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While they dallied by the river, Brand went weaving back to camp, shaking his head. Too much of that Kildoran brandy, no doubt. He could have sworn that was Cador and Trev by the river. He lifted one of the water buckets and upended it on his head. It didn’t help. The rebel captain blearily sought out his tent with the intention of avoiding any more of the potent Kildoran liquor—and the conviction that the morning would bring him one hellacious hangover.
But two swans drifted placidly along the river, listening to the murmur of love words and the reassuring chirp of crickets. They found a safe place for the night among the reeds downstream. The black swan snapped at a bug, missed, and settled his wings.
“Very impressive,” Illusius acknowledged. “Your love spells must be potent indeed.”
Niniane arched her white swan’s neck in pleasure. “I cannot take the credit. This was no spell of mine, but a human one, as old as time.”
7
The next twoweeks brought nights of sweet passion for Tressalara in Cador’s strong arms, and fresh hope for her cause as well. Word that the princess had escaped Lector’s clutches and was in safe hiding had spread throughout the land. Dashed spirits lifted, and a new courage kindled the people’s hearts.
The growing influx of rebels forced Lector’s men to retreat to the very edge of the Mystic Forest. They huddled shivering around their fires by night, whispering stories of strange enchantments they had seen within the woods, such as caverns of ice impenetrable to man and a pair of talking swans.
Once more the caravans of merchants traveled along the dusty highways, and life resumed its normal tone in the forest. When Cador next rode out to the Crown and Acorn with Brand, he took Tressalara with him. Not at his wish and not without an argument.
“You cannot mean to leave me behind again,” she had said when they were sharing a private moment alone, her finger trailing a line of fire over the hard muscles of his chest. He had groaned with pleasure, still sated from their lovemaking. She slanted a glance from beneath her lashes. “Since you have sworn allegiance to me, you are sworn to abide by my wishes.”
Cador had groaned and taken her face between his hands for a passionate kiss. “Would that I had never given my pledge, sweetness. I would never have wanted to risk your safety; but now that we are lovers, I find myself singularly reluctant to let you risk your pretty neck in even the slightest way.”
“You are as stubborn and hardheaded as a mule!”
“Good,” he replied. “Then you will see it is no use arguing with me.”
But she had insisted, and he had been swayed, against his better judgment. The tavern had become their unofficial headquarters now that the area was secure. It was safer to meet and appraise new recruits and offers of aid there than to take the newcomers into the secret camp and risk betrayal.
He justified taking her along by thinking that he might hire a room for the night so that he and Tressalara could share a mattress instead of a blanket on the ground. As they wound their way through the forest, he began to feel quite cheerful about it.
There was no sign of trouble at the Crown and Acorn, and they had a hearty meal washed down with tankards of the landlord’s best brew. A delegation from the southern meadow dwellers came, pledging their support. Late in the afternoon a most welcome message arrived from Morania, saying that the duke would consider sending reinforcements and arms if the princess were indeed alive.
“Bring me paper and ink,” Tressalara ordered and immediately wrote a response, sealing it with candle wax and an impression of the signet ring, that she wore on a thong about her neck. She hoisted her tankard in a toast. “To the swift arrival of the duke’s men,” she said, “and to swift victory!”
A few more toasts had them feeling mellow and relaxed. Brand went out to meet with one of his contacts. Tressalara put her boots up on the bench and dreamed of an early supper followed by a hot bath before a fire, while Cador merely dreamed of a long and cozy night in a feather bed, with Tressalara in his arms.
Then Brand returned. His heavy brows were drawn together alarmingly, and the message he bore shattered their peace. “Lector has found the Andun Stone. He plans a great reception in seven days’ time, to which he has invited all the nobles and emissaries of the surrounding lands. He has vowed that he will hold the crystal aloft for all to see and name himself true king.”
“Evil news, indeed, if he has found the Andun and can touch it without being consumed. I suppose it was naught but a legend,” Cador said, frowning.
Tressalara was dismayed. “I have never seen anyone but my father hold the crystal. The legend cannot be untrue. Indeed, all my life I was warned that even I could not touch it until the day my father handed it to me in solemn ceremony, or risk being consumed.”
“A fairy tale for children and peasants, like most legends,” Brand said. “A pity. It would have solved all our problems if Lector had been reduced to a pile of smoldering ash!”
“A pity, indeed,” Cador replied grimly. “We must strike sooner than you had anticipated, Brand.”
“Yes. But this grand reception will supply us with the perfect opportunity.”
Tressalara looked from one to the other. “But…can you not see? Surely this is a trap!”
Cador shrugged. “Of course it is. But we will find a way around it and twist the scorpion’s tail to sting itself.”
She was unconvinced. “Perhaps the best plan is to avoid his trap entirely. Launch the attack later, when his guard is down.”
Brand leaned forward and whispered something in Cador’s ear. Their two glances flicked at Tressalara and away. A dull knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “You must not have secrets from me,” she said with quiet force. “What new outrages has Lector committed?”
A muscle ticked at the corner of Cador’s jaw. “He plans an entertainment for the people, to take place at dawn following the feast: the execution of your loyal servants. Beginning with the Lady Grette and the Lady Elani.”
He’d expected an outcry of anguish from Tressalara. She went icy pale, her eyes huge pools of fear and rage and grief; yet she managed to hold her emotions in. In her quiet dignity she had never looked more royal. She was not Trev, or even merely the Princess Tressalara. She was truly Amelonia’s queen.
As Cador acknowledged for the first time the great gap that lay between them, he had never loved her more, nor realized how hopeless that love was.