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Edwin had never traveled so fast as they did from Wislicshire to Leornian. Even when he was 11, after the fall of Leornian, when his uncle had taken him and Elwyn to Briddobad, he didn’t remember such a relentless, remorseless schedule. They changed vessels twice a day sometimes, from barge to fishing boat to pleasure skiff and back again. Sometimes they had fewer than three hours to sleep.
They only left the rivers once—to avoid traveling through Formacaster under the glowering gaze of Wealdan Castle itself. They rode through the northern Crown Lands in the middle of the night. Twice, Caedmon traded their horses for new ones at inns, but there was no rest for the riders. By the time they reached the River Trahern and could board a new ship, Edwin could barely walk. He had been obliged to tie himself to his saddle with his sword belt to keep from falling when he nodded off to sleep.
Caedmon, of course, never seemed to tire. And Vittoria proved to be completely indefatigable. After that long, long night of riding, when Edwin was too tired to move, she went skipping off to fill their water skins, whistling Immani folk songs. The girl reminded him strongly of Elwyn, only without the sarcasm and bitterness.
Early one morning, as they waited for their next boat on a tiny fishing dock on the Trahern, Edwin asked the question that was foremost in his mind: “Who is this woman you think is a Gramiren agent? Who is this person Elwyn has run off with?”
“Lady Hildred Cuthing,” said Vittoria.
“That is rather improbable,” said Caedmon.
“Nonetheless, I’ve intercepted Gramiren messages that show there’s someone with the princess passing on information about her activities. Very, er...intimate information.” Vittoria raised an eyebrow. “I take it you don’t think Sir Walter Davies or Lady Rada could be the source of that sort of thing, do you?”
“Indeed not,” said Caedmon.
But even so, Edwin had a hard time believing that Hildred could be a spy. “Her father is on our side,” he pointed out. “And her brother is, too. And she doesn’t seem like the sort who could be.”
“The best spies never do,” said Vittoria, simpering.
Edwin wasn’t entirely convinced, and he continued debating the subject with Vittoria all the way up the River Trahern.
At last, they reached the outskirts of Leornian, and Edwin stared across the famous Aldred Bridge at the ancient city. There stood the great towers of the Bocburg, and the spires of the cathedral and the university. He could see places where the walls had been patched and some gaps in the rows of houses where fires had spread or houses had been torn down to reinforce the walls. But all in all, it looked exactly the same as he remembered it, back before the siege.
They crossed the bridge and went straight to the Bocburg. In spite of his weariness, Edwin led the way up to the duke’s study, outrunning even Caedmon in his desperation to find out what had happened to his sister.
“I wish I could tell you,” the duke said, when they asked. He pulled a little note from a drawer and handed it to Edwin. “She left this behind.”
There wasn’t much to go on there. Just a few scrawled sentences saying that they were “leaving for a short time,” and that the duke “shouldn’t worry.”
“Who went with her?” asked Caedmon.
“Her companions, Lady Rada and Sir Walter Davies. And, of course, young Hildred Cuthing.”
Vittoria glanced at Edwin, raising her eyebrow. “Listen, this might be a long shot,” said the Immani girl, “but do the Cuthings own any property in this area?”
They did, indeed, but when Caedmon, Edwin, and Vittoria rode south of the city to see the little dairy farm, they found no sign of Elwyn. The farmer and his wife who ran the place claimed never to have seen the princess, or her companions, either. “Although you might try the hunting lodge over the river,” the farmer added.
“It belongs to the duchess in her own right,” the farmer’s wife said. “It was in her family, you see.”
“A hunting lodge,” said Edwin. Few things were quite as attractive to Elwyn as a good hunting lodge.
“Rather remote, I would assume,” said Caedmon. “Few ways in or out?”
“That’s it, exactly,” said the farmer.
They got directions to the place and then set off again, not even bothering to pause for rest or a meal. Once over the river, they followed the farmer’s instructions straight up into the wooded hills. It was late now, and in the dim light, they had to slow down so as not to miss the turning. But soon they found the gateposts with the arms of the Bishops of Keelweard.
