— Chapter 29 —
Cross Purposes

KORATHAN APPEARED AT Thero’s door without warning one morning as the wizard was sitting down to breakfast. He rose, intending to invite him to share his humble meal, but the look on the prince’s face killed the pleasantries, unspoken.

“You’ve had news.”

“Of the worst sort. The khirnari of Gedre has sent word. It appears that our friends and their escort were ambushed less than two days out of Gedre. The escort was killed. Seregil and Alec are missing.”

“When did he learn this?”

“Only recently. The bodies had been hidden, and no one in Bôkthersa knew to look for them until some trader stumbled across them. Zengati arrows were found with the bodies.”

“I see. What does the queen say?”

“She is upset, of course, and means to send a second delegation.”

“That’s it? What about Seregil and Alec?”

“My guess is that they were taken by slavers. I was hoping that you could be of assistance and look with that wizard eye spell of yours.”

Thero had to take a quick breath to calm himself; why was it that everyone thought wizards could just snap their fingers and do anything that was needed in a heartbeat?

“With all due respect, your Highness, they could be halfway to Khouimir by now. Or in any of the hundreds of Zengati slave markets between there and the border.” He sat down, overwhelmed by the enormity of the task. “Or in Plenimar, for that matter. I have no firsthand knowledge of either place, aside from a bit of the western coast of Plenimar.”

But his mind was already racing. “But if it is Plenimar, then they’d most likely be taken to Benshâl or Riga first, from what I’ve heard. But again, there’s no way to know which direction they were taken, or to what land. Such a search would take a hundred wizards months, if not years, to accomplish. I’m sorry, Highness, but it’s virtually impossible that way, like looking for a couple of lentils in a crib of corn.”

“What would you suggest, then?”

“If it were anyone else we were looking for, I’d say to send Seregil and Alec,” Thero replied grimly. “Or Micum Cavish.”

“We still have him. I suggest you send for him at once.”

Thero sent off a message sphere to Watermead, and had word back in an instant that Micum was on his way.

Breakfast forgotten, he locked his tower door and went into the casting room. He chalked the proper circle, then knelt in the center and paused, considering his next move. He suspected that Phoria would consider what he was about to do disobedience at the very least, but that was why the windowless casting room was protected from prying eyes of all sorts by more than walls and locks.

A message spell was too limited, and a translocation to Bôkthersa, while certainly possible, was far too risky for now, and would involve Magyana, the only wizard left proficient at the powerful spell. Instead, he had dusted off one of the oldest tomes in Nysander’s library and found a spell created by his master’s master, Arkoniel. It was a precursor to the translocation magic, based on something so unlike traditional Orëska magic that Thero had always suspected it was from some other source. Nysander had hinted as much the one time he’d shown Thero how it worked.

He’d called it a “window spell,” and that was the simplest way of imagining it. Cast correctly, it opened a portal through distance, allowing a wizard to look through to where another person was, no matter how far, and speak with him. Useful as that might be, Nysander had disliked it, and cautioned Thero against using it because it was crude, and dangerous both to the caster and the one who was sought through it. To illustrate this point, he’d opened a window to a distant valley and swung a dead rat by the tail through the opening. Only the severed end of the tail had swung back.

Klia would be alone in her room, probably still asleep, at this hour. Thero knew her rooms at Bôkthersa as well as he knew his own here, and carefully focused on a spot far enough from the bed that she would not inadvertently reach out and be injured.

Following Master Arkoniel’s carefully written directions, Thero spoke the words and cupped his hands together, then folded them open like a pair of shutters. The space between, about the size of a small hand mirror, shimmered for an instant, then filled with shadow and color. It had worked. He was looking into Klia’s room.

Just enough light came through a parting of the long curtains to illuminate a fall of shining chestnut hair, and one bare shoulder above the coverlet.

“Klia,” he called softly, not wanting to alert the bodyguard outside her door. There was no telling who was there anymore, or where their loyalties lay.

