Jane stepped close and steadied Faris. “Let me take this one,” she murmured.
“Janeâ” Faris turned to her friend, wide-eyed with relief.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jane Brailsford. Your name, if I recall correctly, is Thomas of Bedlam.”
He replied with simple dignity. “My name is Istvan Graelent.”
“Oh, dear. How silly of me. I heard you announced on Twelfth Night but we were never introduced. I was Red Riding Hood. How delightful to meet you face to face at last. Your name has become a byword in the past day or two.”
Before Graelent could respond with suitable modesty, Jane continued. “You seem concerned for Faris's safety. Very creditable. Yet I can't help but wonder if you've been paying much attention to current events of late. Perhaps news does not travel so quickly ten leagues beyond the wide world's end, hm?”
Graelent looked suspicious. “Who is this?” he asked Faris.
Jane was all affability. “Oh, I'm no one in particular. Just a friend of Faris's. You seem to be acquainted with Faris yourself. If I may, I would like to give you a piece of friendly advice. Look at Faris. Look at the lions.
Couchant
, I believe the heraldic term is. Mild as lambs as long as no one threatens Faris. Now ask yourself, âWhy?'”
Graelent, frowning, began to speak.
Jane cut off his reply with a chuckle. “My dear boyâmy dear boy, you have offered your protection to the warden of the north. Look around. Do you think Faris needs
your protection when even the beasts acknowledge her wardency?” Jane spoke to Faris. “There. I've done my best to make matters quite clear. If he doesn't take the hint and go away, I recommend that you turn him into a mouse. Perhaps he'll pay attention to the lions then.”
Haltingly, the king spoke to Graelent. “The warden of the north has all the protection she needs. She will come to no harm here. Any who think to threaten herâthink again.”
“Your majestyâ” Graelent was addressing Faris, not the king.
“
Go away
,” Faris managed to say quite loudly. The world was whirling about her in ever swifter circles. As her knees buckled, she thought of Dame Brachet and her string of pearls.
She heard Jane call out, “Catch her.”
No one did. Faris hit the ground and the world went out completely.
Â
F
aris woke in a very small, very dark room. That was what she thought at first. As she collected her wits, she realized she was in a bed, an enormous bed, with the brocade hangings drawn. She stirred against the bank of pillows and sat up, blinking. With pleased surprise, she discovered that she was wearing her own well-frayed, familiar nightgown. And her hair was no more tangled than a night's sleep usually left it. Faris let out a great sigh of relief.
The curtain rings clicked smoothly as Jane pulled the brocade hangings back. “Awake at last?” Beyond her, Faris could see that the bed was in a very large room indeed,
paneled with more brocade, and a great deal of what must have been gold leaf. It was too gaudy to be anything but genuine.
“Oh, JaneâI had the most horrible dream.”
But Jane's expression, grief-stricken, told Faris that her relief was mistaken. It had been no dream.
Faris thought she would strangle before she could make herself speak again. “Tyrian?”
Jane shook her head. “But you mended the rift. There's nothing wrong with the way things work here anymore. You did it. The rift is healed.”
Faris felt the numbness that had enveloped her since Tyrian's death falter. She caught her breath at the pain the shift revealed. When the desolation ebbed and she was able to speak again, she asked, “What shall I do now?”
“You will do your duty.” Jane looked sad.
“But what is that? I'm out of responsibilities. I've used them all up. Oh, God. What if I live to be seventy? That's another half centuryâwith nothing to do.”
“Don't exaggerate. It's only forty-nine years.”
“Is it? What day is it?”
“The thirteenth. You're of age. So much for using up your responsibilities. You have a whole new set now.” Jane moved around the great bed, pulling back the curtains so that Faris could see the vast expanse of the room.
“Where are we?”
“We're still in the palace.”
“My goodness. Is it all this grand?”
“By no means. My room is only about half the size of this one, with ivory brocade instead of rose. Not as much
gold leaf, but the ceiling is frescoedââThe Triumph of Love.' Want to swap?”
“Jane?” Faris took another look around at the splendor of the room, frowning slightly. “Are we under arrest?”
“Of course not.”
“Why aren't we? You used magic on the king. I killed Menary. Who knows what other crimes the king thinks we've committed?”
“We're honored guests now. Free to go or stay.” Jane looked thoughtful. “The old boy seems to have had a nasty shock.”
“Where's Brinker?”
“Hovering anxiously in the corridor, last I saw of him. He'll be relieved to hear you've recovered. If you had been harmed, he'd have had to take a very firm line with his majestyâvery firm indeed.”
“What happened to Graelent? Did they arrest him? Or did you turn him into a mouse?”
“Oh, dear. What a waste of male beauty that would be. No, he recognized the chance to make a quick exit when it came. As you fell into a graceful swoon, he and his lads escaped down the warden's stair. Why? Do you think he should have been arrested?”
Faris shook her head. “It's better this way. Small political parties only grow larger if the leaders are imprisoned. If I were the king, I would arrange to deport Istvan Graelent at once. As soon as he's out of the country, I would make it known that he has diverted party funds to his own account in Zurich. That would cool his followers' ardor.”
Jane looked appreciative. “Nothing quite like a good rumor to distract the opposition, is there?”
“Particularly if it has the merit of being true.”
