Here's the next chapter! Thanks for your patience! Sache worked really hard on this one!
:-:-:
CHAPTER NINE
by Sache8
It took serious effort on Haman's part to keep a triumphant smile off his features. On the outside he must be as sober and grieved as the people, but inside he felt anything but grieved. Everything had fallen out according to plan, and even better than he could possibly have devised, in many ways. Lady Sandrilene's little ploy with the merchants on board the ship had played directly into his hands. The Moss boy would not be able to roam the city freely for long, and now he, Haman, had control of the Citadel.
"My lord."
Haman looked away from the exquisite tapestry he'd been admiring, to find a somewhat dazed-looking servant standing timidly in the doorway.
"Yes, what is it?" Haman asked, trying to keep his voice from snapping. With his own servants he usually practiced little patience, but it would not do to alienate the people of the Citadel in this critical junction.
"His Lordship the Count Farinte sends this message," the servant said, and extended a small plate with a folded note, which he presented with a slight bow.
Walking briskly, Haman reached the servant and took the note with little ceremony. "Thank you," he said. "You may leave."
"My lord," the servant agreed. He bowed again, and left the room.
The note was short and hastily written. It said simply that Count Farinte had received Haman's news. He expressed his shock and grief, but that he would nonetheless be prepared to take up the mantle of rulership, and that he should be expected to arrive at the Citadel shortly after dawn.
Haman glanced out the large window nearby. The position of the moon confirmed what Haman already knew. Dawn was only a few hours away. This night's events had already carried them well past midnight, and he doubted that he, or anyone else involved, would bother getting any sleep.
As it was, he had little time to make appropriate preparations before Farinte arrived. While the Count's position and pliable personality worked well for Haman's purpose, the man was nonetheless a weak-hearted fool, who would easily take the Lady Sandrilene's part if he was not completely duped by Haman's carefully cultivated lies over the years. Haman must ensure that he could continue to control his puppet as he pleased here in the Citadel. That was, after all, an integral part of the plan.
With these thoughts in mind, he wandered slowly towards the living quarters, taking time to admire the grandeur of his new domain as he went, and taking a few moments just to enjoy his sense of overall satisfaction. Things were going very, very well.
"Master Haman of Lightsbridge is well this evening?" came a voice from a darkened corner of the corridor. Haman paused. He had not heard that voice in several months, but he knew it well.
Not bothering to turn and search for the voice's owner, he stopped. "I am well, Anise. And you? How do you fare?"
"More than just well," said the smooth voice again. It sounded closer, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a slight figure emerge from the nearby shadows. He turned his head slightly, and watched as Anise Gregalier pushed her deep hood back, revealing her pale, beautiful features, and cold, dark eyes. "It seems that tonight the Council of Lightsbridge has achieved a great victory. My congratulations, Haman. You have done very well for yourself."
"I wonder if I should even bother asking how you arrived here so quickly," Haman asked blandly. "Or how it is you came to be inside the Citadel unnoticed." He turned and resumed his trek towards the eastern wing, and she fell into step beside him.
"Much the same as you came to be here the night you murdered His Grace, I imagine," Anise pointed out smugly.
"Please, Anise, take no trouble to be subtle on my behalf," Haman muttered sarcastically, throwing a quick glance around the deserted hallway, confirming that it was, indeed, deserted.
"Oh, relax. No one heard me."
"I wonder why you could not have congratulated me from Lightsbridge."
"Well, I was already here, you see. It was most convenient. I came to offer my assistance, in whatever capacity you deem worthy."
Haman made an effort to not scowl. He should have anticipated something like this. All traces of his good mood were rapidly evaporating. If Anise had been hiding in Summersea, who knew who else was here, waiting and watching his every mood like a vulture, waiting for the opportunity to grab an early slice of the pie.
The Council of Lightsbridge, as it called itself, was a very loose, but very secret, organization of mages who held mutual beliefs about the propriety of magic. Who should practice it, who should control it, who should teach it, and what should and should not be allowed. Ambient mages were at the top of those things that should not be allowed. Ambient magic was unnatural and illogical. Wild and unpredictable, Haman shuddered to think of the state of things if too many of these creatures were trained up and set loose on the world.
However, the problem with the members of the Council was that while these mutual beliefs formed a loose loyalty for their cause, the loyalty was tenuous at best, and often was placed head to head with the ambitions of certain individual methods.
Anise Gregalier was one of the most ambitious. She craved power, almost as much as Haman did, and she played the game flawlessly. He would be within his rights to turn her away just now, but it would be dangerous to incite her in any way. Not only that, but her skills with magic were no laughing matter. Better he kept her where he could see her, for the moment.
