Fools errand, p.37
Fool's Errand, page 37
Persephone stumbled then and fell.
Azriel’s strong hands were upon her before she hit the dirt.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said as he gently lifted her to her feet.
Persephone said nothing, only pulled away from him and kept climbing.
They retraced the path they’d followed into the mines, just barely making it back to the shelter of the jungle before the sky began to lighten. Persephone was shaking with exhaustion and hunger by that point, but she was too agitated to even consider Azriel’s suggestion that she try for a few hours’ sleep. Tossing back the handful of the berries her worried husband had hastily foraged, they set out.
Thanks to Miter’s tendency to snap twigs and pull off leaves while he ran, they were easily able to follow back to the Gorgish city the jungle trail they’d taken to get to the mines. Worried that if they did not reach Rachel by sunset she’d head to Parthania to face the Regent alone, Persephone ignored Azriel’s anxious protests that she was pushing herself too hard and insisted upon running almost the entire way.
Even so, it was late in the day when they finally reached the Gorgish city. Skirting it, they hurried toward the field of emerald-green grass. Crossing through the field without so much as a passing thought to spike-bottomed Gorgish pit traps, they finally reached the red-walled canyon that led into—and out of—the Valley of Gorg.
In spite of feeling more exhausted than she could ever remember feeling in her life, Persephone picked up her pace. She was anxious to see that Rachel was safe and well and still there—and also to apologize to her for how she’d behaved during their last conversation. Although Rachel’s uncanny shrewdness sometimes made her a most aggravating person to have around, Persephone knew that her friend always, always meant well. And she was so sweet and kind—sweeter and kinder than Persephone, if the truth be told.
After all,thought Persephone, it wasn’t me who said she’d happily lay down her life to see the prophecy of the Gypsy Kingfulfilled. I wanted to run away and find a destiny that belonged to none but—
Her thoughts were cut short by the sight of a large, bloody lump writhing on the ground just beyond the far end of the canyon.
It took her brain one endless second to process what it was.
Rachel.
“Oh, no,” gasped Persephone, breaking into a run. “OH, NO!”
Azriel made a grab for her but missed. He yelled something after her, but the only thing she could hear was Rachel. Rachel. Rachel. Rachel.
Something whizzed so close to her head that she felt the air move, but she was too panicked to stop and investigate. As she burst out of the far end of the canyon, it fleetingly occurred to Persephone that whizzing projectiles were not a good sign. Even as it did so, she was attacked from the side by something that sent her flying.
Just before she hit the ground, she caught a glimpse of homespun.
FIFTY-SIX
Nine white beans left in the jar
SCRATCHING AND SNARLING like a wildcat, Persephone reached for her dagger. Seeing the movement, her attacker moved to disarm her. As he did, Persephone drove the heel of her free hand upward as hard as she could. The blow landed on her attacker’s chin with such force that his teeth snapped together and his head snapped back. Before he could recover from this most unpleasant surprise, Persephone pulled her hand back, balled it into a fist and punched him in the throat. Though he started to cough and gag, he was not sufficiently incapacitated for her to deliver another hit. Using his greater weight and strength to easily roll her onto her stomach, he quickly bound her wrists behind her back. When he was done, he bound her ankles and then rolled her back over and lifted her into a sitting position.
Squatting in front of her with his elbows leaning on his homespun-clad thighs, the man—who bore an unusually shaped wine-coloured birthmark on one cheek—anxiously inquired as to whether she was all right.
Though she was yet panting from exertion and panic, Persephone managed to find the strength to spit in his face.
Instead of angering the man, her response seemed to make him very unhappy. “I knew you’d not take kindly to what I’d been asked to do,” he sighed as he wiped her spittle off his cheek.
Jerking her gaze away from his face, Persephone looked toward Rachel. When she saw that her friend was no longer moving, she felt her gorge rise. “What have you done to Rachel?” she asked with mounting hysteria. “What have you done to her?”
“Nothing, nothing!” cried the man. Jumping to his feet, he ran over to where Rachel was lying. Pulling a rag from her mouth, he gently helped her to sit up.
Though her hands were also bound behind her back, Rachel smiled and croaked, “I’m quite well, Princess.”
Persephone was so relieved that she nearly burst into tears. “But … but I don’t understand,” she said weakly. “Your shift … it’s covered in blood.”
“It’s not her blood,” explained the man hurriedly. He gestured to a dead hare dangling from a branch on the same tree to which all three of the horses they’d purchased in Syon were tethered. “I needed to draw you out of the canyon alone.”
At the word “alone,” it suddenly struck Persephone that in spite of his solemn vow to protect her with his life, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. Her heart seizing up at the memory of that whizzing projectile, she blurted, “Where is he? Where is—”
“Don’t worry about him, either,” said the man hastily. “He should awaken soon.”
“You put him to sleep?” asked Persephone as her heart started beating again.
“In a manner of speaking,” said the man uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to hurt him but I was afraid that if I had to take you both on at once that someone would get killed.”
