"The Eve of Meladrin: 2" by Emilie Aurora Finn

Martinea Valora sniffed the air in the dank, musty tunnel with the attitude of an old warhorse that scents, even from distant lands, the smell of battle. Something was not right. She had known that as soon as she had entered the passageways to search for Princess Elizabeth and Katya. The Queen, white-faced and tense as a bow string, had told her to make a thorough search, as the princess could be hiding out in the passageways in a fit of pique at not being allowed to attend the Hallows Festival. Somehow Martinea thought there was more going on in here than that, and she did not like the smell of it at all.

On feet as silent as the softest doeskin and nearly forty years of severe training could make them, the black-clad head of Lauralian Intelligence moved east, in the direction from which the softest of sounds, and the faintest whiff of an unknown odor, had come.

The Queen and Royal Council were in the Council Chamber, tensely awaiting not only her report, but also the report of the scouts in the Castle Guard who had been sent to comb the woods for any sign of foreign intruders, or the missing students. Colin was of course still standing in the passageway directly adjacent to the room. Martinea silently opened a side door and slipped down a different passageway that ran parallel to his. She could hear the whisper of his leather trousers as he shifted impatiently on his feet, but she knew he would not hear her. She had no intention of running into the Queen’s strictly-behind-the-scenes, de-facto advisor and wasting valuable time fending off his well-intentioned but completely useless offers of help. She shook her head. He was so upset at the news of the missing princess that you’d think he was her father, not her tutor.

A faint clank focused Martinea’s razor-fine attention ahead of her, and she slowed, listening intently. Soon the sound of footfalls were audible, echoing quietly in the dank passageways, though it was impossible to tell what direction they were coming from.

Alarm quickly followed Martinea’s short-lived triumph at discovering the source of the disturbance in the air. The footfalls were louder now, and she really couldn’t tell where they were coming from—there were too many echoes. But if there were even a third as many people as there were footsteps, there were far too many. It sounded as if a squadron of soldiers was bumbling around in—

Martinea froze, her heart in her mouth. What if that were the case? And what if—

Suddenly several lighted torches appeared around the nearest corner. The sound of footfalls was magnified into a march, and Martinea flattened herself against the passage wall. It was too late now for retreat. They were almost upon her, and they would certainly see her if she moved. Her only hope was that they would pass, and that she would go unnoticed in the dim torchlight. Then she could get to the nearest exit and use the hallways of the Castle proper to warn the Queen.

As the shadows passed her, faceless, nearly formless in the dim light, her worst fear proved only too accurate. The gold trimming of the uniforms of Arcanian Special Operatives glittered in the torchlight as the men and women marched steadily past her. They moved efficiently; not bumbling around at all. As if—Martinea barely controlled the sharp hiss of intaken breath that would have given her away—As if they knew exactly where to go.

They were almost past her. In a moment it would be safe to sprint to one of the hidden doors that led to the east wing of the Castle. From there she could—

She started as one of the faceless figures passing her made a sharp, warning sound and held his torch aloft to illuminate her face. The light blinded her, and even as she fumbled for her dagger she heard the whisper of an arrow being loosed in the dark beyond. Martinea did the only thing she could think of. She screamed as loudly as she could to the only person it might be possible to warn.

“COLIN—”

Even as she shouted, she felt the arrow pierce her shoulder, and though it was only a flesh wound, the numbness creeping quickly through her shoulder and down her spine informed her that it was unlikely she would live to see if her warning was sufficient. She slumped against the wall as the squadron of Arcanian Operatives sprinted away from her toward the passageway to the Council Chamber. Their element of surprise was jeopardized, and speed could be their only chance for success now.

Martinea slid down the wall as her numb limbs refused to support her weight. Only her throat worked convulsively, and she murmured as she slowly collapsed, “—warn the Queen—”

*           *          *

The Council Chamber was unrecognizable as the comfortable conference room it had once been. Tongues of flame cast their shadows on the walls in a macabre dance. Charred, black, and broken remnants of chairs and tables were strewn across the floor, and the royal blue carpet was singed and stained with blood.

It hadn’t gone quite as planned, of course, but then, plans seldom did. No one had counted on the peasant Colin, standing outside the council chamber. He had crashed through a bookcase into the room yelling wildly about Arcanians in the passageway, giving the Council that second or two of warning they needed to prevent the planned wholesale slaughter. Councilors had had time to fumble for swords and daggers, knocking over chairs, tables, and candles in their clumsy efforts to rise and defend themselves. Colin and the Lord Marshall had had time to come to the aid of the Queen, preventing the assassination that had been the main focus of the plan.

But it had been clear that the Council was outnumbered at least four to one, and their only hope had been to flee the room and call for the Castle Guard. Plan B had been utilized, and the Arcanian troops had followed, killing whom they could, intent on capturing the Queen and taking her hostage before the Castle Guard showed up. That would buy time until the reinforcements arrived, since the Guard would not do anything that might result in the death of their Queen.