"There is nothing I require, for the moment," Haman finally said. "But I welcome your help in the future, if it should prove necessary."
The corners of Anise's perfect mouth twitched ever-so-slightly, betraying a smugness on her part that sickened Haman. Yes, no doubt she wanted a very large slice of the pie indeed. He very much wished her away from here, but there wasn't anything to be done about it now.
Instead, he focused his mind on the task at hand. He needed to choose quarters for himself and for the count. Even the sleeping arrangements must work smoothly to his advantage. He wanted his regent kept close, so that he would have easy access to him at all times.
Haman had not seen these areas of the Citadel before, so he began opening and closing doors, using a glass medallion to shine light into the far corners of the lesser used rooms, those that were not currently in use. The medallion was part of his mage kit, wherein he kept a few odd assortments of handy spells at the ready, to call upon at short notice when the need arose.
Lady Sandrilene had been keeping an inordinate amount of guests, however, so many of the rooms were clearly in current service. He found one he thought would do well for Farinte, and eagerly moved to the next door down the hall, hoping it would suit his own purposes.
The sight that met his eyes drove all thoughts of room inspections completely from his thoughts. Three children sat in the middle of the great bed, in deep, murmured discussion. They looked up at the sound of the opening door, and everyone froze. The first child was a small, scrappy girl whom Haman did not recognize. The second was the Acalon boy, whom Haman had met once before, though he doubted the boy remembered.
The third was Paloma.
Paloma had never been good at hiding her emotions, and Haman of Lightsbridge was no fool. In an instant, the shock, fear, and horror in her eyes told him all he needed to know. He had been betrayed, though he could not imagine exactly how.
For now, though, the reasons for her betrayal were not so important as the fact itself. What damage had she caused? He tried to quell his rising anger. Now was not the time for rash, thoughtless behavior.
"Master Haman," Paloma whispered, finally breaking the spell. Her voice cracked a little, and he was pleased, at least, to note that he still had some affect on her.
Upon hearing Paloma's identification, the small, scrappy girl leapt off the bed and made a mad dash for the room's other door, scampering and dodging with well-honed agility. "After her," Haman said to Anise, who nodded knowingly, and almost casually took up pursuit in the girl's wake.
Even as he spoke, Haman pulled a little-used spell out of his medallion and threw it skillfully at the remaining two children. The spells effects were twofold. It muffled their magic temporarily, and it trapped them in magical bonds that had the effect of a column of tightly wound rope all the way up their body. Their hands were pressed to their sides and their feet were pressed together, and Haman added a freezing spell to the melee to keep them from falling flat on their faces.
He stepped slowly in front of his former charge, eyeing her up and down, still mystified at exactly how she'd come to be here. She must have stumbled onto the truth somehow by accident. She'd never been particularly bright. "I'm disappointed in you, my dear," he said at last.
Before Paloma had a chance to make any sort of reply, she was cut off by a sputtering bout of indignation on the part of her companion. "How dare you say that to her?" Acalon snapped. His voice was almost a growl. "You have no right!"
Haman favored the boy with a look of mild condescension. "You're hardly in any position to be criticizing me, boy," he pointed out. He turned his attention back to Paloma, and was surprised to find that the fear in her eyes had inexplicably been overshadowed with anger.
"You lied to me," she whispered softly. "All my life, you've lied to me. I trusted you. I admired you. But not anymore. I thought you loved me."
Haman hesitated. He could honestly say he'd never really loved anyone at all. But he had carried an affection of sorts for Paloma, much as he would a pet. It hurt to see her looking at him like that. But this regret was small and meaningless in the bigger picture. Paloma's real value was the utility of her magic. For that reason, he could not harm her.
"That was your assumption, child," he finally said. "I never said those words." The anger and pain in her eyes only intensified, but she said nothing.
They were all distracted by the reappearance of Anise, dragging the scraggly child behind her, who was now bound with magic in a manner similar to the other children, with the exception that she was also magically gagged. By the flashes of angry defiance in her dark eyes, Haman decided that the gag was a well-advised precaution.
"It turns out I shall require your assistance after all, Anise," he said matter-of-factly. "I need these three kept under the tightest guard. Don't underestimate them. They're ambient mages-at least Paloma and this child is." He waved at Pasco. "Keep them quiet and out of sight. There are special magic-blocking cells downstairs that you can put to good use."
Anise regarded the captive three with a roving eye of disgust. "With pleasure," she said.
:-:-:
Briar's fear held him momentarily paralyzed. Sandry's cry had been so sudden, so desperate, and so fearful, that the only natural reaction was for him to share that fear.
