Chapter Ten: The Queen's Business
Misly giggled and flirted, her fan rapping eager hands and fluttering coyly. Her mother beamed at her, pleased she was being so open to the advances of the wealthiest men in the kingdom.
Age and marital status didn't seem to concern her. Misly loved her mother and so was disappointed in her. She took strength knowing this was for much more than catching a powerful spouse.
The amulet hidden under her bodice was cold, even up against her skin. She could see Tulin against a wall, anonymous in his servant's uniform. She was sure that wasn't his real name. He responded too slow to it, the slightest hesitation. He wore the colors of Ypres, who had so many private servants, there was no way he knew them all on sight.
How many glasses of wine had she sipped and discretely left on side tables? How many masked faces has she smiled on, encouraging their attentions?
Her own mask was ironically of a Sheik'ah style. She didn't know if this Tulin and his fellow conspirators knew she knew of their origins. But she had recognized the design of the amulet from one of her oldest history books. Her fan was another of their items, touched by some sort of magic. Her fingers tingled as she stroked the silk.
"Madame," a man said, lifting her hand to his lips. The fur of his Red Lynel mask tickled her wrist.
The amulet burned against her skin. She furled her fan and tapped his shoulder playfully. "Oh, you," she trilled. It sounded horribly false to her ears, but he was too drunk to notice.
He took advantage of the crowd and noise to pull her close. "Tell me, my dear, your mother still angling for a rich husband for you?"
She pressed her hand against his chest, holding him off. "Are you saying I'm mercenary, my lord?"
"You've certainly stolen my heart."
She highly doubted that. "Unfortunately, I am not interested in hearts, Jharen."
He reeked of wine. "What are you interested in?" he asked in her ear. She spun out of his arms with a well-practiced twist. She tweaked his nose when he tried to grab her again.
She didn't answer, only curtsied and moved on with a sway in her hips and a sultry glance.
The amulet warmed for three other attendees, two more men and a woman. They were harder to mark. She managed to whack one in the face by 'accident,' excusing herself with a slurred titter. The others had their backs jabbed unceremoniously as a crowd edged past.
Finally, she could escape. She drew off her mask and smoothed her frizzled hair. It was insufferably hot. The weather was cooling and the furnaces had been lit.
Tulin moved out of the shadows to pace next to her. He was now dressed as a higher servant. An illusion? Or a very thick coat, with two liveries sown back-to-back. That seemed somehow mundane.
"Well done," he praised.
She passed him the fan. Her hand was itching from clenching it all night. "Mama will be so disappointed when Jharen vanishes."
Tulin chuckled and she shivered. "We'll see how permanent his removal must be."
They had reached her parent's suite, tucked back in a wing with other barely noble families. He bowed to her with professional disdain.
"Miss Terpandra," he said, his tone once more that of a supercilious lackey. She waved him off and went in with her head high.
Her mother woke her the next morning with a gleeful shout of laughter.
"Misly! Misly, wake up!"
Misly grimaced at the light from the windows, even dulled by clouds. "What is it?" she grumbled.
"The best news, my love! Trevil has asked for your hand in marriage!"
Misly stared at her, uncomprehending. "Isn't he already married?"
"Silly! His son, Trevil. Oh, darling, this is the most wonderful news! My dearest girl, I am so proud of you!"
Misly sat numb. Trevil was one of the men she had marked last night, the amulet like a brand against her heart. He had had direct contact with the assassins, met them in person. And his son had never paid the least attention to her.
Luckily, she was known for being grumpy in the morning. She scowled at her mother and flopped back down on the bed.
"Couldn't you have waited to tell me until I woke up?"
Her mother paid her no heed, chattering about the different plantations Trevil controlled. "And you must attend to your Civics lessons, dearest! Young Trevil is rumored to be under consideration for the open seat in Easyren! You must know at least something about modern government, darling."
Misly huddled under the duvet, heart and mind racing. What should she do? Contact the Sheik'ah, yes. But what if they want her to go along with it? Continue the charade? With both parties of conspirators knowing the other? She knew this plot and it didn't end well.
She grumbled through her morning abulations. She perked up when her mother start gushing about all the beautiful silks and fine wools she would enjoy.
"And Trevil's colors suit you perfectly. And those abula! You will look ravishing!"