She stirred, but only to pull the covers up under her chin. She was a deep sleeper, when not in the field. The hand that remained resting near her ear was the maimed one. The first and middle fingers were gone, but what remained was strong and graceful, and beautiful to Thero, who knew what she’d endured. She’d allowed him to kiss that scarred flesh once and his lips still tingled at the memory.

He caught himself woolgathering and tried again. “Your Highness, wake up!”

She sighed deeply, then pushed back the covers and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a dark, tousled mess, and her nightgown hung askew off one shoulder. He caught himself with a guilty start as he leaned dangerously close to the aperture.

“What? Who is it?” she asked sharply, reaching under her pillow for the dagger he knew she kept there.

“Over here,” he called, and widened the opening so that she could see him better.

“Thero?” She slid out of bed and threw on a shawl. “What in the world is this?”

“Stay back, please!” he warned, then gave her a brief explanation of the spell.

“I see.” She kept her distance, frowning. “Well, my friend, I’ve missed you badly, but what brings you into my bedchamber at this hour and by such a strange method?”

“Seregil and Alec. Have you had any word from them recently?”

She was awake now. Mention of Seregil always got her attention, he thought with a stab of envy. “No, nothing. What’s going on?”

“Phoria sent them to fetch you. I know they landed at Gedre over a month ago, but nothing’s been heard of them since.” He hesitated, hating to be the bearer of bad tidings just yet. “They were carrying letters from the queen. She’s recalled you to Skala.”

“Really?” Klia sounded less than convinced. “And why didn’t she let me return with my own bodyguard?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a test. She still doubts your loyalty and your response to the summons is to be the touchstone. I suppose she didn’t want Urghazi Turma there defending you if you—” He broke off, not wanting to insult her.

“But I never got any message!”

“No. It appears they were ambushed before they could reach you. I hoped they might have escaped and continued on, but they should have reached you by now.”

Even in the muted light of the bedchamber, he could see the anger flashing in Klia’s blue eyes. “Do you think my sister may have had something to do with their disappearance?”

“No!” he said hastily, for the benefit of any spying listeners. “Of course not. In fact, there is evidence that they were taken by Zengati slavers. The odd thing is, the rest of the Aurënfaie escort and the Skalans were killed and left, Captain Traneus among them.”

Klia pushed her hair back over one shoulder and gave him a wry look. “Can’t say that I’ll shed any tears for that man. What does Korathan say to all this?”

“He’s tasked me with the search.”

“Good. I’ll set out for Rhíminee as soon as I can.”

Thero hoped his disappointment wasn’t too clear on his face. “I will contact you again as soon as I’ve figured out what to do.”

An awkward moment passed as she waited for him to disappear and he couldn’t help hesitating just a moment longer. “Stay well, Highness.” With that, he broke the spell and passed a hand across his forehead. He was sweating, and not because of the magic.

Thero’s page, Wethis, met Prince Korathan as he was leaving his chambers to join his sister for breakfast.

“Your Highness, Lord Vicegerent,” the young man said, bowing politely and holding out a folded parchment sealed with Thero’s mark. “Lord Thero sends a message.”

Korathan dismissed the page and read the letter as he continued on down the long corridor between his rooms and his sister’s. Phoria had finished with her breakfast and gone out to the gardens outside her salon. He found her there, walking slowly along the eastern path, admiring the last of the autumn flowers. She was dressed for court; her hair was twisted into looping braids behind her head, and her blue velvet gown and cape were stiff with gold embroidery.

She waved him over and linked arms with him. “Walk with me, Kor.”

He covered her hand with his own and fell into step beside her. “I’ve had word from Thero.”

“What did your wizard have to say? Can he help?”

“Yes, but not in the way I’d hoped. He feels it would be best if he went to Aurënen to view the site of the massacre. He means to take Sir Micum Cavish of Watermead with him.”

“Another Watcher, I believe?” She plucked a yellow aster and twirled it absently between her fingers.

“Perhaps, but he’s a fine tracker, and he knows Seregil’s ways. If they managed to leave any kind of sign, Micum is the one to find it. Let Thero and Cavish attend to this for you.”

