9 

As Ela ran barefoot across the slab-paved street to Jon and Beka’s lodgings, Tzana hugged her neck, demanding, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” Infinite? Any hints? Praying, Ela shifted Tzana and the branch in her arms and pounded on Jon and Beka’s door until a vision sent her staggering into the wooden doorpost.

Beka, already garbed in her robes and boots, opened the door, grabbed Ela’s arm, and hauled her and Tzana inside. “Ela! What’s happening?”

“I just asked the Infinite the same thing.” Ela pressed a hand to her aching head.

Finished buckling his sword, Jon leaned down to stare her in the eyes. “Obviously you’ve received the answer. Looks like a painful response. Is the situation serious?”

“Potentially. We must hurry.”

While Jon donned his cloak, Beka frowned at Ela’s bare feet like a dictatorial big sister. “Where are your boots?”

“I’ve no time to lace them on. You’ll have to endure my rustic appearance.”

“It seems I must.”

Deep hoofbeat reverberations thundered from a distance, drumming through the walls, the noise making Ela wince. Tzana whooped in Ela’s arms. “Pet’s coming!”

Ela crossed to the window. “The destroyers have broken out of the stables—they’re fetching us.”

Jon muttered, “Yes. And I suppose we’ll be billed for the stable doors.” He marched outside.

Beka pinned a deep blue mantle around her shoulders, then joined Ela. “Ready.”

They dashed into the street, just as all three destroyers rounded a far turn, looking half-wild. Fearful for Ytar’s already panicked citizens, Ela raised the branch. “Walk, you three!”

Pet slowed at once, but Jon’s rascal horse, Savage, rumbled in complaint, while Beka’s elegant mare snorted angrily. Beka called, “Audacity! Stop fussing. Come here, and kneel!”

Audacity obliged, allowing Beka to climb onto her back, but she gave Ela a sidelong look, as if considering her a spoilsport.

Ela boosted Tzana onto Pet, who’d also knelt though he twitched with impatience. Beyond them, Jon vaulted onto Savage’s back, then called to Ela, “Which way?”

“West, toward Istgard!” But she had no need to explain “west” to the destroyers. The instant Ela grasped Pet’s mane, the monster warhorse stood and trotted down the street, his sonorous huffs chasing pedestrians out of their way. Savage and Audacity kept pace, in obvious agreement with Pet’s sense of direction.

Jon yelled, “Trust destroyers to scent a conflict. Ela, where are we headed?”

“To meet the household of Istgard’s new prime minister. Not a military force.”

“But it’s evidently been perceived as one, given all the uproar.” Jon’s expression tightened as if appalled by the confrontation’s potentially awful outcome.

Equally horrified, Beka gasped, “Ytar will be at fault if the prime minister dies!”

Ela nodded. “Which is why we must prevent an attack.”

They rode through Ytar’s western district—a pristine collection of buildings, all recently rebuilt by Istgard’s funds. Agitated citizens, mostly older men, women, and boys, streamed from Ytar, carrying swords or pikes and congregating in the bordering field. Battle ready.

Across the field, Ela spied the prime minister’s household. The riders had halted beneath their green and gold banners, seeming taken aback by the hostile crowd.

A chill of nerves prickled Ela’s arms. She wouldn’t die here, that much was certain. Her lot was cast in Parne. But knowing she would survive Istgard didn’t guarantee that Ela and Tzana and the Thels would escape injury. Nor were the destroyers safe. The Istgardians, however, were most at risk, judging by threats snarled from amid the crowd.

A ruddy-faced woman brandished a rusted pike toward the visitors, her eyes burning with hatred. “They started this!”

“Murderers!” a young man yelled.

Tzana leaned back against Ela, her small voice clear and worried. “Why is everyone angry?”

“Because the people of Ytar believe something that isn’t true,” Ela said. “Pray that they don’t behave even more foolishly.”

Obedient, Tzana tucked down her chin and shut her eyes, praying.

Jon swept a look over the throng and called to Beka and Ela. “We split up and prevent them from advancing. Beka to the left, Ela to the right. Be careful, please!”

“Yes, dear,” Beka answered, chin up and shoulders back. “Heed your own warning!”

While they rode out to confront the makeshift army, Ela breathed, “Infinite, please don’t let anyone die.” She edged the crowd and coaxed Pet into the open field to face the Ytarians. As Pet stomped and snorted equine threats, the branch sent out spirals of warmth and light. Hoping to convey calm authority, Ela lifted her voice. “I am Ela, Prophet of Parne. All of you, lower your weapons and disperse! Ytar is not being invaded. The warmongers who attacked you are dead—buried in your own fields. You are threatening a private household that intends only good!”

A burly man argued at the top of his lungs, “Good?” He spat. “They’re from Istgard! And I say—”

At the front center of the crowd, Jon interrupted the man’s tirade. “Use your brains! Think! You see the Istgard banners, yes, but where are their shields? They are not soldiers and have no plans to attack you! If you harm this family and its servants, you will disgrace the Tracelands and jeopardize your futures. All of you, lower your weapons and disperse!”

Their warnings—not to mention the branch’s formidable glow and three irate destroyers—subdued the crowd. Some members of the makeshift army edged away.

His voice echoing, Jon continued. “Anyone foolish enough to advance will be arrested. If you survive our destroyers!” More would-be combatants retreated from the throng.