They knew instantly this was the right place, because there were three armed soldiers near the front drive. They had been sitting on a fallen log, gambling with dice, but they stood as Edwin, Caedmon, and Vittoria approached.
“What do you want?” the lead soldier said. “You’d better turn around and get back out to the road, if you know what’s good for you.”
“I tend to be much better at finding what’s bad for me,” said Vittoria. “Is Princess Elwyn here, by any chance?”
The soldiers’ expressions of surprise and unease were as clear an answer as if they’d shouted “Yes” in unison. One of them raised his bow and pointed an arrow at Vittoria, and the other two drew their swords.
“I think you’d better come with us,” one of the soldiers said. “If you’re so eager to see the princess, maybe you’d like to join her.”
“I really do hate to do this,” said Caedmon, and a flash of blue light knocked the men to the ground.
The lane was long and straight, running through thick woods and between little pools and swamps. Edwin urged his horse faster and faster, despite Caedmon’s shouted advice to “be cautious.”
In a minute, he burst out of the trees into a wide lawn, where fireflies were circling about in the dim light. There was a small lodge there, with a big veranda, and as he reined his horse in, he heard shouts and cries. Men jumped up from their chairs, reaching for weapons.
“Where’s my sister?” demanded Edwin.
The soldiers all looked at each other for a few seconds and then started grinning. “What do you know?” one of them said, laughing. “It really worked. Here’s the little shit now. And it only took about a week.” Then they rushed for the steps, pushing and jostling each other in their eagerness to get at Edwin.
Two of the enemy went down under arrows from Vittoria before they even reached the steps. Another pair were blown to bits by some fiery spell of Caedmon’s. Edwin drew his sword and charged in, hacking one man through the head and another in the belly. They seemed like particularly poor swordsmen, until, when Edwin reached the porch and saw a man raising a cloak to throw over him like a net, he realized they were trying to take him alive.
Vittoria cut down the man with the cloak, and Caedmon dispatched two more with his bare hands. Wiga—that’s what they called it—the ancient art of self-defense practiced by the hillichmagnars. Edwin had always thought it sounded a little silly, but he instantly changed his assessment when he saw Caedmon kick a man through a solid oak door.
In the front parlor, they found more soldiers—but these ones were heading down the stairs toward them, not running away. In seconds, Rada and Walter came into view, followed by Elwyn, who had gotten a bow somewhere and was using it with her usual deadly accuracy.
It took a minute to scour the rest of the house, and then, while Walter and Vittoria tied up the survivors, and Rada yanked free a ring tied around one man’s neck, Edwin greeted his sister. He bowed and saluted her with his sword. “My lady.”
She sidestepped the blade and pulled him into a rib-shattering hug. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He looked at her, as happy as he’d ever been. Then he remembered how badly he had screwed up at Atherton. “I’ve pretty much failed at everything,” he told her.
“I haven’t been any better,” she said. “In fact, I managed to get myself captured, so I’d say I was more pathetic than you.”
Vittoria appeared again, dragging Lady Hildred Cuthing by the arm. “I found this one trying to sneak out the back.”
Her ladyship was a miserable wreck, whining and blubbering about how none of this was her fault. “I had to do it,” she kept repeating.
“What are we going to do with her?” asked Lady Rada.
Edwin looked around, and he found to his immense discomfort that they were all looking at him. “Oh, no,” he thought. This was not a part of the job of being king that he had ever looked forward to.
Before he could answer, or even think what to say, however, there was a low rumbling sound from the lawn. An icy blue light flickered in through the windows. Caedmon shouted at them all to get down, and Edwin—who had learned his lesson where magy was concerned, dove instantly to the floor. Elwyn landed next to him, and Vittoria—still dragging Hildred—was on his other side. The rumble became a roar, and then a piercing squeal, and a huge fireball burst through the front window. It passed over their heads in a streak of searing heat, and then exploded, taking most of the front stairway with it.
