The Measure of the Magic (29 page)

He was staring into space, seeing nothing, when Bonnasaint spoke.
“This isn’t going to end well for you,” he said, suddenly awake. “You know that, don’t you?”

Maybe he had been faking sleep all along to see if Pan would drop his guard. The boy couldn’t tell. “Let me worry about that.”

“Oh, I don’t worry about it. And I do want you to be the one who does. But I think I should say it aloud, so that you understand. You won’t be able to keep me prisoner for long. Others have tried. They’re all dead. You’re just a boy. You might be a Tracker, but you aren’t like me. You can’t do what I do. You don’t know what I know about staying alive. Sooner or later, you will make a mistake.”

Pan nodded. “I already made one. I didn’t tape your mouth shut. Should I correct that mistake now?”

Bonnasaint went silent, smiling. But he kept his eyes on Pan and didn’t take them off. He was like a cat with a mouse. The boy could feel it. He was aware of the danger of keeping this man close. But he had to try to help Phryne, and this was the only way he could think to do it.

Anyway, by tonight the assassin would be someone else’s problem.

It was late afternoon by the time Prue returned, the light failing as the sun slipped west toward the mountains and the mists crept down out of the heights and up from the depths to gather in the woods. She appeared quite suddenly, coming from a different direction than he had anticipated, but walking toward him with purpose. He started to ask what she had found, but she took his arm and led him farther away from Bonnasaint, making it clear that she didn’t want their prisoner to hear what she had to say.

“Phryne’s escaped,” she told him, keeping her back to Bonnasaint. “Or she was rescued, whichever. No one seems to know. It happened sometime last night. The guard was found sleeping, the cell in which she’d been locked up left empty. The Queen is furious. Elven Hunters are searching everywhere, but so far there’s been no sign of her.”

“What about the Orullians? Maybe she went to them. Maybe they’re hiding her.”

Prue shook her head. “Not likely. The Orullians are part of a detachment holding down Aphalion Pass. They were already up there when the King was murdered and Phryne imprisoned. Word is, the Queen didn’t want them anywhere near their cousin and ordered
them kept there. Unless they found a way to sneak out of the pass and away from the other Elves, they’re still on watch.”

“If they abandoned their post, it would be noticed.” Pan thought about it a moment. “But once she escaped, wouldn’t Phryne go to them?”

“How would she do that? How would she even get close?” Prue grabbed his arm. “But she might have tried getting word to them that she was free. She might have done that.”

“Or she might have gone to her grandmother.”

“I thought about that. But they say her grandmother is missing. Some say the Queen had her killed. There are all sorts of rumors floating about. No one quite believes that Phryne killed her father. They wonder if the Queen is lying. But she’s the Queen, and she has the support of the first minister and the Elven Home Guard. So no one can do much.”

“Well, opinions won’t change much in Phryne’s favor now that she’s disappeared. It makes her look guilty. I wonder where she’s gone?”

Prue cocked an eyebrow. “I think we need to ask the Orullians.”

Pan agreed. “For the moment, we should move farther up the mountain, away from the city. We’re too close if they send out search parties.”

She started to turn away. “Wait,” he said, reaching for her arm. She looked back at him, waiting. “Did anyone recognize you? Or ask who you were?”

“Some asked if they could help me. I played at being blind. A few offered food and coins, but I told them I was one of the Children of the Hawk, come to Arborlon on a pilgrimage. They left me alone then.”

“But you’re sure about the Orullians not being there?”

She nodded impatiently. “Both up in Aphalion Pass. Come on, Pan. Let’s go.”

They strapped on their backpacks, released Bonnasaint from the tree to which he was tethered, checked his bonds, took up the leash, and set out anew. When Bonnasaint asked them what they intended to do with him, Pan told him they were going up into the mountains to find someone who would help hide him. Pan could tell from the look on his face that the assassin didn’t like the idea. But he didn’t care
what Bonnasaint liked or didn’t like. Bonnasaint would do what he was told and go where he was led. He was lucky they were taking him with them at this point. He was more trouble than he was worth, and he wasn’t worth all that much now that Phryne was free. He might still be able to help them prove her innocence, but the boy was growing less and less convinced that the assassin would willingly provide any real help when it came down to it.

He was stunned by the turn of events involving Phryne. Who had freed her if not the Orullians? No one else would dare to defy the Queen and the Home Guard. Nor did he believe that Phryne possessed skills that would have allowed her to escape. The most likely scenario involved a careless guard and a door unwittingly left open—something of that sort.

But he kept his thoughts to himself, and he made it a point to warn Prue not to reveal to their prisoner anything of what had happened. He wasn’t sure that it mattered if Bonnasaint knew about Phryne’s escape, but he couldn’t see any benefit in telling him, either. Better if he were left to wonder what their intentions for him really were.

They climbed into the foothills until it was dark and made camp in a grove of cedars that hid them from view and sheltered them from the wind, which had picked up again. Tethering Bonnasaint to a fresh tree, they set about fixing a meal, building a fire, and warming bread and what was left of the salted meat they had brought. They added some potatoes and carrots—the last of those, as well, because they hoped to be able to get fresh supplies at the Elven camp on the morrow. Originally, Pan had thought they would resupply in Arborlon, but he had abandoned that plan the moment Prue had returned with the news about Phryne.

Sitting by the fire with his food in front of him, he found himself wondering how he had gotten to this point in his life. Not that he didn’t understand the choices or the circumstances that had determined the nature of his journey, because he did. He understood them all too well. It was mostly that he had trouble determining at what point his life had changed direction so completely that he had gone down the road that had brought him here. It might have been his decision to follow those strange footprints that he and Prue had discovered all those weeks ago when they had tracked the agenahls. But he
couldn’t be sure. Looking back, it was all jumbled and blurred, his memories of things no longer as clear as they had been. Or even as important, he conceded. What difference at this point did it make how he had gotten to where he was?

