Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (28 page)

“Nah,” I say. “Nessa stays up reading, and she’ll be glad to see me, I think.”

We slip out into the street together. As we pass by a column of guards, he straightens up and looks confident. Like he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to be doing and there’s no reason for them to be suspicious.

“Rian,” I say when they pass. “What about Errie?”

“Loren first,” he whispers. “We’ll get him back to the hall. After that, I have a plan to get us to the stronghold.”

“Just you and me?” I ask. My heart’s racing. “How?”

“That coin. I figured out what it does,” he says. “It opens a portal. It’ll bring us right there.”

“But you could do that anyway,” I whisper. “Couldn’t you? Through the Half-Realm?”

“Not this time,” he says. “From what Da said, it’s too well-protected. It’s risky as it is, since I’ve never been there myself. If we use their portal, it’d be easier.”

“But they’d know, wouldn’t they? They’d be able to tell someone used it.” I think of the keep. All the magic. All those Sorcerers. Rian is a powerful Mage, but he’s only a Mentor. There’s no way he can stand up against forces like that on his own. “We need a better plan. There’s too many of them not to have one. Even if we do get there and manage to stay in the Half-Realm, it’s dangerous.”

“That’s true,” he nods thoughtfully. “I’m impressed, Tib. You’re usually a lot less cautious.”

I clench my jaw and scowl. He’s right. I usually just jump into these things. “That’s what got Errie taken. I won’t risk him again by getting us killed before we can get him out of there.”

“The good news,” Rian says, “is we have time.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as we reach Nessa’s street. It’s late. Nearly midnight. Moonlight glances off the cobbles. The face of the manse is washed in blue from the moon and yellow from the lamplight.

“It’s complicated,” Rian rakes his fingers through his hair. “The ritual they’ll be performing. The spell. It requires Errie to be in perfect health. They’ll take some time to pamper him. To heal him up. Get him fed and happy. Then there’s a period of waiting. Acclimation, they call it, where they’ll put him in close to Eron.”

He pauses and closes his eyes, like he’s trying to push the mental image of it away. I picture it, too. Maisie’s son, in that dark place.

“So, what? They put him in a room with a corpse?” The thought of it makes my stomach churn with anger again. “That’s disgusting.”

“Our hope is we’ll have him out of there before they get to that part,” Rian closes his eyes and shakes his head.

The Ganvent Manse is mostly dark, except for a single light in the sitting room window. Nessa’s waiting up. I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve been gone a while. I think of how happy she’ll be to see me. How relieved. I’m glad I have Nessa to come home to, no matter what. I’m so excited to see her that I take the steps two at a time, throw the door open, and rush inside.

“Nessa!” I call eagerly. Rian closes the door behind me. Maybe it’s because I’m not expecting it. Probably because I never would have thought of it. The sight of the Sorcerer bowls me over. Osven. Here. The foyer spins. I stumble backward into Rian, who is quick to utter a spell. I feel the wards settle over us. I allow them to protect me.

“Nessa!” I scream. My heart thuds in my throat. If he did something to her, if something happened, I swear I’ll make him suffer. I’ll make him bleed.

“Don’t worry,” Osven purrs to me. “Lady Ganvent and I have become quite well acquainted, though her current accommodations are not quite as lavish as these. Pity the admiral couldn’t be here to see her go, but, as you know, he had an important shipment of books to oversee. They, too, should be making their way into our hands soon. They will make for quite a library. It is really rather remarkable how well crates of books can float when the ship carrying them has been obliterated.”

“No,” I whisper.

“Foolish of you,” he takes a couple of steps forward. Picks up a dainty figurine of two playing children from Nessa’s hall table, “not to ensure the safety of this place. I was surprised to find it left so utterly vulnerable. Quite an unfortunate misstep, to be certain. I did, after all, offer some warning that we were aware of the manse and your association with it. It would have been prudent to send a warning to the Lady Ganvent and her husband.”

He’s right. I should have warned Nessa and the others. I should have made sure there were wards. Guards. I was careless. I took this place for granted. I push the thought away. Try to think rationally. What he’s saying can’t be true. Admiral Ganvent is smart. Strong. He’d have protections, himself. He’d be prepared for an attack. There’s no way his ship was attacked. Osven’s just trying to get a rise out of me.

“What about the others? What did you do to them?” I growl at him. Reach for a knife from my belt. Behind me, I feel Rian’s energy building. The wand is pulsing with it. I sense his hand around it even though my back is to him. He’s ready to cast. When he does, it’ll be devastating.

