Fool's Errand (44 page)

If she did that, he'd give her as much time as she needed!

Then
she, the king and the cockroach would die.

Mordecai sighed deeply, images of the princess begging and dying and doing other things swirling in his head. Then, feeling the sudden need to talk with someone about all of this, he rose to his feet.

The nursemaid in the dungeon was the perfect confidante. Though her spirit yet refused to break entirely, and though she often made comments that enraged him, Mordecai knew that she'd never breathe a word of his secrets to another living soul.

Because, of course, she'd never be given a chance to do so.

FORTY-FOUR

Seventy-four beans left in the jar

F
OR MORE THAN A WEEK
, the storm winds howled, the rains poured down, and Azriel and Persephone had not a single moment alone together.

In part, this was due to the fact that Ekatarina stuck to Persephone like a particularly tenacious burr might stick to Cur's furry ear. Though Roark had offered the girl as a companion for Persephone, it soon became clear that her greater responsibility was to act as chaperone—presumably to ensure that “Daughter of Fey” did not disgrace herself with further lewd behaviour. This did not cause Persephone to like Ekatarina less, for the girl was kind and sweet and when she was out of the sight and hearing of Roark and the other men, she had a bright energy about her that Persephone found most engaging. However, it
did
mean that Persephone was unable to do pretty much anything besides tend to the call of nature by herself—and even this Ekatarina seemed reluctant to allow her to do.

That being said, the girl's chronic presence was only part of the reason Persephone and Azriel did not get a chance to be alone together. The other part was that in the Marinese village, men and women lived essentially separate lives. They did not eat or sleep together (unless they sought to “couple for the sake of making children”), and though each worked very hard, they did entirely different things. The men and boys fished, hunted, sculpted, whittled, built furniture, made tools and spears, and repaired the domiciles that were endlessly battered by storm winds. The women and girls cared for the babies, tended the silkworms, spun thread, wove cloth, sewed and embroidered garments, made ropes and fishing nets, and collected roots, berries, fruit and shellfish. They also cooked and served all the meals—a task that annoyed Persephone like no other. Even when she'd been a slave she'd detested having to serve men who couldn't be bothered to say please and thank you when she laid food on the table before them.

The idea that she should yet have to do so even though she was now an acknowledged princess was galling beyond measure!

Azriel said please and thank you, of course, but he also looked at her as though he'd like to lay
her
on the table before him. Well, once he'd gotten used to the sight of her wearing the unflattering kjole, he did. The first time he'd seen her in the shapeless Marinese garment he'd looked so utterly dismayed that Persephone had nearly started laughing. This urge to laugh had vanished abruptly a few minutes later, however, when he'd made a spectacle of them both by absently laying his hand upon the back of her thigh and murmuring endearments to her while she was serving him. A very large spoonful of steaming mashed turnips “accidentally” deposited into his lap had inspired him to remove his hand, and his startled shrieks had distracted the Marinese from his immodest behaviour, but Persephone had been on her guard ever since. She had the feeling that she and Azriel were not going to be granted an audience with the Elders until they'd been judged worthy to stand before them, and she was determined that this would happen as soon as may be. Not only for Finn's sake—and for the sake of Rachel, left to fend for herself in Syon—but also for the sake of the mother Persephone had never known. Though Fey had been dead and gone these many years, Persephone could not abide the thought of bringing shame upon her memory by acting the harlot in the presence of her people.

As she hauled a brimming serving dish of mussels into the dining hall on the evening of the eighth day after their arrival in the village, Persephone thought for the thousandth time that Azriel wasn't making the situation any easier. Though she knew he worked as hard as any man in the village, he still did not appear to be even
trying
to master the Marinese men's habit of ignoring their women. Indeed, during the rare moments when the two of them found themselves in the same room together—like this particular moment, for example—his eyes followed her relentlessly, and the hunger she saw in them seemed to grow fiercer with each passing day. Or was it her own hunger she saw in his eyes? Hunger borne of the memory of lying in his arms—and the feel of his lips upon her throat, and the feel of his hands upon her—

“Careful,” murmured Ekatarina as Persephone barrelled into a man who had yet to be seated, nearly dumping the dish of mussels down his white shirtfront.

“Sorry,” she muttered, bowing her head to hide the flush brought on by her thoughts. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Azriel smile in a way that made her think he knew
exactly
why she was blushing.

The thought made her blush harder.

“Daughter of Fey?” said the man she'd bumped into.

“Yes?” she blurted, looking up in surprise at the fact that he'd actually spoken to her.

“The Elders will see you and your husband now.”

The man led Persephone and Azriel to a well-lit domicile on the other side of the village square.

“Roark!” Persephone exclaimed in amazement as she shrugged off the heavy cloak she'd been given to shield her from the wind and the rain. “
You
are one of the Elders?”

“I am,” he replied with his usual stiffness.

Persephone was about to comment that he was awfully young to be an Elder when it occurred to her that she'd hardly seen any old men in the village. Hot on the heels of this thought came the thought that this was probably because most of the old men—being the tribe's finest craftsmen—had long ago allowed themselves to be given to the Erok as tribute in the hope that the rest of the tribe might be spared.

