“A lovers’ tiff?”
“Of course not!”
“Then allow me to escort you in.” He offered her his arm, and after a moment she took it. “And don’t worry about Finn, Claudia. Finn is history.”
Together, they walked across the lawns to the ball.
ATTIA FELL.
She fell like Sapphique had fallen. A terrible, flapping, tumbling fall, arms splayed out, with no breath, no sight, no hearing. She fell through a roaring vortex, into a mouth, down a throat that swallowed her. Her clothes and hair, her very skin, rippled and seemed to be torn away so that she was nothing but a screaming soul plunging headlong into the abyss.
But then Attia knew that the world was impossible, that it was a creature that mocked her. Because the air thickened and nets of cloud formed under her—dense springy clouds that tumbled her from one to another—and somewhere there was laughter that might have been Keiro’s and might have been the Prison’s, as if she couldn’t tell them apart now.
In a flicker between gasps she saw the world re-form; the hall floor convulsed, split, rolled away. A river erupted under the viaduct, a black torrent that rose up to meet her so fast that she had hardly snatched a breath before she had plunged into it, deep, deep into a darkness of frothing bubbles.
A membrane of water webbed her wide mouth.
And then her head burst out, gasping, and the torrent was slowing, drifting her under dark girders, into caves, into a dim underworld. Dead Beetles were washed along beside her; the stream was a conduit of rust, red as blood, channeled between steep metal sides, its surface greasy and bobbing with debris, stinking, the outfall of a world. As if it was the aorta of some great being, sick with bacteria, never to be healed.
The conduit tipped her over a weir and left her, sprawled, on a gritty shore, where Keiro was crouched on hands and knees, retching into the black sand.
Wet, cold, unbelievably battered, she tried to sit up, but couldn’t. And yet his choked voice was a rasp of triumph.
“It needs us, Attia! We’ve won. We’ve beaten it.”
She didn’t answer.
She was watching the Eye.
THE SHELL grotto was well named.
A vast cavern, its walls and pendulous roof gleamed with mother-of-pearl and crystal; each shell arranged in patterns that whorled and spiraled. False stalactites, hand-adorned with a million minute crystals, hung from the ceiling.
It was a glassy, dazzling spectacle.
Claudia danced with Giles, with men with fox faces and knights’ helms, with highwaymen and harlequins. She felt icily calm, and had no idea where Finn was, but perhaps he could see her. She hoped he could. She chatted, fluttered the fan, made eyes at everyone through the slanted holes of the mask, and told herself she was enjoying it.
When the chimes of the clock formed of a million tiny periwinkles struck eleven, she sipped iced tea from rosy glasses and nibbled on the cakes and cool sorbets handed out by serving girls dressed as nymphs.
And then she saw them.
They wore masks, but she knew they were the Privy Council. A sudden influx of loud, brilliantly dressed men, some in long robes, their voices dry and parched from debate, harsh with relief.
She edged to the nearest, safe behind her mask. “Sire. Have the Council come to a verdict?”
The man winked behind his owl face and toasted her with a glass. “We certainly have, my pretty kitten.” He came close, his breath foul. “Meet me behind the pavilion and I might even tell you what it was.”
She bowed, flicked the fan, and backed away.
Stupid, simpering fools. But this changed everything!
The Queen wouldn’t wait for tomorrow; suddenly Claudia realized they had been tricked, that the announcement would be made here, tonight, and the loser arrested on the spot. Sia had outguessed them. She had to find Finn!
OUTSIDE, ON the dark lawns beside the lake, Finn stood with his back to the distant Grotto and ignored the silky voice. But it spoke again, and he felt it like a knife between his shoulder blades.
“They’ve reached the verdict. We both know what it will be.”
The eagle face was reflected, hideously swollen, in the glass Finn held. He said, “Then let’s finish it now. Right here.”
The lawns were deserted, the lake a ripple of boats and torches.
