“I suppose you’ve died and know all about it,” Faline asked, loading on the sarcasm.
“I know as much about that as you do about pigfats,” Senrid retorted, once again giving her that grin-on-the-verge-of-a-laugh.
“You got me there.” Faline couldn’t help but grin back. “I’s’pose you mean that’s better than being tortured. I guess I’ll agree that far. But, well, I’ll be getting out soon enough. White magic always wins out over black.”
“Why?” Senrid asked.
The question startled her. She was used to threats, explosions of anger followed by sinister speeches, or at least derision. Though that expression narrowed Senrid’s gray-blue eyes, he seemed to want a real answer.
She blinked. “Because it’s in harmony with the world,” she said, waving her hands to encompass the entire universe.
Now came the derisive snort, though even that didn’t match the magnitude of most villains’ hitherto. “Explain the Fall of Old Sartor, then,” he said. “See you at the execution tomorrow—or possibly tomorrow, depending on whether Ndand gets here tonight.”
“What’s a Ndand?”
“It’s who, and she’s my cousin,” Senrid said. “I did say you’d meet my family.”
“And who was that pickle-faced man with the nasty voice?”
“You mean my uncle? I see he made a good impression.” Another quick grin. “He’s regent until he feels I’ll be a good king. And he’s the rest of my family.”
“You’ll never be good at the rate you’re going,” Faline said firmly.
“Why?”
She expected it this time. “Cuzz a good king is one who works to help and protect the people, not bullies ‘em.”
“But I do work to protect my people,” Senrid said. “We work constantly to make sure no one can attack us. You’re wrong on that one, Faline.” He seemed reluctant to leave. “Well, see you tomorrow.”
“Oh, goodie,” Faline yodeled.
Senrid raised his hand and disappeared.
The zaplight dwindled, leaving her alone in the empty, dark cell.
While poor Faline sits there, I have to return to the Junky.
Just as Faline and Senrid left the lower room, Diana put away the knife she’d been polishing.
Diana thought about that kid, and as the sound of his and Faline’s voices vanished up the tunnel, her curiosity altered into suspicion. Now, she liked having people admire her weapon collection—but that boy hadn’t been admiring, he’d been assessing. Like someone who knew the difference between a Colendi dueling dagger, a Chwahir assassin blade, and an old-fashioned sailor’s utility knife.
She hadn’t said anything. Diana seldom says much, even when the others pester her to. She reflected on how sensitive Faline was on the subject of Kwenz having snaffled her for that stupid plan overseas somewhere. Until Clair had relaxed the rule about Faline staying hidden, Diana knew Faline’s feelings had been bruised—as if she couldn’t be trusted to pull off a patrol any more.
So she wasn’t about to speak up. But because she felt suspicious, she grabbed her coat and ghosted up the lower tunnel. She was by far the best of us girls at wood work, so she decided to satisfy her suspicions on her own. If nothing happened, Faline would never know.
She stopped just outside the entrance to the main room and watched the kid looking around. He and Faline began to leave, and once more he glanced back, a glance of obvious longing. That was normal—kids always loved the underground hideout—so normal that Diana almost retreated back inside.
Except there was something funny going on because Faline clearly wanted to stay, but the boy expected her to go.
So she pulled on her coat and shadowed them outside and along the trails.
When she wants to be, she’s completely invisible in a forest—even Seshe isn’t as fog-footed. And no magic involved. The kid only looked back once or twice, but never saw her. Meanwhile, he started in with questions about Clair’s army and magic protections, his voice clear and carrying in the frosty air.
Army?
But then Faline made a joke about PJ and they both laughed. Muttering to herself—was there something wrong about this boy, or wasn’t there?—Diana shadowed them all the way to No Man’s Land. As the trees thinned she had to drop farther and farther back, which made their conversation hard to hear.
But when they reached the fields, darkness mostly hid her. Diana ran forward to close some of the distance—in time to see the boy grab Faline by the wrist.
They vanished by magic transfer before she could get to them.
So Diana turned around and began the long run back.