“A little drain is all,” Osven waves his hand dismissively. “They’re comfortably nestled in their beds. I’ll spare them and return their mother,” his eyes darken, “if you agree to come with me.”

Behind me, Rian’s unspoken spell reaches its peak. It’s ready to be unleashed. He moves, just slightly. Osven’s eyes flick to him. The figurine in his hand bursts into flames.

“Do not be a fool, Eldinae,” he says calmly and moves to set the flaming statue back onto the wooden table.

I look upstairs, toward the bedrooms. Just like before with Azi and Flitt, I can see them through the walls. Not in detail, just in outlines. The kids are up there, asleep. Loren, too. If it’s like he said, if he drained them, they have no chance of waking, even in a fire. They’ll die. Osven follows my gaze. While he’s distracted, I reach into my pocket for the coin. I sneak it back to Rian.

“Find me,” I mutter, and then I step out of the wards.

“
Don’t
,” he pushes to me, “
there’s got to be another way
.” There isn’t, though. We both know it.

“Let’s go,” I say to Osven. “Before I change my mind.”

“
Impressive. Though…there’s brave and selfless, and then there’s just plain foolhardy,
” Aster pushes to Rian. Her words make me pause.

Osven eyes me with that same hunger he did the first time we met. This time, though, there’s something else there. Triumph. Ownership. I feel my healed eye pulse. My attention is drawn away. In the closed pantry behind the Sorcerer, I see her. A woman, tied up. I try hard not to react, not to let him see what I’ve discovered. He’s a liar. He never took Nessa. She’s been here this whole time.

“Come, now,” the Sorcerer beckons me greedily. He knows he can’t force me. I can only go willingly.

He doesn’t expect me to attack him. He’s so haughty with his own power and distracted by Rian’s threat of a spell that he forgets me, again. My lips curl back and I charge him before he can even think. I crash through his wards like they’re nothing and hit him with the full force of my weight. He flies backward with a very un-elflike grunt and skids across the floor with me straddling his bony chest.

His crackling hands claw for my throat. The charge of lightning coming from them would kill me if I was anyone else. If I couldn’t do what I can do. He’s too weak to even strangle me. His hands are too frail. They’re trained for spells, not for combat. I claw them away from my throat easily. Raise my fist. Punch his filthy, lying mouth.

“Who’s a fool now?” I spit at him. “Coming here with no guards, thinking you can lie and get me to do what you want? Did you forget the last time I attacked you? Did you think I wouldn’t do it again?”

He lies stunned. Wide-eyed. Panting. Shocked that I’d dare touch him. I swing again and his head snaps to the side. That gets him going again. His eyes flash with rage. He raises his hands. Whispers. Behind me, something crashes and sizzles. I grab his hand and bite his wrist until I taste blood and feel bones crunch. He screams. Claws at me with his free hand. Gasps in pain.

Rian shouts something behind me. Sleep spell. The pink cloud settles over us. Osven’s eyes don’t even close. He just laughs.

“What are you?” he growls with a sneer past me at Rian. “Fifteenth Circle? Sixteenth? And not even a hint of the Mark. Not a shadow of it. Your spells cannot touch me, Eldinae. You’re too weak. Too Light.”

I feel the power behind his words. They’re entwined with a spell that streaks past me. It sways Rian. Fills him with doubt.

Osven thrusts his uninjured hand upward. The ceiling cracks and crumbles. Chunks of plaster break free and crash down. I raise my arm to shield myself and fight the urge to roll off of him. I won’t let him get away.

I brace myself for the barrage of plaster, but just before it strikes us a heavy wind gusts through the foyer and sends it spinning away.

“Sorry I’m late,” comes a whisper from Rian’s general area.

“
Not at all, Shush
,” Rian pushes.

Osven whispers. I don’t have time to react. All around me, the wood of the floorboards splinters and crackles. Spikes of wood poke up, writhing. They shift and change and slither. A dozen of them. A score. White fangs drip with sickly poison. The serpents eye me hungrily.

“I’ll call them off,” Osven hisses much like the snakes. “It’s not too late to agree to my terms, Nullen.”

I have no idea what sort of spell it is. I’ve never seen one like it. I know it’s very possible if these are actual serpents, they could kill me with a bite. I catch myself actually considering his terms, until a conversation between Rian and Shush interrupts my train of thought.

“
Yes, they’re certainly real serpents. Very impressive.”

