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  Mikael was just grateful Pamini had been clever enough to follow, or they would have had no idea where to start hunting. His connection to Shironne had only surfaced twice during the past five hours. He wasn’t sure enough of his feeble perception of her location to trust her life to it.

  He closed his eyes again, trying to verify the direction. He couldn’t sense Shironne now, but he dug back in his memories and pointed toward the front of the coach, about thirty degrees off their current path.

  Cerradine compared the gesture with his compass. He glanced down at his map, trying to eliminate some of the possible destinations. It was Deborah who’d thought to send for a doctor from the Noikinos City Hospital. He’d brought them a listing of all the asylums in the country, and they’d marked those located north of the capital on the map—possible destinations. Mikael’s intermittent link to Shironne allowed him to track her, like a bloodhound, but it only lasted for minutes and then faded away.

  “Is she all right?” The colonel spoke without looking up from his calculations.

  “No. There’s something wrong,” Mikael answered, recalling his sense of her. “She’s frightened.”

  The colonel’s dark eyes flicked upward, a glance at Mikael’s face. “You have new bruises, son.”

  His cheek ached, but he didn’t care. The marks from earlier had faded quickly, faster than the sympathetic bruising he normally suffered during his death dreams. “I don’t think they’ve hurt her, sir. It’s something else. Perhaps just being alone.”

  His loss of contact with her frightened him in a way he didn’t want to admit aloud.

  After scowling a moment longer at the notations on his map, the colonel shouted up for the driver to continue on and yanked the door closed. “We can change horses at the next inn and keep moving.”

  At their last stop, the hostler had reported a coach passing through earlier. Two men in tan tunics had stepped down, but two other people remained inside, the man stated. The coach hadn’t changed teams at that stop, which indicated their quarry either intended to break for the night sometime soon or didn’t have much farther to go. They’d followed word of the same coach through their last three stops, and now felt certain they pursued the correct one.

  “Five-fifteen,” the colonel noted and slid his silver watch back into its pocket. “Still about on time.”

  Mikael nodded. Shironne’s contact with him appeared to be following a cycle, which gave him an idea when to expect his next chance to locate her.

  The colonel rolled up the map of Larossa. “Only two places left in range to reach tonight, Mikael. I’m going to sleep now. I’ll spell the driver on the next leg so he can rest.”

  “You can drive one of these things?”

  “Yes, Mikael. I know how to drive,” the colonel said in a dry voice.

  He’d learned more about the colonel in one day than in all the four years he’d known the man. “You amaze me, sir.”

  Cerradine folded his arms and settled his chin on his chest. “You should be amazed, son,” he replied, and promptly fell asleep.

  The colonel’s white hair glowed with a touch of gold from the sunset’s light sun reflected through the window. It had been that color since his early twenties, Mikael had heard, a trait inherited from his Anvarrid father. All the Hedraya men went white-headed early. Mikael had seen the colonel’s half-brother, Lord Hedraya, once before and his hair looked just the same.

  Fortunately, the House of Vandriyen didn’t possess that trait. While his own hair seemed determined to turn from blond to brown, Mikael doubted it would go gray any time soon. His father, Valerion, had died at thirty-three. Even then, he’d had dark hair.

  Mikael leaned back against the coach’s leather squabs. In ten years he’d have lived longer than his father had.

  A few months ago, he hadn’t even thought he’d reach twenty-four.

  In a bizarre legacy from his father, Mikael shared the deaths of others in his dreams. He’d long expected that he’d slip away in one of those dreams, dragged down into death by another’s dying memories.

  But the last time, Shironne had managed to keep him from fading away, walking into his dream and keeping him firmly tied to his life.

  Now it was up to him to save her.

  * * *

  Deborah stood at the doorway to the small infirmary room. Now they could only wait. Melanna’s arm had been set and splinted, but most of a day had passed and the girl was still unconscious.

  The main ward was quiet, the neat rows of beds mostly empty. Most of the active patients—a pair of children with nasty colds, a sentry with broken ribs, and the usual handful of elderly patients—had been moved to the private rooms in the back. It was in one of those rooms that Melanna had been placed as well, which would give the Valarens some quiet and a place to sit while they waited.

  Savelle sat next to her daughter, slender fingers clasping the girl’s uninjured hand. She had dressed in her usual mourning garb, all white to honor the memory of her dead husband, a nod to tradition rather than any actual reverence for the man. She was lovely in a way that Deborah had never been, graceful and quiet, her stillness a part of her beauty. She had no interest in the rooms about her, no interest in the fact that she was in the Fortress Below for the first time in her life. She had eyes only for her daughter.

  Deborah tucked an errant strand of faded blond hair behind one ear. She’d braided it back too quickly when Kai came pounding on her door in the early hours of the morning, so it likely looked a mess. Since she was off duty, she was no longer required to be in uniform. But wrinkled as her uniform was, it was armor and acted as a shield of professionalism between her and the very Valaren drama playing out in her infirmary.

  Dahar stood behind his sister, one hand on her shoulder, as if his goodwill could flow through that contact into the unconscious girl. Every time one of his children had been hurt, this was what he’d done—abandoning all his other duties to come down to the infirmary to hold vigil over them.

