Fool's Errand (13 page)

“I thought you didn't believe in the pool.”

“You thought wrong,” said Mordecai, tossing the halfeaten pear to one side. “I have always believed that it is out there. That is why I allowed the cockroach and the princess to live—so that they might follow the clues and bring knowledge of the pool to me.”

“So the promise she made to help Azriel find the pool was a promise made to
you?”
exclaimed the king.

“She didn't tell you?” said Mordecai, sticking out his lower lip in mock sympathy. “Well, I'm not surprised. She has ever been a lying—”

“She didn't
lie
, she just didn't tell the entire truth,” interrupted Finn. “And from the sounds of it, she had little choice in the matter.”

“Just as you have little choice but to do as you're told,” said Mordecai. Clapping his hands together as though in delight, he said, “Isn't it wonderful to know how much the two of you have in common?”

Finn ignored the taunt. “You've told me what will happen if my sister and Azriel return with proof that they've found the healing pool,” he said tightly. “What will happen if they do not?”

Mordecai said nothing, only smiled.

The young king stared at his Regent. “You are a monster,” he said softly. “You have always been a monster.”

“And you are a peasant-hearted fool and always have been one,” snapped Mordecai. “If you'd not been, you'd have long ago guessed what I was and taken measures to contain me.”

“I was but a boy—”

“I was but a boy when I barricaded my own family in our miserable lowborn hovel, set fire to the kindling I'd stacked against the walls and listened to the sounds of them being roasted alive,” said Mordecai, his offhand tone at odds with the turmoil that erupted inside him as he spoke these words. “You are not fit to be king any more than your faithless whore of a sister is fit to be queen.”

Finn's pale face grew mottled at Mordecai's horrifying revelation and the words that followed, but all he said was, “Though the throne belongs to my sister by right of our birth order, she told me that she does not want to be queen.”

“She told me much the same thing,” said Mordecai, rising from his chair to wander over to the fireplace. “It is fortunate, really, for Lord Bartok's daughter Lady Aurelia desires the crown, and I would see it set upon her head.”

“You would have that vicious little creature reign instead of me?” asked the king incredulously.

“No, I would have her reign
with
you—as your wife and queen,” explained Mordecai as he planted his bony arse on the cushioned rocking chair in which the cow usually sat to do mending.

“And why would you want that?”

“As Regent, it is my duty to ensure that you make a suitable marriage and beget an heir,” murmured Mordecai, as though there could be no other reason.

“Touched though I am by your concern for the succession,” said the king scathingly, “I will not marry to please you.”

Mordecai sighed and pressed the tips of his fingers against his brow in a gesture intended to convey to the king that he was nearing the end of his patience. “You will, or I will exact vengeance upon the insufferable cow in my dungeon.”

The tall, handsome king walked over and looked down upon the man he'd once considered his most trusted adviser.

“Do not hurt Moira,” he said steadily. “Bring me proof that she is alive, and I shall consider your proposal.”

Mordecai thought for a moment before nodding his agreement.

After he'd done so, the king continued speaking in the same steady voice. “You know, the other night, when you said that if you'd offended in thought or deed at any time during your long years of service that you stood ready to accept whatever punishment I saw fit to mete out, I very nearly took you at your word. I'd begun to have grave misgivings about you, Mordecai, but in the end I decided that it would not be fair to punish you in the absence of proof. I did not wish my first act as the true, ruling king to be an unjust one. I see now that I should have had you imprisoned when I had the chance.”

“Yes, you should have,” agreed Mordecai. “But alas, you did not. Go to your bedchamber, Your Majesty. Take a moment to reflect upon all that we've discussed. Reconcile yourself to henceforth bending to my will in all things. Then don your finest doublet, and together, we shall go inform the great lords of the realm that the ceremony to transfer power will not take place as planned because it is your dearest wish that I continue to rule on your behalf.” Mordecai leaned back in the cow's rocking chair and propped his feet up on the stuffed head of the great bear. “But before you go attend to all that,” he added with a sigh of satisfaction, “pass me another pear, will you?”

TWELVE

One hundred white beans in the jar

P
ERSEPHONE HUNKERED DOWN
in the saddle, her fingers twined in Fleet's messy mane, her eyes squinted against the chill wind that whipped her face. Smiling fiercely, she imagined the dismay on the faces of the soldiers whom Azriel believed were lurking somewhere behind them. She knew that the trails being left by the galloping horses could be easily followed by tracking beasts and men alike, but between them and the men, women and children of the cavalcade, they were leaving
five
such trails. That meant that if the soldiers tracking them wanted to keep all five groups in sight, they were going to have to either split up or pick a single group to track and take their chances that they'd picked right. Either way, the likelihood that Persephone, Azriel, Rachel and Mateo were going to be able to reach the Gypsy camp without being followed had just increased dramatically.

