“For which you called a Healer, who saved them,” Karl said. “You didn’t have to take that risk. I thank you for it.”
“The Patron would not have thanked me if I hadn’t.” Vinthor gestured to the other chair at the table, and Karl took it. Vinthor remained standing.
“It is because of the Patron that I am here,” Karl said. “And the Patron’s grand plan.”
Vinthor’s eyes narrowed. “And what plan would that be? The Common Cause wants to shake off the yolk of the MageLords and let Commoners govern themselves. You are both Mageborn. Hell, you’re the Heir, and will someday be the King. We tried to kill you.”
“And, when I found my own way out through the Barrier… as I have again tonight… you were told to keep me alive,” Karl said. “I didn’t know why then. But I know now.” He paused. “You call me Mageborn. I am not. I am a Commoner.”
Vinthor snorted. “The Heir is a Commoner? Not bloody likely.”
Karl nodded at Brenna. Guess I’ve already decided to trust him, she thought. She took a deep breath, then met Vinthor’s gaze. “He’s not the Heir,” she said. “I am.”
Vinthor’s eyebrows shot up. He gave her a long, hard look, then said slowly, “And supposing I believe that, what does that make him?” He jerked a thumb at Karl.
“I’m the Magebane,” Karl said.
Vinthor blinked, then barked a laugh. “The Magebane is a myth.”
“Is it?” Karl said. “The Kingdom is real enough. The Great Barrier is there for a reason, too. Legend tells us the Commoners rose up against the MageLords in the Old Kingdom and drove them here. And legend also claims they only succeeded because of the Magebane.” Karl spread his hands. “You’ve seen how unsuccessful your own attempts to fight the MageLords have been. Perhaps you need a Magebane, too.”
“You?” Vinthor said.
“I walked through the Lesser Barrier,” Karl said quietly. “Twice. And this time I brought Brenna with me.”
Vinthor shot a look at Brenna. “Is that true?”
“It is,” she said.
Vinthor studied her. “You say you’re the Heir. But that must be something you’ve just learned. What were you before?”
“Lord Falk’s ward,” she said bitterly.
Vinthor’s eyes widened. He glanced from her to Karl and back again. And then he sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat down with them at the table. “All right,” he said. “Tell me.”
When Falk jumped down from the magecarriage, stamped up the stairs of the Palace’ and strode through the corridors toward Mother Northwind’s quarters, he did not have immediate murder on his mind.. . but you would have been hard put to prove it from the reaction of the servants and Mageborn he passed, who took one look at him as he stalked through the hallways, pulling off his heavy outdoor coat, hat, and gloves as he walked, and scurried away like mice faced with an oncoming cat.
Falk was not yet fully prepared to accept Brenna’s claim that Mother Northwind was working against him. The Healer had brought Brenna to him, installed Karl as the Prince, interrogated and influenced others for him for years. It seemed inconceivable that she had done so much to help him and then, at the very end of their long game, chose to sabotage his Plan instead.
And yet…
The boy in the King’s bed had been on the verge of slaying the King, on the verge of at last releasing the Keys to Falk, when he had suddenly killed himself. No sane person, in full control of his own faculties, would have done such a thing…
… unless his mind had been twisted.
And Mother Northwind, though she might not have been the only soft mage in the Kingdom capable of such an act, was certainly the one who was most capable of it.
Mother Northwind had “examined” the assassin ahead of the act, giving her the opportunity to alter his mind as she saw fit. Throw in Brenna’s claim that the dogsledders had been taking her and Anton to Mother Northwind, and he certainly had grounds for suspicion.
He wasn’t convinced. Not yet.
But he was suspicious enough, and angry enough, after the failure of his Plan at the very moment of success, that he could be convinced
… very easily.
He reached Mother Northwind’s quarters, paused just long enough to toss his winter clothes on a chair outside, then pounded on the door twice with his gloved fist before seizing the doorknob and swinging the door inward.
Mother Northwind sat by the fire, knitting, for all the world as if she had never left her cottage. “Lord Falk,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Is it?” Falk growled. He closed the door behind him, and took a look around. A maid, sweeping in the corner, froze like a startled rabbit as his gaze swung over to her. “Out,” he said.
The girl looked at Mother Northwind. “Put your broom by the fire, Pilea,” she said, and as the girl came over, Mother Northwind took her hand and gave it a pat. “It’s all right,” she said. “Go and fix some tea for us, and I’ll ring when we want it.”
Pilea glanced from her to Falk, gave a quick curtsy, then fled.
Falk glared at Mother Northwind. “The Plan failed,” he said. “The boy killed himself, not the King.”
Mother Northwind kept knitting. “I know,” she said. “A terrible shame. Still, you have the Heir. You’ll try again, I expect?”
“I expect I will,” Falk said in a low, dangerous voice. “The question is, will someone sabotage my next attempt as well? I doubt I will get a third.”
“Sabotage?” Mother Northwind raised her head and one eyebrow. “You suspect someone of sabotage?”
“Indeed I do,” Falk spat. “You!”
“Me?” Mother Northwind’s wizened face was the picture of innocence. “I have done everything in my power to help you achieve your goal for twenty years, Lord Falk. I’m hurt you would accuse me of doing otherwise now.” She cocked her head to one side. “Why on Earth would you suspect me?
“You examined the boy to ensure he would go through with it. You said he would.”
“I said he was committed to doing so,” Mother Northwind said. “But I could not foresee that at the last moment he would change his mind. I know soft mages have a reputation for being fortune-tellers, but you know as well as I that the future is a book we can only read one page at a time.”
Falk grunted. It was true; not even the most powerful mage could foretell the future. But he wasn’t satisfied yet. “And then there is the matter of the dogsleds.”
“The dogsleds?” Mother Northwind paused in her knitting and gave him a look obviously intended to make him feel slightly ridiculous; much to his annoyance, it did. “Do tell.”
“The dogsleds,” Falk grated, “that brought Brenna and Anton south after the airship came down on the shores of the Great Lake.”
“Oh,” Mother Northwind said. “What about them?” She began tucking her knitting away in the small wicker basket overflowing with multicolored yarn at her feet.
“Brenna says they belonged to you,” Falk said softly. “She says you want her for your own purposes, not mine.”
If Mother Northwind were surprised, she gave no sign of it, tucking her knitting needles into the basket and then closing its lid. “And what purpose could I possibly have that is not yours?” she said as she straightened. “Have I not helped you every step of the way? Brenna is frightened and lashing out in any way she can. She hopes to divide us.” She spread her hands. “What possible use could I have for Brenna beyond the one we have both agreed to: to capture the Keys and with their help bring down the Barrier?”
“ Do you wish to bring down the Barrier?” Falk said. “Or have you had some other purpose in mind all along?”
“What other purpose could that be?” Mother Northwind said. “Power? I’m too old to be interested in power, Lord Falk. I wouldn’t live long enough to do anything with it.” She went over the fireplace and pulled a tasseled rope hanging beside it. “If we are going to have a long chat, Lord Falk, I simply must have my tea.”