The Dragon of Trelian (29 page)

“Hello? Is someone there?” she whispered.

Meg squeezed as close to Calen as she could, and the two of them flattened themselves against the wall of the corridor.

“Hello?” the maid said again, her voice shaking. Finally she began walking forward again, staring fixedly ahead. As she passed, Meg could hear her muttering, repeated like a kind of charm: “Not a ghost, not a ghost, not a ghost.” It might have been funny if the woman hadn’t looked so terrified. Meg could guess what she might have been thinking. This hallway was only one floor up from the one leading to where Lysetta had been found.

They waited until the maid was through the doorway and they heard her steps on the stairs. “Okay,” Meg whispered finally. “We need to avoid that happening again.”

Calen nodded. “Any ideas?”

“You lead, I’ll follow,” Meg said. “You could try giving me a signal before you change direction . . . maybe squeeze my hand or something?”

Calen thought a moment. “I don’t want to make it too complicated. How about I’ll just try to move your hand in the direction I’m planning to go? One squeeze can mean stop; two can mean go.”

She guessed that was probably the best they could do in short order. “All right,” she said. “Lead on, then.”

He lifted his foot to take a step, then gave her hand an exaggerated double squeeze before moving forward. She smiled and shook her head, stepping to keep up.

Another washwoman passed without incident, as well as a pair of scullions who must have been late by the way they tore down the hall. When the kitchen was in sight, Calen squeezed her hand and then paused. “Should we just walk through and then back out?”

She shrugged, then nodded. “That would probably be enough of a test, wouldn’t it? We don’t want to spend too long wandering around and push our luck. Besides, if we’re quick, we might be able to catch a little bit of sleep before going up to you-know-where.”

“All right, then,” Calen said. “Here we go.” Meg swallowed nervously as they stepped forward. Certainly Wilem would be gone by now. She tried not to brace herself for the sight of him. A few more steps, and they were passing through the kitchen doorway.

It was crowded, more so than she’d expected. Did servants always have to start their days this early? She thought of how busy she and her sisters kept their maids each morning from the moment they rose through breakfast and often after. Probably this was their only chance to eat something before heading out to begin their daily service. She felt a twinge of guilt that she had never before wondered about it. So much happened in the castle, every day, that she was not aware of. Did her parents think about these things? Her sisters? Surely a good ruler needed to think about all that went on within the castle as well as outside of it, and yet how could there be enough time in a day to consider all these things? She shook her head, frustrated. This was not the time. But she filed the thought away for closer examination later, if later ever came and she was still around to experience it.

Right now she had to focus on staying close to Calen as he moved forward, constantly having to shift direction to avoid bumping into anyone. It was like a sort of dance, she thought as they strove to move together across the noisy room, although one in which both partners had to learn the steps as they went. She focused on Calen’s hand holding hers, trusting him to tell her which way to move and when. She glanced around for Wilem — she couldn’t help herself — but he didn’t appear to still be there.

They reached the far wall. Turning around took a moment of negotiation; her first instinct was to release Calen’s hand and simply turn about, but of course that wouldn’t have been very wise. They had to circle around in place together. As they were about to set off again, Meg had a sudden idea and squeezed Calen’s hand to get his attention. Slowly, she edged over toward the nearest table, pulling Calen along beside her until they were right up against it. When no one was looking — gods, she hoped no one was looking — she reached out and grasped a knife from the table, slipping it back within the fold of her sleeve and desperately hoping the spell would include things they picked up after the sphere had been created. Best to find out now, in any case; if they ended up having to remove anything from Sen Eva’s rooms, she didn’t want to discover too late that the object could be seen floating down the hall by anyone they happened to pass by.

Nothing happened. No one screamed, or stared, or seemed to notice anything amiss. After a glance to make sure she was ready, Calen gave her a double squeeze and set off. The kitchen entrance drew ever closer, and with every step Meg felt herself relax a little more. It was going to be all right. Calen’s spell worked, and they’d be able to visit Sen Eva’s rooms undetected, and they’d find something that would prove her evil intentions, and then everything would be okay again.

They had almost reached the corridor when Wilem stepped into view.

Meg froze, fear and hatred fighting for dominance within her. Calen had frozen as well but recovered almost immediately. Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled her slowly but firmly toward the wall, out of Wilem’s path. Meg let herself be led, but her eyes remained locked on Wilem’s approaching face. For the second time in several hours, he was nearly within reach while she held a knife in her hand. Maybe the gods were trying to tell her something. It would be so easy to kill him as he walked past. And if she was quick, no one would know what had happened. She could plunge her knife deeply into his throat, and as he fell, clutching at the gaping wound, she and Calen could run safely and invisibly away. His mysterious death would become another castle legend to frighten children and chambermaids, and no one would ever have to know she had been the one to kill him. The knife felt so solid and friendly in her hand. Like a part of her, as if instead of useless polished nails she had razor-sharp talons with which to slice and tear and rend her enemy into bloody ribbons of tattered flesh. . . .

With an effort, she pushed Jakl’s influence out of her mind. He must have awakened; she could feel him more strongly than when he’d been sleeping. Calen was crushing her fingers, trying to hold her back from what she had been almost ready to do. Wilem walked past. They stood silently in place for several seconds, letting him get farther away before they dared to move again toward the corridor. Calen gently took the knife from her hand and slipped it onto an empty table on the way out. Meg took a shuddering, quiet breath as they finally turned the corner. She felt tears on her face but did not know if they were for Wilem or her sister or only for herself.

