or you wouldn’t have come up with this plan—but your uncle has to be factored in, because if you’re successful, he’s going to be tracking you, and I don’t know if you’re going to be able to avoid getting caught. And if he sees you and does recognize you, what has been a nightmare of humiliation will crystallize into a betrayal by the one person he loved—your mother.”
“Humiliation?”
“Lilah. He lost his kingdom—not to another army, but to untrained, badly organized common folk. Can’t you see how humiliating that is? Especially to a man who measures himself by the standards of the old king, your great-grandfather. He might have talked himself into thinking that you and Peitar were friends with Derek without actually being part of the revolution, but if he discovers Rana’s daughter actively working for his enemies, it would make everything that much worse.”
“I don’t plan to ever let him see me.”
“You keep that goal in mind. Have you told Lizana any of this?”
“No! She didn’t even like it when Peitar went back.”
“She worries about you all. And I am fairly certain that Peitar extracted a promise from her about your safety. But you may leave Lizana to me.” There was a long silence. Finally, he said, “I think . . . with some emendations . . . it might just tip the balance. Yes.” He placed his hands on his knees. “These emendations will be safeguards, because a week or two of playing spy games doesn’t train you to outwit adults. But I suspect you would go anyway, so I’m going to take my precautions, and you will agree to them.”
“I promise!” I said, trying not to jump up and down.
“I will get your tools, once I look again at Our Provident Careers. You continue to practice those skills.”
I flew home so fast my eyes stung.
The boys nearly strangled trying not to cheer. We raced out into the garden, and Bren let out a whoop that scared birds out of the trees. Then he rubbed his hands. “Let’s set up some new plans! Harder ones. We’d better start practicing at night, too. The sooner we’re ready—” He stopped when the foliage rustled.
Then came the sound of someone thrashing, and finally a high squawk of annoyance.
Bren’s eyes widened. “It can’t be . . .” He darted toward the shrubbery, Innon and I close behind. “Deon!”
thirteen
“I thought I heard you yelling!” Deon stumbled out of the bushes, her hair in her eyes. “That flying was wonderful—best thing ever happened to me—but then I landed in those blast-nasty shrubs—”
“Never mind that!” Bren cried. “What happened to you!”
“Oh, that’s a long story.” She made a terrible face. “And most of it is so stupid and boring I’ll scream if I have to tell any of it before I get something to eat!”
“Lizana’s inside,” Innon said. “I’ll sneak in and grab something without being seen. It’s practice!”
Deon glanced from Bren to me, then sat down. “You’re up to something. I can tell. And it’s something you don’t want the grown-ups to know, which means I’ll like it.”
“We are. You will,” I said, thinking that four brothers would be even better than three.
She sighed happily. “I’m so glad that those foresters taught me the magic! All right, here’s what happened—and then I’m in on whatever you have planned, got it?”
Bren grinned. “Got it.”
“Well, it was stupid. I was cleaning out the big carriage that belongs to your family, Lilah. Derek had signs on it that it was for the revolution. One of the cooks sent me to clean it, but what she really wanted me to do was get a love letter that someone left inside for her.”
“Ugh!” Bren and I said together.
“Well, I found the letter, and dusted a bit, but I was so tired, and I thought I’d take a nap, and she could think I was scrubbing the whole thing. So I curled up in the storage place under the seat and dropped right off. There was never any time for good sleep.”
“So the king did get you, then?” Bren asked.
“Oh, did Derek guess?” Deon asked, sounding disappointed, but then Innon appeared, red-faced from running, and handed her some bread and a peach. “Anyway, I woke up with the carriage jolting on the road. I was stuffed inside, holding my dusting rag and that letter. And yes, I opened it, and yes, it was a love letter. Ugh!”
The three of us snickered.
“Well, we finally slowed down enough for me to get out. And there was Dirty Hands himself! I don’t know who was more surprised! He was a mess—blood on his clothes, face all bruised, his wrists chewed up something frightful. Hadn’t had a thing to eat for days, so he looked as starved as one of us at home.” She turned to Bren. “I gawked at him, he stared at me, and then he started laughing. He took the letter away, and looked at it like he thought it was some spy thing, but after he read a few words, he went like this.” Deon curled her lip. “And he said, ‘Yours?’ I said, ‘Yuck! Not a chance!’ Then . . . he went on reading it!”
Innon cracked his knuckles. “Yup. See who it was from. If he could.”
“Who cares?”
“Maybe one of the guard, or else why would they have to leave letters? He’d want to know who was on whose side.”
“Who’s telling this story?” Deon demanded. “Anyway, after he read the thing he gave it back, and I threw it out the window. We were a long way from Miraleste. Nothing in sight but fields, most of ’em burnt.”
“Phew,” Bren said. “So then?”
