Text copyright © 2007 by Rachel N. Hatch Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Rachel N. Hatch

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,

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Hatch, Rachel N.

The Code Breaker / by Rachel N. Hatch

Summary: Marin, a child prodigy and master code breaker becomes the center of an international struggle for control of

Mykolia.

Book Three: Houses of the Star

Printed in the USA

First edition, November 2007

H O U S E S O F T H E S T A R

THE CODE BREAKER

Rachel Hatch

ONE 9 TWO 25 THREE 40 FOUR 53 FIVE 69 SIX 84 SEVEN 94 EIGHT 107 NINE 125 TEN 147 ELEVEN 159 TWELVE 170 THIRTEEN 184 FOURTEEN 205 FIFTEEN 225 SIXTEEN 233 SEVENTEEN 251 EIGHTEEN 261 NINETEEN 271 TWENTY 286 TWENTY-ONE 306 TWENTY-TWO 318 TWENTY-THREE 328 TWENTY-FOUR 338 TWENTY-FIVE 351 TWENTY-SIX 368

for Richard

he Rosings kept thirty-four servants, of which Marin Lindrine was certainly not the least.

Each morning at precisely four o’ clock, Elizabeth, who had been employed the longest and whose pay was the envy of all who served the Rosings, went down to the kitchens and warmed her hands around the fire the newly-hired boy had made moments before. After only five minutes before the warming flames, Elizabeth put her hands into the flour bins and began to mix the dough for the bread that would be baked that morning and that would serve the family throughout the day. At five o’ clock, Marin Lindrine heard a sharp knock on her door and the voice of Patrick, Mr. Rosings’ personal valet, calling her to breakfast. After she had washed and dressed, Marin descended to the kitchens where she breakfasted with most of the thirty-three other servants employed at Sandhill Park. Too tired to think of worthwhile conversation, Marin passed her morning meal in silence, as did many of the others. At five o’ clock the Rosings were still in bed. Mr. Rosings rose at six and after bidding a good morning to those that happened to cross his path, descended to the grounds of his tentacular estate to take the morning air. Mr. Rosings was proud of his estate, Sandhill Park, and took pride in ensuring that it was well-run. It had come to him, he had told Marin, when he was only twenty-two, at the untimely death of his mother, whose life had been worn thin after her husband was killed in a riding accident. Mr. Rosings had taken over the estate and renovated the way it was run. The servants, hitherto allowed to rise when they please, and be engaged only when they were called were now tightly leashed to a schedule that had been handed them the very day the Mr.

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Rosings had moved in. But the servants were not the only thing that Mr. Rosings brought into line. The gardens, as neatly trim as the suits Mr. Rosings had made for him, were carefully manicured by a staff of seven gardeners, who each had their own specific duties and staff. The trees were tall and majestic, healthy from the swift sea air that blew north over the country from the South Sea only miles from the estate. The flowers that grew alongside the stately paths were not the kind that one would place behind the ear of his beloved; these were flowers grown for a purpose: they ornamented the paths, and that was all. At seven o’ clock Mr. Rosings returned from his morning promenade to find his wife and daughter Estella dressed and primly seated at the oak table in the dining hall. After chatting lightly over toast and coconut milk, Mr. Rosings clapped a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, dropped a kiss on Mrs. Rosings’ lips and hurried to his study, hardly hearing her tell him to have a good day. Mr. Rosings was the first of the Rosings family Marin had met. She had only been seven at the time, but she still remembered the way that he had grasped her hand when they had met, giving her something other than fear to think about. Even now, the terror of losing both her parents was fresh in her mind, and only the thought of the full day of work that lay before her pulled her from lapsing into a melancholy stupor. Mr. Rosings had offered her and her sister a place at Sandhill Park, and the woman that had given them a room for the previous week quickly and eagerly surrendered the two girls over to his care. Marin and her twin sister Robin were transported that night by carriage away from the ocean-side town. Mr. Rosings himself had held the trembling Marin in his arms, wrapped in a blanket, while Robin dreamed peacefully at their side. Marin had never forgotten that day, and relived the scene of her “rescue” over often in her mind.

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Mr. Rosings had employed Estella’s tutor to continue Marin’s education. Marin was a bright girl and learned quickly enough to astound her tutor and all those that were told of her progress. It was discovered that she was gifted for languages. Because her mother had been from Northern Mykolia, Marin had spoken Mykolian at home, and with a little guidance on the part of Mr. Batten, Marin quickly gained a native command of the language, making her the envy of most adults. Once she had perfected her Riventalese spelling, she was put to work at the desk of her beloved Mr. Rosings himself, translating important documents and dictating letters when Mr. Rosings was too busy to pen them in his own hand. After several years, she had proven herself prodigious in her ability to learn, and her progress was promising enough that Mr. Rosings invested in it; he hired the best language teachers to come to Sandhill to teach Marin. Now, at seventeen, Marin spoke Alikan without an accent and was studying Felsen and Quinian intently. But this was not the real reason Marin was so invaluable to Mr. Rosings. Marin had never been invited to dine with the Rosings at dinner, nor was she ever considered a member of the family, but she did enjoy certain privileges that the other servants in the house could only covet. She had her own room, a small apartment on the second story that was cleaned every second Friday by a maid named Maurice. She had her dresses made for her by the same tailor that came every month to measure the Rosings women for their clothing, and although the product that she received was never as expensive, as beautiful or even as well made as those that fell into the hands of her masters, Marin was content. She was well-dressed, well-fed and well-cared for. Robin, her twin, was given the same care as Marin, but only because Marin had demanded it. Mrs. Rosings had looked disapproving when the seven-year old Marin

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had demanded that first night to know where her sister was being kept. When she was told that the girl had been bundled off to the servants’ quarters, Marin had made one of her rare fusses, and her twin had been relocated to a small bedroom just across the hall from Marin’s own room. In general, Mrs. Rosings approved neither of Marin nor of her influence over Mr. Rosings. But as Marin was one of Mr. Rosings’ major interests, there was nothing that she could do about either problem. Mrs. Rosings was not as tall as her husband, but she held a certain presence of her own that made a mark on every social circle upon which she inflicted her company. Her long auburn hair was always piled in severe curls on her head, and her dresses were quite simply the envy of every lady within fifty miles of Sandhill. She had transferred much of her looks to her daughter, who had the same bright green eyes and round cheeks. Estelle was quiet and tall for sixteen. Marin was built very differently from the Rosings. Mr. Rosings was tall with dark hair. His dark complexion set off his starched which shirts very nicely, and his neatly trimmed black moustache made him look just as severe as his wife. Marin was a dark brunette whose locks were straight and fell half-way down her back. She had clear blue eyes and olive skin. She was light and thin while Mrs. Rosings and Estelle were, while not plump, certainly a great deal more solid than Marin. Spring had come early that year. It was barely March the last time Marin had donned her winter coat and the flowers had long since started to dot the borders of the stretches of lawn that quilted the Rosings’ Estate. Not that Marin had much time to admire their blossoms; she spent much of her day indoors. “I missed you at breakfast.” Marin turned to see Caron, her friend of five years at least winking at her from behind the silver tray that she carried. Caron worked mainly in the kitchen; just now she

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was on her way to the Rosings dining room, where she would bestow tea and cocoa upon the hungry recipients upstairs. “I wasn’t hungry,” Marin said with a shrug. This wasn’t true; she had been tired and wanted to enjoy a few extra moments in bed. “Where’s Robin? She wasn’t in her room.” “Robin’s been sent to South Fork,” Caron said, whipping her head so that her blond braid fell back in place behind her. “She was talking about it at breakfast. If you had been there you would know.” Marin frowned. “I don’t like it when they send her on trips like that.” “She’s fast on a horse,” Caron said. “She gets the messages there in good time.” “I’ve told Mr. Rosings that it’s dangerous.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Caron said scornfully. “It’s not dangerous.” “It is dangerous,” Marin said crossly. “I think you’re just jealous,” Caron said confidently. “Anyway, I don’t want to be late. See you around.” Marin said nothing as her friend waltzed up the stairs without so much as a backward glance. Marin shook her head. Robin was certainly more athletic than Marin; a fact that had caused Marin several moments of pause, especially when their abilities were compared by spectators. Marin had to catch her breath after mounting the stairs too quickly, while Robin could ride a horse, wield a sword and run as fast as any boy her age. Robin was encouraged in her abilities, and Mr. Rosings had told her time and time again that acting as courier was good for her. But Marin knew that the reason Robin was sent was not purely to give her an opportunity to breathe the fresh air. Robin delivered important messages to important people of Mr. Rosings’ acquaintance both in Rivental and across the Mykolian border.

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The truth was, Marin was worried. For several years now tension had grown between Rivental and the great land mass to the north: Mykolia. Mykolia was exactly the opposite of everything that Rivental was. Rivental was small; its rolling hills were covered with rainforests, sandy banks and hundreds of towns. The richest estates were near the borders, but throughout Rivental the standard of living was high; the standard of civilization just as rich as that of Quinier, a country even older than Rivental, already well-established in government. Mykolia, on the other hand, was a rough, raw country. Its forested plains were quite empty of any indications of life. Only at its northernmost shore was there any real large city. Kenyon was rumored to be as large a city as Julon, the capital of Rivental, but from the little she had seen and heard about the country, Marin had some difficulty believing it. Rivental had a king. King Philip lived in the spired palace in Julon. His son Prince Martin was heir apparent, and was known to be traveling at the head of the Rivental forces, keeping the borders free of disturbances. Mykolia had a king as well, but King Castillo was not a member of any royal house; he had been chosen by the Counsel of Governors to serve as ruler of Mykolia. There were few to rule even though Mykolia was large. The word throughout the noblesse was that it was time that Mykolia be colonized. Many countries already had taken their share of the lands. Kieran had claimed many of the eastern lands and Kendir on the west had taken others. Rivental saw its role, not as that of conqueror, but as that of cultivator. Rivental was just as eager as Kieran and Kendir to have a part in the settling of Mykolia, but they intended to do it in a way that would be the admiration of the known world. The only problem with this approach was that the Mykolians did not like it. The Mykolians had rebelled when Kieran had come

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and had planted colonies in Rousse and other provinces that bordered their own lands. Their rebellion was weak, however: unorganized and half-hearted. Kendir too was met with opposition, but it had been an opposition expressed only vocally, and the Kendir colonists hadn’t minded covering their ears. Now Mykolia’s southern border was the only land border that remained unmolested and the one that had attracted Rivental’s eye. Many doubted whether Mykolia’s integrity as a country could withstand one more invasion. Many said that if the southern border were crossed, Mykolia would cease to exist. Mr. Rosings was somehow all tied up in this business of conquering. He often was visited by important looking men dressed in dark suits that came from the king of Rivental or from other courts. He often sent and received important encoded messages that Robin was sent to recover and deliver. Marin feared that this task was a dangerous one and that one day, her sister may not return. Then she would be completely alone. “Marin.” Marin turned. Patrick was there behind her, touching his hat and waiting for her full attention. “What is it?” Marin asked, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Mr. Rosings wishes to see you,” he said, his rough brown moustache sweeping back and forth as he spoke. His dark eyes blinked once and then he cocked his head in a way that made him look like an impatient robin, waiting for a worm to immerge from the ground. “Now?” Marin asked. Mr. Rosings rarely wanted to see her in the morning. “Yes, now,” Patrick said with a nod. He touched his had again. “Good day, Marin.” “Good day,” Marin said, her mind mulling over why Mr. Rosings would have called her to his office at such an early hour. Certainly the Rosings would not have finished

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breakfast. She would have to pass before the family, something that she did not really like to do. Marin thought often about her own family, tried to remember their faces and then sighed as she realized the impossibility of the task. She had lost them far too long ago. Even the concept of family was something foreign. Family had long since ceased to mean something that cared for you; it now meant something that you had to care for. She could not remember her mother’s gestures that must have been gentle as she dressed her as a very small child, but surely they were very different from Mrs. Rosings harsh glances that seemed to lay Marin’s heart naked every time she was under them. Marin sighed and began the walk toward the family’s apartments. One would have thought that the pillars holding the arched ceiling up above were made from the same trees that lined the walks in the garden. The architecture was hundreds of years old. The manor had been designed by the same engineer that had taken upon himself the planning of the king’s palace in Julon. The windows were vaulted and the glass in them cut so as to make it impossible to see the world outside even when standing with one’s nose pressed to them. The sharp angles in the glass distorted the picture; only colored light blinked out from the windows, adding a brighter glow to the lantern-lit hallways that snaked through the building. Marin’s slippers shuffled softly on the polished marble tile that lined the hallways. There were other feet that were adding the clicking of their shoes and boots to the muffled noise that was always present in the corridors. Marin put her hand on the banister, and took the dark wood stairs up two flights until she came to the floor where the family lived. She stepped out onto the carpet, and then looked behind her to see how deeply her feet had sunk into the red mass. The lanterns here were made of shiny crystal, which

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refracted the light of the candles and sent flecks of flame shooting around the room. Marin liked watching them move as she walked; she always felt as though she were in a house where the very building and its ornaments were alive. Marin stopped once she reached the door to Mr. Rosings’ office. A man stood at the door holding a dark bag. He wore a monocle, which made Marin smile internally. She did not know who the man was, and she was too shy to say anything, so the two observed each other in silence for several moments. “May I help you?” the gentleman asked, taking the monocle from his eye and polishing it on the lapel of his suit. Marin saw that there was a small scar above his left eyebrow. “I’m looking for Mr. Rosings,” she said. “Excuse me.” “Mr. Rosings is not here,” the man said, replacing his eyepiece. “I too am waiting for his arrival.” Marin nodded once and looked down. For some reason, she felt uncomfortable under his gaze. “Oh, there you are!” Marin turned to see Caron coming toward her. Her tray was empty now. “Mr. Rosings is in the dining room,” Caron said, eyeing the stranger for a fraction of a second. “He would like you to go and see him there.” Marin nodded. “Goodbye,” she said to the man. The man nodded once, and folded his arms. Marin turned and walked further down the hall. Marin was bowed into the dining room, a large room painted in pale green and hanging with several floating pieces of white material and lace. The table was made of dark cherry wood, and the chairs were upholstered with thick white fabric whose fibers came off on ones hands when rubbed too hard. The light waltzed into the room and bathed the diners with a soft heavenly light.

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“Mr. Rosings,” Marin said quietly. “I’m here.” “Ah!” Mr. Rosings said, setting down his fork and pressing his napkin to his lips. “So you are.” Mrs. Rosings looked up from her plate and fixed Marin with a look. She clearly wanted to say something, but could not decide what. Estella continued eating as though there had been no interruption. Mr. Rosings stood. “You haven’t even finished breakfast, darling,” Mrs. Rosings said in protest, having found her voice at last. She matched the room perfectly, her dress exactly the same shade as the wallpaper behind her. “I have finished,” Mr. Rosings said, placing his napkin in his chair. “I am going to talk to Marin now.” “Mr. Evanston is coming from the village today,” Mrs. Rosings protested again. “I thought that perhaps you would talk to him about the farming agreement that has been in place for some time and that –” “Mr. Evanston can wait until later in the afternoon,” Mr. Rosings interrupted curtly. “Good day, Madam.” Mrs. Rosings looked very put out as Mr. Rosings motioned Marin toward the door behind him. Marin quickly walked toward the door, eager to get out from under Mrs. Rosings’ burning glance. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Marin said, once the two had been closed into the small room. “If I had known you were eating, I would have –” “Nonsense,” Mr. Rosings cut her off. “I called you here. I wanted to see you, and I wanted to see you right now.” Marin nodded once and took the chair that Mr. Rosings extended her. “I want to know,” Mr. Rosings said, taking a cigar from his pocket, “whether you are happy here.” Marin was surprised. This was the last question that she would ever have said would have come from Mr. Rosings’ lips. He took good care of her, that was for sure,

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but he had never taken any interest in what she thought of what he gave her. He gave and she was expected to receive. “I don’t need anything, sir,” Marin said, still not certain as to what he might really be asking. “I did not ask you whether you needed anything,” Mr. Rosings said with a hard stare. “I asked you whether you are happy.” Marin was still perplexed. She tried to think of a satisfactory answer, but was not able to do it before Mr. Rosings lost some of his patience. “Yes or no,” he said stiffly. “Yes or no.” “Yes,” Marin said quickly. Mr. Rosings took a long puff on his cigar and blew a ring toward the ceiling. Marin watched the smoke rise. “Caron tells me that you were not pleased that I sent Robin to South Fork.” Marin was surprised again. She had not expected Caron to repeat her words. She was sure that her friend would have had more discretion. “No need to look so puzzled,” Mr. Rosings said. “I asked Caron if you were happy and I was told what you said. Now, you’re a bright girl, capable of following instructions. I want you to answer my questions when I ask them, is that clear? No hesitations. I want you to tell me the truth.” “Yes, sir,” Marin said quietly. “Now, why are you not pleased with Robin’s errand?” “I’m afraid for her,” Marin said, feeling slightly foolish as she spoke. “I don’t want her to get hurt.” “Your sister is perfectly safe,” Mr. Rosings said confidently. “I know precisely where she is going and what she is doing. She can outrun anyone that tries to come after her. She is in no danger, do you understand me?” “Yes, sir,” Marin said quickly, although she didn’t.