“
Impressive and easy enough to…
” Rian’s voice trails off.

The pink cloud forms and settles again. The snakes coil up and go still, sound asleep.

“I’ll distract him,” Shush pushes.

He sends another gust of wind that catches my breath. Osven screws his eyes shut and turns his head away from the blast. It’s so strong my skin ripples under the force of it. My hair feels like it’ll tear out by the roots. Osven and I start skidding away across the floor. Out of the range of the snakes. Onto Nessa’s flower rug the admiral brought from Elespen. The vines on it pulse and grow plump and alive. The green tendrils wind around Osven’s mouth first. They bind his arms. Twist around his fingers and squeeze his hands closed. I jump off as they curl across his body like a hundred leafy ropes.

Osven struggles against the bindings but he’s too weak, and with his hands and mouth tied up and his eyes blindfolded by the carpet-vines, he can’t cast a spell. I hope.

“
Bring me closer
,” Aster begs from inside Rian’s pocket.

Rian creeps near the Sorcerer and draws the wand. It’s almost impossible to tell that Osven’s in there now. The ropes are so thick he looks like a giant basket tipped over.

Aster twitches in Rian’s hand as they get closer. Dark energy seeps out from between the spaces in the bindings. As it streams toward the wand, it shifts from shadow to light. Draining him. Stripping him.

Rian’s hand shakes as he realizes what’s happening, but he allows it.

“That’s enough, wand, don’t you think?” Shush whispers.

“
Just a little more
,” Aster’s reply echoes eerily through the house.

Azi

At the palace, it’s all very strict. Rather than a cheerful Page to guide us to a room to wait, we’re flanked by palace guards who march us to an annex of the throne room. They stand at attention at four points around us, allowing us very little freedom while we wait for His Majesty.

Mya and Uncle stand in front of me and occasionally exchange a nervous word or two. Saesa, Flitt, and I stand behind them. Saesa makes me proud. She remains respectful and patient while we’re made to wait. Flitt is exactly the opposite. She fidgets and bounces on her toes and looks around the richly decorated room impatiently.

“Rather empty,” she declares, and her loud voice echoes through the vast hall. “And quiet.” Beside me, Saesa winces.

“Shh,” I whisper. “It isn’t usually so empty, but it’s late, Flitt. Everyone’s gone to bed.”

“I thought there’d at least be dancing like we have,” she announces, not bothering to lower her voice at all. “And music. You know. Mya, you should play something and I’ll dance. Oh,” she sighs with a scowl, “maybe I shouldn’t. I still haven’t sorted out my feet yet. Ow. How do you manage to stand for so very long? I feel like the flesh on my soles is going to hurt right off.”

Mya, Uncle, and the front flank guards slowly turn to look at Flitt. Uncle seems amused, but Mya presses a finger to her lips.

“We’ve been waiting an awfully long time, haven’t we?” Flitt huffs. “Is it normal to wait so very long in such a dreadfully boring room?” she tugs on one of the guards. “Are you sure you told His Majesty we were here?”

When he doesn’t answer, she wrinkles her nose. “Rude,” she mutters under her breath. “Typical.”

“Flitt,” I hiss between my teeth, mortified by her impatience, “he knows we’re here. They said they’d announce us, remember? Just try to keep quiet.”

“What’s the point of having to be quiet?” she asks innocently. “It just seems to make the wait longer. I bet he’s making us wait on purpose.”

Her eyes wander around the room and slowly her feet begin to wander, too. She drifts away only a little, and the palace guards put a gentle hand up to stop her.

“Please remain with us,” one of them says.

“Oh, so you do talk!” Flitt pats his arm condescendingly and then quickly pulls her hand away, sniffs her fingers, makes a face, and wipes them on my cloak.

“Sorry,” I whisper to the scowling guard as I tuck Flitt behind me. “She’s not from here.”

“Aye,” the guard grumbles and looks down his nose at the two of us. His eyes linger on my Mark and I slide my visor down self-consciously.

“Indeed, it must all seem very strange to you. Come,” Uncle offers brightly. To my surprise, he smiles at her and offers her his arm. Flitt scowls and looks at me.

“
Link your hand through his elbow
,” I push to her.

“
Do I have to? He’s worse than Stinky Rian,
” she pushes back.

“
He’s trying to be nice to you
,” I give Flitt an insistent look, and she rolls her eyes and reluctantly links her hand through Uncle’s offered arm. The guards allow him past after a short exchange, and he guides her across the vast room to stand before a portrait of His Majesty’s father. There, he goes into great detail, describing the importance of painters and their patrons throughout the history of Cerion.