“So then he asked me if I was one of ‘Derek Diamagan’s rabble,’ and of course I lied—who wouldn’t? But then I had a real bad moment, because he went like this.” She narrowed her eyes, and again I could imagine my uncle’s face. I must have caught my breath, because she cast me a quick glance. “You know that look, don’t you? I used to think you nobles had it easy, but now I’m not so sure. Not around him. Anyhow, he said he thought I was one of the people who came to shout at him when he was a prisoner. Well . . . I had. Three times! Because I kept thinking up more insults. I said that Derek had made me do it, and he said, ‘You needn’t have been so assiduous, then,’ or something like that, and I could just feel the noose around my neck, but he had this look like he was about to start laughing again. Then we stopped, the door opened, and a warrior was there.”
“And?” Bren prompted.
“The warrior helped him get out. Another warrior took me straight to the cook tents. And that’s the end of the stupid part, and here comes the boring part. Days and days and days of cooking and cleaning. I was the only girl, at first. The rest were all noble cadets from Obrin. After a week of us bumbling around making terrible meals—and those warriors complain worse than any courtier!—some of the palace staff c
ame. We worked just as hard, but they told us what to do, and the food got better and everything more organized. And that was it. We moved camp, always in the middle of the night, and oh, do they travel fast! All the news we heard was about riots and killings and the king’s mood. He made them practice fighting and drilling, and a couple of times they brought in prisoners.”
None of us wanted to think about what had happened to them.
“Finally, we got another order to march—right back to Miraleste. Warriors were everywhere cleaning things up, or forcing work parties to do it. Dirty Hands gave us pay, and offered us palace jobs or freedom, and I said I wanted to go home. He said, ‘Make sure you do.’ I did, just in case he sent someone after me, but after I gave my pay to Gran, she told me Derek left a message: if none of you was in Selenna, I was to go to Diannah, mention your name, Lilah, and do what the robbers told me. Robbers! I hoped I’d get to join them, but flying was even better!” She finished off the peach and licked her fingers. “Phew! So what’s the plan?”
I cleared my throat, ready to tell the story of our vow, and what Peitar and Derek said, and the Esalans and our idea, but Bren knew his cousin better.
“We are going back,” he said. “In disguise. As thieves, and spies.”
Deon rubbed her hands. “When do we start?”
• • •
DEON—OR DAEN, HER Sharadan brothers name—fitted right in. She slept in my room and wore Mother’s clothes, which fit her much better than they had me. After the army camp, kitchen work was nothing to her; she was the fastest at chores. But she was impatient. All those weeks of drudgery made her crave adventure more than ever, so she threw herself into practice. She was the first up every day and the last to give up each night. Once Bren explained how the brothers learned to hide in plain sight, she invented the game of stalking one another through the village. The only rule was, if any adult noticed us enough to ask what we were doing, we lost and had to start over.
Once each of us had managed a number of successful captures, Deon was ready to leave for Miraleste. But Innon wasn’t. Thorough by nature, he insisted on teaching us some rudiments of sword fighting. So we lined up in the far end of the garden, and he handed us sword-length sticks. Deon started right in jabbing and slashing.
“Now, listen. You’ll get the basic moves, but don’t think you can defeat anyone who knows how to use a sword, because you can’t. I can’t, and I’ve been practicing since I was little. There’s a huge difference between dueling, which has all these rules, and real fighting, which doesn’t have any. What you can do is learn to block, giving you time to think of some other way to get something solid between you and the other person’s steel.”
Deon sighed. But Bren nodded grimly—he’d seen the truth of Innon’s words that first night, when Peitar and I were with poor Bernal in the palace garrison.
So each morning before breakfast we sneaked to the far end of the garden to practice with our fake swords.
Tsauderei had gotten us another defense: a brace of throwing knives. After sword practice, we took turns hurling the knives into a dead tree at the edge of the garden, going farther and farther back from the target as our accuracy improved. Bren, with his keen eye, was the best. I was worst. My arms ached. My whole body ached, at first.
I was much better with Tsauderei’s picks and locks. Each night, when we had finished cleaning the kitchen, we went up to the roof. The mage had shown us the basics, and we practiced until we could open the locks blindfolded. We learned about all of the different kinds, how to tell them apart by feel, and how to be fast and accurate.
Next came clothes and travel packs. I made the packs out of extra fabric I found in the linen cupboard. Innon worked on the boys’ clothes, and Deon adapted a few of Mother’s flying outfits for the two of us. The fabric was dark, because the brothers said that dark clothes kept you invisible in shadows. Both she and Innon put in plenty of pockets.
Bren had the steadiest hands, so he was in charge of glass-cutting, with a special tool that was so sharp that one careless touch would make your finger bleed for half a day and hurt for two more. Tsauderei had given it to him, along with a spell that repaired glass, so Bren practiced at his house.
The mage was pleased with our preparations, except for one thing: Deon could read slowly, but she was barely able to write. Even Derek hadn’t been able to get her to work on it.
