Shadows (15 page)

Mara shook her head skeptically. “Your father the King mounted an expedition based on nothing more than your
feeling
that old stories
might
be true?”

“Not entirely,” Chell said. “I also found, in a tiny fishing village, an old woman who claimed to have been
born
in Aygrima. She said her parents had fled an uprising against the ruler, along with four other couples, in a wallowing old fishing boat unfit to sail across a duck pond, much less the ocean. Yet by immense good fortune they reached our waters, starving and dehydrated but alive—only to run aground on a submerged reef within sight of shore. Her parents strapped her to a spar and put her overboard, and somehow she floated safely through the rocks and the surf, to be rescued, crying and choking on salt water, by a young childless couple who raised her as their own. From her, I learned that Aygrima was real, that it still had magic, and that it was ruled by someone called the Autarch, whom her parents had considered an evil tyrant.

“I do not think my father found her account as convincing as I did, and I am quite sure my eldest brother Corris, heir to the throne, was not convinced at all, since he mocked me mercilessly.” Chell's jaw clenched for a moment. “Nevertheless, my father has always indulged me somewhat . . . a perk of being the baby of the family . . . and so he granted me the use of two stout ships and stalwart crews to sail east and north to see what could be seen in the place where the old records said Aygrima was to be found.

“And find it I did. First the Secret City, where a young girl saved me from drowning or freezing to death (or both), and then, with the help of that girl and her friends, the capital city of Tamita itself, where I hoped to negotiate with the Autarch for what my kingdom needs. That hope has faded. But now, unexpectedly, I have a new hope.”

Chell spread his hands, his eyes never leaving her face, which was a little embarrassing, since just at that moment a big drop of water that had run down the bridge of her nose from her soaked hair fell off the tip. It tickled, and she flicked the end of her nose with her finger. “What hope?” she said.

“You,” the prince (
If he's telling the truth about that
, she thought) replied softly. “You told me by the fountain that you are Gifted. You also told me that you have a very special form of the Gift. And the Autarch has clearly taken a special interest in you as a result. So when I ran across the young Watcher who brought you to the Garden Courtyard the day I spoke to you, I asked him about you—since he must have seen me there, it seemed safe enough.”

Mayson
, Mara thought.

“He said no one knows what to make of you, but that you are being trained by the Mistress of Magic herself. Rumor has it, he said, that you are being groomed to be her apprentice and eventual replacement. All of that tells me that you are—potentially, at least—magically very powerful.”

Mara wanted to deny it, but, remembering the pillar of flame rising above the mining camp, could not. She
was
powerful. Powerful, and dangerous. Not even the Autarch knew how powerful. It made her uncomfortable to even think it.

Of course, at the moment it wasn't strictly true. All of her magic, all of her potential power, was trapped, locked inside her by the iron Mask she wore. She glanced down at her bathrobe-wrapped body and the puddle of water around her bare feet, and snorted. “Do I
look
powerful?”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Chell said. He spread his hands. “Do I look like a prince?”

Actually, yes, now that I know the truth
, Mara thought, but didn't say. “Even if I were powerful, so what? What difference does it make to you?”

“Because,” Chell said, “there is another reason my father was willing to risk two ships and their crews on a ‘wild adventure' many thought futile. He did not do so simply in the hope we could resume the trade in ordinary magic. He did so because . . . we need a weapon.”

Mara blinked. “What?”

“Korellia is hard-pressed,” Chell said flatly. “We once had the mightiest navy and most powerful army of all the island nations, but in the centuries since the plague a new power has arisen, a bloody, murderous regime called Stonefell. The ships of Stonefell surpass ours in speed and size, and they are armed with weapons the like of which we have never seen before: metal tubes that fling hot iron balls over enormous distances, smashing apart both ships and sailors. They fortunately have far fewer ships than we do, and so have thus far limited themselves to piracy; but we believe they are building a fleet to launch against us. When they do, I do not believe our kingdom will be able to withstand it. Not unless we have some new and powerful weapon of our own. A
magical
weapon.”

Mara stared at him. “And you think I could be it? You think I'm powerful enough to use magic to sink an entire fleet?”
Am I?
she wondered, and had no answer.

Chell shook his head. “No,” he said. “I have something far more direct in mind.” He locked his gaze on hers. “I know even ordinary Gifted engineers can move and shape stone with their magic: we have fortifications and buildings dating back to before the plague that could only have been built with the help of Aygrimian magic. A truly powerful Gifted person might do more.

“I want you to come back to Korellia with me. From there I want you to sail with me to the seawalls of black stone that keep the ocean from the heart of Stonefell. And then I want you to use magic to smash those walls apart, so that the towns and villages and soldiers and shipmakers of Stonefell are swamped beneath the waves, and can never threaten Korellia or any other island nation again.”

Mara stared at him, picturing it: the ocean roaring across the protected lands beyond the wall, fields flooding, towers toppling, screams and terror, death and destruction . . . and finally, silence; the silence of the grave. All those lives, snuffed out in moments, snuffed out at her hand . . .

...all those bodies releasing their magic, all that magic pouring into her, but with it all that fear and pain and . . .

It would kill her; kill her, or drive her mad.
Or drive me mad and then kill me
, she thought.

She started to say that no, she would never do what he asked,
could
never do it . . . but something stopped her.

Chell was offering to help her escape from the Palace, from the awful choice of either serving the tyrannical Autarch or hanging at Traitors' Gate. It might be the only chance for escape that would ever come.

“And if I do?” she said after a long moment. “What will you do for me?”

“Help you escape from the Palace,” Chell said.

“I figured that much,” Mara said impatiently. “I mean after
that
.”

He met her eyes. “If you do this,” he said, “I swear, as a Prince of the Realm of Korellia, that my nation will aid the unMasked Army in the overthrow of the Autarch.”