Giles laughed, a low amusement. “You know I accept.”
Finn nodded. A great relief surged up in him. He threw down the wineglass, turned, and drew his sword.
But Giles was beckoning to a servant, who came from the shadows with a small leather case.
“Oh no,” Giles said softly. “After all, you were the one who challenged me. That means by all the rules of honor I get to choose the weapons.”
He flipped the lid open.
Starlight gleamed on two long, ivory-handled pistols.
FORCING HER way through the crowd Claudia searched the glittering room, was snatched into the dance and squirmed out of it, ducked under curtains into kissing couples, dodged troupes of strolling minstrels. The ball became a nightmare of grotesque faces, but where was Finn?
Suddenly, near the arched entrance a jester in cap and bells sprang out in front of her. “Oh Claudia, is that you? I insist you dance with me. Most of these women are complete clodhoppers.”
“Caspar! Have you seen Finn?”
The jester’s painted lips curled in a smile. They came close to her ear and whispered, “Yes. But I’ll only tell you where he is if you dance with me.”
“Caspar, don’t be an idiot …”
“It’s the only way you’ll find him.”
“I haven’t got time …” But he had caught her hands and dragged her into the gavotte, a great stately square of couples pacing and joining hands to the music, their masks forming crazy partnerships of devil and cockerel, goddess and hawk.
“Caspar!” She hauled him out and pinned him against the glittering wall. “Tell me where he is now or you get my knee where it hurts. I mean it!”
He scowled, waving the bells crossly. “You’re a total bore about him. Forget him.” His eyes went sly. “Because my dear mama’s explained it all to me. You see, when the Pretender is chosen, then Finn is dead and after a few weeks we expose the other one as a fake too and so I get the throne.”
“So he is a fake?”
“Of course he is.”
She stared at him so hard, he said, “You look really strange. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“Did you know that when Finn dies, I do?”
He was silent. Then, “My mother wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let her.”
“She’ll eat you alive, Caspar. Now where is Finn? ”
The jester’s face had lost its mirth. “He’s with the other one. They’ve gone out by the lake.”
For a second she stared at him and felt nothing but cold fear.
Then she ran.
FINN STOOD in the darkness and watched the muzzle of the pistol as it rose. Giles held it at arm’s length, ten paces away across the dark lawn. He held it steady, and the hole that the bullet would fire from was a perfect circle of blackness, the dark eye of death.
Finn stared into it.
He would not flinch.
He wouldn’t move.
Every muscle was so tense he felt he would break, that he had become wooden, that the shot would fracture him into pieces.
But he would not move.
He felt calm, as if this was the moment of decision. If he died here he could never have been Giles. If he was meant to live, he would live. Stupid, Keiro would say.
But it made him feel strong.
And as the Pretender’s finger clicked back on the trigger, he felt its answer deep in his mind, as if a cascade of images was shifting and unlocking.
“Giles! No!”
He didn’t know which of them Claudia’s scream was for.
But neither of them was looking at her when Giles fired.
IT WAS a huge Eye and it wa
s brilliantly red.
For a moment Attia thought it was the dragon of the old story, its head low, staring at her, and then she saw that it was the opening of a cave, that outside it a fiery light burned.
She picked herself up, and stared at Keiro.
He looked terrible, just as she must: wet, ragged, bruised. But the water had made his hair yellow again; he slicked it back and said, “I must have been crazy bringing you.”
She limped past him, too weary to even care anymore.
The cave was a red velvet chamber, perfectly circular, with seven tunnels leading out of it. In the center of the room, cooking something over a small bright fire, a man sat with his back to them. He had long hair, and wore a dark robe, and he didn’t turn.
The meat crackled, its smell fabulous.
Keiro glanced at the hastily rigged tent, the gaudy stripes, the small wheeled cart where a cyber-ox chewed something green and soggy. “No,” he said. “Impossible.”
