“YOU SIMPLYMUSTTAKE US TO THE WIZARDS!” MALLORYprotested. “We have come so far! If you tell them who we are, they’ll let us in, I just know it! We’re the girls from Fledgling House!”
Standing before the imposing drawbridge gates, Mallory looked longingly through the wrought-iron bars and toward the palace’s inner ward. It was a strange feeling, she decided.
For the last three days she and her friends had been trying to free themselves from locked doors and stone walls. Now they desperately wanted those things to become part of their new life. With Mary and the other girls standing around her, she returned her gaze to the Minion guard standing on the gates’ opposite sides. His grim expression fostered no optimism among them.
An unusually cold night beset them. To Mallory’s relief, their carriage ride had been uneventful. But that didn’t mean that Lothar’s guards weren’t chasing after them. If they trailed them to the palace, they could surely weave a convincing story about how Mary had abducted the girls for her own purposes. Worse, the winged guards might decide to return them to debtors’ prison. A story told by a brothel madam and eight wayward girls would never stand up against whatever lies Lothar’s prison guards might concoct.
As the girls shivered in the cold, Mallory again looked cravingly beyond the wrought-iron gates. Standing thirty feet high, the twin gates were adorned with huge golden lions, superimposed with equally golden broadswords. The palace lying beyond looked warm and inviting. Bright torchlight highlighted the walls, turrets, and manicured foliage.
Warriors of each sex roamed the shadowy grounds and the barbicans. The warriors seemed to be in some type of panic. Some were running about and shouting out orders, while others carrying various hand tools were being quickly ushered inside the palace. The frantic scene would prove unnerving to anyone-to say nothing of eight young girls who had never visited this place, nor seen creatures like these.
Suddenly Mallory slipped a little. Reaching out, Ariana helped her stand upright again. What strength Mallory once possessed had been largely depleted by the prison escape. She was so hungry and tired she could barely remain conscious. If only she could display some use of the craft, then the winged creatures might believe her. But calling the craft had become impossible for them all.
From the gates’ other side, the Minion guard, Jannicus, glowered disparagingly at the ragtag group.
“I have my orders!” he said. “No one is to be allowed entrance. There has been a disturbance in the palace. I suggest that you return in a few days. By then it might be possible to grant your request.”
Defiant, Mallory glared at the gigantic creature. Aside from the beasts that had carried the girls and Martha away from Fledgling House, she had never seen anything remotely like him. But if they served and protected the castle, they had to be the wizards’ friends.
Suddenly Mallory had taken all she could bear. They had come too far and suffered too much to be stopped now, a mere hundred or so paces from their goal. Grabbing the gate with both hands, she started to shout.
“Let us in!” she screamed with what meager strength remained. “Let us in! Let us in! Let us in!” Soon the other seven desperate girls took up the chant.
“Let us in! Let us in! Let us in!” they chimed, all of them jumping up and down at once.
It quickly became apparent that the girls weren’t about to stop shouting anytime soon. Scowling, Jannicus backed away warily and unsheathed his dreggan. Human children can be so unpredictable, he thought. Minion young know better than to behave so rudely.
He didn’t want to harm them, but he had his orders. Even his shiny sword did nothing to discourage them. Finally realizing how ridiculous he looked, standing there with his sword drawn against eight young girls, he angrily sheathed his weapon. As he wondered what to do, Jannicus cast a helpless look toward the Minion guard stationed nearby. His equally perplexed companion only shrugged his shoulders.
“Let us in! Let us in! Let us in!” the girls screamed.
Just then he sensed someone running up behind him. Turning, he found himself standing face-to-face with Ox.
“What go on here?” Ox shouted angrily, trying to make his voice heard above the din. By this time the insistent girls had climbed onto the gates and begun collectively rattling them with everything they had as they kept up their relentless chant. They soon caught the attention of more warriors behind the walls. The embarrassing ruckus was gaining momentum.
Blushing noticeably, Jannicus clicked his heels. “I, uh…well, you see, sir…”
Growling, Ox shoved Jannicus out of the way and unsheathed his dreggan. Being careful not to harm the girls, he banged the dreggan’s blade loudly against the iron gate.
“Quiet!” he screamed.
The girls finally stilled. Shaking his head, Ox walked closer.
“Why you want enter palace grounds?” he asked angrily. “This not be good time!”
“We are the trainees from Fledgling House!” Mallory said weakly. “Wemust see the wizards!”
A strange look came over Ox’s face. “You be from Fledgling House?” he asked incredulously. Ox’s expression turned skeptical, and he rubbed his chin. He inched closer.
