Part 27 (1/2)

None.

The Elfstones were all they had, and if her grandmother was to be believed-which Phryne thought she was-the Elves had ignored that magic completely.

She was also still troubled by her father's decision to marry someone like Isoeld. It wasn't that his remarriage was a betrayal of his vows to her mother; she didn't think that way. It was the clear stupidity of his choice. A treacherous, duplicitous girl too young by half, a girl with no intention of respecting her marriage vows, a schemer with ambitions that far exceeded her concerns for her husband, Isoeld was a poor choice at best and a foolish, dangerous one at worst. That her father seemed so unaware of this, so blind to it, suggested that he had somehow lost his way. If that were so, how effective could he be at wielding the magic of the Elfstones, a power that worked best where the heart, mind, and body must all be strong?

She didn't know. Clearly, her grandmother had made up her mind on the matter. But Mistral Belloruus had never liked her father, even when he was married to her mother. She had tolerated him, but she had never approved of him. It was why, after Phryne's mother was gone, she had cut herself off from him completely.

It was also why she felt her granddaughter was the right choice to bear the Elfstones.

But even if Phryne accepted that her grandmother was right and her father lacked the strength of character needed to use the Elfstone magic, why would she be a better choice? Even if she accepted the gift of the Elfstones, what was she expected to do with them? She hadn't been trained in battle arts. She knew next to nothing about fighting, and she wasn't even particularly strong. Yet if she took the Elfstones, wouldn't she have to stand at the forefront of the Elven army against the Troll invaders? Ultimately, wasn't that what would be expected of anyone who wielded the Stones?

The Orullian brothers would roll over laughing at the very idea. The brothers, her cousins, would never let her live it down if they heard that she was even considering such a thing.

She was so uncomfortable with the idea that she made up her mind on the spot that she was going to reject her grandmother's offer of the Elfstones. Even if Mistral Belloruus was right and her father was the wrong choice to bear the magic, that did not make Phryne the right one. Someone else would better serve the Elven people. Someone with experience and a lifetime of dedication working for the good of the people. It didn't matter that she couldn't think of anyone like that offhand. Given time, she would be able to come up with a name. Or two.

She could.

She was mulling over how to tell her grandmother all this when her father walked into her room and sat down across from her. She looked up expectantly, not sure why he was there.

”I've been summoned to a meeting with Isoeld,” he said after a minute, looking unsure of how to proceed with what he had to say. ”She says it has something to do with our relations.h.i.+p and my service as Elven King. She wants you there, too. Do you have any idea what this is about?”

This was Phryne's chance to say something about Isoeld's affairs with other men, about her cheating on her husband. After all, it was possible that she had become ashamed enough of her behavior that she was going to do the right thing and step aside as Queen. That was what Phryne would have liked to believe, but she couldn't quite make herself do so. Nothing about Isoeld suggested that the word shame was even familiar to her.

So she just shook her head. ”I don't.”

Her father nodded, looking distracted. ”Perhaps I've done something to anger her and I need to apologize ...”

”Perhaps you've done nothing wrong at all!” Phryne snapped, unable to listen to such nonsense. ”Perhaps she's the one who's done something wrong and needs to apologize to you!”

Her father looked startled. ”What do you mean? What do you think she might have done?”

Phryne shook her head. ”Nothing. I just don't think you should a.s.sume you've done anything.”

”That isn't how you made it sound.” Her father shook his head. ”I thought you two were getting along better.”

”We are,” she lied. She made a vague gesture toward the doorway. ”Is she coming here for this meeting? Or are we supposed to go to her? When is it, anyway?”

”Right now, in the family library. Are you ready?”

She would never be ready for anything having to do with Isoeld unless it involved watching her father give the little scut a kick in the backside out the door, but she supposed there was no putting it off. Between the meetings with her grandmother and now this one, she would be grateful if she weren't summoned to anything more than dinner for a month.

They left the room and made their way down the palace hallways toward the library, Oparion Amarantyne leading, his daughter trudging reluctantly behind. Phryne listened to the sound of their footfalls in the silence, thinking it unusually quiet even for late afternoon, when visitors were no longer admitted and the day was winding down toward dinnertime. She mulled over anew her inevitable confrontation with her grandmother, trying to think how to speak the required words. She found it impossible.

The library door was ajar when they reached the chamber, and her father pushed through first, Phryne following. Isoeld stood at the center of the room, right in front of her husband's desk, hands clasped before her, smiling warmly.