She was tired and hot when she reached the Junky. On watery legs she trotted down the tunnel and dropped onto the rug.
“Diana?” Seshe exclaimed, startled. “What’s wrong? Chwahir attacking?”
“CJ…get CJ,” Diana gasped, her gaze roaming the ceiling as she fought for breath.
Seshe moved to the magic slate and wrote a message.
Up above, the twin to the magic slate showed the message at once, and because it was within my field of vision, I saw the words appear. I hopped up, glad for any kind of break in the monotony, and did the summons spell.
Diana appeared a moment later. She wiped her damp hair back from her brow, then shrugged out of her worn old coat. Meanwhile, she fought to get enough breath in order to talk.
“Faline…taken. Kid…magic-transfer…”
“Chwahir?”
“Don’t think so…not Kwenz’s. Normal eyes…didn’t seem like…he could be from Shnit. Nah. Accent’s wrong,” Diana added, frowning. “He called her Flinuh, not FAL-in-uh, like the Chwahir do—or Fa-linn-eh, like us. And when he said your name, it was Shrenuh, not CHAR-en-uh, like ol’ Kwenz gorbles it.”
CHAR-en-uh. I shuddered, remembering that terrible Kessler Sonscarna—and his Chwahir accent. I’d almost come to hate my name, and had had to whisper it over and over after I got home, Cher-en-eh, Cher-en-eh, in order to get it right in my head again.
Before I could speak (and I would have begun with a few dozen insults against Kessler before we got down to work trying to figure out what could have happened to Faline) a flash of transfer-dazzle and a brief spurt of displaced air made us both whirl around. Someone had transferred in, and from the flash and the way he blinked as if dazed, it was a very long distance transfer.
Diana and I stared in amazement at an unfamiliar boy, about Puddlenose’s height, more or less the same age—around fifteen. He had curly dark hair and eyes as green as summer grass.
Neither of us spoke (me forgetting that I was supposed to be the hostess) until the boy said hopefully, “Mearsies Heili?”
“Yes,” I said, and to Diana, “Is this the lunkhead who bagged Faline?”
“No,” Diana said. “Other’s blond. Short. Younger—I think. Called himself a funny, foreign-sounding name. San… Sonrad…”
“Senrid!” It was more of an exclamation than a question from the newcomer—catching a familiar word that he hadn’t wanted to hear.
“That was it, by cracky,” Diana said, looking pleased.
The boy didn’t look pleased at all. “Are you the queen?” He spoke in his own language.
I responded in his language—though I don’t know how it works. I only know it does. “No, are you?” I retorted absently, and then I remembered the situation and gabbled, “Oh! Uh, heh-heh, I was thinking about Faline, and—no, I’m not the queen, I am thankful to say. I’m throne warming for Clair, who’s sick. Now, who are you? And do you know where Faline is? Why are you here anyway, and what’s up?”
“All is down.” the boy said grimly, “if you’ll excuse a not-quite-joke. Stupid but true. I’m here because I believe your Faline might be in Marloven Hess—”
“Where?” I squawked.
“What?” Diana hooted.
“—and that means they’ll kill her unless we can do something fast.”
Kill? Faline? My brain refused to comprehend i
t. Meanwhile here was this stranger before me. “And you are?” I hinted subtly.
He grinned. “Leander Tlennen-Hess of Vasande Leror.”
“Of course!” I exclaimed. “I have you down in the records. Faline’s adventure, when she was stuck with that magician Latvian. And Hibern—though Faline says her nickname is Fern—and Stefan, who sets fire to things. But you and your sister are from that other country. I’m Cherene Jennet. Call me CJ. Now, what’s this about Faline, and a cornpone named Senrid?”
“Half a year ago, all I really knew about our current neighbors to the west,” Leander said grimly, “was that they were a big kingdom with a very bad past full of wars, and that their rulers relied on black magic. After something that happened I pledged money we don’t have to order some more recent histories, and the more I’ve been reading about them, the more I feel that if they stayed on their side of the border and left me to mine we’d both be happy.”
