Fool's Errand (49 page)

Unlike the trip to the Island of Ru, which had taken only a few hours owing to ideal conditions, the trip back to the mainland took nearly three days. The stormy sea was a savage thing—windswept and rolling with fifteen-foot swells. As it laboriously climbed each swell, the ship that Rachel had chartered listed nauseatingly before righting itself; time and again it was driven off course. Sailors in the rigging shouted and prayed; canvas sails snapped and strained. Cargo was washed overboard by rogue waves.

Persephone—who'd found the rolling rhythm of the ship and the feel of the wind and spray in her face so invigorating on her trip
to
the island—vomited unceasingly the entire voyage back to the mainland. Indeed, she was so sick that Azriel would not leave her side for a moment, earning him many disgusted looks from the embattled sailors who clearly believed him to be a useless dandy who had eyes for none but his beloved pretty boy.

It was dusk when the ship finally limped back into port in Syon. Azriel, Rachel and Persephone—who'd had no time alone together during the voyage—debarked as quickly as they were able and headed directly for the little room at the inn by the market. Azriel impatiently waited outside while Rachel transformed herself back into a girl. As soon as she'd done so, she went off to see about supper. While she did so, Azriel insisted upon helping Persephone wash and change. She would have liked to protest, but after three days of nearly continual vomiting she was too weak to give it even a token effort. Sitting limply at the edge of the bed, she allowed Azriel to remove her clothes and gently sponge her clean before helping her into her travelling shift and giving her such a tender kiss on the forehead that it made her feel like weeping.

As he pulled away with a smile, there was a knock on the door. Half a second later, Rachel strode into the room armed with a wheel of cheese, two loaves of bread and three succulent peaches. She was accompanied by the innkeeper's wife, who carried a cauldron full of steaming stew, three bowls and a large jug of ale.

After the innkeeper's wife left the room, Rachel set the bread, cheese and peaches upon the little table in the centre of the room while Azriel served up three bowls of stew, poured three mugs of ale and helped Persephone to a seat at the table.

For a while, the three companions were so intent upon eating that there was no conversation at all. Then Persephone—who could feel her strength miraculously returning after only a few tentative bites of nourishing stew—asked Rachel how she'd paid for all the food.

“Never mind the food,” said Azriel as he cut two thick wedges of cheese and handed one to each of the girls. “How did you continue to pay the innkeeper for your room and
still
have enough money left over to charter a ship? We left you with only a few coins—I can't see how you didn't run out.”

“I
did
run out,” said Rachel, tearing the crusty end off of one of the loaves of bread. “About a month ago, I spent my last copper on a bruised apple that one of the vendors in the market was kind enough to sell to me at half the usual price. That night, after removing one of the beans from the little jar—I took one out every night just as you asked me to, Princess—I lay down on the bed not knowing what I was going to do. Indeed, I was so worried that I must admit that I prayed for a miracle. And do you know what? The next morning the very first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a purse bulging with gold coins—and beside it, a blue hair ribbon and a red rose.”

“What?”
exclaimed Azriel and Persephone.

“All three items were sitting here on this very table,” continued Rachel blithely. “Well, of course I didn't believe for an instant that an
actual
miracle had taken place. In fact, at first I was terribly frightened by the knowledge that a stranger must have crept into my room while I was sleeping. Eventually, however, I decided that I had nothing to fear from any stranger who left such welcome gifts and who made no attempt to ravish me when he had the chance.”

“And you never discovered who'd done it?” asked Persephone in disbelief.

“Never, though I've come to think of him as my personal hero. For if he'd not left the purse of gold, I'd never have been able to afford to keep this room and stay fed—not to mention charter that ship and come looking for you. Have I mentioned how relieved I was when I saw you on that beach?”

“Only about a thousand times,” said Persephone with a smile.

From her seat across the table, Rachel smiled too—a mirror image, except for the ears. “Yes, well, the whole time you were gone I kept telling myself that you were still alive, but I don't think I truly believed it until I saw you standing there. Now tell me, for I am simply dying to know: did you meet the Marinese? Did they know anything at all that might be of use?”

Persephone fetched the tiny carved box that Roark had given to her. Opening it, she showed Rachel the leafy sprig and reverently explained where it had come from.

“What's more,” Persephone said as she carefully closed the lid of the box, “the Marinese Elders gave us reason to believe that the Gorgishmen have a map—”

“A map?”
exclaimed Rachel in amazement.

“That's what the Elders said,” said Azriel before Persephone could answer. “I, for one, do not believe it for many reasons. And even if I am wrong, it will take us four days hard travelling to get to the Valley of Gorg and four days more to get to Parthania from there. That leaves us with precious little time to make friends with the nasty, conniving little Gorgishmen, to convince them to give us the map—if, indeed, they even have one—and to follow the map to the—”

“We understand: there isn't much time left,” broke in Persephone, trying not to sound impatient. “What is your point, Azriel?”

Azriel hesitated for a long moment before saying, “My point is that I wonder if we might be better off heading straight to Parthania.”

Persephone stared at him.

