Fool's Errand (50 page)

But she definitely felt sorry for him.

The next morning after breaking their fast, they settled up with the innkeeper, used the last of Rachel's gold to buy food and horses and struck out across Glyndoria. Though Persephone did her best to hide the fact that she'd not yet fully recovered from the channel crossing, she could feel Azriel watching her whenever they stopped to rest and water the horses—and she could feel Rachel watching them both.

By the time they finally stopped for the night at the end of the first day, Rachel had evidently seen enough.

“Well?” she said in a hushed voice as soon as Azriel had left the fire to gut, skin and spit the fat hare that Persephone had earlier managed to spear from her seat in the saddle. “Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me ask?”

“Am I going to make you ask what?” asked Persephone, being deliberately obtuse.

Cocking one eyebrow, Rachel said, “Are you going to make me ask when you decided not to risk regretting the things you didn't do.”

“Oh,” mumbled Persephone, flushing.

Laughing with genuine delight, Rachel tucked her clasped hands beneath her chin. “Oh, Princess, I am so pleased for you!” she said. “Tell me—was he a
very
gentle lover?”

When Persephone could come up with no better response than a gurgling noise in her throat, Rachel laughed again. Then, leaning so close that their nearly identical heads were almost touching, she whispered,

“And have you told him?”

“Told him what—that he is a gentle lover?” squeaked Persephone who could not
imagine
saying such a thing to Azriel—and who'd never have described his lovemaking skills so blandly in any event.

“No, not that,” said Rachel, chuckling as she fed other branch into the fire.

“Then what?” asked Persephone, who immediately regretted asking the question.

Rachel gave her a knowing smile. “You know what.”

Trying to ignore her suddenly hammering heart, Persephone lifted her chin—and did not return the smile. “No, I
don't
know what,” she said, not caring that she sounded rude.

Rachel looked over at her in surprise. “Princess—”

“I'm going to fetch more wood for the fire,” interrupted Persephone, abruptly getting to her feet. “Call me when supper is ready.”

Rachel asked no more questions that she obviously
thought
she already knew the answers to—not on that night, nor on any that followed. Instead, she was even kinder and more thoughtful than usual—taking on extra chores when Persephone was tired, wordlessly handing her a damp cloth to wipe her mouth each time her yet unsettled stomach revolted without warning.

Somehow, that was worse.

As Azriel had predicted, it took four days of hard riding to reach the entrance to the Valley of Gorg.

“This is it,” he said gesturing to the canyon that cut through the red rock face that rose up before them.

Wide enough to allow perhaps a dozen horsemen to ride through it abreast, the canyon was surprisingly long and so straight that Persephone could see glimpses of the grassy valley that lay on the far side. All along its undulating walls were outcroppings that looked like large lumps of pale-red icing smoothed on by way of a giant pastry knife. These outcroppings cut through the beams of sunlight that shone down from above, creating a patchwork of light and shade on the dusty ground and obstructing Persephone's view in a most discomfiting manner.

“Are you sure there isn't another way into the valley?” she asked.

Azriel shook his head. “The rock is too soft to safely climb, and I've never heard talk of another fissure that cuts all the way through to the other side,” he said. “We could go around the rock face, I suppose, but that would require us to ride a full day north, cut west past the Mines of Torodania and then hack south through the coastal jungle to make our way back to yonder patch of grass.”

“We haven't time for that,” said Persephone, who cast another uneasy glance into the eerily shadow-and-light canyon before adding, “I just … don't you think this canyon is a good place for an ambush?”

“No, wife,” said Azriel. “I think this canyon is an
excellent
place for an ambush.”

Nudging his horse closer to hers, he reached his right arm across the gap between them, laid his hand upon her left cheek and gently turned her face toward his. With a soft sigh, Persephone tilted her head so that her grimy cheek rested more heavily against his strong hand.

“It is not too late to turn back,” said Azriel with an intensity that made her shiver. “I do not believe Balthazar would
ever
have given
anything
of value to a Gorgishman. Every last member of that tribe is a greedy, lying conniver. None has a shred of compassion, and all are rumoured to have a taste for human flesh. You know this to be true, Persephone—you've told me so yourself!”

“The Gorgishmen I met during my time in the mines did not impress me as being especially truthful, generous or compassionate,” she admitted. “However, I cannot say if they were cannibals for none ever invited me to supper.”

Scowling, Azriel huffed, “This is no joking matter—”

“I agree,” smiled Persephone, reaching up to cup the hand that cupped her cheek. “But it is not a matter for further discussion, either. Still, I believe it would be wise to take precautions.”

“I believe so, too, for I could not bear to see any harm befall you, Princess,” said Rachel with a tenderness that set Persephone's teeth on edge even though she knew it shouldn't. “What kind of precautions shall we take?”

“The kind that involve you setting up camp here and staying put until sunset tomorrow evening,” said Persephone.

“
What
?” exclaimed Rachel, clearly torn between relief and dismay. “Why?”

