The Immortal Heights (18 page)

After the wyvern riders disappeared from view, there were no celebratory hugs. Instead they searched every inch of the interior of the gondola for any tracers the Atlantean might have left behind. Then they took advantage of a huge cloud bank and sailed into its midst for Iolanthe to check the outside of the gondola and even the outer envelope of the balloon itself.

They found eight tracers, six inside the gondola and two on the envelope. To keep them was to let Atlantis oversee their progress. To destroy them or throw them into the ocean below would be a clear signal that these seemingly convincing nonmages actually knew what tracers did.

Iolanthe agonized for ten minutes before she sprang into action. She cut the stiff silk from the skirts of one of the gowns she had swiped—yards and yards of fabric those gowns had—and secured it to a frame made from segments of wicker that she snipped from a picnic basket that held some of the foodstuff. Then she attached all the tracers to the kite and set it aloft with a gentle current.

It would float above the Atlantic, drifting with the wind, and signal a false location.

Once again, she applied strong currents to the balloon.

She had worried that by arriving while there was still daylight, they would be all too visible. But the weather cooperated. A band of rain covered the sky over Ondine Island, eighty miles east of the Domain's mainland, and they were able to land unseen, on the shoulder of a mountain that thrust up above the clouds.

Iolanthe picked out a message on the typing ball. Then she deflated the envelopes of the balloon and retrieved their emergency bags.

“So we wait?” asked Master Haywood.

“And have some tea.”

The English queen's tea was quite good, as were her shortbread biscuits. Beneath their feet, the cloud cover extended for miles in every direction, made a warm gold by the light of the westerly sun.

“Remember when we went camping that time in the Siren Isles?” she asked.

They'd spent the night on a great conical peak not unlike this one. At dawn Master Haywood had awakened her to watch the sun rise over an ocean of fog that stretched from horizon to horizon. It had been one of the most indelible memories of her childhood, the beauty of that sunrise—and her complete happiness, to stand at the top of the world with the father figure she adored.

“Yes, I remember. You were five and you'd had your front tooth knocked out a month earlier, playing airframe-jousting with much older children. And you refused to have a cosmetic tooth put in—said the gap made you look scarier when you snarled.”

She smiled a little. Elemental mages were almost always violent and overly energetic as tots, and she had been no exception. One of the older boys she jousted against had suffered a concussion—and had studiously avoided her for months afterward, gap-toothed snarl not required.

“I wonder if there would be time for us to stop by the campus of the Conservatory,” said her guardian.

She sighed. “I doubt it.”

She had very much wished to walk about Eton one last time. To say a proper good-bye to the boys who must still be wondering what had happened to their four friends.

So much of her life had been hasty departures and friends left behind when circumstances suddenly changed. And in the case of the Conservatory, it would be too painful to see the bare branches and fallen leaves, knowing she would never again be there to
welcome the arrival of another spring.

She glanced at her guardian. “When we get to the mainland, there is a safe house in the Labyrinthine Mountains. It's chiseled into the rocks, has a supply of fresh water, and plenty of berry bushes and leafy plants scattered just outside—not to mention a pantry stocked with enough staples to last for years. Will you . . . will you consider staying there?”

Master Haywood's eyes had lit up as she'd described the safe house. But when he understood that she would not be making use of it, he shook his head.

“I have trained for this,” she reasoned with him. “You haven't.”

He placed another biscuit in her hand. “That is not entirely true. After Lady Callista asked for my help and before my memories were locked away, I made a rather thorough study of the deadlier archival magic spells.”

Her eyes bulged. His research specialty had been archival magic, which dealt with the preservation of practices that had fallen out of popular usage. And while a good deal of sorcery became obsolete in time due to the development of better, easier, and faster spells, the more dangerous hexes and curses were often abandoned because they had been powered by self-sacrifice, which was no longer considered acceptable in this day and age.

“Besides, my dear, you are assuming that I'm driven by altruism. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'm driven entirely by selfishness—I'm coming with you because I won't be able to bear a
life without you. So unless you can guarantee your safe return, there is nothing you can dangle before me to change my mind.”

She bit the inside of her lip and shook her head. But before she could say anything, a man appeared, wand in hand. He was about Master Haywood's age, a little rotund, yet light on his feet as he moved.

Iolanthe had seen him before and he Iolanthe, though not while she was in human form.

“Master Dalbert,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you at last.”

CHAPTER
15

TITUS FELT AS IF HE
were plummeting, the bottom of the abyss rising all too fast.

“No.” His denial was hoarse, almost inaudible.
“No.”

She should have been left behind.
Safely
behind.

He should have realized, when he saw Skytower at the meadow before Sleeping Beauty's castle, that the Crucible had not been open for mere minutes, but at least several hours. And Dalbert knew—and had said nothing.

“No?” Fairfax narrowed her eyes, eyes as ruthless as Helgira's. “Then perhaps I should have you escorted to my dungeon. It is a most hospitable place for mages who say no.”

She would do it. She would have him locked up in the bowels of Black Bastion while she ventured forth to her doom.

