that there was another set of caverns they could not reach, and that they cut these tunnels to reach down from the caverns we knew—those in which we have been traveling until now— into these deeper and more unfamiliar spaces.”
It was not enough, of course—it barely explained anything, let alone the profound revelations at the heart of the Mysteries, but there was only so much that could be put into words. Or that should even be put into words at all.
The idea of needing to talk to the potboy had upset her, but not because of the potboy himself. Even if the fellow was some kind of dream-scryer, even if he could do to her what he did to Barrick, calling up and naming the things that haunted her sleep, what Briony feared was no secret from anyone who had any wits at all. She feared that she would lose her brother and father, what remained of her family. She feared that she would fail Southmarch and the March Kingdoms, that in this time of growing danger, with Olin imprisoned and her brother strange and often ill, she would be the last of the Eddons to wield power.
This was what had upset her, of course, the thought of her father’s trusted adviser still locked up in the stronghold during such times. If she went to see the potboy Gil in his makeshift accommodations there, could she avoid speaking to Shaso? She didn’t even want to see him: she was not certain of his guilt and never had been, despite all the signs, but much of the autumn had passed with no change in the circumstances and she and Barrick couldn’t avoid passing judgment on him forever. If he had murdered the reigning prince, he must himself be put to death. Still, Briony knew she didn’t really understand what had happened that fatal night, and the idea of executing one of her father’s closest advisers—a man who also, for all his sour temper and rigidity had been almost another parent to her— was very disturbing. No, it was terrifying.
Her guards had caught up to her again as she reached the high-walled Rose Garden, where the Lesser Hall became a covered walkway that ran the garden’s length. It was sometimes called the Traitor’s Garden, because an angry noble had lain in wait there to murder one of Briony’s royal ancestors, Kellick the Second. The assassin had failed and his head had wound up on the Basilisk Gate, the tattered remains of his quartered body shared out over the entrances of the cardinal towers. Something of this legend had stuck to the garden, and it was not her favorite place, even in spring. Now the roses were long gone, their thorny branches so thick on the walls that it looked as though they were holding up the ancient bricks rather than the other way around.
Caught up in her thoughts, Briony barely noticed her guards until one of them sneezed and mumbled a quiet prayer. She suddenly thought,
She was startled by a pressure on either side as the two guards suddenly stepped in close to her like a pair of dogs heading a straying sheep. She was about to snap at them—Briony Eddon would not be anyone’s lamb— when she saw a man and a woman rise from a bench in the late-autumn sun and walk toward her. It took her a moment to recognize the first of the pair before they joined her in the shade of the walkway: she had not seen Hendon Tolly for almost a year.
“Your Highness,” he said, sketching a not very convincing bow. The youngest Tolly brother was still thin as a racing dog, all length and tendon. His dark hair had been cut high above his ears in the current Syan-nese style and he even wore a little tuft of beard on his chin, with his short gown in golden satin and his parti-colored hose and velvet trim he looked every inch a prince of one of the more fashion-conscious southern courts. Briony thought it was strange that he could look both so much like his brother Gailon in the face and so little like him in all else— dark for fair, slim for well-muscled, foppish for stolid, as though this were Gailon himself dressed up for some outrageous, impossible Midsummer Festival mummery.
“Ah, I see by your attire we have caught you at a bad time, Princess Briony,” Hendon said with an edge of superiority in his voice that was meant to make her bristle, and did. “You have apparently been engaged in something… strenuous.”
She barely resisted the temptation to look down at what she had worn to practice at the armory. For the first time in longer than she could remember she wished she were dressed properly, in the full panoply of her position.
“Oh, but there are no bad times for relatives,” was what she said, as sweetly as she could, “and family is, of course permitted a certain informality of both dress
“Oh, Highness, the fault is all ours. My sister-in-law was so anxious to meet you that I took a chance we might find you out and about This is Elan M’Cory, the sister of my brother Caradon’s wife.”
The girl made an elaborate courtesy. “Your Highness.”
“We were introduced at your sisters wedding, I think.” Briony was furious that she should be forced to stand here in her sweaty clothes, but Hendon Tolly was playing a deliberate game and she would not let him see her irritation. She concentrated instead on the young woman, who was roughly her own age and pretty in a translucent, long-boned way. Unlike her brother-in-law, Elan kept her eyes cast down and offered little in the way of reply to Briony’s equally perfunctory questions.
“I really must go,” Briony announced at last. “There is much to do. Lord Tolly, you and I must speak on important matters. Will this evening suit you? And of course you will join us for supper, I hope. We missed your company last night.”
“Tired from the journey,” he said. “And with worry for my missing brother, of course. Doubtless, fears for Duke Gailon have made things difficult for you, too, Highness.”
“It seems there is a conspiracy to make things difficult for me, Lord Tolly, and your brother’s sudden absence is certainly one of them. You might also have heard that my brother Kendrick died.”
He raised an eyebrow at this broad stroke. “But of course, Highness, of course! I was devastated when I heard the news, but I was traveling in northern Syan at the time, and since Gailon was actually here to represent the family at the funeral.
“Yes, certainly.” She suddenly wondered what had really brought Hendon here now, of all times. The two- or-three-day ride from Summerfield Court seemed a bit of a long distance to come simply to cause trouble. Briony couldn’t forget Brone s spy and his warnings that the Autarch had been in touch with theTollys, although she couldn’t quite make sense of it. She did not put treachery beyond them, but it seemed a large step—and a large risk—for a family that was already living a fat and comfortable life. Still, as her father had always said, the prospect of a throne could make people do some very strange things indeed. “Now, as I said, I have much to do I suspect that you will be busy as well. For one thing, you will want to send a message home to your family as soon as you have heard my news.” He was clearly caught by surprise “News? Have you heard something of Gailon?' “I fear not. But I have news, nonetheless.”
“You have the advantage of me, Highness What is afoot? Will you make me wait until tonight to find out?' “I’m surprised you haven’t heard already. We are at war.”
For a moment Hendon Tolly actually blanched—seeing that was worth the humiliation of standing for a quarter of an hour in sweaty clothes. “We… We…”
“Oh, no, not Southmarch and Summerfield Court, Lord Hendon.” She laughed and did not try to make it nice. “No, we are family, of course, your folk and mine. In fact, you will no doubt be joining us—all the March Kingdoms will be going to war together.”
“But but against whom?” he asked. Even the girl was looking up now, staring.
“Why, against the fairies, of course. Now you must excuse me, there really is a great deal to be done. Our army rides out at dawn tomorrow.”
She had the immense satisfaction of leaving Hendon Tolly and his companion speechless, but the cut and thrust with him had driven whatever else she was thinking about straight out of her head, and already a dozen