For nearly five years, Sandry had been their mainstay. She was the anchor, the foundation upon which all the four of them had begun. It had been she who had made friends with Daja when no one else would. It was she who had refused to be put off by Briar's surliness. It was she who had likewise refused to let Tris continue believing no one could truly care about her. There was hardly anything in the world that frightened Sandrilene fa Toren.
Except this. Haman had locked her in the dark. Was it coincidence? Or was it possible he had somehow unearthed the secret of her deepest fear? Briar would not put it past him. But it hardly mattered. The fact of the matter was that Haman had hurt her, and badly.
This thought turned Briar's fears into a seething anger. His fists clenched at his sides, and his vision swam before his eyes. The emotions running through him were at the highest of peaks. Anger, panic, and most of all pure, unadulterated fear. He could think of nothing else. He was aware of nothing else. Sandry was in trouble. He didn't know where she was. He didn't know if she was hurt or even alive. Just the thought of losing her made his stomach clench with inconsolable pain.
He no longer had any care for his own safety. He no longer seemed to care about anything except getting to her. His thoughts were only Sandry. He must find her, and soon- get her out of there. She was so strong in so many ways, and yet at times so fragile. He would have saved her from every evil in the world, had he been able, but he could at least safe her from the demons of her own mind.
He fled his hiding place, no longer caring for discretion. There was little time.
:-:-:
Despite the late hour, it had not taken long for Daja to obtain an audience with Honored Moonstream, nor to assemble those leaders of the temple to whom her news might also be of interest. These included Rosethorn, Lark, and Frostpine, as well as Dedicate Skyfire of the Fire Temple, Dedicate Crane of the Earth Temple, and Dedicate Prism of the Water Temple, a recent inductee whom Daja had never previously met. They were all gathered in Honored Moonstream's sitting room, and both Moonstream and Crane were in their sleeping attire, which Daja found decidedly odd.
When everyone's attention was at last focused solely on her, Daja pulled out the paper she'd been carefully guarding inside her belt pouch. "Thank you for responding to my message so promptly," she told the dedicates. "As you will see," she continued, passing the paper to Dedicate Skyfire, who was closest, "this letter contains details of a collaboration between Truthsayer Haman and Fester Dorbin, head of the merchant's guild. The letter outlines a plan, effective tonight, in which the merchant ships will besiege Summersea harbor with military force." She took a deep breath. "We also have a witness with evidence that it was Master Haman who was responsible for the death of His Eminence."
Moonstream nodded knowingly as the letter was passed to her. "Yes, Dedicates Rosethorn, Frostpine, and Lark have already informed us of this, though, as of this evening, we had not yet decided how to proceed." As she spoke, her eyes scanned the page in her hand, and widened in mild shock at its cold and callous comments. "This is appalling," was all she was able to say, before passing the letter on to Lark.
"The question is, what is the temple going to do about it?" Skyfire asked. "We must mobilize immediately. Repel these merchant ships the way we repelled the pirates all those years ago."
"Undoubtedly we have the power to do just that," Rosethorn pointed out, "but those ships are full of food and medicine which I'm sure Sandry would prefer not to see at the bottom of the harbor, if we can avoid it."
"Is there perhaps no peaceful means to settle this?" Prism asked hesitantly.
The debate continued, but Daja heard no more of it, for she was suddenly overcome with a wave of fear and despair from Sandry. Closing her eyes, Daja speedily felt along their mutual connection, trying to figure out what was troubling her friend.
She became immediately more alarmed when her attempts to communicate with Sandry went unheeded.
Sandry! she called frantically, her mild panic increasing. Sandry!
Then, inexplicably, her connection to Sandry was cut short, and she could feel her no more.
"No!" she cried. Her eyes flew open, and she banged her hand on the nearby table, putting an instant halt to the conversation going on around her.
"What's wrong, child?" Crane asked her irritably, and Daja tried to quell her annoyance. At seventeen, she'd hoped that people would stop considering her a child at last, but she knew Crane's personality too well to consider it a personal insult. He was just that dismissive.
"Something's wrong with Sandry," Daja whispered, closing her eyes yet again. "She-"
Any further explanation was forestalled by another wave of powerful emotions, this time roiling off Briar.
Briar! she called to him, sending as much urgency across the bond as she could possibly muster. Briar, what happened?
She's gone, he snapped back. That piece of scum Haman put her in the dark. I don't think she's dead, I think her magic's been cut off.
The pieces clicked into place. If Sandry had been locked away in the dark, it explained both her desperate, manic fear from a few moments before, as well as the intensity of the red-hot anger now emanating from Briar. Daja could well sympathize. The idea made her angry too.