“What be your name?” he asked.
“Mallory,” she answered hopefully. “What’s yours?”
Mallory’s forthrightness surprised him. He scowled again.
“I be Ox,” he answered simply. “If you be from Fledgling House, then who there be your master?” he asked.
Mallory beamed. “His name was Duncan!” she said.
Ox pursed his lips. “He be alive or dead?” he asked, testing Mallory further.
A sad look crowded its way onto her face. “He’s dead,” she answered softly. “We all loved him.”
Starting to believe, Ox narrowed his eyes. “And matron?” he asked. “What be her name?”
“Martha!” several girls cried out in unison.
Ox’s jaw fell, and he turned quickly to glare at Jannicus. “Let girls in!” he bellowed.
“But sir…!” Jannicus protested. “We have strict orders not to allow-”
“Unless you want go on permanent report, you let girls in!” Ox protested. “I take all responsibility!”
After clicking his heels, Jannicus unlocked the heavy gates, then swung them wide. The eager girls didn’t need to be asked twice. They poured through quickly with Mary following along behind.
When Ox saw Mary, he scowled. Placing one hand on her shoulder, he stopped her.
“Who you be?” he asked.
Mallory reached to touch Ox’s arm. Again surprised by her boldness, Ox turned to look at her.
“That’s Mary,” Mallory said. “It’s all right-she’s a friend.”
Finally deciding, Ox grunted. “Very well,” he said. “She come, too.” His stern demeanor resurfaced. Scanning their faces, he glowered into every pair of eyes.
“Girls bequiet!” he warned. “You scream no more!”
“We’ll be quiet, I promise,” Mallory answered. We’re finally here, she thought. Hardly able to contain her happiness, she smiled at Ariana.
Ariana beamed back. “You did it, Mallory!” she whispered. “We made it, after all!”
Ox grunted again, sternly reinforcing his demand for quiet. Knowing better than to argue, Mallory and Ariana eagerly nodded. As the gate doors squeaked closed behind them, the huge warrior started leading the wide-eyed group toward the palace lights.
MARY AND THE GIRLS HAD BEEN ORDERED TO SIT IN A ROWof nine elaborate chairs set alongside a hallway wall. Armed with curved swords and shiny golden pikes, three winged warriors stood guard over them, watching their every move. Closing her eyes, Mallory laid her head back against the chair’s plush upholstery.
She luxuriated in the warmth. She could scarcely remember the last time she had been comfortable. It must have been a different place, a different life. She looked down at her tattered school dress. Once it had been new, and had stood for something. She had been proud to wear it. But sitting here in the imposing majesty of this place, the dress’s poor condition embarrassed her.
Gazing down the row, she saw that the other girls looked as bad as she. She spat onto her palms and rubbed some of the dirt from her face. Then she used her fingers to comb the knots from her hair. There could be no telling who might come to them, and she wanted to look as presentable as she could.
Mallory took another look around. The palace was very busy, an unnatural sense of urgency prevailed. Cooks, liveried servants, and musicians scurried up and down the halls, each carrying the tools of his or her trade. More curiously concerned warriors hurried here and there.
Formally dressed men and women wandered about aimlessly, like some recent tragedy had befallen them. Some were strangely tearful and carrying what looked like elaborate ball masks. Aside from its grandeur, the scene wasn’t at all what the Fledgling had expected.
Mallory saw two figures approaching. At first she took them for wayward children, searching for their parents. But as the pair neared, Mallory’s eyes widened and her jaw fell. She elbowed Ariana and tilted her head in the strangers’ direction. Ariana became equally astonished.
The little man was about three feet tall. The woman by his side was a bit shorter. He wore a pair of blue bibbed overalls atop a red work shirt. His hair was red, and an equally scarlet beard adorned his wizened face. A black watch cap sat jauntily on his head. His upturned shoes had seen considerable use. A corncob pipe jutted from between his teeth; one of his hands possessively grasped an ale jug. As smoke curled lazily from the rough-hewn pipe bowl, his penetrating eyes carefully regarded Mary and the eight young girls.
If these two little people were palace servants, the woman by his side seemed more appropriately dressed. Her intelligent face was as wrinkled and worn as the man’s bibs. Her wiry gray hair was collected in a severe bun in the back. The sharp, calculating eyes were bright blue. Over her simple gray dress she wore a white apron.
Her shoes were sturdy, no-nonsense things, their laces tied in double knots so that she needn’t be bothered with retying them during the course of her busy day. Thick calluses marked her palms. Everything about her proclaimed the simple values of practicality and common sense. Whoever she was might be, she was a hard worker.
