Mallory nodded. She spoke for a full hour beginning the tale with their departure from Fledgling House. Even though the part about being in debtors’ prison personally embarrassed her, she left nothing out. After finishing she sat back in her chair.
Mallory’s story clearly enraged Shailiha. Leaning closer, the princess looked into the Fledgling’s eyes.
“Do you believe Lothar is dead?” she asked.
Mallory shook her head. “I don’t know. Ariana and I combined our bolts, so it’s possible. He was unconscious and his clothes were smoldering. I believe several guards died, though. They had to-the flames overtaking the floor were too intense.”
Shailiha looked over at Wigg. “Did you know that such things were going on?” she asked.
Wigg scowled. “Not to such a degree. But for as long as I can remember, our justice system has been seriously flawed. The debtors’ prison will be a good place to start forcing some changes.” Looking wryly at the door, Wigg thought about the Minion warriors standing on its other side.
“And I know just how to go about it,” he added. “By the way-who is the woman who brought the girls here?”
Adrian started to speak, then looked down at her hands. She blushed noticeably.
Smiling, Wigg leaned forward in his chair. “Out with it,” he said.
“It seems that Mary is Tammerland’s foremost brothel madam,” she answered. “She has apparently acquired girls from Lothar in the past.”
“Are you telling us that she is also a slave trader?” Shailiha asked. “If so, then she is no better than Lothar.”
“Not exactly,” Adrian answered. “True, she has paid Lothar for girls. But she always offers them their freedom. It seems that she is some kind of angel of mercy-despite her occupation.”
“How curious,” Abbey said. “Does she expect a reward?”
“No,” Adrian answered. “I believe that she was simply glad to have been of service. To hear her tell it, she hates Lothar as much as anyone.”
“The proverbial whore with a heart of gold?” Shailiha asked rhetorically. “How interesting… When next you see her, thank her. Reward her for her kindness, then send her on her way.”
“As you wish, Your Highness,” Adrian answered.
Knowing that her next task would be difficult, Shailiha looked at the Fledglings. “It is time to tell about your fathers,” she said. “I’m sorry, but this will be painful to hear.”
Shailiha gently told them the full story-first about how their fathers had been turned to the Vagaries by Nicholas, then the tale of Wulfgar, then how the Conclave had used Satine’s list to hunt down the consuls hiding in safe houses. She told them that some of their fathers might still live, serving Serena at the Citadel. Last she related how Xanthus had taken the prince, and that the Citadel was about to be attacked.
By the time she finished, all the girls had teary eyes. But they also bore the news bravely. The princess looked at Martha.
“These girls have been through enough for one day,” she said. “Please return them to their quarters.”
As the girls rose to leave, Shailiha touched Mallory’s arm. “Please stay,” she said softly.
Mallory immediately obeyed her princess and reclaimed her seat. Once Martha had ushered the girls out, Shailiha looked Mallory in the eyes.
“We have information particular to you,” she said gently. “We wanted to inform you in private. You will find it bittersweet.”
Mallory didn’t know what to say. After searching every face at the table, she looked back at Shailiha.
“Is it about my father?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“Yes,” Shailiha answered. “But take heart. Nathan lives.”
Mallory tried to hold back her tears. “Where is he?” she asked.
“He is imprisoned here in the Redoubt,” Wigg answered. “Like the other consuls, he now practices the Vagaries.”
Thunderstruck, Mallory sat back in her chair. Like a true acolyte, she did her best to regain her composure.
“Do you wish to see him?” Wigg asked. “Before you answer, please be aware that he is probably little like you remember. Nor do we know how he will react to your presence. Seeing him again might be disturbing.”
“I don’t know…” Mallory answered. “I’ve wished for this moment for so long. But now…”
“Take all the time you need,” Wigg said. “Perhaps waiting is for the best, anyway. Besides, there’s someone else you must meet. I promised we would join him after we concluded our meeting.”
Mallory wiped her eyes. “Who is it?”
“Another wizard,” Wigg answered. “He is amazingly eccentric, not to mention brilliant. I believe you’ll like him. He’s working on something special.” He gave Mallory a wink. “Perhaps by now he’s ready to explain his findings to us lesser mortals.”
Wigg stood and walked to her chair. He graciously held out his arm. “Shall I escort you?” he asked.
Mallory cleared her throat and smiled again, then stood and wrapped one arm through his. “It would be my honor,” she answered.
Without further ado, Wigg led the group from the room. Shailiha was the last to go.
Fluttering from her perch atop Shailiha’s chair, Caprice took to the air. As she followed her mistress through the open doors, the warriors closed them behind her.
CHAPTER XVIII
TRISTAN UNTIED THE CANTEEN FROM HIS SADDLE ANDopened it to take a drink. No matter how much he consumed, the same amount of water always remained-telling him that Xanthus was using the craft to ensure that the canteen stayed full. After retying it to his saddleback, he looked up at the cloudless sky.
It was late afternoon, and the sun would soon disappear behind the western horizon. Riding side by side, they had traveled northwest all day, along the Sippora’s western bank. Tristan was surprised to notice that today the foliage lying before them did not wither. The river did not still, and the birds and insects still chirped their customary sounds-all despite Xanthus’ presence.
Since yesterday, they had met no one. Tristan was grateful, for Xanthus would surely have tortured them. They had stopped only once, to rest their horses and take a midday meal. The Darkling had said next to nothing all day, leaving Tristan alone with his thoughts.
The more Tristan considered his plight, the less convinced he became that he was making the right choice by fighting the Darkling’s wishes. If Xanthus had been granted time enchantments, the passing days would mean nothing to him. How many more would die? Could the alternative be worse?
Turning in his saddle, he tried to look at Xanthus’ profile. There was little to see of the grotesque face, hidden as it was by the Darkling’s hood. Despite how much he hated Xanthus, Tristan found the silence maddening. Seeking answers, he guided Shadow closer.
“Why don’t the grass and flowers die today?” Tristan asked. “Does the answer have something to do with your human half?”
Xanthus did not look over. “In a way,” he answered. “But no more than it concerns my Darkling side.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We are far from Tammerland,” Xanthus said. “I sense no imminent danger, so myK’Shari is not being employed. The phenomena to which you refer are simply its by-products.”
“So yourK’Shari is not ever-present,” Tristan mused. “Rather, you call on it during times of danger-like during the masquerade ball, or when you are torturing a victim. Then yourK’Shari becomes active and the foliage dies. But why would a simple martial discipline cause such strange happenings? Does it have to do with the craft?”
“There is nothing simple about it,” Xanthus countered, “but I see no harm in explaining its basics.” Turning toward Tristan, the Darkling’s glowing eyes bored themselves into his.
“K’Shariis a state of martial enlightenment that can be gained in two different ways,” Xanthus explained. “One method is to devote one’s life to mastering the combative arts. Once the physical side has been perfected, the
