Nora watched the departing bird. It looked small and clumsy as it clambered upward into the cloudy air. “Do we have a Plan B?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A second plan, in case this one fails.”
Aruendiel shrugged. “Then I will attack again. In person this time.”
Nora could not keep herself from saying: “You said once it would be suicidal to take on Ilissa in her own territory.”
“Did I?”
Without any more words, they went inside. The fire that Nora had lit in the great hall that afternoon had burned out, and the room was black and almost as chilly as the courtyard. Aruendiel told her that she must go to bed. When she protested, he said seriously: “It is important to sleep before battle. You don’t know when you might next have the chance to sleep, in a war.”
Nora had not thought of what they were doing as war, exactly, but then reflected: What else would it be? “I don’t want to sleep through the attack,” she said.
“I will rouse you beforehand,” he said, frowning, and she decided it would be better to believe him.
Nora went upstairs and stretched out on top of her bed without changing out of her dress. About a quarter of the night left before the sun rose, Aruendiel had said. Not so long ago she had lain here sleeplessly, worrying about Ilissa, and yet now that moment in the past seemed to be one of almost infinite security and comfort. She pictured the great snake and the wolf racing to the northeast, under the cloud of birds that Aruendiel had made, and wondered how much farther they had to travel. The creatures might be made of metal, but they didn’t move like machinery. But not exactly like living animals, either. She watched them reach the top of a ridge and plunge down the other side, starlight gleaming dully on their sleek backs—
Nora’s eyes popped open. She sat up and looked toward the window, which was noticeably brighter, the panes catching a reddish glow. Dawn, she thought.
Damnit. Aruendiel let me sleep through the whole thing.
She ran downstairs as fast as she could, a hand against the wall to keep from stumbling in the dark. The silence in the house was ominous. The assault failed, she thought. He’s left already to fight Ilissa. He never woke me up, he never said good-bye.
But as she crossed the great hall, she heard noises in the courtyard. The stamping of horses. Voices. The orange light that came through the windows flickered and danced.
She yanked open the door. Aruendiel was standing with his back to her, arms folded, a few yards away. In front of him was what Nora took to be an enormous bonfire.
Two figures stepped composedly out of the flames. The smaller one she recognized as Hirizjahkinis.
Greetings, Aruendiel!” Hirizjahkinis stepped forward, pulling the Kavareen’s hide more tightly around her shoulders, and then held out her hands to Aruendiel.
Aruendiel unfolded his arms and stepped forward. Nora could not see his face, but there was tension in the angle of his shoulders. He ignored Hirizjahkinis’s proffered hands and looked hard into her face. Then, with one hand on her shoulder—he seemed to be bearing down hard—he grasped her chin and moved her head so he could stare into each of her ears, and finally her nostrils.
Hirizjahkinis submitted, a half smile on her lips. “It is very good to see you, too!”
“What on earth, Hirizjahkinis?” Aruendiel said finally, taking her by both shoulders. Nora had the distinct impression he would like to shake her. Hirizjahkinis perhaps had the same idea, because she gave a discreet wiggle to set herself free.
“No enchantments?” she asked briskly. “Good. We spent the whole drive picking them off each other, Hirgus and I. Ilissa’s palace is no better than the inns in this country—you must be careful what you take away with you. You know Hirgus Ext the Shorn, of course?”
The two men bowed. Hirgus Ext—stout, swathed in furs—began to say something about being a keen admirer of the magician Aruendiel and how pleased he was to renew his acquaintance. Nora could stand it no longer. She pushed past Aruendiel and threw her arms around Hirizjahkinis. It was obviously not the correct greeting—Nora could sense the surprise in Hirizjahkinis’s small, straight-backed body—but after an instant Hirizjahkinis returned the embrace warmly. “
“We were so worried,” Nora said. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I am perfectly fine. Hirgus’s conflagration carriage is marvelously warm. I felt no cold at all—until we got here.” She adjusted the Kavareen’s hide again and gave an exaggerated shiver. Nora looked back at the bonfire. Now she could make out the black outlines of a carriage under the fire’s brilliance. The flames, she noticed, had an oddly stylized quality, curling with rococo flair. Grinning faces in the fire winked and thrust out long tongues. Harnessed to the coach were a pair of black horses, larger than any horses Nora had ever seen.
“But the Faitoren?” Nora asked. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, except that Hirgus and I are famished!” She smiled up at Aruendiel, who had turned again to her, relief and irritation visibly struggling in his face. “Faitoren food is not as filling as you think it is when you are eating it.”
Aruendiel’s face tightened again. “Mistress Nora, let Mrs. Toristel know that we have guests for breakfast,” he said brusquely.
Nora found the Toristels already up. They had seen the glow of the coach in the courtyard, and first had thought the house was on fire.
“So she didn’t need him to help her after all,” Mrs. Toristel said, putting a shawl over her shoulders. “All that worry, for nothing.” She sniffed and looked balefully at Nora, as though to reproach her for rousing needless fears. “And what are we supposed to give that Hirizjahkinis for breakfast? She won’t eat oatmeal. Oh, no! Last time she was here, she wouldn’t touch it.”
“Because black elves eat children’s tongues, not oatmeal?” Relief made Nora giddy.
“None of your silliness,” Mrs. Toristel said, amicably enough. “See if she’ll have some of that mutton.”
As Nora hurried back through the courtyard, Hirgus Ext was directing Mr. Toristel as he unhitched the black horses from the fire coach. The great hall was empty. Aruendiel and Hirizjahkinis were in the tower, she guessed. She piled logs in the fireplace, then urged them into flame. It took only two tries, although the wood was damp from yesterday’s rain.
“Very nice! You are a magician yourself now.” Hirizjahkinis came forward from the entrance to the tower, smiling.
“Not exactly,” Nora said, pleased and abashed. “But Aruendiel’s been teaching me.”
“He did not tell me. How do you like him as a teacher? Very strict, is he not? Show me what you have learned.” Nora was dying to ask Hirizjahkinis about her escape from the Faitoren, but Hirizjahkinis looked at her with a calm expectancy that brooked no refusal. She watched gravely as Nora ran through her small repetoire of spells, and provided some useful guidance on the vexing candelabra problem. (“Why are you lighting each candle one by one? Try lighting them all at once—only the ones you want to burn—and leave the rest of them out.”)
She doesn’t really want to talk about the Faitoren, Nora thought suddenly. It seemed to her that, even in the soft light of the candles, Hirizjahkinis’s face looked grooved and tired, sadness tucked into the corners of her mouth. Should I say something? Nora wondered. Tell her I know what it’s like to be the Faitoren’s prisoner, to have Ilissa use your dreams and fears to make you her plaything? And then the kitchen door swung open: Mrs. Toristel with a pair of mutton chops on a plate, catching Nora’s eye in a way that meant there was something to be done in the kitchen.
By the time Nora came back, bringing ale and bread and a fierce solicitude for whatever Hirizjahkinis had endured, she found Aruendiel, Hirgus Ext, and Hirizjahkinis already seated. The sound of Hirizjahkinis’s laughter greeted her.
“—I think you are disappointed to see us alive, Aruendiel. We have ruined your plans for a war with
