And who did break. He did.
With an effort Monk met his best friend’s sad, quiet gaze. “I don’t think we can decide anything stuck in this cave,” he said, his voice rough. “I think we need to portal out of here and see what’s happening back at the palace.”
Reg nodded. “Good idea, sunshine. And then we can-”
“No,” said Gerald. “Reg and I can portal to the palace. You and Melissande should go back to Ottosland, to the Department. Corner your Uncle Ralph, Monk, and kick up the biggest stink the place has ever seen until those hidebound bureaucrats get off their asses and send some help.”
“Absolutely not,” Melissande snapped. “I’m staying here. I have to be seen. The people need me. I won’t be the second person in my family to let them down on the same damned day!”
“No-Melissande-the only hope your people have is if you stay safe!” Gerald insisted. “Let Rupert fly the family flag, he-”
Her expression changed. “Oh, lord. Rupert. I forgot about Rupert! I have to find him, he’ll be terrified. And if Lional finds him…” She spun around. “Well, Monk, don’t just stand there. Get that portable portal of yours working and take us out of here! Now!”
By a minor miracle he managed to get them onto the palace’s roof. The dragon was nowhere in sight. Neither was Lional. But what they could see struck them all to grieving silence.
In every direction distant pillars of black smoke churned into the sky. Closer to the palace, outbuildings not reduced to mounds of rubble smoldered and burned; the greedy crackling of flames reached them in fits and starts on the erratic, smoke-laden breeze. Staring over the roof’s balustrade they saw great burned patches in the gravel and on the grass edging the palace forecourt, as though someone had upended huge barrels of acid onto them. Even at this height they could smell the acrid stench of the dragon’s poison. See the remains of what once had been people, laughing living New Ottoslanders, reduced to charred and stinking carcasses.
There were fresh tears on Melissande’s cheeks. “Is one of them Rupert? One of them could be Rupert, he could be dead down there, or in his butterfly house. I have to go and-”
Monk reached for her, but Gerald grabbed her first. “No, Melissande, think. If Rupert is dead there’s nothing you can do for him. And if he isn’t that means he’s hiding. Either way you’ve got a lot more to worry about than the fate of one man.”
A creak and flap of wings and Reg landed on the balustrade beside distraught Melissande. “He’s right, ducky,” she said sternly. “The only man you need to be thinking about is Lional. Because strictly speaking he’s not a man any more. He’s an abomination. And abominations have to be destroyed.”
Oh God. Reg, you really need to learn tact.
Melissande walked away and he went after her, leaving Gerald and Reg to do what they liked. “Your Highness-Melissande- please, Melissande. Wait.”
She slowed, then stopped. Turned. Not weeping now, but white-faced beneath her scattered freckles and shivering with distress. “What?”
Helpless, he looked at her. Spread his hands wide, then let them fall. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Just… don’t walk away.”
“From you?” she said, incredulous. “Monk Markham, I barely know you. Why do you care?”
If I tell her I love her she’ll pitch me off this roof. Or she’ll laugh in my face, and then I’ll have to jump.
“I don’t know,” he said again, shrugging. “I just do.” He tried to smile. “Do you mind?”
Behind him, Reg and Gerald were arguing. Snatches of pain blowing fitful in the breeze. Something about stopping Lional. Fighting fire with fire. Reg was furious. Gerald sounded despairing. This was turning into one hell of a day.
Now Melissande looked helpless. “Do I mind?” she muttered, harassed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know. I suppose not. I mean, all right, strictly speaking, it’s presumptuous and a terrible breach of royal etiquette and protocol and-”
“Does all that claptrap really matter?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “No. Not really. But if I am going to be queen then I should at least notice it. You know. In passing.”
The breeze swirled again, laden with more painful argument and the raw stench of death. Flinching, Melissande closed her eyes.
“I don’t know how this happened,” she whispered. “How did this happen?”
To hell with protocol and etiquette. Monk wrapped his arms around her and let her hold on tight.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rocking her. “But we’ll fix this, Melissande. All right? We’ll fix it.”
With a shuddering sigh she relaxed against him. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
She tipped her head back. Looked up. Beneath her shock he caught a glimpse of humor and breathtaking strength. “You realize I’ve no sane reason to believe that?”
“In my line of work, Your Highness, sanity is overrated,” he said… and would’ve said something else, something truly crazy, only Reg’s sharply raised voice stopped him.
“-Lional dead, Gerald, you’d be the danger. And whoever tried to stop you, well, they’d need to read the Lexicon too. And it wouldn’t end there, I promise you that. Say this hypothetical wizard succeeded and managed to kill you. All it means is there’d be another rotten wizard who’d have to die… and so the Lexicon would be used again… and again… and again. Is that what you want, sunshine? Every last good wizard in the world dead because of you?”
His altered face still chalky-white, fired up with an awful, unfamiliar desperation, Gerald turned on her. “What else can I do? The magic I know doesn’t have teeth, it doesn’t have talons, it can’t kill Lional or his damned dragon! I have to use the Lexicon, Reg!”
“ No!” Wings wildly flapping she launched herself into the air to hover furiously above him. “I’d rather see you dead-I’d rather kill you myself than see you-”
Now what? With a chill of foreboding, Monk followed interrupted Reg’s outraged stare. What the hell? Camels? Were those camels? And those glinting things-were they swords?
“Oh blimey!” Reg groaned. “That’s all we need!” Dropping back to the balustrade she glared at Melissande. “Oy! You! Madam-Queen-in-Waiting! Front and center, ducky, New Ottosland’s got visitors!”
CHAPTER TWO
Monk stared at the mighty army of Kallarap, gathered in the grounds of Melissande’s palace. Then he glanced at Gerald, unnervingly calm and silent beside him.
“You know-that’s a lot of camels.”
Perched on Gerald’s shoulder, Reg snorted. “And warriors. And swords. And spears.”
True. But that wasn’t the most disturbing thing. The Kallarapi holy man was making his skin crawl. Power roiled off him like heat from the sun. The sultan was powerful too. An absolute ruler, comfortable with his authority and not afraid to use it. Growing up a Markham meant he could spot the genuine article with both eyes closed.
Be careful, Melissande. If you let them, these men will swallow you alive.
“Don’t worry,” said Gerald. “She’ll be fine.”
Melissande- his Melissande-was giving Zazoor a piece of her mind. Small and vulnerable and so very badly dressed, she was staring down Shugat and Zazoor like a warrior queen from the mythic past.
Of course she’ll be fine. I’m an idiot to doubt her.
He glanced again at Gerald. “I know. But what about you?”
Pale and tired, Gerald pulled a face. “What about me?”
How could he answer that? What could he say? They needed a bathtub full of brandy and two straws for that conversation. “Gerald…”
“Never mind,” said Gerald, so remote. So changed. “It doesn’t matter. Now shut up, would you? I want to hear what they’re saying.”
