47.

Imprisoned Again

The Murdano was true to his word.

Guards marched us down endless corridors. Each hall was cleared in advance by soldiers of the Pale Guard. No one saw us pass, unless it was through a keyhole.

We climbed steep circular stairs, at last arriving at a stout wooden door hinged and strengthened with heavy brass.

Inside we found a round room with four narrow windows at the compass points. It was not a marble-and-gold palace, but it was roomy and came equipped with four beds, rugs on the stone floor, and even a faded tapestry on one wall.

Since no servant could be trusted, members of the Pale Guard brought us platters of food: fruit and nuts, cheese and cured meats. They even procured an anteleer leg for Gambler and fresh herbs and grasses for Tobble.

“My horse?” Khara asked.

“It is a fine horse,” the head guard said gruffly. “We value fine horses.”

“And my sword?”

“You’ll have no further need of that old piece of rust.”

Khara blinked but otherwise remained stone-faced.

They shut the door on us, and I heard the sounds of bars sliding and locks turned.

Khara went to one window and whistled. “Well, at least we have a view.”

Tobble ran to another window and leapt onto the sill. “We’re leagues up!”

I crowded behind Khara and almost stopped breathing. We were in the tallest tower of the sprawling palace complex, high atop the great stone spur, far above the town below. “We’re almost in the clouds,” I said.

“You did well, Byx,” Khara said.

“No,” I said bitterly. “If I’d done well, I would have seen Luca for what he was.”

She put a hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t the first time my family has been betrayed by the Corplis. And in any case, it was I who trusted Luca and led us here.”

“Somehow,” I murmured, “I convinced myself Luca was a scholar in search of the truth.”

“Oh, he’s in search of something, all right,” Khara said. “Gold for his family’s coffers. And power.”

We ate well, but in glum silence.

That night I slept in an unfamiliar but warm, dry, and comfortable human bed, and I woke to low murmuring. I sat up and saw Gambler standing before the south-facing window. His white-striped face gleamed in the moonlight.

I listened and realized that he was singing softly in a language I did not know or understand.

“Vir ghaz wast farl

Vir ghaz wast marl

Enweel ma koorish

Jinn ma santwee . . .”

He stopped and turned to me. “I am sorry if I woke you.”

“No, I’m sorry if I caused you to stop. I don’t understand the words, but the melody is beautiful.”

Gambler nodded. “It’s the death song. A felivet who knows he is about to die sings his love to the moon and stars, our guides.”

His words hit like a punch to the stomach. “Are you so sure it’s hopeless?”

Gambler sighed. “I believe you will be kept alive so long as you serve the Murdano. It has obviously occurred to him that while many dairnes are a threat, the man who has the only dairne possesses great power. He will allow us to live, but only as prisoners. My kind does not like cages, and I have already endured many days in the dungeon of the isle.”

“So . . .” I looked around the spare room. Khara and Tobble still slept. “You don’t intend to—”

“To end my own life?” Gambler laughed sadly. “No. We believe that a felivet who dies well in battle ascends to a great forest above the clouds. There we hunt endless prey and gather sometimes with others of our kind to tell of our great deeds in life.”

He seemed to accept this fate. Perhaps even to welcome it.

“When I have a chance to do it without endangering you, I will take the opportunity to attack the guards. They are prepared. Well armed and well trained. I will attack and, with fortune’s help, send at least one to his human afterlife, whatever that is. They will kill me, and I will rise to meet so many of my kind who have died bravely and gone on before me.”

“But Gambler—”

“Yes, Byx?”

“But . . . but I would miss you. You’re my friend.”

Felivet faces are not very expressive, but his eyes were moist. “I am honored by your words.”

“Just—just do me one favor. Hold off at least for a while.”

Gambler said nothing. Perhaps he knew the truth: that I had no real plan and saw no real hope.

“Will you do that?” I pressed. “For me?”

Gambler lowered his head and was silent for a long time. “Three days,” he said. “I will endure this cage for three days.”

In the morning, I found Khara arranging her blankets and looking preoccupied. Tobble was helping her with the blankets—if “helping” meant “enthusiastically making things worse.”

“Gambler is upset,” I said.

Tobble looked over his shoulder at the felivet. “Maybe I can cheer him up,” he said. He smiled at me. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve kind of gotten used to that big old kitty. He’s not so bad, for a dangerous predator.”

I watched Tobble waddle off. “Gambler says the Murdano has realized that while dairnes may be a threat, one dairne, singular, under the Murdano’s control, would be a power to be reckoned with.”

Khara nodded. “He’s right, of course. I’m bothered, though, by what Luca did not say to the Murdano. He knows, but didn’t say, that I am a Donati. He has glimpsed my unsheathed sword and must at least suspect its true nature. Yet he said nothing.”

We sat on the edge of Khara’s bed. “I noticed that as well,” I said.

“My guess is that Luca hopes to steal the sword and take it to his father,” Khara said. “Fredoro Corpli is an ambitious warlord. He would love to head north and lead a war against Dreyland, should the Murdano decide to go forward with it. If Corpli wielded the Light of Nedarra, men would flock to him.”

“Simply because of a sword?”

“Because of that sword,” Khara replied. “Corpli would very quickly become the second leading power in Nedarra, just behind the Murdano himself. And of course Luca would triumph over his older brother, who’s heir to the Corpli lands and fortune.”

“Some family,” I muttered.

“Yes.” Khara sighed. “There’s a reason felivets don’t trust humans. We have complex motives, endless greed and ambition, and uncertain loyalties.”

Our morning meal arrived, and we ate in silence. We had nothing to do but wait. Gambler dozed off in a patch of sunlight, while Tobble sat nearby, occasionally even stroking the cat’s silky head.

I watched dust motes twirl. I listened to mourning doves coo outside our window. I let my mind wander.

And then it hit me.

A glimmer of hope. And the beginning of a plan.

Humans lie. And I knew their lies.

No human, felivet, raptidon, wobbyk, natite, or terramant could lie in the presence of a dairne.

No one could lie in the presence of a dairne.

Except, of course, a dairne.