He stepped forward, but the man said, “Still with your handsome pal then, Attia?”
Her eyes widened with shock.
She said, “Rix?”
“Who else? And how did I get here? By the Art Magicke, sweetie.” He turned and gave his sly gap-tooth grin. “Did you really think I was just some backstreet conjuror?” He winked and leaned forward, sprinkling some dark dust on the flames.
Keiro sat. “I don’t believe this.”
“Believe it.” Rix stood. “Because I am the Dark Enchanter, and now I enchant you both into magic sleep.”
Smoke was billowing from the fire, sweet and cloying.
Keiro jumped up and stumbled, and fell. Darkness entered Attia’s nose, her throat, her eyes.
It took her hand and led her into silence.
FINN FELT the bullet pass his chest like a crack of lightning.
Instantly he raised his pistol and pointed it straight at Giles’s head. The eagle mask tilted.
From the clock tower the chimes of midnight began; Claudia, gasping for breath, couldn’t move, even though she knew the Queen would be announcing the verdict right now. “Finn. Please,” she whispered.
“You never believed me.”
“I believe you now. Don’t shoot him.”
He smiled, his eyes dark under the black mask. His finger clicked the trigger steadily back.
Giles stumbled away.
“Keep still,” Finn growled.
“Look.” The Pretender spread his hands. “We can make a deal.”
“Sia chose well. But you’re no prince.”
“Let me go. I’ll tell them. Explain everything.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” The trigger trembled.
“I swear …”
“Too late,” Finn said, and fired.
Giles crashed back onto the grass with a speed that made Claudia screech; she ran to him and knelt over him.
Finn came up and stood gazing down. “I should have killed him,” he said.
The bullet had struck the Pretender’s arm; it hung broken, and the impact had knocked him senseless. Claudia turned. A great hubbub was rising from the lit grotto; dancers were running out tearing off their masks, unsheathing swords.
“His coat,” she said.
Finn hauled him up and they stripped the silk coat from him; Finn shrugged his own off and struggled into the other. As he fitted the eagle mask over his face Claudia tugged the dark coat and mask onto the Pretender. “Keep the pistol,” she hissed as the soldiers came racing up.
Finn grabbed her and held the pistol to her back as she swore and struggled.
The guard dropped to one knee. “Sire, the verdict has been given.”
“What was it?” Claudia gasped.
The guard ignored her. “You indeed are Prince Giles.”
Finn gave a hard laugh that made Claudia stare at him.
“I know who I am.” His breath came harsh from inside the eagle’s beak. “This Scum from the Prison is wounded. Take him and throw him in some cell. Where is the Queen?”
“In the ballroom …”
“Stand aside.” Leading Claudia like a prisoner he stalked off toward the lights. Once out of earshot he muttered, “Where are the horses?”
“At Shear’s Folly.”
He dropped her arm, threw the pistol into the grass, and took one look back at his lost, enchanted Palace. Then he said, “Let’s go.”
WHAT KEY UNLOCKS THE HEART?
22
… deep forests and dark lanes. A Realm of magic and beauty. A land like those in—King legends. Endor’s Decree
—King Endor’s Decree
Lightning flickered.
It blinked silently across the sky, lighting the underside of the ominous clouds, and Jared pulled the nervous horse to a halt.
He waited, counting the seconds. Finally, when the weight of tension seemed almost too heavy to bear, the rumble broke; it thundered across the sky above the Forest, as if a being of enormous anger raged over the treetops.
The night was close, sticky with humidity. The reins in his hands creaked, the soft leather greasy with sweat. He leaned forward over the horse’s neck, breathing painfully, every bone in his body aching.
At first he had ridden recklessly, afraid of pursuit, turning off the road onto obscure forest tracks, anything that led west, toward the Wardenry. But now, after hours, the track had dwindled to this narrow foxtrail, the undergrowth so matted it brushed his knees and the horse’s flank, raising a rank smell of trampled weeds and the decay of centuries of leaves.