He wondered, as he stepped into the wrecked, stinking room, how the struggle in the rest of the castle was going. But that wasn’t his job at the moment, or his concern. They were professional fighters. Let them do what they were paid for. Meanwhile, he would do what they paid him to do. Casually he stepped over the prone and cooling corpses of a fellow Operative and a woman in scarlet and silver robes, whom he recognized as Lady Grey. Whoever had gotten the Lady had used an extremely precise and effective sword stroke directly through the heart, he noted with admiration.

But his task was not to admire the technique of his comrades, either. Quickly, he walked around the table and approached the other woman lying on the floor. She was not dead, but at least she’d been struck down, which made his job far easier. She groaned as he bent over her, her glazed, green eyes seeing only a harmless young man in servants’ livery.

“Treachery—” she gasped, a bubble of blood rising to her lips with the word and bursting as she spoke. “Lady Kris—I didn’t know! Find—someone—”

He spoke soothingly. “Certainly, Doctor Nancy. I will go as fast as I can. Rest now. Close your eyes and conserve your strength.”

She obeyed, and as soon as her eyes were closed, he raised the dagger to finish his job.

“I wouldn’t do that, young man,” a gravelly voice rumbled from behind him, and he felt his arm gripped by large, callused hand. That was the end of that. Stupid of him, really, not to have made sure he knew where this particular man was before he began his job.

“Traitor Schein,” the young man said conversationally, and bit down hard on the silver-coated pellet of poison all Operatives carried in their mouths.

*          *           *

Katarina Lloyd slammed into a plump merchant carrying a tray of glasses filled with hot cider. The tray crashed to the ground and the woman shrieked as the hot liquid spilled down her front.

“Here now, child! Watch where you’re going! You can’t just—”

Katya barely heard the woman’s protests, and spared only a single glance over her shoulder as she ran on. “Sorry,” she called breathlessly, glad to see that some of the other vendors were hastening to the woman’s aid.

“Brat!” The woman’s angry voice echoed after her.

Now she was out of the Plaza and sprinting down the busy Capitol Road towards the Castle. Each gasping breath she took seared in her starved lungs like fire, and her legs trembled violently and threatened to give out completely as she forced them to keep running. At least no one tried to stop her now, or even looked at her twice. They took her for a peasant girl earning a copper or two by hurrying a message somewhere for some noble, and the only notice anyone took was to jump hurriedly and mostly good-naturedly out of her way as she raced along.

Katya was wondering if she was going to be able to keep running, or if she should slow down a little before she caused herself to collapse entirely, which would certainly do Elizabeth and the Queen no good at all, when she ran directly into the torso of a solidly built man who stood in her path and never made a move to get out of her way. She was about to gasp the best apology she could manage while hurrying around him, when he caught her arms and held her, forcing her to stop.

“Let go!” she gasped, struggling with all the energy she could muster. “Please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Miss Katya?” The puzzled words of a familiar voice caused her to stop her frantic movements and look up in amazement.

“David! What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” her father’s big, good-natured assistant said genially, reaching down to pluck off her Hallows masque. “And for Her Highness. Where’s the princess? The Queen’s about to have a litter of full-grown cats up at the Castle.”

“That’s just it!” Katya gasped, renewing her effort to free her arms. “I have a message from Elizabeth for the Queen! I’ve got to go, David!”

David was having none of it. “Sorry, Miss Katya. I’ve strict orders from your father to take you straight home. He’s fair put out. You’ll not want to worry him further tonight. Just you tell me where Princess Elizabeth is and I’ll fetch her home.”

“No!” Katya yelled. “You don’t understand! This isn’t about Elizabeth and me running away! She’s gone to try to find the intruder down in the passageway, and if I don’t tell the Queen—Let me go, David!”

David’s expression altered in a way Katya couldn’t quite read. “Intruder? Passageway? What are you—?” he carefully loosed one hand to feel her hot forehead. “Katya, are you feeling well?”

Belatedly, Katya remembered that no one outside the Castle knew about the passages, and she realized that her words must sound like so much gibberish to David. She jerked her head away from his hand. “I’m fine!” she yelled desperately. “I’m not sick! I have to go to the Queen!”

David shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, looking worried. “You feel pretty fevered to me, and your voice sounds awfully funny. Your father said to take you straight home. You’re not strong enough to go out gallivanting all by yourself, Miss Katya.”

“I wasn’t by myself! I was with Elizabeth! And I have to—” Katya made one last, furious effort to wrench herself out of his grasp, only to find, inexplicably, that he was no longer holding onto her. She tipped backward and fell to the ground, cracking her head on the hard cobblestone paving.

“Miss Katya!” David’s anxious face filtered to her through a maze of sparkles and flashes that danced before her eyes. His voice sounded awfully far away. “Miss Katya, I didn’t mean to—” The voice drifted off as the roaring sound in her head grew louder and louder. The sparkles and flashes gave way to black spots that drifted across her vision and grew bigger and bigger, threatening to engulf her completely. Was she passing out? With ever weakening effort, Katya tried to stay awake. There was something she was supposed to be doing. Something important. Something no one else knew…

She did not feel it when David picked her up as if she weighed no more than a dry leaf and carried her gently home.