Misly did admire the flowing costume traditional in Easyren, but not enough to die for it.
Han was as skeptical as always. "Do you even like him?" she asked pointedly. At fourteen, she was too pragmatic for her own good.
Misly wasn't sure she'd ever spoken to him, outside of formal greetings. "Of course, silly! He's so charming."
Han wrinkled her nose. "You say that about everyone."
"You'll understand when you're older, Han."
That riled her younger sister as she intended, but unfortunately didn't make her go away. "What about mister star-gazer?"
"Whom?"
"The man you met in the gardens. Who likes stars?"
Misly stared blankly at Han's reflection. "Stars?"
"Seriously, Misly, you are such a ninny!"
Misly remembered that night, only a week ago? "Oh, him. He's nobody." Not a lie. She hated lying to her sister.
Han only sniffed. "Well, I'm glad you're marrying this Trebin or whoever."
"Trevil, dear."
Han turned away, clutching her book to her chest. "Really, Misly. I am glad. And I'm sorry."
Misly caught her arm before she could scamper off. "Sorry for what, Han?"
Han scowled. "That you have to marry such a pig just so Balka can go to school and I can buy more stupid books about fossils." Misly stared as her stoic sister blinked back tears. "Anyway, I know you think I'm brusque and that I think you're a self-centered flirt, but I know what a sacrifice your making, marrying the wealthiest man to offer for you, no matter who he is, just 'cause Mama wants a bigger house and for Nelsin to be a Magistrate someday."
"I'm not-"
"Just promise me that if he beats you or if he's cruel or doesn't let you read those stupid romance novels you like, that you'll take him before Priestess Kahlin and demand a divorce."
Misly had never seen her sister so distraught. She gripped her shoulders, clad in a faded hand-me-down dress. "I promise, Han."
Han sniffed noisily and wriggled out of Misly's grip. "Alright, then." She hurried away, head down.
Her mother whirled into the room, flourishing a vibrant green gown. "Wear this, darling. It nearly matches Trevil's colors!"
The Demon Watch spread before him, the earth yellow and chalky with lime. The alkaline soil choked most plants, leaving only stunted trees whose roots struggled deep enough to find the meager water below. No animals and few plants could live in this inhospitable place.
It was an ancient land. Buried cities called out to him. He knew many of them, had walked their streets in previous lives. He remembered the cool wind off the ocean long ago, the way the sun filtered through the canopies on a wide terrace in another. And in the end, as all of man's creations, they all came to dust and decay. Their memories cursed this place, leaving it barren and hostile.
He stepped out into the emptiness, the remnants of his army arrayed at the edge of the wasteland. The boy knew this land better even than the valley behind. He had spent much of his life scouring it, pushing the darkness back. But he could not destroy it.
The sun set behind him, falling behind the Shadow and casting the desert into an early twilight. He waited. He had waited so long for this moment. Months, years, generations of waiting, planning, watching.
And the witch of Ordon thought she could stop him in a single night? That he would give up the boy, this perfect boy, for whom he had waited for so long?
A pity he was raised in squalor, set to menial work among lesser men. Herding goats? Mucking about in the mud of the fields? And he the Chosen One! But his body was strong, one of the strongest he'd possessed, despite it all. Strong enough to bear Power with it destroying his mind.
And his soul! Even now it struggled, but as the mouse in the hawk's claw. Wretched, brave, and futile. He weakened each day and soon he would be nothing, consumed by the Power that created him.
The shadows rustled, coming together to form a shape. Outlines, figures, growing stronger as the Light faded. A creature stepped forward. It sniffed the air, tasting the scent of human flesh. Its eyes darted back and forth.
"Come," he commanded it.
It crept across the sand until it stood before him. Stupid, as they all were, but cunning. And hungry. The boy had done the witch's task well, weakened the connection between this world and the Other. Every human to fall would strengthen it once more. It lifted its snout to the air, teeth wet and gleaming.
Slowly, it lowered itself to the ground, kneeling before it's king. In the gathering darkness, they all bowed, rising out of the shadows to honor their Lord.
Their passing was as a cold wind. Screams echoed from the hills as the crytch sated themselves. He looked out over the barren landscape, admiring how the early moon cast hard shadows from its place high in the heavens.
