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 came. 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 until 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.

I had my Larei clothes and the travel pack with my extra outfit and blankets, my fashion book, and two pens and a bottle of ink I had taken from Mother’s desk.

The last thing I did that night was cut Deon’s hair. Afterward, she took a bath and combed it back, like the boys’. I left my own until morning, just in case Lizana checked on us. At first I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to get to sleep, but excitement had tired me out.

It was dawn before I knew it. Since I was always the first awake, I’d been appointed to rouse everyone. I bathed, dressed in my tunic and knee-pants, and then, instead of brushing out my mane, I used the scissors from the desk to hack it off.

How light my head felt! I ruffled my hair, glorying in the freedom.

Then I looked in the mirror. The Larei staring back was different from the early days. My face seemed a different shape. My skin was tanned, and the brown in my hair had lightened, making the red seem brighter. My eyes and brows seemed more slanted than ever, reminding me of my father, and I felt a pang of sorrow.

I looked little enough like Lilah that I didn’t think a glimpse would give me away.

Then I tied my cut-off hair and Deon’s into a knot and put it into the pack. I poked Deon, who was up and dressed in an eye-blink. After putting the bedding through the cleaning frame and tidying the room, I went to quietly waken the boys.

As we left for Tsauderei’s, I looked down at Irad House through the blue-gray morning shadows, my throat tightening. What would Lizana think when Tsauderei told her? I was tempted to write a note, but what would I say?

But excitement crowded out my grief, for the other three were lively, Deon most of all.

“Breakfast is ready, brats,” the old mage said when we arrived.

We hurried through the meal. Then Tsauderei said, “Innon, you should be in charge of this, for you’re the least likely to lose it.” He held out a small cloth bag. “I’ll teach all of you the spell, in case you can’t find food. You’ll always get a loaf of that nutbread they make in Diannah Forest.”

“By magic?” Bren asked. “How does that work?”

“It’s a very difficult series of spells, drawing on supplies they keep in Diannah,” Tsauderei said. “You’ve got a dozen uses at most before they wear out. So use it only when you really need it.” After we learned the spell, he brought out another precious object. “Now, who wants to carry this glowglobe? I trust you know how to be very careful with it.”

“Me! Me!” Deon exclaimed. “I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

Innon tucked the bag away, Deon carefully wrapped the glowglobe in her spare outfit, while Bren stowed the remains of our breakfast.

“Now, Lilah.” Tsauderei handed me a ring on a chain. “This is because it’s too big for your finger, and it might call attention to you.”

“All right,” I said, slipping the chain over my head and dropping the ring down the front of my tunic. The ring was cold against my skin.

“If you are in danger of losing your life, you hold it like so.” He demonstrated. “Then repeat this spell.” I repeated the words until he was satisfied. “It’s what you might call a summons ring. It will alert me and give me a destination to focus on. I can transport you out—just you, if you are alone, but all of you, if you are hand in hand. Guard it well.”

“I will,” I promised.

He made sure he had our full attention before he continued. “Remember, my Sharadan brothers. There is no such thing as slam justice—not if ‘slam’ means force. Do what you can to help, but if things come to violence, get out.”

Before we left, I turned to the mage. “I feel bad about fooling Lizana.”

Tsauderei gave me a nod of approval. “I will tell her about our agreement, and also what you just said.”

I was a little heartsick as we soared up and up and the valley dwindled below, and I suspected that the boys felt the same.

The magic guided us north, and we winged swiftly over the mountains, talking from time to time. We practiced our signal codes as we flew, and when we reached the highest peak, I tossed the knot of hair down into a crevasse and thought, Farewell Lilah and Deon, and welcome Larei and Daen!

Then we saw Diannah Forest. We stayed as high in the air as we could, hoping to fly all the way there. But soon we were being guided gently toward the ground.

“Head up!” Bren yelled, fighting to stay aloft. “Go fast, keep your head up!” Innon, Deon, and I were fine, but Bren struggled so hard that he, the best flyer of all, came down into a thorn bush. He climbed out, exceedingly chagrined.

We started down the trail, Innon teaching us one of the valley work songs. It was new to Deon, but she quickly wound up leading the singing, the distinctive Sartoran triplets echoing through the trees, for we wanted the guardians to find us as soon as possible.

She was in the middle of making new verses—one for each brother—when an old man and a young one emerged from the shadowy forest. They were both dressed like guardians. “I remember you!” she said to the youngest one. “I’m Daen now. We’ve come straight from Lizana.”

The men didn’t react.

“We need a horse,” she went on.

“Why?”

“Because we have to get to Miraleste.”

“Why?”

Before Deon could get us into trouble, I said, “We’re going to help Peitar Selenna and Derek Diamagan.”

“Four children,” the older man said. “Are you by any chance great mages in humble form?” I knew at once that he was teasing, even though his face and tone were serious.

“Laugh if you want,” Deon said. “But you’ll see. We’ll be famous soon.”

“Famous.” Bren nodded firmly.

“And feared,” added Innon. With his sun-bleached hair short, his face looked rounder and less threatening than ever.

“Far and wide,” I finished, not to be left out.

“I have a fine mount right at hand,” the man said, the corners of his mouth quirking into his gray-and-brown beard. “Recently rescued from an undeserving skinflint.”

His companion led out a large draft horse on which we all fit, more or less. Unfortunately, Deon and Bren were fastest, so they got the front. Guess where I was stuck?

As we rode off, Deon turned and yelled, “Remember the Sharadan brothers!”

• • •

THAT NIGHT, WE camped near a stream. In the lowlands it was still so warm we didn’t need our blankets. We ate the rest of our breakfast, taking turns at telling stories—except for Deon, who sang a funny insult song she’d made up in my uncle’s camp. Uncle Darian was defeated in some imaginative ways that night, and Derek and Peitar were amazed and grateful.

As we lay under the starry sky, Bren said in a dreamy voice, “If there wasn’t any trouble, and you could do whatever you wanted, what would you do? I think I’d like to travel.”

“I know I want to travel,” said Innon.

“I want to be a pirate.” Deon spoke the way you do when you know everyone else disagrees. “A girl pirate that attacks only bad people, like the stories about Dtheldevor and her gang in Everon getting the Norsundrians.”

“Her secret base is an island off Wnelder Vee,” Innon corrected. “They attack Norsunder’s ships along the coast of Everon.”

“Oh, who cares exactly where. Maybe none of them even exists. My Gran says it’s all a lot of noble hot air. But that’s what I’d like to do.”

“Lilah?” Bren asked. “I mean, Larei?”

I bit my lip. “I’ve spent so much time thinking of what I don’t like to do . . . I don’t know. Read histories? Travel? Have adventures?” The truth? Right now I was doing what I really wanted—going to help.

“Well, seems to me we’re about to have some adventures soon,” Innon commented.

• • •

THE TRIP WAS uneventful. We met some patrols as we got closer to Miraleste, but after a few brief questions—we claimed to be looking for work, which was true enough—they let us go.

On the fourth morning we began meeting more road traffic. Mindful of the horse’s welfare—we wouldn’t be able to keep it, and it wasn’t fair to let either rioters or warriors capture it—we let it go and walked the last leg.

“Don’t forget the plan,” Bren whispered when the city gates came into sight. He spoke to us all, but I had a feeling it was meant especially for his cousin.

Deon’s quick smile betrayed her excitement, but she kept a steady pace as Innon hefted his bag over his shoulder. I swallowed and wiped my sweaty hands. Up on the gates, warriors moved back and forth, watching the crowd of slow-moving wagons and people going to and from market. No one paid us the least attention.

The Sharadan brothers had arrived.