With this in mind, they rode hard all day, slowing to rest and water the horses only when absolutely necessary. Predictably, Azriel repeatedly attempted to lead them through shallow streams to eliminate their scent trail; equally predictably, Fleet panicked each time he did so. Though he'd recently exhibited tremendous courage swimming the deep and murky palace moat to rescue Persephone from certain death, the experience did not appear to have cured him of his pathological terror of getting his hooves wet. Luckily, the fact that Azriel could detect no signs of pursuit put him in sufficiently good humour that he was able to keep to seven the number of times he threatened to turn the neurotic nag into horse steaks.

It was dark by the time they finally stopped for the night. After tending to the horses, they supped on cheese and bread without starting a fire. Then, while Rachel was tucking Mateo into his bedroll and Azriel was settling in for a long night of watching over them all, Persephone groped in her pack for the glass jar the Regent had given her. Popping off the cork with the help of her dagger, she carefully stirred the cool white beans with her finger, taking solace in the fact that it felt as though there were too many to count.

But, of course, there weren't too many to count—there were exactly one hundred.

After a moment of stirring, Persephone plucked a single white bean from among the many, replaced the cork and tucked the jar back into the pack. Then, careful not to drop the bean, she lay down in the darkness to wait for sleep to come.

They travelled just as hard the following day and reached the Gypsy camp on the evening of the day after that. The first to see them emerge from the tunnel beneath the waterfall was Tiny, the giant red-headed Gypsy who'd held a knife to Persephone's throat the first time she'd visited the camp. By the time he'd finished giving Azriel a hug that would have crushed the rib cage of a lesser man, the rest of the Gypsies had crowded around them, all chattering excitedly, shouting questions and laughing with joy and relief that their two tribesmen and two prophecy girls were safe and come home to them at last.

After several moments of this noisy chaos, the boisterous crowd suddenly quieted and parted to allow the Gypsy woman Cairn to step forward. It was she who'd unsealed the canister containing the words of the longdead Seer—words that had set Persephone and Rachel on the road to Parthania in the first place.

Raising a fine, soot-coloured eyebrow at Persephone, Cairn said, “When we last parted, I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again.”

“Nor was I,” admitted Persephone, recalling how consumed she'd been with thoughts of escape and freedom.

“When Rachel returned to us with little Raphael in tow and told how she'd last seen you riding astride behind the Regent Mordecai in the direction of the imperial palace, I could not imagine that you'd long be able to avoid discovery and death,” continued Cairn. Looking beside Persephone to where Mateo was silently embracing his sobbing little brother, she asked, “How did you manage not only to avoid both of these fates but also to rescue
another
Gypsy orphan, this one from the depths of a dungeon from which none has ever emerged alive?”

Before Persephone could even begin trying to explain, Azriel said, “The short answer to your question is that we happened upon the rather interesting fact that Persephone is the elder twin of the Erok king. And while the Regent Mordecai initially expressed a rather alarming degree of concern regarding how this might affect his evil plans, in the end he agreed to release us all on the condition that we return to Parthania in less than one hundred days with proof that we'd found the healing Pool of Genezing.”

For what seemed like an eternity, every Gypsy in the clearing stared at Azriel as though he'd just announced that he was an elf king with a knack for spinning straw into gold. At length, however, Cairn turned to Persephone and said, “You are an Erok princess?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know this?”

“The scar she bears upon her arm matches perfectly a scar the king bears,” Azriel answered for her. Reaching for Persephone's hand, he gently slid the loose sleeve of her shift up to her elbow and raised her arm so that all could see the scar. “Moreover,” he continued, “we spoke with a servant who helped the dying queen give her newborns the burns that would forever mark them as twins. And the Regent himself admitted to having ordered a soldier to spirit the infant princess from the palace, murder her and dispose of her body.”

“I see,” said Cairn. “And why did you tell the Regent you would find the healing pool?”

Letting go of Persephone's hand, Azriel held his own hands wide and said, “The situation was desperate. I could think of no other way to save us but to promise that which I supposed the Regent desired above all else.”

“But why would he believe such a promise?” asked Cairn.

“Because I told him that I was Balthazar's bastard,” said Azriel with a cheeky grin. “And because I told him that before my ‘father' died, he gave me clues to follow to find the pool.”

Cairn looked puzzled. “It is not the dimmest story I have ever heard but neither is it the cleverest,” she said frankly. “I am surprised the Regent believed it—and even more surprised that he let you go. How did it not occur to him that once you were safe there would be no reason to go searching for the pool—and
certainly
no reason to return to Parthania?”

“Because there is a reason,” interjected Persephone. “Mordecai yet holds my brother, the king, captive, and if we do not return to the imperial capital with proof that we've found the pool, the Regent will kill him.”

There was some murmuring at this. Then an unseen woman at the back of the crowd shouted, “What is it to us if the Erok king dies? There is not one among us who has not suffered at the hands of that monster who rules in his name!”

Persephone was astounded by the woman's words. “You cannot
seriously
think to blame my brother for the actions of the Regent,” she protested. “He was naught but a powerless child up until his birthday five days ago!”

“Even so,” muttered someone else, “his death—and yours—would leave the throne vacant.”