I'm going after her, Briar informed her, in a tone that barred any argument.
Don't be rash, Briar. Wait for someone to come and help you. I can be in the city in less than an hour. Please!
A wave of fierce resentment came rolling down the bond and hit her almost as if she'd been struck. She stepped back in shock. This was not like Briar at all. She understood all his feelings, but not their overpowering strength.
I'm going after her, he repeated stubbornly. Then he cut her off.
Daja opened her eyes, and the room around her snapped back into focus, along with the seven concerned faces of her peers.
"According to Briar," she said, and took a deep breath, "Haman has taken Sandry from the Citadel. My guess is he found some means to accuse and arrest her."
"And why are you so pale?" Frostpine asked her, his tone gently questioning.
"Sandry has been cut off from her magic," Daja said quietly. "They locked her away in the dark."
There was a sudden, soft gasp, and Rosethorn reached out a hand to restrain Lark from rushing out the door. "Wait," Rosethorn told her friend, not unkindly.
"Briar is already on his way to try and help her," Daja informed them. "But I'm worried about him. He's angry. Very angry. Angrier than I've seen him in a long, long time. I'm afraid it will cloud his judgment. He was even short with me," she added, allowing her hurt to creep ever-so-slightly into her voice.
To her surprise, Rosethorn actually smiled, though her eyes were sad. "Don't take it personally, Daja. You know Briar better than that."
"But Rosethorn," Daja implored, "I don't understand why he was so afraid. Or why he's letting it overtake him. He has more street smarts than any of us. He should know better."
"Because Sandry is in terrible danger," Lark said quietly. She looked up and met Daja's eyes. "He's in love with her, hadn't you noticed?"
Daja blinked. "What?" she repeated, incredulously.
"They came later, remember?" Rosethorn pointed out, her gaze taking in both Daja and Frostpine. "They weren't here for the first day. She certainly hasn't seen the two of them together. Not with all this trouble going on."
Lark nodded, then gave another longing gaze at the doorway. Rosethorn still had not released Lark's Dedicate robes.
Daja's inclination was to ponder the validity of this new piece of information, but she was forced to set it all aside. There were more important concerns right now.
"As fascinating as this speculation is," Crane remarked dryly, "I'm afraid that all bets are off on Master Briar's romantic life until we get this crisis abated."
This poignant statement seemed to shake everyone out of their stupor. They immediately began conferring again. Daja mostly listened, adding a piece of advise or opinion where she thought it prudent, but overall content to let the more experienced mages decide on a plan of action.
Eventually, it was decided that they would spend the night mobilizing and preparing their mage forces, as well as making arrangements for getting the younger students to safety. With the dawn's first light, they would strike out from the temple to defend Summersea Harbor.
:-:-:
Evvy marveled at the turn of events that had dominated her life over the course of the last day. Just the previous evening, she had helped break Briar out of this very same dungeon, and now she found herself trapped inside it, along with Paloma and Pasco.
She had done her best to become friends with them over the past couple of hours, before they'd be captured. It was hard, though, not because they weren't friendly, but because she was still having trouble liking them.
Paloma she found rather pathetic. Even though she was a couple of years older than Evvy, Evvy considered herself much smarter. True, Paloma clearly had reams of book smarts, but she was as gullible as a lapdog, and far too green in every respect for Evvy to even begin to relate to her. Evvy, who until recently had spent every moment of her life scrapping in the streets and trying to survive, had only recently began to believe it was possible to really trust someone. Paloma was exactly the opposite. She'd spent her whole life in complete trust of another person, now only to find that she had been most cruelly and painfully betrayed. Perhaps, Evvy reflected, as this thought occurred to her, she had learned the easier lesson. Still, it amazed her how thoroughly Paloma had been duped over the years. Hadn't she ever wanted to think for herself?
Pasco, on the other hand, Evvy might have gotten along with rather well, except she was still angry with him over believing in Briar's guilt. It might be some time before she was able to get over this most offensive act, though he'd already apologized for it repeatedly. It was beginning to become tiresome.
Truth be told, if she hadn't been so worried about their fate, she might have been bored. The three had run out of topics of conversation quite a long time ago. Paloma had sat in the corner of the cell for a long time, until her eyes became red-rimmed from crying. Pasco had sat with her, giving her a human post to cry on, until at long last she'd fallen asleep.
Evvy might have liked to discuss possible ways to escape, if it hadn't been for that wretched Anise woman watching their every move like a hawk. The woman had barely blinked over the course of the past hour, and it was clear she had no intentions too. She seemed to have a healthy respect for what the three children might be capable of, which was equal parts anxiety and disdain. The fact that she did not underestimate them told Evvy that this woman was a very formidable foe indeed. It was also quite annoying. Evvy was used to people underestimating her, and it was usually one of her trump cards.