*        *          *

Elizabeth hurried as quickly as she dared down the pitch black Northeast Passageway, her right fingertips trailing lightly along the wall. She listened carefully for sounds of footsteps other than her own, but she could hear nothing. She had not counted on how dark it would be in the tunnels. She whished she remembered what she’d done with the candle they’d used on their way over. The utterly silent blackness frightened her, and she found herself trembling. Except for the light touch of her fingers on the wall to her right, she could be anywhere, or nowhere at all, and never know the difference. Maybe she was trapped in some sort of insane loop of time, walking over and over the same ten yards of trackless, pathless nothing…

Her foot hit something in front of her, and it groaned inarticulately. Elizabeth tripped, fell on top of it, and shrieked.

“Be quiet,” the something rasped in a ghastly parody of a woman’s voice.

Elizabeth scrambled off it as fast as she could, and knelt warily beside it—her?—poised to run away if need be. “Who are you?” she whispered.

“Princess?” Even though hoarse and strained with suppressed pain, the voice sounded stunned.

“Who is it?” Elizabeth demanded, slipping her dagger from the wrist holder under her sleeve and willing herself to stop trembling.

“Martinea.”

“Martinea?” Elizabeth reached out tentatively to her mother’s most trusted agent. “What happened?” She touched an arm, a hand, both wet and sticky with—could it be—blood? Slowly, she moved her hand upward. When she reached the shoulder of what was now definitely and recognizably Martinea in her black leathers, she also touched the cold metal embedded deep in her shoulder. “Oh no. Someone’s hurt you.”

“Worse,” Martinea rasped. “Poisoned. Destroyers—in the Castle.”

Elizabeth froze. Her mind went utterly blank, like a slate over which someone had just wiped a soapy sponge. Then, slowly, as if scripted there, words from the treatise her mother had given her to memorize two weeks before—the one on obtaining information from damaged operatives—appeared in her mind. Ask simple questions.

“A-Arcanians?” she heard her own trembling voice ask weakly.

“Yes. Special Operatives.”

Do as much of the talking as you can yourself. “Special Operatives,” she murmured. “Scouts and strategists and spies, then.” Show no emotion. “How many?” she asked, trying to control the break in her voice.

“Several—” Martinea croaked. “Several—dozen, I think.”

Several dozen! How had several dozen Destroyers—even if they were Special Operatives—gotten anywhere near enough to— Don’t indulge in speculation. Get as much information as you can as quickly as you can.

“How long ago?” A shock of realization caused the chalkboard that was her mind to waver as Elizabeth realized the import of this question to Martinea as well as the situation in the Castle. If she could bring Doctor Phillip back here with his poison antidote before an hour had passed with that arrow in her arm, there might still be a chance to save Martinea’s life.

“Not—sure. Maybe—half an hour?”

The chalkboard receded as plans for her next actions took its place. Find her mother. Find out what was going on. Find Doctor Phillip. Save Martinea. Because this was her fault. Oh, Godde, all her fault. Somehow she and Katya had led the Destroyers right into the Castle with their stupid kid’s games! What Hallows Festival was worth Martinea’s life?

“Where were they going?” she asked, her voice wobbling despite her best efforts to control it. “Do you have any idea what direction?”

“Council Chamber. Yelled—tried to warn—Colin.” Martinea’s voice was weakening.

“Did he hear you?”

“Don’t—know.”

Elizabeth could barely hear the woman’s rasping whisper. She nodded and scrambled to her feet. “I’ll be back,” she said.

“NO!” The sudden strength of Martinea’s yell made her jump.

“What’s wrong?”

“You can’t go—there! Destroyers—you’re the heir! Stay!”

“I can’t!” Elizabeth almost sobbed, as duty clashed with duty in her mind and tore her chalkboard to bits. “I have to go! I’ll get Doctor Phillip. Don’t—don’t die, Martinea. I command it!”

Before her mother’s loyal agent could say anything more, she was running down the passageway toward the Council Chamber as fast as she possibly could. Martinea couldn’t die. She couldn’t. Because then she and Katya would be murderers. Or as good as murderers. Because if not for them, the Destroyers never would have gotten into the Castle at all. She had to save her. Had to.

Light blinded her as she approached the Council Chamber, and she stopped short and shook her head to clear the sparks that flew in front of her eyes. Then with a horrified gasp she moved to the doorway. The bookcase that concealed the passage had been splintered and had toppled down. Charred  pieces of furniture were strewn around the room, and flames hungrily devoured the ruined books in a pile on the floor. Near the council table General Schein knelt, cradling a woman in his arms. Elizabeth clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. It was Doctor Nancy from Kait. She was speaking in labored, painful gasps.

