City of Lies (22 page)

Physician Hoff cleared her throat. “The stink-rose, Lady Katerin, lets off poisonous vapors when it is dried and burned.”

Aunt Katerin. Of course. Frisia shook her head. How could she have forgotten? What was
wrong
with her this morning?

The king tried to say something, but he was overtaken by a coughing fit that sounded as if it might tear his lungs out. When he was quiet again, Physician Hoff leaned over the daybed and murmured, “I recommend just a
little
more of the potion, Your Majesty. And some for the princess as well, in case she breathed in the poison.”

Aunt Katerin sniffed the bowl and wrinkled her nose. “I cannot imagine
that
doing my brother any good. Take it away, Hoff.”

By now the stoves were packed with wood and the room was growing hot. Frisia could feel the sweat running down her back. At the same time, her hands felt cold again. She looked at Physician Hoff, and at Kord and Smutz, standing
to attention on either side of her, and knew that there was something she must remember. Something important. But what was it?

(A day and a night. Be ready for when it stops.…)

What? wondered Frisia. When
what
stops?

“Where is Grand Duke Karl?” growled the king. “Bring him to me. Bring all of them. There is much to be done”—
cough cough
—“if the army is to sail for Halt-Bern tomorrow morning.”

“But Your Majesty,” said Physician Hoff. “Surely you cannot go to Halt-Bern now?”

“No doubt that was the—purpose of this attack,” rasped the king. “But we are not so—easily beaten. Karl will lead the army in my stead.”

“And I will be there to help him,” said Frisia quickly.

The king grunted. “Not without me. Not—this time.”

Frisia’s heart beat like a war drum in her chest. It was her destiny to fight von Nagel. She
must
go!

“Father,” she said, as calmly as she could, “the troops are expecting me to be there.”

“Then they will be disappointed,” growled the king. “But they will fight nonetheless.”

And although she pleaded with him, he would not change his mind.

Frisia had first heard the rules of warfare when she was six years old. Since then, she had come to realize that one of them was more important than all the others put together.

Know your enemy.

The king was fascinated by the fates. He liked to consult them whenever possible, especially on the eve of war. And so, as soon as the grand dukes and margraves were gathered around his daybed, muttering to each other in shock and outrage, Frisia took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Father, may we have a fate-telling for the campaign ahead?”

The king dragged himself up to a sitting position. “Good”—
cough cough
—“idea. Who will do it? The Wilm lad?”

“Yes, Father.” Frisia raised her hand, and Ser Wilm strode forward, with his servants fluttering around him.

“You will find this—interesting,” said the king to the gathered nobles. “I had not seen a telling done this way—before last week. It is even better than a goose’s entrails.” He waved weakly at Ser Wilm. “Get on with it.”

Ser Wilm’s servants dragged a number of books and manuscripts out of the various cabinets and laid them open on the long table. Then one of them took Frisia’s hand. “Close your eyes please, Highness, and put your finger on each book, anywhere you please. But do not peek.”

Frisia closed her eyes and stretched out her hand. Once again she had the feeling that she was sharing her body with
someone else. And that the other one, the one who was
not
Frisia, had as much riding on the fate-telling as
she
did.

“Thank you, Highness,” said the servant, when Frisia had touched all twelve books. “You can open your eyes now.”

“Is that it?” growled the Margrave of Numme.

“No, the interesting bit comes next,” said the king.

Ser Wilm handed six of the books back to his servants. The others he moved around according to a pattern that Frisia could not see.

“But this is not the fates,” protested the Margrave of Numme. “He could turn it any way he wished.”

The king laughed. “That is the beauty of it. The lad cannot read. He does not know what the fate is, any more than we do. There now, he has finished. Frisia, tell us what it says.”

Frisia approached the books cautiously. Ser Wilm put his finger on the first word she had chosen. “Fire,” she read.

The second one was
destroy the household
. The third page listed all the weapons in the royal armory, but the bit that Ser Wilm pointed to was
one longbow, inlaid with silver
. The fourth was an illuminated drawing of a snarling wolf cub. The fifth was another drawing, of a ship this time, sailing toward the horizon with no land in sight. The sixth said,
do not hold back
.

“Makes no sense to me,” said the Margrave of Numme.

“It’s like a code,” said Frisia. “You have to work it out.”

The king’s face was gray with exhaustion; nothing but his iron willpower still held him upright. But he nodded, pleased. “Go on.”

“First, the fire,” said Frisia. “It might mean anything, but it comes just before ‘destroy the household.’ I think the household is probably Merne. And the fire is von Nagel, setting out to destroy us.”

The grand dukes rumbled their agreement. Their beards and mustaches wagged and they leaned forward, interested now.

“The longbow is obvious,” said Frisia. “Our bowmen are one of our greatest strengths. And the emblem of the wolf flies on all our banners.” She paused, looking for something in the last part of the fate-telling that would declare her destiny to the listeners. But she could see nothing.

Her heart sank. “The ship is—it is our army’s voyage to Halt-Bern. And the last one tells us that we must not hold back, we must go with great urgency and fight with all our strength.”

There was a moment of silence, then the king said, “It is good—to have our plans confirmed. But I confess—I was expecting more. Never mind, there are plenty of other things to—”
Cough cough cough
.

