The Princess of Trelian (11 page)

No. She would not believe it. It wasn’t possible. She would know.

Meg hesitated, unsure of what to do. She wanted to burst in and refute these ridiculous accusations. But she held back, waiting to hear what else the courier had to say, to hear what her parents said in response. Did they really believe it was Jakl?

“What action is Gerald taking?” the king asked.

“For now, he simply sends a warning —”

“A warning!” the queen exclaimed, but then bit back whatever else she might have wanted to say.

The courier went on, sounding reluctant. “He sends a warning for Trelian to call off its dragon and explain these attacks against the kingdom of Lourin. No immediate consequences are mentioned, but he asserts that if the matter is not resolved within four days, he will be forced to take action to protect his people.” The courier paused, then continued, “I respectfully recommend sending a reply at once, Your Majesties. King Gerald seemed . . . agitated. I believe he has already sent word to Baustern and Farrell-Grast, to seek their advice and possible support in any action he may take against Trelian. I would be happy to return at once bearing whatever —”

“Thank you, Tessel,” the king broke in. “We must discuss this, and you will need food and rest before you will be able to carry any messages anywhere. Please report in to your dispatcher and then get yourself something to eat. We will summon you when we have need of you again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Tessel said. And then before Meg could think of what to do, the young woman emerged through the doorway and saw her.

“Princess!” she exclaimed, her eyes going wide.

“Meg?” came her father’s voice from within the office. In a moment he appeared behind the courier, and then her mother appeared behind him.

“I . . . heard some of what you were discussing,” Meg admitted. No sense trying to deny it. She was itching to defend her dragon, in any case. “Jakl is not responsible for these attacks,” she added firmly.

“Meg, come inside and sit down. Tessel, please go on.”

Tessel dipped her head gratefully and hurried off. Meg went in and threw herself into one of the supplicant’s chairs. Her parents reseated themselves in their own chairs behind a large desk carved with intricate designs. The king leaned forward and looked at his daughter intently. The queen looked at her too, but her face was still and unreadable.

“Are you . . . feeling better?” the queen asked after a moment.

“Yes,” Meg said.

“How much did you hear?” the king asked.

“Enough,” Meg said. “I heard that King Gerald is accusing Jakl of attacking his kingdom, which is absolutely ludicrous. Jakl would never do such a thing. And if he did, I would know. It’s not possible.”

“How sure are you about this?” her father asked gravely. “Think, Meg. Don’t just answer in anger. This is very serious. We cannot afford to make the wrong decision here.”

Meg took a deep breath and tried to force herself to think objectively. Was she sure? Really,
really
sure? She thought she was. And yet . . . the nightmares, and the way Jakl had acted earlier, the anger, the searing pain in her head . . . Could he be doing things without her knowledge? But even if he could, why would he attack another kingdom? It made no sense.

“I will admit that I still do not know everything about the link,” she said at last. “But it seems impossible to me that Jakl could travel so far away from me and do these terrible things he is being accused of without my knowing. And he would have no reason to do so. He has no enemies other than the ones we share with him. He certainly has no understanding of political arrangements or ranks or even kingdom boundaries, as far as I know. His world is much . . . simpler than that. I cannot imagine he would have some reason, some driving cause to attack anyone unless they were actively threatening him. Or me. And to sneak away somehow, to fly all the way there and back and make these attacks in the middle of the night — honestly, that would take planning, and strategy, and thinking about actions and consequences. Jakl is intelligent, but not in the same way we are.

“He interprets things through my feelings, the ones that he shares with me through the link, and so maybe if I had had some reason to hate Lourin and to wish them ill . . . but even then, I cannot see him taking such independent action. It’s just not the way his mind works.”

The king nodded, taking this in. “Your argument makes sense, Meg. And yet there is still the evidence to consider. I doubt very much that King Gerald will just take our word for it that we have not been sending our dragon to attack his kingdom. Even if he understood the nature of your connection to Jakl, which of course he does not, how could we expect him to believe the opposite of what the evidence seems to suggest without presenting some proof of our own?”

“Then we will just have to find that proof,” Meg said. “Something is making these attacks; it’s not Jakl, so it must be something else. Maybe we can find out what. If we are convinced of Jakl’s innocence, then there must be a way —”

“Meg,” the queen said quietly, “how can you be this certain? He is, as you have said yourself, a wild animal. You cannot control him directly — his behavior this afternoon proved that, I think.”

Meg winced; of course they would have heard about Jakl’s frightening display when she left them earlier.

“It seems at least
possible,
” the queen went on, “that he can take actions on his own without your consent or knowledge.”

“Mother, it doesn’t work that way!”

“I believe that you think that. I want to believe it as well. But I do not see how we can swear it is true to King Gerald until we prove it to ourselves first.”

Meg took a deep breath. She tried to put herself in her parents’ place. They were just trying to protect the kingdom. That was their primary responsibility. Hers, too, of course.

But . . . they were wrong. Jakl was not doing this. Something else was going on in Lourin.

“How can we do that?” Meg asked at last. She tried to sound completely reasonable, even though she felt nothing of the sort. “What would make you feel thoroughly convinced?”

Her parents looked at each other, considering.

“We could confine the dragon —” the queen began.

“No!” Meg cried before she could stop herself. That would not work. Not the way Jakl had been acting lately. He would not take well to being confined under the best of circumstances, and now, with him being so . . . so unpredictable . . . she was afraid of how he might react. What he might do. She knew he wasn’t responsible for what was happening in Lourin, but her mother was right that she could not truly control him. What if they tried to confine him and he fought them? Hurt someone?
Killed
someone? By accident. She knew it could only possibly happen by accident . . . but it could happen. She could not let him be put in that position.

