Please! she cried out to no one. Please!
The water closed over her face, and Emriana was forced to snap her mouth shut, to stop trying to cry out. She felt the pressure increasing, pressing in all around her. She continued to kick and buck, shaking back and forth in a vain attempt to wriggle out of the rolled-up carpet.
At last, the girl felt herself jerk to a stop as the weights attached to her bindings must have finally settled to the bottom. She floated, almost weightless, feeling her body trying to bob upward, back to the surface, which seemed to be as high overhead as the heavens right then.
Upward!
With her buoyancy lifting her weight free, Emriana realized she could reach the dagger at last. She groped for it desperately, already beginning to feel her chest aching from a lack of air. Her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife, and she jerked it free, brought her arm back around to her side.
Once more, spots were beginning to float in Emriana's vision as she shifted her wrist the slightest bit and jabbed the tip of the dagger into the fabric. She felt it give, and with that tiny bit of hope to cling to, the girl began to saw, trying to rip a gaping hole through the carpet and free herself.
Her hand plunged through two layers, then three, but it wasn't going to be enough. Her air was gone. Her lungs were about to burst. She couldn't do it. Then her hand came free and she could feel the cold water as she cut a bigger hole and began to extract herself from the rug and its bindings, but spasms were shaking her. Her body was fighting against her, trying to make her breathe. Her head broke free of the carpet, but all was dark, all was fading.
The last thing Emriana could feel as unconsciousness overtook her was losing her grip on the dagger and feeling it sink away.
CHAPTER 10
The darkness beyond the windows revealed that the sun had long since set when Marga stirred from where she had been sitting in a large cushioned chair in one corner of her private chambers. Somewhere during that time, servants had come and lit several lamps in the suite, but they had otherwise left the woman alone with her thoughts. She remembered at some point sending Mirolyn away, telling the young lady that she would look after the children for the rest of the evening herself. To anyone entering the chambers where Marga sat, they would have seen a mother watching over her two children, who played with apparent disinterest toward anything or anyone.
The reality was far different.
Marga looked down at the two figures near her feet, wanting to recoil from them. The one that appeared to be Obiron looked up at her and smiled, though it was far from the warm, loving grin she knew.
"You fear us," the boy said. "You want to kill us." Then he laughed, but it was not Obiron's laugh.
Marga had to resist the urge to clamp her hands over her own ears, though she wanted to shield herself from that dreadful, malevolent chuckle, and from having her thoughts drawn out of her head. She hated it, and she squirmed in frustration and terror. Knowing that the two creatures sitting in front of her could penetrate her mind, could know her every thought the moment she did, made her feel violated, alone, helpless.
"Please stop," she said, desperately. "Leave me alone."
"We have our instructions," said the other one, who looked and sounded for all the world like her daughter, Quindy. "We will know if you try to cross us," she added, glowering.
Marga cringed and drew her feet up into the overstuffed chair, pulling as far from that malevolent gaze as she could. The creature mimicking Quindy smiled and returned to her toys.
Marga wanted to pull her hair out, wanted to scream, but she dared not do anything to give away the secret of her situation. So long as she cooperated, so long as she did whatever her brother insisted of her, the real Quindy and Obiron would remain fine. But to cross him-
As if Grozier, too, could read his sister's thoughts, a flash of brilliant pale blue appeared in the corner of her chamber. Marga started at the sudden glow, jerking her head around to see her brother step through the magical portal that had appeared there, followed closely by Bartimus. Behind the wizard, the shimmering, radiating doorway winked out again.
"Hello, Marga," Grozier said in mock warmth, giving her a sardonic smile as he strode across the room toward her. "Spending a little time alone with your offspring, I see," he said.
Marga could feel her eyes well up with tears, but she fought against the emotion. "They will not leave my side," she said. "They lurk next to me constantly, reading my thoughts. Please, make them stop."
Grozier raised an eyebrow in mock surprise and dismay and turned to the two beings sitting upon the floor. Both of them smiled shyly, looking as though they were two children about to be chastised for stealing cookies.
"She has been imagining killing us," the girl said, pointing toward Marga. "And she has considered revealing the truth to the rest of the family."
Marga flinched and turned her face away, hating the fact that she could hide nothing from the two creatures nor, by extension, her brother.
"Really?" Grozier said, turning and looking at Marga.
She could feel his gaze on her, but she refused to look up at him. "But I didn't," she said sullenly. "Ask them; they know I can't, won't."
Grozier laughed and said, "Of that, I have no doubt, sweet sister. And I would expect resentment and resistance from you at the moment."
In two quick steps, the man was in front of Marga, leaning forward menacingly, both hands on the armrests of the chair.
She recoiled from him, though his actions forced her to look up into his eyes. She could see a dangerous glint there. She felt afraid, had anticipated his wrath. She knew that he would be angry when he found out what she had been thinking.
"I don't have to remind you of what will happen if you decide to act on your impulses," Grozier said in a low voice. "I'm sure that, should I ask my two accomplices here, they will also tell me why you resisted your urge to spill the truth."
Marga drew back, until her head was pressed against the back of the chair, and still she wanted to draw away even more. "Please," she said, her voice nearly a whimper. "I know what you'll do. I can't help my feelings, but I'm not crossing you, I swear by Tyr's scales. I will not. The thoughts-they just come, and I-" And she did look away, then, turned her head to one side and cried, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as the fear and pain washed over her.
Grozier drew back, seemingly satisfied. "You fret too much," he said in a more jovial tone, countering Marga's wretched mood. "And you do not see the benefits of our arrangement yet."
Marga sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek, feeling angry again. She turned and looked at her brother with a scowl. "What? You mean all the glory and wealth that is Obiron and Quindy's to be had, once you've seized control of House Matrell? Oh, yes, let's allow them to live up to their father's and uncle's legacies! Let's teach them that the corrupt path, the path of deceit and theft, will take them far in this world. Yes, I'm overjoyed at such-"
"Enough!" Grozier shouted, making Marga jump from his vehemence. "Like it or not, this is the life before you. You stand at a crossroads, sister. You can choose to live out your days with your children, watching them grow as I guide them to their rightful places as the heirs of this House, or you can… be elsewhere. It changes nothing for me, of course, but I would think you might want to remain living in this world and be a part of the rest of their lives."
Marga watched her brother's seething face as he spat the hateful words at her, blinking in terror but unable to react at all. She knew Grozier well enough to know that he was not making an idle threat. If she stood in his way, if she tried to prevent him from gaining his revenge upon the rest of the Matrell family for their part in turning his plans awry, he would kill her and think little of it. It was as simple as that.