All this time Physician Hoff had been hovering in the background with a look of deep disapproval on her face. Now she jumped forward. “Please, Your Highness, this is too
much. You must rest. And take more of the potion, I beg you.”

“I will rest,” growled the king, “when I am ready.”

He raised his hand, and the gathered nobles knelt to take their battle vows. In rumbling voices they swore that they would fight till every drop of blood in their bodies was gone; that they would slaughter von Nagel and his followers, or cut their own ears off in shame. Then, with a great creaking of leather boots and rattling of swords, they stamped out of the library. Only Grand Duke Karl stayed behind.

Frisia stared at the floor, bitterly disappointed. She had been so sure that the fate would convince the king to let her go to Halt-Bern. But the whole thing had been a waste of time.

In the back of her mind, the strange voice whispered.
(I think there’s more. Go deeper.…)

The princess’s neck prickled. She bent over the table. In the corner of the library, Ser Wilm’s servants put their white caps together and murmured to each other.

“Father,” said Frisia.

The king was lying down now, discussing strategy with the grand duke, and he was clearly annoyed at being interrupted. “What is it?”

“There is another message here,” said Frisia. Quickly, before the king could dismiss her, she said, “The first two parts are the same. The fire threatens the household. Von
Nagel is setting out to destroy Merne. But the longbow—look, it’s no ordinary longbow. It’s inlaid with silver.”

“Pfft,” said the king. “That means nothing.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Frisia. “But when you look at the
next
part of the fate, it becomes clearer. The wolf cub.”

Her father stared at her blankly. “Don’t you see?” said Frisia, her voice trembling with excitement. “Who is the wolf of Merne?”

“The king, of course,” said Grand Duke Karl.

“Well then, if the king is the wolf, who is the wolf
cub
?”

The room was as silent as the empty dungeons. The king narrowed his eyes and glared at Frisia. She glared back at him. “
I
am,” she said. “And I carry a bow inlaid with silver rings from our conquered territories on the Faroon Peninsula—”

The king’s face reddened. “Are you trying to twist the words of the fates for your own ends, girl?” he growled.

“No,” said Frisia, standing very straight. “I am trying to discover their true meaning.”

“And what makes you think that you have found it?”

“Because it makes sense. You were right; we
did
expect more. And this is it. Look at the last two parts of the fate. The ship—I don’t think it’s a ship after all. I think it’s me, sailing away from everything I know. You see, the land is out of sight.… ”

“Hmph,” said the king.

“And then it says, ‘Do not hold back.’ Perhaps this is the wolf’s last chance to beat von Nagel. And you must throw everything against him.” She took a deep breath. “Including the wolf cub.”

She stopped. There was not a sound except for the crackling of the wood in the iron stove.

Grand Duke Karl cleared his throat. “I would not be sorry to have her with us,” he said to the king. “She does not have a quarter of your strength, but when it comes to courage and strategy, she is indeed the wolf’s daughter.”

“Hmph,” said the king again, and broke into another fit of coughing.

“Your Majesty—” said Physician Hoff.

“Wait,” growled the king. His eyes were sunk deep in his head by now, and his beard was like dry grass. But he dragged himself back up to a sitting position and turned his fierce gaze on Frisia.

“I expect you to come back with von Nagel’s head in a sack,” he rumbled.

Frisia’s heart leaped. “I will, Father. And the ears of his lords.”

The king laughed weakly. “Ha, that will give me my strength back.”

In the crowded depths of the princess’s mind, the strange voice whispered.
(Be ready for when it stops.…)

Frisia put her hand on the hilt of her sword. She
was ready
. She didn’t know what was coming, but she was as ready as she could be.

“So, wolf cub,” said the king, “you will board the
Falcon
at first light and sail with the tide. Do you hear me? Well? Speak up.”

Frisia held herself steady. “I hear you, Father.”

Then she spun on her heel and marched out of the room. In the back of her mind, the voice set up a steady whisper.

(Be Ready.… Be Ready.… Be Ready.…)

Pounce leaned against a wall and watched the girl from Jewel behaving like an idjit. Walking through doors that weren’t there. Talking to people who didn’t exist. And all the time with that stuck-up expression on her face as if she thought she was something special.

He poked his tongue out at her, although he knew she couldn’t see him. Truth was, he was jealous. “Don’t seem fair,” he muttered to himself, “that a bunch of visitin’ snotties can catch a Big Lie straight off. Not when I been tryin’ for years.”

Truth was, it hurt to see Mouse caught up in someone else’s Lie. Pounce had been watching him for most of the
day and all of the night to make sure people were treating him properly. To make sure nothing bad happened to him.

Now it was nearly dawn, but the rain had held off and the streets were still full of revelers. Pounce was sick of them, sick of the whole Festival. He hadn’t told a single lie ever since he’d found that Mouse was missing.

“Idjits,” he muttered as a group of old men danced past him. “Cretins. Stupid old fools.”

He turned around and kicked the wall with his bare toes. It hurt terribly, which was good, because it took his mind off the hurt inside him.

Truth was,
he
was the idjit. He should’ve known that Mouse would try and save the visiting snotties once he found out what was going on. The little boy had always been too soft. And now he was well and truly caught up in Harrow’s business.