“I suspect…” Doctor Nancy whispered, her bitterness audible even to the little girl in the doorway, “that Sir Melven knew of the treachery, and that I was sent to replace him because I did not. I would argue Lady Kris’ position in Council, but I would never turn traitor…and my Lady knew this. So she recalled him and sent me… An innocent blind…to be killed after my role was played out…” her voice faded, and her last sentence was barely audible. “I hope…you foil their plot, General… so that I will not have died in vain…”

“I swear it, Doctor,” General Schein said quietly, as the last light died from her glazed eyes, and her body went limp in his arms. He closed her sightless eyes with his free hand and gently laid her body on the charred carpet. “I swear it.”

Elizabeth couldn’t restrain a small, choking cry, and the general looked up quickly.

“Is she dead?” Elizabeth asked, her voice quavering.

General Schein nodded gravely. “Yes, my princess.”

“Him too?” Her voice rose in shock as she noticed for the first time the body of the servant on Schein’s other side.

“Yes, Princess.”

“And Lady Kris has betrayed us?”

“Yes.”

“Where is my mother?” She couldn’t help it. Her voice spiraled up to the verge of hysteria and she swayed in the doorway. General Schein got to his feet and moved to her side.

“I don’t know exactly, Your Highness, but she has Colin and Lord Hermann to protect her. She will be all right.”

Princess Elizabeth gulped and nodded as bravely as she could, trying to ignore the panic seething through her. She must help, and not become a liability.

General Schein glanced toward the door and then back at the shaking child. “I must go and take care of some business,” he said. “It will not help, when this debacle is over, if we cannot prove the treachery.”

The princess nodded again, and said quite firmly. “Then I will go with you. I must find Doctor Phillip.”

Schein shook his head violently. “You cannot, my princess. There is fighting still in the halls, and I have no time to help you search.”

“Would everyone ever stop saying to me that I cannot?” Elizabeth felt her voice rise, but for once she did not care. “Everyone’s dying,” she shouted, “and maybe I can save Martinea, but I have to find Doctor Phillip, because he has the antidote, and I am going to find him, with or without your help, because unless my mother is here to forbid me, you cannot!” Having delivered herself of this semi-hysterical tirade, Princess Elizabeth stepped briskly around him and ran to the door.

General Schein sprang after her and caught her back by the collar of her tunic.

“How dare you!” she yelled, trying to yank herself free.

“I dare because there is a battle being waged in those corridors, Princess,” he growled. “You are right that I may not stop you from finding the physician if you feel you must, but I can and will stop you from flinging yourself blindly out this door onto the business end of someone’s weapon.”

Elizabeth stopped struggling and turned to face him. “Then you’ll help me?”

Schein sighed. “I don’t have much of a choice, it seems,” he told her grimly. “Where is Martinea?”

“In the Northeast Passageway.”

“All right,” he said resignedly. “We’ll go together, and you will allow me to protect you. If we find Doctor Phillip, he can go save Martinea. If we do not, you will not hinder me from performing my own duties. Agreed?”

Dumbly, she nodded and turned once more to the door.

“Wait.” He walked around the table to the body of the young assassin and removed the dagger from his lifeless hand. He returned to the door, and carefully handed the weapon to the princess. “It is poisoned,” he told her. “Be very careful who you scratch.”

She nearly dropped it. “An Arcanian weapon?” she demanded.

“An Arcanian assassin’s weapon,” he corrected her. “The perfect toy for the only heir to the throne, who doesn’t know where her mother is, and who insists on putting herself in danger. Do you understand, Elizabeth? You must not die tonight.”

The general had not thought the girl could get any whiter, but she did, until her face appeared almost translucent in the fiendish light of the dying fires. She looked as though she might faint, but instead she nodded and said quietly. “I understand, General Schein.”

He nodded, thrust her behind him, and they entered the hallway beyond.

*          *          *

Her back against the wall, Queen Ellena desperately parried the quickening thrusts of her attacker. He used an attack pattern she recognized, thanks to General Schein’s Arcanian weapons training. One that left a very tiny opening—

As she engaged the man’s sword with her right hand, Ellena flicked the small dagger Colin had given her into her left, aimed as best she could with her elbow against the wall, and threw it at the man. The man gasped, gurgled a little, made one last, wild attempt to strike her with his sword, and then slipped to the ground, blood pooling quickly around him, for her dagger had pierced his jugular.

Ellena looked around wildly for her next foe, but none appeared. She then looked for Colin and Lord Hermann, but they were not there. In fact, there was no one in the room but herself. Trembling, the Queen lowered her sword, then knelt to clean it on the hem of the dead Arcanian’s uniform jacket. Only then did she notice the carnage around her.

These people—there were three of them—had she killed all these people? Retching, the Queen rose dizzily and turned her face to the wall, but there was no escaping the smell. She gagged and dropped her sword, clinging to the wall in a desperate attempt not to faint.

“Mother!” a ragged voice raised in a joyous yell startled the Queen back to full consciousness. She turned quickly to see Elizabeth hurtling toward her across the burned and blood-smeared room, and she opened her arms to greet her, but before Elizabeth could reach her, a strong hand snatched the back of the girl’s tunic and held her away.

