“Pity, that. We’re at an impasse then, aren’t we?” He peered through the roiling cloud at a shadowy landscape on the other side. Intriguing, but not enough for him to risk life and limb. He headed away.
Gabriella came after him, grabbed his sleeve. “Wait. A damsel in distress needs saving, and you’ll just leave?”
“I prefer the damsels who know how to save themselves.” He shrugged her off, took a few more steps.
“Do you still read the Bible, Henry?”
The inexplicable randomness of Gabriella’s question was suspicious enough to stop him. “I’ve been known to riffle through the Psalms.”
“I love Genesis,” she said, “especially the begats.”
He turned to her.
Whatever friendliness she’d been pretending earlier had drained out of her expression, leaving nothing but an ageless stare in its wake.
“You’ve lost me, Gabriella.”
“You know how it goes. Adam begat Seth. Seth begat Enosh. Farther down the line, Irad begat Mehujael. Noah begat Shem, and on the begats progressed from century to century.” Gabriella moved a hand to her chin in mock puzzlement. “Now here’s an interesting question.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Who did Henry Stoddard begat?”
The girl’s babble was taking a bad turn. He caught a whiff of blackmail.
“As I recall,” she continued, “you and Sarah begat a girl named Rachel. She married a man, and they begat Grace. Nearly three centuries of begats continued, until the magical day when one lucky couple begat Kara Danahey.”
“You stay away from her.” He clenched his fists so hard the nails bit into his palms.
Gabriella stared him down during the long, pregnant pause. “You wanted to know why I’ve been mixing her up in things? Leverage, Henry. God’s message must be delivered. Who knows what trouble I might involve Kara in if I don’t get my way?”
He had the urge to grab Gabriella’s ponytail and swing her like an Olympic hammer, but he knew, despite the illusion of her inferior size, he’d fare worse than David without a slingshot against a hundred Goliaths. He needed to come up with a nonviolent way of gaining the upper hand.
“There is no upper hand.”
This annoying creature refused to stay out of his head! “What’s my Kara to you?”
“She’s nothing to me, just a minor character in the opening scene of a play. You’re the messenger I’m looking for.”
Henry tried to think past the red tide of anger threatening to explode his head. Perhaps a favorable bargain could still be struck. “I have it on good authority an angel can never tell a lie. Not even a fallen one.”
Gabriella flashed her sweetest little-girl smile. “This is true.”
“If I do what you ask, will you leave Kara alone and stay out of her life forever?”
“Yes.”
“And all you want me to do is deliver a message to someone.”
“Yes again.”
“Can you assure me I’ll return unscathed and—”
Gabriella laughed. “I’m surprised at you, Henry. I’m sure you’ll be fine on the other side, same as here. Just use your illusions to render yourself invisible until you locate Maynya, let her have the note, and hurry back.”
A hand of smoke curled out of the portal, beckoning him to enter.
“Will I be walking into yesterday, today, or tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “Time waxes and wanes from one dimension to another. A man might dream for a second about living a full day.”
“In English, Gabriella.”
“Sanctimonia and Virtus are approximately today, give or take.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Sarah’s grave. His stomach fluttered.
“Don’t worry, Henry, you’ll be back tomorrow with fresh flowers.”
“I better be. Where will I find this woman who was so unfortunate to attract your interest?”
“Go west through the woods until you reach a clearing. She’s in the capital’s bridal pool, last I heard. Ask around. It shouldn’t be far.”
“What does she look like?”
Gabriella planted the image of a hauntingly beautiful dark-haired woman in his mind.
“I told you to stay out of there.”
She pouted again. “I’m just being helpful. You did ask.”
He started into the portal.
“You forgot the note!” Gabriella rushed up and handed it to him. “By the way, they don’t speak English over there.”
“I didn’t expect they would.”
“I’m sure you’ll understand a word or two. You still remember some Latin, don’t you?”
CHAPTER 28
Across the portal in Virtus
Maynya trudged up the hill one grueling step at a time, dragging the cross on her shoulder. After twelve long months of harsh captivity, she’d been singled out as the first bride to perform a macabre new wedding ritual.
A woman placed her life in the hands of her husband in marriage. The life-sized crucifix symbolized his right to kill her at will, without reprisal—an overly barbaric notion even for the horrid rulers of Virtus.
A hundred more paces until she’d reach the top. Soldiers would help her plant the cross into the ground, and she’d be done with it. She considered herself lucky, having heard rumors the king suggested far worse when he first came up with this idea. She shuddered. As further evidence of a bride’s willingness to sacrifice for her betrothed, he wanted a hand spiked into the wood. Or a foot. The versions varied. But the king’s advisors had argued a new husband wouldn’t want his bride damaged on such an auspicious day. Or so the story went.
She didn’t doubt such cruelty had been contemplated by this awful ruler.
Soldiers lined Maynya’s path on either side, all smartly dressed in their blue uniforms, brass buttons, and well-placed caps. Many peasants had joined their ranks, dusty and shabby in comparison. The throng included gentry, as well, the men wearing wigs and lacy-sleeved topcoats, the women in their finest silk with smiles painted on their faces. Excitement gleamed in their eyes, perhaps even inexplicable pleasure. She couldn’t understand the betrayal by her own gender.
She turned her attention to the other members of the bridal pool, dozens of women in long purple dresses—a faddish color choice thrust upon them by the bride master—and with hair brushed to a shine. Most had dark tresses, the signature of captured Mystics. A few others sported blonde locks and even