“Yes— you,” growled Persephone.
“No, Highness. It would have been your husband who’d have gotten killed, for you are the reason I am here, and I would never hurt Rachel,” said the man, who paused before shyly adding, “You see, I … am her personal hero.”
“You’re what?” said Persephone blankly.
Rachel scrutinized the man, a look of dawning recognition coming over her as she did so. “I remember you now,” she said slowly. “We bumped heads in the market in Syon.”
“Yes,”said the man, who seemed positively thrilled by the knowledge that Rachel remembered him. “I’d been watching the princess ever since you all left Parthania, but when she and her Gypsy husband sailed away and didn’t come back, I started watching you instead.”
At these ominous words, a shiver ran down Persephone’s spine. “Why?” she asked, before Rachel could say anything. “Why were you watching us? Why were you following us? Who sent you?”
“The king,” said the man.
“The KING?”exclaimed Persephone.
“Yes,” nodded the man. “My name is Zdeno—I am one of His Majesty’s personal guards. The night before you left Parthania, the king dismissed all of his other attendants and called me into his chambers. Whispering as though he feared we might be overheard, he told me that he had a mission for me and that if I performed it as he believed I could that poets would someday write verses praising my heroism and minstrels would sing of how I’d single-handedly changed the course of Glyndorian history.”
“Very impressive,” murmured Rachel.
Zdeno beamed.
“And?”prompted Persephone impatiently.
“His Majesty said that you were undertaking a quest.”
“And he wanted you to follow me,” guessed Persephone.
“No,” said Zdeno, surprising her. “He wanted me to follow whoever followed you—”
“No one followed us,” said Persephone. “We lost them shortly after leaving Parthania.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Zdeno. “General Murdock and his men tracked you all the way into the Great Forest.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Zdeno rushed to reassure her. “In addition to seeing the General and his men dead or as good as, I saw to it that none of the General’s reports made it back to the Regent. That was the first part of my orders.”
“What was the second part?” asked Persephone, who already had a fair idea what was coming.
“To keep you from returning to Parthania, come what may,” he replied, cringing a little in anticipation of her reaction. “The king said … he said you’d not be best pleased but that it was vital for the good of the realm.”
Persephone heaved an exasperated sigh and let her head fall forward.
Oh, Finn! she thought, affection for him swelling in her breast. Azriel was right when he guessed that you’d want to keep me away until you were sure it was safe for me to return. I underestimated you.
But you underestimated me, too.
Slowly, she lifted her head and fixed her gaze upon the man in meanest homespun.
“The king was wrong, Zdeno,” she said softly.
“Highness?” he said cautiously, but in a voice that told Persephone he was already having doubts.
She nodded as though to confirm his unspoken misgivings. “The king fears that I may put myself in danger if I return to Parthania, and he may be right,” she acknowledged. “But if I do not return by sunset eight days hence, he will be dead.”
Zdeno looked horrified.
“The Regent will murder him, Zdeno,” she continued bluntly. “Oh, I am quite sure he’ll make it look like a tragic accident, but the king will be just as dead for all that. How could that be good for the realm?”
“Well.”
“Think, Zdeno, think!” urged Persephone, the air around her crackling with the power of her will.
Looking very close to panic, Zdeno bobbed his head convulsively, squeezed his eyes shut and thought so hard that tiny beads of sweat popped out on his forehead.
At last, exhaling heavily, he opened his eyes and stammered, “I think. I think that the realm would be the poorer for the loss of either of you.”
“But I am only a princess,” said Persephone softly. “And he is the king.”
That night, after Zdeno untied the girls and Persephone checked to see whether Azriel was all right (he was, other than a bump on his forehead and a little incidental damage to his manly pride), the four of them supped and slept. The next morning, Ivan arrived with the dawn; shortly thereafter, the four companions and the hawk set out for the imperial capital.
During the long journey south, Persephone, Azriel, Rachel and Zdeno talked of little but the looming confrontation with the Regent. Persephone—who well recalled all the evil looks that Mordecai had ever cast at Azriel—tried to get Azriel to agree to let her face the Regent alone. He categorically refused to consider such a thing. He said he’d rather die than let her walk into such danger alone—he said that if anyone should walk into such danger alone it should be him. He sought to assure her that if they spoke the words they’d agreed upon, the Regent would be fooled, Finn would be saved and all would be well.
Eventually Persephone gave up arguing with him.
She could not help noticing, however, that in spite of his assurances that all would be well, for once Azriel did not hint at a future beyond the next few days. Each night when the campfire finally died out and the stars overhead began twinkling in earnest, he merely gathered her into his arms and held her as though he never meant to let her go.
When they got to within a day of Parthania, Persephone wound a dirty scarf around her head and bid Rachel to do the same. She did not think she could cope with the scrutiny of being recognized as the king’s long-lost sister just now, and she did not see how such recognition would help anything.