That same shadow-spawn approached him, a mean intelligence in its flat eyes. He learned long ago that human soldiers were unreliable, panicky. He only used them when nothing better offered.
"Lord," the creature growled.
He mounted his sweating horse. It shied from the forms massing around him.
"It's time."
She dreamed of an endless wood. She stood under the heavy trees, knowing she was lost, but unable to remember what she had been searching for. Whispers distracted her; she couldn't focus. Calls for help, laughter, singing, crying. All around her, hidden in the mist.
She drew her Sword. She felt threatened here. Something watched her.
"Are you here, Ganon?" she called. "Show yourself."
The whispers quieted, now watching her, too. Waiting to see what she would do.
She took a step forward. The mist moved without any wind. It shifted, obscuring the obstacles in her path. She tread softly, her boots making no noise against the lank grasses. More trees loomed up in front of her. She stilled, listening. The voices hissed to each other, then resumed their chatter.
She walked for hours, it seemed, calling to the voices pleading for her help. Calling for someone to help her, lost in these evil woods.
No one came.
"Your Majesty?"
Zelda shook off her dreams. She sat by the bulkhead, her Sword across her knees. It was Draal.
"Your Majesty, it's time."
She nodded and accepted his hand to stand. She stretched, stiff from sleeping in her armor.
It was a few hours after sunset. Even this far south, the air was cool as autumn approached. How long until snow blocked the Ordon passes again? Could Ganon be contained in Druynia until spring? She had not had any visions of him since he destroyed Ordon. Only the woods and the mist.
Was Link's connection to Ordona fully severed, now? Had She abandoned him after his sacrilege? She had been all too willing to leave him to his fate this spring.
Now who's being blasphemous?
Zelda yanked the buckles tight on her baldric.
The Zephyr's landing boats were readied. His crew waited with her men in the small craft, the Zora bobbing with the choppy waves. A stiff wind had risen, blowing inland.
"Ma'am?" Draal stopped her from going over the side. He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat, clearly discomforted.
"What is it?"
"I…I have something I wish to give you. To return to you, actually." He held out a crudely wrapped package. She took it, turning it over in her hands. It was heavy for its size.
"What is this?"
He dropped his eyes, face obscured in the night. "Your crown."
The fabric fell away, revealing the metal diadem. Received on her sixteenth birthday, she had thought it ugly and brutish for a princess. No gems adorned it, no flowers or filigree as many of her other royal headwear had. A gift from the Goron-king, it had only sharp points of platinum, like teeth stabbing up above her hair.
"I…uh…thought I would sell it, you know, once the Champion allowed us to return home." Draal rubbed his cheek, fidgeting as she stared down at the treasure.
"Convicted for thievery?" she guessed, not sure whether to laugh or have him scourged.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Any other irreplaceable artifacts hidden about your person?"
"No, ma'am. Not anymore."
It felt good to laugh. "Thank you, Draal. I appreciate your…honesty."
He laughed, too. "You can use it finance this war."
"No." She settled it over her braids, frizzy with saltwater. It was as cumbersome as she remembered, forced to wear it the entire time Baeark had remained in Hyrule. Luckily, he found both their climate and cuisine unpalatable and soon returned to the reaches of Eldin.
But, her Sword had once felt impossible to wield. Her armor no longer dragged on her shoulders. She set her shoulders. This small weight was nothing to her, not any more.
She had been practicing and could now swim for six minutes in full kit. Long enough to slip over the side of the boat and wade quietly onto shore. The crash of the waves against the rocks masked the sound of their landing. Her thirty soldiers and forty of Pacquin's crew crouched in the lee of the port walls.
Pacquin, moving stealthily for a creature so large, came up next to her. "Ready?"
"Ready."
His sailors climbed the stone wall as easily as they did the rigging of their ship. Before long, ropes fell. She looped the rough line around her waist and leg and set about scaling the edifice. Her arms were hot and shaking by the time she pulled herself over the battlements. Cursing Link and how effortless he made such exertion look, she recovered her breath as they gathered in the back corner of the fortress.
She could see the guard posts lit by torches. She nodded to Sorrint's murmured question and he and a handful of others crept off to deal with them. Zelda sent a prayer after them and turned to her own task.
