“Path,” said chipmunk, reading her intention. “To the right.”
She examined it. Yes. Very narrow and dark and tree covered, so that no one could see her from above. She moved toward it. Caught in a twig, at eye level, was a bit of cloth.
“A little thing,” she murmured. “The woman went this way.”
“And?” demanded the chipmunk.
“She went,” Xulai said. “The threads are trailing away from me, so she was moving away.”
“So, if you move slowly?”
“I won’t catch up to her. Or him.”
“You might get lost,” the chipmunk jeered.
“No,” she replied. “The path is just at the edge of the trees. I can see the castle wall.”
Suddenly the tall white stone beside her asked, “Abasio, is Xulai taking the chipmunk home with her?”
“Would she be wise to do so?” asked Abasio.
“I’m afraid my cats . . . ,” murmured Xulai. “They’ll . . .”
“Nothing of the kind,” said the stone. “The creature will be quite all right in your pocket. Take it. Keep it safe. Nice to hear of you again, Abasio. It’s been too many years since the great battle at the Place of Power. Some of my fellow watchers were there.”
Xulai’s pocket squirmed briefly, as though in agreement. Xulai, though she realized the stone and her companion were not strangers to one another, was too weary even to wonder at it. What Ushiloma did was goddess business, and Xulai was not required to understand it. Instead, she merely moved onto the new path, so concentrated upon listening that she scarcely noticed the tripping roots and snatching briars. She was no longer fearful, only desperately weary. All that was important was getting back to the Woman Upstairs.
Soon the path swerved around the tower, and Xulai stopped, staring at the level, bare ground between the trees and the tower. It was kept that way by the groundsmen so as to give no cover to possible attackers. Not that there were attackers, nor had there been for almost a hundred years, but Justinian, Duke of Wold, Lord Holder of Woldsgard Castle, stayed in readiness, when he could spare time from his grief. From here, she could see nothing of the upper part of the castle except the tower itself. The watcher could not possibly see her.
She raced to lean against the wall, looking upward. “If I can’t see the roof, the roof can’t see me,” she muttered to Abasio, who replied by patting her shoulder. Staying close to the stones, she circled the wall tower, checked again to be sure the roof was out of sight, then stayed close to the wall until she reached the tiny gate and inserted the key. Here she and her companion were sheltered from above by the tangled branches, the fruit-bearing tendrils now bare but still contending with one another in the breeze. The key clicked; she went through, Abasio stooping behind her, and the gate locked itself. Xulai murmured thanks to each tree as it sheltered them from the spy above, all the way to the kitchen garden. Even from here she could not see the high windows.
“Why are the poppleberries in a separate orchard?” the man murmured.
“They pick on other trees,” whispered Xulai. “They beat all the leaves and fruit off. If you want to pick the fruit for jelly or pies, they will pop you unless you have a woodsman standing by, threatening them with an axe! No one knows who first found them or created them. They’ve just always been here . . .” Her voice faded as they approached the kitchen door, which was waiting unlatched, as she had left it. Inside, she turned wearily toward the stairs, saying, “Please, will you come with me?”
“If you like,” he replied in a subdued voice. “If you don’t think the lady will mind.”
She led the way, too tired to comment at Abasio’s muttered curses as he struggled with the uneven stairs. “What in the name of artistry was this leg trap built for?”
“A way for the workmen to get things into parts of the castle that are hard to reach,” she murmured. “So my cousin says.”
“Your cousin?”
“The duke.” She took a deep breath. Perhaps it was time for explanations. “He says I am to call him cousin. I am of his wife’s family. Everyone speaks of ‘the Woman Upstairs,’ but she is really Princess Xu-i-lok, wife to His Grace the Duke of Wold, seventh daughter of Prince Lok-i-xan, Tingawan ambassador to the court of King Gahls and head of Clan Do-Lok. Though she merits both great respect and watchful people to serve her day and night, just you watch! The footman will be asleep outside her door, slumped in his chair and snoring like an overfed dog. It is a good thing Wold is at peace. Once His Grace the duke goes up to the bird towers at night, even the watchmen on the outer walls sleep more than they watch.”
Abasio smiled to himself. She sounded like a fully mature and offended mistress of the castle, but she was proven right, for the footman still slept. They crept past him into the lady’s room. Xulai dropped to her knees in the somber shade of the hangings, near one of the braziers, its charcoal glowing red beneath the smoke hood, its suspended chimney leading up into the darkness where it found a vent to let the smoke out. The heat was welcome against Xulai’s face. She leaned against the high mattress and searched the still face before her. No change. Never any change. Not anymore.
Abasio soundlessly closed the door behind them and came to join her where she knelt beside the great bed. She whispered, “It has been a long time since the princess has been able to speak aloud, but I remember everything she ever said to me, no matter how long ago it was.” She took the woman’s hand in her own and leaned forward to put her lips close to the woman’s ear. “Princess. I have it. I will hide it and keep