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Mr. Rosings gave her a look and then nodded. “Robin’s safety concerns you. I understand that. Is there anything else that does not make you happy here?” Marin frowned. “I told you to answer me at once,” Mr. Rosings reminded her. Marin swallowed. “There isn’t anything, sir.” “You have the comforts that you wish? Is there anything that you would desire?” Several thoughts sprang immediately to Marin’s mind, but she shook her head. “Nothing, sir.” There was no need for him to think her weaker than she was because she wanted more comforts. She was well taken care of. That was all that she needed. Mr. Rosings paused. “You haven’t told anyone that you want to leave, have you?” Marin was stunned. “Leave?” “Has anyone here talked to you about leaving?” Mr. Rosings asked, his dark eyes penetrating. Marin shook her head, startled at his grave demeanor. Mr. Rosings gave her a long look and then nodded again. “Very well.” He stood. “That is all I need to know.” Marin looked up at him. “Will that be all then, sir?” “No,” Mr. Rosings said. “You will come with me.” Mr. Rosings led Marin into another adjoining room, one that Marin knew very well. This was Mr. Rosings office, a room where Marin spent many hours each week. “Sit,” Mr. Rosings ordered. He went to the door, and opened it. “Mr. Herring, come in.” Marin saw the tall man with the monocle enter the room. He cast a glance at Marin, raised his eyebrows and then came toward her. Marin stood and shook the hand he extended. “This is Marin Lindrine,” Mr. Rosings said. “Very pleased to meet you,” said the man.

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“This is Mr. Herring, Marin,” Mr. Rosings said. “He has come because he has heard about you and wanted to see your talents.” Marin nodded slowly, and managed a small smile. Mr. Herring noticed her smile and gave her a slightly oily one in return. Marin diverted her eyes from those of Mr. Herring which had suddenly become mocking. “Marin was brought here several years ago, and has since done much to help me,” Mr. Rosings said. “Yes,” said Mr. Herring. “Her abilities greatly interest the court. I am very eager to see the girl in action.” Marin felt very uncomfortable with this man standing next to her. She took several steps backwards, and sat down in the chair at the desk toward which Mr. Rosings was motioning her. Fame? Marin’s heart was pounding hard in her chest. She was famous? How could that be? “You say that she works quickly? This is very important to his Majesty.” Marin’s heart leaped. She felt like she was in a world that she suddenly knew nothing about. What were the men talking about? How could it be that her name had become famous enough that even the king could have heard about her? “Here, Marin,” Mr. Rosings said, putting a paper before her and a pen. “Take down these letters.” Marin, still trembling with confusion swallowed and wrote the letters as they fell from Mr. Rosings’ mouth. “U – Y – L – L – M – A – L – S – Y – C – E – L –S – Y – Y – L – F – J – Y – Q – C,” Mr. Rosings said slowly and deliberately, reading from a piece of paper in his hand. Marin wrote the letters and then looked up at Mr. Rosings questioningly. “Do as you always do,” Mr. Rosings said, placing a warm hand on Marin’s shoulder. “Break the code.” Marin, eager to please Mr. Rosings, turned back to

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the sheet of paper and began immediately to write. She wrote more letters, crossed them out, substituted letters, thought a moment and then after just two minutes had passed, she turned around “It doesn’t make any sense,” Marin said. “It’s not like any of the others.” “What does it say, Marin?” Mr. Rosings insisted. “It’s a simple letter substitution. ‘Green bears wear red hats,’” Marin said, puzzlement in her voice. “It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the only thing that works.” Mr. Herring gave her a smile that Marin did not return. “Very good,” he said. “You do work quickly.” Marin again diverted her eyes. “Well done,” Mr. Rosings said without looking at her. “Very well,” said Mr. Herring brusquely. “We’ll take her.” Marin gave a start. Take her? What could that mean? Mr. Rosings did not look disturbed. “Take her?” he repeated almost coolly. “Yes,” the man said. “This girl can be of obvious help to his Majesty.” “She is being help where she is,” Mr. Rosings said. “The king will take good care of her,” Mr. Herring pressed on. He looked down at Marin and ran his hand through her hair. Marin shivered and pulled away. “Don’t touch her,” Mr. Rosings said quietly. “She belongs to the king,” said Mr. Herring. “He wishes to have her, and there is nothing that you can do to refuse what he wants. You will, of course, be well repaid for your contribution to the well-being of the country.” He was trying to buy her! “To Rivental, you mean,” Mr. Rosings said with a slight curl of his lip.

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“I will take the girl with me this afternoon when I leave. Pack clothes for her, and enough for her to eat for the journey to Julon,” ordered Mr. Herring. “No!” Marin said, not smothering her outcry in time for the two men to look at her. “What is it, Marin?” Mr. Rosings asked calmly. “I don’t want to go,” said Marin. “It doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Herring. “I won’t leave Robin,” Marin said, her throat tight with emotion. “Who the devil is Robin?” Mr. Herring asked with a disdaining smile. “Her sister,” Mr. Rosings answered shortly. “I won’t go,” Marin said, standing. She wanted at that moment more than anything to rush into the arms of Mr. Rosings. She wanted him to protect her from this monster of a man that had come to take her away from the place she had learned to call home. “I won’t surrender her unless she wishes to leave,” Mr. Rosings said. “I brought her here and nourished her mind and body for more years than the king has power to recompense. She belongs to me as much as though she were my own daughter. I will not give her up unless she desires to go.” “I don’t want to!” Marin exclaimed. “She will go,” Mr. Herring said, his voice growing angry. “If you do not let me take her, the king will have her by force. He’ll destroy Sandhill to get at her, Rosings. You know that he will not hesitate to destroy your house and even your family if he has to in order to get at her.” “Your threats have been heard,” Mr. Rosings said, now stern. “Now you have fulfilled your mission. How you learned of her, I do not know. Once I learned that she would be in danger if her identity were discovered, I have done all I could to keep her safe here. Now am I only to learn that the king wishes to take her as he has no right to do?”

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“No right?” Mr. Herring snorted. “You think that he has no right to have what he wishes? He will have her. You know that. Don’t do harm to yourself or your reputation, Rosings.” “He would not treat her as he ought,” Mr. Rosings said. “And how do you think that he ought to treat a Mykolian brat?” Mr. Herring scoffed. “He would not know how to be decent,” said Mr. Rosings. “That’s why I will do what I can to keep her out of his hands.” “She’s Mykolian!” Mr. Herring practically screeched. “She is a prisoner of the conflict; there is no decency that has to be paid a Mykolian!” “That will do,” Mr. Rosings said. “You will leave now. If you don’t, you will find that you are in the minority here. The king’s guards aren’t here to protect you. You are in my world here. You must do as I wish.” Mr. Herring jammed his hat on his head and put his monocle back into his eye socket. “Be careful, Rosings,” said the man in a silky voice. “You are treading dangerous waters.” “Get out,” said Mr. Rosings with finality in his voice. Mr. Herring shrugged, gave a mock bow and then left the room in a rush.

arin and Mr. Rosings said nothing to one another for several minutes. A stale silence hung in the air.

Marin’s mind was racing. Mr. Rosings was thinking. At last Marin cried: “Is it true that just because I’m Mykolian –” “Silence!” Mr. Rosings interrupted violently. “You will not repeat what you heard here today to anyone, is that clear?” “Yes, sir,” she said automatically. Her mind, however, was elsewhere. She was breathing hard, the blood racing hot through her veins. She did not want trouble! She hoped that Mr. Rosings would not – was it possible that it could happen? – be harmed because of her. She wanted to thank him for what he had just done for her, but the words to all this were lost somewhere in the back of her throat. She settled for a small cry, and Mr. Rosings looked down at her. “Get up,” he said, laying a hand on her arm. Marin rose slowly to her feet. “There is nothing to worry about,” Mr. Rosings said. “You are safe here.” Marin was not comforted by these words. “Please, sir,” she said almost desperately. “Why did he want to take me to the king? I don’t understand. And why would the king have heard of me?” Mr. Rosings gave a long sigh. “Someone told him about you, Marin.” Marin stopped. “Why?” “Because of what you can do,” Mr. Rosings said, wiping a hand across his brow. “I don’t know how the king found out about you but I am surprised, in fact, that this was the first time something like this has happened. I was afraid of this all along, you know.”

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Something at last fell into place in Marin’s mind. She thought back though the long years that she had spent at Sandhill and for the first time realized why she had never been allowed outdoors without someone there with her. She had been kept mainly indoors, where Mr. Rosings could keep an eye on her. He must have known all this time that someday someone would come to take her away. Luckily he had had the power to protect her when the time had come. If Marin had met Mr. Herring by chance and he had known who she was, she might have had no one to prevent the man from carrying her away to Julon to work in the palace of the king. “I don’t understand,” Marin said slowly. “What don’t you understand?” Mr. Rosings asked wearily. “I don’t understand why the king wants me to go to the palace,” Marin said. “The king is not the only one who would be interested in you. There are many, many people that would do many, many horrible things in order to get to you, Marin,” Mr. Rosings said. “They would not even take the time to ask my permission before they took you away.” Marin was quiet. “It’s a great thing that you do, Marin,” said Mr. Rosings somberly. “You would be a dangerous weapon in the hands of any army, of any king. The fact that you are Mykolian doesn’t help matters. People think it gives them the right to do whatever they want to you.” Marin was quiet and still. She didn’t like thinking about the fact that she was Mykolian. It was something that had been mentioned to her when she was very young and then kept hushed up, like something embarrassing or something shameful. Marin never thought about the fact that her parents had come from Mykolia because it made her feel base and stupid. Mr. Rosings pulled his pocket watch from his pocket

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and glanced at it. “I have a meeting with my wife and a certain Mr. Evanston in just a few minutes. But first, I have something for you.” Marin waited while Mr. Rosings pulled an envelope out of his lapel pocket. “This is something that was recovered just a few miles south of here. I suspect that it was a message dealing with the war.” Marin took the envelope. It was dirty and tattered. The parchment inside was visible through small tears in the envelope’s side. “Take as much time as you need,” said Mr. Rosings, waving a hand toward the desk where Marin was used to working. “There is no rush. Alert Patrick should you want something to eat.” Marin nodded and went to the desk. Mr. Rosings hesitated and then said: “I am going to the village later this afternoon. Is there something that I can get for you while I am there?” Marin was surprised. Mr. Rosings had never asked her something like that before. “There is nothing at all that you want?” “Yes,” Marin said suddenly, clutching the envelope. “What is it, my dear?” Mr. Rosings asked gently. Marin’s heart almost melted. Mr. Rosings had never called her “my dear” before. In fact, she had never before heard those words escape his lips when speaking to anyone. “I would like to go with you,” Marin said. Mr. Rosings smiled. “Very well. Be ready to go at three this afternoon. I leave on the hour.” Marin nodded and watched Mr. Rosings give her a slight bow of the head and then leave, closing the door behind him. Once Marin was alone in the office, she wasted little time getting to work. She went to the desk and sat down, lighting the little lamp that sat on the smooth surface of the wooden desk before her. She opened the envelope and

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spread the contents out before her. It was a message, written in characters completely unknown to Marin. She frowned and spread the paper flat, smoothing the creases under her fingers. It was, of course, written in code. Marin wet her lips with her tongue, picked up the pen, dipped it in the well before her, and began to write, intermittently jotting down thoughts that came in the form of characters and numbers. Her eyes were the only indication of the whir of thought happening inside of her head. Most of the time, she was completely still, letting the processes in her head work out the puzzles, the tricks and the turns hidden in the message before her. Marin had been deciphering messages like this for years. She found pleasure in coaxing the messages she was given to exhibit their secrets before her, and she took great care in separating the meaning from the words that she decoded. Sometimes the task took her hours, sometimes it took her just a few minutes, depending on the complexity of the code. Over the years she had seen almost every kind of code that had ever been invented. She needed only to glance at a message to tell what sort of code it was, and give a reasonable estimate of how long it would take her to crack. The training that Mr. Rosings gave her in languages ensured that Marin was no slower in deciphering letters written in Quinian, in Alikan, Kieran or in any other language that she knew. She often used Mr. Rosings’ large dictionary on the shelf in the corner when she came across words or expressions that were unfamiliar to her, and the dust that puffed in her face as she turned the pages was like a muse of wisdom that whispered the answers to her questions and led to the unveiling of the message. There were some codes that Marin had to break using a great deal of arithmetic operations. But Marin had no trouble there either. She was able to calculate extravagant sums and products in her head without the

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use of scratch paper, much to the delight of Mr. Rosings. He often caught her in the hall and threw problems out at her of his own making, of real importance to him or simply to “keep her mind sharp.” The answer always fell from her lips a second after the problem was given; she could perform the operations with breath-taking speed. In fact, when the codes that she encountered required a good knowledge of numbers, Marin was most at ease. Marin’s pen flew across the paper, as she discovered the meaning of the first line in the letter. She wrote what she had discovered and then sat back, her hand to her chin, thinking. People knew about what she could do. They knew about what she could do with numbers. They knew that she could break codes. People wanted her to do that for them. The king wanted her to do that for him. Marin thought some more. What would be so bad about going and living with the king, after all? If she could take Robin with her, and if she was sure that the two of them would be well-looked after, would it not be a great adventure to go live with the ruler of Rivental? But then she remembered the jeering of Mr. Herring and stopped. Mr. Rosings had said that the king would not treat her “decently.” What did that mean? What could the king do to her? What would he do? Marin shook her head and went back to her work. There was still much more to be deciphered, and she wanted to have the code broken by the time Mr. Rosings was ready to go into town.