The slaves were kept in a different building, surrounded by its own walls and towers. Pacquin had raided here often and those were well manned and fortified. This keep, where the Governor of the Port lived, had never been attacked. As such, their security was sloppy.
The guards were quickly silenced. Draal, with others of his ilk, broke into the main keep, Ordonian soldiers following them into the darkness. Zelda waited in the courtyard, listening to the muffled shouts of surprise and alarm.
Wull was thrown to the ground before her. She touched his cheek with her blade.
"Governor Wull," she said. "I recall promising to visit you last we met in Castle Town. Is now a convenient time?"
His mouth gaped open and closed like a landed fish. "Your-Your Majesty?" He strained away from the razor's edge of her weapon.
"Am I, Wull? Am I your queen?"
He wrung his hands, eyes darting to the leering Zora around him, the hard soldiers in strange armor.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Assemble your household. I would speak with them."
The slaves did not cheer at their liberation. Exhausted from the day's labor, they blinked at Zelda as she helped break the thick bands of iron bent around their ankles. These prevented the weak slaves from swimming to freedom or running with any speed.
Her hands shook as she leveraged the restraints from a young boy. His legs were so thin, she feared she would snap his bones with her bare hands. He took an experimental run, free from the weight for the first time since he could walk. His smile showed gaped teeth, tugging at the scar on his cheek.
Wull huddled on the ground, feeling his bleeding lip. She shook out her fist.
"I will decide your punishment at a later time," she promised him.
He gulped, a pathetic worm cringing under her glare. "Mercy, Your Majesty. Please, I will serve you well."
"You will, or your death will not be swift."
With the garrison under her control, the town surrendered with little resistance. Her Ordonian soldiers made no secret of their origins. And Zelda had no illusions the populace was relieved she was alive.
Sorrint warned her of it. "They will turn on us the moment we leave."
"I know." She stood looking over the plantations in the dappled sunshine.
"The slaves are not fit for combat."
She sighed. "I know."
"Your Majesty!" Draal came running along the narrow reaches. "A group of riders was spotted moving north; likely messengers."
"Shall I intercept?" Sorrint asked.
"No." Zelda shaded her eyes, breathing in the rich scent of the farmland, ready for harvest. "Let them raise the alarm. There are those who will come to my aide. And the sooner word reaches Castle Town, the better."
Sheik was out there, she hoped. He had not sought her out, which meant he either was dead or detained somehow. And Link…she sighed again. She could not feel him. Even in this place, surrounded by the weary anguish of his past.
Be strong, Link. I am coming for you.
Raphio burst into the attic room above Pacquin's Tavern.
Sheik slid his knives back into their sheaths. "Good Goddess, man, do you have a death wish?"
"Zelda's alive!"
The air carried a hard edge in the mornings now. It settled in Firn's joints and made them ache. But she rose before the sun, as she had for decades.
She quietly dressed, trying not to disturb the others still sleeping. Her two daughters, their husbands, and her sweet grandchildren, from Ivin, a strapping boy of seventeen, down to baby Elgla, still swaddled, all shared this tent. It kept them warm enough, at least.
Firn slipped out into the pre-dawn. Others were rising, calling soft greeting to each other. The fires had been banked for the night and Firn joined her friends to start the day's work.
Soon a hot meal of rice and vegetables was ready. She ladled out the meal with a cheery salutation to each who came by her pot. They smiled thanks, but she could see their worry.
Davin and Ordon spoke in low voices.
"Crytch, twenty miles behind. Tracking us."
Ordon's mouth was thin. "We'll break camp as soon as we can."
"We should send the women into Hyrule."
"With no protection?"
"We can only hide for so long. We're going to run out of food and hills to flee to."
"We're already scattered more than I like."
Davin rubbed his face, scratching his rough beard. "No word from Zelda?"
Ordon shook his head. Davin grunted and the men moved on.
They had spent three days in this narrow valley. A few hundred of them, crammed into tents and supplementing their provisions with local game. There was no way an entire nation could hide for long. Their trail was too obvious, even split as they were into a half dozen different groups.
Firn packed her family's kit. Her elder girl, Sabina, called to her boys as they scampered around her legs, whacking each other with sticks. 'Crytch and Champion' was always the boys' favorite game.