Oddly enough, the woman was pushing an elaborate stroller. But Mallory knew that she was far too old to be the child’s mother. Then she saw that a golden lion and broadsword adorned the stroller, which prompted her to wonder even more. The gurgling child inside was female and seemed to be nearing two Seasons of New Life. Mallory could easily see how protective the little old lady was of her young charge.
Mallory shook her head. The man, woman, and child formed an unexpected and incongruous trio. This was certainly proving to be an interesting night.
Mallory was about to speak when Ox approached. He pointed a muscular arm at the girls.
“These be the ones,” he said.
The little old lady barely reached the warrior’s knees. “And Princess Shailiha?” she asked worriedly. Her voice sounded nearly as stern as the warrior’s did.
“Princess, Sister Adrian, and Tyranny all notified,” Ox answered. “They were supervising digging, but be coming now.”
Mallory watched the little man take a practiced, one-handed gulp from his jug. He then smoothly transferred his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other without touching it. Both actions came as naturally to him as drawing his next breath.
“What about the wizards and the sorceress?” he asked.
“Ox not sure,” Ox answered worriedly. “Maybe Shailiha know.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” they all heard a voice say.
Mallory looked up to see a woman exiting another hallway. Long blond hair graced her shoulders. Her blue gown was strangely covered with some form of gray dust. Her eyes were hazel and resolute, her jaw firm. A gold medallion carrying the imprint of the lion and the broadsword hung around her neck on a golden chain. Having lived at Fledgling House since the age of five, the girls had seen few grown women. They stared at her in awe.
A huge violet-and-yellow butterfly sat perched atop one of the woman’s shoulders. Mallory had never seen anything like it. Gently folding and unfolding its diaphanous wings, it seemed to be quite at home with its mistress.
Two more women arrived. One was wearing a dusty red gown, and her hair was short and dark. Where the first woman seemed regal, the second appeared more dangerous, predatory. Then Mallory regarded the third woman. As she immediately recognized the stranger’s clothing, her heart skipped a beat.
The third woman was wearing a dark red robe. The robe was collected in the middle by a black knotted cord. There could be no mistaking it, for Mallory had been aspiring to that same costume for the last thirteen years. The third woman was a graduate of Fledgling House.
The woman in the blue gown turned to look at the butterfly perched atop her shoulder. “Hover, Caprice,” she said simply.
The miraculous butterfly immediately soared toward the ceiling to start making lazy circles in the air. Something told Mallory that wherever the woman in the blue dress ventured, so did her obedient creature.
The butterfly mistress regarded the girls narrowly. “Which of you is Mallory?” she asked.
Mallory sprang to her feet. “I am Mallory of the House of Esterbrook,” she said. “And if it might please the court, whom am I addressing?”
The beautiful woman clasped her hands before her. “I am Princess Shailiha,” she answered simply.
A collective gasp came from the girls, and the blood rushed from Mallory’s face. She had never dreamed that she might one day stand toe-to-toe with someone from the royal house. Immediately remembering her etiquette, she curtsied, then bent to kiss the back of Shailiha’s gloved hand.
“An honor, Your Highness,” she said as she stood back up. “Please forgive our appearances. We have come far and suffered much.”
Hoping that she wasn’t overstepping her bounds, Mallory added, “In case you are unaware, I regret to report that Master Duncan is dead. Martha was spirited away by strange flying creatures. We do not know what became of her.” Turning, she looked down the row of disheveled girls. “We eight are all who remain of Fledgling House,” she added sadly.
Shailiha gazed sternly into Mallory’s eyes. “How old are you?” she asked.
“At nineteen Seasons of New Life, I am the oldest,” Mallory answered.
“Are you really who you claim to be?” Shailiha pressed. “I have no time for frivolous escapades. Lying will do you no good-we have ways of determining whether you tell the truth.”
“We are indeed,” Mallory answered respectfully but firmly. “A simple check of our blood signatures against the parchments in the Hall of Blood Records will prove it.” A concerned look suddenly came over her.
“We are desperately worried about our fathers,” she added. “Long before Fledgling House was attacked, they stopped visiting us. No reason was given. Not one of us has seen her father for nearly two years. Can you tell us if they are all right?”
Mallory’s words pulled hard on Shailiha’s heartstrings. If these forlorn girls were who they claimed to be, how could she tell them that their fathers had become traitors? Or that she, Tristan, and the mystics had been actively hunting them down and killing them, if need be? She looked thoughtfully into Mallory’s worried face.