Sandhill Park was nestled between two hills, one to the north and another to the east, neither of which was sandy. The road led down from the door of the manor and lost itself in the rigid rows of trees planted to allow travelers welcoming shade from the Riventalese sun as they

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entered the Rosings’ estate. Once one had reached the end of the pebble-littered road, the open countryside stretched out in endless array of well-cultivated fields and small farms. Over the rise on the west one could see the roofs of the tallest buildings in the village out in the distance. The shingles on the roofs reflected the light from the sun. The road to the village was windy, and rickety fences lined both sides of it, separating the common road from the fields, many of which belonged to the Rosings, others of which were owned by prominent members of Hullberry, the village that lived in Sandhill’s shadow. Once in Hullberry, there was little to see: the shops and homes rose up on the right and on the left all along the main thoroughfare, all bustling with voices and hurried feet. When Mr. Rosings and Marin left for Hullberry that afternoon, the sky overhead was a coral blue. Marin shielded her eyes with her hand until the carriage plunged its way forward, dowsing the sun from view as the verdant trees took their guard of the path. She smoothed her dress uncertainly. She had been to the village only a handful of times in her life but she enjoyed the noise and the voices and the feast that the shops offered her eyes. Marin cast a furtive glance at Mr. Rosings. He sat motionless, staring straight in front of him at the back of the buggy driver. Marin felt the small piece of silver that he had slipped into her hand just before they had left Sandyhill. He knew that she liked the shops. She realized that her hand was sweating around the piece. Not wanting her hand to smell like metal, pulled her hand from her pocket and wiped the moisture from her palms on the lap of her dress. Marin could not keep her eyes from the street as they rolled into town. The sight was even more marvelous than Marin had ever remembered it to be. Children were running and playing in the street, young women were

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walking together, baskets on their arms, apparently doing shopping for their families, and the boys were skulking in the shade, their brown faces dripping with sweat. Horses were trotting in every direction and the sun was beating down on the entire scene. As they passed the center of town, which turned around a stone pedestal upon which speeches were given, public displays made and criminals were executed, Marin’s gaze rested on a young man reading on its steps. His dark hair blew in the breeze, and he looked up only when the noise of the playing of the children around him crescendoed to an intolerable level. The chaos gave Marin a strange feeling in her stomach, but it was a feeling of excitement that she enjoyed rather than feared. “You will stay with me,” Mr. Rosings ordered, as the two descended from the buggy. Mr. Rosings offered Marin his hand and she lifted her skirts with the other and jumped to the ground. “I have to pay a visit to Mr. Golden,” Mr. Rosings said, removing his cane from the floor of the buggy. He used the cane only for show; he had no physical condition that cumbered his walking. “Who’s Mr. Golden?” Marin asked, straightening her skirts and scurrying to catch up with Mr. Rosings who had started trotting briskly down the sidewalk. “Mr. Golden is a long time acquaintance of mine,” Mr. Rosings said over his shoulder. “I have often asked him for favors, and he has willingly obliged. I have need to ask a favor of him now.” Marin’s head was turned by the joyous colorful displays in the candy shop window that caught the corner of her eye as they swept by on the walk. She stopped for a moment, pressed her nose against the glass and enjoyed the cloud her breath made on the cold pane. Then, remembering that she had had strict orders to stay with Mr. Rosings, pulled herself away from the sugary confections and continued on down the sidewalk with her

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guardian. “This way,” Mr. Rosings said turning abruptly into a recessed alley and pushing open a creaky door with his hand. Marin looked around her in distaste at the dirt and refuse that littered the alleyway and quickly followed Mr. Rosings inside the small entry way. A stairwell immediately presented itself to view, and Marin followed Mr. Rosings up it, taking care not to soil her gloves on the grimy grey banister that spiraled upward. There was a dingy sort of light coming in through the window panes outside, although the windows were so dirty Marin could see nothing of the lively scene she knew to be playing out in the street below. Marin wanted to ask what they were doing in a place so incongruous with Mr. Rosings fresh black suits and Marin’s pressed dress when Mr. Rosings stopped and knocked smartly on the door before him. They were let inside by a woman with brown hair twisted into an untidy bun and a worn face. “Good afternoon, Cecile,” Mr. Rosings said, removing his black hat. “Good afternoon,” the woman replied, looking at Marin instead. “Good afternoon,” Marin said, looking down uncomfortably under the woman’s gaze. “This is Marin Lindrine,” Mr. Rosings, said, waving a gloved hand in Marin’s direction. “I have come because I wish to speak to your husband.” The woman, who was apparently Mrs. Golden, motioned to the silent apartment behind her and shrugged. “Mr. Golden is not here,” said the woman through her paperish lips. “He is out.” Marin looked behind the woman and took in the grayish tint of the furnishings in the room. Marin was astounded to see that they were old and even musty. She had never been inside a house like this before. The room testified of a certain misery. The more Marin took it in, the

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more sinister the cobwebs hanging on the old lanterns on the walls looked. Marin turned away and found the woman staring at her once more. She diverted her eyes, her cheeks red in shame. “I see,” said Mr. Rosings, pulling something from his lapel pocket. “Then will you be so kind as to give him this?” The woman took the envelope that Mr. Rosings extended to her, and without even looking at it said: “Mr. Golden is very busy these days. The shop takes up all his time and –” “Yes, very well,” Mr. Rosings said, cutting the woman off rather rudely. “Tell your husband that the matter is urgent. There is payment there included with the specifications of the job. I assume that it should be more than enough for the favor.” Mrs. Golden sucked in a deep breath of air, as though humiliated but unable to protest. “Come along, Marin. Good day to you,” Mr. Rosings took Marin’s arm with his immaculate gloved hand and steered her towards the door. He touched his hat and said toward the door that closed behind them: “Remind Mr. Golden of the important nature of the business. The sooner it is taken care of, the more pleased I will be.” The door closed sharply behind them. Coming back into the busy street was like descending from winter back into summer. The liveliness of those running in the street came like a refreshing breath of life to Marin’s face. She sucked in a deep breath of air and smiled. “Where to?” Mr. Rosings asked. Marin smiled wider. There was no end to the places that she would like to go. She thought a moment and then looked up at Mr. Rosings. “The candy shop,” she said at once. “Very well,” said Mr. Rosings. “Come along, then.”

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All the way home Marin could not keep from emitting sighs of contentment at regular intervals. Mr. Rosings did not seem to be bothered by them, however, and kept his mind on the driving. Marin looked down in her lap at the large paper sack full of candy that her piece of silver had managed to buy her. The air was still fresh and the thought of the blissful hours yet to come relaxing alone in her room with the bag of sweets was almost more than she could bear. The world was good; she could hardly imagine that anywhere in it there might be someone suffering, even in the slightest degree. “Hey, there!” Marin wrenched herself around in her seat and looked back to the voice that had called. It was Robin, on horseback, galloping up quickly to the side of the buggy. “Mr. Rosings,” Robin said, touching her hand to her cap in a rather masculine way. “Hello there, Marin!” “How was your trip?” Marin burst out. “Were you safe?” “Of course,” said Robin with a dismissive laugh. “I was fine.” “How did you find the masters of Silver Fork?” Mr. Rosings asked, shielding his eyes from the hot sun as he spoke. “Very well,” said Robin with a nod. “They thanked me for the message and said that they will send a reply as soon as they know how the situation will unfold.” “Thank you, Robin,” said Mr. Rosings. “You made good time, as usual.” Robin smiled confidently and Marin noticed her curl her fingers proudly around the reins. Robin was an able rider, always Mr. Rosings’ first choice as courier, because of her speed. She had been given her own horse when she had turned fifteen and spent much of her time in the

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stables with the sturdy animal, which she had named King. The horse lived up to its name, for not only did he carry Robin on her important journeys, but he also received the most royal treatment a horse could ask for. Robin could often be found in the stables rubbing down King’s silky coat with a corncob, patting his neck and talking to him. Marin gave Robin’s clothes another glance. She couldn’t have been dressed differently from her sister. Robin wore a pair of dark riding pants and a smart forest green jacket, which made Marin’s dress seem all the more feminine in contrast. But it was not only for this mission that she was dressed in this manner; Robin preferred pants to dresses, and Marin’s imitation of the Rosings’ immaculate style was often the subject of Robin’s persistent teasing. “I’m going to ride on ahead then, if that’s agreeable,” Robin said to Mr. Rosings’ touching her rider’s cap again. Mr. Rosings nodded. “Thank you.” Robin waved to the buggy’s passengers and King pranced on ahead, Robin’s body lolling up and down with the rhythm of King’s hooves. “Good rider, your sister,” said Mr. Rosings mildly after Robin had ridden out of sight. “Between the two of you, communication from Sandhill simply could not be faster. You’re good girls, both of you.” Marin looked up the road to where her sister had disappeared. As much as she looked up to Mr. Rosings, she couldn’t help but wonder if he cared enough about her sister to make sure that the errands he sent her on were safe. She wondered yet again if someday Robin might leave on a journey and never come back.

The next morning, Marin woke at the usual time. The first inklings of dawn were beginning to creep up over the

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horizon of trees, but Marin still felt as though she were asleep and could sleep for hours. It was time to get up, though, and she waited in bed patiently until she heard the usual rap on the door and the voice calling to wake her. But the call was not Patrick’s usual deep voice that woke her every other morning. It was the high-pitched voice of a young page. “I’m up,” she called back, as she usually did, pushing the blankets aside and getting to her feet. She went to the door, opened it and peeked out. There was no one there. Odd, she thought, going to the old wardrobe in the corner and pulling on her clothes. After a quick run of the brush through her hair, Marin pulled her locks into a thick ponytail and left her room, thinking no more of the incident. As she walked past Robin’s door, Marin noted the lack of movement and guessed that her sister was not yet awake. She cautiously opened the door and peeked in. In the shadows she could make out the sleeping form of a body. Marin entered the room approached the bed. She lit a candle and set it down on the nightstand. After a moment Robin’s dark eyes fluttered open. “Is it morning already?” “Didn’t the page wake you?” Marin said. “Page?” Robin said sleepily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She pushed her hair over her shoulder. “What do you mean?” “There was a page that knocked on my door this morning,” Marin said. “It wasn’t Patrick. Maybe the page didn’t know that he was supposed to wake you too.” “Maybe,” said Robin, going to her own chest of drawers and digging out a simple outfit. “Let’s see,” she said in a pretentious voice, holding up a couple of shirts. “Shall I take the Quinian cut collar or the Felsen lace? Both are so fashionable.”

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“Oh, stop it,” said Marin, who understood that Robin was making fun of her. “Hurry up; I’m hungry.” Robin pulled on her clothes, the grin remaining on her face until they had made their way to the bottom of the stairs and arrived in the kitchen. “Robin! Marin! There you are!” Marin and her sister turned to see Elizabeth running toward them, her hands white from flour and her grey hair escaping from the bun that tied it back behind her head. “What’s the matter?” said Marin, sensing that the woman was upset. “It’s Patrick,” said Elizabeth, her eyes immediately filling with tears. “Is he all right?” Robin asked in concern. “He didn’t come wake us as usual…” “Last night he was sent on an errand to the village,” Elizabeth explained, very upset, “and he didn’t come home!” “Maybe he decided to stay in the village,” said Robin slowly, clearly trying to calm the woman. “No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head violently. “He never stays in the village, even when his business keeps him out late. Besides, he would have said something…” “Where do you think he is?” Marin asked. “I don’t know!” Elizabeth said, squeezing her hands in obvious anguish. “I expected, at the very latest, to see him this morning, but I haven’t heard a word…” Patrick was Elizabeth’s son, so her concern for him was understandable. “You’re afraid that something’s happened to him,” Robin said. Elizabeth’s eyes brimmed over with tears. She didn’t answer, but her behavior clearly communicated a firm “yes.” Marin exchanged a look with Robin and then said:

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“We can tell Mr. Rosings. He’ll be able to send someone out to look for him –” “No!” said Elizabeth. Marin and Robin looked at her, surprised. “I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hands over her mouth. She pulled the two girls closer and looked over her shoulder as though making sure that the other servants would not be able to hear was she was about to say. “What is it?” Robin asked. “I don’t dare ask him,” Elizabeth said in a hiss. “Why not?” Marin said, troubled. Elizabeth pulled them closer. “I don’t trust him.” Marin looked stunned. Robin, more pragmatically, asked: “Why don’t you trust him?” Elizabeth shook her head. “I’ve been here at Sandhill for many years, many years. I’ve seen a lot of things. I’ve watched Mr. Rosings, I have, ever since he moved in. And not everything that he’s done has been free of suspicion. People disappear sometimes, and never come back. Not only that, but no one mentions them – it’s as though they’ve simply disappeared. And then people sometimes appear – take the two of you –” “Mr. Rosings rescued us,” Marin said firmly, starting to get upset. “He brought us here because we had no other home.” “Be quiet, Marin,” said Robin. “It’s okay,” she said to Elizabeth. “We won’t tell him.” “But –” “Stop it, Marin,” said Robin. “You think he’s a saint, but I agree with Elizabeth.” “How can you say that?” said Marin, completely stunned. She felt as though suddenly her world had been tipped upside down. “I’ve carried messages for him,” said Robin. “You can’t think that I’ve never taken a peek inside them, just

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to see what I’m carrying. Suspicious stuff – that’s exactly the word for it. And the people he sends me to…well, it makes me wonder…” “What sort of people?” Marin asked. “We can talk about this later,” said Robin shortly. She turned back to Elizabeth. “Do you want us to go look for him?” “Robin! We can’t –” “Will you knock it off?” Robin said angrily. “Her son is missing and could be in real trouble! Don’t you want to help find him?” “Of course,” said Marin, with a worried forehead. “But –” “Then it’s settled,” said Robin. Elizabeth looked worried. “I don’t want you to get in trouble –” “It’s Patrick who’s in trouble,” said Robin firmly, “and we’ll help find him if it’s the last thing we do.”

arin clutched Robin’s back as her sister drove King through the thick trees. Marin would have liked to

tell Robin to slow down, as her ribs were rattling uncomfortably every time one of King’s hooves pounded the ground. The air whistling past her ears, however, made her to realize that Robin would have a hard time hearing her if she spoke. The trees were thick, and once they were deep in the foliage, the air became suddenly cool and crisp. The hot humidity that Marin was used to seemed to be gone for the moment. Marin closed her eyes as the cool air rushed past her face. She knew her cheeks were turning red. “We’re almost there,” Robin yelled back at Marin. Marin didn’t answer. She was still a bit angry at her sister for dragging her away from Sandhill this early in the morning without Mr. Rosings knowledge. Why did everyone suddenly hold him in suspicion? She had only known him to be wise and kind, although it was true that he was often firm with those he interacted with. This was all madness, anyway. Soon they would discover that Patrick had simply spent too long at Hullberry’s tavern and hadn’t been able to get himself home in time for his duties. But then, Marin said to herself, Patrick didn’t seem like a drinking man… “Whoa!” Robin said, bringing King to a halt. “Are we in Hullberry?” Marin asked, looking around at the trees. “We’re not quite in the village, no,” Robin said, dismounting. Marin dismounted too, although a great deal less gracefully than Robin and her feet landed on the ground with a thump. “Why are we stopping here?” Marin asked,

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suddenly quiet, looking around at the thick trees around them. There was a strange sort of hush that emanated from the forest. The rustling of the trees gave Marin goose bumps up and down her arms. “I thought I saw something,” Robin said, moving off of the narrow path that King had been following. She tied King to the nearest tree with a quick half-hitch and then patted him before looking at her sister. “I…I thought I saw…” “What?” Marin asked sharply, her heart now beginning to pound. A brisk breeze ruffled her hair and she had to push it out of her face so she could see. “Here,” said Robin, handing Marin a length of twine. “Tie it back.” Marin did as Robin suggested and followed her from the path. The foliage on the ground curled up loosely around their legs as they walked. The sky was beginning to look more and more like day, but the air was still cool and the forest shaded. Marin looked around wildly for whatever it was that could have caught Robin’s eye. She saw nothing until they had been walking for a few more seconds. Then – “Marin,” said Robin in a strange voice. She stopped suddenly and pointed ahead of her. There was a body lying face down not ten steps from where they stood. Marin’s heart began to pound hard against her chest. “Do you think it’s…” Marin stuttered. Robin shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her lips were white and she looked frightened. “There’s a horrid smell,” Marin said. Robin said nothing. She swallowed hard, her eyes glued to the body. “I suppose we should go see if there’s anything that we can do.” Marin looked at Robin like she was crazy. “He’s dead,” Marin said. “There’s nothing we can