  As if he realized she was thinking of him, he glanced her direction. He rose and came to the door. “Can you stay with Savelle for a few minutes?” he asked her.

  “Yes, of course,” she answered without thinking.

  Without a further word to her, Dahar walked away, down the hallway. Deborah went into the small room and sat down on the far side of the bed. She reached across and touched the girl’s forehead and was relieved to find no hint of fever. “I think she’s just sleeping off the worst of it,” she told Savelle.

  “She always heals so quickly,” Savelle replied, her eyes on the girl’s fingers in hers. “She hates being still like this.”

  Now that was a trait the girl shared with Dahar. The rare occasions when Dahar had been bed-bound were always trying on the patience of everyone nearby. Deborah did her best to bury the flash of amusement that last thought brought out. Savelle would wonder how she’d amused her.

  Instead, Savelle leaned closer. “This brings up bad memories for him, doesn’t it?”

  Deborah licked her lips. “He’s spent more than his share of time down here watching over ill children. Rachel was grievously injured when she was only two, and Kai has come near death a couple of times. He’s always stayed with them.”

  “We never want to watch our children suffer,” Savelle said. “If she’s not too badly hurt, I know Melanna will bounce back, and in a day or two I’ll be tearing out my hair. I’m not sure how Perrin will react though.”

  Currently ensconced in one of the bedrooms up in the king’s household of the palace above, Perrin was drugged enough that she would likely sleep through the evening. Perhaps the night through, as well. One of the infirmarians was up there with her, prepared to send for her mother when the girl woke normally. If she was still traumatized by the attack and its results, they could give her something milder to keep her calm, but Deborah didn’t want to do that much longer.

  So much blood had splattered the girl’s nightgown that Deborah hadn’t had any
doubt of the outcome. The military had quickly found the body of the man Perrin stabbed; he’d gotten no farther than two houses before collapsing under a hedge and dying. Eventually the girl would have to hear that part, as well. “Give her time.”

  Savelle’s eyes closed momentarily. She took a deep breath, and then asked, “So what happened to Rachel?”

  A distraction. This was bordering on sticking her nose into Dahar’s business, but Deborah didn’t deliberate too long. Savelle had three daughters in distress, and was trapped here, unable to help any of them. “Rachel fell down a stairwell when she was only two. There was damage to her skull, and she drifted in and out of consciousness for almost a week. Dahar was there every moment. He didn’t want his daughter to wake alone.”

  “He was married then, wasn’t he?” Savelle asked. “That would have helped. It’s harder to be the sole parent.”

  Deborah shook her head. “Not in this case. He carried the burden alone. His wife . . . she said that Rachel would be defective, that we should just let her die.”

  “Defective?” Savelle covered her gasp with one hand. “No one should ever say that about their daughter.”

  Deborah’s sister, Talia, had been able to pretend to care about others for a while, but it never lasted. Dahar had discovered that only after their contract was final. “Talia had no compassion in her. If her child was imperfect, she wanted nothing to do with her. From that day on, she never spoke to Rachel again.” Deborah closed her eyes and took a second to mentally spread calm over herself like a blanket. Talking about Talia always upset her. “I only told you that so . . . so that you would be aware it’s a delicate topic—watching over children.”

  Savelle gazed at her, a narrow line between her perfect gull-wing brows. “I have a feeling that there are a thousand delicate topics in this family.”

  Deborah could see a short distance into the hallway, and Dahar was almost at the door. “That’s an underestimation, my dear.”

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  THE MOONLESS SKY gave the colonel only a dim idea of where the road went, so Mikael walked ahead of the slowly moving carriage, lantern in hand, a human beacon in the dark. It hadn’t snowed this far north of the capital, so he could pick out the road that led them up into the mountains. Pines crowded the edges, damp and pungent, the scent making Mikael long for a warm fire. His nose and fingers stung with the cold.

  Before they’d set out, he’d had a chance to go back to the palace and dress properly. He’d left his pistol and sword back in his quarters at the palace, though. He hadn’t reckoned he’d need them. Even so, he would have liked having his pistol should a pack of wild dogs or a bear appear.

  A few hours after darkness fell, Mikael had sensed Shironne again. He felt sure her captors had stopped moving, although he couldn’t pinpoint why he thought that. They were getting close—close enough that neither he nor Cerradine wanted to wait for morning.

  The hostler hadn’t been too keen on the idea of letting them rent his horses. Cerradine promised an extravagant payment though, and the man let them continue in the dark when, he told them, any sensible traveler would have stopped for the night.

  Mikael didn’t feel sensible.

  According to the map, the nearest asylum, Mountain View Sanitarium, was within five miles, but at this rate they wouldn’t reach it until after midnight. Mikael pulled up his hood, to keep the cold off his neck, and continued walking, following the road in the darkness. The horses clopped slowly after him.

  The rolling farmland had given way to hills during the afternoon while he’d stewed in the carriage. The travelers now hugged one side of a slope heading upwards into the foothills of the Southern Enderi Mountains. The map showed a valley over the first steep rise. Just off the road was an estate that once belonged to House Deravides, a long-extinct Anvarrid noble family. The crown owned the estate now.

