Lords of Trillium (10 page)

Taking the teacup, Elvi slowly turned back to the cupboard, concealing her resentment in a taut grin. She gritted her teeth as she spoke. “Where, then, does Maddy see our Texi standing in the wedding party?” she asked stiffly.

“Well, Clover asked her to be the maid of honor, and though I don't know much about these affairs, I suppose Texi will stand beside the happy couple.”

With much effort, Elvi controlled her shaky breath and trembling paws as she replaced the teacup in her cupboard. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. Time was drawing near. Soon everyone in Nightshade would know the name of Hecate.

T
HE BELANCORT QUARTERS BUSTLED
with energy. Mother Gallo whirled around Clover, checking and double-checking every inch of her perfectly pressed yellow silk sash. Mother Gallo's older sons were supposed to be keeping Julius and Nomi calm, but their own excitement only led to more bedlam. Hob, Tuk, and Gage dashed about the quarters, chasing Texi, Julius, and Nomi, who screamed in blissful terror each time one of them reached for their tails.

Juniper walked up behind Clover as she regarded herself in the mirror. He rested his paws on her shoulders. “You look stunning, my dear.” He sighed. “But are you certain you're ready for this? You don't
have
to get married, you know. Vincent will wait.”

“I've never been more certain of anything in my life,” she said decisively. She laughed, smiling at her uncle in the mirror's reflection. “Besides, you love Vincent.”

“Yes, that's true,” agreed Juniper, “but aren't all doting
fathers expected to try to talk their daughters out of marriage just before they walk down the aisle?”

“I suppose so,” said Clover.

“Barcus would love Vincent too, but knowing my brother, it's exactly what he'd say to you if he were here.”

Clover glanced up. “I've a feeling he is here . . . and mother and my brothers. I can feel them all around us.”

“So can I,” said Juniper, giving her shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

Clutching a needle and thread for last-minute mending, Mother Gallo rushed up beside her husband. “Now Juniper, you aren't expecting to wear that mucky cloak and ragged old satchel to the wedding, are you? Why, you look like a vagrant! Please, for Clover's sake, take them off.”

Chuckling, Juniper kissed the top of his wife's head. “Anything for you, dear.” He reached for his leather bag, about to take it off.

Clover spun around. “No, Uncle,” she said firmly. “Stay just the way you are.”

“Oh dear,” said Mother Gallo, aghast. “You don't want your uncle dressed like this at your wedding, Clover.”

“Actually . . . I do,” she replied. “It's who he is. I've never known him to look another way. I want the same uncle who rescued me from the Catacombs to be at my wedding.” She giggled. “Not some dapper imposter.”

“Very well,” said Mother Gallo, throwing her paws in the air. “It's your wedding, and if you want to be given away by this grimy excuse for a rat, then so be it.” She straightened the collar of Juniper's cloak. “I suppose it will have to do.” Try as she might, she couldn't help but smile. “He's still quite handsome, this one, muck and all.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” said Juniper with a wink.
“Now then, I'm off to petrify the groom about the many pitfalls of matrimony, starting with his lovely wife harping on his appearance for the rest of his pitiful life.”

“Oh you,” said Mother Gallo, swatting his arm.

Juniper looked around at the frenzied activity. “I daresay you'll have no objection to one less rat in the house.”

“Goodness no,” said Mother Gallo as Julius and Texi whizzed by her, “and please, take the boys with you.” Nomi squealed as Tuk and Hob snatched at her tail. “It's absolute madness in here!”

“It
is
madness,” agreed Clover as she took in the chaos, thinking back to her many silent, solitary days trapped in the Catacombs, “but the very best kind.”

The carts and vendors of Nightshade's city square had vanished, and in their place were long vines interwoven with honeysuckle and purple saxifrage, hanging from the grand rotunda. The white and purple flowers thrived in Trillium's chilly climate, and Mother Gallo thought they were a perfect testament to Vincent and Clover's endurance through the many trials of their young lives.