“Is everyone alright?” called Elwyn.
They all were, though a Gramiren soldier who had been tied to the banister as a prisoner hadn’t been so lucky. Bits of him splattered the back wall and the ceiling.
“It’s our Yotha friend from Glen Taran,” said Vittoria. “I really wish I’d been able to kill that bitch.”
Caedmon stood and sent a ball of yellow lightning into the night through the hole where the window had been. A second later, a frigid wind and daggers of glistening ice came flying back at him. Caedmon blocked the spell, but bits of ice ricocheted around the room, stinging Edwin’s hands and face.
“Side door,” said Elwyn, rolling over to Edwin. “We can flank her.”
They crawled through the slivers of ice and into the kitchen. Vittoria tied Hildred to the ruins of a couch and joined them there, followed moments later by Walter and Rada. Beside the stove, there was a little door that led out into an herb garden, and from there, a low brick wall led to a grape arbor. From that vantage point, they could see the whole front lawn, and it wasn’t difficult to spot the attacker, crouching behind trees at the edge of the woods.
Only Vittoria still had a bow, so she and Rada took the lead. Rada blasted the tree line with yellow lightning, and then Vittoria loosed an arrow at anything that moved once the smoke had cleared. Caedmon was still throwing spells, too, including one that snapped a tree in half, four feet off the ground, and sent it toppling back into the woods.
Some sort of pressure spell came back, flattening the grass and shattering the stonework at the top of the wall. Vittoria ducked just in time, but Rada was knocked off her feet and went flying. Walter ran to help her.
The spells from the attacker grew weaker and weaker, and then Caedmon strode out onto the veranda, holding up his hand and shouting something in an ancient language. At the edge of the trees, there were a couple little flashes of light, and then a scream. Edwin and Elwyn rushed forward with swords drawn.
They found the attacker on the ground, moaning in pain. Smoke was rising from her hands with the smell of scorched flesh. Bits of half-molten metal glowed in the underbrush, the remnants of her magysk rings. Edwin and Elwyn bound her and carried her inside, where they tied her to the same couch as Hildred.
When Rada came in, leaning on Walter and limping, she examined the burn marks on the woman’s fingers where the rings had been. “Who are you? And why did you come here?”
“You don’t remember me,” said the woman. “That’s just as well. But I was in the war with you. My name is Kishori.”
Rada’s eyebrows went up. “Ah, yes. That group of sorcerers from the Vizierate, come to Loshadnarod to help my aunt, the queen. I remember now. Pallavi Ratnam was with you. But then she and I left, and she recruited me.”
“She deserted,” said Kishori. “I deserted, too. Only I came here to Myrcia and started a new life. I never wanted to do this sort of work again.”
Pointing at Hildred, Caedmon asked Kishori, “How did you two come to be working together?”
“We weren’t really,” said Hildred, still quivering with fear. “We only met once. And I only did what I did because I was forced to by the queen.”
Kishori frowned at her. “I was kidnapped from my home and thrown in a dungeon. My husband’s life is at stake.”
“Well, at least you have a husband,” snapped Hildred. “I’ll probably never get one, once the queen tells everyone what she caught me doing.”
“You both realize,” said Caedmon, “that you have committed high treason.” He bowed to Edwin. “I believe your majesty was about to pass judgment for that crime when we were so rudely interrupted.”
Edwin looked at the two women. Kishori had her head bowed, waiting for death. Hildred was muttering that none of this had been her fault. His first thought was that neither of them deserved much mercy. But maybe he shouldn’t be quite so hasty. If he condemned them to death, he could never take it back later. And if he had learned anything recently, it was to be careful about decisions that couldn’t be taken back.
He looked at his sister. “What do you think?”
Elwyn crossed her arms. “I think Kishori is too dangerous to leave alive. The last thing we need is someone like that chasing us down again.” She turned her gaze to Edwin. “Remember what happened the last time you were merciful.”