“You might have to send a note,” Tsauderei said to her one day. “Or receive one. Why don’t you ask Lizana for lessons? She’s one of the best teachers I know.” Deon didn’t say anything, just scowled at her bare toes.
As soon as we left, Bren said, “That’s a great idea about Lizana.”
“No, it isn’t.” Deon shot into the air. “It’s boring! I want to spend my free time with the village kids. I haven’t learned half of their songs yet, and they love the ones I made up.”
“Writing lessons might keep Lizana from getting suspicious about everything else,” Innon said.
“I’ll keep you company,” I said to her. “I’m still working on some of Tsauderei’s books, but they’re slow going. Let’s ask her to help after breakfast, if she doesn’t mind.”
“Why should she mind?” Deon asked, with one of her sudden changes of mood. “What else does she have to do? We do all the housework.”
“She writes a lot of letters,” Innon said, flying beside her. “And she has one of those magical letter cases that my parents used to have, before all the magic wore out.”
“I’ll bet you Tsauderei gave it to her,” I said. “Maybe she writes to her sister. Or Deveral. Anyway, ask her—then she might think you’re spending your afternoons practicing.”
Deon did, and Lizana seemed pleased. We added tutoring in the mornings. Everybody joined in, so Deon wouldn’t feel alone. I toiled away at Adamas Dei, though I didn’t understand half of what I read; Innon worked through some books about guilds and treaties; and Bren finished Our Provident Careers.
There was only one bad moment, a morning when Deon was taking a very long time to copy something out, and I puzzled over Adamas Dei’s words about how different cultures view the world. Isn’t there one way to view the world, I was thinking, the true way?
Lizana had been watching while she waited for Deon to finish. She said, “That’s a difficult book, Lilah. What made you choose it?”
“A friend,” I said. Which was the truth.
“You mean a friend who lives in an old cottage?”
“Yes! Did Tsauderei tell you about my visits?”
She gave an approving nod, and I thought, She sees more than we think she does.
From then on, the four of us took extra precautions when we went to practice, never leaving through the same door, or at the same time.
The days became weeks and settled into a routine, and although we worked hard, our goal in mind, each of us made sure to save time for what we liked best. I continued to visit Atan, Deon went to the village to trade songs, and Bren drew. Innon not only swam but took flying trips to collect Lure in a waterproof bag. He would hold his breath, swoop down, and pick a blossom or two—but it made him tired, so he could gather only a few each day.
Then he insisted that we all practice getting used to the Lure. We tried. At first breath, we felt invincible, but after the second and third, that quickly turned to silliness, then wooziness, and we barely made it home to fall asleep. The next day, we all had headaches.
“This is taking too much of our time! Why not just let Innon be in charge of the Lure. He knows the most about it, anyway,” Deon said.
“I’d rather be practicing lock-picking anyway,” added Bren, and I agreed, even though I could tell that cautious Innon was disappointed.
Then after almost a month of hard work came the morning when Bren finally finished Our Provident Careers. He returned it to the library and waited un
til Deon’s lesson was over. “Let’s all go swimming,” he said.
Halfway to the lake, we stopped to talk, hovering in midair. “I think we’re ready. How about the rest of you?”
“Yes!” Deon said, somersaulting happily.
Innon was silent. I had a feeling we could practice for years and it wouldn’t be enough for him. “I’ve been worrying more and more,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He sighed. “All right.”
Later, when I told Tsauderei, he gave me that narrow gaze, then nodded shortly. “Come here in the morning. I’ll have breakfast waiting, and some other things.”
The last person I talked to was Atan. “Fare well,” she said, clasping my hands. Gehlei stayed in the background. “When it’s over, you’ll return and see me, won’t you?” And when I’d promised, she said with a wistful smile, “I’ll want to hear everything. I can read forever, but there’s nothing like experience—someone else’s, if I can’t yet have my own.”
I wanted to say “Your time is coming,” but, mindful of Gehlei, I stayed silent.
When I got back, I visited my mother’s portrait. I thought, Tomorrow we go, Mother. And I will try to help Peitar. And I’ll try to make sure Uncle Darian doesn’t see me. Not because of his feelings. I don’t really believe he has any. But because of yours—in the past.
Mother smiled gently, as she always did.
So watch over us, if you can.
• • •
I STILL REMEMBER that last dinner. I’d look at my food and the peaceful kitchen, and I couldn’t really believe I was about to leave. My body knew it, because my middle was a wad of knots.
Deon and Bren traded off telling one of Derek’s best stories. Even Lizana listened, smiling faintly, as she moved about the kitchen, for it was her turn to cook.
When the evening ended and she’d said nothing at all, despite our behavior (including a million hints that Deon couldn’t resist dropping, because she loved having a secret), I wondered if Lizana had her own plan. I hoped it didn’t concern us—that we wouldn’t wake up and find ourselves turned into potted plants, statues, or something, to keep us from leaving.