To Ellena’s surprise, Elizabeth didn’t look at all outraged or afraid. She merely turned her head and asked, “What is it this time, General Schein?”

The Queen’s eyes finally focused on the man with her daughter, and she realized that it was indeed the general. He held Elizabeth tightly by the collar with his left hand, but his right hung uselessly at his side, and Ellena could see white bone showing through a tear in his blood soaked sleeve.

“You have found your mother alive, thank the Godde,” Schein was saying sternly to Elizabeth. “Kindly keep her in that state by dropping your dagger before you embrace her.”

Elizabeth paled, flushed, then paled again, and she threw the dagger as far from her as she could. It clanged sharply against a far wall, and Ellena heard something smash as it hit the floor. She looked at her daughter. “What was that about?”

“It was poisoned,” Elizabeth whispered. “I could have killed you.”

Now completely oblivious to the pool of blood at her feet, Ellena knelt and hugged her daughter tightly. “Then it is good fortune General Schein was with you to hold you back,” she said as lightly as she could. Elizabeth shuddered violently and began to cry. Ellena held her even more closely, and glanced up at the man who stood before them. “General, you need a doctor,” she said. “That is your sword arm, is it not?”

Though his lips were white, the pain he suffered appeared to affect him in no other way. He merely nodded. “It is, my Queen. But I fear there are needs more pressing than mine.”

“What?”

He looked to Elizabeth, but she gave no evidence of hearing either of them, as she clung to her mother and sobbed uncontrollably. He met Ellena’s eyes again. “The princess found Agent Martinea in the Northeast Passageway. She has been shot by an Arcanian arrow.”

“Oh Godde…”

“Have you any idea where Doctor Phillip is, my Queen?” He asked after a moment, when it became apparent that she could not speak.

“He—he could be anywhere,” she said, sternly commanding her voice to remain steady. “If he is alive, you will find him with the wounded. Is the battle over?”

Schein nodded. “I believe so, my Queen. Apparently the youngster’s report had credibility after all. They had reinforcements waiting in the woods. General Tamin led the guard against them and routed them before they could approach the Castle. We appear to have done our work inside as well, though I don’t think it’s safe for either of you to go wandering around.”

The Queen nodded, suddenly more frightened than she had been during the battle itself. “I will go with Elizabeth straight to her chambers, and we will both stay there,” she told him, rather more unsteadily than she would have liked. “I want you to find Doctor Phillip and have him see to your arm before you lose it. Then go with him to treat Martinea if she is still—alive. Take an able-bodied soldier with you in case of trouble. I imagine at least some of the Destroyers tried to flee back through the Council Chamber into the passageways.”

Schein sketched a salute with his left hand. “Yes, Your Majesty. There is one more matter you must be made aware of. Have I permission to attend you in your daughter’s chambers once I carry out your other orders?”

Startled by the sudden formality of this last request, the Queen nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Schein nodded again, bowed, and swiftly left the room.

*            *            *

Katya groaned groggily and opened her eyes to stare blearily at the ceiling over her bed. She was home, which surprised her, though she couldn’t think why, since that’s were she usually was in the middle of the night. But wasn’t there something special about tonight? She pushed herself into a sitting position, fighting a wave of nausea at the motion, and gritting her teeth against the pain in her head.

There was something important tonight that they were supposed to do… Oh of course! It was Meladrin, and they were going to the Hallows festival! Except—she glanced toward the window—wasn’t it awfully late? Had they let her sleep through it and gone without her? This terrible thought galvanized her and she leaped from her bed, only to find herself retching and clinging to the bedpost. What was wrong? Was she sick?

She stood motionless, regaining her balance and trying to think. There had been a Council meeting. That’s right. That’s why they weren’t at the Hallows Festival. Except—they had been, hadn’t they? She and Elizabeth had sneaked out—

Suddenly she remembered everything. The boy, the ominous hole under the Laural tree, Elizabeth’s command—for that’s surely what it had been—to go for help, running into David and hitting her head… And he must have carried her home, not knowing that the danger she was babbling about was real.

What if it was too late? What if something had happened to Elizabeth while she, Katya, was lying passed out on her bed? Pain and nausea forgotten, Katya ran to her bedside and stuffed her feet into her shoes. Then she grabbed the only weapon she could think of—a small shepherd’s sling Colin had taught her to use—and ran into the door.

Literally, for though she twisted the knob as hard as she could, the door remained stubbornly closed.

“What in the name of destruction?” she demanded. It wasn’t locked. The knob turned just fine. But when she pushed on the door it felt as if it were bolted from the outside. Katya felt a stiletto blade of fear as well as rising desperation. Had she truly been raving so wildly that David had felt the need to lock her up? That wasn’t like him!

