“Where is this wall located?”
Sanga shook her head. “I don’t know. We were moved about by magic transport.” She sobbed, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t even know if Grenya is still alive!”
Halfrid said, a lot more kindly, “She probably is. Andreus would find living mages more useful as hostages. Shattered bits of stone are no use to anyone.”
Sanga did not respond, just sat listlessly in the chair. Tyron closed the door, and the two passed through the short hall to Halfrid’s magic chamber.
Tyron asked, “Is Falin going to recover?”
“Yes. Sanga seems to have had enough of a conscience to change her into a form that is slow to do harm to humans. Even so, it’s been half a year, and it might be a while before Falin recovers her voice and the ability to move. Now, what happened after I left?”
“Teressa got angry with Hawk and me for our lack of communication. I left, since she obviously wanted to talk to him alone. I hoped she would send him off. I waited outside, and when he came out of the parlor, I spoke to Hawk as she requested. He told me the gist of what we just heard. When I asked him why he hadn’t offered the information, he retorted,
You
never
asked
.” Tyron raked his fingers through his tangled hair. “Since all I ever heard out of him was mockery and insult, why bother asking for more?”
“I think I need to have a talk with that young man.”
Tyron opened a hand. “You might have to wait. He added,
I’m
off
to
talk
to
Cousin
Idres
. Ended with a typical insult about guardian hounds, and left. So I came straight here.”
“Cousin Idres?” Halfrid asked.
Tyron sat down. “Maybe you should go to the ball tonight. Hawk is probably a waste of time as far as information is concerned, but Teressa might tell you what she has in mind. She’s too angry with me.”
Halfrid rubbed his thumb over his lip, a sure sign he was thinking. “I will do just that.”
Tyron said, “Can you break that scry ward on Wren?”
Halfrid shook his head. “Not immediately. I tested it just before I confronted the young woman, in order to get a sense of what I might be dealing with. That ward is lethally complicated, with tracers all over it. Those will have to be removed one by one.”
“I’ll help, no matter how late I have to stay up. I will feel a lot better when we know where Wren is.” Tyron jerked his thumb at the door. “But first, are we sending Sanga to the Council right away?”
Halfrid frowned. “I am afraid we have to, though the few remaining Council members have far too many troubles already.”
“Remainder of the Council?” Tyron grimaced. “I hope you aren’t hinting that Master Gastarth and Mistress Selshaf are . . . not at Council headquarters.”
He named the heads of the Mage Council, a brother and sister of great age and wisdom—the two most powerful mages in the world.
Halfrid laid his hands flat on his desk. “I was asked to keep the news to myself. You knew I was on Council business, but you did not know that much of it has rightly been their tasks. Master Gastarth and Mistress Selshaf have been missing for a year.”
Wren and Connor had spent enough time around the play-actors in Cantirmoor to know plenty about changing people’s appearances. Shortly after noon, the former pirate boy, now with nut-brown skin and hair, dressed in an old smock commonly worn by shepherds and sturdy walking sandals, made his way up the mountain. Wren was sure the poor boy was looking back frequently, despite warnings to act normal.
When he was safely out of sight up the trail, Wren and Connor dashed back down to the harbor, where they found Captain Tebet, and told her their decision.
As soon as Wren finished, the old captain slapped her scrawny knee and croaked, “I’ve gone me whole life lookin’ for just such a cruise!”
Connor laughed, and Wren rubbed her hands. “C’mon, let’s get our stuff out of the inn.”
“I’ve got to talk to the Harbormaster. He’ll need to hire someone in my place,” Connor said.
“You two do that, and I’ll see to hurrying the last of the supplies on board. We can sail on the next tide, if everyone is nippy,” Captain Tebet declared.
Connor toiled back up the hill for the third time that day, while Wren threaded through sailors, traders, visitors, sellers and buyers chattering in a dozen different tongues. When she reached the inn and dashed into the tiny room that she’d shared with Patka, she found Lambin and the siblings there, in the midst of a conference.
“Did you find anything?” Thad asked, then his dark eyes shifted from Wren’s face to her hand reaching for her pack. “You did!”