Nightshade citizens had funneled in from the corridors, each resident gasping at the transformed city square, a hanging forest of white and purple, its sweet perfume winding through the ordinarily musty underground city.

Vincent sat next to his brother on the steps leading up to the makeshift altar. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he said to Victor, furrowing his brow. “I think we should have waited. The Hunter rats are still missing, and here we are having a wedding,
my
wedding. Somehow it gives me an ill feeling I can't seem to shake.”

“Cheer up,” said Victor sharply. “For Saints' sake, it's your
wedding
day. The citizens
need
a distraction, and so do you. You've always been a worrywart, you know.” Vincent opened his mouth to reply. “And before you say it, I realize you've had your reasons to be worried. You had to raise me, for one.

“What I'm trying to say is you
deserve
a little happiness. For once in your life it's all right to be selfish, brother. No one will fault you for it. You've
earned
it.”

“For the record, I'm
not
a worrywart”—Vincent playfully punched Victor's shoulder—“but you
are
a good brother. You're relentlessly annoying, but you're a good brother all the same.”

“Practically the whole city's here,” said Victor. The front rows had filled up with close friends, family, and the Council. He saw Hob, Mother Gallo's youngest, sitting next to Kar. Kar looked around the room as though trying to spot someone. Victor's forehead wrinkled. “Speaking of good brothers, where are Suttor and Duncan? Kar's looking a little lost, sitting there next to two empty chairs.”

Using two upside-down buckets and a small wooden crate, Suttor and Duncan had set up a makeshift table and chairs in the prison corridor.

Even with some of the prisoners commenting and complaining in the background, Duncan felt at ease. He had Elvi to thank for that. She'd released him from his fear and made him realize just how silly he'd been all this time. It gave him high hopes for the future, when they would navigate the museum with him leading the way.

Suttor talked with his mouth full, already on his second biscuit. “Your timing is so good,” he said in a muddled voice. He finally swallowed his bite. “I'm starving!”

Duncan poured them each some tea. “When do you get to leave for the wedding?”

“My replacement should be here soon. I'm glad we get to eat before the ceremony. They always seem to drag on, and by the time it's over I'm famished.”

“Me too,” said Duncan, pushing a cup of tea in front of Suttor.

“Here,” said Suttor, pointing to the basket of biscuits. “Take another before I eat them all.” He picked up his cup and drained it. “Ah . . . that's better.”

Duncan laughed. “Slow down,” he said. “You're going to make yourself sick.”

“Lali's biscuits and Elvi's tea,” said Suttor. “If I'm going to get sick over something, it might as well be the two things I love!” He exhaled contentedly. “Pour me another cup, will you?”

As Duncan picked up the teapot, Suttor put a paw to his forehead and rubbed it. “You all right?” Duncan asked.

“I think so,” said Suttor. “You're right, though, maybe I shouldn't overdo it. I feel . . . a little funny.” He began to sway slightly on his stool. “I . . . I . . .”

“Suttor?”

Suttor dropped to a heap on the dirt floor.

Falling to his knees, Duncan grabbed his brother by the shoulders, gently shaking him. “Suttor, wake up!” He put his ear to Suttor's chest, but all he could hear was the dizzying rush of blood going to his head as panic struck him.

The prisoners began to shout and curse. They banged impatient fists against the bars and scratched their doors with eager claws.

“That's it, boy!” called out a voice that Duncan quickly recognized as High Major Foiber's. “Be loyal to your High Ministry!”

There was a banging on the outer door. Duncan gasped. A gray rat with yellow eyes stuck his snout in between the
bars of the small window. “What's going on in there? Let me in straightaway!”

“My brother!” shouted Duncan. “Something's happened to him. He's passed out on the floor. Please, help me!” He ripped the leather cord off of Suttor's neck and raced for the door, fumbling with the key. “I don't know what happened. He was fine just a minute ago!”

