Just then, the wind managed to get my hair ties undone and my queue unraveled, spilling down my back.
“I hope that the guards do let us in to see His Majesty,” Thadro muttered, eyeing me, “and don’t instead pour hot pitch on the demon hoards attacking the king’s palace.”
“Honored folk,” Laurel said, and Thadro, Suiden and Javes looked at him. The Faena nodded at the major and several troopers from the garrison waiting for us at the gate beyond the moat bridge to the royal compound. Frowning, Lord Commander Thadro took his guardsmen and moved to the front.
“Now here’s insurrection,” Javes murmured. From the arm waving and pointing, it seemed that the major was actually arguing with the Lord Commander about taking us to the garrison. The lieutenant on gate duty stepped up to the knot of men and, by the way he was standing, it seemed he was agreeing with the major.
“This smells as bad as Ryson’s smalls, sir,” I said.
“Yes,” Suiden said. “Wait here.” Suiden tapped his heels and his horse began to work its way through the crowd on the bridge towards the arguing soldiers, its hooves sounding hollow on the wooden bridge.
A glint off a scale distracted me and I glanced down to look at the toothy fish swimming through the stakes in the moat water, only to feel the wind tug at my hair again. Obedient, I turned my head, just in time to see a Royal Garrison trooper pull away from his fellows, and first I tracked him idly, wondering what was so interesting about him. Then, as I watched, the trooper stopped by a post by the guardhouse, reaching out his hand—and terror slammed through me. I stood up in my stirrups and shouted, “NO!”
Suiden and Javes both slued around at my shout, and their own eyes grew wide as the guard grasped the lever mounted on the post, Suiden bellowing “Treachery and treason!” while Javes cried out, “Betrayal!” The rest of our party, seeing what was happening, started yelling too and drawing their swords while Laurel roared and raised his staff.
All too late.
The soldier, startled into it, looked at us for one moment, then smiled faintly before he pulled the lever; there was a rumble of machinery, and the moat bridge cracked in the middle as it began to drop. At the same time, the remainder of the major’s detachment exploded out of a side street to form a barrier behind us, while the major’s men did the same in front. We were neatly trapped on the collapsing bridge, the horses and men stumbling as they lost their footing and started to slide towards the widening gap. My own horse staggered, wrenching the reins from my hands. I looked down again and saw the sharpened stakes and toothy fish waiting to meet me, and I closed my eyes—when once more the wind whispered to me.
Fly.
All right, I whispered back, but not just me.
Of course, the wind said.
The bridge fell away, water splashing onto my new Habbs, and I sighed, thinking that with ankle kicks, assassins, spiders, and now fishy water, I was not meant to have a decent pair of boots. The wind chuckled and I opened my eyes.
We weren’t truly flying. We weren’t moving through the air or hovering high above the ground. But then, we weren’t down in the moat with the fishes either.
We stood above the water, those on horses and on foot describing the arch that the bridge had formed over the moat before it collapsed. While the rest of the men (and horses) tried to assimilate that we were standing on seeming thin air, Jeff dismounted and probed with his sword whatever was holding us up. Fortunately for the troop’s peace of mind, it did not yield.
“Trooper Jeffen, stop that and remount,” Suiden said.
If we were stunned, the garrison troops and gate guards were flabbergasted. A few managed to escape, running off shrieking “Sorcery,” but the rest stood gape-mouthed and unresisting as the King’s Own relieved them of their swords and shields—though Laurel aiming his staff at them might have had something to do with it. The troops behind us had a little fight left, but Laurel, still holding his staff on the ones in front, lifted his paw against the ones in the back, the rune shining bright. (We parted down the middle as if someone ran a comb through us, even Basel making sure he stood to the side.) The garrison soldiers were convinced that it was better to be quiet and reflect on their sins—before the Faena shoved them down their throats.
Laurel rumbled. “No care given at all to whom else they may kill.” He looked at me. “You have garnered some very callous enemies.”
“Yes,” Esclaur murmured. His blue eyes were almost black in anger. “Forty degrees on one side and thirty-two on the other is making some people rather nervous. All those lines to Iver and the throne.”
I frowned. “But I don’t want the throne—”
“Those who covet cannot believe that others don’t lust after the same thing,” Laurel said. “Stay here, honored folk.” He followed Captain Javes to the rear and a low moan rose up from the garrison troops, which turned into terrified cries as vines shot up from the water (a few of our own also squeaked), twisting into planks and pylons until it became a living bridge beneath us. After a moment it burst into flower and was almost immediately mobbed by birds and bees. Spring in Iversly.
I looked at Basel. “Left that a bit late, didn’t you?” The phantom stag shrugged.
With the garrison troops turned prisoner, we crossed the green bridge, leaving royal guards behind to replace the now-in-custody gate guards. We followed the rest of the King’s Own through the winding broadways and avenues of the compound until we reached the palace proper. Contrary to Lord Commander Thadro’s fears, we weren’t prevented at the palace proper, and all of us—ambassador, lord, physician, ghost, the ghost’s body, officers, butterflies, troopers, prisoners—spilled into the formal throne room. It was vast, with columns pacing down the length of it and soaring up to the high vaulted ceiling, and made bright by tall windows that the sound of the sea poured through. I looked down the long room towards the dais, worried about whom I’d see sitting on there, but even from that distance I could tell it was King Jusson, wearing his simple crown of gold, but sitting on a much more imposing throne than he had the night of the reception.
And on the floor before the throne looked to be a circle. At first I took it for decoration, but as soon as I got close enough to make out the details I stopped, allowing everyone else to flow around me. I caught sight of brown fur and looked to the side of me. Laurel had also stopped and was examining the floor insets. His eyes then shifted and, doing the same, I stared at the steps that led up the dais to the throne. Heigh-ho.
I saw why the king had no problem with what was etched on my palm, as his throne looked down upon a large weighing scale, with both pans balanced, circumscribed by the repeated runes of truth and justice. On each dais step were the ones for wisdom, knowledge and discernment. I looked around but didn’t see advocate mercy or forgiving charity anywhere, and I locked my knees to keep from backing away. It was a very hard place and I didn’t want to be near it, much less stand upon it, as I had no desire to bare my words, motives, or soul for judgment. As I wondered if Jusson knew what he had on his throne room floor, Laurel shifted as if he too would rather be somewhere else. “It is an elfin palace, no?” he murmured, moving back a pace.
The king’s Court stood at the bottom of the dais, consisting of the men in waiting, Foreign Chancellor Berle, and other faces I recognized from the reception the night before last, and, of course, more royal guards. But no Lord Gherat. As I worked on that, one of the majordomo twins stepped forward and began announcing us, but the king waved a hand, cutting him off.