"How long are you going to keep us here?" she finally asked irritably. She was under no illusions that the woman would consciously give anything away, but perhaps if she started her talking, she'd accidentally let something slip.
"Till Haman tells me what else to do with you. Now shut up."
Evvy sighed. It wasn't the first time she'd been told that. The woman didn't even want to gloat to her captured prey. She was smart. Very smart. A very dangerous, dangerous foe indeed.
One bright spot in all of this was that neither Haman nor Anise seemed to have reached any conclusions about who Evvy was. Anise had done a brief body search of the three of them before shoving them into the cell, and though she'd casually picked up and felt Evvy's mage kit, she hadn't identified it for what it was. This was thanks to the blocks that Pahan Lark had put on the bag, else Anise surely would have recognized the spells which were stored inside all the small stones.
Evvy cocked her head, thinking. She decided to test a theory. If she was right, then the magic on their cell which prevented them from accessing their magic, also prevented anybody on the outside from sensing the magic inside the cell. Which meant that if she opened her mage kit and spilled the contents, Anise would have no suspicions that the stones inside it presented any threat.
It was a risk, but if the only price to pay was her identity being discovered, then Evvy was willing to pay it. On the other hand, she might also lose her mage kit. She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment, then decided to go for it anyway.
Untying the soft cloth pouch from her belt, she undid the neat leather thong and spilled it all over the dusty stone floor of the cell. It was painful, to see all her beautiful jewels sparkling there, without being able to feel the power stored inside them. She quickly tucked the more valuable gems underneath her crossed legs, so that Anise would not see them. In truth, it would be difficult to distinguish one gem from another in the dim, flickering light, but if Anise was like any other person in power, there was a good chance that valuables would catch her attention, and Evvy needed to minimize her risks.
"What are you doing?" Anise suddenly snapped. She sat up quickly from the small, hard wooden chair where she'd been sitting and took to steps over to peer into the cell.
Evvy looked up and favored her with the most scornful of glances. "What does it look like," she asked. "I'm bored. I'm playing a game of stones. Is that okay with you?"
Anise narrowed her eyes, and stared at the meager collection of rocks with suspicion. "I've never seen a set of stones that looks like that. And what will you use for a board?"
Evvy rolled here eyes, and began scooping up the rocks in her hands. "There's enough dust in this place to make our own board. And where I come from, we play stones different than here, so why should my set look like yours? Pasco will play with me, won't you Pasco?" she asked, turning to the gangly boy, who had been following the conversation discreetly from his seat in the corner. Paloma was still asleep.
He shrugged indifferently. "Sure," he agreed.
Anise still looked as though she wanted to object, but she closed her mouth. Eyes still narrowed, she finally said, "Well, at least it will keep you quiet for awhile." Then she turned and resumed her seat. While her back was turned, Evvy took the opportunity to slip the hidden jewels back into the pouch. She discreetly pocketed a tiger eye. Then she carried her handful over to the corner where her two companions sat.
Evvy felt oddly triumphant as she and Pasco began their game, which surprisingly was very soothing and helped her clear her thoughts. Obviously, Anise had not yet learned that Briar Moss had a stonemage student. She hadn't even been remotely suspicious of the bag when she'd found it, and the way she'd swallowed Evvy's excuses only confirmed Evvy's prior assumptions. Evvy still felt no closer to escape than she had before, but with her magic literally at her fingertips, she felt a lot better. Someone would have to open that door at some point, and she would be ready.
:-:-:
Haman had been right about one thing. No one in Summersea got a full night's sleep that night.
The Merchant's Guild began their strike about three hours after midnight, and the results were instant pandemonium. Soon, half the docks of the port were transformed to floating splinters by cannon fire. Terrified citizens roused from their beds and went from sludgy and sleepy-eyed to panicked and energized in the space of a few heartbeats. Many of them remembered how closely the pirate attack on Winding Circle had come to directly affecting the city. Most of them at first assumed the pirates were back.
Some frightened people began building barricades in the streets. Others chose only to barricade their homes, and angry fights and brawls broke out right and left over the smallest scraps of available food or weaponry. Everyone was frightened, and very few could stop and think clearly.
Morer Penmic and the Royal Guard had their hands full maintaining the peace, while at the same time trying to gauge the tactical situation in the harbor. The timing of the event couldn't have been better conceived, and since none of Summersea's naval forces (which were at a low point already, since much of the fleet was out looking for provisions for the city at Duchess Sandrilene's earlier behest) seemed to be returning fire, one could only assume that somehow the merchants had overpowered the naval forces before beginning their strike.