Just as my mother allowed herself to be given to my father
, realized Persephone with a start.

“Are you all right?” whispered Azriel, touching her elbow.

“Fine!” she whispered back as she scurried away from him.

After giving the other Elders a rather pained look, Roark cleared his throat and said, “Daughter of Fey, I have told my brethren of your desire to know what your mother gave and said to us in the desperate days before she returned to Parthania to wed your father the Erok king, Malthusius.”

“So she
did
give you something, then?” breathed Persephone.

“Yes,” said Roark shortly. “And though some might argue that the gift and the words she entrusted to us should remain in our keeping, the majority of my brethren feel that as her daughter, they are yours by right.”

“It was a gift that she gave you, then—a gift from the Gypsy Balthazar?” pressed Persephone, who could not resist looking over at Azriel, who looked just as excited as she felt.

Roark nodded. Then, after only a moment's hesitation, he lifted from his lap a small, exquisitely carved box that Persephone had not noticed before.

“What is that?” she asked in a hushed voice.

Instead of answering, Roark lifted the lid. There, lying on a bed of finest silk was a … leafy twig.

Before Persephone could feel even a hint of disappointment at how remarkably
ordinary
it looked, the Elder sitting next to Roark said, “The Gypsy Balthazar told your mother that he plucked this sprig from the lone banyan tree he found growing upon the banks of the Pool of Genezing. I cannot say if he spoke the truth, but I can say that for more than sixteen years its leaves have remained as fresh and dewy as the day I first laid eyes upon them.”

Persephone's chest felt tight. “Could … could it be a Gypsy trick, Azriel?” she asked quietly.

When he shook his head without looking at her, Persephone exhaled softly and put her trembling hand to her lips.

Some part of her had always believed that their quest was a wild goose chase.

This little leafy twig all but proved that it was not.

It all but proved that the healing pool truly existed and that there was hope—
real
hope—that if they were able to get off the island in time, they might find the pool and save Finn's life.

“Do you know if Balthazar told Fey anything that might lead us to the healing pool, Roark?” asked Azriel, tearing his gaze away from the sprig.

“He did not,” replied the Marinese man as he reluctantly handed the tiny carved box to Persephone. “However, Fey did say that before he was taken up by the old king's guards, the Gorgish ambassador told her that Balthazar had given him a map that showed the location of the pool.”

“A
map
?” exclaimed Persephone and Azriel in unison.

“Yes,” said Roark calmly. “According to the Gorgish ambassador, Balthazar gave it to him because he was the cleverest and most trustworthy person in all of Parthania.”

Azriel snorted and rolled his eyes to show what he thought of this.

“I believe the Gorgish ambassador spoke these words to Fey,” said Roark a little testily. “Whether he spoke the truth or not, no one will ever know.”

“I know—” began Azriel.

“That we are most grateful that you've shared with us all that you know,” interjected Persephone, resisting the urge to jab her elbow into Azriel's ribs.

Appearing somewhat mollified, Roark nodded. “I know also that you seek urgent passage back to the mainland,” he said to Persephone's feet. “However, I'm afraid that will have to wait until after the storms have passed. Though we have whaling boats at our camp on the north shores of the island, they would be battered to bits in the channel, and since there is no captain in Parthania fool enough to sail from Syon in such conditions, there is no hope of flagging down a passing ship.”

“I understand,” said Persephone in a low voice as she clutched the tiny carved box to her sinking heart. “And I thank you—for everything.”

Looking her full in the face for the first time since finding her on the beach with her clothes barely back on and her lips yet swollen from Azriel's kisses, Roark said, “That you continue to behave as you have these past eight days is all the thanks I and my people require, Daughter of Fey.”

After fervently promising that she would do so, Persephone bid Roark, the other Elders
and
Azriel goodbye. Then she threw her heavy cloak around her shoulders and left the domicile. As soon as she stepped outside, she saw Ekatarina gliding across the village square toward her. Waving to get the younger girl's attention, Persephone pointed first to the backhouses half-hidden in the mulberry trees at the edge of the village and then to the silkworm domicile. Though Ekatarina's frown made it clear that she was yet uneasy with the idea of her charge tending to the call of nature unchaperoned, she nodded reluctantly, turned and headed toward the silkworm domicile.

Feeling almost as grateful for the girl's cooperation as she did that the wind had temporarily died down and the rain had slowed to a drizzle, Persephone slowly made her way toward the backhouses. She didn't actually need to tend to the call of nature but she
did
want a few minutes to herself so that she could reflect on all that the Elders had revealed. Though she'd been disappointed to learn that there was no chance of her and Azriel making it back to the mainland until after the storms had ended, she'd been expecting as much. What she
hadn't
been expecting was that she and Azriel would be given proof that the healing pool existed—and that they'd learn that a map of its whereabouts may exist.

As she picked her way around the trees that sheltered the backhouses, Persephone thought about the map. In spite of Azriel's skepticism, she thought that if Balthazar had known he was about to be arrested and had wanted to ensure that the location of the pool would not be lost with him, giving a map to the Gorgish ambassador would have been a shrewd course of action, indeed.