“
He’s torturing me
,” she pushes the thought to me without even looking over her shoulder. Uncle gestures across the canvas, explaining away. “
You see him torturing me, right?
”

I suppress a chuckle and shake my head. With the two of them occupied across the room, my stomach starts to twist with nerves. Saesa’s quiet presence centers me. I settle into attention beside her and stare ahead, alert and still. It’s been such a long time since I’ve taken this stance, I’m surprised by how much it calms me. It’s almost meditative.

I’m reminded of Cerion Day all those years ago, when I was a hopeful squire waiting for her trials to start. So much has happened since then. I don’t even feel like the same person anymore. Da saw it. I wonder if His Majesty will, too. Am I too different now from the Azaeli who used to come and amuse the princesses in the gardens? Will he think me too changed from the girl who dreamed of serving them one day the way my parents have served him?

“His Majesty will see you now.”

The announcement jolts me. My stomach knots up. Before us, the doors to the throne room swing open. Uncle leads Flitt to my side again, and the guards march us in.

King Tirnon is on his feet as soon as we enter. He jogs down the steps of his throne and strides toward us. His fists are clenched at his sides, the veins at his temples pulse with anger. As he approaches, we all drop to one knee out of respect. Except for Flitt, of course. She stands oblivious at my side as the king weaves between the others to stop before me.

“What is the meaning of this?” His Majesty bellows. My heart races at his fury. I pray he’ll spare me rather than placing me under arrest. The summons in my shaking hand crinkles loudly. I duck my head to hide the Mark behind my helm for fear that the sight of it will have me sent straight to sleep.

“
Get down
,” I push to Flitt. To my surprise, she does.

“Stand down,” he snaps at the guards in front. “And you. Go.” He jabs his finger toward the two behind us. “Completely unnecessary,” he growls. “Kristan, what is the meaning of this?”

“Sire, it is just a precautionary—” the palace guard behind him starts to explain, but His Majesty holds his hand up to silence him.

“Paranoia,” he says darkly. “I will not have my kingdom ruled in fear. Do you understand me, Kristan? These,” he gestures to the group of us, “are my most trusted. My Elite. They rank above even you in my eyes, General. I will not have them treated this way.”

“Of course, sire. We only meant to—” he stops again, mid-sentence, as His Majesty slowly turns to face him.

“I have been patient with your precautions and your overzealous protections until now,” he says in a tone so low I can barely hear him, “but I grow steadily wearier of your dissenting tone toward me. I am your king.”

“Yes, sire,” Kristan bows.

“Go.” His Majesty says.

Kristan glances at us as though he might argue against it, but when his Majesty narrows his eyes at him, the general nods and marches off with our escort.

When the door closes with a heavy thud behind them, His Majesty turns to us. His dismissal of the guards doesn’t seem to have lifted his mood much.

“This way,” he commands, and ushers us into a smaller side room where a merry fire crackles in the hearth. The room is otherwise empty, save for a round table at the center. Two guards flank the door at attention. Flitt pauses between them and looks them over.

“Are these people, or just suits?” she asks aloud and flicks at his burnished metal forearm with her finger making a
plink, plink, plink
sound. The guard remains absolutely still.

“They’re real,” Saesa whispers and takes her by the shoulders as I follow Mya and Uncle to the hearth with His Majesty. “Sorry,” she mutters to the guard.

“But they’re so still,” Flitt says with awe as Saesa guides her away. “
No chairs again?
” she whines in my head. “
My poor, gigantic feet.
”

Thankfully, His Majesty doesn’t even look at me as we approach him. Instead he broods into the fire. “I expected to see you much sooner, Azaeli,” he says with a tone I can only take for disappointment.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I try with difficulty to keep my voice steady as I bow to him. “Please forgive me. I wasn’t in Cerion when your summons arrived.”

“Summons?”

He scowls and flicks his fingers toward me, his eyes on the parchment in my hand. I hand it to him. When he looks it over, his frown deepens. “These are not—” he looks up and his gaze darts from my closed visor to Flitt’s colorful presence beside me. He takes her in a bit at a time: her strangely colored hair, her changing eyes, the crest of her cloak.

“Not what?” Flitt asks, blinking innocently as the firelight sparkles across her pale skin.