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do.” Robin, who didn’t seem to be in any great hurry to approach the body after all, stopped. “Then we have to find out who it is. If it’s Patrick…” “Come on, Robin,” Marin said, her stomach twisting. “We shouldn’t be here.” “I have to know,” Robin said, her face looking whiter than ever. Marin touched her sister’s arm as she moved cautiously toward the body. She knelt cautiously at its side, lifted the cap from the head and then took a long look. “Well?” Marin said. Robin stoically replaced the cap and slowly stood. She walked back to where Marin stood and took a deep breath. “What?” Marin pressed. “It’s Patrick,” Robin said stonily, looking down. “And he’s definitely dead. I don’t know how we’re going to tell Elizabeth.” “How could this have happened?” Marin asked, frightened again. “I mean, did he just trip and fall? Was he run over by a horse?” “He was killed,” Robin said. “There was a lot of blood in the dirt around him. I thought I saw a large wound on his head.” “Killed?” Marin repeated, dry mouthed. “By whom?” “I don’t know,” said Robin, still looking like she was trying to be brave. Marin looked back at the body. Patrick, dead? Who would have wanted him dead? He was just a servant… “Marin!” Robin exclaimed suddenly. “What?” “Hooves,” Robin said. “Someone’s coming. Quick – into the trees!” Marin stumbled through the bushes into the trees,

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pulled by one arm. Once they had both disappeared into the shadows, Marin lifted a branch before her eyes and looked out into the small clearing where they had just been. A dark chocolate brown horse stopped near King. Marin couldn’t see who the rider was. He dismounted, with a flash of silver at his side, and then patted his horse thoughtfully. And then, at last, he turned around. Marin smothered a gasp. It was Mr. Rosings. “Robin,” Mr. Rosings called almost lazily. “Marin. Come out.” “Don’t you move,” Robin hissed threateningly. Marin’s heart raced. She watched Mr. Rosings as he looked around, and then, all at once, noticed the body. He advanced quickly toward the body that the two girls had recently stumbled upon. He bent down, looked at the corpse and then stood again. “Come out,” Mr. Rosings said again, his voice now sterner. “He knows we’re here,” Marin said, prying Robin’s fingers from her arm. “Don’t you dare,” Robin whispered. Ignoring Robin’s protests, Marin pulled herself free of her sister and stumbled back into the trickles of light pouring through the ceiling of leaves above them. Mr. Rosings gave Marin an appraising look. His face was expressionless. At last he said: “Are you alone?” Marin hesitated only a moment. “No,” she said. “Robin’s here too. We hid because we thought that the person who killed Patrick might come back, and –” “Get on my horse,” Mr. Rosings interrupted firmly. He marched meaningfully toward the trees. “Come out, Robin,” Marin implored, frightened to see Mr. Rosings looking displeased. “I told you to get on the horse,” Mr. Rosings barked, spinning around.

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Marin, startled, turned and climbed onto Mr. Rosings brown mare. She clutched the reigns nervously as she watched Mr. Rosings pull Robin out of the trees. “Get on your horse and follow us home,” Mr. Rosings said firmly, taking Robin by the arm and pulling her toward her horse. Robin had a disgusted look on her face as she took King’s reigns in her hands. “I can’t believe you,” Robin said acidly to Marin. “We –” “That’s enough,” said Mr. Rosings sharply. “No bickering. I don’t want to hear another word until we’re back at Sandhill.” Robin shook her head angrily and mounted quickly. Mr. Rosings mounted the mare, placing himself behind Marin and took the reigns from Marin’s hands. He gave them a tight pull and turned the horse back to the path. Marin thought of everything she wanted to explain to Mr. Rosings: how she hadn’t wanted to leave Sandhill without his permission, how the servants doubted his honor, and how confused she was about Patrick’s death. But she said nothing. She simply watched the ground fly by below them and waited for them to return to Sandhill.

“Now, girls,” said Mr. Rosings, once the sisters had been escorted to Mr. Rosings office upstairs. Neither had been given the time to get cleaned up, and Marin was acutely aware that she was dirty and sweaty. Mr. Rosings, however, without the aid of even a comb, still looked smart and crisp. Marin looked down, rather hoping that if she didn’t look at Mr. Rosings, she might not be visible to him. “What were you doing?” continued Mr. Rosings, turning from them and cutting the end off a cigar. He turned to look at them again as he lit the end.

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Marin gave Robin a look, but her sister’s eyes seemed to be defiantly planted in the carpet before her. Marin turned her glance to Mr. Rosings, who was watching her intently. “Well, Marin?” Mr. Rosings said, causing Marin to look down again at once. “What were you doing?” Once again, Marin thought how much she would like to tell him everything. She gave Robin a lengthy glance, and then the thought suddenly came to her. Why didn’t she tell him what she was thinking? If he knew why she had acted as she did, perhaps he would understand and not be angry. “Please, sir,” said Marin, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry for what we did. We didn’t mean to cause any trouble. It’s just that this morning when we went down to breakfast –” “Marin, how can you –” Robin said coldly, suddenly coming to life. “Robin, do I need to speak to each of you separately?” Mr. Rosings interrupted sharply. “Oh, please, sir!” Marin exclaimed, a bit louder than she had anticipated, her heart jumping. Robin scowled. Mr. Rosings turned his glance on her. “Very well,” he said at last. “Robin, if you would give us a few minutes. Kindly wait for us in the small room on the east. Thank you.” Robin looked livid as she left Marin and Mr. Rosings alone in the room. “I’m sorry,” said Marin timidly. “I…I don’t know why she’s so angry.” “Don’t you?” said Mr. Rosings lightly. “Come now,” he said, pulling up a chair. “Let’s be honest, you and I. Tell me what you were doing.” Marin took a deep breath. “Well, sir, this morning Robin and I weren’t woken by Patrick as usual, and when we went down to breakfast, Elizabeth was so worried

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about him – she said he hadn’t come home last night. And so Robin wanted to go find him – she made me promise to go with her, to help Elizabeth. I wanted to do that, of course, but I didn’t want to leave without asking you first…I mean, I knew we shouldn’t –” “Marin,” said Mr. Rosings, putting up his hand, “why didn’t you ask me?” Marin stopped suddenly. She hadn’t anticipated having to tell him about how he wasn’t trusted. She didn’t want to get Robin or Elizabeth in trouble. “Why didn’t you ask me?” Mr. Rosings repeated. Marin’s lip trembled. “Sir…I…I didn’t think to ask…” “That’s not true,” said Mr. Rosings coldly. Marin looked up in surprise. “They don’t trust me, Elizabeth and your sister, do they?” Mr. Rosings said unexpectedly. Marin’s mouth went dry. “Sir –” “It’s the only explanation,” said Mr. Rosings. “I wanted to ask you!” Marin burst out. “Doubtless,” said Mr. Rosings absentmindedly. “We found Patrick, though,” said Marin hopefully. “I can’t imagine why anyone would have wanted to kill him…” “Marin,” said Mr. Rosings, looking her in the eye. “You must never do that again, do you understand?” Marin stopped. “Never,” said Mr. Rosings very sharply. “When I discovered that you had left Sandhill, I was frightened. I thought that you might be in danger. I thought that someone had taken you.” “But…but didn’t Elizabeth –” “I didn’t speak to Elizabeth,” Mr. Rosings cut her off. “I only knew that you were gone, and I didn’t know where and I didn’t know why.” Marin looked down. “When I found your sister’s horse and discovered

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the two of you, I was very angry, Marin, very angry. I would have taken a strap to both of you right then if I had had one on hand.” Marin swallowed hard. “I’m sorry…” she said, not knowing what else to say. “Do you remember when Mr. Herring came to see us?” Mr. Rosings said. “People like him would not hesitate to take you away if he found you wandering around alone in the countryside. You have to be careful.” Marin nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I won’t do it again.” Mr. Rosings gave her a long look and then nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Run along. Call your sister in as you leave.” Marin nodded and left the room.

“So what is he going to do about Patrick?” Robin said, bursting into Marin’s room. Marin looked up from her book in surprise. “I don’t know,” she said, putting the book down. Robin marched across the room and plunked herself down on Marin’s bed. “He didn’t even seem surprised, did he?” Robin said hatefully. Marin quickly got to her feet and closed the door. “Shhh!” she whispered angrily in Robin’s direction. “Do you want people to hear? And frankly, Robin, you didn’t look too surprised, either. You didn’t shout or anything, just like he didn’t. But both of you -” “I want to know what he’s going to do about Patrick,” Robin said. “How should I know?” Marin snapped, annoyed at being interrupted. “You’re in his office three hours a day,” Robin returned.

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“That doesn’t mean that he tells me everything,” Marin said. “I’ve never even seen any of those messages he sends with you. You’re more in the know than I am. So you tell me – what is he going to do?” “He doesn’t talk about things like that in the messages,” Robin said disgustedly, as though she couldn’t believe that Marin could be so ignorant. “Really?” said Marin. “Then what does he talk about? What are in those messages?” Robin gave Marin a sideways glance and then looked down. “He’s sent me to Homed several times. There’s this man that he’s often sending letters to, Lord Trivetum.” “What do they say,” Marin asked. Robin shook her head. “Lots of different things. But mostly, it’s about war.” Marin swallowed, alarmed. “War?” “It sounds like he’s going to be doing the fighting, too.” “But who’s he going to fight?” “I don’t know,” Robin said. “But Homed is the part of Mykolia closest to us. If Mykolia declares war on Rivental –” “Wait, do you think that Mr. Rosings would collaborate with a Mykolian lord to declare war on his own country?” Robin frowned. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” Marin became angry. “You really think he’s a traitor to Rivental?” Robin didn’t answer. Marin gave a loud scoff. “He’d be mad to do it even if he were a traitor,” she pointed out. “Rivental’s much richer than Mykolia –” “Mykolia’s bigger and richer in resources,” Robin said. “Who cares?” Marin burst out. “They haven’t got anybody to fight for them!” She shook her head. “This is

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crazy. If he were going to declare war on anyone then it would probably be against Mykolia. And I bet you he’d win!” Robin’s eyes flashed. “And that would make you happy I suppose?” “It just might!” Marin snarled back. Robin snapped. “You’ve always pretended you’re not Mykolian, but you are, Marin, both of us are!” Marin was now furious. “I know I’m Mykolian!” “You dress up like you belong to this Riventalese family, but you don’t, Marin. Mother and Father, whoever they were, were Mykolian! We’re Mykolian!” “I know that!” Marin shouted. “But I belong more to them than to anyone else. They’ve raised me, Robin! They educated me, and they’ve protected me – they’ve protected both of us! We’re not ever going to go back to Mykolia, Robin.” “No,” said Robin, “because the Rosings wouldn’t let us if we wanted to.” “It’s dangerous, Robin,” said Marin. “He wouldn’t want us to get lost, or hurt, or kidnapped –” “No, he wants us for himself,” Robin said. She paused and then said. “Actually, he just wants you for himself. He doesn’t much care about what I do. That’s why he was mad this morning. Because you left without permission. Not because I did.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Marin, scoffing once more. Robin stood up. “Anyway,” she said. “I bet he doesn’t give Patrick a decent funeral.” “I bet you he does,” protested Marin. Robin shook her head and left Marin alone in her room.

Marin, of course, was the one who was right. Mr. Rosings

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would no sooner have deprived his closest servant of a funeral than eaten a bushel of unripe persimmons. Marin gave her sister a superior look when Mr. Rosings called the two into his office to present them with the dresses he had had made for the two of them for the funeral. Robin took her dress and gave Marin a scowl. Marin tried to give Mr. Rosings an apologetic look, but he had already turned his attention elsewhere. There was a great deal of crying at Patrick’s funeral, which was held in the Rosings’ home. Everyone she knew at Sandhill was clutching a handkerchief to his or her face, removing it only to give some praise of the servant that had done so much in the household. Elizabeth, of course, was inconsolable, and Robin made it her personal duty to see to it that the woman was kept supplied with fresh handkerchiefs and strong pats around the shoulders. Marin didn’t stay for long – she’d never liked funerals much. They reminded her too acutely that her own parents were dead. Although she did not recall that there had ever been a funeral for them, Marin didn’t like the atmosphere at funerals. There were feelings that returned to her, especially about her mother, that were very uncomfortable, and most definitely too poignant to be dealt with in public. After the funeral, life returned more to normal at Sandhill than Marin could have anticipated. There was a new valet hired, a man named Richard whom Marin liked a lot. She took it upon herself to show him around the estate and let him know how things were run at Sandhill. He seemed to enjoy her company, and the two became good friends. Whenever Robin caught Marin with him, however, she sent dark looks in their direction, as though Marin were somehow consorting with some sort of enemy. Marin became busier and busier decoding messages. Mr. Rosings kept her busy nearly five hours a day now, deciphering messages that he had intercepted. From

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whom, however, he did not say. Marin assumed that they were probably Mykolian – probably from Homed, since Robin had been there so often, or from Alika, the province that was flexing its muscles against the rule of Mykolia. Marin pushed back her chair one evening and yawned. The sun was going down, sending bright orange rays through the wispy curtains at the floor length window on the west wall. Marin got to her feet and walked to the window. She squinted out at the shadowy forests below her and frowned. She was tired; she was very tired, and yet, she couldn’t tell Mr. Rosings that she was. He needed her to decode; there was no one else who could do it, and in this time of his need, Marin didn’t feel that she could let him down. Although Richard’s company had done her good, Marin couldn’t help miss the camaraderie she had shared with her sister before Patrick’s death. Now Robin seemed openly jealous of Marin and rarely spoke to her, unless it was to argue once more about Mr. Rosings’ motives. Robin was determined to think him evil. Marin, in contrast, was determined to believe him benevolent and well-meaning. The stress of her work and the loss of Robin as a friend seemed to slowly be taking its toll on her. She felt thinner, she wasn’t hungry often, and she sometimes complained of a stomach ache when no direct cause could be pinpointed. If it weren’t for Richard’s attentions, taking her on walks with him while he surveyed the gardens and helping her prepare Mr. Rosings’ evening meal (which he always took alone in the study), Marin might have lost interest in life all together. Marin sighed again and turned back to the desk where she was working. She picked up the message that she had decoded and read it out loud to herself:

ENEMY FORCES MOVING NORTHWARD. REBEL ATTACK PROBABLE TONIGHT AT NUMAN.

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FORTIFICATIONS STRONG.

Marin didn’t know where Numan was, but the note told her that war was indeed going on somewhere, just as Robin had said. Somewhere people were fighting for something. But what? And as much as she claimed to trust him, Marin began to wonder: what side was Mr. Rosings really on?

he next afternoon found Marin once again in the office of Mr. Rosings bent over a message. This one was

being particularly stubborn about revealing its secret, and Marin’s brow was furrowed. She wiped a river of sweat from her face and turned to the window. The sun was dipping low again, but this time, it looked as though Rivental was going to be the proud recipient of a magnificent sunset. The sky was streaked with pink and gold and the clouds looked like long rolls of cotton that someone had somehow managed to light on fire. “Do you have that message done yet?” Marin spun around in her seat and saw Mr. Rosings standing behind her, a glass of something dark in his hand. He had removed his dress coat, which Marin found wise considering the heat. He took a sip from his glass. “Well? The message?” He did not sound angry, but there was a definite hint of impatience. Perhaps he thought that she had been doing nothing but stare out the window all afternoon. Marin’s cheeks got even rosier as she held up in testimony of her work the three or four pages that were marred with hundreds of what must seem to him like random numbers and equations. “I’ve been working non-stop,” Marin said. “I haven’t cracked it yet. It’s something new – something I haven’t seen yet.” “Are you making any progress?” Mr. Rosings took another sip, perhaps to calm his nerves. “I think so,” said Marin truthfully. “But I won’t know until I work the calculation all the way out. I could be on the right track – I hope I am – but…it’s also possible I could be way off.” Mr. Rosings nodded and made for the door. Once

T

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there, he stopped and turned back to Marin. “Perhaps you have noticed, but I am in somewhat of a hurry to have that message.” “I’m working as fast as I can,” Marin said feverishly. Mr. Rosings nodded calmly, not upset by Marin’s excitement. “You’re doing marvelously, I’m sure.” Marin watched him open the door and leave, clicking the door shut behind him. She turned back to the code before her. There was so little here…hardly any code to break. Marin’s eyes scanned for the hundredth time the single line of numbers that ran across the slip of paper that held the code. They seemed harmless and nondescript. She shook her head. If only she knew who had written this – that might give her a clue. Mykolian, Alikan and Riventalese codes were generally so different from each other that if she knew the source, she usually was faster deciphering. Marin turned the paper over and examined it, not really expecting to find anything. To her surprise, there was a small mark in the corner. It looked as though it had been placed there purposefully. It was a square with a line down the middle, dividing it in two. “Prince Martin,” Marin said, realizing at once from whom the message had come. This helped a great deal. Prince Martin, the prince of Rivental, was a very vain man – and this meant two things. First, it meant that Prince Martin himself had written the message before her. The divided square was the prince’s symbol, and obviously, his secret signature as well. The square represented Rivental, which aspired to be even, right and perfect. The line down the middle was the prince himself. It was a sword – a sword that represented the power of the prince in governing the country. Second, it meant that Prince Martin often used his own name to encode his messages. Marin’s head bent

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furiously down over the paper, and within five minutes, she had beaten the message out of the code at last, using an “M” as the first letter in the complicated decoding process. Marin looked at the message she had just decoded:

SURROUND THE HOUSE. WE HAVE HIM.