“Just like we feel about the Chwahir,” I said.
“Faline told us a little about Kwenz,” Leander said, holding his nose for a second. “I guess he’s an old friend of Latvian.”
“Is he still shopping around for victims for his experiments?” I asked.
“No, he seems to be angry with the Regent. Collet—she’s a white magic student in Marloven Hess—”
“I remember,” I said, nodding. “Faline told us about her. Fern’s cousin, right? And you know her?”
“I didn’t, until after these events I just mentioned. Hibern heard about them, wrote to me, and offered her cousin as a contact. Now Collet gathers information for us. Her father is part of the regional government, and Collet hears everything that’s going on. Through her I’ve been finding other contacts, and I recently got a couple placed in the royal castle in Choreid Dhelerei itself, though in lowly positions. Not that I like spying much, but if those Marlovens want to invade us, I’ve got to know about it.”
“That’s why we have a spy, a kid named Ben,” I said. “Only against the Chwahir.”
“Anyway, Collet reports from Hibern that Latvian has given up with messing in politics. Now he only wants to cure Stefan.” He grimaced. “The Regent isn’t interested in sanity, he wants control of the kingdom.”
“Ugh! So glad Faline escaped from all that.” I remembered Faline’s story about how Stefan had nearly burned down Latvian’s house because her hair was red. The kid apparently has this craziness about fire. “So, back to how we fit in?”
“Last summer Faline found out about the Marloven king’s plan for annexing Vasande Leror, and when she escaped she came to us and told us the plan so we could squash it.”
“Right,” I said. “We know that part.”
“Well, none of us knew at the time that that king is Senrid. He’s king in name, but not in power. His uncle is the regent, and he doesn’t want to give up the throne any time soon, from everything we’ve learned.”
“So where does Faline come in? And executions?”
“Don’t you see? She messed up Senrid’s plan, so he’s got to make good—make bad?—well anyway, he’s got to correct the ‘mistakes’ by killing everyone who thwarted him, according to Marloven custom.”
“That’s a custom?”
Leander said grimly, “To the Marlovens. More of a law: You don’t cross their kings and live.”
“So can’t you send your spies in to rescue them?”
Leander shook his head. “They’re spies. They have no power at all—I can’t even contact them, except through a complicated route that will take days. I don’t think we have that long. We have to act fast. By the time I could reach them, the execution might well be over.”
I turned to Diana. “Not that it compares in disaster points, but this kid saw our hideout?”
Diana nodded solemnly, then grinned. “He saw it, but if he ever finds it again, it’d be more’n I know.”
“True,” I said, and rapidly tried to get my mind around the bigger problem. With no success, as usual. “No way can I solve this one on my own. I hope ol’ Granny got a good rest, because it’s ending now.”
We’d long ago settled on an emergency signal and summons spell if we needed one another quickly. I did the signal spell, then the summons transfer, and Clair appeared before us, looking like a ghost in her white nightgown and long white hair. A ghost with a red nose.
She looked at us blearily, sneezed, then said, “CJ? What’s this, a joke? If it is, I’ll—what? Who’s that?” She pointed at Leander, who looked slightly embarrassed. Maybe in his country, no one appeared in the throne room in their nightgown, even though Clair’s was as long and plain as one of her gowns.
I’d taken a bite of my pie in order to fortify myself. “No joke, and I’m sorry to roust you out of bed,” I said around the pie. “It’s Leander. You know, the algae-eyed one Faline told us about.” Leander looked a little sardonic at the ‘algae’ comment. “Hey, don’t bust a gut. Clair’s got ‘em too, as we never fail to remind her.” I pointed at her hazel eyes, which she was trying to blink into alertness. “Anyhoo, Whitey-granny, Faline’s going to be executed unless we think of something fast. He’s here to help—I guess.”
Clair’s breath whooshed out. “Clothes. Cleaning frame.” She did the transfer magic and vanished.
