thirteen

“It is you, Lilah, is it not?” When I shrugged, Uncle Darian said, “You look indistinguishable from most of the urchins thieving on the streets.”

“Thieving because they can’t get food any other way.” I tried to sound brave.

“Thieving—most of them—because they like theft. But we will have leisure to discourse on this subject later.” He glanced at my grubby gray tunic and knee pants and bare feet and shook his head. “It is probably the most effective disguise in use,” he continued, his tone sardonic. “I missed you once, didn’t I? Where was that?”

In the kitchen, I thought.

“Ah, yes. The kitchen. What were you doing there, as you did not see fit to make your presence known to me?”

The man in velvet spoke up. “Spying for her traitor brother.” It was Flendar! He pointed at me. “I will wager anything that you’ve found your missing spy for the Sharadan brothers.”

My uncle gave a short laugh, and the big military man said, “If so, she ran you good, Flendar, you must admit.” It was Benoni.

Those swinging lanterns—those had been sentries. “I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

“We decided to wait out the weather in relative comfort,” my uncle said. “And so we set up our command post here. We will rejoin the army when the weather lifts.”

“Command post?” I repeated numbly.

“We constitute the east wing of the army.” He gestured to Benoni, who returned to the papers he was reading.

“I thought you were all outside Miraleste. You mean Bernal’s people are caught between two halves of your army?”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Uncle Darian said, but he didn’t sound the least bit afraid. “I suppose Diamagan has joined them by now. And your brother?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Now, let me ask you the same question. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know where they are,” I said. “I came alone. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Until I can determine the truth of that, you may stay in a safe place.” He addressed the guards in the doorway. “Take my niece to the cellar room I showed you.”

The guards each took hold of one of my arms. They were silent as they led me downstairs and locked me in the treasure room—the same one I’d rescued Derek from before the troubles started.

As soon as I heard the guards leave, I began a feverish, fruitless search for a catch to the secret passage. Peitar had told me there wasn’t one, but maybe he’d just never found it. Finally, exhausted, near tears, I gave up, and curled up on the stone floor. I was startled awake by the clatter of the lock.

The door opened, someone yanked me to my feet and pushed me out, to where Flendar waited.

“Tie her hands,” he said to the guards, then to me, “The weather is not cooperative. We must postpone finishing off Bernal Diamagan’s rabble until we can actually see them. So it’s time for you to show us your skills, Sharadan brother. Ready for a game of fox and hounds?”

I opened my mouth, but no sounds came out.

“You will now find out how they welcome cadets at Obrin. You are the fox, and we are the hounds. If you can’t evade us, you get a thrashing.” He brandished a thin wooden cane.

Up the stairs I stumbled, then the tallest of the guards shoved me down the hall into the foyer.

“Trees are off limits. Thus your hands are bound, to remind you of the rules.”

As we passed Father’s parlor, my uncle looked up from his reading. My fashion book!

Sick with horror, I stared as he said, “You left footprints upstairs leading straight to it.” He sat back, as rain poured outside the window. “I do not have the time to peruse all of this remarkable, if ill-written document. It is very difficult to read, but it’s obvious that you and three other brats are connected to the Sharadan brothers.” He looked at me, waiting for an answer.

I gulped and studied my toes.

“A remarkable achievement, if even half the rumors are correct. Have you anything to say?”

“You were going to kill Peitar.”

“I may yet have to,” was the answer. “We shall see. As soon as the rain stops, we will put an end to the conflagration you and your friends so blithely set. After which I plan to read your contribution to the family history. And then,” he said, “we will talk again.”

He waved at Flendar, who gave me a push toward the front door. Did my uncle know what was about to happen? Yes, he knew. No use in begging for leniency, claiming that I was just a kid—the same thing had been done to him, and at a much younger age, by the very adults who were supposed to love and protect him.

“Run,” Flendar said as soon as we stepped outside. “You have the count of fifty.”

I splashed across the drive toward the garden. The rain was heavy and hard, and lightning and thunder made it worse. The garden was almost unfamiliar in that bluish light—but not quite. They had to be watching me, so I ran northward in a big circle, laying a false trail. My head ached, and my steps were slow. Twice I blundered into branches and fell in the mud.

But terror got me up again, running until my side was stitched with pain. At last I reached the center of the garden, and the thicket of shrubs that Peitar had made me learn.

Glad of every single prickle, I burrowed through, dropped to my throbbing knees, and scrabbled about with my feet until I found the oddly-shaped rock and the woven twine rope. I burrowed my toes under the rock, and shoved my foot under the twine. It scraped painfully, but I pulled with all my strength.