Marin wondered what the message could be about. Prince Martin was a warrior, so he was likely abroad with his army somewhere, trying to take a house. With whom had he been corresponding? Marin called and Richard came into the room. Marin told him to fetch Mr. Rosings and Richard gave her a smile, bowed, and left the room. Within moments Mr. Rosings had come rushing into the room. “You have it, then?” Marin handed him the paper, and Mr. Rosings’ dark eyes scanned it quickly. “Surround the house,” he whispered once under his breath. He looked toward the window where the sunset was now fading into darkness as though Marin were no longer in the room. “Are you all right, sir?” Marin asked, wondering if something were wrong. Marin’s voice seemed to bring Mr. Rosings back to life. With a snap of his fingers, he called Richard, who stepped into the room just a few seconds later. Richard’s dark head bowed low and then his kind mustached face came back into view. “Richard,” Mr. Rosings said briskly. “I want you to take Marin to her room. And keep her there.” He made another quickly glance toward the window as though he expected to see something there. After a second he turned back to Richard. “Now!” he barked. Marin was startled. What had she done to make him so angry? Or was it the message that had troubled him?

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Richard took Marin gently by the arm and led her quickly out of the room. They walked briskly through the long halls together, sometimes passing people that were hurrying this way or that. Marin looked up at the servant that was leading her down the hallway. “That one took me longer than usual,” Marin said, by way of conversation. “Did it?” said Richard mildly. Marin could see an odd pink tinge to his cheeks. He didn’t seem to be looking at her… “Richard, what –” But there was a loud crash from somewhere, and Marin heard several screams coming from the floors downstairs. Richard grabbed her arm and began to run, dragging Marin along with him. “Richard!” Marin yelled, as the halls around them began to erupt in pandemonium. “Richard, what’s going on? What are you doing?” Richard didn’t answer, but kept running as though his very life were in danger. Marin had a very difficult time keeping up with him. She felt that her lungs were going to explode and was about to tell Richard that he had to slow down when her leg hit something hard, tripping her. The next moment Marin found herself on the ground, on top of someone who had fallen. Marin jumped up, apologized and looked around. People were running everywhere. Richard was nowhere to be seen. Marin’s eyes fell suddenly upon the tall windows on one side of the hall, framed with dark velvet curtains pushed to one side. There was something moving out there… She pressed her nose to the glass and squinted out into the shadows. Her eyes widened in shock. The grounds of Sandhill were completely swarmed in people.

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It looked like they were fighting. What it looked like, Marin told herself, her stomach turning to lead, was like there was a battle going on right on the front lawn. Marin’s heart began to pound in fear. What was going on? Who were these people and what were they doing? Marin’s mind suddenly flicked back to the message she had just decoded. Surround the house. We have him. Marin forced herself to swallow. What if it was this house they had been talking about? But who were they after? Why were they - “Marin!” Richard had come up on her left side and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Richard,” Marin exclaimed in panic, pointing out the windows. “Look! People everywhere – I think they might be Prince Martin’s soldiers…” “Come on!” Richard said, tearing her from the window. The two continued to run through the house toward Marin’s room. Their flight was punctuated by loud crashes and screams of terror. Marin felt very much as though she were in a nightmare. She caught sight of a bright orange light through one of the windows as they past and realized that something outside was on fire. “In here,” Richard said, yanking open Marin’s door and pulling her inside. He pulled a key out of his pocket and looked the two of them into blackness. “Richard, what’s going on? I’m scared.” Marin’s voice trembled, sounding even smaller because of the darkness that closed in on all sides of them. Below them, Marin could hear the continued frightening noises of the house being broken into. “The house is being attacked,” Richard said calmly, as though he were telling her that Mrs. Rosings would like a cup of tea. “I know,” Marin said, trying to match Richard’s calm. “But I don’t understand why. What’s going on?”

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There was the sound of a match being lit, and Marin turned around to see that she and Richard were not alone in the room. There was Elizabeth there, as well as Caron and several other servants that Marin knew quite well. They all sat, twisting their hands in their laps as they listened to the noise of destruction around them. “I have her,” Richard said to the others. Marin realized that their meeting in her room had been planned. “Rosings wants us to hold her here for as long as we can. He spoke to me beforehand in case this happened and he said that we should use the emergency escape-ways should we need to, but we are to keep Marin safe.” Elizabeth gave a derisive snort. “Safe! Hah! Just like he kept my Patrick…” She broke off sharply as though she wanted to break into tears. “Precisely,” said Richard in a low voice. “That is why we need to get Marin out –” “Get me out? Where’s Robin?” Marin asked suddenly, realizing that her sister was nowhere to be seen. Richard stopped. Elizabeth looked away when Marin gave her a searching look. “She’s out there, isn’t she,” Marin said, swallowing hard. “We’re all huddled safely in here and she’s out somewhere in the house where she might be killed…” “Marin,” said Richard and last. “Sit down. You need to –” But Marin had already leapt upon him, seized the key from his hands, clicked it in the door and flung it open. She burst from the room and fled down the halls. She could hear shouts from her room calling for her to come back and she could hear footsteps that must belong to Richard pursuing her down the hallway. She looked wildly down the halls that she passed, searching for any sign of her sister. But there seemed to be nothing. At last she stumbled to the stairway that led down into the entrance hall. She grabbed the banister and

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looked down. She could hardly believe her eyes, but there she was. Robin was down in the entrance hall. Robin was in the hands of men that Marin did not know. They were tying her hands together and pushing her roughly toward the door, laughing raucously. “NO!” Marin yelled as loudly as she could. At nearly the same moment, Marin felt a hand clap over her mouth and strong hands drag her around the corner and out of sight. “I hope they didn’t see you,” Richard’s voice roared in her ear. Marin struggled hard to get to her feet, but Richard’s arms were like iron, holding her down on the floor. She could feel him rummaging around in his pocket for something. “Let me go!” Marin shouted. “They have Robin, and I can’t just let them –” There was a small pop and then Richard’s hands moved to her mouth, forcing a small bottle of something between Marin’s lips. Marin, frightened again, tried to pull away, but Richard held her firmly, plugging her nose with his other hand until he drained the contents down Marin’s throat. Then he released her. Stunned, Marin tottered to her feet, her mind suddenly foggy. What was going on? What was she doing? She forgot about the shock she felt at what Richard had done as she remembered her sister. Robin – she knew she must find Robin…but Robin had gone out that door, and there were men everywhere…they were breaking things…there was fire…she took a step back, afraid again. She felt Richard take her arm and drag her back down the hall toward her room. “There’s nothing you can do.” Richard’s voice floated to her as though from a great distance. “But…” Marin said, suddenly feeling as though the

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strength had left her body. “But…she’s my…my sister…” Marin took just one more step forward and then, her eyes rolling back into her head, collapsed onto the floor.

Marin slowly opened her eyes. It was almost completely black. Marin’s heart began to race. She moved to sit up, but found that she could not. Her hands were bound tightly at the wrists, and, as she tried to move her feet, she discovered that they too were tied together. “Shhh!” “Who’s there?” Marin’s voice echoed around her. She saw her breath as she spoke and as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she realized that she was outdoors and that there were stars high above her in the sky, illuminating, ever so slightly, her surroundings. “Be quiet.” The voice was insistent. Marin’s heart did not stop pounding in her neck. Where was she? What was going on? For several moments she couldn’t remember the last events for which she had been conscious. Then, all at once she remembered everything. “Where is Robin?” Marin asked suddenly. “Be quiet,” the voice hissed. It was Caron, Marin realized. “You don’t want them to know you’re awake.” “Caron, where is Robin?” Marin asked again, this time more desperately. “Shut up!” Caron said. Marin could hear her shifting beside her, and she soon saw the shadow of her friend as Caron rose to a sitting position. Caron moved her mouth close to Marin’s ear and with her hot breath on Marin’s neck, Marin heard: “Don’t say anything.” “But –” “If you want to live, you’ll be quiet,” Caron said

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sharply. Marin was stunned. Where was she? What was going on? Why was she here alone with Caron and why were they both tied up? What had happened to Robin? To Richard? To Sandhill? “Why –” There was a flash of light several feet away and then the sound of leaves crunching. Marin stopped short and squinted into the trees. A man with a lantern was approaching, and from the sounds that were accompanying the approaching light, the man was followed by several others. “She’s awake,” the man with the lantern said in Mykolian, once he was close enough to make out Marin’s blanched face. The man had a strong southern accent. In an instant Marin was pulled roughly to her feet by invisible hands and she was dragged away from Caron, who made a noise in protest that was immediately silenced by the night. Marin was too frightened to speak. She was blinded by the lantern light and could not make out the faces of the men that were taking her away from her friend. She did not know what they wanted, and she was terrified about what they might do to her. “Here she is,” said the man with the lantern, grabbing her arm away from those that had previously held her and shoving her face nearly into that of a man with dark hair and eyebrows. “This is the girl?” Marin noticed in spite of her fear that the man had very straight teeth. “That’s her,” the man with the lantern said. “Not much to look at, that’s for sure,” the man with straight teeth said, shaking his head. He turned his gaze on Marin. “You’re Marin Lindrine then?” the man asked. Marin didn’t say a word. Caron had told her not to say anything. Why had that been? Was it important that

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these people not know who she was? “I asked you if you were Marin Lindrine,” the man repeated, his voice growing hard. Marin didn’t move, partly out of fear and partly because she was not sure that answering him honestly was the best course of action. “That’s her,” the lantern-man said again. “The bloody girl doesn’t even know how to talk,” the man before her said, running a hand through his smooth hair. “Look at her face.” Marin’s chin was suddenly grabbed in a vice-like grip and forced upward. “It’s her. I’ve seen her before skulking about the place.” The man that was apparently in charge gave her a downward glance and then nodded once. “Bring her into the tent,” he ordered. Marin was shoved forward and then half-dragged, half-carried toward a large tent set up only a few feet away. The tent was made of a thin material that let light from the lanterns that shone inside penetrate the cloth. Marin was pushed inside, still held firmly by a man whose arms were around her chest and stomach. “I suppose that introductions are in order,” the man with straight teeth said, removing his jacket and seating himself on a large pile of clothing. “My name is Charles Simmerman and the man behind you is Bernard Himmel.” Marin shifted her feet. So far he hasn’t hurt me, Marin thought to herself. So far, I’m still okay. But Robin… “I suppose you know why you’re here,” said Charles Simmerman, with a small smile, the light playing mischievously on his cheeks. Marin looked at him and then shook her head ever so slightly. “Don’t be so modest,” Simmerman said, bestowing yet another strange smile on her. Marin did not say anything.

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“Give me five hundred and seventy-four times thirteen.” Marin blinked. What was going on? She felt as though she had awakened to yet another sort of nightmare. Why were these people wanting math problems solved when Sandhill had been destroyed, her sister was lost and she had no idea where she was? “Where am I?” Marin choked out. Her throat felt very dry, probably the result of the serum that Richard had poured down her throat to knock her out. “Answer my questions first and then I’ll consider answering yours,” Simmerman said. Marin swallowed hard, but didn’t say anything. “Five hundred and seventy four times thirteen,” Simmerman repeated. Something suddenly clicked in Marin’s brain. These people knew what she could do. They knew somehow about her talent with numbers. Prince Martin knew about her, Marin remembered. Were these Prince Martin’s men? Had they taken her? If so, then they likely had her sister, or at least knew where she was. “Robin,” Marin said, her voice still sounding hoarse. “Where is my sister?” “Give me the answer!” Simmerman barked. Marin’s heart began to pound in her ears. “Answer him!” Marin felt her arms being twisted behind her and the ropes began to cut at her wrists still bound before her. She gave a stiff cry and Simmerman rose to his feet. “That will do, Himmel,” Simmerman said raising his hand. “Five hundred and seventy-four times thirteen.” Marin was breathing hard. She didn’t want to answer. For some reason, she felt that she shouldn’t. Simmerman shook his head and gave the man holding Marin a look. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you picked up the wrong girl.” “No, this is the right one,” Himmel snapped. “Them

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Rivies got the other one. I’m sure of it.” Simmerman gave him a disbelieving look, but Himmel simply twisted Marin’s arm again hard and Marin went rigid, her face turning red. “Give me the answer!” Simmerman said quietly, as though he didn’t believe that he was really going to get it. “Seven thousand four hundred and sixty-two,” Marin gasped out suddenly, no longer able to stand the pain. Himmel immediately released the pressure on her arm and Marin let out a gasp of relief. Sweat was pouring down her face. Simmerman exchanged a meaningful look with Himmel. “I told you we’d got her,” Himmel said. Marin could hear the grin in his voice. Simmerman nodded. “Two thousand eighty divided by thirty-two,” he said to Marin. Before Himmel could touch her arm again, Marin responded. “Sixty-five,” she said immediately in a very quiet voice. Simmerman smiled broadly, exhibiting a line of pearly teeth. “Impressive.” Marin’s lip trembled. “What do you think she can do?” Simmerman said. “Do you think anyone’s ever tested her limits?” “I’ve got one,” Himmel said, clearly more at ease now that Simmerman seemed to be enjoying himself. “One hundred and sixty-eight times four hundred and fifty-six.” Marin swallowed. “Too big for her, you think?” Himmel said triumphantly. “No,” said Simmerman, watching Marin. “She’ll do it.” “It’s too big,” Himmel said. “I can’t even do that one on paper.” Simmerman didn’t laugh. “She can do it,” he said

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again. Marin gave him a look but didn’t say anything. “It’s not quite as impressive when you make us wait,” Simmerman said. “Why are you doing this to me?” Marin asked, her voice breaking. “You…you aren’t with Prince Martin?” “Give me the answer,” Simmerman said in a hard voice, taking a step closer to her. “Seventy-six thousand, six hundred and eight,” Marin said very quickly. “Now please. Who are you? Where is my sister?” “She’s a miracle,” Simmerman said, ignoring Marin’s questions. His eyes were glowing. “Please,” Marin said quietly, knowing he wasn’t listening. Simmerman gave a slight chuckle. “Can you do square roots?” “Stop it, sir!” “Square root of eight thousand four hundred and sixty-four?” “Please, don’t!” “What is it?” Simmerman demanded. “Ninety-two,” Marin said. “Square root of four billion, fourteen million, three hundred and five thousand, eight hundred and fifty-eight point one?” Simmerman pursued. “Stop it!” Marin cried. “Say it!” Simmerman shouted. “Sixty-three thousand, three hundred and fifty-eight point five,” Marin said, breaking into tears. “Where do you come up with these numbers?” Himmel asked. “She could be making things up for all we know.” “No, she couldn’t. I worked them out before hand,” Simmerman said, his voice taking almost a reverent tone. “Put her down there. I want to talk to her alone.” “But –”

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“Go,” Simmerman said, pointing to the door. Himmel grunted and set Marin down on a heap of flour sacks in a manner that was none too gentle and left the tent in a rush. Mr. Simmerman cocked his head. He thought for a moment, and then said: “How do you do it?” Marin returned his look and then dropped her gaze to the floor without saying a word. “Answer me.” His voice was less commanding and seemed to actually hold a real hint of interest. Marin looked up. “I don’t even know who you are,” she said in a dull voice. “I introduced myself –” “I don’t know where I am or who you are or where my sister is,” Marin said, a whimper in her voice. “What happened at Sandhill?” Simmerman raised an eyebrow. “I told you that I’m Charles Simmerman. I’m the head general of the Alikan armies.” “Do you know where my sister is? Some men left with her –” “I’m not interested in your sister,” interrupted Simmerman. “Not unless she can break codes like you. If she can, Prince Martin will have gotten lucky.” Marin’s whole body felt numb. She was lost and captured, and her captors were not even the same people who had taken her sister. “Sandhill’s gone,” said Simmerman coolly. “I wasn’t there up close, but the fire from the grounds spread to the house and it burned down fast. There were soldiers all over the place, some Alikan, some Riventalese, all after the same thing.” Me, Marin thought miserably. “We hunted around the place for a long time and never found you. Then we came across one girl dragging another through the woods. And Himmel recognized you.”