“The journey as I've described it would be taxing in the extreme, wife,” he continued, “You're already in a weakened condition—”

“I'm fine,”
she bristled.

“Moreover I'm afraid that if we press on, we'll somehow find ourselves unable to make it back to the imperial capital before our hundred days are up,” he said, ignoring her prickliness. “If we head there at once it won't be an issue.”

“No, but the fact that we've
not
found the pool might,” said Rachel, grimacing and shrugging to show that she felt bad about having had to point out this rather enormous flaw in Azriel's plan.

“That is true, Rachel,” acknowledged Azriel with a faint smile, “but we may be able to bluff our way through if we show the Regent the sprig and tell him that
we
plucked it from the banyan tree that grows at the edge of the pool.”

“And if he doesn't believe us?” said Rachel.

“We improvise.”

“No,” said Persephone with as much vehemence as she could manage in her weakened condition. “I'm sorry, Azriel, but I dare not risk Finn's life on bluffing and improvisation—not while we still have time.” Then, before he could offer protest, she said, “Do you remember what you said to me shortly after we left Parthania?”

“Yes,” he replied promptly. “I asked if you wanted me to get rid of the leper.”

In spite of the seriousness of the moment, Rachel laughed out loud and even Persephone had to smile.

“When I told you that one hundred days was not a lot of time to find something that may not exist, you told me that we did not need a lot of time,” she reminded, laying a hand on his bare forearm for the comfort of feeling her skin against his. “You told me that we only needed
enough
time and that if the Fates were willing we would have it. You said you believed that the Fates were willing.”

“Yes, but that was then—”

“And this is now,” she said. “And as long as there is
any
time left to us I say we carry on for the sake of my brother, the king—the
Gypsy
King—that he may live to see all people in this realm united in peace.”

FORTY-NINE

H
IS HEAD SPINNING
, the man in homespun sidled away from the open window beneath which he'd been crouched listening to the princess's pretty friend talk to the princess and the Gypsy.

No, not “the princess's pretty friend”—
Rachel
. What a pretty name, Rachel—almost as pretty as the girl herself!

The man was pleased to know her name at last—and
extremely
pleased to know that she considered him her personal hero. Indeed, his heart swelled and lifted at the thought. A good thing, too, because it had sunk like a stone when he'd heard her say that she'd initially been frightened by the sight of his gift. He hadn't intended to frighten her—after having accidentally knocked heads with her in the market that day, he'd only wanted to do her a small, anonymous kindness. He knew she'd run out of money, and since he had no real use for the bag of gold he'd been given, he'd decided to give it to her, along with the flower and the hair ribbon. Obviously, walking up and handing her these things had been out of the question, and since they'd surely have been stolen if he'd left them on the ground outside her door at the inn, he'd had no choice but to slip into her room in the dead of night. Even now, he trembled at the memory of watching Rachel while she slept—her dark hair spread out across the pillow, her long lashes brushing against her cheeks, her full lips slightly parted as though waiting for a lover's kiss …

Of course, all of this was not the only thing that had set the man's head spinning. The strangeness of the conversation he'd overheard had done so as well. Why did the three of them count time in beans? Where was this leper the Gypsy mentioned? What pool were they looking for, and why did they think that it may not exist? And what had the princess meant when she'd said that she'd not risk Finn's life? She'd obviously been talking about King Finnius. Was the king's life in danger, and did this danger have something to do with the Regent? The man in homespun could not imagine that it was so. However, when he considered the second part of his orders—the part that involved the princess—he could not help but worry if perhaps it was connected to the danger the king faced. If it was, it made him wonder if the one who'd sent him had been thinking clearly.

Still.

The man was not yet so changed that he could see himself disobeying direct orders—and the part of his orders that involved the princess had been very direct and very,
very
clear.

Sitting down upon an exquisitely carved stone bench at the edge of the market, the man pushed back his hood. As he sighed and lifted his poor face to the setting sun, it fleetingly occurred to him that his head had never ached half so much back when he simply followed orders without thinking.

And it seemed to him that he had more thinking to do yet, for it sounded as though the princess intended to lead her pretty friend—
Rachel
—and the Gypsy across the realm to the Valley of Gorg in search of some map that may or may not exist. And that afterward, she meant to head back to Parthania, come what may.

And what the man had to think about was this: How far he ought to let the princess go before executing his orders—and what he ought to do about pretty Rachel after he'd done so.

FIFTY

Fifteen white beans left in the jar

A
FTER RELUCTANTLY AGREEING
that they'd press on to the Valley of Gorg come what may, Azriel joined Persephone and Rachel in settling down for what would likely be their last good night's rest for at least a fortnight. As there were no other rooms to be had at the inn, he insisted that the girls share the bed while he took the floor. Though it was his idea, Persephone could tell that he was not best pleased that his wife was once again bedding down with someone other than him. And as she lay in the darkness listening to him sigh loudly and forlornly, she felt sorry for him. She could not quite bring herself to leave the cozy warmth of the bed to go sleep next to him on the cold, hard floor—nor could she entirely regret that they'd been unable to get their own room, given that after three miserable days upon storm-tossed seas the only thing she currently desired was
sleep
.