He shook. “Please reconsider, my lady. Please.”

Please stay here. Please come no farther. Please do not make me watch you die.

Around him, his companions were rising, since she had ordered them to their feet. Titus remained on his knees.

“Get up or be dragged to the dungeon,” she said softly, coldly.

He gazed up at her pitiless features, his cheeks still stinging with the imprints of her hand. “Please, I beg you.”

Her expression seemed to soften. His heart leaped—the last time they had been in Black Bastion together, she had looked at him exactly like this, with both fury and tenderness. And it had been the beginning of the happiest time of his life.

“Blindfolds,” she said.

Soldiers blindfolded Titus and everyone he had brought. The strip of black cloth over his eyes tightened into a band he could not remove.

“No!” he shouted in panic, as someone pulled him to his feet and shoved him forward. “You cannot send me to the dungeon.”

“Then shut up and walk,” came her curt reply from somewhere behind him.

The sounds of footfalls were all around him. He could not tell where Kashkari or Amara were, though occasionally Aramia whimpered a few feet to his right. They were escorted down corridor after corridor, and up steep flights of stairs—heading toward Helgira's bedchamber, the prayer alcove of which served as the actual portal.

What could he do? The guards' weapons were at his back again, and when he walked too slowly he felt the chill of the sharp points of their spears, spears that could travel more than a mile to hunt him down.

They came to a sudden stop.

“I have changed my mind about the young woman in the green overrobe,” said Fairfax. “About thirty-five miles south-southwest of here stands an empty castle surrounded by bramble and guarded by dragons. Take her to the meadow west of the castle and leave her there.”

“Please, please don't!” cried Aramia. “My mother—and yours—if the Bane doesn't fall, she will never leave the Inquisitory.”

So she had figured out that they were dealing not with Helgira, but Fairfax.

“And that should concern me?” Fairfax countered flatly.

“Everything she has ever done was to keep you safe.”

“Everything she has ever done and will ever do is to keep
herself
safe. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you will stop making excuses for her.”

Aramia made a sobbing sound. “I know you don't think of her as your mother, but she is my mother and she has never been unkind to me. Please let me do what I can to help her—and you. I am far more useful than I look.”

“If I may,” said Kashkari. “The meadow before Sleeping Beauty's castle is something of a war zone right now. Skytower is in the
vicinity, and my lady's soldiers might have trouble getting through.”

Titus could almost see Fairfax's lips twist. “We are going to die, Miss Tiberius, every single one of us. If you wish to die for Lady Callista, that is your choice. But the moment you become a hindrance, you will be left behind to fend for yourself.”

A door opened and closed, her footsteps disappearing inside. The door opened again. Titus was once more made to move. He kept trying spells that would undo the blindfold. But some older forms of magic had no exact modern counterparts.

A few seconds later their blindfolds were removed. He recognized the interior of Helgira's bedchamber. Haywood stood near the door, listening. Fairfax, across the room, was no longer in the wig or the white dress, but a simple blue tunic and trousers, her short hair still mussed from the wig's removal.

“Don't try anything,” said Fairfax, her voice uninflected. “We are already in the copy of the Crucible on Atlantis. And I have sealed the connection.”

His blood ran cold. He had thought she had only marched them into Helgira's bedchamber. But no, she had already guided them past the prayer alcove inside the bedchamber, which served as the actual portal.

Why? Why will you not let me save you?

“So it really is you,” said Kashkari, shaking his head a little.

She nodded. “You should know, though, the lady of the fortress in this copy of the Crucible looks nothing like me, but fortunately,
I was able to convince her that I was a messenger from her beloved Rumis and that he is in trouble. So Helgira is temporarily absent. We'd best leave before she comes back.”

“But—” said Kashkari.

“Miss Tiberius, would you mind keeping my guardian company for a minute?”

Aramia looked at Fairfax, then glanced at Titus. He signaled her to go to Haywood as Fairfax had ordered. She did so, dragging her feet as she went.

When she was no longer a part of their cluster, Fairfax set a sound circle around the four of them. “The Bane will not succeed in sacrificing me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Amara, her voice tense.

“A mage who dies from sacrificial magic looks nothing like the neat, highly recognizable corpse Kashkari saw.”

Relief spiked through Titus, until he realized that not dying from sacrificial magic did not imply that she would live. By coming with them, she would still die.

“My guardian understood this and didn't tell you.” She shrugged. “But anyway, I'm here now.”

“So you've been in the Crucible all this while, waiting for us,” said Kashkari.

“And clearing the way for you. The prince still carries a scar from the last time he came through.”

“But why wait until now to reveal yourself?” asked Amara. “Why
didn't you meet us at the safe house?”

Fairfax looked at Titus. “Because His Highness here would have done everything in his power to leave me behind again—that I will not die from sacrificial magic makes no difference to him. Am I not correct, Your Highness?”

He said nothing. Of course she was right. He would give up his own life, but never hers. Never willingly or knowingly.

He was as selfish about her as his grandfather had been about the throne.

“Well, I for one am glad you are here,” said Amara. “But what should we do about that girl? I don't trust her and neither does anyone else.”

