The Danger of Destiny (18 page)

I gave it a try and discovered it did.

When the sky was blue again and the inclination to pass out again receded, I rolled my head toward him. Mouse sat against a tree. His legs were drawn up, and one arm was braced on his knee.

“Did you kill her?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “No.”

Thank heavens.
I needed her to open the portal.

Wait.
Mouse was free. He could have run. He had not.

Why not?

Merry!

I fumbled at my own chest, searching for her, and found two pendants. One was hot; one was not. I looked down, way past the boobs, to the place where my ribs met, and my heart beat hard. Ralph stood over Merry, his icy belly pulsing with white fire. Somewhere during the fuzzy period when I'd briefly succumbed to damsel status, he'd slipped out of his hiding place in my jeans and morphed into a stick figure on steroids.

He must have climbed my body to reach her. Her color was horrible—a mustard brown.

The end of his right “arm” was rapier sharp.

“One minute you're a dickhead; the next you're protecting her. Ralph, I'll never understand you.”

“You have two amulets,” said Mouse. “And one is the Royal Amulet.”

“I need your tree,” I said in a stronger voice.

“Why?”

“To feed my friends.”

“What
are
you?”

“Same answer as before,” I replied. “I'm Hedi of Creemore.” I could hear someone breathing harshly. “Did you break the Gatekeeper's larynx?”

“And what would that be?”

I didn't really know, so I rolled my head in the direction of the noise.

The Gatekeeper was flat on her back, her legs wide. She was breathing noisily through her teeth. Not in pain, I thought, but in rage. My magic had correctly interpreted “donut time” and had encircled her waist.

Tightly.

Good enough.
I tried to sit up the normal way, but my head was heavier than a bucket filled with wet cement. I rolled to my side and braced myself into a partial recline on one elbow.

Much dizziness ensued.

“What's wrong with me?” I asked.

Mouse tilted his head to consider me. “The teeth of the wolf traps are coated with juka. I expect your wolf licked your wounds and the juka is inside you now. Before we set off, you should have been made to vomit and your wound rinsed well in the stream.”

“You couldn't have told me that before?”

“Could have. Didn't.”

Fine.
“What is juka?”

He blew some air out of his pursed lips, shaking his head. “It must be a rare world you live in that you don't know about the dust that sickens the wolves. It's made from a plant. Once it's dried, they grind it up into a fine dust. A bit of it sprinkled in a wolf's food will lay the man wasted.”

“How wasted? How sick?”

“You won't be up to your full strength until the juka's worked its way through your body. Until then you'll want to sleep like the dead and you'll be weak as a—”

“So bottom line, no death by juka dust.”

“Aye, no death.”

“Good to know.” No fade into twilight, just this sludge of extreme fatigue that made lifting my noggin a piece of labor. I thought of the body lying just out of my line of vision, and then I thought of Qae and Trowbridge, and of Lexi … How was I going to get to the rock now? There was neither hide nor tail of Seabiscuit.

I used what abdominal muscles I owned to sit upright.

Whoa. Spinning world.

I waited for it to clear.

“Have you noticed that your leg's been dripping blood for a mile or more?” Mouse inquired.

I knew that, but I flicked my gaze southward. The side of my foot was forked with crimson streaks. I didn't try to tug my jeans high enough for a thorough inspection. Memory of the holes—let's not forget the
holes
—tightened my gut.

What a mess.

I braced my palms on the ground, then started shimmying backward toward the closest tree. It was a maple. Merry was very fond of maple.

Sweat had pearled my upper lip by the time I'd maneuvered the three of us into the crotch of the tree's fat roots. I drew in a shaky breath, hooked their chains with a grimy finger, and pulled them over my head. For a tick or two, I let them dangle, thinking they'd untwine themselves, because feeding was going to be complicated if they didn't, but Ralph held on and Merry didn't push him away.

I lowered the knot of them to eye level and gave her the WTF squint. After a pause, she replied in her own way—a blip of ruddy orange light, small as pinprick.