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“How could he have known that…” “That it was you? Simple, actually. Your friend kept saying your name. But he’s seen you around. Friends with one of the gardeners.” “Caron - what are you going to do to her?” Marin asked, her voice trembling. “We’re going to let your friend go. Don’t need her.” Marin opened her mouth to talk, but closed it again quickly. He meant that he did need her. And he wasn’t going to let her go. “Rosings is gone now,” Simmerman said, “and so is Sandhill. And you can feel like a patriot, working for us. Rivental and Alika are united in their cause. You’ll be helping Rivental by helping us.” Marin shook her head. “Mr. Rosings can’t be dead -” “He can’t have survived. Hundreds of soldiers were tearing the place to pieces looking for you. But don’t mourn him too long. Rosings was a traitor, which is why his home was attacked.” “He wasn’t a –” Marin stopped short. Simmerman was wearing an ugly expression on his face. “Letters were intercepted,” Simmerman snarled. “That’s how we found you. There was mention of your name. There were rumors that Rosings had sworn to fight Rivental if Prince Martin tried to take you from him.” “That’s because he was trying to protect me!” Marin broke in. “Rosings was working against his own country,” Simmerman retorted. “But anyone could have told you that. He’s against Prince Martin and so against his country.” Marin trembled under his fury and was silent. Simmerman gave her a look and then said: “I’m going to let your friend go now. Hopefully she finds her way to some village.” “Can I –” “No,” said Simmerman shortly. “You cannot tell her

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goodbye. You will stay here in the tent and keep quiet if you want to keep from being gagged.” With that Simmerman turned on his heel and left the tent.

arin gasped and sat up, sweat pouring down her face. She looked around at the dark, wildly trying to

remember where she was when it came to her. She was in a tent, sleeping with one of Simmerman’s men just outside the door guarding the entrance. It was still night, and very black. Marin wiped her face and lay back down. She had been dreaming. It was the nightmare that she had often had as a child. It had been many years since these frightening images had crossed her mind. And now, in the height of her terror, they were back. It had been night, and Marin was on board a ship. There was a woman holding her hand, and the sea was raging with the force of a violent storm. Marin knew that she had to stay away from the water, that only death waited for her there and she tried to pull the woman back away from the edge of the boat. But there was a strong gust of wind and suddenly Marin and the woman were submerged in the sea. Marin tried to fight for the surface, but was being pulled downward by something. Her hand slipped from the woman’s and she screamed silently, but her lungs were filling with water and no sound came out… Marin closed her eyes and tried to forget the dream. It’s only a dream, she told herself firmly. Just a dream. All the same, she had a hard time keeping the tears from her eyes. The water had seemed so real. As real as it had when she had had the dream as a child. It was only after months in Mr. Rosings care that the dream had gone away. Mr. Rosings. Marin turned over under the coarse blanket, glad to have found a new subject to occupy her mind. Simmerman thought that he was dead. Marin

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refused to believe it. Mr. Rosings was a very clever man. From what Richard had said to the other servants back in her room, Mr. Rosings had suspected that something was going to happen. Certainly he had devised a way to escape should his home be attacked. Marin shivered with the recollection of that night. All that screaming, all those people fighting, the damage to the house and the destruction of Sandhill’s grounds – all of that had been for her. For some reason, she was worth killing for. She was valuable. It was as Mr. Rosings had said: people would do horrible things to get at her. And they had. Marin still didn’t understand how she had come to fall into Simmerman’s hands. Somehow someone had taken her out of Sandhill. Caron had been there, obviously, and, according to Simmerman, had been the one to drag her away from the estate. Had she done this of her own accord? Had Richard told her to do it? Where was he? Why had he not come with them to protect them? Marin sighed shakily. At least Simmerman had let Caron go. Whatever horrors were in store for her at the hand of Simmerman at least would not be hers to share with Marin. The day came more quickly than she was expecting, and the noise outside the tent grew louder and louder as the minutes past dawn slipped by. Marin waited until there was a noise directly outside her tent before scrambling to sit up. The tent flap was flipped aside, and a man beaconed for her to come out. Marin gulped and ducked out of the tent. She blinked into the cool morning light and was astounded at the sight that lay before her. There were hundreds of tents very much like the one that she slept in that spread out over the field in every direction. Before many of them were campfires, some smoking as though recently extinguished, and others in full flame as brown-clad men busied themselves around

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them fixing breakfast. The sky was a hazy gray, it not quite being day. She looked around in every direction, but it seemed that they were some distance away from Sandhill as it was nowhere in sight. In fact, she had no idea where they were. The trees seemed a bit sparser than she was used to and the ground harder. The man that had called Marin from the tent bound Marin’s hands behind her as she took in the scene. She yelped as the rope dug into her wrists. They were already sore from their bondage during the night. “This way,” grunted the man, pushing Marin forward onto a small dirt path that connected many of the tents. They passed many busy tents; the men that occupied them looked up as she walked by. Some laughed, some looked at her with interest and some cat-called her. Marin refused to look at them. Alikans, she thought with disgust. Nothing more than rebel Mykolians. They approached a large tent and Marin recognized it as being the tent into which she had been dragged the night before. A guard on the outside lifted the flap with a dirty hand and Marin and the man that was directing her, walked inside. Inside there had been a makeshift table constructed from some old stumps and lashed branches. Over the table were charts, maps, and a few loose pieces of parchment bedecked with writing. Over all of them was bending Simmerman, a few of his men at his side. “Sir,” the man who held Marin’s arm said. Simmerman looked up, his eyes marked with crows feet on both sides. It seemed as though he too had not slept well. He wore a long brown jacket over his open throated shirt. He fiddled with something in his pocket as he took Marin in with his large blue eyes. “Very well,” said Simmerman shortly to the man that had brought her. “Get out.”

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The man bowed low, his battered hat nearly falling from his head as he did so, and then quickly exited the tent. Simmerman made a brisk gesture to the rest of the men that were present and they too nodded and quickly filed out. There was one man that caught Marin’s eye as he left. He was a tall man with a graying beard and, unless Marin had imagined it, a twinkle in his eye. Marin’s heart leapt - she could have sworn that he had winked at her as he left the tent. Marin’s attention was brought roughly back to the much less-pleasant man before her. He went to the tent door and looked out, presumably to make sure that there was no one near to overhear what he was going to say. “We’re traveling northward,” Simmerman said finally, turning to Marin. “We’re heading toward Little Springs at the moment.” Marin said nothing. That explained why her surroundings looked unfamiliar. She had never been north. At least, not for many years. “It’s not going to be an easy journey,” said Simmerman grimly. “The Mykolians don’t want us to press northward. They want Alika for themselves and would prefer that we stay put. In fact, they’re willing to fight to make sure that we don’t pass our boundaries.” He smiled sinisterly, reached in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled bit of paper which he smoothed in his hand and examined. He threw it on the table and pulled a knife from his belt. “I’ve got work for you to do,” Simmerman said, coming behind Marin and cutting her bonds. When the ropes fell to the floor, Simmerman took the small paper from the table and extended it to Marin. She hesitated and took it. “It’s a code,” Simmerman said. “We recently recovered it from a branch of the Mykolian army.” “It’s a cipher,” Marin corrected, unfolding the paper

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and peering at its contents. “Yes,” said Simmerman with a condescending nod. “A cipher.” “You want me to break it,” Marin said slowly, her eyes racing lightly over the letters. She looked up from the code to Simmerman’s square face. “Yes,” said Simmerman with a nod. Marin looked down at the paper and frowned. “Why do you want to go north?” she asked. Simmerman gave her a look and then at last, miraculously, smiled as though he were amused. “Do you know anything about what’s happening in the world, Marin?” Simmerman asked, offering Marin a chair. Marin carefully sat down, not taking her eyes from Simmerman’s face. She wrapped her legs around the rough columns that supported the seat and gave Simmerman a serious look. “I know that everyone’s at war,” Marin said. “War,” Simmerman repeated with a slight chuckle. “Yes, there is war.” “Rivental and Mykolia are at war,” Marin continued, miffed that she’d been laughed at. “Rivental wants to colonize Mykolia and Mykolia doesn’t want Rivental in their country.” Marin stopped, as though the taste that the word “Mykolia” left on her lips was distasteful enough to quell her explanation. Simmerman pursed his lips. “Rivental and Mykolia are at war,” the man said, running a hand through his shiny locks. “But this is not the real cause of the fighting.” “Not the real cause?” Marin repeated skeptically. “The real war is between Mykolia and Alika,” Simmerman said. “What do you mean?” Marin asked. Simmerman took a deep breath and pulled a piece of loose parchment toward him. Dunking the tip of a pen into the inkwell, Simmerman began to draw. “This is Mykolia,” said Simmerman, drawing

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rapidly. “This section near the bottom is Alika. This to the south east is Rivental.” “I know that,” said Marin. She felt a little braver since Simmerman had stopped acting so frightening. “Good,” said Simmerman. “Now, Mykolia wishes to adjoin Alika to itself, but it has no right to do so. Alikans have governed themselves for hundreds of years without Mykolian interference. Alikans have never recognized the Mykolian king.” “That’s not true. Alika was part of Mykolia,” Marin contradicted, shaking her head. “Governors from the provinces all over Mykolia met together thirty years ago and agreed to unite - ” “Alika has its own kings and is in no need of any help from the Mykolian crown,” Simmerman cut her off. “But it agreed to become part of Mykolia!” Marin exclaimed. “When Prince Esper’s father was not elected king of Mykolia, he retracted Alika’s loyalty, but he had already agreed –” “Mykolia has no right to Alika,” Simmerman said. “Why not?” Marin challenged. “Because Alikans have no desire to be Mykolian,” Simmerman said shortly. “But they are Mykolian,” Marin pointed out. “From Mykolia’s point of view, yes!” said Simmerman, throwing down his pen and showering an arc of black ink over the table in the process. “And that is why we are at war!” “I don’t want to help Alikans! They’re nothing more than Mykolians –” Simmerman suddenly seemed to lose his temper. “You’d better hope that we Alikans stay one up on the Mykolians, if only to save your own neck. Did you ever hear what happened at the battle of High Point when an Alikan citadel was besieged by the enemy?” “No,” Marin said, startled. “They burned all their food and then killed all their

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animals. And then they killed themselves before the enemy could take the city, starting with their prisoners and slaves.” Marin looked away, a sick taste in her mouth. “If the Mykolians take us, you will be in trouble,” Simmerman said in a low voice. Marin frowned and looked down at the parchment that had been given her. “I’m very serious about this, Marin,” said Simmerman dangerously. “I want that message translated.” Marin swallowed and unfolded the paper. The contents of the paper were written in dark ink: GTTI JKRN NRFF SRFS BBMK KIIV EXBN TUOQ UFRL MRQM NLQP XZYC XYPK YJWK PTFC FAXY

LNTE CCAF OZWZ AKQI TNDRM OEVLL “I need a pen,” Marin said after several seconds had passed. Simmerman swallowed hard and moved closer to Marin. “Do you know what to do?” Marin smiled inwardly, her stomach relaxing for the first time since she had come into the tent. He was curious, that much was clear. Although he wanted to make sure that she did exactly what he wanted, he was interested in what he had heard about her and wanted to see if it was true. His excitement was palpable. Marin licked her lips. “Yes,” she said. “I have a few things I can try.” “Why do you suppose all of the words are four letters long?” Simmerman asked. “They aren’t,” Marin said. “Those aren’t words.” “How do you know?” Simmerman asked. “It’s a simple organizational tool,” Marin said. “It’s a way for the encoder to organize the letters in a manageable way. You notice also that the last two sets of

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letters are in a group of five. That’s important.” “Why?” Simmerman asked. “It gives us a clue as to how the cipher was encoded,” Marin said, her eyes scrutinizing the paper. “These letters are arranged in a pattern. The pattern didn’t come out even. Thus there are twenty groups of four and two groups of five.” “So that gives us…” Simmerman’s voice trailed off as he attempted to make a calculation. After a moment he shrugged. “The number of letters doesn’t matter anyway.” “Actually it does,” said Marin. “If each letter stands for another letter - which I assume is the case, although it is not necessarily so – then it is useful to know how many letters there are. The letters are arranged, remember. The pattern is important.” “There are ninety,” said Simmerman. “Yes,” Marin said. “A very neat number.” She smiled, very pleased. “Ah,” said Simmerman, not understanding the source of Marin’s pleasure. “If we factor ninety, we get the smallest number by which the numbers could have been organized into a rectangle of some sort,” Marin continued. “Those numbers are forty-five, thirty, eighteen, fifteen, ten, nine, six, five, three, two and one.” “Doesn’t help much,” Simmerman said. “Too many possibilities.” “Actually, we can safely eliminate forty-five and two, since that wouldn’t make much of a rectangle, and three and thirty seems too cumbersome as well. That leaves us with 18 X 5, 15 X 6 and 10 X 9. Encoders like their grids to be as square as possible, so I’m quite certain that it’s 10 X 9. Or it could be 9 X 10.” Simmerman said nothing. Marin bent over the parchment and began to write furiously. “I’m fairly sure that the letters are simply

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arranged vertically and were transposed by being read across. If we assume that nothing incredibly technical was used here, I’d say that we have a safe bet that the rectangle of transposition looks something like this:” Simmerman bent over the paper once Marin’s nose rose up from it:

G T T I J K R N N R F F S R F S B B M K K I I V E X B N T U O Q U F R L M R Q M N L Q P X Z Y C X Y P K Y J W K P T F C F A X Y L N T E C C A F O Z W Z A K Q I T N D R M O E V L L

“Rewriting the letters as they appear vertically will give us:” GRMNZMWYONTFKTRYKLZDTFKUQCPNWRISIOMXTTZMJRIQNYFEAOKFVULPCCKERSEFQKFCQVNBXRPYAAILNBBLXJXFTL “The groups are gone,” said Simmerman. “They’ve served their purpose,” said Marin dismissively. “We don’t need them anymore.” “And now what?” Simmerman asked. “And now we think,” murmured Marin. She studied the code for a moment before she began to underline. “What are you doing?” “Look,” Marin said, shoving the parchment toward Simmerman. “A pattern!” Simmerman bent over the letters and looked and what Marin had spotted. GRMNZMWYONTFKTRYKLZDTFKUQCPNWRISIOMXTTZMJR