He was deep in the forest; there was no way of seeing the stars, and though he wasn’t really lost—he always carried a small way-finder—there was no way on from here. The ground was broken with streams and slopes, the darkness intense. And the storm was coming.
Jared rubbed the horse’s mane. He would have to backtrack to the stream. But he was so tired, and the pain that lived inside him had somehow come out and was wrapping itself around him; he couldn’t help thinking he was riding deeper into it, that its thorns were the forest’s.
He was thirsty and hot. He would go back to the stream and drink.
The horse whickered as he coaxed it; its ears flickered as the thunder rumbled again. Jared let it find the way; he only realized that his eyes were closed when the reins slid from his fingers and the horse’s long neck dipped; there was a quiet slurp of water.
“Good boy,” he whispered.
Carefully, he slid down, holding on to the saddlebow. As soon as his feet met the ground he crumpled, as if he had no strength even to stand. Only clinging on kept him upright.
Ghostly umbels of hemlock rose all around, higher than his head, their perfume sickly. Jared breathed deeply; then he slid to his knees and felt in the darkness until his fingers touched water.
Icy cold, it flowed among stems and stones.
He cupped it and drank, and its cold made him cough, but it was better than wine. He drank more, splashing his face and hair and the back of his neck with its freezing shock. Then he unrolled the syringe from his pack and injected the usual dose.
He had to sleep. There was fog in his mind, a numbness that scared him. He wound the Sapient coat around himself and curled up in the scratchy, rustling nettles. But now he could not close his eyes.
It wasn’t the forest he feared. It was the thought that he might die here, and never wake again. That the horse would wander away and the leaves of autumn cover him, that he would decay to bones and never be found. That Claudia would …
He told himself to stop. But the pain laughed at him. The pain was his dark twin now, sleeping with its arms tight about him.
With a shudder he sat up, pushing back wet hair. This was hysteria. He was quite certainly not about to die here. For one thing, he had information Finn and Claudia needed, about the door in the Prison’s heart, about the Glove. He intended to get it to them.
For another, his death was unlikely to be this easy.
Then he saw the star.
It was red, and small. It was watching him. He tried to stop shivering and focus, but the glimmer was hard to see. Either his fever was causing him to hallucinate, or this was some marshgas, flickering above the ground. Grasping a branch, he scrambled to his knees.
The red Eye winked.
Jared reached up, caught the reins, and dragged the horse from its grazing, toward the light.
He was burning, the darkness tugging him back, each step a clutch of pain, a shiver of sweat. Nettles stung him; he pushed through low branches, a cloud of metallic moths, a sky where a thousand stars slid and slithered.
Under a vast oak he stopped, breathless. Before him was a clearing, with a fire burning there, and feeding it with kindling a thin, dark-haired man, flamelight playing over his face.
The man turned.
“Come, Master Jared,” he said quietly. “Come to the fire.”
Jared crumpled, holding the oak bough, its ridged bark powdery under his nails.
Then the man’s arms were around him. “I’ve got you,” the voice said. “I’ve got you now.”
WHEN ATTIA wanted to wake she found she couldn’t. Sleep lay heavy on her eyelids like stones. Her arms were behind her and for a moment she was back in the tiny box-bed in the cell her family had once called home, a cramped corridor where six families camped in ramshackle shelters of stolen wire and mesh.
She smelled the damp and tried to turn and something held her still.
She realized she was sitting upright, and a serpent was coiled around her wrists.
Instantly, her eyes snapped open.
Rix was squatting by the fire. He was folding a small wad of ket, and he blurred before her as he slipped it into his cheek and chewed.
She tugged. There was no snake; her hands were tied behind her and she leaned against something warm and slumped. She realized it was Keiro. Rix had trussed them back to back.
“Well, Attia.” Rix’s voice was cold. “You look a little uncomfortable.”