stick, poked it into the fire, then scraped a goodly quantity of the bright coals over the rings.
They hissed, then hissed again, more violently than previously.
“Tell me what you see,” Maximilian whispered.
For a moment nothing happened, then vision consumed his mind.
He strode through a corridor that appeared as if it stretched into eternity. Its walls
glowed turquoise and white.
Behind him, he knew the corridor vanished into the darkness that trailed from his
shoulders like a cloak.
Maximilian strode ahead, his steps determined.
He walked the hallways of Elcho Falling.
He turned a corner and halted, transfixed.
A woman sat in a bath, her back to him, her fair hair caught up about the crown of her
head with pins, tipping water from an exquisite goblet encrusted with frogs over her shoulders so
that it trickled slowly down her spine.
She turned very slightly as she became aware of his presence.
“My love? Is that you?”
He felt overwhelming grief at the sight of her, and could not understand it, for he knew
also that he loved her.
He turned and resumed his walk down the corridor, brushing irritably at a weight about
his brow.
After some time (hours, days perhaps), he became aware that something approached
from behind him.
He turned, thinking (hoping) it might be the woman.
Instead, it was something so dark, so terrible, that Maximilian screamed, throwing his
arms up about his face.
It was not a creature or person at all. Instead, Maximilian found himself staring into the
open doorway of the Twisted Tower, and seeing that it was now entirely empty.
Not a single object remained in any of the chambers.
He had lost everything, every memory, every ritual, every piece of magic, that he needed
to resurrect Elcho Falling.
He woke, his heart still thudding, just after dawn.
All he could remember for the moment was the horror of staring into the doorway of the
Twisted Tower and realizing it was now entirely empty.
Terrified, but knowing he had to do it, Maximilian closed his eyes once more and called
forth the Twisted Tower. Trembling, he laid his hand to the handle of the door and opened it.
The first chamber lay before him, groaning with the weight of its objects.
Relieved beyond measure, Maximilian opened his eyes, looking across once more at the
fire.
The rings lay in cold, drifting ash.
Maximilian reached over and picked them up, sliding his own ring on his hand, and
slipping the queen”s ring away in his cloak.
What was he supposed to make of what he”d dreamed?
He busied himself with some breakfast, discovering himself starving. He set aside the
problem of the dream for the moment, instead concentrating on the simple tasks of breaking
camp, grooming and saddling his horse, and riding out.
Toward the end of the day, when he was dismounting from the horse in order to make
camp, Maximilian realized that there was something about the vision that he had not been
conscious of while he”d been experiencing it, but of which he”d become aware, very gradually,
in the past few hours.
As he”d been striding the corridors of Elcho Falling, he”d carried the weight of a crown
about his head.
Maximilian had his answer.
Elcho Falling was waking.
He sank to his haunches, absolutely appalled, lowering his face into one hand.
Elcho Falling was waking, and he was the one who would need to assume once again
the responsibilities of its crown.
For several minutes he crouched in turmoil, unable to order his thoughts. Finally,
however, Maximilian managed a deep breath.
What should he do?
Carry on, put one foot in front of the other, until the way ahead became clear.
Taking another deep breath, Maximilian finally rose to his feet. Perhaps this Ishbel
Brunelle would have some answers.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Pelemere, Central Kingdoms
The train of carts and horses and riders wound its slow, miserable way toward the city of
Pelemere. Winter had set in and gray sleet drove down over the train, drenching horses and riders
and even those Icarii sheltering inside the canvas-covered carts. Everyone huddled as deep as
they could within cloaks, heads down against the driving rain, hands almost too cold and stiff to
keep grip on reins. Horses plodded forward, heads down, tails plastered to their hind legs, eyes
more than half closed against the rain. Mud splattered up from their hooves, coating their
underbellies and the legs of their riders.
No one noticed the rider emerge from the shadows of a small wood and attach himself to
the rear of the train. Within heartbeats he looked as though he had been there since the train had
set out from Margalit weeks previously, face hidden beneath the hood of a sodden cloak,
shoulders hunched against the cold.
A deputation from Pelemere met the train some four miles out of the city. It wasn”t a very
large deputation, for this was the train only of the possible wife of the rather poor King of
Escator (when Maximilian arrived he would rate a slightly more ostentatious welcome), but it
was a welcome, and Baron Lixel, riding at the head of the train, was pleased to see them.
If nothing else, the deputation meant food and shelter and a warm bed were nigh.
There were a few brief words of welcome, faces from the Pelemere deputation peering
through the gloom to nod at the Lady Ishbel sitting her mare five or s ix riders back, and then
everyone headed as fast as they might for Pelemere. No one wanted to remain outside in this
weather.
The city had almost entirely shut down for the night, but there was one gate left open and
it was through this small, insignificant side gate that the Lady Ishbel Brunelle and her train were
escorted to their residence in the eastern quarter of the city. The house was one which the king,
Sirus, had lent to Ishbel for the coming weeks as a gesture of goodwill toward Maximilian. It
was not particularly large, but it had a covered courtyard, and Ishbel was never so glad of
anything as she was of that sudden relief from the wind and rain when she pulled her mare to a
stop with cold-numbed hands.
A servant from the house hurried forward to help her to the ground, then left her to aid
someone else.
Ishbel stood, alone in the milling activity of the courtyard, wishing only for someone to
escort her to a bath and a bed.
For an instant a gap opened in the crowd of horses and riders, and Ishbel saw a heavily
cloaked man watching her from the far edge of the courtyard.
There was a moment when Ishbel felt that their eyes met, even though his face was
hidden beneath the hood of his cloak, and then a horse moved between them, the moment was
broken, and Ishbel turned away.
Please, please, she thought, let someone lead me away from this cold and misery soon.
Then Baron Lixel was at her side, and a man who Lixel introduced as Fleathand, who
was the steward of the house, and within moments Fleathand was leading her inside, and Ishbel
could finally, gratefully, contemplate some solitude, some warmth, some rest, and, perhaps amid
all that, a little bit of comfort.
Two hours later, fed and bathed and sitting alone in her chamber, Ishbel finally felt as if
she could relax.
But she dared not. Relaxing meant Ishbel might weep with exhaustion and anxiety and
overstrung emotion, and she was not quite ready to give in to tears.
She sat in her chair by the shuttered window, clad in her night robe with an outer wrap
pulled loosely about her, and tried to relax. The past weeks since leaving the Coil had been
taxing; she was constantly on edge, alert for any stray word that might betray her, and the
emotional wrench at her parting from everything she loved and trusted grew worse with each
passing day. Well might Aziel, the Great Serpent, and the entire firmament, for all she cared,
insist that she would return one day, but right at this moment Ishbel could not see that
eventuality. She felt utterly lost and abandoned and, caught in her loneliness and melancholy, she
simply couldn”t believe that she would ever return to her home.
If only she knew why this marriage was so important. If only the Great Serpent would tell
her. It was all very well to argue that this marriage was the only thing that would save her
homeland from devastation, but Ishbel could not see why. It made no sense to her.
Ishbel thought about how she had been loved and valued and cherished by the Coil.
Then she thought about Maximilian, and about her humiliation at his insistence through
StarWeb”s demands.
She sighed, the sound ragged and heartrending. She tipped her head against the headrest
of the chair, closing her eyes, and tried to think about something, anything, happier than her