Over her shoulder, Ela glimpsed a solitary gray-cloaked rider on a destroyer, approaching from the Istgard party. With marvelous composure, the rider raised a broken pike with a banner of gold-edged white gossamer trailing from its shattered tip. The gossamer banner, obviously a woman’s sacrificed veil, rippled in the breeze like a delicate testimony, avowing the visitors’ peaceable intentions.

Seeming convinced by this feminine frippery, most of the Ytarians lowered their weapons and stared.

The dark-eyed, powerfully built Istgardian surveyed the throng without expression. When the last swords and pikes were lowered, his gaze finally rested on Ela. She exhaled gratefully, delighted to see him again. Istgard’s prime minister was a most honorable man—as well as being her former guard, and one of the few people who’d protected Ela, Tzana, and Kien during their imprisonment in Istgard. “Tsir Aun!”

Dignified as ever, Tsir Aun said, “Parnian. I should have expected to see you in the midst of such commotion. Can you never stay out of trouble?”

“I’m not the one causing trouble,” Ela argued, squelching a smile. “But you will, Prime Minister, if you dare insult me.”

The prime minister allowed a trace of amusement to ease his stern, handsome features. “Indeed. If I insult you, my beloved wife will trouble me for the remainder of my short existence.” He flicked a look at Jon. “May I address the welcoming committee?”

Jon coughed. “By all means, sir. But try not to provoke them further.”

“Four destroyers can hold this pitiable army in check,” Tsir Aun muttered. He slid the makeshift gossamer banner into a holder on his destroyer’s intricate war collar, removed a scrolled parchment from his belt, and then commanded his destroyer. “Wrath, walk. No biting.”

Wrath snorted and took a few steps toward the crowd.

The Ytarians backed away. At least twenty men and women turned and fled into the city. In the crook of Ela’s arm, Tzana straightened and frowned. “That destroyer wouldn’t really eat them. Why are they running?”

“They’re not as brave as you,” Ela said. “Hush now and listen to Tsir Aun.”

Unhurried, Tsir Aun halted Wrath and lifted the scroll and his voice. “Good citizens of Ytar, I am Tsir Aun, Istgard’s prime minister. This is your most recent list of complaints concerning our plans for rebuilding your city. I’ve traveled here because I wish to personally discuss this list with your council and reach a consensus before continuing the work.”

Allowing his words time to sink in with his dumbfounded audience, the prime minister challenged, “Will you welcome me, and my wife and servants, and guarantee our safety as we inspect the buildings that have been completed?”

Ela waited. If the citizens of Ytar dared to argue now—

The thin, officious councilwoman who had dominated last night’s meeting stepped forward, evidently unarmed, a pleasant smile gracing her narrow face. “Welcome, Prime Minister. I am Naia Vara, lead councilmember. I give you our word that you and your household will be safe in Ytar.”

By the disgruntled looks cast toward Councilmember Vara, Ela knew the lead council position had just been created by Vara herself. “Infinite,” Ela complained beneath her breath, “the woman is a born instigator and power monger.”

Tell her she will resign. Now.

Oh no. Her own father had never sounded so displeased. Ela quaked inwardly as the branch gleamed in white fire. She nudged Pet toward Naia Vara, who froze like a spied rabbit.

Pitying the woman, Ela said, “Naia Vara, the Infinite commands you to resign now. Go home. If you resist, your fellow council members will oust you. Viciously. Believe me.”

Her eyes huge, fixed on the branch, Vara’s color faded. Mute, as if she knew she’d pushed matters too far, the woman turned and scurried through the crowd. Glares followed her.

Taking advantage of Vara’s unexpected retreat, Jon called out to the crowd, “Follow her example, all of you! Disperse! Immediately!” The crowd, though sullen, scattered.

Tsir Aun reined in his destroyer and caught Ela’s attention, questioning her in a low voice. “Will negotiations proceed, or should we leave?”

“They will proceed.” Ela smiled at her friend. “You have the Infinite’s blessings, sir.”

“Thank you for the reassurance.” He returned her smile. “Ela, it’s good to see you. I hope you and your companions stay long enough for us to visit—we must speak with you. My wife prayed for the chance to meet you again.”

His wife. Lady Tek Lara, formerly of Istgard’s royal family—and Ela’s dear friend and benefactress during her imprisonment in Istgard last year. “I’ve prayed the same.” Ela looked over her shoulder and laughed, seeing the prime minister’s household approach in a clattering procession of light chariots and wagons. She handed the branch to Tzana and descended, using Pet’s thick mane to slow her drop.

Tzana protested, “I want to go with you!”

“Wait and I’ll bring Lara,” Ela promised. Her bare feet sinking in the damp, aging grass, she ran to meet her friend.

Lara was already waiting outside her chariot, obviously pregnant and unable to hurry. She greeted Ela with a fierce hug. “Ela! I’ve been worried about you!”

Ela laughed, kissed Lara’s cheek, then stepped back to admire her rounded waistline. “You look wonderful! Why are you worried about me? I’m in no more danger than usual.”

Serious as ever, Lara didn’t appreciate the joke. “Obviously my husband’s had no chance to tell you about our recent dealings with Parne.” Her soft brown eyes went huge as she gripped Ela’s arm and they began to walk toward the others. “Ela, why would your father—your own father—be involved in illegal smuggling?”