A man who gazed round the room with a vacant and pleasant smile.
“No!” I shouted, surprised to hear Ambrose’s tenor join in, along with Merle’s warning caw. I don’t think that we’d have stopped Sondra in time, except that something intervened, her movements going slow as if through viscous fluid. Her brow creased and her lip curled in a delayed snarl as she fought to complete the strike but couldn’t.
I looked to Ambrose and found him staring at her intently, a hand raised in the air like a priest of Sawehl giving a blessing. The wizard slid me a sideways look. “I can hold her a bit longer, but best to disarm her.”
I didn’t question it—much as I wanted to ask why, if he could freeze people mid-attack, he hadn’t demonstrated this very useful ability before this—and strode over to pry the dagger from Sondra’s fingers. She almost didn’t seem to notice, her attention focused on the unresisting man she throttled.
I tucked her blade in my belt and nodded at Ambrose, who dropped his hand. Sondra continued her motion at her usual lightning speed, slashing at the emissary’s throat with the dagger she no longer held, spinning him away from herself in a continuation of the motion. Then her mind caught up and she rebalanced, staring perplexed at her empty hand, then at the unharmed emissary.
No fool, she immediately glared at Ambrose. “What did you do?” she demanded.
“Enabled you to obey your king’s orders,” he replied calmly, indicating me.
“Since when have you cared enough about that to hit me with a magic spell?”
“It wasn’t a spell,” Ambrose replied with injured dignity. “That’s not—”
“—not how magic works,” Sondra and I chimed in to finish with him.
The wizard sniffed in annoyance. “Well, it isn’t. Besides, he’s no threat now. I have him under control.”
“And what do you want us to do with him?” I asked, handing Sondra back her dagger. She stared at it like it might turn on her, then shook her head and sheathed it. I stepped in front of the fancily dressed emissary and looked into his placidly smiling face.
“I thought you had questions,” Ambrose replied mildly.
Right. “How many do I get?”
Ambrose rolled his eyes. “He’s not a djinn released from a bottle. Ask as many as you like until I can’t hold him anymore.”
“How long will that be?” Sondra wanted to know, sidling up and drawing her dagger to have it ready.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Ambrose replied and sat on the bed, somewhat heavily. “A few minutes,” he admitted.
“Tell us about the fortifications at Yekpehr.”
Leuthar shrugged. “I’m a lowly emissary. I’m hardly privy to matters of defense.”
“How much vurgsten does Anure have stockpiled?” We’d cut off his supply chain, but he’d had years to lay in supplies.
“I don’t even know what that is.” Leuthar leered at Sondra. “Maybe you should suck my cock and see if that tickles my memory.”
She growled, low and dangerous, but smiled sweetly. “But if you’re screaming and bleeding from me biting it off, will you be coherent?”
“Aw, don’t be so churlish.” Syr Leuthar’s gaze slid over her, lingering on her bare legs. “Your face may be ruined, but your body looks pretty enough still. I could make a special pet of you. I’ve a dog collar that—”
He never finished the sentence, his words ending in a burble that seemed to take him by surprise, even as his eyes glazed and he crumpled to the floor, throat billowing blood from the ear-to-ear slice Sondra had dealt him. She’d moved too fast for me to see, much less stop, and stood over him, bloody knife in hand, shaking with fury. “You were saying?” she hissed.
“No more questions,” I noted.
“The guards below are napping,” Ambrose said. “A good time for us to leave anyway.”
“Sorry.” Sondra glanced at me, chagrined. “I lost my temper.”
“Now we don’t have to drag him around.” I shrugged. If I’d been her, I would’ve cut his throat for that, too. We hadn’t had the time to torture him into talking anyway. “They relocked and barred the trapdoor, though.”
“Merle can take care of that,” Ambrose said, the raven taking wing before he finished and darting out the open window. A moment later, the bar scraped and the lock snicked.
I glared at Ambrose. “Why,” I asked through gritted teeth, “did you let us stay in here if you could do that all along?”
“I got you your private audience, didn’t I?” He hmphed. “Not my fault you blew it.”
“What else did you say to Queen Euthalia, anyway?” Sondra wanted to know, making a last check of the bodies for anything she wanted to take. “She sounded thoroughly pissed at you. I think your wooing skills need some serious work.”
“I’ll take the lead,” I said, pointing at the stairs and deciding not to dignify that with an answer. “Ambrose in the middle, and Sondra as rear guard. Ready?”
“Ready, Conrí,” they replied, each giving me their own salute. I opened the trapdoor and Merle flew through, cawing in triumphant tones.
Time to escape this pretty prison.
23
Alone, I paced the confines of my private chamber, pressing a hand to my corseted belly, willing my roiling stomach to behave and settle. It didn’t help that the panicked hyperventilating made me dizzy. I made myself sit to catch my breath, but my shrieking nerves would have none of it. Leuthar’s taunting words spurred me on, and I rose again, pacing.
… So pleased with You … intends to reward Your long and lonely, virginal vigil … Bring Your wedding gown, for You are to be married at last.
I needed to think. I needed time and I had none left.
Two hours.
Ridiculous that even Anure would expect me to leap to his bidding on such short notice. Bring my wedding gown, indeed! Did he imagine I kept it enshrined on a special mannequin where I petted it and dreamed of marrying the imperial toad? Probably.
A quick knock sounded—Tertulyn’s special code, so I called for her to enter—and she came in, carrying a bottle of brandy and box of ice. Nudging the door closed with her hip, she set down the box, snagged a glass, and poured as she walked.
“Let me tend to You, Euthalia,” she said, her smile soothing.
I took the glass but scowled at it. “I need my head clear.”
“You’re pale to fainting under Your makeup,” she chided. “I heard everything. The whole palace has. You may be Queen of Calanthe, but You wouldn’t be human if this edict hadn’t knocked You back on Your heels. You don’t need to be strong with me. Am I not Your oldest and closest friend? Drink.”
Put that way, it sounded like a reasonable solution. I drank, the brandy burning down my throat with cleansing heat. Mutely, I held out my empty glass and she refilled it, then set down the bottle.
“Sit, Euthalia,” she urged, guiding me back to the chair I’d abandoned. “Let me loosen Your stays a bit and—”
“No,” I said. “I don’t have time to get all dressed again. Two hours! The man gave Me two hours to board his ship. Do I even have a wedding gown?”