Crown of Three (20 page)

“I wouldn't be much of a healer if I didn't.”

Caraway smeared a foul-smelling poultice onto Tarlan's wound. It was warm and unspeakably slimy but, within a few breaths, he felt the pain subside. The effect was so sudden, and so complete, that he couldn't help but think of Mirith again. Of witchcraft.

Of magic.

“Have you ever heard of a man called Melchior?” he said. At once he cursed himself. It was one thing seeking a wizard, quite another blurting out his name to a stranger.

“Melchior?” said the healer. He was leaning over Filos, his long fingers hesitantly exploring her injuries. “You mean the wizard? Yes, of course I've heard of him. Who hasn't?”

“Is he famous?”

“I suppose you could say that.” Caraway began rubbing ointment into the tigron's flank. Almost immediately, the little cub started to purr.

“Does he live around here?” Tarlan could feel the jewel pressing into his chest, as if urging him on. Was Melchior really going to be this easy to find?

“Why do you want to know?” Caraway's eyes were keen and searching.

Tarlan shrugged. “Just curious.” He stroked Filos's head.

“Mmm. Well, it's common knowledge. Melchior died years ago. His was the last magic in the world, you know. It's all gone now. All of it.”

The healer's words hit Tarlan like a landslide. All the breath rushed from his body, leaving his chest tight and his mind numb.

What am I supposed to do now?

It was over. The mission he'd embarked on had proved a fool's errand. There were no wizards, and the jewel he carried was just a cold green stone, a memory of Mirith. There was no destiny waiting for him. He was just Tarlan.

Apparently unaware of the impact his words had had, Caraway turned from Filos to Nasheen. He looked very small against the huge bulk of the unconscious thorrod.

Tarlan forced himself to breathe again. To his amazement, the shock was replaced with relief. He grieved Mirith bitterly, but he was no longer bound by the path she had set for him. He was free to do as he pleased—and he already knew what that was. Once he had paid his debt to Lady Darrand, he would find somewhere safe to live with his pack, far from humans.

What more could I want?
he thought.

W
e cannot wait for Melchior,” said Fessan.

Elodie had lost count of how many times he'd said this. It was an argument he'd been pressing all afternoon as the debate went on in the Trident camp. Many agreed with him. But not all.

She looked at Stown, certain he would trot out his own familiar point of view. He didn't disappoint her.

“What if Limmoni finds the wizard?” Stown demanded. “You saw the look on her face when she left. I swear that girl knows where he is.”

“Limmoni is determined,” Fessan agreed. “But she works magic, not miracles.”

“We need his guidance,” said an old woman.

“We will make do without it.” Fessan stood, his fists clenched.

Elodie rose from the crude wooden stool on which she'd been perched. This wasn't going anywhere and it was driving her mad. She might as well take one more walk around the clearing before the sun finally disappeared behind the trees. It might clear her head.

Palenie laid a concerned hand on her arm. “Princess, are you all right?”

“You've been on the move all afternoon, Elodie,” said Fessan. “Are you staying or going? You might as well decide.”

His question startled Elodie. Stay or go? Did he mean the meeting? Or Trident itself?

“I don't know,” she said, picking at the hem of the uncomfortable green tunic.

“Won't she just sit down?” grumbled Stown. “It's wearing me out just watching her.”

Elodie realized that in fact everyone was watching her—the whole of Trident, crowded around in a rough circle in the center of the clearing. Fessan sat among them, just another face in the throng. The only person who wasn't staring at her was the blond young man beside Fessan—Rotho, who had joined Trident just that morning. His eyes flickered around the meeting and Elodie wondered if he was as confused by what was happening as she felt.

“Very well,” she said stiffly, sitting on the stool again. She glanced at Fessan. “I'll stay. But I still don't know what to do.”

“Well,” said Fessan, “you are in the right place. Please help us decide.”

“We're not deciding anything,” grumbled Stown under his breath.

Ignoring him, Fessan went on, speaking once more to the crowd at large. “Do you not see? The time is right. Limmoni said one of the triplets is already in Idilliam—in the castle itself, no less. The second”—he gestured toward Elodie—“is here among us. If we march now, we can bring two of the three together before the moon is full.”

“What of the third child?” said a man.

“He will be found. He
must
be found. Regardless of that, the first triplet—Agulphus—needs our support. He is in the tigron's den, in danger as long as he draws breath. We have to go.”

Stown snorted. “You really think now's the time to go against the crown? Think we're ready to go up against the entire King's Legion?”

“My father is there,” said Fessan. “And he is not alone.”

Elodie groaned as the bickering voices flew back and forth. Before, when she'd heard Fessan and the other members of Trident arguing, it had infuriated her as she'd felt so remote and far from home. Now it was because she desperately cared about the outcome.

Thin clouds parted, revealing three stars flickering in the twilight sky. Elodie gazed up at them, struck by how close they seemed. Not stars at all, but bright jewels hanging just out of reach.

All I have to do is stretch up, and they will be mine.

“There,” said Fessan, standing and pointing at the sky. “Do you not see the prophecy stars?”

Elodie shivered. It was as if he'd been listening to her thoughts.

“So what?” said Stown.

“They are the proof!” Fessan's normally calm demeanor was cracking. Elodie could hear the passion in his voice. The scar on his face twitched. She wondered how he'd got it. Was it fighting for Trident—for her and her brothers?

“Can you not see it?” Fessan was striding in front of the crowd now. “The wheels are turning. All the pieces of this great puzzle are coming together. This is happening. It is happening
now
!”