Edwin did remember. It had been the previous year, when Andras Byrne and Donella Gramiren had come to Briddobad. They had found themselves in the middle of a magysk battle, and at the end of it, Edwin had spared the life of a renegade hillichmagnar from the Vizierate of Magy. His reasoning had been that the man deserved a fair trial, and that the Sahasran government could deal with him. But from everything Edwin had heard since, the Sahasrans had done nothing to punish the hillichmagnar. So Edwin’s faith in justice hadn’t exactly been rewarded.
“What about me?” whined Hildred. She looked up at Elwyn with wide, tearful eyes.
Edwin had a feeling he knew what his sister would say; she would say that Hildred should die and then freeze in the Void.
But Elwyn’s expression was surprisingly tender. “I understand why you did what you did,” she said to Hildred. “It was horrible and wrong, but I understand, at least. I don’t think you should die for it.”
“I would beg to differ,” said Rada, limping over and scowling down at Hildred. “You abused Elwyn’s trust. You claim that you tried to protect her, but in the end, you were willing to do anything at all to keep your reputation clean. You would have slit her throat personally if Muriel Gramiren had forced you to choose between Elwyn’s life and an advantageous marriage for yourself.” Rada shrugged. “Add to that the fact that you plotted the death of the king, and I’d say you richly deserve the axe.”
Hildred broke down, sinking to the floor and wailing. Rada, still wincing in pain, staggered up to Kishori. “You’re a different story, though. I know what it’s like to change your life and your nation. I was a Queen’s Guard in Loshadnarod. Then I was a Yotha of the Vizierate. And now I’m a Myrcian lady, married to a Myrcian knight. You’re new to this country, too, and I think you were honestly doing your best to serve the people you thought were the rightful king and queen. You can’t be blamed for that.”
Sir Walter rolled his eyes. “Personally, I think they should both be executed. But that’s just me. It doesn’t matter what they thought; they almost killed the king.”
Edwin thought of Penny Ostensen and her odd politics. “I’ve been informed by someone recently that the king isn’t really any more important than anyone else.” Edwin turned to Caedmon. “And what do you think I should do with these two, sir?”
“Both could be dangerous if you let them live,” said the hillichmagnar. “But both could also choose to lead better lives in the future. They might both someday be worthy of mercy.”
“Or they could both stab us in the back,” said Sir Walter.
Edwin looked at his sister and said, “I would like to be hopeful.”
She smiled. “Well, someone should be.”
He knelt so he could look the two women in the eye. “I’m going to give you each a chance. Lady Hildred, you come from a family that supports me. I’m going to assume that if you go back to live with them, then some of that will rub off on you. As for the...incident that allowed Muriel Gramiren to blackmail you, I can promise you that at my court, no one will ever be allowed to say anything that dishonors you. If they do, then they’ll be sent off to...well, somewhere very unpleasant.” He held out his hand. “Friends?”
She looked at his hand as if suspecting he was going to strike her with it. But then she gave a little half-smile and shook it. “Friends, your majesty. And I’m very, very sorry.”
Then he turned to Kishori, who shrank away, staring at her bound and blistered hands. “The same offer applies to you. But in your case, I think there’s a lot you could do for me, if you wanted to.” He gestured toward Rada, who was leaning on Walter. “I’ve seen what Yothas of the Vizierate can do. I’d like to have another one on my side.” He moved closer, ducking his head, trying to catch her eye. But she recoiled again. “I want you to join me,” he said. “I want your help.”
“I...I can’t,” she said softly. “Queen Muriel will kill my husband, and if he dies, then I don’t care what happens to me.”
“I have an idea,” said Rada. “What if Kishori’s first mission is to go find her husband and bring him back here?”
Edwin smiled. “There you are. Perfect. Go get your husband, and then you can come work for me, and Muriel won’t be able to do a blasted thing to you.”
Kishori’s face reddened. “I don’t deserve that, sir.”
“Maybe you don’t,” said Elwyn, “but perhaps your husband does.”
Very slowly, the defeated Yotha put out one of her scorched hands, and Edwin shook it as gently as he could.