work. “How is it going?” she asked.
Ariana dropped the charcoal piece she had found, then stood. She gazed over at Magdalene for a moment. Still seething from the lecture Mallory had given her, Magdalene sneered back. Sighing, Ariana rubbed her face.
“The work is slow,” she answered. She looked around the cramped cell, then back into Mallory’s blue eyes.
“These aren’t the best working conditions, you know,” she added. “Even if I were back at Fledgling House, this spell would be difficult to formulate on my own. And having had nothing substantial to eat since we left the school has not helped our mental or physical abilities,” she added. She shook her head.
“Why am I telling you this?” she asked. “You know these things as well as anyone. But even if I can produce the spell, there’s no telling whether you will be strong enough to work it successfully.”
“I know,” Mallory said. “But it’s all we have.”
Ariana kneeled again and took up her charcoal. The wall before her held esoteric numbers and symbols by the dozens. To Mallory’s surprise, Ariana shook her head, then used one hand to scrub away all her recent formulations. She looked back up at Mallory with tired eyes.
“This latest series is just another dead end,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, but this is one that Duncan had yet to teach us. So I must figure it out on my own.”
“I understand,” Mallory answered. “But you must hurry! I don’t know how much time we have left.”
Ariana was about to answer when they heard a guard call out. “You!” he shouted.
Standing, Ariana narrowed her eyes. “Me?” she asked.
“No, no!” the guard shouted back. “The pretty blond bitch, standing next to you! Come ’ere!”
Mallory cringed. She didn’t know what he wanted, but she didn’t dare disobey. Summoning up her courage, she walked to the cell door. All the other girls could do was to watch in dread. Ariana gave her a supportive glance.
As Mallory approached the door she became slightly relieved. The guard had brought them something to eat. It wasn’t much-mere bowls of gruel and flasks of water. Neither would provide enough nutrients to significantly augment their gifts. But it would keep them alive another day, and staying alive in this awful place was the first order of business.
As Mallory approached, the smell coming from even such simple food started her stomach growling. The nearer she came, the more the guard leered.
The guard placed the food tray on the floor, then used one hobnailed boot to shove it through the small gap between the barred door and the floor. He hadn’t shaved for days, and smelled of stale liquor. A jagged scar ran down one cheek. His eyes were menacing, predatory.
Mallory bent down to pick up the tray. As she stood with it in her arms, the guard’s left hand shot between the bars. Grabbing Mallory by the neck, he squeezed. The pain was excruciating. She could barely breathe. The guard brought his face nearer.
“Come closer,” he breathed, “or things will only go worse for you.”
Trying to think through the pain, Mallory realized that if she tried to fight him she might drop the tray. Regardless of the food’s quality, they needed it to keep what strength the girls still had remaining. Using the craft against the guard was not an option, because they needed to keep their identities secret until the last moment. She knew that the other girls would desperately want to help her, but she also hoped that they would have the good sense not to try.
Not knowing what else to do, she obeyed. As her face neared the bars she could better smell his stink. His hand tightened around her throat a bit more.
“Hold still, bitch,” he whispered. “Don’t fight me. If you do, I’ll see to it that not one of you eats for a week.” Smiling evilly, he licked his lips.
Mallory felt his other hand slip beneath what remained of her tattered school dress. Trying to control her emotions, she closed her eyes. Some of the other girls in the cell started to cry. As he probed her, she did her best to remember Duncan, Martha, and the good times she had known.
On and on it went, the guard’s dirty fingers violating her in every way he could without being on her side of the door. Finally it was finished.
Mallory opened her eyes, but she held fast, unflinching in her gaze. For the first time in her young life, she truly knew what it was to hate-to hate so much she could kill.
The guard raised his rapacious hand before his face to luxuriate in her scent. Smiling, he finally let her go. Struggling for breath, Mallory took two paces back, nearly dropping the precious tray.
“Such a treasure you are,” the guard said. He looked her up and down lasciviously. “I’ll remember you,” he whispered. “And I’ll be back.”
As she glared at him, Mallory memorized his face. He finally turned and walked down the hall, his heel strikes fading away amid the flickering shadows.
For the others’ sake, Mallory forced back her tears. As she carried the tray into the cell, Ariana touched her on the arm.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
“No,” Mallory answered softly. “But I will be.” Turning her head, she looked back to the cell door. “Once he’s dead,” she added menacingly. She looked back at Ariana.
“Hurry,” she whispered simply.
Squaring her shoulders, she walked the food to the other girls.
CHAPTER VIII
AS TRISTAN WALKED DOWN THE PALACE HALLS, IT SEEMEDthat the entire castle had come alive. It felt good to him to see the place bustling again, even if he did have to attend tonight’s masquerade ball.
When his mother, father, and the wizards of the Directorate had lived, the palace always seemed to be in a state of activity. With the arrival of peace, it was starting to become that way again, and tonight’s impending ball was adding much to the general excitement. Servants, cooks, musicians, acrobats, jugglers, and others responsible for preparing the evening’s festivities filled the halls. As expected, many seemed obliged to stop and speak with him.
Wending his way through the hubbub, Tristan tried to acknowledge as many people as he could, but he was already late. He smirked as he imagined the scowl he would get from Wigg-not to mention the mischievous looks Tyranny, Shailiha, and Faegan would contribute when he finally reached the Great Hall.
Tristan flagged down a waiter carrying a tray laden with wine. With a bow the waiter held it out to him. Tristan took a glass and quickly downed the contents, then grabbed another. If he had to attend this event, his unfair share from the palace wine cellars would help ease the boredom. After giving the waiter a smile, he continued on.
The newly rebuilt palace was a revelation. During the Coven of Sorceresses’ unexpected return and the subsequent struggles with Nicholas and Wulfgar, much of the structure had been destroyed. But the combined efforts of countless Minion and citizen laborers had brought the castle to an even greater magnificence.
All seven hundred rooms had been repaired and redecorated as needed. It seemed that everywhere Tristan looked he saw new furniture, artwork, rugs, and tapestries. He sighed as he wished that his parents could be here to see it all. Then he again noticed the servants’ black-and-white formal attire, and he smirked.
Despite Shailiha’s earlier coaxing, he had adamantly refused to change clothes. Even his weapons still hung over his right shoulder. If he must be put on display tonight, then he would do it on his own terms, no matter what anybody said about it. Just then, Wigg crossed his mind. The First Wizard always placed great importance on such public affairs. He was bound to be incensed when he saw that Tristan hadn’t trussed himself up in some ridiculous costume to match the occasion.
But Tristan decided he couldn’t be angry with him. Wigg was more than three hundred years old. He had been the royal advisor and leader of the Directorate during the reigns of nearly a dozen Eutracian kings and queens, including Tristan’s mother and father. Such traditions were an established way of life for the wizard. But Tristan
