CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ZHIRAK KEPT A GOODLY DISTANCE between them as he escorted her back to Turga, Gabrielle noticed. And Turga himself was so far away she practically had to shout. He was seated against the wall of his audience chamber and held a hand up to stop her as soon as she was in the door.

“Does it really spread that easily?” she asked Yolenka who was stationed at Turga’s side.

“He is more careful than most.” Gabrielle had never seen Yolenka so subdued. She lifted worried amber eyes to Gabrielle. “I will not say he is stupid.”

Turga barked out a question.

“Does she have it?”

“I can’t tell for sure without examining her,” Gabrielle replied. “I have seen children with similar symptoms who had nothing but a bad cold. But—”

He interrupted abruptly.

“Does she have sore throat?”

“Yes.” There was no reason to sugarcoat it. If Turga believed Madeleine had the Veil, he would send Gabrielle back to treat her.

Turga’s features tightened. There followed a long exchange with Yolenka.

“He say, if you treat, you stay in cell until she is better and you and boy are for sure also healthy. If she die, you leave Rath Turga, not touch anything or go near any person. He pay two bars of gold if both live. He say nothing if girl dies, but I say he must pay for your danger. He say half bar of gold then.”

Gabrielle understood the need for such bargaining, but it shocked her all the same. She tried to collect her wits.

“All right, of course. No, wait—Yolenka, tell him I will do it if the others in the group agree. I need to talk with them first.”

“TONIGHT? BUT HOW will you get the children past the guards? Or avoid pursuit?”

“We have between now and midnight to figure that out.” Dominic was grim with determination, but Gabrielle knew he was no closer to an answer than she was. “If we don’t come up with a plan, we’ll have to postpone it,” he admitted. “But assume that once Yolenka’s performance is finished, we will come for you.”

Gabrielle had told them all she could—the location of the room, the position of the guards, the little she could offer about the type of lock on the door. She had brewed up whatever medicines she had that might be of help and learned everything Yolenka could tell her about the Gray Veil. It was time.

THE GUARD RETREATED to the end of the hall as quickly as he could, and Gabrielle did not hold back: She swept Matthieu into her arms and held him tight. For once, he didn’t wiggle away impatiently. Gabrielle could feel the tumult of warring emotions within him, realized that if she held him much longer he would give way to the sobs he was trying with all his might to overcome. She eased back, and Matthieu followed her lead.

“I think you should see Maddy right away. She seems a lot worse.”

The worry in his voice was enough to take her at once to her niece’s bedside.

Madeleine was awake, watching them. She mustered a wan smile for Gabrielle, and then the tears came, welling up and spilling down her cheeks. She didn’t seem to have the energy to wipe them away.

Gabrielle smoothed the tangled hair away from the girl’s face and gently wiped the wet streaks off her cheeks.

“Hello, dear one,” she murmured. “It’s okay now, Maddy, we’re going to look after you. We’re going to get you better and take you home.”

Madeleine did look worse. Her fever was only a little higher, but the blue eyes were dull and her skin shone with sweat.

“Is your throat still sore?” asked Gabrielle.

Madeleine nodded slowly as if it pained her.

“Really sore.” The words came out nasal and slightly slurred, each syllable an effort. A thin track of spittle spilled from the corner of her mouth.

“Can I take a look?”

The foul odor of Madeleine’s breath almost made Gabrielle recoil. She knew, of course, that a throat infection sours the breath, but she had never smelled anything so awful on a child. Her belly tightened. Yolenka had described exactly this.

The room was too dim, however, to see into a person’s mouth. And it was late—it would only get darker from now on. Gabrielle looked around the little cell. There was one patch of strong light on the floor, streaming in through the high narrow window.

“Matthieu, I need to get Madeleine into that bright spot. Can you help me?”

Was she endangering Matthieu, getting him so close to his sister? Gabrielle hesitated. Surely he had already been exposed.

Matthieu was at her side instantly.

“C’mon Maddy, out of bed with you!”

Madeleine’s lips twitched into a smile, and Gabrielle marveled at Matthieu’s deft touch. He’s like Tristan, she thought, so carefree and silly, but when you need him, he doesn’t hold back.

Between them, they helped Madeleine slip out of bed and lie down on the floor, her head angled into the sunlight. Now Gabrielle could get a good look.

And there it was—the gray plaque growing over Madeleine’s tonsils. The Gray Veil. Mottled, leathery and alien, it lay over the girl’s throat like some parasitic leech. It’s just an illness, like any other, Gabrielle told herself—but she could not shake the revulsion she felt at the sight of that gray coating.

She got Madeleine tucked back into bed and coaxed the willowbark tea into her, spoonful by spoonful, encouraging her through each reluctant swallow. Then she settled herself beside the little cot, took one hot trembly hand in hers and closed her eyes.

“IT’S JUST THE one guard, but we’ll have to take care of him before he raises an alarm.”

Féolan and Derkh both nodded in agreement. They were not permitted to bring weapons into the stronghold, but Féolan’s thin blade could be strapped against the inside of a man’s thigh where it easily escaped the casual inspection given to wandering peddlers. Derkh had managed a decent copy of the cunning Elvish work, so they had two between them.

“The guard has a key to the cell,” continued Dominic, “but we aren’t sure about Madeleine’s manacle.” Surely the gods would not send him such a fate, he prayed—to have to choose between leaving one child or losing both.

“If I can smuggle in Derkh’s filigree tool, I’m pretty sure I can pick that lock,” offered Féolan.

“You’ll have to get away right after Yolenka’s dance then,” said Dominic. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Getting in isn’t the problem, though, is it?” Derkh didn’t like to state the obvious, but without a viable escape plan there was no rescue. “We could fight our way out of the building, even with the kids, but then there are the three guards at the gate...”

“And the ten horses in the stable. I know.”

They had spun all kinds of wild scenarios—somehow killing both the fortress and gatehouse guards without raising an alarm, overwhelming the stable hands and leaving half a dozen horses saddled and ready to fly from the stronghold, even sneaking in and killing the horses (which would not prevent Turga’s men from running after them, with every chance of quickly catching up). Nothing had promised any real chance of success.

Dominic dropped his head into his hands and screwed his eyes shut. There had to be a way. But in the darkness came another terrible thought: Even if he got the children safely back to the ship, would they live? Whatever this Gray Veil was, it was enough to make Yolenka, who appeared cowed by nothing, subdued and tense. And Turga, by all accounts, lived in fear of the very words.

Before he could thrust it away, his fear took shape behind his eyelids: He saw his two children—his babies!—lifeless on the deck, shrouded in saffron sailcloth, two unbearably sad silent bundles. The terror that clutched his belly at the sight made him groan aloud.

He opened his eyes, tried to blink the vision away, but the image was stuck now in his brain. Two bundles, two limp and lifeless—

Dominic straightened, his face caught in comical transition from despair to excitement.

“We’ll say they’re dead.”

Twin blank confused looks greeted his announcement. He held up a hand, stalling their questions, thinking it through.

“I’m serious. We’ll say the children are dead. We’ll bundle them up like corpses and carry them out. People here, they’re afraid to get within ten feet of this disease. We’ll say...” Dominic groped after something that made sense. “We’ll say it was part of Turga’s deal with Gabrielle—that if they died, we would get them out of here before anyone else could catch it.”

The two men were nodding now, seeing the possibilities.

“If Turga shows up, we’re in trouble,” said Féolan. “And we’ll have to hope no one gets curious about how Matthieu went so quickly. But I think you’re right, Dom—they won’t want to get close enough to investigate, they’ll just be glad to see the end of us.”