Patka jumped up, her eyes round. “Wren! You found a hire and you didn’t come to get us?”
The four faces before her were characteristic: Patka’s ever-ready temper already flaring, Danal looking wistful, Thad inscrutable, and Lambin serious.
Wren sank down onto her bed, wondering how much to say. “It’s not exactly a hire,” she finally began. “More like a passage, you could say.”
Thad crossed his arms. “Go on.”
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?” Patka asked, her eyes wide. “Who offered you passage and why?” She plopped down onto her bed between her brothers. “Oh, of course. Your magic.”
Wren groaned. “Patka, I told you I have to earn my way by working. That is to say, I would—” She stopped, wincing.
Thad pointed a bony finger at her. “You’ve got a plan. And it has magic in it. And it probably concerns that sorcerer who’s chasing you, am I right?”
“Well, I don’t think he’s chasing me anymore. But, well . . .”
“You can’t leave me behind,” Danal said unhappily. He added in a humble voice, “I know I’m worse than useless when it comes to magic. I mean, all I can do is recite those Crisis Rules and the Twelve Natural Laws, and maybe make an illusion or two. But if you go off, when will I get to learn more?”
“You go to the Magic School, Danal,” Wren said, exasperated. “I told you that.”
Patka snorted. “I know what’s going on. You’re doing something dangerous, and you’re deciding for us about helping! After all we went through!”
Everyone started talking at once.
“Argh!” Wren waved her hands, told them in three short sentences what was going to happen, trying to make it sound as bleak as possible.
The result? All four grabbed their gear. “Now, how do we start?” Thad asked.
Wren couldn’t help grinning. “Last chance to back out. We’re going to be attacking a huge fleet, not running.” And when no one moved, she gave in. “This is what I figured out on my way up here: we work best when we plan and then practice. I told you that magic doesn’t make something out of nothing. On the gig, we used seaweed and crumbs and a few threads.”
Danal rubbed his hands. “One of the Natural Laws! You can change the state of something non-living—”
“—but it’s far easier if the state is something akin to what it once was, or will be. Yes. So here. If you’re going to come, and I’m glad you are, my errands will be much faster.” Wren opened her pack. Tyron’s coins had been stolen when she was boomed, but Connor had given her some silver earlier, when they were shopping; Wren and Connor had traveled together before, and they were used to pooling their resources.
“Use this money and go into the markets. Here is my list.” She tore out a back page from her magic book, and wrote fast. “Get as many of these items as you can, and Danal, you may as well buy a good, sturdy book and pens and ink, if you can find them, because you’ll be taking lots of notes. Meet aboard the
Piper
before the tide changes, and I’ll go let Captain Tebet know you’re coming. Then I’m going to make some preparations of my own.”
By the end of a week, Teressa was not the only one to become aware of a pleasant change in the atmosphere of Cantirmoor’s court life.
She hosted the weekly royal ball, this one out on the terrace, which was marginally cooler than the ballroom. Despite the evening being even warmer and more humid than that at the last ball, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Even the musicians sitting under the trees appeared to be playing quicker, merrier tunes: she realized they were getting more requests for popular Meldrithi traditional dances than for the stylish and complicated court figure dances.
She looked around as the twilight slowly purpled into night.
Yes, they really are happier. It’s not my imagination, and it certainly isn’t my mood. I hate hot weather, I hate worrying, I hate not knowing what’s happening to Wren, or to Hawk.
I hate waiting.
Laughter caught at her attention, a rich, low, happy chuckle—a familiar laugh that sent irritation burning through her. Orin! There she was, her long silver hair touched to fire-gold by the many tiny lamps hung in the trees, her plain mage’s gown swinging with grace as she romped down the row of dancers with Tyron.
Teressa watched her future Queen’s Mage spinning his magic student round and round with an expertise she never remembered seeing in him. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time he’d even danced.
The dance ended. Marit, the new Baron of Tamsal, bent to say something to Tyron, which caused him to laugh. Then Marit—sniffy, pouty Marit who had been so tiresome at fourteen and had somehow turned into a responsible, attractive young man—held out his hand to Orin.
The mage student looked grave, but she took his hand and joined the new dance starting up.
