Children of Chaos

thirty-eight

FABIA CELEBRE

was close to panic. Her room was not a dungeon, just the next best thing to it. The door was solid timber and she could hear the voices of guards outside when she put her ear to the keyhole. She had a dusty blanket but no sleeping platform, a water jug but no lamp, the remains of her evening meal, and a slop bucket. She cursed herself for waiting too long, for ignoring the dread reality of her position. All Horth's wealth could not help her now.

The window was large enough to squeeze through. Granted, it looked down on a busy street, but it was little more than head high and the drop would not be impossible. The traffic would surely end after sunset. The only problem with the window was a pair of stout bronze bars set firmly in the stonework, and she had no answer to those.

If the Old One granted her Chosen some power that let them break out of jail, Fabia did not know what it was or how to invoke it. Saltaja would know, and also know how to counter it. Ominously, this room had a timber floor, so Fabia was cut off from the cold earth, and could detect only a very faint trace of the Mother's power welling up through the stone windowsill.

Hustling a reluctant maiden into matrimony would be child's play for Saltaja Hragsdor, who had ruled Vigaelia no-holds-barred for so long. She would force Fabia's compliance at the wedding by threatening Horth, and would no doubt dispose of him later somewhere in the Edgelands. Verk and the rest of Father's swordsmen were half a Face away and useless against Werists. The deluded Orlad was completely on Saltaja's side. Benard was either a fugitive or a corpse by now. Even if he were here and available, Master Artist Benard could never be of any practical use. The mysterious Mist had not been heard from since before Kosord. It seemed certain: two days from now, three at the outside, Fabia was going to find herself married to the despised Cutrath, whose mother, even, never praised him.

Darkness fell. Street noise dwindled to occasional passing voices. Too frightened to undress, Fabia curled up in her blanket. Somehow she must have worried herself asleep, because she began to dream that someone was throwing rocks at the shutter. Eventually the noise irritated her so much that she woke up to complain.

Plink!

She scrambled loose from the blankets and almost fell headlong in her rush to reach the window. She hauled the flap open and looked down. Florengian faces did not show up well in the dark.

"Get dressed," Benard whispered. "I'll catch you."

She was dressed already, but she needed a moment to catch her breath. How had Benard come here, how had he found her? Could he be an illusion, a Saltaja trick? Saltaja might be watching ... Veil! Even as she fumbled to find her shoes, Fabia hastily spun a web of darkness around herself—not so much that Benard would not be able to see her, but enough to blur her to any distant watcher. She leaned out of the window. "Ready."

Benard ignored her, staring along the street, keeping watch. She threw her shoes at him and he jumped. Then he reached up, gripped, and hauled; she slid over the sill like a fish and tumbled into his arms. He didn't even stagger.

He hugged her and kissed her cheek. He wrapped a dark woolen cloak around her against the night chill. "Shoes ... Don't run. Walk as if you owned the place."

As they strolled off, his arm was a bar of bronze around her, wonderfully comforting. The street was deserted under the stars. Oh, the stars! Skjar or even Kym never saw such skies.

"You are so welcome!" she said, fighting back tears of relief. "Where have you been all my life? I'm just realizing what I missed all these years as an only child. I met Orlad! Is there any hope of rescuing Horth? Where are we going? When did you get here?"

"Yesterday. Horth is free, the seers said."

"But how did you know where I was?"

"Mist told me the right window."

"So Mist is ... Wait a minute! There were bars on that window!"

Even sculptor muscles could never have removed those bars. Besides, the sill had been smooth, unmarred by broken stone or metal stubs.

"There were," her brother agreed vaguely. "Ugly things! I just thought it would look more beautiful without them."