CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BY THE TIME DOMINIC was able to pull his attention away from his son, Féolan had dragged the guard into the far corner of the cell and was working on the manacle clamped around Madeleine’s ankle. The delicate skin there was chafed raw, and the sight affected Dominic more deeply than anything so far. With a low cry of anger, he started toward the end of her bed.

Gabrielle’s hand on his shoulder restrained him.

“Dom.”

He turned, his anger jumping like lightning from the pirates to his sister. Just for a moment. Her serious sympathetic face cooled him instantly.

“That’s the least of Madeleine’s problems right now. We need to get her to safety, where I can help her.”

Dominic’s eyes went to his daughter’s face. He had thought her asleep, but saw now it wasn’t so. She was watching him, not with the round, bright eyes he was used to but through half-opened heavy lids. He sank to his knees beside her.

“Sweetheart.”

A ghost of a smile. “Dada.” Her baby name for him, whispered on a puff of foul breath.

She was very sick, Dominic realized, worse than Gabrielle had reported that afternoon. How had she sunk so low with his sister by her side? He had thought Gabrielle could heal anything, but even her mysterious powers must have their limits. A knife-twist of fear stabbed his belly.

“Hah!” Dominic hadn’t heard the click that signaled Féolan’s success, but he heard the Elf ‘s satisfied sigh and the clank of the manacle hitting the ground. Madeleine was free.

They must go. Dominic pulled his wits together and explained their plan.

“Matthieu, can you do it?” he concluded. “It could be hard, if there’s a delay or we get questioned. You must stay still and silent, even if it’s hot or itchy or...”

Matthieu cut him off. “I know what to do,” he said, “and I’m used to being hot and itchy. Let’s get away from here.”

Féolan and Gabrielle had already spread out the first blanket. Without another word, Matthieu lay down in the middle and folded his arms. Féolan bent to wrap him up.

“Wait,” said Matthieu. “That’s not how they do it here.” How did he know, wondered Dominic, but both the press of time and Matthieu’s suddenly closed face kept him from asking. He watched as his son flipped over to his stomach diagonal on the blanket, and directed Féolan to fold over first the head and foot, then the sides of the blanket. “Now turn me over and tie the sides in front, over my stomach,” his muffled voice instructed.

It chilled Dominic to see his son shrouded like a corpse. Tempting fate, the country folk would call it. But necessity trumped superstition, and he bent to the rough bundle and hoisted it into his arms.

“Okay in there, Matthieu?”

Féolan had offered to carry Madeleine. “I do not have Gabrielle’s power, but I can lend her some strength or soothe her if she is restless.”

If she is restless we are lost, thought Dominic. And if Yolenka is not waiting for us, ready to talk them past the guards...What then?

ANY MINUTE SOMEONE would wonder why he was standing by the caravan with the mule in the middle of the night. Derkh had long since done as much as he could to ready things without being obvious. The spare swords were unpacked and handy; their essential belongings were stowed. The mule’s harness was laid out on the floor of the wagon. The forge and anvil he left set up outside, as if ready for use the next day. He had gone for the mule before nightfall, returning a piece of tack he had repaired that day, ambling to the mule’s stall, giving her an apple and a grooming, and leading her out as if (he hoped) he was just giving her some air and exercise. After a nominal walk about the grounds, he tethered her by the caravan.

There he waited, trying to act as if he had some business out there. The night grew dark and cool—a relief to Derkh’s hot skin, which was red and taut from the constant sun. The moon rose. Surely Yolenka’s dance was well over by now. The night crept on. The grounds were empty now but for the odd straggler heading late to his bed.

Derkh’s alert readiness was slowly replaced by alarm. They should be here by now. If something went wrong in the fortress, how would he know? Maybe they needed help, and he should go in.

He was halfway across the grounds when the doors opened and he saw them. They were walking, not running, and no guards followed or yelled after them. It had worked out, then.

Derkh checked his impulse to run to meet them. He shouldn’t look like he was expecting them. He waited—and as they made their way across the dusty yard to him he noticed something. His belly did a slow clench.

“Okay, you can hitch up the mule,” said Dominic as he drew near. “We’ll lay the children down in the caravan.”

But Derkh stood motionless, caught up in his own foreboding.

“Where’s Yolenka?”

ALL WAS IN READINESS, and still Yolenka had not come. Each passing moment increased the chance that Turga would hear of their leaving or the jailed guard be discovered.

Dominic took Féolan aside and spoke low in his ear.

“Can you do this, Féolan, without her?”

They had done nothing but motion to the bundled bodies at the door of the fortress and the guards had waved them through in hasty alarm. They knew who Gabrielle was and what she was doing in that upper room.

The gatehouse would be different. Who came and went through Turga’s outer walls was closely watched.

Féolan was already trying to put together the Tarzine words in his mind. He thought back through the conversations he had overheard, especially those between Yolenka and Turga. Had they never used the word “death” or “dead”?

Something tugged at the edge of memory. Gabrielle had pulled a long festering piece of decking from a sailor’s foot. The pirate had said something, laughing harshly, to Yolenka, words that had meant little to Féolan at the time. Now the meaning came clear: “Thought I was like to die from a damn splinter.”

“I’ll do my best, Dominic,” he replied. He didn’t bother to add the obvious: that Yolenka would do it much better. Instead he glanced back to where Derkh stood, his eyes trained on the fortress.

“I’ll tell Derkh.”

DERKH HAD KNOWN in his bones they would be leaving without her from the moment he realized she had not come out with the others. He cut Féolan off before he could start, his voice bleak.

“We have to leave. I know.”

It had been a long time since Derkh had had to call on the harsh self-discipline instilled in him since childhood. He called on it now, every ounce and drop of it, to turn his back on the woman he loved. They had come to save the children. He would not be the one to endanger them.

Just let her be safe, he prayed. I won’t ask more.