“Come, Cousin. You can sit around when you’re an old woman.” Garian appeared at Teressa’s side, hand open in appeal.
She forced herself to smile and stood, shaking out her skirts.
“You have no excuse now that your usual partner is not among those present,” Garian went on.
Teressa took her place beside him, and as the music struck up again, they started the skip-step-step, skip-step-step of a roundel. Teressa said, “Well?”
Garian’s eyebrows quirked. “Well, what?”
“Well, where is the nasty comment about Hawk, and how everyone is happier with him gone?”
“Is he gone as in, really gone?” Garian glanced over his shoulder as she twirled under his arm. “I thought he was just . . . away.”
“I sent him on a mission. If he returns, he returns,” Teressa said as lightly as she could.
“None of the fellows will rejoice if he does, but I think some of your female friends have been looking for him. Who knows why,” Garian added.
“Why don’t you like him?” Teressa asked. She regretted the question as soon as it was out, and waited for the obvious comment about Hawk’s past actions, his anomalous place in the war.
Garian’s mouth twisted derisively, and then he took her by surprise. “I think it goes beyond distrust. I think it’s because he so obviously has no respect for any of us.”
Teressa came so close to saying
He has respect for me!
that her lips began to shape the words. Instead she raised her hands for the next figure in the dance. She had to considered the truth of that statement. She was fairly certain he respected her now, but she’d been unsure until the night she lost her temper, and sent him away. And he went.
She and Garian clapped twice, twirled, and their palms met for hands-across. She frowned at Garian’s face, to meet an unexpectedly narrow look, not unlike Uncle Fortian’s old, unloved expression of calculated assessment. Except Garian was not as arrogant as his father had been.
“Any?” she asked, as though joking.
But Garian was too smart to fall for that trap. He waited until they had twirled down the dance, and then said, “It’s hard to like someone who thinks he’s superior to everyone around him. Even the girls who like flirting with him know that he won’t waste half a heartbeat trying to please them. He doesn’t care what they think. Except, he likes them being interested in him.”
She had to ask, now. “And how do I fit in?”
“You tell me,” Garian said, brows up. “Does he respect you, or your crown?”
Clap-clap, step, turn, bow.
The dance had ended, and he turned away, beginning a conversation with Perd about the next day’s horse race.
Teressa was left with nothing but air to speak to. Which was fine, because she had nothing to say that wouldn’t just start an argument.
Garian wouldn’t believe me if I said Hawk respects ME
, she thought. But that wasn’t what made her feel angry and kind of sick.
Would I believe myself?
The musicians had begun the opening strains of another dance, but stopped. Whispers serried through the crowd. Skirts whirled, faces turned, and there was Hawk at the top of the stairs leading to the terrace, a tall, dark-haired woman on his arm, her face made in the same sharp-boned, brown-skinned, sardonic mold as his. She had to be Hawk’s only living relative, Idres Rhiscarlan, the powerful mage and new queen of Senna Lirwan.
As the entire court watched, Hawk brought his cousin Idres to Teressa. Whispers rustled through the older courtiers, and Teressa wondered how much they remembered of Idres when she was Teressa’s own age—trained by Andreus, but she fell in love with Teressa’s father instead.
Idres was dressed in a high-necked gown of fine gray linen that fell in beautiful lines. Like Hawk, she was well shaped, and the simple design of her clothing—the way it draped—made the most of her figure.
“Teressa,” Hawk drawled, and Teressa knew he was aware of all those ears around them. “May I present my cousin, Idres Rhiscarlan? I believe you said you wished to discuss affairs of mutual interest?”
“Welcome,” Teressa said, acutely aware of all those ears. She gestured to the musicians to start, which forced the courtiers to resume the ball. “If you would care to join us?”
Hawk disengaged his arm from his cousin. “I’ll leave you to it.”
He turned away as the musicians started up again, holding out his hand to little Robin—even though she’d already had a partner. Again, everyone watched Hawk’s challenging stance, his ironic smile, and the polite bow of Robin’s partner, who withdrew with a suave gesture. Robin giggled, flirting her fan as she took her place next to Hawk at the front of the next line dance.