Even with her face covered, Persephone worried that as they passed through the city gates she might be recognized by one of the New Men whose job it was to scrutinize. As it turned out, however, she was not given a second glance, the New Men being entirely focused on shouting oaths at a farmer whose cart had broken down just inside the gates, causing a large pile of potatoes to be dumped in the middle of the thoroughfare. Intensely grateful that she was not riding Fleet (who, in spite of the fact that potatoes were not his favourite tuber, would undoubtedly have made a noisy scene trying to get at them), Persephone chirruped and gave her horse a nudge with her heels to encourage him to catch up with the others. Zdeno had an uncle who owned a storage shed near the common harbour. The plan they’d all come up with called for Persephone and Azriel to drop Rachel and Zdeno at his uncle’s shed before proceeding together to the palace. That way, they’d at least have someplace to flee to if their bluff was called.
That was the plan they’d all come up with.
As it happened, Persephone—who’d given up arguing with Azriel but who’d never given up her fierce desire to see him kept safe from harm at the Regent’s hands—had come up with a plan of her own. And that is why, when they reached the shed and Azriel turned to ask Zdeno where they might stable the horses, she slipped off her horse, ducked out of sight and headed to the castle to face the Regent.
Alone.
FIFTY-SEVEN
One white bean left in the jar
MORDECAI SAT ALONE in the king’s outer chamber staring at the nearly empty jar of white beans he held in his gnarled hand.
Though he obviously could have chosen to sit in the king’s chair by the fire, he’d chosen instead the seat upon which the nursemaid used to plant her fat arse back in the days when she still had a fat arse. She hardly had any arse now. Months spent enjoying Mordecai’s hospitality below ground had seen to that. It had seen to other things, as well—the loss of her finger and several of her teeth, the burns and boils that scored her sagging skin and, of course, the many tiny bite marks from the rats that crept out of the darkness to gnaw upon her when she could no longer keep her eyes open to fight them off. Unfortunately, the months had not seen her spirit broken. If Mordecai hadn’t been so pleased with the way everything else was unfolding, he might have been enraged by her unwillingness to crumble before him—especially given all the personal attention he’d given in an effort to make this happen.
But he was pleased—no, not pleased. Euphoric. So much so that it had been difficult not to laugh in the face of that high-and-mighty bastard Bartok when he’d come to the door of the royal chambers demanding to see his son-in-law, the king. Mordecai smiled broadly as he recalled his solemn response.
So sorry, my lord, he’d said in a hushed voice. But the king—
A loud knock at the door startled Mordecai out of his reverie.
“What?” he shouted.
A liveried guard—not one of the fools personally selected by the king but rather one of Mordecai’s own New Men—took three brisk steps into the room, halted and rapped his poleaxe smartly against the polished floor.
“The Princess Persephone is back!” he cried, unable to contain his excitement at the sudden reappearance of the king’s long-lost sister. “She’s right out there in the corridor and insists upon speaking with Your Grace at once!”
Mordecai stood up, his cold heart beating very fast. Though he’d been expecting her and the lying cockroach, now that the moment had arrived, he found that he was trembling. Not just at the prospect of seeing her again but also at the possibility that she brought with her the location of the healing pool. He knew that he ought not get his hopes up, because the more likely possibility was that she was here to beg for more time, but still. The idea that he might be mere hours away from finding himself well and whole on top of everything else? Truly, it was enough to make him believe that the Fates were on his side.
“Well?” he snapped with a malevolent glare at the broad shoulders of the grinning moron before him. “What are you waiting for? Send her in!”
After once more rapping his poleaxe on the polished floor, the moron hurriedly slipped out the chamber door.
The next minute, she was there.
She was dirty and dressed like a peasant. Even so, Mordecai felt his loins stir as he drank in the sight of her. Her wild, dark hair hung in waves about her delicate face; her violet eyes glowed like amethysts. She was as ripe as before—riper, even. The set of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin reminded him how different she was from simpering sows like the big-nosed idiot—sows with whom he’d dallied but would not dally again.
“Hello, Princess,” he breathed.
“Hello,” she replied, lifting that chin of hers a little higher still.
Smiling broadly, Mordecai leaned forward and shook the nearly empty jar of white beans at her. “You were almost too late,” he whispered.
“But not too late,” said the princess, not returning his smile.
“No,” agreed Mordecai. Tucking the jar into the pocket of his fur-lined robe, he said, “Can I assume from the fact that you are here alone that the cockroach got himself squashed at some point during your little quest?”
When the princess did not answer, Mordecai shrugged. It didn’t matter either way. A week ago, Murdock had set a special watch at the city gates—New Men whose sole task it was to spot the princess when she arrived in Parthania and thereafter not let her or her companions out of their sight.
If the cockroach who’d dared to marry the princess hadn’t yet been squashed, he soon would be.
“Don’t you want to know if I found the healing pool?” she suddenly asked.
His cold heart beating faster than ever, Mordecai held his breath and willed her to say the words he longed to hear.
She did.
“I did,” she said.
“Liar,” came Mordecai’s automatic response.