“It isn’t the message I requested to be sent. Those aren’t my words.” His Majesty shakes his head slowly and hands the note back without even looking at me. He’s mesmerized by the sight of Flitt. He steps closer to her as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Who is this enchanting creature?” he whispers.

As he approaches her, Flitt’s light grows brighter and brighter. She opens her hands at her sides and a score of luminous orbs drift from them and add their own light to the small room until all of the shadows are washed away. She raises a shoulder to her cheek and grins at His Majesty with adorably flirtatious giggle.

“My name is Flitter,” she says once the peaceful glow has settled. A bright yellow orb drifts between her and the king. “Felicity Lumine Instacia Tenacity Teeming Elite Reformer. I’m supposed to be just a traveler, but things change, you know. They made me a messenger, too. Not one like those you’ve been dreaming about. Those are different. I’m an actual, in-person messenger.”

“How do you know my dreams?” Tirnon whispers in awe.

“They were sent to you on purpose,” Flitt replies matter-of-factly. “So you’d be expecting me.”

We all stand in complete silence, watching the exchange between the two of them. I remember when Flitt and I first met in person, how disorienting it had been. I, too, had had several dreams before she showed herself to me. Dreams of dancing with fairies at the Ring and fighting shadow cyclones in a golden field. Dreams of lying in that same field and becoming one with the landscape. Dreams of a fairy, giving me the gift of Flitt’s diamond tether which allowed her to travel to me.

“I thought I was going mad,” His Majesty says, shaking his head, “dreaming of fairies in such a time.”

“You never spoke of it, Your Majesty,” Uncle ventures.

“Would you have, Gaethon?” His Majesty asks. “Considering?” His eyes never leave Flitt, as though daring to look away might cause her disappear.

“Most likely not,” Uncle agrees quietly. “Considering.”

“So, they’re coming?” King Tirnon asks. “It’s true? In my lifetime? I never would have expected it.”

His voice is tinged with excitement and pride. “All these years we’ve protected our alliance. Decades. A century and more, and always I have wondered whether you even existed to begin with. Whether any of it was truly real, or just fairy tales.”

“Of course it’s real,” Flitt says with a huff. “What a silly thing to think. Absolutely typical that you’d doubt it, though.”

“But why have you remained so hidden all of this time?” His Majesty asks.

“Azi,” Flitt says with a roll of her eyes, “I think we’re going to have to teach His Majesty the proper way to play.”

“Play?” Mya asks curiously.

“A question game. It’s the custom,” I explain. “Or is it a rule?”

Flitt shrugs and wriggles her pink eyebrows beneath her colorful bangs at the king. I go on.

“How it’s played is,” I explain, “you ask a question, Your Majesty, then Flitt will answer, and then she can ask hers, and you answer. It goes on that way until someone breaks the chain.”

“Right,” Flitt nods. “You can go first, since you’re the king.”

“Ah, thank you,” His Majesty says, still quite in a daze. “Thank you, my dear. My first question is this: What manner of visit do they intend? Is it merely a friendly introduction? Or should we perhaps be prepared to make diplomatic negotiations?”

Flitt groans and rolls her eyes. Beside her, Saesa takes a step away from her and closer to me, as if to disassociate herself from Flitt.

“That was three questions, Your Highness,” Flitt huffs.

“Of course,” he nods. “Then I’ll start with the basics. The royal staff will need to know how many to accommodate for. How many should we expect to be staying, and for how long?”

“Oh, not very long, and how many doesn’t really matter,” Flitt smiles. “My turn. Why aren’t there any chairs in here?” She shifts her weight from one foot to another with a wince. “I’m not used to standing on my feet for so long, you see.”

“This is a planning room,” His Majesty replies. “My men and I think better on our feet. It allows us to circle around the table. Gaethon, if you would?”

“Hm?” Uncle, who has been staring with a mix of thinly-veiled amusement and fascination at Flitt this whole time, snaps his attention to the king. “Oh, indeed, Sire,” he says.

With a sweep of Uncle’s hand, the tabletop shifts. The illusion of a city emerges from it, growing and shaping itself into a perfect model of Cerion cast in moonlight. Everything is represented, from the crumbling blocks of Redstone Row and the golden dome of the Academy to the pristine white towers of the Royal Palace.

Flitt walks around it, gazing at the little buildings with mild interest.

“It isn’t very useful,” she says after a moment, and Uncle looks very put-down. Flitt notices.

“Sorry,” she says. “I just think it would be better if it wasn’t so empty, that’s all.”