But more than that, she had to get to the Castle! If Elizabeth had tangled with that intruder in the passageway, she could be hurt, or—or dead even, and no one would know! Katya gave the door a savage kick and turned away from it. Even in her anger, she knew very well she could never break the heavy wooden door, or the steel that held it shut. She would by the Godde have Papa fire David for this! How dare he lock her up when her best friend was counting on her?

Angrily, she flung her sling onto the bed with all her might. The stone in its leather pouch made a deep indent in the fluffy mattress, but did little other damage. Then Katya glanced at the sealed window.

The next minute the sound of shattering glass rent the silence of her father’s house, as a round, flat stone whistled from the small slingshot straight through the expensive glass window, and landed with a thump in the grass outside. Katya hurried to the window and cleared as much of the glass away as she could, protecting her hand with the leather of the sling. Then she climbed clumsily through the jagged opening and tumbled the few feet to the wet grass below it.

The night was peaceful and clear, and contrasted oddly with the jumbled thoughts buzzing around in Katya’s head. She struggled to her feet and staggered across her father’s lawn  towards the Castle proper. She must find the Queen and make sure Elizabeth was alright.

The guard on duty at the main entrance called for her to halt, and approached sternly. “Here, girl, where do you think you’re—Miss Katya?” He stopped within a few feet of her and stared in shock. Katya remembered that she was dressed in peasant attire that was now stained and torn, and that her hair tumbled around her face as if she had just arisen from bed. She glanced involuntarily down at her dirty hands and untied bootlaces, and noticed that blood was seeping from her leg through a tear in her hose. She looked back at the waiting guard.

“I must see the Queen,” she said hurriedly. “It’s an emergency. There’s an intruder—”

The man barked a laugh, but she had never heard a sound so devoid of humor. She shivered. “You’re a little behind the times, Miss,” he said shortly. “The intruders have been dealt with.”

She gasped. “More than one? Was anyone hurt? Where is Princess Elizabeth?”

“More than one?” Another humorless laugh. “I’d say so, Miss. A good fourscore at least, not countin’ the ones in the woods. Arcanian Operatives came through somehow and tried to take the Castle.”

Katya swayed on her feet, suddenly ice cold all over. Only a fortnight ago, her father had approached her, requesting that she tell him where the secret passage into the Castle was. He had told her he and his order were planning an escape route in the case of a coup. They must have known something like this was going to happen. If only she had known too! Probably her father had been preparing to counter it. But—without the knowledge of the Queen and the princess?

Katya shook her head violently, and stared into the unsympathetic eyes of the Castle guard. “Where—” she asked through lips that felt like dry paper. “Where is Princess Elizabeth?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the man said. “Hidden away somewheres safe, I hope.”

“The Queen?”

“She’s alive according to Master Colin, but ‘e won’t say where she is.”

Katya nodded and moved to walk around him into the castle.

“I wouldn’t go in there, Miss,” he called after her. “There may still be Arcanians lurking about.”

Katya ignored him. As if in a dream—and what could this be, after all, but the most terrible of nightmares? She would wake in the morning and tell Elizabeth all about it, and they would laugh—she tugged open the ornate doors to the Castle and moved along a completely deserted main corridor. As she turned down the corridor that led to the Council Chamber and the private Royal Wing, her foot splashed in a puddle of something. Looking down, she saw that it was reddish and sticky. Averting her eyes hastily, she kept walking, only now her left boot stuck to the polished wooden floor each time she tried to lift it, and made a peeling sound when she pulled it free.

She backed against the wall as several medics rushed by with a bleeding soldier on a stretcher. One of them ran into her, and then ran on without a word. Katya kept walking. On the stairs to the second floor, several long somethings lay covered with black cloths. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and the golden-brown wood was stained in patches with a much darker hue. Katya clutched the banister and continued to drag herself up the stairs.

The smell of blood and smoke was less pervasive on the second floor. The door to Elizabeth’s outer chamber was ajar, and inside Queen Ellena and General Schein stood together by the bookshelf, heads bent over a slightly charred piece of paper.

“Lady Kris…” General Schein’s voice rumbled almost inaudibly as the Queen, her face pale and drawn, listened intently, “…often private meetings with his assistant, David… proof…this letter…treason …tried to burn it…” Shien’s rumbling voice cut off abruptly, and he looked quickly toward the door. Queen Ellena followed his gaze.

Timidly, Katya pushed the door open wider and slipped a small bit into the room. She opened her mouth to speak—to say she was sorry—to ask about Elizabeth—but her throat closed under their stares. She had expected them to be angry, but not like this. They looked at her so strangely. So silent and icy and stern. It wasn’t like the Queen at all. Usually she treated Katya as she did her own daughter. What was wrong? Elizabeth—no—it couldn’t be that she was—

“Come in, Katarina,” the Queen said grimly, and as Katya obeyed, General Schein moved behind her and shut the door.

*           *          *

“But then we found proof.”

The words hovered in the deadened silence of the plush royal chamber. The pristine white marble walls, soft, blue carpeted floor, and sparkling light from the candles in the chandelier above their heads contrasted sharply with the faint smell of smoke and charred flesh that prevailed everywhere in the Castle—the only remaining evidence of the battle that had so recently been waged within its walls.

