Pacing his study in anguish, Lord Raxley muttered fiercely under his breath and convulsively brought his hands to his head, his expression hot. Old books lined the study; servants whispered that they must have been for appearance only, since Raxley was lazy, chauvinistic, and uneducated: nepotism was completely responsible for his inheritance of Fief Baartil. A thick, rogueish mustache perfectly accented his wild black eyes and scurvy visage.
A timid servant knocked gently on the door. "Sir? Master?"
He spun around sharply, the trance broken. "What do you want, servant?"
"They've found th' princ'ss. Th' men arksed me to tell yuh, sir."
An expectant, triumphant, truly evil smile spread over Lord Raxley's face. Now was his moment.
"We're not going to tie you up," Aiyaliah said in a low voice to the struggling girl in front of her, "because unfortunately I must obey the King and Queen in everything I do. But you've proven yourself dangerous, and we can kill your little firebird friend at any time. The law of immortals has its pleasant little loopholes, doesn't it?" Her face was almost touching Tarnessa's, and the princess's face returned her vicious, frightening stare with the ferocity of a wild animal. The two would have been well-matched to each other, and probably would have made good friends if they hadn't been on opposide sides of a battle. "There it is," Aiyaliah continued. "I've kept nothing from you. Be silent, and be cooperative, or you'll see my very angry side."
Tarnessa's insides writhed in cold fury. She longed to shout, "If you don't set me free, the Goddess will destroy you all without mercy!" and put that smug woman to complete shame.
The King and Queen didn't even bother to come and witness this, she thought in a kind of terrified rage. How dare they put this monster in charge of me? Tarn is my father now. He raised me, he did everything that a father could do for a daughter, and more. There are some times when birth has to step aside for loyalty. Why can't they understand that? I should have stayed in Carthak .... but I was too clever for them, I had to show off my skills ....
She was frightened for Blackthorn, furious at the thought of meeting her "real" parents, and insufferably ashamed at being caught like this. All her mage training from Chiron, all her incredible skills, had gone to waste. She pictured Chiron, clenching his fists and setting them on fire in despair and disappointment at her like he had always used to do: "Girl, girl, how many times do I have to tell you to learn the language before you say the word!" She closed her eyes and watched Tarn slam his hammer on the hard stone next to the fireplace in frustration: "No more fighting with the village children, Tarnessa. No. More. Be like the forge, I always tell you, be like the forge, don't let any abuse affect you. Be. Like. The. Forge."
A hot blush filled her cheeks, and she imagined all her ancestors thrusting her memory away in utter shame at being related to her: "We thought she would do us proud, we really did. We had such high hopes for her: her potential, her skills, her knowledge. But we were wrong. She dishonored us, she was captured. She let them take her, and didn't even put up a good fight ..."
"What a lovely day to be in the Royal Palace of Tortall, with the princess on the way," a cheery serving-maid remarked on her way to the back kitchens. "Even the air is excited. I saw Iralia with a smile on her face, can you believe it? And Tetimus is saying something lovely to every person he sees, when he's usually so dark and solemn and calm. One of Iralia's hairdressers says that her curls actually stayed in place all day yesterday: she hasn't put one toe out of line. Isn't that amazing?"
"They're holding a festival in the city upon her return, I hear," a chef's assistant remarked. "Balloons and suchlike. On'y the Court of the Rogue stole nearly half of the dancers' costumes. An' they tell me Iralia didn't even flinch! It's a miracle of the gods, this is. To have the princess back!"
"Yes, indeed," the first maid agreed. "'Twill be told for centuries. 'Tis that kind of story, ain't it?"
"An' to think we're here in it!"
"Surrounded by so much intrigue, too. Did yuh hear the tale about Lord Raxley of Fief Baarstil down there? Apparently Aiyaliah told him off the search when he got there. An' he wasn't looking for Tarnessa for personal glory, I can tell yuh that!"
"... don' even wan' to think abou' that, really. Wha' if she was yuhr daughter?"
"At least yuh'd be the king. Lord Raxley on'y got his place cuz his father and gran'father'd had it fer years. Everyone says he's a madman. But most of us like the King."
"Tha's true, I s'pose."
"So did yuh also hear about the reject from the King's Own who wuz out there looking for Tarnessa?"
"Yes, but he was looking for Aiyaliah's forgiveness. Leastways, that's what I've been told. So what d'yuh think they're gon'tuh name her?"
"Hasn't she got a name?"
"'Course so! But nat'rully they'd change it now cuz she took that blacksmith's name, th' one who pretended t' be her father."
"Doncha feel sorry for him right now?"
"Never thought abou' it that way."
"Yes, well, ouch, the cook's calling."
"Stay alive!"
The news fell like a wrecking-ball upon the palace, and descended over the heads of the jubilant Tortallans in a bleak haze of despair. The rumors started the instant the first serving-maid set eyes upon the weary, weakened messenger whose eyes had an odd, deadened look in them, and the wild-eyed priestess of the Great Mother racing through the endless halls of the palace directly to the royal lodging wing. There was no time for formality.
"Port Caynn - the horror - children drowning - people dying - screaming - terror - everywhere," gasped the messenger when they finally got there. "Mithros - save us ..." He collapsed, and as he was being carried off the priestess, looking out-of-place but completely in control and very displeased, burst into a furious warning to the rulers of Tortall.
"Do not you realize what you have done?" she exclaimed, frantically waving her arms about, eyes blazing in terror and anguished helplessness. "What can I tell you that will make you believe? Tortall will crumble, and we with it! Every one of us! Tarnessa has been," she paused here, as if for emphasis, "chosen by the Goddess. She was never your daughter! She was in the hands of the Goddess all the time, close to her. Do not attempt to imprison her; her fate is clear. The Great Mother can destroy us all. Her methods should not be underestimated! You forget, modern Tortallans, who to pay respects to. You forget what you pledged to sacrifice when you took the Oath of Honor on being crowned. 'And even, if Tortall demands, my heart, my soul, my strength, I pledge to the people for all time ...' You forget, rulers of Tortall! You break the Oath! Tarnessa is your heart and soul, but she is the Goddess's beating heart. Let her go, or none of us will escape the merciless suffering. I beg you, implore you, and I, Head Priestess of the Temple of the Goddess, order you."
With a final look of panicky desperation, the priestess turned on her heel and fled, back the way she had come, hoping against hope that the crisis could be quelled - before it was too late for all that she had cherished and hoped for.