At one point during the early morning darkness, by the light of a weak torch, Penmic thought he spotted a familiar, dark form weaving its way in and out of the struggling people. He recognized the gait and shoulder stoop of the Moss youth, and he paused momentarily, long enough to catch Briar's eye.
Even in the dim light of torch and star he could see the smoldering anger in those dark eyes. Briar recognized Penmic, and his face clearly said that he was not afraid of the Captain, and any challenge on his part would not have altogether pleasant consequences. Penmic, whose hands were already much to full to worry about outlawed fugitives, would have chosen to ignore the warning even if he hadn't been on Briar's side. As it was, Morer Penmic had long since decided where his loyalties lay. He served Emelan and the Duchess, not any pretended imposter like Haman. He nodded very slowly at Briar and turned his face away, as if he'd never seen him.
As for Briar, between the barricades, the fighting, the noise, the blasting, and the all-around pandemonium, he was having a very difficult time reaching the Citadel. Never before had the streets of Summersea seemed so endless. Never before had one journey seemed so long. His mind was consumed only with his goal. He did not stop to help or aide those around him. He only focused on reaching his destination. Reaching her.
The sun was cresting when he finally reached the back gates, and a new wind was rushing into Summersea harbor. A new day had dawned. This day would bring either absolute victory or defeat. Briar Moss would accept no compromise.
:-:-:
The seamen of the Jaunty Sailor had not been accustomed to such a short voyage in the whole course of their careers. Their sprightly little ship had sailed from Ioness to Summersea in record time, and this phenomena was not entirely coincidental.
The eastern sky was scarlet as the harbor came into view. Despite the early hour, the sun's first muted beams illuminated a passenger on the ship's prow, already fully dressed and alert, her posture betraying a wide-eyed eagerness. The winds that had pushed the Jaunty Sailor seemed to pick up even more, whipping the girl's colorful skirts about her ankles, and her tightly woven braids around her face.
Another passenger came to stand quietly behind her, admiring the way the brisk, whipping air added a brightness to her cheeks and her eyes. Though their journey to Emelan had been comparatively much shorter than it ought to have been, it had still taken several weeks, a stretch of time in which Keth had slowly begun to better appreciate his young teacher's graces.
"I daresay," he said quietly, causing her to jump a little, "that the captain wishes he could bring you on every run."
Trisana Chandler gave him a smoldering look with her sharp eyes. "That wasn't very polite, Keth," she said pointedly.
He shrugged, and smiled a little. "Sorry," he offered, though he didn't feel too sorry.
She turned to survey the ever-closing harbor. "It's so good to be home," she whispered eagerly. "I can't wait to see everyone."
Keth had gotten ample opportunities, during the voyage, to learn just who everyone consisted of. "Do they know you're coming?" he asked.
"They don't expect us nearly this soon," Tris said. "But you know how I rushed our passage."
Indeed, it seemed that, for all the patience Tris had cultured over her travels, some of it had snapped when she finally began the voyage home. Every ship they'd taken had been gently but swiftly prodded along by Tris's magic, and Keth was surprised she hadn't worn herself out already. Niko had been disapproving, but he hadn't openly reproached her.
Niko was still in Ioness, helping its Governer with a small political problem, before himself embarking on the last leg home. Tris had been far too eager to get home, so she, Keth, Glaki, and Chime had booked the final ship, with Niko's assurances that he would follow them in a few days. Perhaps he was already on his way. "These ruffled feathers should not prove too difficult to smooth over," he'd told them.
Now Tris leaned forward over the prow, allowing the splash and spray from the choppy water to sprinkle her pale face. She breathed in deeply and let out a satisfied smile.
"Now look at that," Keth teased, reaching over to pull her glasses off her face. "You have speckled spectacles."
Tris's only reply was a muffled 'hmph' as Keth pulled a clean linen handkerchief out of his pocket to clean off the spectacles, taking a moment to inspect the glass as he did so. He'd never looked so closely at Tris's spectacles before, and he was surprised to find that, for a mage of Tris's power and social standing, the workmanship of the spectacles was not as fine as it could have been. Keth pursed his lips thoughtfully. Perhaps he could help to rectify that, although he had little experience with grinding glass for optical purposes. Still, it would be an interesting field of study to pursue.
"If you're done with your examination now, Master Glass Obsessed, may I have them back, please?" Tris asked primly. Keth laughed, and handed them over.
