“But—”

“When you can, then,” Gavril said angrily. His gaze went to Dain and flicked away. He seemed anxious to hear about how Dain could help, yet unwilling to listen. “Come to her, when you can, and see what has been wrought because of you.”

Two days later, when Sulein finally, reluctantly allowed Dain to leave his bed, he walked through the palace, flanked by Sir Terent and Sir Polquin. His progress was a slow one, for the courtiers came flocking out of curiosity. Dain found it strange to see them bowing and curtsying to him. The exiled nobles of Nether clung to him with sobs of great emotion. Gravely, his manner stiff and rather shy, he nodded in return but paused to speak to no one. Those who tried to insist were held back by Sir Terent.

“Please, m’lords, let him pass. He goes to the chapel. Let him pass.” “Ah, your prayers, majesty,” one of the Netherans said in a heavily accented voice. He spoke further in Netheran, but Dain did not understand.  The chamberlain came to Dain’s rescue, pushing his way through the crowd of exiles trying to kiss Dain’s feet. “Clear the way for his majesty,” the man boomed. “Prince Spirin, bid your people let him pass.” Slowly, they parted before Dain. Many were elderly, their withered and lined faces weeping openly with such joy and renewed hope it made him pity them. They acted like he had saved their country already. Their hands, reaching out to touch him as he walked past, felt like ghostly fingers plucking at his cloak.  Their voices, thin and foreign, called out, “Faldain! Faldain!” Escaping at last, Dain crossed the courtyard to the small chapel where Lady Pheresa rested. It was a bleak, cloudy day, gusty with a damp wind that blew under the eaves of the palace and tossed leaves across the courtyard and walkways.

Where guards stood outside the chapel door, dozens of flowers and tokens from well-wishers littered the ground. A servant in Verence’s livery waited there.  He bowed to Dain. “It is good to see your majesty in better health. Come inside.  The king and his highness are here to pay their daily visit. I am to take you in at once.”

Dain’s legs were weak with exhaustion, and as he wrapped himself tighter inside his cloak to ward off the cold wind, he resisted the temptation to rest on one of the benches. Now was not the time to think about himself. He had been wracking his brain for solutions, trying to unlock the puzzle of Tobeszijian’s words, and he wanted to lay his plan before King Verence.  “Are you ready to enter, majesty?” the servant asked.

Nodding in silence, Dain ignored Sir Terent’s sharp look of concern.  They walked into the dim, incense-laden interior of the chapel. It was all carving and gilt, the dark woods absorbing most of the light from flickering candles.

At first the numerous men inside the chapel confused Dain, but then he realized these were not courtiers. Lady Pheresa lay on her back with her pale slender hands crossed over her midriff. Still clad in the blue dress with ermine trim, she looked asleep inside an encasement of glass. Her beauty, if anything, seemed more radiant than ever, yet there was something unnatural about her stillness.  For one horrified moment Dain thought her dead, yet just then her eyes opened, fluttered, and closed.

Horrified to see her like this, he drew in a shaky breath.  In a semicircle around her stood thirteen priests, silent and motionless. Their cowled heads were bowed. Dain felt a powerful force exerting itself from each of the men. The skin on his arms crawled, and his heart began to beat faster.  At first he thought it a holding spell, but then he realized it was something else, something far different. Not really magic at all, but instead a field of faith woven and rewoven around her, keeping her from death, but unable to bring her wholly back to life.

Verence and Gavril were at the foot of her encasement. The king’s head was bowed in prayer. Gavril, however, stood gazing at Pheresa, with one clenched fist resting atop the glass.

The servant escorting Dain and his companions paused a moment in respect, then cleared his throat softly.

A priest in white robes came from the shadows to intercept them. However, as soon as he saw Dain, he bowed low and retreated without further protest.  Dain walked slowly forward, and by the time he entered the candlelight which shone upon her, Verence had straightened and turned around to face him.  “Faldain,” he said in greeting. His eyes held grief, and his voice was deep with emotion. “It is good to see you well and whole again.” Dain inclined his head. “Your majesty’s concern honors me.”

Gavril swung around impatiently. “Let us be done with these useless courtesies.

Dain says he has a plan to save her, sire. Let him tell it to you.” Verence frowned, and his gaze penetrated even deeper into Dain. “What is being done here comes at great personal and spiritual cost to these thirteen men.” He gestured at the priests. “That it took this many to arrest the poison’s progress indicates its potency.” His frown deepened. “It would have killed you in an instant.”

“Aye,” Dain agreed. Never again would he be able to eat or drink without wondering if death waited in his next mouthful. “I must take her to Nether.” “No,” Verence said.

Gavril gripped his father’s arm. “Listen to what he has to say.” “No!” Pulling free, the king gestured refusal. “I will permit no such undertaking. We discussed this before, Faldain.”

“Aye, but the circumstances were different then,” Dain said. “I go not for myself but for the lady.”

“Come, come. You may possibly believe that, but I do not. This is folly, and you are asking me to permit you to ride into Nether at the head of a Mandrian army.” “Oh, Tomias above!” Gavril interrupted. “What does this matter? If he can help Pheresa, let him.”

“Since it is eldin poison,” Dain said to the king, “the eld folk will know how to stop it. And they are best found in Nether.”

“I shall send word to them.”

Dain shook his head. “They cannot be reached that way. Also, why would any of the eld folk come to this land which accepts them not?” The king sighed. “Your enemies have already struck at you here. How will you survive in Nether?”

“She matters now,” Dain said. “Send word to Muncel, asking his leave for the lady and her companions to travel through his realm. Say nothing about me.  Officially I will stay here under your majesty’s protection. But unofficially I shall go as a guide to find my mother’s people.”

“How can you refuse?” Gavril demanded. “She is my betrothed. I will go with her to protect her safety.”

The king looked from one to the other of them with worry furrowing his brow. “I like this not,” he said. “There is too much danger.”

“Father, you have only to finish the terms of the new treaty,” Gavril said impatiently. “Then Nether will be again our ally, and what better way to seal the agreement than by allowing me to take my bride on this quest?” “And if Nether turns in treachery?” Verence asked. “I could lose you and Pheresa both.”

Gavril shrugged. “She is lost already if she remains here. Dain has said so.” The king looked sharply at him. “Is this true? Noncire assures me that she can be supported for years—” “And what kind of life is this?” Gavril asked, tapping the glass with his knuckles. “Can she be wife to me? Can she be companion and consort? I would rather have her dead than lie here like this forever!”

The king gripped his shoulder, and father and son bowed their heads in mutual anguish.

Dain watched them, his own suffering and love for the lady hidden in his heart.  It felt odd to be in agreement with Gavril. Hearing his announcements of love and concern for the lady drove splinters of jealousy through Dain’s entrails, but he forced himself to ignore them. Although she did not love him, he could not turn his back on her now.

“She has only a few months like this, majesty,” he said quietly. “Weeks perhaps.

Not years. This kind of spell is unfamiliar to me—”

“It isn’t a spell,” the king said sharply.

Dain shrugged. “Whatever it is, it is weak, and will not hold.”