Elizabeth stared at her mother, speechless and motionless. Her face felt like dry leather, stretched tight over the  bones of her face like a drum’s head. Her mouth was dry; her tongue stuck to the roof of it like a clump of cotton. She could not look at the girl who had, only moments before, rushed to her side her side with a cry of joy. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.” Queen Ellena stood, equally motionless, before the two white-faced girls, a piece of paper held loosely in one outstretched hand. Behind her General Schein listened, face impassive.

“At first I did not—could not believe it either,” the Queen went on. “But this letter confirms all our suspicions. Sir Lloyd has been sending Lady Kris information from our council meetings for months. They knew when and where to attack the Eastern Woods for that reason.” An observer could have concluded that this mattered very little to the Queen, unless that observer had recognized the brightness of the unshed tears far back in her eyes, and heard the faintly hollow tone of her voice.

“And now we find that they knew other things, too. Things that only an intimate of the royal family could possibly be privy to. Not even Sir Robert knew the location of the Royal Seal, nor would he have known of the existence of the Northeast Passageway. Not without the assistance of his daughter.”

Elizabeth turned blindly, her eyes stinging with unshed tears, to the trembling girl beside her. “Katya?” The word fell slowly from her unsteady lips.

Her best friend looked back at her. Her face under the smudges of dirt was grey, and she shook violently, but her eyes blazed clear and bright, and she looked directly into Elizabeth’s face. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I swear before the Godde—my own life as my bond—Elizabeth, I did not know!”

“Did you give this information to your father, Katarina?” The Queen’s voice was cold, and her serene expression was as unyielding as the marble walls that surrounded them.

The light in Katya’s eyes went out, and she shrank into herself and bowed her head. She looked fragile, as if the slightest touch would shatter her, and for the first time Elizabeth noticed the blood seeping through the leg of her trousers. Elizabeth resisted the urge to reach out and steady her delicate friend, as she had done so many times before. This was not one of those times.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The damning words were little more than a whisper. Katya did not look up.

A sharp cry of pain escaped through Elizabeth’s white lips and she turned away, feeling as if the ground had suddenly fallen from beneath her feet. She remembered walking along the passageway in the darkness, only the tips of her fingers on the wall stabilizing her in the real world. Now someone had taken the wall away, and though she was in her own lighted room, and the crisis was over, she was nowhere, surrounded by nothing.

“Elizabeth…” the plea was barely audible, and the voice that whispered it shook until it broke. Elizabeth didn’t turn around.

“I see.” Queen Ellena’s voice was as calm and cold as before, and only the slightest of tremors that passed over her face betrayed the pain the girl’s admission caused her. “Is there anything else you wish to say to us?”

“I—No, Your Majesty. Except—” she paused. The Queen’s steady gaze never wavered from the young girl’s downcast face. Elizabeth did not look up. No one encouraged her to go on.

“Except that I’m not a traitor!” Katya blurted suddenly, her face flushing as she raised defiant eyes to the Queen’s. “Except that I didn’t know—that is, Papa told me it was—Oh, you’ll never believe me!” Sudden tears spilled down her cheeks, but she dashed them away angrily with her hands. “Papa told me he was in a secret order dedicated to protecting the throne from the Destroyers,” she said roughly, forcing the words out over her sobs. “I—I thought it was strange—to do something like that without you knowing—but— He said they needed the information as a surety in case of an emergency. So they could destroy the Seal if the Arcanians invaded, and provide an escape route in the case of a coup. He said I’d be doing you a service if I told them, and so I—It—it never crossed my mind to think he was giving the information to rebels! I didn’t know! I didn’t—I can’t—” she broke off and covered her face with her hands. “I know you don’t believe me,” she said through her fingers. “But it’s true—and I’m so sorry—” Her voice broke again, and all the sound in the room was her muffled sobbing.

Elizabeth felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and turned to look into her mother’s sober face. She silently answered the question in the Queen’s eyes with all the honesty of her own doubt. She wanted to believe her friend. Katya had never lied to her. But she wasn’t sure how much she could count on their friendship when Katya’s father was no longer loyal. Katya loved her father deeply. So did—had—Elizabeth. In a strange way, he had been a father to her as well. Tears slipped silently and unheeded down her cheeks.

The Queen nodded slowly and handed her daughter a handkerchief for her tears. Then she turned to the girl who stood bowed before them, shoulders shaking, and laid a gentle hand on Katya’s bright head. Katya started and looked up quickly, her wet eyes wide like those of a trapped wild thing.

“Ahie, Katya,” the Queen’s tone was now the quiet, compassionate one both girls knew well. “If we could only be sure you speak the truth.”

“Anything,” Katya said brokenly. “If there’s anything I can do to prove that I do…”

“Tell my daughter,” the Queen said, using the hand that rested on Katya’s head to turn the girl towards Elizabeth.

