Fool's Errand (43 page)

After she'd changed and brushed out her hair, Persephone followed Ekatarina to another of the large domiciles. Here, the girl gave her a goblet of watery wine and a bowl of cold stew swimming with fish heads, seaweed and chunks of a bitter, whitish tuber that Persephone had never seen before. If it was far from being the most palatable dish she'd ever been served, it was also far from being the least. Famished as she was, she ate every last fish head.

When she was done, she followed Ekatarina through the sleeping village to a small domicile near the outskirts. Putting her index finger to her lips to show Persephone that she must be quiet, Ekatarina extinguished the lantern, set it down outside the hut and tiptoed inside. Trying not to trip on her kjole—which was slightly too long for her—Persephone tiptoed after her. By the meagre light of the few stars that had not yet been consumed by the bank of clouds, Persephone saw that the hut was full of sleeping young blond girls. Their pallets were arranged in a pretty ring, with the heads all pointed toward the outer wall of the domicile and feet all pointed toward the centre.

“You will sleep with me,” whispered Ekatarina, pointing to the lone empty pallet.

The pallet was narrow but deliciously comfortable, having been constructed of thick silk bands woven tightly together and strung across a sturdy wooden frame. The comforter Ekatarina tucked around the two of them was comfortable, too, though its vaguely fishy smell led Persephone to believe that it had been stuffed with the feathers of seabirds.

As she lay next to Ekatarina, listening to the sounds of the rising wind, the crashing sea and the tinkling chimes, Persephone tried not to think about the things she could do nothing about at the present moment: things like not knowing when or even if the Marinese Elders would see her and Azriel—and what they could or would tell them about the healing pool if they did; things like not knowing how she and Azriel would get back to the mainland, how long it would take them to do so and what Rachel would do in the meantime.

Though she had some success keeping these thoughts at bay, try though she might, Persephone simply could not stop thinking about Azriel. She could not stop thinking about what had happened between them on the beach—how incredible it had been, and how it probably would have happened again this night if he'd been allowed to share a bed with her. Sighing softly, she'd just given herself over to wondering where her handsome husband was at that moment when a sudden vision of him squashed in beside Roark on a similar pallet in the men's domicile caused her to start giggling.

“What's wrong?” whispered Ekatarina drowsily.

“N-nothing!” choked Persephone, struggling to control her laughter at the thought of Azriel glaring and huffing at the unfairness of a world that would see him bedded down with a disapproving, fishy-smelling man instead of with an agreeable young wife.

“A decent young girl does not trouble herself with unsuitable thoughts, Princess,” admonished Ekatarina gently.

“I know, I know,” said Persephone, who was yet jiggling with barely contained mirth. “I'm sorry, Ekatarina. Good night.”

Hours later, Persephone was jarred awake by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the entire island. A second crack of thunder caused her to spasm with such violence that she nearly knocked Ekatarina off the pallet.

“Don't be afraid,” murmured Ekatarina, snuggling closer. “It is just a storm.”

Though the girl's words were clearly intended to comfort, they had exactly the opposite effect.

For as she stared through the window of the domicile at the flashes of green-tinged sheet lightning that were lighting up the night sky, Persephone knew that it was not
just
a storm—it was the first storm of a storm season that could last months.

And she and Azriel—who had only eighty-one days left to find the healing pool and save Finn's life—were trapped on the wrong side of the channel.

FORTY-THREE

M
ORDECAI SLOUCHED
in the chair behind the massive desk in his office, drumming his manicured fingernails upon the desktop and wondering what would happen if he imprisoned Lord Bartok's son, Atticus. Imprisoned him and threatened to inflict upon him all that had been inflicted upon the son of that buffoon Lord Pembleton.

Would Bartok clasp his hands, fall to his knees, blubber and plead for mercy for his son as Pembleton had? Would he be so overwrought at the prospect of losing his only son in such a grisly manner that he'd return the kidnapped king at once and see to it that Mordecai was promptly named heir?

Or would he give an elegant shrug and console himself with the knowledge that he still had a daughter who would be queen?

And, of course, with the knowledge that he still had the king?

“Bastard!”
snarled Mordecai, shoving a short stack of parchment off the desk with such a sudden sweep of his withered arm that he wrenched his crooked back.

With a grunt of pain, he reached around to try to massage the wrenched spot, but it was no use. It was at times like these that he mildly regretted having discarded the big-nosed noblewoman he'd escorted to the betrothal ceremony, for she'd been rather adept at the art of massage. But it had been that or have her teeth knocked out to prevent her from giving him any more of her idiot smiles, and Mordecai had not cared enough about her to go to the trouble. Moreover, he'd thought that such action might not be politic in view of the fact that he might yet need the support of her noble father to get himself named heir.

Since the Council meeting several weeks ago, Lord Bartok had repeatedly assured Mordecai that he'd need no such support. Their deal still stood, Bartok had said in his wintery way; his request to have the princess come to Parthania to address Council had been nothing but a regrettable strategic error on his part. According to him, he'd been thinking only of the threat the princess posed to anyone else's claim to the throne. He'd purportedly believed that it would suit
both
their purposes to have her in Parthania where they could keep an eye on her.

