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Authors: Janny Wurts
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Elienne bit her lip and found herself shaking. The Prince’s enemies were confident indeed if they could remove him on the pretense of drunken stupor and hold him without being questioned. Were Ielond alive, they would never have dared. Without him, Darion had no other to act in his defense with the possible exception of Kennaird. And Kennaird had been kept busy through the night with her.
Elienne cursed. The jewel in her hand was the only weapon Ielond had left her. Darion’s oppressors did not expect him to be seen by other eyes, and according to the Sorcerer’s instructions, communication was possible as well. Perhaps the Prince could be awakened.
Placing her fingertip against the cold surface of the mirrowstone, Elienne leaned close and whispered. “Darion! Your Grace, can you hear me? Darion!”
She released contact. The image flooded back, clouding the stone like dark smoke. The Prince roused enough to stir. This time the magic exposed him full face; his lashes quivered, spiking his cheek with trembling lines of shadow.
Elienne cupped the jewel closer and whispered again, urgently. “Darion, wake up.”
Faint as the distant roll of surf in a shell, she heard a coughing sigh. The Prince closed his mouth. His eyes flickered open, irises wide and black in the candlelight. Hazel, Elienne recalled from her brief impression on the icefield, but they remained unfocused and confused.
“Darion, you’ve been drugged,” said Elienne through the mirrowstone.
She held her breath as the Prince threw one veined wrist across his face. If anyone were present, such movement would surely attract attention.
As though answering Elienne’s fear, a large hand appeared, momentarily obscuring her view. The Prince moaned thickly. Elienne looked on in horror as a second hand moved into sight. Fingers marred by an old, puckered scar pressed a twist of soaked linen firmly over Darion’s nose and mouth until his weak struggles subsided.
“Oh, poor man,” Elienne whispered. Hot tears blistered the inside of her eyelids. When the hands removed the drugged cloth and passed from sight, the mirrowstone’s dark depths returned Darion’s image with faithful clarity, even to the angry red imprint where the rag had roughened his skin.
Elienne shoved the jewel back inside the neck of her dress. The heavy gold setting had gouged purple grooves in her palm where she had gripped too tightly. Angrily she closed her fist over them. Something would have to be done. She no longer found it tolerable to sit like a lady while the Council’s Select dallied over trivia. She could start an inquiry after a man with knowledge of drugs who also had a scarred hand.
Elienne rose and ran between the rows of chairs. She took the stairs two at a time while formulating a plan to forestall the steward. Just below the first landing, she all but bowled over someone who ascended the flight in the same state of haste.
“My Lady!” Kennaird divested himself of an armload of yellow silk skirts.
Elienne paused only to draw breath. “Darion’s been drugged,” she said tersely, and described what she had seen in the rnirrowstone. Kennaird was already familiar with the jewel. He had seen it around her neck the night before; it was the only item on her he had been unable to remove.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Kennaird promised. He grabbed Elienne with both hands as she tried to slip past him. “I said I would look after it.”
“But—” Elienne began in protest.
“No.” Kennaird shook her with curt annoyance. “No. You’ll stay here as you were told. Darion is not the only one in danger. I came to warn you to guard your own life.”
Elienne stopped resisting Kennaird’s hand, and only then realized his homely face was drawn with anxiety.
“Tell me,” she said.
Kennaird released his hold with a tired sigh. “The ward over the study door was broken when I returned.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against the paneled wall of
Elienne bit her lip and found herself shaking. The Prince’s enemies were confident indeed if they could remove him on the pretense of drunken stupor and hold him without being questioned. Were Ielond alive, they would never have dared. Without him, Darion had no other to act in his defense with the possible exception of Kennaird. And Kennaird had been kept busy through the night with her.
Elienne cursed. The jewel in her hand was the only weapon Ielond had left her. Darion’s oppressors did not expect him to be seen by other eyes, and according to the Sorcerer’s instructions, communication was possible as well. Perhaps the Prince could be awakened.
Placing her fingertip against the cold surface of the mirrowstone, Elienne leaned close and whispered. “Darion! Your Grace, can you hear me? Darion!”
She released contact. The image flooded back, clouding the stone like dark smoke. The Prince roused enough to stir. This time the magic exposed him full face; his lashes quivered, spiking his cheek with trembling lines of shadow.
Elienne cupped the jewel closer and whispered again, urgently. “Darion, wake up.”
Faint as the distant roll of surf in a shell, she heard a coughing sigh. The Prince closed his mouth. His eyes flickered open, irises wide and black in the candlelight. Hazel, Elienne recalled from her brief impression on the icefield, but they remained unfocused and confused.
“Darion, you’ve been drugged,” said Elienne through the mirrowstone.
She held her breath as the Prince threw one veined wrist across his face. If anyone were present, such movement would surely attract attention.
As though answering Elienne’s fear, a large hand appeared, momentarily obscuring her view. The Prince moaned thickly. Elienne looked on in horror as a second hand moved into sight. Fingers marred by an old, puckered scar pressed a twist of soaked linen firmly over Darion’s nose and mouth until his weak struggles subsided.
“Oh, poor man,” Elienne whispered. Hot tears blistered the inside of her eyelids. When the hands removed the drugged cloth and passed from sight, the mirrowstone’s dark depths returned Darion’s image with faithful clarity, even to the angry red imprint where the rag had roughened his skin.
Elienne shoved the jewel back inside the neck of her dress. The heavy gold setting had gouged purple grooves in her palm where she had gripped too tightly. Angrily she closed her fist over them. Something would have to be done. She no longer found it tolerable to sit like a lady while the Council’s Select dallied over trivia. She could start an inquiry after a man with knowledge of drugs who also had a scarred hand.
Elienne rose and ran between the rows of chairs. She took the stairs two at a time while formulating a plan to forestall the steward. Just below the first landing, she all but bowled over someone who ascended the flight in the same state of haste.
“My Lady!” Kennaird divested himself of an armload of yellow silk skirts.
Elienne paused only to draw breath. “Darion’s been drugged,” she said tersely, and described what she had seen in the rnirrowstone. Kennaird was already familiar with the jewel. He had seen it around her neck the night before; it was the only item on her he had been unable to remove.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Kennaird promised. He grabbed Elienne with both hands as she tried to slip past him. “I said I would look after it.”
“But—” Elienne began in protest.
“No.” Kennaird shook her with curt annoyance. “No. You’ll stay here as you were told. Darion is not the only one in danger. I came to warn you to guard your own life.”
Elienne stopped resisting Kennaird’s hand, and only then realized his homely face was drawn with anxiety.
“Tell me,” she said.
Kennaird released his hold with a tired sigh. “The ward over the study door was broken when I returned.” He shut his eyes and leaned back against the paneled wall of
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