“You are… you are leaving the city?” The moment of panic this brought caught her by surprise.
“I am afraid I am leaving Syan entirely, Princess.”
“But you… you are my only real ally, Dawet. Where are you going?”
“I cannot tell you,” he said. “I beg your pardon for my secrecy, but a lady’s good name is at stake. Still, be assured this is not the last time we will see each other, Princess. I do not need to believe in anything very strange to feel certain of that.” He took her hand as she stood, suddenly full of confusion and discomfort. “My thoughts will be with you, Briony Eddon. Never doubt yourself. You have a destiny and it is far from fulfilled. That you may trust when you can trust nothing else.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it for the second time; a moment later he had turned and slipped away into the shadows of the garden path.
“I still do not quite understand what you are doing, Princess Briony,” said Eneas as they made their way along a narrow road that ran parallel to Lantern Broad. So far they had attracted much less attention than they would have on the great thoroughfare, which was certainly what Briony wanted. Still, it was impossible to go out into Tessis with the heir to the throne, his guards, and a pair of oxcarts without drawing a crowd.
“Then you do me the greatest possible compliment by trusting me.” As soon as she had said it, Briony worried that she sounded like she was trying to charm him. He is a good man, after all—I owe him something more than just the ordinary round of courtly pleasantries. “In truth, I’ve told you all I can. If I say any more you’ll no longer fear I might be mad—you will be convinced of it!”
Eneas laughed. “I swear there is no such thing as a workaday conversation with you, Briony Eddon! Because of that alone I would have been happy to accompany you anywhere. As it is, I have only been asked to go to a part of my own city that I confess I do not know well. Underbridge has long had a name for its strange folk and stranger happenings.”
“The folk are strange if height is your only measurement,” she told. “But if they are anything like our Funderlings at home, Highness, I believe them to be honest citizens—as honest as any other men, that is.”
Eneas nodded. “An important qualification. But let us not curse them too quickly even with the crimes of bigger men—perhaps dishonesty, like the price of fish and meat, increases with greater weight.”
Briony could not help laughing.
As was his wont, Dawet dan-Faar had admirably prepared the ground for their visit: when they reached Underbridge the Kallikans immediately opened the gates of their guildhall and invited the company inside, oxcarts and all. Inside it was dark and the ceilings were low. A group of small grooms came forward and took the oxen off to the stable and began to unload the carts. In its own way the Kallikans’ hall was as much a world of its own as Broadhall Palace—although smaller in all ways, of course.
A group of armor-clad Kallikan guards now arrived to lead them into the hall itself, bearing what looked like ceremonial digging-sticks.
“Your pardon, lady… and sir,” said one of them, bowing. “Follow us, please.”
This courtly little fellow reminded her suddenly of the day of the wyvern hunt back in Southmarch and the Funderling man her horse had almost trampled. That had been the day when everything had first begun to go really wrong—the day they had come back to the message from their father’s captor asking for Briony’s hand in marriage. But what she remembered now about that day was something else… something about her lost twin.
Oh, Barrick, where are you? It hurt to think about him, although scarcely an hour of any day went by that she didn’t. The underground dreams had ended, but she still missed him as fiercely as ever.
On the day of that long-ago hunt Shaso had saved them from the Shadowline monster and Kendrick had been dragged out from beneath the carcass of his horse, miraculously unhurt but for a few scrapes and bruises. Many courtiers and huntsmen had run to attend to her older brother, but Briony had been more concerned about her twin and his crippled arm. Still, when she tried to help him Barrick had turned angrily away from her and Briony had demanded to know why he always fought against the people who loved him.
“When I’m fighting to be left alone it means my life is worth something to me,” he had told her. “When I stop fighting—when I don’t have the strength anymore to be angry—then you should worry for me.”
Oh, sweet and merciful Zoria, she prayed now, wherever he is, please let my brother still be fighting! Let him stay angry!
The Guild of the Underbridge Kallikans, as Dawet had named them, had already assembled in the main hall to wait. The little people watched with careful and mostly silent attention from rows of benches as Briony and the others entered, which only added to the sense that she and the prince were performers in some unusual masque. In keeping with the citizens of Underbridge, the room was small and the ceilings were low. In the center of the closest bench sat a very round little man with an enormous fuzzy beard and a tall hat. As the guards showed them where to stand, this imposing figure raised his hand.
“Welcome, Princess Briony of Southmarch,” he said in the same broadly understandable accent as ordinary-sized Syannese, which was a relief—she had feared the Kallikans might speak some language of their own. “I am Highwarden Dolomite.”
She made a careful curtsy. “Thank you, Highwarden. You are kind to give me an audience on such short notice.”
“And you are kind to bring us such splendid gifts.” He smiled as several of the guards came forward to give him the manifest. “Two dozen Yisti pick-heads,” he read, giving a little whistle of appreciation. “Those are the finest anywhere, sharp as glass, strong as the very bones of the earth! And fifty hundredweight of Ulosian marble.” He shook his head, impressed. “Rich gifts indeed—we have not had such fine stuff to work for over a year! We are impressed by your generosity, Princess.” He looked to the other Guildsmen on either side before turning his sharp eyes back to Briony. “But what, if we may wonder, is the cause of such kindness? Even our own folk outside Tessis do not come to see us in these days, let alone bring us fine gifts.”
“A favor, of course.” Briony had danced this little dance of teasing flattery and hard questions a hundred times before. “But such wise folk as you knew that already.”
“Indeed, we guessed.” Dolomite smiled carefully. “And we of course will be very interested to hear what necessity has brought such an important woman to our humble hall. But, first, here is something else we do not know.” The highwarden looked straight at Eneas, who still wore his traveling cloak. “Who is this man who stands beside you so silent and watchful? Why does he remain hooded under our roof like an outlaw?”
A couple of the prince’s guards made angry noises and would have drawn their weapons but Briony saw Eneas calm them with a whispered word.
“You… you mean… you don’t know… ?” Briony silently cursed her own stupidity. Dawet had not told the Kallikans about her companion, though she had explicitly asked him to do so. Accident—or a purposeful bit of meddling?
“No. Why should we?” Dolomite asked.
“Because he is your lord!” one of the prince’s guards shouted, his outrage overcoming even his master’s injunction to silence. A startled murmur ran through the watching Kallikans. “This is Prince Eneas—son and heir of your king, Enander!”
Zoria save me from my own stupidity! Briony was horrified by what she had done. She should have introduced Eneas first—no, she should never have brought him. She had let her own weakness drive her, inviting a strong man to accompany her instead of simply getting on with things herself. And now the gods alone knew what would happen.