The rat pushed his way past Duncan. He crouched over Suttor and patted his face. “Yep, he's out like a light. Good work!”

“Good work?” said Duncan, horrified by the comment.

The rat laughed riotously. “Stupid oaf! I'm amazed you pulled it off. Now go, before I release these cutthroats upon you!”

“What—what are you talking about?” demanded Duncan. He looked vacantly around at the growling prisoners. “Re . . . release them?”

The rat rolled his eyes wearily. “Never have I encountered such a mealy-mouthed, slack-jawed rat. And look at you; you're built like a mountain! What a waste. Now go!”

“You—you want me to leave? What about Suttor?”

The rat stood upright, nudging a motionless Suttor with his foot. “Hecate was right,” said the rat. “ ‘You'll see,' she told me, ‘I'll pull on his oversized heartstrings and the big orange one will do whatever I say.' ” He laughed some more. “Oh, positively priceless!”

“Who's
Hecate
?”

“You really are stupid, aren't you?” asked the rat. “Hecate is Elvi. Your beloved little Elvi, the rat Juniper and the others knew from the old days, is long since dead—killed years ago when we were all forced onto that abysmal ship during the Great Flood. No one realized we were fighting for the other side—we were the enemy! Well, they soon learned! Hecate is
small and gray, just like that sugary Elvi was. I was glad the day we got rid of her, with her constant cheeriness.” He snickered. “They matched even down to their black eyes, they did. After we returned, the scorching Toscan sun was the perfect excuse for any changes in poor little Elvi's appearance.”

“I—I don't understand!”

“Of course you don't, you soft-headed lump. Elvi
is
Hecate—they are one and the same.” He pointed to the growling majors. “And this handsome lot, they're with me.”

“But I thought you were the guard—my brother's relief so he could go to the wedding.”

“Oh yes, the guard. That chap's going to have quite a headache when he wakes up—if he does at all. I made sure of that.” The rat vanished out the main door as he spoke, quickly returning with a large burlap sack. He dumped it on the ground, lethal weapons scattering everywhere. “You, young rat, have brought back the High Ministry—
Killdeer's
High Ministry. If you weren't so dense, I might bloody well thank you.”

Duncan began to shake uncontrollably. “The—the High Ministry? Killdeer?”

“You're looking at one of his lost majors—one who never had a chance to enjoy the easy life in the Catacombs. Me and my boys spent a decade on that wretched island with Hecate, biding our time. Now we're back to reclaim what is rightfully ours.” He shouted at the prisoners, who cursed and snarled from their cells. “Ready, lads? We've been waiting a long time for this!”

“Hurry, Major Ragwort!” Foiber called out. “I can't take another moment in here!”

“Yes!” added Schnauss. “Just let me at Juniper and his precious Council. I will rip them limb from filthy Loyalist limb!”

Ragwort wasted no more time. He unlocked the metal box
that held the keys to the cells, and snatched as many as he could in his claws. He leered menacingly at Duncan. “If I was you, lad, I'd
run
.”

The citizens murmured, all growing impatient as time ticked by. “We'll have to start without them,” whispered Juniper, glancing at the wedding official, who twitched his whiskers impatiently, rocking on his heels and huffing as he waited to begin the ceremony. “The guard relieving Suttor is probably running late. He and Duncan will be here soon, I'm sure.”

“But Suttor is one of my closet friends,” said Vincent, about to take his place at the altar. “I don't want to start without him.”

“I know, son, but these things happen. Suttor will understand. Lali has piles of food ready and waiting for the reception. She'll have all our heads if it gets cold.” He reached up and touched a purple flower dangling just above his head. “And Maddy will give us both twenty lashes if we leave these flowers to wilt any longer. Besides, single lads are more concerned with the festivities
after
the nuptials.” He winked. “It's the celebration that's special to them, dancing with a pretty girl or two.”