Authors: Violette Malan
The Mirror Prince (41 page)
“And your sister? I am sure she rejoices also.”
She looked around her now and saw that Moon was being entertained by the Moonward twins, who had managed between them to make Moon smile. She still wasn’t sure what Moon felt. They had not been alone since they arrived at Max’s tower, and Cassandra hadn’t found the right moment to speak to her.
“Give her time, Truthsheart,” Blood said, interpreting her silence easily. “Her whole world changes.”
Cassandra nodded and forced a smile. She knew that what Blood said was true, but she wasn’t very comforted by it. She was glad to let Blood’s voice draw her attention back to the map.
“Let me call one who has been most recently in the Citadel,” Blood was saying as he signaled to one of the Wild Riders hovering near them, who quickly returned with a young Starward Rider. She wore Singer’s colors, Cassandra saw, but they were made up of bits and pieces of clothing, some very clearly belonging to other, larger Riders. The leggings beneath her tunic were the magenta Cassandra knew to be the Basilisk Prince’s color.
“This is Twilight Falls Softly,” Blood said, drawing the young Singer closer to the map with a beckoning hand. “She came to us from the Basilisk’s Citadel only a short time ago, and can tell us what we need to know.”
The Singer frowned over the map as it was explained to her, looking up finally with a smile that brought color to her pale cheeks and brightened the turquoise of her eyes.
“This is like the thing they call ‘writing,’ yes? Have you—no.” She held up her hands. “I have too many questions, and all must await a better time and place.” She studied what Max had drawn for a few minutes before speaking.
“The whole of the Vale,” she said finally, “except for these sections, here and here,” she pointed with the tip of a dagger, “has been transformed, either into the Citadel itself, or into part of the Garden that surrounds it.”
“So the walls of the Citadel are here, here, and here?” Max frowned. “The Vale itself has not changed shape?”
“Not if you have drawn truly,” agreed Twilight. “But the Talismans need not be within the Citadel proper in order to be behind walls.” She rested back on her heels. “The Garden is made up of miniature versions of the Lands. The Walls were not yet in place when I escaped, but they may be now—the Basilisk would not say when exactly, nor for what he waited, only ‘soon’—and it was said that once in place, only the Basilisk himself can cross these walls without Moving, and it is only from his tower study,” Twilight touched her upper lip with the tip of her tongue before bringing her dagger point down again, “this point here, that all the Garden can be seen.”
“A frontal assault is therefore out of the question,” Blood said.
“Moving into the Garden is a waste of time,” Cassandra said. “Even if we knew the place well enough to Move, if these Walls are up, we’d have to keep jumping from section to section . . .” she shook her head and turned to Twilight Falls Softly. “How did you get away?”
“It was my plan to walk,” the younger Rider said, with an embarrassed half smile on her lips. “I had no idea of the real distance. Fortunately, I found a Water Sprite who also wanted to leave, and she brought me with her through the ways of the Naturals.”
“There is more to her story than she tells you,” Blood said, smiling broadly, “but that, too, must wait a better time and place.”
“Are they together? The Talismans?” Cassandra looked across the map at Max. “Maybe we won’t need to Move much.”
“I put them in the Cave of Sighs, but,” Max shook his head, his raven hair falling into his eyes. “I can’t see where it should be.”
“Don’t think the Rider way,” Cassandra told him, “think the human way. If you had a map of the old Vale, and you superimposed it over this one . . .”
Max looked at her with raised eyebrows and the beginnings of a smile. Without even looking at the map scratched in the dirt, he brought his index finger down on a spot left of center.
“Here.”
“Within the Citadel itself, then,” Blood said.
“Allowing for windage,” Max said smiling. “They may have drifted a bit, but that is more or less where they’ll be.”
Blood stood, shaking his head at Cassandra’s offered hand. “Can you Move there, Twilight Falls Softly?”
“He will know.” The Singer had grown so pale that her eyes looked like bruises in her face. “We were told that the Basilisk could feel Movement to and from the Citadel, and I . . .”
From the trembling of her lips it was obvious the young Singer was terrified. To have escaped once, and to be asked to go back . . .
“There is no one else,” Blood said gently. “None of us has been there since the building was completed.”
“I have,” Max said. “Once I’m that close, I should be able to walk right to them.”
“Max.” Cassandra couldn’t believe her ears. “The dungeon room? And if it’s locked?”
“When I first woke up, I wasn’t in a dungeon room,” he said, his eyes, narrowed in memory, still on the map. “I was in a round tower room, full of windows, maybe even the room that overlooks the Garden.”
Twilight nodded, scanning the map. “There was a broad table? Many small carpets? A divan? The Basilisk’s workroom. It is at the top of the Basilisk Tower, here.” She indicated the same spot that Blood had pointed out before. “There are other towers, though none so high, all along this perimeter wall. Between are public rooms, halls, barracks, and six courtyards.” She sketched in these details quickly before looking up at the faces watching her. “The rest of the Citadel is patrolled by soldiers, but none go without permission into the Basilisk Tower. If he knows there has been Movement, the Basilisk may send a guard, but providing the Basilisk himself is not there, you should have no trouble—”
“And if he
is
there?” Blood was frowning.
is
there?” Blood was frowning.
Cassandra knew her cue. “Then
we
should have no trouble.”
we
should have no trouble.”
“You’ll stay here with Blood and his Riders.” Max didn’t look at her. “It’s too—”
“Dangerous, yes, I know.” She laughed at his openmouthed look as she stole his line. “He’ll know you’re coming, whether he can feel the Movement or not. You can’t go alone.”
“Look—”
“Fight you for it.” She looked at him with her eyebrows raised as far as they would go. What was the point of knowing someone for a thousand years if you didn’t learn how to win an argument?
