Crucible (3 page)

At least pretend to sleep,
she thought, closing her eyes.
At least . . . try. . . .

And she must have done more than try, because the voice came out of nowhere, waking her up with a start.

:Don't scream.:

Bree sat up, heart pounding. She was certain she was alone—the cellar only had one entrance and she'd checked it thoroughly before barring the door. She reached under her pillow and pulled out a small dagger.

:Come outside, Amelie. It's okay.:

She gasped, then slapped a hand over her mouth. The voice didn't come from someone in the room. It spoke
in her head
.

She pulled on her boots and cloak, tucked the dagger into a concealed pocket, and approached the ladder leading up to the storm door.

What if it's a trap?
a tiny voice of doubt asked.

Then I guess I'm Ferrin's next sacrifice,
she thought, throwing the storm door wide.

It opened up on an alley, the cobblestones half-bathed in moonlight, half-doused in moonshadow. At the end where the darkness pooled, she saw a ghostly suggestion of white. As Amelie stepped toward it a Companion stepped out of the shadows to meet her. As did a tall, hooded figure.

He pushed back the hood of his cloak.

“I heard,” Attikas said, “that you need some help.”

• • •

He'd been calling himself Attikas since he came to Highjorune a month ago. That had been easy—Wil had used the name before. The real hard part came in convincing a very young child to pretend to be Suze, not Ivy.

Also, the beard itched. And Wil might have a permanent crick in his neck from looking down at the ground so much. At least here in Amelie's dank, private basement he could sit up properly.

“I can't believe I didn't recognize you,” she said. “Or Ivy.”

“It's the beard and the lack of Whites,” he replied. “And Ivy's grown quite a bit. I'm just sorry I didn't recognize you. I should have guessed you were near the first time I heard Ystell humming ‘Today, I Ride'.”

She smiled. “Yeah, that was me.”

“I read your note,” Wil said. “Murder is a strong accusation.”

“I saw him kill someone,” she whispered.

“Is there proof?”

“My eyes? Truth-Spell him, or Eel, or Sharlot. They'll spill it all.”

He nodded. “I may have to. This happened at the castle?”

“Yes. After everyone left. I hid in some bushes . . . I couldn't do anything.”

“Did you see what they did with the body?”

She shook her head.

“Is there any chance . . . he faked it?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I know what I saw.”

“And I believe you. But remember what the Circle taught you. Memories are unreliable. And there are tricks a good performer can play on his . . . audience.”

“I know what I saw,” she repeated.

“Can you show me where it happened?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Good.” He stood up. “I need to go. Ferrin will want ‘Nightmare' put away.”

She grimaced. “That poor horse.”

“I know.” A pause. “I could probably arrest him on that name alone.”

That earned a laugh.

“Meet me at the castle a few bells after noon?” he asked.

She nodded. “Should be safe enough.”

“Also, do me a favor—stop singing Lelia's songs. It's going to get you in trouble.”

She bowed her head. “It was the only weapon I had.”

He opened the storm door and looked back. “You have me now. Good night.”

Aubryn had gone back to the stables by the time he
climbed out of the cellar. Of the two Companions, she alone could broadcast Mindspeech, so he'd needed her to get Amelie's “attention” in a manner that didn't cause an excess of screaming. Vehs stayed behind, making sure Ivy slept undisturbed in the stable loft they currently called home.

And that was a luxury Wil had not had this past month while he'd been pretending to not be a Herald: being able to leave Ivy alone and know she'd be protected. Wil had learned just how much help the Companions—especially Aubryn—had been at corralling his youngster.

:Aubryn loves it,:
Vehs said as Wil climbed the ladder to the loft.
:It distracts her from the past.:

Wil understood. Not to the depths Aubryn did, but well enough. She had lost her Chosen to a freak accident within weeks of Choosing him and had volunteered to accompany Wil so he could be both a Circuit Herald
and
a father. Usually, when he went into towns as a Herald, Ivy stayed back at the Waystation. Few people even knew she traveled with him, except random travelers they met on the road and the Heraldic Circle itself.