Tris adjusted the spectacles back into place with meticulous care. As she did so, her eyes focused to the sights of the harbor, which were now much clearer than they'd been even a moment ago, and she frowned. "What is going on?" she murmured, under her breath.
Keth narrowed his eyes a little, trying to get a better look. Just as he did so, he heard a strangled cry from the crow's nest, and looked up, to see the sailor who was stationed there put his looking glass in his pocket and madly begin scrambling down the netting towards the deck.
Tris bounded off, and reached the poop deck, where the captain stood, nearly the same moment as the hurrying sailor.
"Sir," he panted. He threw a sidelong glance at Tris and Keth, and gave the captain a puzzling look. The captain too noted the presence of the weather mage and her student, but only nodded, and indicated that the sailor should continue. "The harbor, sir," he continued. "She's besieged. Half the docks are blasted, and the city has clearly suffered material damage."
Keth glanced worriedly at Tris, whose eyes were suddenly gray storms.
The captain seemed equally disturbed, though he kept his professional calm. "Pirates?" he asked, and Keth could feel Tris tense even more beside him.
The sailor shook his head, his aura of bewilderment seemingly thicker than ever. "No, sir," he said. He looked at Tris, for a moment, as if hesitant to continue, then said finally, "It's a merchant fleet, Captain, and as large a concentration as ever I've seen in Summersea."
Keth now understood the sailor's strange glance at Tris. It was common knowledge, on board, that she was daughter to one of the prominent seafaring merchant families in this part of the world. If Tris's eyes had been storms before, they were now broiling hurricanes. Her fists clenched at her sides, and he took a step back.
"Can we get to port?" was the captain's next question.
The sailor shook his head. "No sir, not without military force." He cast a worried expression over his shoulder towards the ever-nearing shore. "And I don't think they mean to just let us in, either."
There was a sort of strangled sound from beside Keth's shoulder. "We'll just see about that," Tris snorted. She raised her chin. "Captain, you leave this to me," she said quietly, her voice like iron. Then, without another word, she turned heel and stormed off toward the prow again.
The captain and the sailor turned identical semi-shocked and worried looks to Keth, who smiled with reassurance he did not feel. "It'll be fine," he told them and took off after her.
She was halfway done unwrapping one of her braids when he reached her. "What are you doing, Trisana?" he hissed, using all his will to keep himself from taking her by the arm to stop her.
"What does it look like?" she retorted. "I'm making a way home. They're not going to keep me away with a stupid siege."
"I'm sure you can get us in, but how can you keep us all safe once we're past the blockade? And what about Glaki, are you just going to take her straight into a war?" he asked desperately.
Tris's fingers paused in her unbraiding, and it seemed to Keth that the wind that had been building overhead also paused, as if waiting on her. She sighed.
"Very well," she nodded. "We'll take a rowboat, you and I. Blow our way into port, and tell the captain to sail to Winding Circle until it's safe."
"And if it's not?" he challenged.
"Well, he's a grown man, isn't he? He can think for himself!"
Keth threw his hands up. "Fine, fine. You win. I'll go talk to the captain."
Tris nodded. "Yes, and while we wait, I'll scry."
Keth whirled back around. "No way. You can't scry and push ships around the harbor. You'll wear yourself out again."
"I've been resting."
"No you haven't, you've been pushing us here for six days!"
"Will you just shut up and get going?"
Mumbling under his breath, Keth made his way to the captain again. She was very piqued. Maybe it would be best if she just got it out of her system.
Half an hour later, they sat together in a small rowboat, the finest the captain had been able to offer them. "Well, your mageness," Keth began, "what did you discover?"
"I'm not sure. The city is in chaos, and I don't recognize anyone in the Citadel." Tris frowned. "I don't have enough control, yet. I can't always get the winds to show me what I want to see."
"What do you want to see?"
"Sandry. She should be there, but I can't find her."
"You can't feel her, either?"
Tris shook her head.
"And your other friends?"
"I'm not entirely sure they're here. I haven't opened up to them yet."
"Well, why ever not?"
Tris smiled. "Oh, if they're here, they'll know I'm here soon enough." She looked at Keth, a manic glint in her eye. He clutched the side of the boat with a knowing sigh.
They were very near the blockade now. Vaguely, Keth was aware that crewmen of the ships were shouting warnings and threats at their small rowboat, though he couldn't imagine why. Theoretically, two people in a little dingy should pose no threat. But it really didn't matter.
Tris ignored them. The wind began to pick up with ferocious speed.
:-:-:
In the years that Briar, Tris, and Daja had visited Sandry's uncle at the Citadel, growing up, he'd come to know some of the plant life there almost as well as he knew his garden back home. Sandry's family had acquired a very aesthetic eye for beauty over the years, and greenery was everywhere.