THEY WERE STANDING OUTSIDE SEN EVA’S
rooms. Calen had trouble getting his mind around this astonishing fact. Sure, this had been the plan, and yes, he had agreed to it, but now that they were actually here, facing the door, about to abandon all pretense of sane and rational thought and actually
go inside
. . . He kept hoping he would suddenly wake up safe in bed, with all of this nothing more than a late-night-sweet-induced nightmare.

But of course it wasn’t.

He had already checked the door for wards. At least, he had tried to. Either Sen Eva hadn’t set any magical protection on the door or she had and he just couldn’t see it. He was terribly afraid it was the latter. He hoped if there
were
any wards that he couldn’t see, they were the alarm type, which would simply notify her that someone had opened her door, and not the death type, which would kill him and Meg instantly. He hoped that very much.

Meg was waiting for him. He knew that she knew he was terrified. It was nice of her to wait that way, giving him a chance to pull himself together on his own. She didn’t seem scared at all. That couldn’t be true, of course, because she wasn’t an idiot and she knew how dangerous this plan was, but if she was afraid, she kept it well hidden. Perhaps it was Jakl’s influence. If so, he almost wished he had a dragon of his own to fill his cowardly heart with fire and courage. Almost.

He felt Meg shift beside him and spoke before she could; he didn’t want her to have to drag him through that door. He had to be able to get ahold of himself. “Ready?” he asked, for lack of anything else to say. He couldn’t say what he really wanted to, of course. Something like “Run!” or “Let’s get out of here!” or maybe just a mindless scream of terror as he took off down the corridor on feet made fleet by fear.

She smirked. “You asked me that already. Twice.”

He made himself smile back at her. “Well, still ready?”

“Yes, Calen.”

“All right, then.” He took her hand. Her fingers gripped his tightly. He tried to imagine they were sending rivulets of strength and bravery up through his arm and into his heart and mind. He could almost feel it. He closed his eyes and brought the sphere of invisibility back up around them. It came easily, now that he knew he could do it. Something had definitely changed within him — the events of the past few days, the successful magical experiments, thinking he might be able to do something, and then really
doing
it . . . there was a confidence to his spellcasting that hadn’t been there before. And it worked like a circle: the more confident he felt, the better his spells seemed to work, and the better his spells seemed to work, the more confident he felt.

He also felt more free to improvise, and that was important, too. The variant of the invisibility spell he’d practiced with Meg was more complicated than the original spell he’d learned — stronger, he hoped, and more resistant to discovery — and the colors involved were different. Black instead of gray, for concealment, with threads of orange to nullify attempts at perception, and just a touch of blue-white to soothe the observer into believing there was nothing to see. One he had the sphere of magic firmly fixed in his mind, he let the colors fade, trusting the energy to remain in place.

They had rested for several hours in a lower-level storage room, waiting for Sen Eva to be safely engaged in the Intention Ceremony. Meg had managed to sleep, but Calen found sleep impossible. Even so, he felt replenished by the time spent sitting quietly in the darkness, Meg’s head resting on his shoulder. He had listened to her soft, slow breathing and tried to guess what dreams played behind her closed eyelids and tried not to think about anything else.

His concentration had benefited from the break, and with a final effort he was able to push his fear aside and focus on the energy flowing from him to keep them hidden. He made himself hard and cold like a stone, at least on the outside. If somewhere deep inside his terror still boiled, what did it matter, as long as it stayed tucked away? Slowly, as if in a dream, he reached out with his free hand, lifted the latch, and pushed open the door.

Nothing happened.

Calen let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He gave Meg’s hand a double squeeze for good measure, and together they stepped into the room.

If they’d expected to find some clear sign of ultimate evil, they were disappointed. There was no arcane altar smeared with the blood of the innocent, no dark forbidden spellbooks left open on the desk with incriminating pages bookmarked, no small animals sacrificed and hanging dead from the ceiling. The bed was neatly made. A pitcher of water sat beside a clean bowl on a side table. The room was restful and decorated with soft colors and vases of lush greenery.

“So, now what?” Calen asked quietly.

Meg looked around, biting her lip. “I suppose we should start looking through her things. I mean, obviously, if she does have something here that could prove what she’s been up to, it won’t be sitting out in plain sight.”

“Do you think it would be safe to split up? We’d be visible again, or at least you’d have to be. But maybe if we close the door . . . ?”

Meg nodded reluctantly. “That makes sense. It will go quicker that way.”

Calen released the spell. Meg stepped over and pushed the door shut. Then she walked over to the desk and began opening drawers. Calen looked around for another target.
If I were undeniable evidence of evil, where I would hide?
He considered the paintings and tapestries on the walls, then approached the closest one and looked behind it. Nothing. He moved to the next.

They searched everywhere. They were both acutely aware of the time passing, and their efforts grew nearly frantic as the sun inched across the sky. Still, they tried to be careful to put things back exactly as they had found them. Calen had a moment of panic when he remade the bed after checking under the mattress. Had the pillow been positioned quite that way when they came in? He turned to ask Meg if she remembered. And suddenly they heard something in the hall. Meg’s face went sick with dread. Calen felt his own do the same.
No. Oh, please, no.
They looked in horror toward the door.

The latch began to move. Calen launched himself across the room, nearly tackling Meg in his effort to grab her hand. They fetched up against a wall, and Calen thrust the protection of the magic sphere up around them. A vase toppled from its place beside them, and Calen’s heart turned to ice. He braced himself for the sound of it — the vase, his heart — shattering, but then Meg’s free hand shot out and caught the vase before it hit the ground. There was no time to replace it on the table, however; Meg snatched it to her breast and froze as the door swung open. Together they watched in silent terror as Sen Eva Lichtendor entered the room and closed the door behind her.