Taken by X, March 12. Runcible Cottage, the Edge of the World.
“Do you know what that means?” Agnes asked without much hope.
“I do not,” Phebe said.
“What was she like?” Sera asked, leaning over Agnes’s shoulder to study the photograph. “She looks very brave.”
Agnes translated and Phebe smiled.
“Brave, indeed. She had a wild spirit. And the parties she threw in Ithilia were legendary. She was creative but short tempered, gracious yet stubborn. Very stubborn. Eneas used to say there were mules with more sense than her.” Phebe chuckled softly. “But he loved her all the more for it. And she knew how to cause a commotion. The day it was announced in the Ithilia Star that Alethea Byrne had married a man from Kaolin, you’d have thought the oceans had risen up and swallowed Whitehall. The whole country was in a frenzy.”
Agnes felt tears well in her eyes and blinked them back. Her mother had never seemed quite so real to her as she did in this moment.
“What’s Whitehall?” Leo asked.
“The sacred shrine of Talmanism,” Phebe explained. “An outcrop of land just off the coast of Ithilia, connected by a narrow bridge to the great Palace of Banrissa, from where the Triumvirate rules.”
“And not a place we are wishing to be visiting,” Vada said. “Not if the Triumvirate is seeking to retaliate against Byrnes.”
“No,” Phebe agreed. “I wish Rahel had not seen you, Leo. It would be best to avoid Ithilia altogether.”
“We can’t do that,” Agnes said.
Suddenly, there was a pounding on the door. Everyone at the table froze.
“Open up, in the name of the Triumvirate!” a deep but distinctly female voice called.
“Put your headdress on,” Phebe hissed at Sera, who hurried to cover herself. From upstairs, the baby began to wail. Phebe took a deep breath and walked calmly to answer the door.
“Good evening,” she said. “How may I be of service to the Triumvirate?”
“Good evening, mistress,” another female voice, as smooth as velvet, replied. “We are inquiring after the Byrne who was in your shop earlier today.”
“The one with a raggedy sailor companion and Alethea Byrne’s face,” the first voice growled. Agnes recognized it with a jolt—Rowen, the head of the Aerin’s guard.
“Dorinda.” Vada muttered the name under her breath like a curse.
“What do you want with him?” Phebe asked, but Rowen pushed past her and into the house. When she caught sight of Leo, satisfaction spread across her face.
“The moneylender was right,” Rowen said. “You do look just like her. But Alethea’s children are in Kaolin.”
For a second Agnes thought Leo would try to deny it. “Not this one,” he finally admitted.
Rowen seemed amused. “The prodigal son,” she said. There was a cold pause. “Where is your sister?”
Agnes had never been so grateful to have her father’s face.
“Still in Kaolin,” Leo lied smoothly. “I came here myself, to be married.” He gestured to Sera. “Like mother like son, I suppose.”
“Please excuse my companion,” the second Misarro said, coming up to stand beside Rowen. She was heavier set, with auburn spikes and a golden sun emblazoned across her chest declaring her to serve the Renalt. “The Aerin’s Misarros aren’t known for their manners. I am Eireen Connor, head of Princess Rahel’s guard. The princess has requested your presence on her great ship the Gilded Lily.” Eireen’s eyes roved over the table and the remnants of dinner. “She wishes for you to join her for dessert.” As an afterthought, she added, “You may bring your fiancée if you wish.”
Something in the way she said it made Agnes think this princess would rather Sera not attend.
“That’s very kind of her,” Leo said. “But I’m quite comfortable here, thanks.”
Eireen smiled at him pleasantly. “This is not a request.”
Agnes could see two more Misarros looming just outside the door and wondered how many might have come to carry out Rahel’s wishes.
“Very well,” Leo said. “But my fiancée will remain here.”
Eireen looked relieved by this, but Rowen frowned.
“Take off your headdress,” she commanded Sera. “Let us see what sort of Pelagan would attach herself to such a . . .” She looked Leo up and down. “Half-breed.”
“No,” Leo said, stepping in front of Sera. He seemed to realize his mistake immediately. Rowen pulled a knife from the assortment that were strapped around her waist.
“She will remove the headdress or it will be removed for her,” she said.
“Come now, Rowen, there is no need for threats,” Eireen said. “I’m sure the girl does not mind. All one has to do is ask nicely.” She turned to Sera. “You don’t mind taking that off so we may see what I am certain is a beautiful face, do you, my dear?”
Sera seemed to have sensed that this, too, was not a request, because she stood and placed a hand on Leo’s arm. With careful, deliberate movements, Sera lifted the headdress, her blue hair spilling down her back, her silver skin glowing richly in the light of the candles. Eireen let out a cry of shock but Rowen froze, regarding Sera with a mixture of surprise and disgust.
“What devilry is this?” she hissed. “Have you thought to craft some . . . some replica of Saifa to seize power? What sort of heresy are you Kaolins capable of?”
“She’s not Saifa and she’s not a replica,” Leo said. “She has nothing to do with Pelago or Kaolin.”
“Then would you be so kind as to explain exactly . . . what . . . she is?” Eireen asked, clearly struggling to maintain her composure.
He pressed his lips together. “I can’t tell you that.”
Rowen’s nostrils flared. “You will both come with us.”
“Rowen,” Eireen snapped, but Sera stepped forward, her face oddly serene.
“Tell them we will go with them willingly,” she said to Leo. “Tell them there is no need for knives or violence. We can’t let them have Agnes, Leo. And we don’t want to put Phebe or Vada in danger either.”
“What is she saying?” Rowen demanded. “What language is that?”
Agnes felt her throat tighten, her stomach lurch. Was she just going to stay here and let the Misarros take them? But if she declared who she was, they’d only take her too.
“We’ll go with you,” Leo said. “No one needs to get hurt.”
“Excellent!” Eireen exclaimed. “The princess will be delighted. And with such an unusual guest as well.” Something raw and hungry flickered in her eyes. “I simply cannot wait to hear her story.”
There was an undercurrent of threat in her words that sent icy shivers up Agnes’s neck. But she felt glued to the bench. Eireen gestured them to the door—neither looked back at Agnes or Vada as they left, though Agnes saw Sera reach out and take Leo’s arm as if to steady herself. Rowen stalked after them and Eireen turned to Phebe.
“A thousand apologies for the interruption, mistress,” she said. “Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”