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IQNYFEAOKFVULPCCKERSEFQKFCQVNBXRPYAAILNBBLXJXFTL “The same letters,” Simmerman said. “Do you think that it’s a word? Is it ‘the’? I know that one way to break codes is to look for hidden words.” “No,” Marin said. “It’s not ‘the.’ At least, I don’t think so. No, it’s a pattern! This is really great. Whoever wrote this code didn’t take much care to guard it from being cracked.” “What does the pattern mean?” Simmerman asked, getting excited. “It tells us something about how the message was encoded,” Marin said. “I’m fairly sure that it was done using a polyalphabetic substitution.” “What does that mean?” Simmerman asked. “It means that each letter of the message was encoded using a different system. It’s much more complicated than simple letter substitution, where A always stands for L, for example. Or I always stands for D. With polyalphabetic substitution, A could stand for T and later for G and later for X in the same message. A different code is used for each letter.” “How do you know that it’s not just a letter for letter substitution?” Simmerman asked. “First of all, because that would be far too easy to decode. All I’d have to do is look for obvious word patterns and I’d have the message. There’s also the issue of letter frequency. There’s a certain frequency at which most letters are used in Mykolian. The frequencies here are all off. Generally ‘E’ should be used 12 percent of the time, ‘T’ about 9 percent and ‘O’ 7.5. There are a few more letters that are just about as common, but after that, the percentages drop off sharply. Here, there is a very common distribution, probably about four percent for every letter of the alphabet, on average! Six percent of the letters are ‘K’, six percent are ‘N’, six percent are ‘R’, six

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percent are ‘T’…” Simmerman looked like his mind was reeling. “How are you going to crack it then?” Marin smiled, feeling quite sure of herself. “A bit at a time. Polyalphabetic substitutions are done using a Vigenere square –” “What’s that?” “It’s a sort of codebook for poly substitutions, named after the guy who perfected it,” Marin said. “I’d draw you one, but it would take too much time. Basically the first row of the Vigenere square is the alphabet written out normally. This is the ‘A’ row. Underneath, in the ‘B’ row, the alphabet is written beginning with B and ending with A under the Z of the ‘A’ row. Then the ‘C’ row begins with C and so on. Basically you have 26 different simple substitutions.” “I see,” said Simmerman slowly. “So in the ‘R’ row, T is encoded as K, while in the ‘O’ row, T is H.” “How do you know that?” Simmerman asked. “I have the square memorized,” said Marin offhandedly. Simmerman stared. “A Vigenere square is run off of some code word,” Marin continued. “There’s a key phrase or word that will tell us which row was used to encode each letter.” “Do you know the phrase?” Simmerman asked. “No,” said Marin, “but thanks to the pattern I found, I know how many letters long it is. I count the distance between the repeated letters that I spotted a moment ago…” “Ten,” Simmerman said. “Yes,” said Marin. “The key phrase is ten letters long.” Simmerman stared at the paper, his mind apparently hard at work. “Ninety also is divisible by ten,” Marin said.

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“Therefore we can conclude that the pattern was used nine times, and exactly nine times.” “Which means…” “Which means that I am going to rewrite the code now in groups of ten to make it easier to work with:”

GRMNZMWYON TFKTRYKLZD TFKUQCPNWR ISIOMXTTZM JRIQNYFEAO KFVULPCCKE RSEFQKFCQV NBXRPYAAIL NBBLXJXFTL

“This makes some things quite clear,” Marin said, putting the feathered end of the pen in her mouth. “Look in the second column of letters. There is a Y repeated in the same place. We can assume that it is the same letter since the same letter row of the Vigenere square was used to encode it. There are also other patterns visible. The last two groups of ten both begin with the letters NB. We must assume that they are letters that are frequently found next to one another. Maybe T and H, for instance, or S and T.” Marin thought a moment. “The last letter in the last group is L,” she said. “Is that important?” Simmerman asked. “Yes,” Marin said. “If a pattern of encoding was used where the pattern doesn’t come out even – for example if there had been 83 letters in the message instead of 90, then the rest of the spaces are often filled with the word ‘null.’ And here we end with an L.” “So the L is not encoded?” “It is,” Marin said. “It is the L position on the ‘A’ row of the square.” “Which means…” “Which means that the last letter in the key word that encoded all this is A,” said Marin. Simmerman frowned and sat back. “Isn’t this a lot of guesswork? How do you know that the message didn’t take all ninety letters?”

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“I don’t,” said Marin serenely. “I do a lot of guessing. But I have been doing this for so long, I know what to expect. Military codes don’t change all that much.” Simmerman pursed his lips. “We can now decode the last letter of each group,” said Marin, “now that we know that they were all encoded using the ‘A.’” “You’re the one who has the square memorized,” said Simmerman with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have to have the square memorized to do it,” Marin pointed out. “Since it’s the ‘A’ row we’re talking about, we know that all the letters at the end of the groups are already decoded.”

GRMNZMWYON TFKTRYKLZD TFKUQCPNWR N D R ISIOMXTTZM JRIQNYFEAO KFVULPCCKE M O E RSEFQKFCQV NBXRPYAAIL NBBLXJXFTL V L L “I’m going to decode the last four letters assuming that they stand for ‘null,’” said Marin. Simmerman watched as she scribbled. “O, L, I, A,” said Marin. She thought only half a second before she looked up. “Mykolia,” she said quietly. “That’s the key word?” Simmerman exclaimed. “It’s the last seven letters of it,” Marin said, her nose already back to the paper. “So now you can decode everything except the first three letters of each group,” said Simmerman. Marin nodded without looking up. After just a few moments, she had produced: GRMNZMWYON TFKTRYKLZD TFKUQCPNWR

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ANCINGN HTOWARD ISSABOR ISIOMXTTZM JRIQNYFEAO KFVULPCCKE CONFIRM EPORTSO INFORCE RSEFQKFCQV NBXRPYAAIL NBBLXJXFTL TSARRIV FROMPAL ULLNULL Simmerman practically wrenched the paper away from her. “Toward,” he said under his breath. “Issabor? Confirm! Confirm what? Eportso…” “Reports,” said Marin softly. She pulled the paper back. “This gives us the third letter in the key word…” “Misspelling,” said Simmerman with a laugh. “Enforce, not inforce.” “Reinforce,” corrected Marin. “Reinforcements. They are talking about soldiers here.” “From,” Simmerman read. “But from where? Pal…” “That third B in the last group is an N also,” said Marin, “which confirms my suspicion that the third letter in the key word is R.” “Issabor…that doesn’t make any sense,” said Simmerman. “It’s part of a word,” Marin said. “It won’t make any sense without the other part.” Her eyes flew over the code again. “But the word ‘reinforcements’ gives me the rest of the letters I need in the key word,” said Marin. “You can finish it, then?” Marin was already writing: GRMNZMWYON TFKTRYKLZD TFKUQCPNWR ADVANCINGN ORTHTOWARD ORTISSABOR ISIOMXTTZM JRIQNYFEAO KFVULPCCKE DERCONFIRM EDREPORTSO FREINFORCE RSEFQKFCQV NBXRPYAAIL NBBLXJXFTL

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MENTSARRIV INGFROMPAL INNULLNULL “Advancing north toward Ortissa Border,” Simmerman read, clearly suppressing the excitement that he felt. “Confirmed reports of reinforcements arriving from Palin.” Marin smiled slightly and put down her pen. Simmerman looked at the parchment once more and then at Marin. “It’s true what they say,” he said in almost a reverent tone. “You are a miracle.” “That was an easy one,” Marin said frankly. Simmerman folded up the message and put it in his pocket. “Well done,” he said shortly. He clapped his hands and in a few moments a soldier with a fringy looking beard stepped into the tent. “Take Marin back to her tent. Get her something to eat.” Marin watched Simmerman turn on his heel with the message and leave the tent. The soldier advanced toward her and pulled her toward the tent door. Quite stealthily, Marin snatched up the piece of scratch paper that she had used while decoding and crumpled it up into her hand. Once she was safely back into her tent, she opened the paper and read the key word the writer had used when encoding the message. She felt a strange feeling course through her as she read it.

FOR MYKOLIA

They did not stay long in the small valley in which Marin had been captured. She learned from listening to the men that walked past her tent that it was called Hart Valley, and that camp would be breaking soon. In spite of the fact that she would be moving further from home, Marin was glad to be leaving. During the few days that Simmerman’s men had been in the valley, Marin had been cooped up in her tent. It was very boring spending long days alone with nothing to do, but she much preferred staring at her canvas walls than the hours when she was forced from her tent to the tent of the Alikan general where she decoded intercepted codes under Simmerman’s watchful eyes. Marin scrambled out of the tent at dawn the next day, hearing her name called and no one appearing at the tent flap. The day was cool compared to the rather stifling temperature that naturally built up inside the tent. She let the cool breeze play with her hair and dry the perpetual layer of sweat from her face. She looked around and saw that everyone was busy packing his things away, hanging pans on the backs of full packs that they strapped to themselves and filling the saddle bags of their horses. A long-haired soldier near her pointed to the tent and told her to begin packing it up. Marin nodded once and turned to the task of dismantling the frame and rolling up the canvas. After a large chunk of bread for breakfast, Marin was hurried down toward the place where Simmerman’s tent had once stood. Simmerman was mounted on a horse, and he looked down at Marin as she was pushed toward him. “Tie her hand,” Simmerman said to the long-haired soldier who still accompanied her.

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The soldier obeyed orders and tied a length of thick rope to Marin’s wrist. She looked down at it as he did so. It was dark from built-up dirt. Marin sighed. It had been too long since she had been able to wash. She knew that she must smell as badly as the soldier who was tying her wrist. “Give me the end,” Simmerman said. The soldier placed the end of the rope in Simmerman’s hand and Marin looked up at him in question. “You’re too valuable to entrust to just anyone,” said Simmerman coldly. “You’ll walk along beside me and my horse, Stamilon.” Stamilon paced, making tiny clouds of dust appear around his hooves. He snorted loudly, as though asserting his authority. Marin didn’t bother to nod. She knew it didn’t make any difference whether she agreed with Simmerman’s orders or not – and she knew that he didn’t care whether she did or not. The camp left Hart Valley just a short time later, the camp having miraculously dissolved in just a short time. Only the charred remains of campfires testified that there had ever been anyone camped there. It was not difficult to walk next to Simmerman and his horse. Simmerman walked Stamilon slowly enough that Marin was able to keep up a comfortable pace with little trouble. She was surprised about how happy she was to be walking. After having been kept for so long in the tent, she was grateful for the chance to be outside. They walked and camped for several days, mostly hacking through the jungle of lush trees that made up the landscape of Alika and occasionally crossing large open plains. All in all, the scenery that they passed was breathtaking and Marin wondered that no one had ever mentioned how beautiful Alika was. The trees were tall and thin, but the ground was becoming less and less flat

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as they progressed. One day, after about three hours of walking , Marin discovered that they were walking along the rim of a very impressive granite canyon whose walls jutted sharply upward from a series of rivers and waterfalls that intermingled with each other below. The company took their journey down into the canyon and Marin was in awe at the incredible echoes that beat off the canyon walls as they descended. At last the company slowed down. When they came to a small plateau built into the side of the canyon, Simmerman pulled on the reins of his horse, and the company stopped for lunch and rest. Simmerman jumped down from his horse, still holding the end of the rope that was attached to Marin’s arm. A soldier took his horse and led it away. “Give her something to eat,” Simmerman said to the first soldier who crossed his path, not looking at him or at Marin but around at the scenery. His eyes lingered on a small cave that hung toward the back of the plateau. He dropped the rope and left Marin in the possession of the rather young looking soldier. The soldier rummaged through his sack and pulled out a few carrots. He handed them to Marin who began to gnaw on them, trying to ignore their limpness. After she had finished, the soldier gave her more of the same sort of bread she had eaten that morning, and then some water. Once she had finished, Marin felt reasonably full. She looked around at the grayish rock on all sides of her. It was amazing to her that there was country that looked this beautiful and this wild. All she knew were the cultivated grounds of Sandhill and the little forests that marked its boundaries. Here there was such diversity that Marin felt as though she were being awakened to something wonderful. Something strange, but wonderful nonetheless. Simmerman suddenly appeared at Marin’s side and

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pulled her roughly to her feet, tearing her from her reverie. “I need two strong men to come with me,” Simmerman said shortly. He grabbed the rope that held Marin’s wrist and used it to tie both her hands in front of her. Two soldiers sitting near a pair of brown horses got slowly to their feet. They were burly and both had large brown curly beards. Simmerman pulled Marin away from the edge that looked out into the canyon and toward the wall where he had discovered the cave. Marin saw that there was a flickering light coming from it, almost as though it were on fire. Simmerman led Marin into the cave where there was indeed a small fire burning near the mouth. There seemed to be something long like a pole sticking out of it. Simmerman’s bag lay next to it. He bent down and began to look through it. The two men ducked into the cave after Marin. “Take her over there,” Simmerman said, pointing to the far end of the cave. “Hold her.” Marin was dragged to the other end of the cave, and the two men grabbed her arms. Marin thought this was a fruitless gesture. She wasn’t about to try to escape. Still, she had a very uneasy feeling in her stomach. What was going on? Certainly if he had another code for her to break, he would know that she would need the use of her hands to break it. “What are you doing?” Marin asked, her voice quavering. Simmerman got to his feet and turned around, looking at Marin and the men who held her. “Turn her around,” Simmerman said, and the two men obediently turned Marin around to face the back of the cave. Marin’s heart began to beat very fast. She heard the fire give a few angry pops and the sound of

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something metal being lifted from the ground. “I need her shoulder exposed,” Simmerman said, his voice coming nearer. One of the men reached up and pulled Marin’s tunic down so that her left shoulder was showing. Marin started to shiver. What was going on? “Hold her still,” Simmerman said, and the men’s arms clamped around her entire body, making it impossible for her to move. He laid a hand on Marin’s right shoulder, as though to steady himself. Marin both heard it and felt it at the same time. There was a nasty hiss and then a violent burning began to eat at her shoulder making her buck her head back involuntarily, trying to get whatever was tearing at her shoulder off. The men, however, held her so tightly she was not able to remove it. She screamed as loudly as she could, trying to get the thing away from her, the men off of her… And then suddenly the thing was gone and Marin let out a great wet sob. But the moment of relief did not last long. The burning quickly returned and Marin started to scream again. What had happened? The men released her, and Marin fell, sobbing, to the floor. She could see Simmerman walk away from her and throw a long metal rod back into the fire. The two men, at a nod from Simmerman left the cave. She gasped and sat up, twisting around to see what had they had done to her, and saw that there was a very red S emblazoned on her shoulder. She turned away. She had been burned. Simmerman had burned that S into her shoulder. Marin felt suddenly sick. She didn’t even bother turning her head away from Simmerman as she vomited violently onto the floor of the cave. After just a few moments, Simmerman came over and pulled Marin to her feet. “Why did you do that?” Marin spat, angrier than she’d ever been in her life. Her shoulder still hurt, and it

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filled her with angry venom. “Why did I brand you?” Simmerman asked simply. “Because you belong to the army. You have my mark on you now. This way, if ever you run away, you can be easily identified.” Marin shivered with anger and pain. Simmerman replaced Marin’s tunic. The fabric touching Marin’s shoulder stung it badly. Marin stifled a scream. “I…I wouldn’t have run away,” Marin said, once she could talk again. “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Simmerman coldly, dragging her out into the light. “You’re far too smart for that.” In spite of her pain, Marin paused to think about what he had meant.

