Solomon studied the compound. While never as flamboyant as Whispering Pines, or grandiose as Glittering Birch, there were orderly gardens and paths that those responsible for took great pride in. Now, the neatly trimmed beds were starting to overgrow the paths. Weeds poked up among flowers. The signs of neglect were becoming evident.
And there, two men, in dirty, disheveled uniforms, skulked along, their eyes shifting from side to side, like they were on guard against an unseen enemy, or worse, looking for an opportunity.
Solomon recognized that look. It was all over Dunfield.
“Not here, too,” he whispered. He took off toward the main tree, leaving the sentry behind.
Now that he was aware of it, the signs of whatever evil was in Dunfield being here also were plentiful. Towering Oaks was slipping fast.
He burst into the main tree and sprinted to Jediah’s office. He could still never think of it as anything but. Once there, he flung open the door to the outer office, finding a thin, nervous-seeming man. Solomon recognized him.
“Samuel, right? I don’t have time for pleasantries, but I’m glad to see you’re here. Orlando? Is he in there?”
“Yes, but—”
Solomon didn’t stay to listen. He rushed into the inner office.
Orlando sat at the desk, his back to the door, staring out the window over the compound.
“Orlando …” Solomon said, then trailed off, unsure of where to begin.
“I saw you coming,” his friend said. “I never realized that Jediah situated his office so that he could see the approach. No wonder he was so hard to surprise. Or maybe someone before him did it, who knows?”
His voice was flat. The voice of someone who was merely going through the motions, unable to work up any sort of passion or enthusiasm.
“Orlando,” Solomon began again. “Where’s Shireen? What happened?”
“Shireen? Gone. I’m not sure where. She took off into the Greenweald, and I don’t know where. And you ask what happened?”
Now he turned his chair around to face Solomon.
Solomon was shocked. His friend, who was always thoughtful, yet cheerful, looked horrible. Dark circles surrounded his bloodshot eyes and he hadn’t shaved in days. And like those Solomon saw outside, his uniform was in disarray.
“What happened?” Orlando repeated. “Jamshir happened. Again. I don’t know what he’s done, but this all started after Shireen went to Glittering Birch to confront him. She brought something back with her. Something that’s spreading and we don’t know how to stop it.”
“I’ve seen it,” Solomon replied. “In another world. I didn’t expect to find it here, too. Maybe we can … I don’t know. Heal it? Have you gotten in touch with Willow and the other healers?”
“Willow was here. She doesn’t know either. She took care of that other guy, the one from the secret House, and then they left together. I watched them, you know. From right here. I could see them leaving together.”
“Are you all right?”
“No. I’m far from all right. The Greenweald is dying. Can’t you feel it?”
“It’s not dead. Not yet, anyway. We can still stop this.”
“Sure. Of course, you can.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“I think you can do anything,” Orlando replied. “I’ve seen you do amazing things. But this time? This time, I think maybe you came too late.”
Solomon was opening his mouth to reply when the sound of a horn being blown by a sentry split the air. He looked past Orlando.
There were five people coming through the gates. A severe-looking woman, who walked with an easy, arrogant confidence. Solomon didn’t know her, but there seemed to be something familiar about her.
Then a man that he didn’t know, holding the hand of Willow. Solomon was never so glad to see anyone.
Following them was another woman, supporting the fifth figure. Someone Solomon thought he would never see again.
“Thaddeus,” he said.
“Huh,” Orlando said. “Things keep getting worse.”
Chapter 73
Jocasta’s head was swimming the entire walk to Towering Oaks. After Thaddeus’s revelation, she quit arguing, or even talking.
For the first time that she could remember, she wasn’t only at a loss for words, she was at a loss within herself.
Her father was from Towering Oaks? That didn’t seem possible. Her mother never spoke about him, but she did constantly remind Jocasta that they were of House Whispering Pines, and from a noble family of that House as well. There was no greater House.
In truth, it had become smothering. Whispering Pines good, all others bad. And now that she really thought about it, her mother had always expressed a special distaste for Towering Oaks. In all that time, it never occurred to Jocasta that it was because that’s where her father came from. She’d always assumed her father was from a lower station, maybe even a servant, that her mother had dallied with.
When her mother died, she never gave her father another thought. She simply left, leaving the House and its intrigues behind her. Let others of purer bloodlines deal with it.
Everything was changed now, though.
If her father truly was Towering Oaks, then half of her was of that House.
Not that it mattered. Towering Oaks was still what it was and still used the other Houses, especially Whispering Pines, to further its own ends. Right?
But if she were of that House as well. Maybe even the daughter of a noble on that side ….
It changed nothing. Except. But. Yet.
She trailed behind the others, letting the thoughts wash over her. When this was done, she was going back to the Southern Seas. Let someone else, Thaddeus she would guess, have Whispering Pines. Let someone else, and she didn’t care who it was, have Towering Oaks. Give her a ship and a crew.
And as tempting as it was to simply slip