“If you would be guided by me, my Prince,” Blood said, his face lightened in what must pass for him as a smile, “do not part from Sword of Truth. Two can pass unnoticed as easily as one. And I fear that you have not held a blade in some time. If it were possible, I would suggest a small company of Riders, but as it is not . . .”
“I may have another use for the Wild Riders,” Max said, “if they will consent.”
“You have but to ask.”
Walks Under the Moon had watched everything closely and behaved as carefully as she could. She had nodded when required, smiled when smiling was called for, bowed her head at introductions as befitted her. But all the time she had been watching her sister, hoping even now that Truthsheart would step away from the Exile, now that he had his own
fara’ip,
his own father, to help him. But no, the solution would not be simple after all. She would have crept into his chamber and killed him in his sleep, Basilisk or no Basilisk, but for the knowledge that they had slept in the same bed. Her sister and the Exile. Moon could see now that Truthsheart must indeed be mad. All those years in the Shadowlands, among the people she called humans . . . of course her poor sister was mad.
fara’ip,
his own father, to help him. But no, the solution would not be simple after all. She would have crept into his chamber and killed him in his sleep, Basilisk or no Basilisk, but for the knowledge that they had slept in the same bed. Her sister and the Exile. Moon could see now that Truthsheart must indeed be mad. All those years in the Shadowlands, among the people she called humans . . . of course her poor sister was mad.
There must be a way to save Truthsheart from this madness, to set her feet finally on the path back to sanity. Moon had thought the Basilisk had promised her this, but she feared now that she could not trust him.
Never mind,
she thought,
I can do it myself
.
Never mind,
she thought,
I can do it myself
.
And so she had watched and smiled and bowed. And waited until her sister was gone, asked the Wild Rider who was assigned to her care where she might wash herself, and when he walked away to allow her privacy, she Moved.
Max stood back to back with Cassandra, swords in their right hands, left hands linked behind them, grasping wrists. He could feel her bare skin under his hand. For where they were going, and what they needed to do, they had removed all their
gra’if
except what could be concealed under their clothes, and those clothes were the deep magenta of the Basilisk’s personal guard. Max hadn’t asked Blood on the Snow where the uniforms had come from.
gra’if
except what could be concealed under their clothes, and those clothes were the deep magenta of the Basilisk’s personal guard. Max hadn’t asked Blood on the Snow where the uniforms had come from.
“I could have won the fight,” he said.
“With a couple of centuries of practice, maybe.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
SLAM!
The smell told him they’d made it, even before he opened his eyes. The air that moved through the round windows smelled of flowers and ornamental grasses, not of rain-swept granite and pine needles. The circular room was exactly as Max had last seen it, the cushioned couch, the small table near it still holding its wine decanter and jeweled cups.
He walked over to the couch, fingered one of the tassels on the edge of a cushion, remembering when he’d lain here, talking with the Basilisk.
“Could you Heal him?” he asked without looking up.
“I can only Heal the addiction, not the cause of it.” She was shaking her head, frowning. “I don’t remember any Song that tells of addiction to
dra’aj
.”
dra’aj
.”
Max tossed the cushion back onto the chaise. “Few people know of it, but that’s where the Hunt—”
Cassandra held up her hand in a shushing motion and jerked her head. “They’re coming up,” she whispered.
Max pointed at himself and then at the door; pointed to her and then to the backless stool in front of the worktable. Cassandra nodded as Max flattened himself against the wall behind the door. Max might be known, but no one would recognize her, and that might buy them some time. She sat down and crossed her ankles like a student awaiting the arrival of the vice principal. She held her sword low down at her side, where it could not be seen from the doorway.
The swift, tapping footsteps halted in the open doorway. Cassandra looked up, widened her eyes, and gave the Sunward guard, drawn sword in his hand, a small smile. She knew that Max had his hands up, ready to push the door into the guard if anything went wrong.
“What are you doing here?” the guard said.
“The Basilisk sent me,” she said. “He told me to wait for him here.” The tremble in her voice wasn’t faked, but she hoped she sounded convincingly proud of herself. She’d heard many young women, noticed by their princes, sound just that way.
Evidently the guard had, too. He swallowed and looked away, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.
“You know you’re not supposed to Move within the Citadel,” he said brusquely.
“Well, I know, that is, they told me that, of course, but when the Prince himself ordered me, I thought . . .”
The guard nodded. “See you wait quietly, then.” His eyes flicked up and away from her again. For a moment, Cassandra thought the Sunward Rider was going to say something more, but he jerked his head at her again, turned on his heel, and started down the stairs.
Cassandra relaxed her grip on her sword hilt and stood up as Max stepped from around the door, rolling his eyes skyward. She shrugged.
“Where to?” she mouthed.
Max closed his eyes, felt for the flames within him, though he wasn’t surprised when he felt in which direction they pulled him. Where else could they go? “Down.”
Cassandra nodded, gesturing for him to take the lead with a mocking half bow.
He paused at the next landing, keeping his heart open, feeling for the flames of the Phoenix’s nest. Here, a wide archway opened into what could only be a conference room. Wall hangings embroidered and brocaded in Guidebeasts of all kinds, ten chairs around a long oval table, the chair at the head elevated slightly above the rest. Everything in the room elaborately decorated—each chair carved and painted, the table a mass of marquetry. Even the floor was parqueted with both stone and wood—and not, as Max saw with a twist to his stomach, in darkwood. Nothing could express his relief at not having to enter the room. It would have been like walking on rugs made from the skins of friends. He felt Cassandra’s grip on his arm, and met her eyes, dark and stormy gray in a face set hard as stone. He swallowed and motioned her on.
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