"Dav, Lee! Enough!"
They waited until their elders had passed. There was a crack of switch on skin.
"Hey, no fair! I wasn't ready!"
Firn usually loved their games. Now, it was too real, too close.
The horses were packed quickly and started on their slow trek through the hills. They had left the main paths. The Gotkasi and other herding families led them through these wild forests.
Though they did not speak of it, Firn could feel the shame they carried. Scouts had stayed after the populace had fled to the mountains. They had seen what Link had done.
Firn wanted to shake them, shout until they heard.
It wasn't him! Our Link would never do this!
She thought all the long day's trek. The horses went first, then the weaker of the group, the elders, children, pregnant mothers. Men trotted by and returned hours later, running sweep of the area, watching for signs of pursuit and ambush.
It had been many years since she had carried her long knife on patrol. She missed the solitude of it, running the winding trails, alone but for her thoughts and the wilderness.
Now? Now she carried her youngest grandchild, nestled close to her bosom. His pink face was slack with sleep, lulled by the motion of her stride. She kissed his downy head, drinking in his sweetness, the scent of honey and lavender.
One of the Hanchi boys stood at a creek crossing. The water was shallow, but the rocks treacherous. He held her steady as she stepped across. She was certainly not as light on her feet as she had been back then.
"Thank you, dear."
"My duty, amona."
She smiled at the honorific. No matter her oldest grandchild has his eyes on a pretty little Gotkasi girl, she certainly didn't feel like an amona. Aside from the ache in her knees. And back. And shoulder. And the blurred edges to her vision.
She sighed and stepped stiffly up onto the higher bank. Elgla stirred, dark eyes cracking to see what the fuss was about. He yawned and settled back to sleep.
They made camp in a different valley, this one with a running stream. The advance scouts had cleared spaces for tents. Mothers gave their children much needed baths, scolding when they yelped at the chill water. Firn scrubbed Elgla's swaddling cloths and laid them to dry by the fire.
She watched as fathers helped daughters to eat dinner and plait hair. As mother and sisters wiped faces and tried to keep rambunctious and bored children busy. Soldiers mended saddles and sorted supplies.
Her heart ached for her people. She felt the hole keenly, the lack now that Ordon was gone. They were considered backward by Hyrule. Coarse rustics, laborers, content with the drudgery of the fields.
What few outsiders understood was the deep connection to the land carried by each Ordonian. Firn could feel the land beneath her. The trees here were friendly, welcoming. They hid the people's passage.
The damage to their city was a wound that might never heal fully, just as a burn would scar and tighten. It had happened before. A forest fire, an invasion. But not like this, not by one of their own.
Firn lay awake. She missed her husband, dead these five years. He had fallen during an icy winter and damaged something in his mind. The healers did what they could, but he had simply faded. She could marry again. She was not yet sixty winters. But she had loved him dearly and was content with her ever growing family.
Ordon himself paced by. She knew his tread. Her family had been in service to the Lord of Ordon for generations. An honor of the highest order. Sabina had taken over many of the management duties, her sons and daughter readying to take their place.
What if they could not go back? What if they were forced into Hyrule, absorbed as refugees? Their connection with the land broken, their traditional ways mocked and reviled. How could they survive?
Abandoning sleep, Firn went out into the darkness. It was cold. She wrapped herself in her shawl and cloak and walked to the edge of camp.
A sentry challenged her. Once he recognized her, she scolded him in a fierce whisper.
"Why would crytch be in the camp, boy?"
The young man merely shrugged. "The enemy may come from within, amona. You must be ever vigilant."
That sounded something like that fool Lieutenant Eris would say. He was forever spouting off maxims and was fond of words such as abrogate and incontrovertible. Link had suffered mightily during his early years.
'Na-ahn, I can't understand half he says and t'other half contradicts the first!' She sat in the darkness, smiling at the memories of her little Link. For a boy with no singing voice, his words were vibrant and bright.
She could see his indignant scowl even now. His face had filled out, his once gaunt features round and pink with health. 'Say I can skip, please, Firn? I'll do my lessons, promise! Say I can, ta?'
And, like the doting mother she was, she would let him. He'd bunker down in her rooms, sprawled on the rug before the fire, a winter apple in one hand, a book in the other. His lessons lay forgotten under a stool.