The Companions also meant he could finally do more than just observe Ferrin. And if the worst happened, Aubryn would defend Ivy to the death, Fetching the toddler to her back if they needed to escape.

But for now Ivy slept in the loft. He settled down, put an arm around her, and sank into sleep.

• • •

Sitting by the fire, Wil braided Ivy's hair and listened to Ystell humming “Today, I Ride,” a song about Sendar's last battle. He'd heard it in other places, too—the market, while buying soap for bathing, picking up feed for the stables. Amelie had planted her seeds well.

Around noon Wil and Ivy left the inn to walk the muddy road to the old palace of Lineas.

It sat at the end of a broad, abandoned avenue, a husk of its former self. The closer they got to the grounds, the
greater the overgrowth of brambles, bushes, and trees became. The locals had intentionally let it go wild; it heightened the castle's “mystique.”

An exception to the overgrowth was a patch of tramped down grass within the three-walled courtyard, just in front of a set of steps leading up to a broad stone landing and a pair of rotting oaken doors. Two large lanterns fitted with reflectors to amplify their light flanked the doors on iron hooks, all freshly oiled and free of rust.

Wil sat on the steps as Ivy ran about the grounds, pulling flowers off of bushes and finding sticks and rocks to play with.

“Hello.” Amelie's voice came from behind, giving him a start. Ivy ran over with a squeak to hug the young Bard.

“You've been there the whole time?” he asked, getting to his feet.

Amelie jerked her head toward the open doors. “There's an old underground passage to the palace I saw Ferrin use. It's how he orchestrates his ‘grand entrance' to the Masque. Comes out two rooms off the entrance. I'd have told you about it—” She flashed a crooked smile. “—but it would've spoiled the fun.”

Her smiled faded and her voice pitched low, so only he and Ivy could have heard. “When did Lelia pass?”

Fresh daggers of loss pierced Wil's heart. “A few weeks before Sovvan.”

“I didn't want to believe her when she said she wouldn't see another one.” She ruffled Ivy's hair. “Has anyone told you you're crazy for traveling with a baby?”

Ivy twisted around and frowned. “
Not
a baby.”

Amelie laughed. “If you insist.” She looked at Wil. “You know why Lelia sent me here, don't you?”

“Maresa wasn't sure you knew anything about Lelia's . . . work. But I get the feeling you do.”

Amelie released Ivy, and she ran off to chase a butterfly.

“I know a bit about her . . . work,” Amelie said,
keeping her voice pitched so that the conversation stayed between them. “Bards doing very bad things. She hoped we could fix it. But we can't. All we have are words and songs. And Ferrin's are far more effective than mine.”

She looked down at a dark spot on the landing.

“There,” she said. “That's where he killed the Guard.”

“Ah.” Wil sat down next to the spot. “Watch Ivy for me. I'm going to be concentrating on something.”

:I watch as well.:

Wil bit down on a curse. Aubryn's Mindvoice could lure out a Bard, but it could also be like getting smacked over the head with a sackful of bricks.
:Aubryn?:

:My job is to watch her. Of course I followed.:

:Did anyone see you?:

She made no reply other than a snort from somewhere in the bushes.

Wil leaned forward and put his hand on the darkened stones. “This murder happened last month?” he asked as he closed his eyes.

“Yes,” Amelie replied.

“Okay.”
One month,
he thought.
I need just one month.

His Foresight had an unusual secondary property, what he'd come to think of as “Hindsight.” It could outright bonk him over the noggin with visions and premonitions ridiculous or terrifying . . . but it could also peel back the layers of the past.

And Lineas Castle had many, many layers to peel through.

A dizzying blur of images whizzed past, a stew of emotions and
things
. He reached through the array fanning out before him, filtering out anything that didn't feature a familiar figure in scarlet velvet, with a distinctive white cloak. He discarded any with snow—the last of the snowfall had melted two months ago. This left him with a small handful. One blazed brightly, indicating it to be the most important to his directed will, and he seized on it and cast the others aside.

