The Catswold Portal

It was harder to control the gelding at a long distance, but she brought him trotting back. Under Siddonie’s direction, she worked with the gelding all afternoon. Only twice did he defy her; then the queen brought him back with her own spell, quickly, deftly. It was dusk when Siddonie released her.

There were no more tests for two days. The queen quit the palace before dawn the next morning, riding out with Vrech. Melissa watched from the window beside her bunk.

She had awakened feeling ill. For two days she dragged herself about wanly, making no effort to search for the Harpy’s mirror. The illness was so sudden she thought perhaps the queen had laid a spell on her and when, the morning the queen returned, she felt completely fit, she was certain of it. An hour after her return, the queen summoned Melissa to a tiny courtyard at the back of the palace.

An armed soldier stood beside Siddonie. And there was, in the queen’s eyes, an intensity that alarmed Melissa. Siddonie said, “You will turn his sword aside when he strikes at you.”

Melissa stared at the queen, not understanding.

Siddonie repeated the order, as if to someone very stupid, “You will deflect his sword with your own powers. Only your own magic will save you from being struck through or beheaded.”

“I cannot do such a thing. I never have done anything like that.” And in truth she had not; this was beyond her powers. She watched the queen, terrified.

“He does not feign this,” Siddonie said. “You will turn the sword or you will die.”

But it was a test—surely it was only a test.

“If you cannot turn his sword, you are no use to me. He is instructed to kill you.”

Fear and rage sickened her. She had no way to know the truth. If the soldier had been ordered to kill, he would kill. He moved suddenly, his blade flashed upward toward her face. Fear shocked through her. Her terrified spell wrenched the blade from his hand so sharply he went off balance.

She drew back, faint, not believing what she had done.

The queen smiled. “Very good. We shall try a few more.”

“No. I will not do more. I don’t like this. What are you training me for?”

In two strides the queen was before her, and slapped her against the wall. “You have no choice. You will do two more. Or you will die.”

The soldier crouched, circling Melissa. When his sword thrust up at her she was so enraged, so hot with anger and fear, she shouted a spell that sent him sprawling across the tiles.

Again he came at her, crouching, dodging. Her blood pounded. She shouted a spell that turned his sword toward the queen’s throat; only at the last instant did Siddonie’s oath cast his blade aside.

“No more,” Melissa said.

The queen smiled with triumph. “Very good, indeed. Soon, my dear, I will teach you some of my own skills.”

Melissa’s hands were sweating. She didn’t like this; she was close to pure terror, close to losing control. She did not want to be Siddonie’s disciple. She was frantic with the need to escape.

But she could not run away, not until the rebels were free. She watched Siddonie narrowly, waiting for the next test.

Chapter 11

The banquet hall was noisy—laughter and drunken shouts rose over the music. Melissa glanced in as she slipped past the serving door. There were three visiting kings with their queens and entourages. She had glimpsed King Ridgen of Mathe in the grand foyer, and Terlis had pointed out the king of Wexton and Siddonie’s brother King Ithilel of Xendenton. Market Festival was the biggest celebration of the year. All day the scullery had seethed with strange servants added to the Affandar kitchen staff. And the courtyard had been in a turmoil of workers setting up the market booths and stringing colored banners. The visiting soldiers and the lesser servants were camped outside the castle, as were peasants from all over Affandar who had brought their wares for sale, their jewelry and weavings, their carvings and livestock.

Though the palace seemed bursting with people, surely at this moment with everyone at banquet, the upper halls would be empty. Melissa hurried up the back stairs and along the empty corridor toward the king’s chambers, strung with nerves. She had vowed to herself that tonight she would find the Harpy’s mirror, that she would learn her past, learn the spell to free the rebels, and get out of there. Leave the palace, get away from Siddonie’s tests and training. Now as she reached for the knob to the king’s chamber, from beyond the door she heard a woman laugh, a breathy giggle. She drew back against the wall, heard the king say, “It’s only a little ruffle, come let me remove it,” and the woman giggled again. Melissa fled for the back stairs and up to the safety of her attic chamber, both shocked and amused. The king had deliberately missed the banquet, flaunting his dalliance with some visiting serving girl, or perhaps with a visiting wife of royalty.