When Ordon came looking for the truant, he would dive under the bed and lay silent until Firn had sworn she had not laid eyes on him since breakfast. Sometimes it was true. Many a snowy day he'd come home at dusk, shivering with a grin splitting his cheeks.
And some nights with bruises that healed by morning. It happened more often as he grew taller and stronger. He smiled less, too, and paid more attention to his lessons. Spent more time with Ordon and Davin, Sorrint, Cantor.
She remembered clearly the day he had come home a stranger. She had never asked what had happened to steal the light from his eyes. Never asked what he saw that left him silent and hollow.
He had been limping and trying to hide it. The tight set of his mouth told her enough about the pain. She set out a soothing balm for him and coaxed him to eat a meal. He did, still distant.
She had kissed his head, longing for the days when she could cuddle him into her lap and rock him.
"I love you," she told him softly.
He smiled, but it had lost something. "I love you, too."
She wanted to ask but knew he would not tell her. Had that been the start of this sorrow? Should she have asked, demanded he tell her what had dampened his spirit?
The enemy may come from within.
"Try to sleep, Link astana." Link, my darling. My dearest, most wonderful boy.
"I will."
"Good night."
He was gone again. "Good night, Firn."
Another day of travel, another night of cold. The air had a tart smell, promising snow. They would have to move down into the lowlands. They would need to go into Hyrule.
The enemy may come from within.
Firn could not shake the phrase loose of her thoughts. It clung to her like old cobwebs, sticky and loathsome.
She trusted her people absolutely. They were too close, too intertwined. When Link had searched the city for a traitor so many months ago, disbelief had been the emotion, not fear. While families may estrange or clans feud, Ordon came first. If Link had found someone, they would not have lived to face mortal judgement.
She did not try to sleep. She sat by the banked embers, wrapped in her cloak.
The enemy may come from within.
Whose enemy? Hers? Her peoples'? They already knew that, to their sorrow. What now? Should they fear even more? Suspect each other? Fall apart when they needed their strength the most?
No. She dismissed the doubt. She would rather die hopeful and forgiving than burdened with mistrust. The fear would destroy them.
But what did it mean?
Ordon also could not sleep. He saw her and joined her on the logs that had been rolled close to the fire.
"I miss him," he said.
"Me, too."
The moon was hidden by clouds, the night very dark.
"Do you think he remembers us? His life with us?"
Firn sighed. "Yes." It brought her no comfort. She knew Ganon would use Link's profound caring for his people to hurt him anyway he could. Why else burn the city? It served no purpose other than to wound the young man's soul.
The Enemy may come from within.
Had he been Ganon all along? Was Link even real?
She refused to believe the boy she loved as her own child was the same monster who would destroy their world. She had seen his soul, felt his spirit. Her power may be weak compared to some, but she trusted it. It had saved her life many times, before she was amona, before she and her husband had conceived their first child, when they still manned the Watch, even venturing beyond into Hyrule.
Ordon bid her a good sleep and walked slowly to his own tent. She missed Gregin most at times like these, when Ordon needed the cheerful pragmatism of the soldier.
Gregin had had the easiest temper, always looking for the good in any situation. Presented with bleak facts and scarce supplies, he would find a way to salvage what he could.
What did she have to offer? She was old. While her knife was keen, her eyesight wasn't. Sitting on this log accentuated all the pain and stiffness in her body.
The only strengths she had were her love of her people and her stubbornness. Ordon called it 'audacity,' sometimes 'managing.' Her husband declared her a 'damned interfering shrew' on more than one occasion.
She couldn't help it. When she could see what had to be done, what must be done! Like the lovely young queen. What a bride she would have been! She had known the moment the girl had arrived that none other would be worthy of her darling. A pity they had had to flee before they could really get to know each other.
But then she returned and was so deeply in love with him! Firn had begun to hope again, despite Zelda's certainty that he was lost to them. If love could not save him, what could?
What could? What could she do?
The enemy may come from within.
A plan, a dangerous plan, but what she must do. She, the audacious, interfering old woman she was.
She slipped into her family's tent. She daren't even kiss the children good-bye lest they wake and start questioning. She rolled her bedding into a bundle and left them. There was no way to leave a note; paper was too heavy to carry. She took a cold cinder and wrote on the tent wall.