“Please,” Meg said. “He would — he would hate that. There must be another way.”

“I believe,” her father said after a moment, “we had better think a bit more on this before deciding on a course of action. We must somehow convince King Gerald that his country is not under attack by Trelian, but perhaps we can come up with a different solution. We have a little time. It is too late to send a courier back with our reply tonight, in any case.”

That seemed to settle the matter for now. Meg’s parents left to get ready for dinner and gently suggested that Meg do the same. Meg nodded but remained in her chair for a few minutes after they left.

She could not let them lock Jakl up, not even temporarily, not even for the very best of reasons. She could tell they were holding on to that idea, that they would want to try it if another plan did not present itself. And she wouldn’t be able to talk them out of it. Not without revealing why she was so worried, and if she told them the truth, they’d probably be even more eager to chain the dragon to the ground. They couldn’t really understand. It wasn’t their fault, but that didn’t change anything.

She had to think of something else.

“B
LUE,” CALEN SAID IMPATIENTLY
.

“And now?”

“Red.”

“And now?”

“We’ve been through all of these spells already. More than once. Why are you still —?”

“You were instructed to cooperate,” Mage Brevera said. “Now answer the question.”

Calen sighed. “Orange swirled with white.”

They had been doing this for hours. Calen shifted on the hard wooden chair, feeling uncomfortably crowded in the cramped little room, filled as it was with the three mages and himself. Mage Brevera’s two companions, Mage Thomil and Mage Mettleson, took turns casting various spells in front of him while Mage Brevera ordered Calen to identify the colors involved. They were repeating spells now; Calen didn’t know if they’d run out of easy spells to cast or if they were just trying to trick him. He still didn’t understand what they were trying to accomplish. And they still wouldn’t explain how he represented a danger to the Magistratum.

“Now,” Mage Brevera said, “tell me what
kind
of spell I’m casting.” He raised his hands and concentrated on a spot between them. A tendril of golden energy formed and began spiraling outward, circling the mage.

“A healing spell of some kind,” Calen said. A flicker of fiery orange joined the gold.
That
was different. And interesting. Calen leaned forward, trying to piece it together. “Oh, that’s . . . wow. Healing and . . . protection? Like to help make someone better while stopping them from getting sick with something else . . . or . . . hurt. Oh! Like in battle, maybe? To protect a soldier from further harm while you’re fixing his broken leg or whatever?” That was clever! Calen could easily see the uses for a spell like that one.

The mage released the spell, and the colors dissipated into the air around him. Calen looked up at him excitedly. “Can you make it bigger to include more people? Or modify it, maybe to conceal the soldier as well as protect him? Maybe with some black . . .” He trailed off as Mage Brevera’s already impressive frown grew even deeper.

“We are asking the questions, Apprentice,” the mage told him. Then he began to cast another spell.

Calen identified three more spells, then decided that whether Mage Brevera liked it or not, he had had enough. “Stop,” he said. “Please. It’s got to be really late by now, and I’m very tired. If you’re going to keep making me do this, at least let me go get some rest. I’ll come back again first thing in the morning.”

“
We
will decide when it’s time to stop,” Mage Brevera said.

“Well, you can keep going as long as you like,” Calen said, standing up, “but I’m finished.” He was too tired and annoyed to be afraid of the consequences of talking back to the mage. He’d been told to cooperate. He
had
cooperated. But now he was done. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open, let alone concentrate on what Brevera was casting.

“Sit down!” the mage barked. He pushed Calen back down into the chair.

Calen sat there for a moment, astonished. “Hey!” he said. He wanted to stand back up but didn’t know what he would do if Brevera pushed him again. Push him back? Surely he wasn’t supposed to get in pushing matches with full mages, but Brevera had been the one to start it. . . . Even now the mage loomed before him, clearly not about to back down.

“Brev,” Mage Thomil said, leaning forward to place a hesitant hand on Brevera’s arm, “it is getting rather late. And we’re all getting a bit tired. Perhaps starting again in the morning is not a bad idea.”

For a moment no one said anything. Calen glanced at Mettleson, who stood silently, looking rather blank. Deliberately so, Calen suspected. Brevera was clearly the boss, and this was the first time either of the other mages had contradicted him in even the slightest way. Mettleson was apparently perfectly willing to let Thomil be the one to risk Brevera’s temper, even though Mettleson himself had to be just as tired. Calen’s opinion of the man dropped even further.

“Very well,” Brevera said at last. “Take him to his room.”

“I can take myself to my room,” Calen said, but Brevera shook his head.

“You will be staying under our observation until the testing is complete,” he said.

Calen blinked. “You’re not letting me go back to my room?”

“Please,” Mage Thomil said. “Just come with me. The room we have ready is quite suitable for your needs. You will return to your master just as soon as we finish with the tests.”

“And when will that be?” Calen asked.

Thomil glanced at Brevera, who just stood there looking grouchy and unpleasant. Mettleson still looked blank. “Please,” Thomil said again to Calen, gesturing toward the door.

Calen went. He was certainly eager to get out of this room, even if he wasn’t going to get to go back to his own room yet. He supposed he could spend one night where they wanted him to. Surely they would finish up tomorrow.

Thomil led Calen down the corridor to a door at the far end, right next to where the passage terminated in a narrow window. There was a small, pointless-seeming table with nothing on it set before the window ledge. It was too dark to see the view, whatever it was. Calen sighed and let Thomil usher him into the room. The mage lit the room’s two candles with a flick of his hand. The room was small and spare, but the bed was made and there was a pitcher of water and a bowl on the nightstand. Not exactly all the comforts of home, and nothing like the far nicer chamber he’d been given next door to Serek’s rooms, but it would be fine for just one night.