Wil still sat on the stones, but in a different
when
. Night had fallen, and the now-blazing lanterns turned the stone landing into a stage. The double doors flew wide, and a white-cloaked figure in scarlet stepped out. Though Ferrin had donned a half-mask with a pointed bird's nose, nothing could mask the rich timbre of his voice.

“Welcome all . . . to the Masque,” he said to an audience of at least thirty people, also disguised, albeit in simpler masks of cloth strips. “You have come here tonight to hear the truth, and the truth is this: the Queen is mad.”

The crowd muttered agreement.

“The Queen sends our sons and daughters to war,” he continued. “She sends them to death and worse, and for what?” He spread his hands. “Have you seen the armies of Hardorn on our doorsteps? Have you met a Karsite force on our roads?”

Wil's stomach twisted with growing disgust.

“She does it . . . to control us,” he went on. His voice had a honeylike quality Wil recognized from the other night, when the Bard had flung his Gift on Orenn.

Ferrin lowered his voice a little, requiring listeners to strain to hear. “But we . . . have a choice. We will send her no more fodder. The revolution begins here. Are you all with me?”

Yes,
whispered the crowd.

Ferrin raised his voice from a whisper to a bellow. “We are the heralds of peace! We are Valdemar's hope!
We
will bring an end to Mad Queen Selenay!”

The crowd screamed, and from there the Masque dissolved into chants and shouts. Eventually, the crowds dispersed, leaving only Ferrin and two others: Eel and Sharlot.

“Bring him out,” Ferrin said.

Eel pushed open the moldering double doors and came back a few minutes later dragging someone in Guard Blues. He'd been bound and gagged, but he looked up at his captors fiercely, struggling against his bonds.

The Bard drew a knife and handed it hilt-first to Eel. “Do it.”

Eel licked his lips. “I—”

“We're starting a revolution, Eel. Prove yourself to Lord Dark. No one will miss this dog. They assume he's deserted already. We saw to that.”

“Do it,” Sharlot said, positively ecstatic.

Eel took the knife. The nameless Guard shook his head frantically.

“Eel,” Ferrin said, that honeylike quality to his voice again. “He's a loyal servant of Selenay. Your father went to the border and died, and when he died, it was under orders from a man not unlike this one. This dog—” He kicked the Guard, who grunted. “—is as complicit in his murder as your so-called Queen is.”

“Yes,” Eel whispered, a glitter in his eye as he knelt down.

“Do it,” Sharlot repeated.

Eel raised the knife and swung down. The Guard spasmed and shrieked, writhing and trying to roll away as the knife rose and fell, rose and fell.

It took far too long for him to die.

Wil pulled out of the vision, finding himself once more in sunlight. Amelie crouched nearby.

:Chosen?:

He didn't answer Vehs. Couldn't answer. Words failed.

“Wil?” Amelie asked worriedly.

Wil stood up slowly, brushing his palms on his breeches as he turned his mind toward his Companion.
:Things are about to get interesting.:

:You know how much I love interesting.:

“We're going back to the inn,” he said. “For now.”

“And then?”

He started down the stairs.
I'll arrest Ferrin and drag him by his thumbs back to Haven,
he wanted to say.

“I need a plan.” He scooped up Ivy and put her on one shoulder. “I need to think.”

• • •

:Can't we drop an army on them?
:
Vehs asked.

Wil sat in the loft with Ivy, slowly brushing her hair free from its braids as he discussed his plans with his Companion.

:Gods. I wish,:
he thought.

:That sounds like a “no.”:

:There'll be a bloodbath if we pull the Guard in on this.:
Wil shook his head.
:Ferrin will rally his side. It'll be no contest, but it'll make the Queen and her agents look like oppressors.:

:Which is what he wants.:
The backlash of war—even a necessary one—couldn't be avoided. People lost loved ones, or loved ones came back permanently changed physically and mentally. Ferrin had tapped into this resentment, given it a focus, and then fanned the flames with his Gift.

The streets of Highjorune would run with blood if Wil didn't stop him.

:He also mentioned a “Lord Dark,”:
he thought.