Some provisions, a bow and half a dozen arrows. A water skin and a flint box.
Her power was weak, but she had trained long years to hone her craft. The sentries by the horses stared vacantly as she saddled a sturdy mare.
It was weary, but well trained. She led it into the darkness. Once outside of the sentries' patrol, she stilled and listened.
The answer was faint, but true. She turned toward east and set off into the night.
Misly was enduring a recitation of Trevil's latest racing wins when a servant rushed into the room. He bent over the elder Trevil's shoulder and hissed in his ear. The man's face went pale, then red. He stood abruptly.
"Excuse me," he said. "Urgent business."
"Fourteen hands, a little shorter in the stride than I'd like, but displays well." Trevil took a breath and Misly jumped into the gap.
"So interesting," she gushed. "But if you'll excuse me, my lord. I need to…" She winked and giggled. He grunted, going a little pink himself. For an avid sportsman, he really was quite squeamish, she was discovering.
Which way did Lord Trevil go? The amulet stayed cold for the younger man. Only when Lord Trevil had lounged in to meet his son's 'sweetie' had the small totem reacted. What news had he received?
Misly chose a direction at random and walked quickly as she dared. She came to another intersection with no sign of Trevil. Frustrated, she scowled at the statuette set into an alcove in front of her. Hylia sat on a throne, scepter grasped in one delicate marble hand. The orb of the scepter was a ruby, a real one, she thought, that glowed as the goddess pointed it to the left hallway.
Misly blinked. Hylia stared back with blank eyes. Misly dipped the smallest curtsy and hurried down the corridor, feeling Her stone gaze on her back.
The totem warmed, then cooled. She backtracked and slipped down the narrower passage. She was wearing the green silk gown and it rustled luxuriously. She tried to hold it still.
Men's voices rumbled. These were offices used by magistrates and various ministers and their clerks. It was quiet this afternoon, a rest day for most of the government staff.
Misly slowed and listened, holding the searing amulet off her chest.
"…Port Rhundian…pirates…"
She could not hear enough. Whose office was this? She read the plaque on the door. Minister Unon. Misly thought he might have something to do with the army but wasn't sure. Berating herself for her lack of attention in her Civics lessons, she tried to hear more.
"…you come to me like this? You'll get us killed!"
The voices were easier to hear because they were moving to the door. Misly sprinted for the closest open door and slipped through as Trevil stormed out.
"I will see you tonight," Unon said. "Thank you, Trevil."
Lord Trevil was red under his thinning hair. He stormed away. Misly stayed where she was for long minutes. She crept out and hurried in his wake.
Trevil was back in the salon when she entered.
"Where'd you run off to, my girl?" His interest was too keen for her comfort. He suspected her, she was sure. She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled her most simpering smile.
"Had to powder my nose," she drawled with a toss of her curls. They conversed for another half hour, then Misly took her leave.
"Need to dress for dinner," she explained.
The younger Trevil held her hand fast when she tried to withdraw it.
"You'll ride with me tomorrow, won't you Misly?"
She agreed, even as she wondered at his almost desperate tone. How sternly was his father forcing this match? And what punishments would befall if he did not keep her close? Poor boy.
She drew up in the middle of her suite. Trevil was easily ten years older than she was. Despite this, there was something…immature about him. Unfinished.
It was a strange feeling. She was told everyday how flighty she was, how silly and shallow. Her own sisters thought it, accepting that Misly's deepest thoughts concerned her hair and her latest flirt. Her parents clearly believed it.
'Don't try to act intelligent,' she had been told. 'You'll only look more a fool.'
It hurt because it was true. She wasn't smart. She did enjoy stupid romance novels and flirting and new dresses. She had never felt ashamed of it until now.
But, Tulin had come to her. She had figured out his clue and joined this counter-conspiracy. She had discovered some of its members. She wasn't useless.
And she chased boys because it was a game. One she didn't want to win, had no intention of winning or being won. She knew every eligible man in the palace, whether her parents thought they were or not. None of had them sparked the slightest interest beyond a casual flirtation.
An irony, that she, Hyrule's biggest flirt, might end up an old maid.
She laughed to herself as she wrote Tulin a coded report of her discovery.