Where there's life, there's an FU.

It was Merry's way.

Smiling faintly, I laid the two of them on a root by my hip before settling my back against the tree. The forest was quiet except for the Gatekeeper's indignant breathing.

“How long does it normally take for the poison to wear off?”

Mouse didn't answer. For the minute it took me to compose a bullet list of items required to make a travois he sat near me, studying his twined fingers and saying nothing. Finally he rubbed his temple with the heel of his palm in exasperation.

“I have something that will help,” he said.

I gave him the same silent glare I used to direct at customers who complained about too much foam in their lattes. He lifted an unrepentant shoulder. “As I said, most of the damage was done already.”

My tone turned acidic. “Before we ever set off on the trail.”

“Aye—”

“Stop saying ‘aye!'” I snapped. “Say ‘yes,' ‘no,' ‘kiss my ass,' but stop with the ‘aye.' Every time you do it, you remind me that I'm here. And right now, Mouse…”

I rubbed my mouth with my fist.

“You don't want to be here,” he finished. “Then we have something in common, don't we?” He stood to stretch. “If you're still dead set on traveling to the rock, you're going to need some of the juice.”

“Sadly, I don't have a bottle of sun potion.”

“I did.” His belly let out a gurgle. “It's in the bag attached to the pony's saddle.”

“I'll bet you had a lot of friends in the castle, didn't you?”

“I had a few.” He put two fingers to his lips and whistled. A short, low note, followed by a long, high one. And curse me if not a moment later did Seabiscuit come over the rise at a trot. Tail flicking, shaggy ears forward, belly swaying from side to side.

My head swiveled as she passed me. “How did you do that?”

A slow grin broke out over his face. “She likes apples.” He caught her bridle and stroked her neck. “She prefers a whole one, but a core will do.” He reached for the bag slung over the pommel.

“Slow movements, Mouse.”

“One push with me finger and you'd be flat again, Hedi of Creemore.” He squatted, placing the bag on the ground. Then he undid the strings and reached into his bag of wonders. He extracted a wad of burlap. With great care, he unrolled the swaddling to reveal a small glass bottle of clear liquid.

I eyed it, then the bag. “What else is in that sack?”

“Three more bottles of the juice.”

“You always travel with four bottles of sun potion?”

He snorted. “Of course not. I had to risk my neck stealing these from the storeroom.”

The Gatekeeper rolled stiffly to a sitting position. My magic was a fat donut around her thick waist. She reminded me of a kid I saw once at Wasaga Beach wearing an inflatable inner tube. She fixed Mouse with a steady gaze. “I will see you dead.”

“Enough with the threats.” I allowed myself one steadying breath, then tugged up my jeans so I could take a look at my leg.

Immediately I wished I hadn't.

“It looks worse than it is,” Mouse said.

“Sure it does,” I said with my eyes closed. A flood of scents—sweet peas gone rank, faded wolf musk, and the faintest whiff of crushed herbs—teased my nose.

Mouse moved close enough to take a long, hard sniff. “The bugger who set it must have coated the teeth twice, because I can still smell the juka in the gash. That gash will need to be rinsed out well, else the bleeding won't stop.”

I cracked my eyes open to slits, then wordlessly pointed to the bottle of potion.

He sat back, appalled. “Not with the juice! A body doesn't splash that around. I risked my life and more to get these bottles.”

“You got a better idea?”

He scratched the back of his neck while he thought about that, then heaved an aggrieved sigh. “I'll do it, then. Your hands are none too steady.” He reached for my leg, then hissed in irritation when I drew it closer to my chest. “Don't be daft. I could have let her kill you.”

“I kidnapped you and frog-walked you over hill and dale all morning. Why should I trust you not to take your best shot while you can?”

“Because it's too late for me to go back!” he snapped. “The loss of what I've stolen will have been noticed now. I can't return to the castle.”

“You stole four bottles. You never planned on going back.”