And yet it did. It mattered. He wanted the sense of order and purpose he believed understanding would give him.

He was still pondering this dilemma when Prue said, “I’d better feed our friend.”

W
HAT HAPPENED NEXT
might have been avoided if either she or Pan had been a little more careful or better rested or if her newly revitalized instincts had been able to detect even a hint of what Bonnasaint was so carefully hiding. But the assassin was good at concealing things, and he did so successfully here.

Prue picked up the plate of food that she had left warming by the fire and walked over to where Bonnasaint sat watching. He gave her a smile, which she ignored, and said, almost cheerfully, “I was afraid you were going to let me starve.”

“No danger of that,” she replied, moving over to kneel beside him. “Just lean forward a little so that I can feed you. There’s ale, as well. Here, try this.”

She reached out with a spoonful of carrots and potatoes, and in the next instant his arms were around her neck and his fingers were folded across her face. Spoon and plate went flying as she was jerked about and captured in his embrace, arms pinned to her sides. She felt something warm and slick against her skin from where his hands gripped her face and saw patches of red on the sleeves of his tunic.

Blood.

He had rubbed so hard at his bonds that he had torn the skin around his wrists and used his own blood to slip the ropes that bound him.

Panterra was already on his feet and rushing to her aid when Bonnasaint shouted for him to stop. “Don’t come any closer, boy. If you do, I’ll pop her eyes right out of their sockets. I know how to do it; I’ve done it before. You might think you can stop me, but you’ll never
reach me in time. How will you feel if that happens? How would you like it if she were
really
blind? Throw down that staff.”

Through gaps in Bonnasaint’s fingers where they latticed over her face, Prue saw Pan hesitate. “Do it!” the other screamed. “How blind do you want her to be? More blind than she is? More than she pretends to be? Throw down the staff!”

Pan did as he was told and stood watching. “You don’t even have a weapon,” he pointed out. “You can’t get away.”

“I always have weapons—even if they are only the fingers on my hands. I warned you that this would end badly. Now you see. Drop your knives, as well. Then move off to one side.”

Some of Bonnasaint’s blood had leaked from his wrists and down Prue’s face, and she could taste it on her lips, bitter and metallic. She wanted to spit it out, to clean it away, but his fingers were stretched across her mouth. She tried struggling, but his hold on her tightened at once.

“Patience, little one,” he purred. “Be good, and I won’t harm either of you. I just want to get away. That’s all.”

She knew without having to think about it that he was lying. He had no intention of leaving them alive. That wasn’t who he was. Once he had them under his control, he would kill them both. He wouldn’t give it a second thought.

How could I have been so careless? How could I not have noticed that the bonds were loose on his wrists? Even my instincts weren’t enough to smell this out!
She cursed herself for being such a fool, for leaving herself open to this sort of attack. She was supposed to be protecting Pan, but she couldn’t even seem to protect herself.

Bonnasaint lurched to his feet, hauling her up with him. “Now this is what’s going to happen,” he said to Panterra. “I’m going to leave and I’m taking her with me to make certain you don’t do anything foolish. Don’t try coming after me or you’ll find pieces of her scattered along the way. Just stay right here. I’ll let her go when I’ve gotten far enough away that I feel safe. She can walk back from there.”

He paused, and then added, “I’ll need to take your knives with me. You don’t mind, do you?”

Prue suddenly remembered her own knife, tucked in her belt just under the loose front of her tunic, down beneath where his arms encircled
her. She moved her right hand experimentally—just a little—to feel the hilt beneath her fingers.

“I’m not letting you have a weapon,” Panterra said at once.

“You aren’t in a position to argue about it. Now, don’t move.”

Bonnasaint began working his way across the clearing toward the discarded knives, dragging Prue with him. The lurching movements allowed her to squirm and shift without drawing his attention. She worked her hand under her tunic front, and her fingers closed about the handle of her knife.

“I might have to take your staff, as well,” Bonnasaint added suddenly, flashing Panterra a grin. “Just to make certain you do what you’re told. I can leave it behind with the girl when I let her go.”

He wouldn’t do that, Prue thought. He wouldn’t leave anything behind but bodies, not once he had possession of Pan’s knives. He was saying one thing, but he was planning something else entirely. He wasn’t the kind to leave anything to chance. He had been sent to kill them, tried once already and failed. He would finish the job this time.

They were standing over Pan’s discarded weapons. “Just stay calm,” Bonnasaint was saying as he loosened his grip on Prue and reached down.

Prue closed her eyes. She had never used a knife on anyone. But she had to do this. She had to make herself do it.

As Bonnasaint’s fingers brushed the hilt of Pan’s knife, Prue yanked her own from its hiding place, wrenched herself about so that she was looking directly at him—her face so close to his that she could feel the sudden exhalation of his breath and see the frantic recognition in his eyes—and drove the knife into his midsection all the way to the hilt.

Bonnasaint screamed and clutched at her, trying to hold her fast. She fought against him, breaking free as his strength failed and the shock of what was happening paralyzed him. He staggered backward, pushing himself away from her, reaching down for the knife in his stomach. There was blood everywhere, and Prue could not look away. His eyes were locked on hers as he dropped to his knees.

He was still alive when Pan reached her, wrapped his arms about her protectively, and moved her back. Then he toppled over, his eyes empty and fixed, his body rigid.

Strangely, she did not find herself crying. The last few moments
were so surreal she could hardly believe they had even happened. She knew what she had done. She had done what she needed to do. She had kept Pan alive. Wasn’t that all there was to it?