  Why send her here?

  A long slow walk awaited him when he wished to run—anything other than this creeping progress, not knowing if she’d been hurt. Mikael forced himself to stay in the middle of the road, placing one foot at a time. The colonel drove patiently in his wake, on into the night for what seemed like eternity.

  * * *

  Mikael missed the turn-off. Fortunately, the driver had replaced Cerradine on the box a few minutes before. More familiar with the roads in this part of the country, he spotted it. He backed up the team and painstakingly repositioned the carriage for an ascent through the trees.

  Cerradine joined Mikael, the other carriage lamp in his hand. His breath steamed about him as they began to climb up the graveled road. “Are you certain this is the right way?”

  Mikael closed his eyes momentarily, trying to sense Shironne, but failed. “I think so.”

  They crossed through another dense glade of trees and came into a clearing. A large iron gate loomed before them, guarding a sheep-trimmed lawn. The fence blended off into the trees, but Mikael didn’t doubt that it encircled the entire estate. Not waiting for Cerradine, he made his way to a dimly lit gatehouse. A guard glared at him over the muzzle of an aged rifle he extended through a half-door in the stone wall.

  The guard’s nervousness flared through Mikael’s senses, and he ground his teeth together. “We’ve been sent from the capital,” he told the man, “to retrieve one of your . . .” What did they call them? Visitors? Prisoners?

  “We have a writ from the king.” Cerradine spoke calmly from behind him. “To produce one of your patients.”

  “In the middle of the night?” the guard retorted. “I think not.” Cerradine reached into his jacket, and the guard swung his rifle toward the colonel, no longer watching Mikael.

  Mikael grabbed the barrel of the rifle and jerked, pulling it clean out of the startled man’s hands. “Don’t hold a weapon you don’t know how to use.”

  The guard gawped at him. From inside his overcoat, the colonel drew forth one of the letters from the king and passed it to the guard. The man glanced down at it, his dark eyes squinting. “How am I supposed to know what this says?”

  The carriage caught up to them. The driver set the brake, the vehicle groaning as it settled back on the road. One of the horses stamped a foot, startling Mikael. I will never be comfortable around those beasts.

  The guard glanced nervously at the letter and then at the colonel’s uniform. His eyes narrowed.

  “You’ll have to give this to the doctors,” the guard told them, clearly deciding he stood in the presence of authority; Cerradine had that effect on people—one of the advantages of being tall. The guard fumbled with a ring of keys, producing one that fit a ponderous iron lock chained about the gate. “Give me the rifle back.”

  “Open the gate,” Mikael bargained, “and then I’ll give you the rifle.”

  The man peered at him, apparently trying to judge his honesty, then capitulated. Unchained, the heavy gate swung open, and Cerradine led the way through, the driver wheeling in behind him.

  Mikael checked the breech of the rifle, removed the cartridge, and then passed the weapon across. He bounced the linen-wrapped cartridge in his hand before pocketing it. “I’ll give you this on our way back out.”

  The guard scowled at him, and Mikael decided his guess had been correct; the man had a rifle only to fire warning shots to alert those up the road. He didn’t merit extra ammunition.

  They would have surprise on their side, at least.

  Mikael followed the colonel over a hill to where an ancient palace graced even lawns. The moon had risen and shone on pale marble arches, metal-capped domes, and pointed spires. Like the palace back in Noikinos, it was not designed for the cold. In the dark, the bulk of the house remained undefined. He couldn’t tell if it was crumbling or well maintained. Lights glowed in several windows, strange so late at night. There wouldn’t be gaslights this far out in the countryside, so those had to be candles or lamps.

  The driver pulled the coach up into the drive. Mikael walked faster, catching up
, his breath steaming in the cold.

  “I need to keep ’em walking, sir,” the driver called down. Cerradine waved him off, and the coach turned on the lawn, beginning a wide circle.

  Mikael sensed Shironne. Just faintly, but he could feel her waking, rising into one of those periods when he could touch her. He felt her fear, her knowledge that something was terribly wrong.

  “Mikael, are you ready?” Cerradine repeated, irritation spreading about him. “Mikael?”

  He must not have responded the first time Cerradine spoke. He firmed his jaw, brushing away the fear. “I’m sorry, sir. Yes.”

  Cerradine peered up the wide stair that led to the doors. “Let’s go, then.”

  He followed the colonel up the steps. The officials here weren’t going to listen to the pleas of some Family boy like Mikael Lee, but they would hear out Colonel Jon Cerradine. I’ll just have to bite my tongue.

  The doors were locked, but the colonel rang the bell as if he’d come to make a morning call. They waited on the step and the colonel pulled the bell chain again. In a hushed voice, Cerradine asked, “We do not leave here without her. That’s our plan, right?”

  A month before, Shironne had been taken hostage by a man who saw her as a prize to be spirited off to his home over the Pedraisi border. Mikael had promised her then that he would come after her should anyone do so again. Now was the time to keep that promise. “Yes, sir.”

  He felt Shironne’s fear increase abruptly, making him want to break through the door, to find her himself. No more polite waiting.