His gaze held mine, then traveled to the Gatekeeper. “Your leg will need binding after this.” He got up to search the ground. “Here it is,” he said, picking up a sharp stone. He turned for his mistress. “I'll be needing a piece of your skirt. Mind your kicks.”

“Do not touch me, mutt,” she warned.

Before it got nasty, I fake-coughed. Twice.

She subsided into a glower.

Mouse crouched cautiously beside the Gatekeeper. He caught her skirt and used the stone to make a cut in its hem. “You were right on one thing,” he said as he tore a strip from his mistress's skirt.

“About what?” I returned the Gatekeeper's glare of death with a somewhat muted version.

So tired. So very tired.

“I had no plans to return.” He held up the strip and measured it with his eyes, then tore another few inches. “I knew I'd never see another morning of stable duty as soon as she woke me and told me to make haste. ‘Bring food for a pony and mead for me,' she said, ‘then meet me in the jewel room.' When I heard those words, I got the same feeling as when I'm holding the throwing bones, except more powerful.” He thumped his chest with the back of his fist. “Felt right here. I knew my future was about to cast for the final time.”

“What tipped you off? The word ‘mead' or ‘pony'?”

A corner of his mouth tugged up. “Neither. She wanted me to meet her in the jewel room.” He started walking back to me, the long strip of fabric bunched under his arm. “You see, for years, I've seen her suddenly start and touch her vest pocket. Then soon after that, she'd find a reason to visit the jewel room. She'd shut the door and stay in there for a day or more. Most thought she was doing her job polishing the pretties, but most didn't check the bottom of her skirt when she reappeared. Sometimes it was dusty, sometimes muddy, sometimes wet.” He knelt beside my outstretched leg and took time to arrange the things he needed for the task ahead. Bottle of potion, sharp rock, length of bandage. “I knew there had to be an exit to the outside world from inside of the jewel room.”

“That's not the type of secret you share with your servant.”

“Aye, it was one she'd kill me for knowing.” He touched my wound with light fingers. “I expected to be set alight with her balyfire sent as soon as I'd finished whatever task she set for me.”

“Those fireballs she tosses—she doesn't have an endless supply of them?”

“Not her. She's only middling high on the royal list.”

“How much magic does she have?”

“Only her balyfire. But her most powerful magics are the connections she has to important people. You don't play the fool with the Gatekeeper, and you don't expect her to play it either. Which is why I knew she meant to bury me with her secrets. So, instead of fetching water for the pony and mead for her, I broke the lock on the storeroom and took enough bottles to last me four moons.”

“You couldn't have taken more?”

“That's all that was left.” He slid his palm under my calf, then jerked his chin at the bottle of juice. “Will you want a sip before I start? To take the edge off?”

My trust wasn't won that easily.

“No,” I said.

He picked up the rock, then inquired, “Then will you want a stick to bite down on? Whatever has been scabbed over will have to be—”

“Don't want to hear the details, Mouse.”

“If you cry out—”

“Just. Do. It.”

“Right, then. Best you don't look.”

I averted my gaze to a nearby shrub. “Where were you going to run to?”

“I was going to seek my luck with what was left of the Raha'ells,” he replied. “Normally, they have no greater use for us mutts than the Fae, but I thought they might like to know about my mistress's special door. A secret entrance into the Royal Court's castle—now that would be a useful thing to know, don't you think?”

You think?

“For someone who wanted to sneak into the castle,” he added in case I wasn't following.

Fat luck. I might be dopey, but I wasn't that out of it that I couldn't pick up on the storm-the-castle significance of a back door into the well-guarded fortress. Though I wanted to make sure of one detail. “The castle's connected to the Spectacle grounds?”

“Aye, it is, and the guards won't be expecting trouble from within the castle, now would they?”

I thought of my bullet list. Finding Trowbridge was now on the top of it. Was there a place for rescuing a pack of Rahae'lls at the bottom?
No. We can't.
If we made it to the end of the list—the book destroyed, the Black Mage dead, my brother back to being Lexi—it was suicide to expect that we could free the Rahae'lls on top of all that.