Katya dropped to her knees before meeting Elizabeth’s eyes. “I’m not a traitor,” she whispered. “I swear I’m not.”

Elizabeth stared at her for a long moment, then slowly, almost involuntarily, reached out her hand, and Katya took it. Both girls started as a feeling almost akin to a static shock accompanied the contact. Katya’s eyes, still locked on Elizabeth’s, widened. She bent her head and raised Elizabeth’s hand to her forehead in the ritual gesture of submission. Then she lifted her head, and when she spoke, her voice was strong, but rather flat, as one in a trance. Her eyes never left Elizabeth’s face.

“I here swear before the Godde that thou and I are one. I, in my every thought, will think for thy good; in my every word, will speak to thy need; in my every deed, will act as thou command’st. And if ever I betray thee, in my intent, my words, or my actions, may my life be forfeit, immediately and without mercy.”

As she spoke the last word of the strange oath, Katya’s face went white, and she collapsed at the young princess’ feet. A searing pain stabbed up from their joined hands and Elizabeth cried out and clung to her mother to keep from falling.

It was over in an instant. As soon as Elizabeth could stand without aid, her mother let her go, and reached down very gently to help Katya to her feet. Katya looked from one to the other, her face still white, her eyes wide and a little fearful. “What happened?” she asked faintly.

Elizabeth stared at her, stunned. “You just—” she swallowed. “You just gave your life to me, Kat.”

“I did?”

“The oath you have taken is a very ancient one, my dear.” Even the Queen sounded a bit shaken by what had just happened. “The words you recited are never taught to anyone, and cannot be spoken unless they are sincere. It is part of the magic in our blood, you see. When a subject speaks these words to the Queen of the land—” she smiled suddenly, “or to the Queen’s only daughter, apparently—they are not only a solemn oath, they are literally, physically binding. Your life is now linked to your future queen, forever. You are physically bound to do her bidding, and if you were to betray her, you would indeed die, as the oath says.”

Katya’s eyes filled with tears and she knelt at their feet again. “Then you can be sure I haven’t betrayed you, can’t you?” she asked. “Because I am still alive?”

Elizabeth and her mother both knelt in the same instant to hug the faithful friend before them. “Yes, we can,” the Queen said, her voice choked with tears. “And I’m so very, very glad, Katarina.”

*            *          *

The quietly joyous Feast of Laural fell on the day following the Eve of Meladrin. The celebration of the coronation of Queen Laural and the founding of Lauralia was usually accomplished by a royal procession through the Capitol and a sumptuous state dinner in the Castle, attended by all the noble families within traveling distance. This year, however, the celebration was subdued and muted. The royal procession was cancelled in favor of a funeral procession to honor the soldiers in the Castle Guard who had the day before given their lives for Queen and country. This was only right, and if it also meant that neither the Queen, the Princess, nor any Councilor had to set foot outside the castle, where a stray Arcanian arrow might find them, this reason for the change was not announced to the general public.

The fare for the state dinner had suffered greatly from the battle waged in the Castle the day before, and that elegant repast was also cancelled, replaced by a more modest gathering of the Queen’s closest advisors and friends, followed by the slightly more public performance of Sir Robert Lloyd’s newest play, which was entitled, ironically but aptly, The Friend of my Enemy.

Sir Robert and his assistant, David, were far too busy with final preparations for the evening’s entertainment to attend the supper, and if that freed the conversation of the Queen’s guests considerably, no one mentioned that to the playwright himself. The Queen had decided, in a very private conversation with her daughter, Katya, General Schein, and Colin, conducted (over the protests of the annoyed court physician) around the bedside of the pale but very much alive Agent Martinea, that Sir Lloyd would not be confronted with his treachery at this time.

Martinea had reasoned that the fact that the crown had cut off all communication with Lady Kris would severely hamper Lloyd’s ability to communicate with his allies, and that watching who else he would turn to to aid him in this endeavor would prove very interesting indeed. Katya, still pale and grieved and looking slightly haunted, had agreed, and had volunteered to keep her eyes and ears open at home. She had also promised that when her father asked her questions about the royal family, she would from now on tell him she didn’t know. The Queen had emphasized that for her own safety, the girl must seem completely loyal to her father, and that if that meant betraying some small secrets of royal life, Katya could and must do it, as long as she warned them afterward.

It was a heavy burden for such a small girl, and a dangerous one, and as Princess Elizabeth’s eyes moved around the dinner table, watching the faces of every guest in turn, she found her anxious gaze lingering the longest on the best friend across from her.

Feeling Elizabeth’s eyes on her, Katya turned from the conversation between General Schein and Madam Eileen. “I still have my ring,” she said softly, laying her right hand palm down on the table between them. “Do you?”

Startled, Elizabeth glanced down at her own left hand. The small copper ring on her little finger glittered up at her. She raised her hand and placed it over Katya’s on the table. “Yes,” she said.

The two girls smiled at one another, and, hand in hand, followed their elders into the theatre.