“So that if Azriel and I are not back by then you can ride for Parthania,” said Persephone. “When you get there, pretend that you are me. Meet with the Regent. Show him the sprig of the banyan tree.” Slipping the carved box out of the silk pouch at her chest, Persephone held it out to her doppelganger. “Tell him that Azriel was killed but that you found the healing pool. Promise him that you'll tell him where it is in due course. Insist upon an audience with the king. Tell Finn … I don't know, tell him—”

“If you are truly worried that something may go wrong down in that valley,” interrupted Rachel, who'd made no move to reach for the box, “then perhaps
you
should be the one to stay here, Princess.”

“No,” said Persephone firmly. “Finn is my brother—this risk is mine alone to take.”

“Yours alone?” said Rachel, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, not
entirely
alone—” began Azriel, gesturing to himself.

“Yes, mine alone,” said Persephone without looking at him.

“And what happens if you get hurt?” asked Rachel. “What happens if you get
killed?
”

“I'm not going to get hurt or killed,” said Persephone.

“You don't know that,” said Rachel. “That's why I wish you'd reconsider—because I don't want you to do something you'll regret.”

“Oh?” said Persephone flippantly. “What happened to not wanting me to regret the things I
didn't
do?”

Pursing her lips at Persephone's tone, Rachel said, “Circumstances change.”

“Many things change,” said Persephone with a deliberately philosophical wave of her hand. “And many things stay the same.”

“And some things change
everything
,” said Rachel pointedly.

Though Persephone wanted to shout at Rachel that she didn't know
anything
, she somehow managed to hold her tongue. Thrusting the carved box at the girl with such force that if she'd misjudged the distance she'd have knocked out her two front teeth, Persephone glared at Rachel (who glared right back at her) until she took the box.

Then, without another word, Persephone kicked her heels into the flanks of her mount to urge him forward into the mouth of the canyon.

“What in the name of the gods was
that
all about?” asked Azriel in a bewildered voice when he caught up to her.

“I haven't the faintest idea,” said Persephone even though what she meant was,
I don't want to talk about it
.

In fact, I don't even want to think about it
.

The red-walled canyon was even longer than it looked. Luckily, Persephone was so irritated by Rachel's attempts to meddle in that which was none of her business that she completely forgot to worry about being ambushed. Before she knew it, she and Azriel were safely through the canyon and standing upon the threshold of the Valley of Gorg.

“Oh
my
,” breathed Persephone, her irritation vanishing upon the moment.

Tiny had once described the valley as beautiful beyond description. He'd said it was a veritable paradise on earth—fit for no less than the gods themselves. From what Persephone could see, he'd not exaggerated in the least. Before her lay a vast, sloping field of emerald-green grass dotted with patches of fragrant wildflowers. These were doted on by lazily buzzing bumblebees and butterflies as big as saucers. Just barely visible upon the distant horizon was the sea; nestled between field and sea was a lush, sprawling jungle. Its trees were thickly hung with flowering vines, brilliantly coloured birds soared above its canopy and a fine, silvery mist hung over it all—evidence of hidden waterfalls, Persephone was sure.

And somewhere in all that lush beauty was the hidden city of the Gorgish—and, if they were lucky, a map to the healing Pool of Genezing.

“Dismount,” said Azriel as he jumped to the ground.

“Why?” asked Persephone, looking down at him.

Grinning as if to say that some things never changed, he said, “Because, wife, it is a well-known fact that the Gorgish favour pit traps with spikes in the bottom and if we're going to fall screaming to our bloody deaths, I'd rather not take the horses with us.”

“Oh,” said Persephone. Sliding down from the saddle, she grabbed her horse's reins and gingerly followed Azriel into the beautiful but potentially deadly field.

His body rigid with tension, Azriel used his toe to probe and tap extensively at the ground before him. When he was satisfied, he gingerly set his foot down and ever so slowly eased his full weight down upon it. Exhaling heavily when the earth beneath his foot remained firm, he cast a relieved smile over his shoulder at Persephone, wiped the sweat from his brow and then stretched out his toe to tap and probe at the next patch of ground.

At first, Persephone held her breath with each step he took. When they managed to get halfway across the field without being impaled on spikes, however, she felt considerably less concerned. And by the time they'd gotten safely across the field and were standing at the edge of the jungle, she'd decided that his performance had really been rather comical.

“Despite the fact that we did not encounter a single one of your harrowing pit traps, I want to thank you for going to such entertaining lengths to fulfill your solemn vow to protect me,” she said with a smile.

Azriel scowled at her. “It was dangerous out there,” he insisted, jabbing his finger in the direction of the flowers and butterflies.

“If you say so,” she said.

With that, she stepped into the jungle. As she did so, she heard a very quiet but very distinct:

SNAP
.

Without warning, the ground erupted in a spray of dirt and leaves and twigs. Persephone was thrown against Azriel with such force that she got the wind knocked out of her. Her feet were yanked out from under her and her already jumpy stomach jumped right into her throat. The next thing she knew, she and Azriel were dangling high above the jungle floor in a
very
small net watching the badly startled horses—carrying all their packs and panniers—gallop back across the field.