“Would you like to advise the king on this matter yourself? He'll probably be relieved to know you're awake at last. I'll send someone to help you bathe and dress while I tell him you'll grant him an audience.”
“Waitâ”
Jane turned back.
“
I'll
grant
him
an audience?”
“Must I explain it to you, too? Faris, you're the warden of the north.”
Â
F
aris had bathed and dressed by the time Reed knocked at the door. While the maid who had buttoned her into her black suit hovered watchfully, Faris gave Reed permission to enter.
“The king is waiting for you in the presence chamber. Jane sent me to tell you to take your time. And this is the first chance I've had to give you this.” Reed held out a bundle wrapped in black cloth. “I thought you should have it.”
“What is it?” Faris put it down on the nearest tableâgolden legs supporting a slab of porphyry. Reed looked so unhappy that she hesitated. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing new. You needn't unwrap it. Perhaps you'd rather not. It's his.”
Faris knew without asking whom Reed referred to. Gently, she unfolded the rough cloth. Inside the bundle she
found Tyrian's pistol, his knife, a set of lock picks. And, crumpled almost beyond recognition, one of the gloves she had worn at the Twelfth Night ball.
She smoothed the glove, turned it over and over in silence. When she looked up, Reed handed her his handkerchief without speaking. While she blew her nose, he wrapped up the personal effects.
“I'll take it away if you'd rather.”
“No. No, leave it. I'm grateful to have it.”
“Good.” He turned to depart. “Jane said you should take your time. I'll tell her you're going to.”
“Reedâthank you. May I ask a favor?”
Reed looked curious. “Yes, of course.”
“I'm not going home to Galazon just yet. But Galazon can't wait for me. We need to rid ourselves of Lord Seaforth before he makes himself too comfortable.”
“Why aren't you going home?”
“It's hard to explain. The rift changed things for me. I need to get used to it before I try to go back to Galazon. Otherwise I'm not sure I can bear it. Anyway, I need someone I can trust. I'd like to send you back. My mother's advisers and the Curia Ducis are no more. But they could begin again. And from them, Galazon might forge a government.”
Reed looked baffled. “I'll go if you wish me to, of course. But we have a government. We have you. The duchess of Galazon.”
“No.” Faris felt the memory of her pride in that title jar against the numbness that was all the rift had left her. “I am the warden of the north.”
Â
Â
B
y the time Faris was ready to leave her opulent chamber, the redness of her eyes had diminished. Brinker was waiting for her in the corridor outside.
“I am relieved to see that you are looking better.” He fell into step beside her. “Though I must say black is not your color.”
Faris took comfort in the familiar irritation her uncle's manner provoked. “If you must, you must. Have you come to wish me a happy birthday?”
“In fact, I did. I do. Don't look so skeptical. I am not as devious as you would like to think. Where are we going, if I may ask?”
“Nor are you as ingenuous as you would like me to think. I have no idea where you're going. I am going to grant the king an audience in his own presence chamber.”
“Feeling better as well as looking better. I am relieved. Perhaps you have even given some small thought to what role you wish me to play now that you have attained your majority.”
“So that's what brings you here.” Faris halted. Brinker joined her before an immense seascape. Faris pretended to admire the painting while Brinker regarded her with bemused calm.
“I will be glad to continue in my present capacity as long as you need me.”
“A generous offer. In fact, I have given the matter some thought.”
It was Brinker's turn to seem absorbed by the huge canvas. “Ah. I thought perhaps you had.”
“You and Graelent are not that different. In the end, it all comes down to bookkeeping.”
“It does indeed,” Brinker said heartily.
“You're cheerful. No doubt you've had plenty of time to cook the books back home. But I didn't spend all my time in Paris ordering clothes. I spoke to our bankers. They were very helpful. Now that I'm of age, I don't think I'll have any trouble obtaining full financial records from them. Full and accurate financial records.”
Brinker looked resigned. “What do you want?”
“I want my heir to be raised in Galazon.”
“Marry and bear your own heir. Raise the creature where you please.”
“I shall never marry.”
“You're too young to make such statements.”
“How old do I need to be? I'll repeat it annually if you insist.”
“You're twenty-one. You will surely have children of your own. In his present queer state, the king might do anything, even marry you. Don't be too quick to dismiss the plans I've made on your behalf.”
“Don't be too quick to dismiss the plans I'm making for your daughter.”
“You needn't trouble yourself. Ultimately, she is the king's heir, too. She won't need Galazon once she has Aravill.”
“If the child is my heir, she will be raised in Galazon.” Faris hesitated. “If she is my heir. I could choose another from some suitable family. Perhaps I shall adopt a ward. I wonder if the Woodrowels could suggest something?”
“The Woodrowelsâ” Brinker bit off his exclamation. For a moment he regarded Faris with mute horror, then he spun on his heel and took half a dozen long strides down the hall. When he paced back, his jaw was set, his eyes blazing. “You wouldn't
dare
.”
Faris folded her arms. Though she said nothing, her bemused expression seemed to enrage him.
“You would. It's precisely the sort of thing you would do. Oh, God!
Now
do you understand why I worked so hard to arrange matters before you came of age? I knew you'd come up with some hare-brained notionâbut I never thought you'd be this stupid.”
“Agnes is young. I'm sure the two of you will have many more children.”