Shadow Heir

“I do not believe so, mistress. I believe they have simply given up altogether. Should the opportunity for revenge and escape arise, it’s possible they may regain their momentum.”

“Let’s hope so,” I muttered. We’d gone from five to three allies. I still thought those were good odds, but I preferred “overwhelming” to “good.”

“Also,” added Volusian, with what I was certain was a note of displeasure, “I have a message from the Oak King.”

“What’d he say?”

“He says that in addition to finding the talismans’ location, you should also consider that they will have some sort of magical protection on them. Finding them and defeating their guards may not be enough if there is a shield or enchantment in place that you don’t know how to defeat.”

“Excellent point—not that I should expect less from Dorian. Do you think that’s likely?”

“Almost certainly.”

“No spell’s permanent, of course. Someone powerful enough could blast through it—or several someones. And that’s the thing. She probably had multiple people helping set up these defenses, just like with the blight. This thing’s going to be a bitch to crack.”

Volusian considered. “Yes, but there is probably a trick or simpler way of undoing any protective magic around the gifts. No one wants to be locked out of their own spell, and she must get through her defenses occasionally to move new objects in.”

My head was hurting from all the growing complications. “So, there’s something else we have to figure out. Unless we can just make it work with brute magical force.”

“That is still an option,” he agreed.

“Thanks. You can go.”

I sighed and stretched back out on the bed, trying to figure out how I was going to stage a master escape plan when my allies consisted of a bunch of restrained prisoners, a spirit confined to a hallway, and a bird that may or may not understand me. Glancing over, I saw that Volusian was still standing there and watching me.

“What?” I asked. “Is there something else?”

“The Oak King had another message for you.”

“Oh? What was it?”

“He said ...” I again got that vibe of distaste from Volusian. “He said to tell you he misses you and takes comfort in knowing your room is close to his—though it’s still not nearly close enough. He says he will lie in bed tonight and imagine the distance between you is gone and that you are there with him.”

“My God ,” I said, nearly bursting out laughing. “I thought it was bad for you before.”

Volusian made no response. I tried to adopt some seriousness but knew I was grinning.

“Tell him that’s very sweet but awfully presumptuous, in light of our history.”

Volusian disappeared and returned about a minute later. “The Oak King says that in light of the current situation, he imagines you might be more open to such suggestions. He said—and I quote—‘Daring escapes do wonders for passion. What would ordinarily be deemed presumptuous might actually seem quite reasonable in troubled times. Perhaps the blight wouldn’t have been so cold, had we come to that conclusion sooner.’”

I scoffed. “Well, tell him that remains to be seen, seeing as we haven’t pulled off any daring escape yet.”

Volusian hesitated. “Mistress, I have never asked anything of you in my servitude. But now, I beg you this: do not make me keep passing these adolescent sentiments back and forth all night.”

“Fair enough,” I said, feeling a smile start to return. “Go ahead and tell Dorian that too. This is the last note you pass tonight. I need some sleep, and it takes too much power to keep you here.”

Volusian didn’t thank me—that would be asking too much—but he did look relieved. He vanished into the darkness and didn’t come back that night.

I tried to sleep in earnest, knowing I’d need my strength for whatever wacky mishaps were to come. That’s easier said than done in enemy hands—especially for an insomniac like me—and I tossed and turned a fair amount. Sleep did finally come after a couple of hours, mercifully free of dreams. I didn’t wake until something pulled at my hair. At first, I shrugged it off in my sleepy state. Then, it happened again, a tug so painful I yelped and opened my eyes.

And found Spots the falcon staring at me, about two inches from my face.

“Jesus Christ!” I jumped up, certain my eyes were about to be pecked out. “Couldn’t you just squawk from the window? Or tap the wall with your beak?”

Spots made no reply, save to preen his wing.

“I assume you’re here for a reason,” I said. “But you probably can’t tell me.”

He looked back up at me and extended a leg. Peering closely, I saw a teeny-tiny roll of paper tied there. Carefully, unsure if he’d decide to gouge me with his claws, I removed the miniature scroll from his leg. The paper was very fine and delicate, and I was half afraid it would tear before I could unroll it. When I finally got a good look at it, I could see a handful of words scrawled in tiny writing:

ROOM IS UNDERGROUND. SCOUT IS INVESTIGATING.