Teonette stood beside her, grim-faced.

”Thank you both for coming,” she greeted. ”This won't take long.”

”Why is he here?” Phryne snapped, stepping forward to confront them both. She spoke out of turn, but she was too angry to care. She was incensed at the boldness of this woman, bringing her lover to a meeting with her husband.

”What is this about?” Oparion Amarantyne demanded.

Isoeld took a step forward. ”It is about you. It is about taking the measure of a life. Your own, to be precise. Good-bye, Oparion.”

In the next instant, a masked figure slipped from the shadows behind the open door and drove a dagger deep into the King's chest. The King cried out and lurched forward, but the a.s.sa.s.sin locked his free arm about his victim's neck and, holding him tight, drove the dagger in a second and third time. Phryne screamed in shock and rage, but Isoeld was on top of her by now and struck her hard across the face-once, twice, three times-dropping her to her knees, stunned.

The a.s.sa.s.sin yanked the dagger free from the dying King and allowed him to fall. Without a word, he turned, placed the dagger next to Phryne, and disappeared through the open door.

Isoeld bent close. ”Your father is dead, Phryne, and you killed him. A terrible quarrel of some sort, it appears. We may never know the truth of it. But you attacked him with your knife-it is your dagger, you know-and although Teonette and I came running at the sounds of a struggle, we arrived too late to stop you.”

Phryne tried to scramble up, but Teonette was behind her, holding her fast. She started to scream, and Isoeld said, ”Good, scream all you want! But your anguish at what you've done comes too late for your father. Such a terrible thing, patricide. I imagine we won't be seeing much of you again for many years. That's if they don't decide to put you to death. I'll do what I can to see that they don't. I like the idea of you alive and well and locked away for the rest of your life.”

Phryne gasped for breath. ”They'll never believe-”

Isoeld struck her across the face several times more. The girl's vision blurred as tears filled her eyes, and she felt everything begin to spin.

”Your father fought back, which is why you have all these marks on your face. He fought hard for his life, even as he was dying. But it wasn't enough. His wounds were too grievous. Drop her.”

Teonette let go, and Phryne collapsed to the floor. Isoeld kicked her down all the way and put her foot on her neck. ”The King is dead, Phryne,” she hissed. ”Long live the Queen!”

TWENTY-NINE.

RAIN SPLASHED DOWN ON HIS FACE, CHILL AND stinging, the wind whipping the droplets of water into tiny missiles, and he was conscious again. He lay staring up at a sky that looked like the bottom of a churning cauldron, dark and wild. He turned his head, blinked away the rain, and tried to focus.

What had happened?

Then Deladion Inch remembered, and he was awake instantly. The crawler had inexplicably come apart beneath him. For no discernible reason, a two-ton monster made of iron had disintegrated. That wasn't possible. It wasn't even conceivable.

He felt the pain then, ratcheting through him. He took inventory of his body, a careful investigation that didn't require him to move. His ribs, several broken. His arm, aching badly enough that it might be broken, as well. His head, of course, but when he felt along the skin there didn't appear to be any deep wounds.

Then he remembered the girl.

He looked around, realizing for the first time that he wasn't in the vehicle anymore. He was lying on the ground a short distance away. He had been thrown clear, sustained injuries in the process, and lost consciousness.

But where was the girl?

He sat upright, using his good arm to lever himself off the ground. He found his weapons still attached to him, all but the spray and that was lying not three feet away. The night and the rain formed a screen that turned everything around him hazy and indistinct, including the remains of the ATV, which were all over the place. But he could see the vehicle's cabin off to one side, the doors gone and the windows smashed.

He rolled onto his knees, finding new sources of pain in his legs as he climbed gingerly to his feet. The terrain was much rougher than he remembered, which accounted for the damage he had sustained in the crash. But he couldn't remember any explosion, any flash, nothing that would indicate the vehicle had been struck by a rocket or flash-bang. Besides, no one had those weapons other than himself. Spears and swords and even catapults wouldn't do this kind of damage.

He blinked away the rain, wiped at his face, and took a deep breath. With slow, careful steps he made his way over to the cabin and peered inside. The girl was still strapped to the pa.s.senger's seat, her eyes closed, head drooping. He couldn't see any visible damage, but she appeared to be unconscious. He started to speak her name and then realized he couldn't remember it.

”Girl,” he called to her instead. ”Girl, are you all right?”

Her eyes opened. She nodded wordlessly.