“If you are who you claim, your answers will come soon enough,” she said.
Mallory was disappointed, but she understood. “Very well,” she answered.
Shailiha continued to regard the plucky girls. If they were indeed refugees from Fledgling House, Martha had trained them well in the social graces. But Shailiha knew that it wouldn’t do to reveal too much before she knew more. Until Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay were freed from the Redoubt, she would have to wait.
Then an idea came to her. There was another way to determine their identities. It would not be as conclusive as blood records, but in the wizards’ absence it would take them one step closer to the truth.
Shailiha looked at Mallory. “Please be seated,” she said.
As Mallory reclaimed her chair, Shailiha walked to stand before Mary. “Who might you be?” she asked.
Following Mallory’s example, the brothel madam stood and bowed. “I am Mary of the House of Broderick,” she answered respectfully. “I am but a loyal servant who saw fit to help these girls in their time of need. I’m afraid my story is a long one.”
Shailiha nodded. “Not so long as theirs, I’d wager,” she answered. “Until all of this is sorted out, you will also remain our guest.”
Leaving the group seated along the wall, Shailiha ushered the others out of earshot. She looked at Sister Adrian.
“Do you recognize these girls?” she asked quietly.
Adrian shook her head. “No,” she answered. “Then again, there’s no reason why I should. I have been gone from Fledgling House for more than twelve years. If Mallory is indeed nineteen, we would have missed one another.”
“Pardon me, Princess,” Shawna said, “but what of Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay? Will they be all right?”
Shailiha nodded. “They are unharmed. The Minions are digging them free as we speak. Overall, we were lucky. It seems that Faegan’s unconscious attempts to destroy the Redoubt were limited to his quarters and their immediate surroundings. There is much work ahead of us to restore the damage, but the Redoubt’s many treasures are safe.”
“There seems little more that can be done tonight,” Tyranny said.
Shailiha looked over at the disheveled girls. “That’s not altogether true,” she said. She looked at Adrian.
“For the time being, I want you to oversee the girls’ welfare,” she ordered. “If they really are from Fledgling House, you will have the most in common with them. Until we are sure, under no circumstances are they to interact with the boys in the Redoubt Nursery, nor are you to answer any questions they might have regarding their fathers. See to it that they are bathed, clothed, and fed. Then assign them quarters. Let them rest. Tomorrow you may show them the palace. But under no circumstances are they to enter the Redoubt. I want them under the constant supervision of both you and those three warrior guards. The same goes for that woman calling herself Mary. We know even less about her.”
Adrian nodded. “In the meantime, shall I question the girls about Fledgling House?” she asked. “It might go a long way toward proving or disproving their stories.”
Shailiha shook her head. “I have a better way.” She looked at Ox.
“I want you to fetch Martha,” she said. “Wake her, if you must, but bring her here as soon as you can. Tell her it’s urgent. After Celeste’s death she took up residence in the city. Sister Adrian will give you her address. She returns to the palace from time to time, to visit the boys in the Redoubt Nursery. If these girls are who they claim to be, Martha will know. In the meantime I want everyone to go back about his duties. I believe this night is far from over.”
Shailiha looked wearily down at her daughter Morganna. The child had fallen asleep in the stroller. The princess looked back at Shawna.
“Care for Morganna while I cannot,” she said. “In the space of a single night, my responsibilities have become legion.”
Tears started welling up in Shawna’s eyes. She quickly brushed them away.
“On my life,” she answered softly. As she looked at Shannon the Small, her no-nonsense demeanor returned.
“Come on, old man!” she growled. “You heard the princess! There’s plenty more work to do! And if you don’t keep that pipe smoke away from the child, I’ll kick your arse from here to Shadowood!”
As the group separated, Tyranny stayed with the princess. Producing a cigarillo, the privateer struck a match and lit it. After luxuriously inhaling the smoke, she glanced disparagingly at her ball gown.
“Do I have your permission to get out of this ridiculous getup, Your Highness?” she asked with a grin. “My seagoing attire suits me far better.”
Shailiha nodded but did not smile.
Tyranny pursed her lips. “It’s Tristan, isn’t it?” she asked. “I know. I’m worried about him, too.”
Shailiha grasped the gold medallion hanging around her neck, then looked into Tyranny’s eyes. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I fear we may never see him again.”
Saying nothing more, Shailiha looked to Caprice and gave her a silent command. As the princess and the privateer left the hallway, the yellow-and-violet flier followed dutifully overhead.