“Very well,” she replied, frowning.

Korathan was used to these sudden changes and took no offense. “They are the best suited to the task.”

“I trust your judgment, Brother. And if Klia sails into Rhíminee Harbor at the head of an Aurënfaie fleet?”

“If she did, Phoria, it would be to support you.”

“So you say.” Her frown deepened as she crushed the blossom. “You always take her side.”

He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Only when you are unfairly suspicious of her.”

“She was always Mother’s favorite.”

“And yet you are the queen. She was the youngest, that’s all. Mother always cared for you.”

Phoria tossed the ruined flower away. “Be that as it may, my patience is nearing its end. And, Kor?”

“Yes?”

Her hard gaze softened to concern. “You won’t let your heart blind you, will you?”

“About Klia?”

“No…him.”

“That was a long time ago, Phoria. You know where my loyalty lies. And my heart.”

She kissed his cheek. “My good brother. You know you’re the only one I can trust completely.”

Korathan gave her an awkward, one-armed hug. “Always, dear sister. Always.”

Taking his leave, he called for his horse and rode to the Orëska House. He’d been here so often lately that no one stood on ceremony anymore. One of the house stewards escorted him directly upstairs.

The sunny workroom was deserted. The steward pulled out a chair for him, then went to a side door and knocked softly.

Thero emerged, dressed in a stained robe and apron. He was flushed, and there was ash dusting his hair and shoulders and chalk dust on his knees.

“I’ve interrupted you.”

“Not at all, Highness.” Thero rubbed at a small burn on his cheek but only managed to smear more soot there. “I attempted a few other searching spells, but they were no help.”

“Phoria is getting impatient but has agreed to let you and Micum go south.”

“Ah.” Thero walked over to the table and poured them each a cup of tea. Handing Korathan his, he sat down beside him. “Then perhaps you will not be angry with me for the steps I’ve taken. I’ve exhausted all methods. I’ve cast dozens of wizards’ eyes. I can find no sign of them between Bôkthersa and Gedre, but I may have missed them. It’s a very large area. But I can tell you now with certainty that Klia has had no word from them, either.”

“You’ve spoken with her?”

“Well, yes, actually.” Thero looked a bit embarrassed at the admission, then explained the spell he’d employed. “I apprised her of the situation. She assured me that she remains completely loyal to the queen and plans to return at once. I wanted to speak with you before I passed the information on to her Majesty.”

“Bilairy’s Balls, man, if you could do that, why did Phoria have to go to all the trouble of sending Seregil?”

“You’d have to ask her that. I did offer, the day I came back.”

“I see.” Korathan pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the start of a headache behind his eyes. “Tell me what Klia said and I’ll couch it properly for Phoria’s ears. In the meantime, I want you to go there at once. You can do it quickly, can’t you, with one of those sort of traveling spells?”

“A translocation? I’ve never managed it, but Magyana can cast them. I’ll speak with her, and we’ll go as soon as Micum arrives. But you do understand that even if we learn what direction they were taken, it’s no guarantee that we can track them?”

“Do what you can and report to me directly.”

Thero smiled and bowed. “Of course, Highness. But you’re not suggesting I reinstitute the Watchers against the queen’s express order?”

“Certainly not. But as Vicegerent, I’m entitled—no, obligated—to protect the Throne in any manner I can, and I’d not be the first to have spies of my own. Anything you might need, I will provide.”

“Thank you, Highness.” He paused a moment, then added, “I don’t believe Seregil would do anything to provoke trouble between Phoria and Klia, regardless of his feelings toward either one. It had to be an ambush.”

“I believe that, too, Thero, but this business of them being the only ones not killed worries me. If it really was slavers, why not take them all? Are you prepared to deal with them if they actually have deserted?”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Thero assured him, keeping to himself that his solution would be to tell them to keep on running. “Trust in them as you would me, Korathan. They would not betray your trust of their own volition. Something’s gone very wrong. If they’re anywhere to be found, Micum and I will find them.”

The prince clasped hands with him. “Go, then, with my blessing and the queen’s.”