So it was that guards found themselves tangled in trees that dotted the courtyard, or wrapped in unyielding tendrils of climbing ivy. Briar rarely used his magic so forcefully, and he knew by the end of today he would probably feel the effects most keenly, but he had no weapon, and adrenaline seemed to be feeding him with unnatural energy.
He remembered well the path from the courtyard to the dungeons, having traversed it himself not thirty-six hours before. What first surprised him was how abandoned everything seemed. Clearly, most of the Citadel's forces were out keeping the peace in the city. What next surprised him was the sight that met his eyes outside the only cell that seemed to be occupied.
A woman sat there, a beautiful woman, with straight, dark hair and a clean, shapely dress. But she seemed to him terribly cold, and she looked at him with dark, hateful eyes that flashed quickly up and down his frame, taking in the telltale signs on his hands that marked his identity.
"Well, well, well," she said with a smirk, standing up. "If it isn't the filthy little piece of moss."
Briar cocked an eyebrow, pausing in the doorway, and crossed his arms. "Well, you seem to have me at a disadvantage, miss," he said simply. He did his best to make himself appear relaxed, but inside he was taut and ready to spring, like the great feline hunters that inhabited the Namorn mountains.
The woman smiled again, but the smile did not touch those frosty eyes. "Why should I bother?" she said. "In a moment, you'll be dead. An unforgettable piece of street trash like you shouldn't bother with the niceties of good society."
Briar couldn't help but laughing, a little. This woman's posturing was put on to an extreme that he almost found it funny. "I've met my share of 'nice society,'" he told her. "I've learned a thing or two. But I get the feeling I really can't count you among them."
"No doubt you're speaking of your little friend, the Duchess," crowed the cold woman. At these words, Briar's eyes flashed, and his head sprung up, and the woman snickered. "She's not here," she said smoothly, a smug look on her features.
Briar's eyes flicked to the cell behind the woman. He couldn't see who was inside, but there had to have been someone, else why would this obvious cohort of Haman's be sitting in here at all? "I don't believe you," he said, at last.
"See for yourself," the woman shrugged. She walked over to the cell and kicked the door, hard. "Wake up!" While her back was turned, Briar slid the knives out of his sleeves and tucked them into his breeches, sliding them around behind his back, and resumed his previous posture.
There was some shuffling in the cells. "Come here, you little brat. I need you to show our guest that you are not his little conspiring, murdering, usurper of a pretended Duchess."
Briar might have snapped at these lies about Sandry, had he not been overcome with shock at the appearance of Evvy's slight form in the doorway of the cell. Her eyes widened with shock, but she quickly recovered, and before the cold woman could see, masked her features. She shrugged. "Yeah, so?" she asked. Briar couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. That was his girl. If the woman hadn't known Briar should recognize Evvy, he wasn't going to be the one to announce it.
The evil woman turned her back on Evvy. "There are two more," she said. "One of the harrier's whelps, and a weak little girl who wouldn't stop crying for three hours." As she spoke, Briar saw, out of the corner of his eye, Evvy hold up her mage's kit and show it to him, smiling broadly and giving him a knowing nod. He had to fight not to smile back. What a clever one she was.
"Well, I suppose," Briar said, "you're not going to tell me where the Duchess is, then, are you?" His question was casual, but inside he felt a little ill. He'd been counting on finding her here. He could check all the other cells, of course, but he had a feeling, for some reason, he'd come to the wrong place.
"No," she said shortly, laughing at the suggestion.
Briar was just wondering how best to go after this obnoxious little woman- he didn't really want to waste much time with her- when his mind was suddenly filled with something that put all other thoughts out of his mind, even, temporarily, his concern for Sandry.
He recognized her magic at once. Trisana Chandler had the most powerful magical signature of anyone he knew. She was possibly the most powerful mage of her generation, and right now she was very, very angry. And very, very, close.
He opened his mind, a wide, triumphant grin overtaking his features as he did so.
The cold woman frowned. "What are you smiling about?" she asked, suddenly. Briar ignored her.
Daja? he called, still grinning like an idiot.
Oh, now you're going to talk to me? Daja replied, in a tone that was trying to be angry, but he could tell that Daja sensed what he sensed, and she was every bit as jubilant as he.
Daja, the cavalry is here, he pointed out.
Oh, don't be ridiculous, Briar, interjected Tris's snappy chiding. You know how much I hate horses.
He laughed. Welcome home, Coppercurls.
He had no more time for small talk, for it was then that the cold woman made her attack.