And there it is
, Mara thought.
How can I turn that down, not just for myself, but for the unMasked Army . . . for all the people of Aygrima, all the children waiting to be Masked and enslaved?

But you can't do what he asks
, she argued with herself.
You
can't.
You can't kill all those people using magic.

Or rather, she
could
—but she didn't think she'd like what it would turn her into.

Time enough to worry about that later
, she told herself firmly.
The important thing is to get out of here
.
Escape the Palace, escape Tamita, return to the Secret City.

“Do you have a plan?” she asked.

“I might be able to get you out of the Palace,” Chell said. “I had thought to get out of the city the same way we got in—”

Mara shook her head. “The walkway by the river was torn down the night I was captured. By now I'm sure the iron grates have been replaced as well. There's no escape that way.”

Chell said nothing for a moment. “Then,” he said slowly, “I must get a message to Keltan and see if he knows another.”

“Keltan?” Mara's eyes widened. “You've seen him?”

Chell nodded. “More days than not. He spends his time in the . . . what do they call it, the Inside Market? . . . the shopping area along the boulevard leading from the Palace to the main city Gate. He is obviously looking for you.”

“Has he seen
you
?” Mara said, wondering how Keltan would react to the sight of the man they had hosted in the Secret City hobnobbing with Palace nobles.

“I doubt it,” Chell said. “I spotted him from the Palace wall as I was being given a tour, the first time. Since then, during my escorted perambulations around the Palace, I have made a point of asking to be taken up there so that I might look for him. I've spotted him several times, but he's never looked up at me.”

Mara studied the prince. “I would approach him cautiously,” she said softly. “He might be inclined to stick a knife in you.”

“I have not betrayed the unMasked Army,” Chell said hotly.

“So you say. But he doesn't know that.”

Chell pressed his lips together, then inclined his head. “Point taken. Now—” He stopped suddenly, listening. “Someone's at the door!”

“Supper,” Mara whispered, her heart suddenly pounding. “Quick, in here!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bathroom, then cinched her dressing gown tighter to her body, grabbed her towel, and walked out into the main room, toweling her hair vigorously—probably more vigorously than was strictly necessary—as the door opened and a servant came in with a covered tray. “Put it on the table,” she said, still toweling. The servant inclined her white-Masked head, placed the tray where Mara had indicated, and went out . . . past the Watcher who now stood outside her door. The Watcher's black Mask stared blankly at her for a moment before the door closed.

Mara, heart pounding, threw the towel on the bed and went back into the bathroom. Chell still had his back to the wall, and was holding a bath brush by its wooden handle. Mara stopped when she saw that and couldn't suppress a giggle. “What were you going to do with that? Scrub a Watcher to death?”

“They took away my weapons,” Chell said defensively. “Won't even let me have a dagger.” He looked down at the bath brush. “Besides,” he said, “my arms master has taught me a dozen ways to kill a man with a bath brush.” Mara might have believed him if he'd been able to keep a straight face, but the grin that spread across it effectively put the lie to his words. “All right, it is pretty silly,” he said. He tossed the brush aside.

“You might want to hang onto it,” Mara said, her own smile fading. “There's a Watcher outside my door now.”

“He wasn't there before. He probably accompanied the servant who brought your supper, just to make sure you didn't sneak out while the door was ajar,” Chell said, but not as if he were entirely convinced.

“Maybe,” Mara said. She folded her arms over her chest. “But to return to our conversation. You think you can get me out of the Palace. You hope Keltan can get us out of the city . . . somehow. But how are you going to get my father out with us?”

Chell's eyes narrowed. “Your father? Mara, we can't get your father out. It's impossible. He's the Master Maskmaker! They'd turn the countryside upside down looking for him.”

“They'll turn the countryside upside down looking for me, too,” Mara countered. “Chell, my parents are hostage, though they don't know it, since they don't know I've been captured: hostage to my good behavior. My mother is in no immediate danger, she's gone back to her home village. But my father . . . if I even try to escape, much less succeed . . .” She let her words trail away.

Chell shook his head. “It's out of the question.”

“Then so is what you ask of me.”

Chell glared at her, eyebrows drawn together. “Your parents aren't the only hostages,” he growled. “Do you
really
think I couldn't lead the Autarch to the Secret City if I chose? I might not be able to get an army there overland, but I could sure as hell get one there by boat. I could offer the Autarch the Secret City and the unMasked Army in exchange for magic to help my kingdom. Maybe that would be enough. My mission would succeed. Shame about all your friends, but . . .” He shrugged. “Casualties of war. Sad but unavoidable.”

Mara, who a moment before had been sharing laughter with the prince, felt a surge of fear and anger. “You wouldn't.”

Chell let his face soften. “No, I wouldn't . . .
unless there was no other way
. Mara, the Autarchy of Aygrima is a terrible place and the Autarch a tyrant, as much a tyrant as the King of Stonefell. The King of Stonefell holds power through his strange new weapons. The Autarch holds power through the might of his magic. And the ordinary people suffer under each.

“But with Stonefell ascendant, my people, too, may soon fall under tyranny. And my duty, my whole reason for existence as a Prince of the Realm, is to preserve and protect my people.
My
people. Not yours. Not your family. Not your friends.
Mine
. And I will do whatever I have to do to fulfill my duty.” His voice became pleading. “Don't make me carry out my threat.”

Mara glared at him.
He's a smooth talker
, she warned herself.
Don't get sucked in. For all you know his father is the
real
tyrant and the innocent people of Stonefell are trying to throw off his yoke.
“There is another reason we need my father—a reason
you
need my father.”

“And that is . . . ?”

“This.” Mara touched the iron Mask.

Chell frowned. “You said you could remove it with magic.”