Mordecai hadn't believed him for an instant, of course. But as long as the king was still touring the countryside under the protection of Bartok's personal guard—

A knock at the door interrupted Mordecai's thoughts.

“What?” he barked.

A nervous-looking servant hurried into the room, set a gleaming silver platter upon the desk, bowed deeply and waited to be dismissed. After casting a moody glance at the youth's graceful hands, Mordecai dismissed him with an impatient flick of his own gnarled hand. Then he turned his attention to the two sealed letters that lay upon the platter.

The first was written upon a rather grimy sheet of everyday parchment and bore the seal of a New Man commander from the northern Ragorian prefecture. The second was written on a crisp sheet of quality parchment the colour of new cream. It, of course, was from General Murdock.

Setting the latter letter aside with the brooding thought that the message it contained had better be good, Mordecai opened the first letter. It stated that in accordance with the Regent's orders, the commander was writing in secret to report that General Murdock had not only been spotted but had staggered into the New Man training camp located just north of Syon. Though the General had been near death as a result of a putrefying belly wound he'd sustained some days earlier, he'd refused to see the physicians or even sit down until he'd interviewed all New Men recently returned from leave in Syon and subsequently composed a report for the Regent. The grimy letter ended with the commander's grovelling assurances that he stood ready to carry out whatever orders his lord Regent saw fit to issue.

Mordecai knew what
that
meant. That meant the commander would be only too happy to slit his General's throat, slip his perfectly polished boots off his still-warm feet and try them on for size.

Disgusting
, thought Mordecai, reaching for the second letter. Unlike the first letter, this one had something written on the outside:

For the Eyes of None but the Regent Mordecai
,

Upon pain of lingering death

In spite of the evil feelings he'd lately harboured toward his General for his lack of regular reporting, Mordecai could not help smiling. Most people assumed that there was nothing more fearful than the threat of instant death.

He and Murdock knew better.

Flipping the letter over, Mordecai broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment to see what the General had to say for himself.

My esteemed lord Regent
,

As you know from my latest report sent shortly after the losses incurred upon the Mountains of Khan, the princess and her companions decided to cut through the Great Forest in the hope of reaching the Island of Ru in advance of the coming storm season. I and my remaining men followed them into the forest but were shortly thereafter set upon by a band of lowborn brigands. In the course of dispatching two of these brigands, I sustained a wound. Though this wound will require some convalescing, I seek to assure Your Grace that I shall yet be able to fulfill my mission. Intelligence gathered from soldiers recently returned from Syon indicates that a man and a woman disguised as a man boarded a ship bound for the Island of Ru. I have reason to believe that these two were the princess and the Gypsy and that they have been stranded on the island by the arrival of the storms. Assuming this is correct, they will remain stranded there until the storms abate. By then, I shall have recoveredfrom my wound, selected fresh troops and established appropriate surveillance at the docks. When the princess and the Gypsy return to the mainland to resume their search for that which they seek, I shall be waiting.

Your Loyal and Obedient Servant in All Things
,

General Murdock

Mordecai leaned back in his chair, his fertile mind racing. Murdock's short message told him many things. It told him that his suspicion of the General had been unfounded since his message suggested that there
had
been other reports—reports that never reached him. The fact that
none
of the reports had reached him told Mordecai that there might be treachery afoot. The fact that the General appeared to have no sense that this was so told him that whoever was behind the treachery was rich and powerful enough to employ exceedingly capable henchmen. This knowledge—combined with the knowledge that Lord Bartok had already expressed a desire to keep an eye on the princess—told him that the smug, interfering bastard could very well be the mastermind.

Even more intriguing than all of this, however, was that Murdock's message implied that the princess and the Gypsy had sought out the Khan and the Marinese. This suggested that they were not wandering aimlessly about Glyndoria in the hope of stumbling upon the Pool of Genezing—it suggested that they were proceeding with
purpose.

The knowledge that they'd survived an encounter with the Khan—whom he'd have expected would have tried to kill or kidnap the princess for being the sister of the king whose Regent had caused them such harm—made Mordecai uneasy. However, the thought that she was proceeding with purpose filled him with excitement. The bastard cockroach had spoken of following clues given to him by his sire, Balthazar. Was it possible that these clues actually existed and that they were leading him and the princess onward from one miserable tribe to the next? It was certainly
possible.
After all, the ill-fated Gypsy ambassador had been popular with everyone—including the ambassadors from the other tribes.

His cold heart beating very fast, Mordecai flexed his gnarled hands, felt the pain of the wrenched muscle in his crooked back. Though he'd long hoped that he would someday find the healing pool, until very recently he'd never truly
believed
that he would.

And now that he did, there were times when he could hardly breathe for the excitement of it.

Of course, Murdock's message also told Mordecai that the princess would likely be trapped on the Island of Ru for many days to come. If that was so, by the time she got back to the mainland, there'd be precious few white beans left in the pretty little jar he'd given to her as a parting gift. Hopefully, there'd be enough for her and the Gypsy to find the healing pool. If there were and they managed to find it, the two of them would die at Murdock's hands and the king would shortly thereafter die in his bed. If, on the other hand, there were not enough beans, the princess would almost certainly return to Parthania to plead for more time. If she did, Mordecai would give it to her—providing she got down on her knees before him and begged for it, that is. Begged for it and promised that she'd do
anything
for it.