The passage opened almost directly under me. I tumbled in and it closed, water cascading around me. I was safe.

Fear still washed through me in waves. I crouched on the stairs until I could breathe again, then rose shakily and felt my way down the tunnel to where we had slept after the revolution. In the pitch dark, backed up against the piles of treasure, I searched carefully until I found what I was looking for—a big, old-fashioned saber—and used it to saw through the sash binding my wrists.

What now? Where could I go?

I leaned down to find the lantern. When I straightened up, Tsauderei’s ring bumped my ribs. I’d forgotten it again! I could do the spell—he, Peitar, and Lizana, would want me to do just that.

But I was a Sharadan brother, and this was my home ground.

So I waited until night had well and truly fallen. The storm was unabated; all I could hear was the roar of rain.

I left the passage, making sure the fountain slid shut behind me. Then I faded around the side of the house until I reached the open kitchen window, streaming with light. Two guards were preparing food and loading it onto trays.

As soon I heard them leave, I climbed inside and slid a shallow bowl and a plate from the crockery shelf. I pulled out my thief tools. I sucked in a deep breath, opened my Lure bag, shook all the blossoms into the bowl, covered it with the plate, and stuck my head out the open window to breathe fresh air until my head cleared.

Then I slipped out into the empty hall. The downstairs guards seemed to have joined my uncle and his commanders in the parlor, judging from the sounds of talk and cutlery.

I heard Benoni’s deep laugh, followed by, “Flat disappeared! More fool you, Flendar.”

Again taking a deep breath, I removed the plate, cracked open the parlor door, rolled the bowl in, and pulled the door shut.

Someone tried to turn the knob. I held on frantically. Then I heard the thump of someone falling to the floor.

What had Atan said? The best way to shipwreck a government is to capture all the leaders. And so I had. But what then?

The Lure would probably lose its virtue by midnight or so, after which my uncle and his commanders and guards would begin waking up. I knew what I ought to do—I ought to use the ring and transfer to Tsauderei and tell him what I’d done, and then he could find Peitar and Derek. But I was crying too hard to do anything but stand there.

Gradually I became aware of lights, voices, the sound of footsteps. Torches bobbed outside with a sinister, smoldering light, just like the night my father was killed.

I poised to run, one hand on the door, the other holding the ring.

The front door opened and several figures hurried in, led by a slender male silhouette limned in golden-red torchlight. A limping silhouette.

“Peitar?” I gasped, and relief made me dizzy.

“There she is!” That was Landos Gilad, holding a lantern.

“Lilah, I’m sorry,” Deon exclaimed, Innon and Bren at either side. “The bells weren’t ringing, and the rain—I tried to guess at noon—I banged on the door, didn’t I, Innon? But you didn’t answer, and they were waiting to take us to—”

Derek bent close, interrupting Deon’s stream of words. “Are you all right, Lilah?”

“Peitar?” I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “Derek? Landos?”

“He risked a lot coming to find us.” Derek clapped Landos on the shoulder.

“I left the wagon,” Landos said. “And went back alone to find Lord Peitar. I told the king’s people I was a messenger, so they passed me through. I have a feeling that some of them are secretly sympathetic, because they didn’t ask any questions. And when I reached the sentries on the other side, all I had to mention was ‘Lilah Selenna,’ and—”

“He told us quite a story about you and the Sharadan brothers,” Derek said.

At his shoulder, the other three brothers grinned, Deon hopping up and down in glee. “We’re famous,” she whispered.

But Peitar looked serious. “So we rode straight here. We stopped at Bren’s house to change horses, and he said that two of Uncle Darian’s personal guard were in Riveredge yesterday, scavenging food, right before the storm hit. I feared the worst. So I came to trade my life for yours. . . .”

“And I came to offer mine for his,” Derek said, looking around. “However, no one seems to be here except you.”

“Where is our uncle?” Peitar asked.

“Here.” I pushed open the door a crack, and the sweet, dreamy, all-conquering scent of Lure drifted out. “Hold your breath.”

Peitar looked past me. The parlor was filled with slumbering forms, most prominent of which was Uncle Darian, hand stretched toward the door.

“What?” Derek croaked in flat disbelief, as Riveredge villagers entered and crowded in behind him to take a look. He moved away from the parlor. “How did you do that?” he asked, and everybody stared at me.

I shut the door. “Slam justice,” I said.