“Unfortunately, Black Bastion is no place to abandon a battle-hardened warrior, let alone someone who has led a sheltered life—and when the Crucible is being used as a portal, entries and exits are only possible on the meadow before Sleeping Beauty's castle. I say we take her there and leave her.”

“The meadow is not always a safe place.” Titus spoke for the first time since they had arrived in this copy of the Crucible. “And the longer the Crucible remains in use as a portal, the more dangerous and unpredictable it becomes. How long were you in the other copy of the Crucible?”

“We were at Black Bastion for about two and half hours before you arrived.” She sounded reluctant, as if she still did not want to speak to him.

“So the Crucible had been open about three hours altogether before I reached the meadow, with Miss Tiberius hanging on to me. It was a scene of lethal chaos.”

“We'll make sure she has the password to exit.”

“But after she gets out, she will be on
Atlantis
,” Kashkari pointed out. “It will be no time at all before she is arrested and interrogated. And then the Bane will know
we
are inside Atlantean borders.”

“Master Haywood is working to suppress her memory of the past twenty-four hours. She will be unconscious after that, which will give us time to travel to the meadow. And we will stay with her until she starts to come to and leave a note in her hand before we go. That way, even if she exits the Crucible directly into the waiting embrace of the Bane, she won't be able to tell him anything.”

“How can your guardian achieve that?” asked Kashkari. “You are speaking of precision memory magic, and that is contact requisite. How would he have accumulated all those hours of contact with her?”

“She was born Iolanthe Seabourne, the child of two poor students. Her birth was quite a bit premature and necessitated a long stay in the hospital. The physicians recommended as much physical contact as possible, to help her develop. Her parents had to remain in school—their scholarships were their only sources of income—and couldn't stay with her as much as they wanted to. So they recruited their friends to go in their stead and hold her. My guardian went many times, often for four or five hours at a stretch—that was how
he accumulated enough hours of contact.”

Fairfax's lips flattened. It came to Titus that this must have been a story she had loved hearing: her guardian, devoted to her from day one. But it had been a different infant in his arms, someone else altogether.

Amara exhaled. “I still don't like it. But I suppose when there is no good solution, we must accept the least terrible one.”

Fairfax, who had been watching her guardian, frowned. Titus looked in the direction of her gaze. The sound circle only blocked the sounds inside from traveling out; they could hear Aramia talking animatedly about Lady Callista, glad to have at last found a receptive audience.

Haywood waited until Aramia had come to a stop, then excused himself.

“Would you mind keeping Miss Tiberius company for a minute, Kashkari?” asked Fairfax.

Kashkari was nonplussed, but he left readily enough. They redrew the sound circle to include Haywood.

“My spell didn't work, and I can't understand why,” said Haywood. “I could have sworn I'd held her for at least seventy-two hours.”

“You have,” said Fairfax. “I saw the visitors' log of the Royal Hesperia Hospital with my own eyes.”

“But the spell refused to take.”

Fairfax pressed the heels of her palms against her temples.
“There's something not quite right about all this. But never mind that. Can you do this instead, Master Haywood: wait until we are on the meadow, ready to exit, then use a blunt force memory spell on her?”

Haywood grimaced but nodded.

Fairfax erased the sound circle and opened the shutter outside the window. “Get on your carpets, everyone. We are leaving.”

Titus climbed onto Iolanthe's carpet. It hurt to look at him: he seemed a mere husk of his former self.

He took her hand. She shook his grip loose as she accelerated, leaving Black Bastion behind.

“We are all going to die soon,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Do you really wish to waste time being angry at me?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “I remain an unrepentant optimist. If I see that I am about to die, or you, I will forgive you. But not until then, you bastard.”

She hadn't called him “bastard” since the earliest days of their acquaintance.

“I will not apologize, you know. We all thought you would end up being used for sacrificial magic, and that must be avoided at all costs.”

“And have I asked you to apologize for that? No. But you had better grovel hard for your high-handed methods. You
drugged
me. Were you out of your mind?”

“Yes.”

She was taken aback by his admission. “That was no excuse. You've lived through many trying situations. You should have been able to think more clearly.”

He said nothing for a long time. Then he sighed. “I am sorry for my methods. I panicked. And when I panicked, all I could think about was myself, how I could not go on knowing that the hour of your death had already been declared. Forgive me.”

What could she say to something like that? How could she maintain her anger in the face of his despair?

He pulled the hood of her tunic more closely about her head—the temperature was nowhere near as frigid as that of the north of Scotland, but the night air was still chilly. “Please. We have so little time.”

And they hurtled at such a breakneck speed toward that eventual rendezvous with destiny.

“When we are in the Crucible,” he said, “we are in a folded space, much like the inside of the laboratory—and our location cannot be pinpointed. But the moment we exit, we will be on Atlantis itself.”

Which wouldn't be long now—already the turrets of Sleeping Beauty's castle were visible in the distance.

“In case conditions are adverse once we leave the Crucible and I do not have the that one last opportunity, Fairfax . . . I love you.”