When she returned, she was in a nice, warm woolen gown, and her hair was neat and orderly. “All right, you tar-topped, slobbinizing chocolate-pie guzzler, off my throne!” She grinned.
I took off Six-Stix, which I’d forgotten about all this time, and tossed it to her. She made it disappear to its proper place: Court was officially over.
“Gladly,” I said, hopping up.
Clair settled down, sneezed, frowned, then got up again. “Why are we in here? It’s freezing, and this stupid throne is about as comfortable as a cactus. Let’s go up to the library.”
I led the way upstairs. Leander looked around in appreciation, stopping at the first window.We all stopped as he took in the westward view over the snow-blanketed forestland, all cool and blue in the fading light, far, far below.
Clair sneezed a few times more, then coughed, leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes and began muttering a complicated spell. I recognized some of it. She was summoning all the stuff for that weird pinkish drink.
Sure enough, it appeared in her hand—contained in one of the kitchen cups—and Clare stared at the thick rose-colored liquid with a grim expression.
Leander pulled himself round, as though remembering the emergency at hand, and we continued on until we reached Clair’s magic chamber, full of several generations worth of magic books, as well as books about magic history, and different magic workers’ writings.
Leander watched with even more appreciation, but he didn’t say anything as I parked myself on the study table, leaving the two comfortable chairs to Clair and our guest. Diana joined me.
I said, “So what can you tell us about Senrid?”
Clair held her nose and drank down the liquid.
Leander said, “I didn’t know anything about Senrid before he came to us during the summer, and tried to fool us into accepting him as a friend while he nosed out everything he could about our recent history, and our strengths and weaknesses. But he was in too much of a hurry and made little slipups that gave him away.”
“Little ones can be lethal.” Clair’s voice was hoarse.
Leander nodded once. “Exactly. So I figured my only defense is to learn as much as I can about the Marlovens, and plan for every eventuality, as best I could. Meanwhile Hibern wrote me a letter, as I said, and offered help. She and her friends feel responsible for the government’s bad actions, I guess. Anyway, they agreed to help me out by being my eyes and ears. That’s been going on since the end of summer.”
Clair looked impressed, but she didn’t say anything.
“Now that I’ve learned more about his situation, I believe that his visit to us was the first time his uncle had ever let Senrid do anything on his own, and he was on a
time limit.”
Clair nodded, setting down her empty cup. Her eyes were much clearer. Later she’d need to sleep for a whole day, but for now she’d be fine. “So there’s a definite danger as well as the time question,” Clair said. “This kid himself.”
“Right,” Leander agreed.
“He certainly learned something between visiting your place and visiting ours,” I said, “if he could pinch Faline so easily. If it hadn’t been for Diana, and if you hadn’t come, he would have gotten away with it, too. We never would have known where she was.”
Diana spoke for the first time. “Eyed my hardware collection. Made me suspicious.”
Leander gave us a very wry smile. “I haven’t told you the rest.”
“Oh, great,” I snarled. “There’s worse?”
Clair bit her lip.
“He tried again to grab my sister Kyale, and this time he got her. She was three rooms from me, same floor, in my castle, with all my people around. And Kyale’s cats—who didn’t like Senrid’s sunny smile and winning personality the time he was there before.”
“How’d you know it was him, then?”
“Two things. One, Llhei, Kyale’s governess, heard her yell Senrid’s name—and two.” Leander looked sardonic. “I happen to have Senrid’s cousin. Who was with him for her very first mission.”
“You don’t have wards up against black magic?”
“Oh, I had plenty—I thought,” Leander said. “And he ripped right through most of ‘em, got around the rest. Nabbed Kitty, and afterward I guess he came straight here. Quite a day’s work!”
Clair frowned. “A lot of transfers…” She started in with technical talk.
I interrupted. “If you two are going to gabble spells and wards, I’ll leave. I hate that stuff because I don’t know it all yet, and I’m hungry.”
“We need to plan,” Clair said.
“Then you can do it without me,” I said firmly, “since every single plan I’ve ever made has gone floob. Diana? Want to stay or come?”