“Fine words,” grunted Stown. “But the truth is that Melchior's abandoned us. Fessan thinks he can command Trident, but he can't even command the spoiled brat he's saddled us with for a princess.”

Fessan's face clouded with rage. “How dare you insult your future queen? On your knees, Stown, and beg forgiveness!”

Stown just spat on the ground.

That did it. Elodie rose once more from the stool. A hush descended as she stepped into the middle of the circle. She felt suddenly taller, just that little bit closer to the watching stars.

“Stown is right,” she said. Fessan frowned. Stown's face creased into a sneer. “I was like that. When I first arrived here, I was spoiled and ungrateful. I'm sorry.”

“More words,” said Stown. “If I were you, little girl—”

“Princess,” corrected Elodie. “Now be quiet while I speak.”

The burly man looked furious, but closed his mouth all the same.

“Since I've been here,” Elodie went on, “I've learned a lot about myself. I've learned that until now I've lived in a very small world. I've learned that I have two brothers, and that I want them by my side more than anything—even on the throne.”

She walked across the circle to Fessan, who immediately dropped to one knee. Elodie's spine tingled. “One of my brothers is in Idilliam,” she said, looking down at Fessan's upturned face, “probably in danger. I say we march to be by his side.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Fessan stood again. His eyes were shining.

“Are there any who doubt that our queen is among us?” he shouted.

The murmur became a rumble.

“She says she will march to Idilliam!” Fessan went on.

The rumble became a roar. Rotho leaped up, his hands raised in applause, and the others followed.

“Let us draw our own courage!” Fessan cried. “I say it is not Elodie who will march with us! It is we who will march with her!”

The combined voices of Trident crashed against Elodie like waves against the shore. It was more than a roar; it was a storm.

A storm for her.

We're coming for you, Gulph
, she thought, gazing around at the cheering faces.
We're coming.

  •  •  •  

The whole camp was in an uproar. Tents were torn down, supplies were packed into sacks and crates, horses were harnessed, fires were dampened. Fessan was everywhere, supervising the preparations for departure. Whenever he passed Elodie, he gave her a smile that seemed to say he'd always known he was right to believe in her.
I hope I don't let him down,
she thought.

Not quite knowing what to do, Elodie returned to her tent, only to find Palenie in the process of rolling up the canvas and packing away the poles.

“Can I help?” said Elodie.

“Oh, it's all right,” Palenie replied, tossing her bearskin cloak onto the pile. “That's the last of it. We'll be on the road before the moon's up.”

Elodie nodded. Everything was happening so quickly, and she was the one who'd triggered this avalanche of activity. It was overwhelming.

Palenie stepped over to her. “It's going to be all right.” She smiled. “You were wonderful earlier. You sounded like a queen.”

Elodie grinned back. “Really?”

“Really, Princess. You should have seen Stown's face. He looked like he'd swallowed something rotten.”

The two girls laughed. Elodie felt warmth rising inside her, and she realized it was the first time she'd felt happy since she'd left Ritherlee. The only other person who'd made her laugh was Samial.

Samial.

“There's something I've got to do,” Elodie said. “I won't be long!”

Leaving the tent, she hurried toward the Weeping Woods.

He'll come with me
, she thought.
He has to.

On the way, she passed Rotho, who was busy piling spears into a low wagon. When he saw Elodie, he put down the spear he was holding and strode over. He was lean, his shoulders broad, and the breastplate he wore gleamed in the late-afternoon sun. From his waist hung a slender blade.

“Princess,” said Rotho, sweeping into an elegant bow.

He looks like a knight
, Elodie thought. Perhaps Trident wasn't as ragtag as she'd first believed.

“When I heard that one of the three was fighting alongside Trident, I could hardly believe it,” Rotho said. “But your speech left me in no doubt. I am honored to follow you, Princess, wherever you may lead.” He drew his sword and knelt, laying the blade flat upon both palms. He held it up to Elodie. “My sword is yours.”

Pride flooded Elodie. Palenie had said that everything would be all right, and maybe it was true. After all, if young warriors like Rotho believed in her, surely others would follow? Having both him and Samial at her side would ease the long road toward her brothers and the crown.

“I thank you,” Elodie told him. “The honor is mine.”

Rotho bowed his head once more. As he rose to his feet, Elodie hurried off toward the trees. When she glanced back, she saw that Rotho was still watching her. He raised a hand, then turned back to the wagon.

In the woods it was already dark. Elodie didn't care. After tonight, she wouldn't have to visit this fearful place again. Even the voices didn't upset her, whispering away at the edge of her awareness. Soon she and Samial would be gone from here, on the road to Idilliam. She plunged on through the undergrowth, shouting Samial's name.

When she reached the glade where they'd first met, she stopped. The prophecy stars cast their baleful light down into the tiny clearing. High in the trees, someone was sobbing.

“Samial?”

No reply. Just the murmur of the voices only she could hear.

She corrected herself: the voices she and Samial could hear.

She ran on, her hands pressing back the clutching needles of pine trees.
Down this gully, over this cluster of roots, through this screen of willow. . . .

She stopped. Directly in front of her, the air was shimmering. A shadow formed out of the darkness, black on black. It flowed briefly, a slick of oil suspended between the ground and the sky. Finally it melted into the shape of a boy.

Samial.

Elodie backed away, the breath leaving her mouth in short, silent bursts. Her heart thudded. What had she just seen?

It's the shadows, that's all
, she told herself.
A trick of the dark.
But why then was dread tugging at her heart?