When Marin’s eyes fluttered open the next morning, she knew it was very late. Simmerman had probably realized that the long day’s journey the night before had been taxing on the men and had allowed them to sleep later. Marin’s mind flashed back on the horrid day that had been yesterday. After the terrifying and disturbing experience in the cave, Simmerman had pressed his men on faster than he had in the morning, not stopping until the sun fell. This resulted in Marin’s legs hurting from having to jog to keep up with Simmerman’s horse. She wasn’t used to physical exercise. It also meant that she was extremely tired and hungry when at last it was time to make camp. She had sat alone, miserable, in the shadows, her hands still bound together while she waited for Simmerman to remember that she still had not eaten and to give orders for a soldier to give her something to eat. Her shoulder continued to burn. Marin continuously

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felt a burning in her shoulder, as though a phantom poker were constantly being pressed up against her left side. The sensation never left her. She was ever conscient of it. At times the sting was so bad that she pulled her left arm from her tunic and tied the sleeve under her armpit. This abated the pain that the rough fabric made, but also attracted a disturbing number of insects that buzzed around the oozing burn. As they had pressed farther down into the canyon, Marin had gotten progressively uneasy. They were approaching the bottom where the waters from all the waterfalls and rivers pooled. She didn’t like the feeling in her stomach that took over when she looked at the deep water for a long time. The pounding water from the waterfalls seemed to have made her quite deaf. She appreciated not being able to hear the voices of the soldiers that had so disturbed her before. She hated how they used to talk about her, as though she weren’t there. The noise from the waterfalls also made it easier to fall asleep, a process which took a lot less time now that she was over the initial shock of having been captured. She was easily lulled to sleep; the problem was staying asleep. With the sound of rushing water, the dream about the ship and storm came more frequently, and she often awoke screaming and in cold sweats. Marin forced herself to her feet, still a bit sleepy, as the nightmare had kept her awake several hours that very night. She stumbled out of the tent, had her hands tied just as she had the previous morning and choked down her small breakfast. Marin looked up at the sky a little wistfully as they began that day’s march. She was a little tired of seeing nothing but cold rocks all around her. She missed the sky. Since yesterday especially, the canyon had seemed almost sinister. She was tired of the water and of its sounds. Yes, it was the water that bothered her most.

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“No,” Marin said firmly, one afternoon, looking out over the pool that they had come to. The water was glassy clear and it shone with the little sunlight that was able to penetrate the canyon from above. The rocks towered above it on both sides and there was the sound of rushing water coming from somewhere to the left. Marin closed her eyes and shook her head. “Come on,” Simmerman snarled, coaxing his horse forward a step. Marin stayed her ground. He wanted her to forge the pool on foot. Marin looked at it again. It didn’t look very deep, but that didn’t matter. There was a very sick feeling in her stomach that she couldn’t quite explain. “I won’t,” Marin said, her voice hard as iron. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the water and look straight into Simmerman’s. “I won’t. I can’t.” “Then I’ll drag you through it,” Simmerman said cruelly. “No!” Marin screamed, as Simmerman drove Stamilon forward a few more steps. The horse’s hooves were now several inches deep in the dark water. Simmerman looked back at her as though she had just sprouted two heads. “I won’t go,” Marin said, her throat closing off in panic, “I won’t…” Simmerman drove Stamilon still farther into the water and Marin felt cold water wash over her toes as she was forced forward by the rope tied to her wrist. Marin began to scream uncontrollably. She fell to her knees and felt as though she were going to pass out. Marin heard the sound of more hooves crunching in the rocky sand beside her. “What’s going on?” The voice from the rider of the horse that had just approached was soft and concerned. Marin tried to scramble away from the water and looked up. It was the man that she had seen in Simmerman’s

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tent the morning that she had decoded that message. The elusive man that she was sure had winked at her. He tilted his head down and let his twinkling eyes fall on Marin. “Don’t make me go in the water,” Marin said, rubbing her nose and getting to her feet. “Please don’t make me.” She turned her pleading eyes to the man that had just approached. “She’s making a scene, Elian,” Simmerman said angrily. “She seems to be afraid of the water, General,” the man said, his voice a touch harder. “Deathly afraid.” Simmerman frowned hard. The man whose name was apparently Elian coaxed his horse (a pretty gray one) forward. “Whoa, Belia,” Elian said, stopping just next to Marin. “May I?” He extended his hand. Simmerman scowled as Marin accepted his hand and climbed up onto his horse with him. Simmerman released the rope and Elian grabbed and gathered it, and heaped the length in Marin’s lap in front of him. “You keep track of her,” Simmerman shouted as he spurred his horse and charged across the pool. “If she goes missing, it will be your head.” “Thank you,” Marin said to the man once he had started out. “It is a pleasure,” the man said as his horse’s hooves began to slap lightly against the water, “to serve the daughter of Tenara Lindrine.” Marin spun around and looked at Elian, her face white with shock. “How do you know my mother’s name?” she demanded. The man put a finger to his lips, pointed toward Simmerman and smiled. Understanding, Marin turned around once more, her mind spinning. This man knew her mother! No one, no one at Sandhill, not even Mr. Rosings had known her

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parents, and now this man, this unlikely companion of her captor had mentioned her name. Even Marin herself had let it get buried somewhere in the back of her mind. But now this man had brought it very much to the front.

All that day Marin looked for opportunities to speak to the man Elian, but none presented itself. Once the pool had been forged, it had been a hard journey upward out of the canyon. That night, the man who Marin now considered her rescuer disappeared and she was sequestered once more in the tent, the guard outside. Apparently, Simmerman had decided to try and leave the canyon as quickly as possible, even if it meant a grueling march with little rest for the men and horses. After two days of early rising and late camp-making in the evening, Marin was almost too exhausted to care whether she got a chance to speak to the man named Elian again. The sounds of the waterfalls were dying away, reminding Marin of how sleeping had been before the lulling sound had been there to make her fall quickly asleep. Now it was the insects once more that serenaded the evening hours and accentuated the quiet that otherwise prevailed. After sleeping for what only seemed a few moments, Marin was shaken awake. “Time to go already?” Marin muttered, blinking up to the darkness around her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Someone laid a hand on her arm. “Marin.” Marin started. She recognized the voice immediately. “Elian!” Marin exclaimed. “Shhh!” Elian whispered shortly. “Don’t make a sound. I want you to follow me.” Marin, her heart pounding very hard against her chest, nodded and crept after Elian to the door of the tent. She ducked out as soundlessly as possible and stepped past the shadowy figure of her guard lying crumpled in a

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heap on the ground. Marin opened her eyes as wide as she could to help her see better in the night. There were no stars, however. The tents that they passed were colorless shapes rising up silently against the black canyon walls. Marin stumbled and Elian reached back and took her hand, leading her past the tents and toward the canyon wall. Once they seemed to have reached the wall, Elian led her further into the side of the canyon itself, into a small cave that closed off completely all light, even that of the stars. Marin stared into complete blackness for a few moments before there was a sharp sound and Elian lit a match. Marin saw his bearded face come into view and saw him stick the match inside a lantern which immediately began to burn brightly. Elian motioned for Marin to follow him deeper into the cave. Marin did so, wondering where he was taking her. “Here,” Elian said at last, once they had come to the end of the cave. He lowered himself down onto the rocks and motioned for Marin to do the same. “Sit.” Marin slowly sat down on the ground and Elian set the lantern down between them. From the light that now filled the cave, Marin could see that Elian was actually quite a bit younger than she had supposed him to be. His beard was flecked with gray, but his face was youthful. Marin supposed that he could not be older than fifty. A million questions were swimming around Marin’s head, but the first one that crossed her lips was: “How did you get past my guard?” Elian smiled. “I drugged him.” “Oh,” Marin said, remembering suddenly back to the day that she had been taken from Sandhill. “I think introductions are in order,” Elian said, bringing her back from her reverie. “My name is Edric Elian,” Elian said, extending his hand.

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“Marin Lindrine,” Marin said, taking his hand and shaking it. “But you knew that already.” “Indeed I did,” Elian said, a twinkle in his eye. “But then, who does not?” “I don’t know,” Marin said truthfully. “Mr. Rosings told me that people knew about me, but I didn’t know that it was really true. Now I’m beginning to believe it, but it’s still incredible.” “It is indeed,” said Elian. “And who is Mr. Rosings?” “Mr. Rosings took care of me all my life,” Marin said. “At least all my life that I can remember.” “How very kind of him,” Elian said. “He lives near Sandhill,” Marin continued. “That’s where I lived until Simmerman captured me.” Elian nodded. “I see. That I did not know until most recently. I discovered this from General Simmerman.” “How do you know my mother?” Marin burst out suddenly. “No one knows about her. I’ve asked Mr. Rosings and he had never been able to tell me anything except her name. You’re the first person to have said it to me in a very long time.” Elian smiled reminiscently. “I knew Tenara many years ago,” he said. “And I knew you too, when you were very young.” “You knew me?” Marin exclaimed in astonishment. “How old was I?” “I knew you from your birth until the moment you and your mother disappeared,” Elian said. “Disappeared?” Marin said, intrigued. “From where? What do you mean?” Elian cocked his head and gave her a searching look. “You don’t remember? You don’t remember anything?” Marin shook her head. “I don’t remember anything before I came to live with Mr. Rosings,” Marin said. “I guess I was seven. I don’t remember anything before that.” “You don’t remember your mother, then?” Elian

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said. “Not at all,” Marin said, suddenly frustrated. “I know I should be able to; I was old enough to remember. My friends can all remember things from when they were very small. I can’t remember anything.” “Interesting,” Elian said very calmly as though they were discussing the weather. “We disappeared, then?” Marin pressed, wanting to know more. “I suppose I’d best start at the beginning,” said Elian. “Your story is very much tied up in the war that is consuming the country at the moment.” “Really?” said Marin. “How?” “You know what the war is about, don’t you?” Elian said. “Yes,” Marin said. “Simmerman explained it all to me. Thirty years ago the lords from the provinces of Mykolia met to discuss uniting the country. There was a vote to elect one of the nobles king of Mykolia, and the vote favored King Castillo, the lord from Kenyon. Prince Esper’s father, King Anjute, was angry that he was not chosen, and so he retracted Alika’s allegiance from the alliance. Now Mykolia wants Alika back and is fighting to get it.” Elian smiled again. “That is the version that you have heard from an Alikan.” Marin frowned. “What do you mean?” “I mean that you have not been told the real reason that Alika and Mykolia are at war.” “Why are they at war, then?” Marin asked. “King Anjute was indeed angry that he had not been chosen as king, but he was not content to simply return to Alika without doing something. He gathered his troops and rallied the armies that Alika is famous for producing and launched a campaign to conquer Mykolia and crown himself king of the entire country by force.” Marin’s forehead wrinkled. “And Rivental?”

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“Rivental has agreed to help Alika because it knows that Alika has a much better army than Mykolia and is likely to win,” explained Elian. “They want to come out as allies to the victor. What they do not understand is that Rivental is the more powerful country. If Alika wins, it is likely that Rivental will take over all of Mykolia.” “So they think that Alika is going to win this war,” Marin concluded. Elian nodded. “Mr. Rosings was fighting against them, though!” Marin exclaimed, suddenly remembering what Simmerman had said. “He accused Mr. Rosings of working against his own country.” “That may be,” said Elian. “Rosings may have ties to Mykolia.” Marin was silent. She felt sure that what Elian was telling her was true; she trusted him inherently. On the other hand, it was strange to consider that Mykolia, the country that she had long considered uncultured and rough compared to the thriving Rivental might be the victim in a war that she had up until now misunderstood. “But what does this have to do with –” “Quiet!” Elian hissed suddenly. He seized Marin’s arm and thrust her into a corner. “I hear footsteps.” Marin squeezed her eyes tightly closed and tried not to breathe, shrinking back into the shadows as far as possible. “Elian,” a rough voice that Marin did not know bellowed from the entrance to the cave. “Who are you talking to?” “No one,” said Elian politely. Marin could hear the smile on his face. “I heard voices,” the voice said, approaching Elian. Marin squeezed herself between two rocks, trying to get farther out of the way. “Ah yes,” Elian said. “I was simply having a nightmare and probably talking in my sleep. Your

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footsteps awakened me. I apologize for the noise.” “You have a lantern lit,” the man pointed out. “Yes,” said Elian smoothly. “I am quite frightened to sleep in dark caves, I’m afraid. The lantern light helps me to get to sleep.” “Why aren’t you in your tent?” the man demanded. “Too stuffy,” Elian said. “I much prefer the open air.” The man grunted. “You’d best get back to your tent,” Elian said. “There are only a few more hours until sunrise, and you know that Simmerman will have us up for the march before dawn.” The man grunted again, and then Marin heard Elian get to his feet, some scuffling and then the thud of a large body falling to the ground. Once it was quiet again, Marin stumbled out of her hiding place to see what had happened. Elian was coming back from the body of a very large soldier, face down on the ground. “You must go back to your tent,” Elian hissed quietly. “No!” Marin exclaimed, her heart sinking. “You still haven’t told me about my mother!” “I will tell you everything as soon as I can,” Elian promised quickly, “but it’s not safe for us to talk now. You must go back to your tent. Your guard will remain asleep for a few more hours at least. You should be able to creep back in without much trouble if you are silent. This man will be asleep until morning when it will be discovered that he is missing. He will be punished for having gotten drunk while on the march.” “But I don’t have to go back,” Marin realized at once. “I could run away. I’d have a good three hour start before they realize that I’m gone –” “No!” said Elian firmly. “You’ve been marked, don’t you remember? You would be quickly found and

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returned to Simmerman, and he would not treat you kindly. You must go back to your tent.” “Who cares about the mark?” Marin said, heatedly. “Marin, you do not know what that mark will mean for you…you can not know,” Elian said, his face suddenly white. “And I hope that you never really find out. You must return to your tent. I will leave now, and you will follow in five minute’s time. You know the way to your tent. Use caution. Be silent. If you are caught, say you were going to the bathroom, and use the fact that you are returning to your tent as evidence that you were not running away.” With that, Elian blew out the lantern and disappeared.

The next day Marin could think of little but trying to find another opportunity to speak with Elian. She was so curious to know what Elian knew about her mother that the burning was almost more unbearable than the red mark on her shoulder. The next day, however, Simmerman wakened everyone early and set out once more for the top of the canyon. Marin walked on at the side of Simmerman’s horse, her bound left hand keeping her from making any kind of escape. Marin thought about what Elian had said about the mark she had received on her shoulder making it impossible for her to run away. Why would the mark matter? Elian had seemed insistent about the danger she would run if she did run away. He had seemed honest in the way that he had looked out for her so far that she figured that she should trust him even though she did not understand. As her legs brushed through the few patches of tall green grass that indicated that they were reaching the rim

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of the canyon, Marin’s mind was on something else. She thought about what Elian had told her about the war. It was not, then, as Simmerman had made it out to be – a valiant effort on the part of the Alikans to keep their country from the greedy hands of the Mykolian king. Instead, it was an attempt by the Alikans to conquer Mykolia for themselves. Marin frowned. What did all this have to do with her and her mother? How were they tied up in it? And how did Elian know them? Had he also known her father? Marin knew she should try to hide the fact that there was something on her mind, but the idea that someone knew something about the parents of whom she had no memory was intoxicating. Noon found the company at last out of the canyon. Marin took one last look behind her as the massive mouth of the canyon passed out of view for the last time and the green of Alika’s forests once again overtook the landscape. Marin munched disparagingly on her lunch (a chunk of bread with a length of sausages) and continued to think. She wondered where Robin was, and with a pang, wondered if she would ever see her again. “How long until we get to Little Springs?” Marin heard the soldier that had handed her her lunch say to another. Marin perked up her ears. Little Springs. Was that their destination? Would they at last stop their march once they got there? “Just another day or so,” the second soldier said in reply. “We crossed Ortissa Gorge, which puts us very close to Little Springs.” Marin put another sausage in her mouth. Just another day… Marin heard a sudden shout and then a growing sort of roar around her. She got hastily to her feet to look around, and saw that the two soldiers that stood guarding her were doing the same thing. The three of them looked

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around the trees and their eyes raked what little they could see of the horizon. The noise grew louder, and there was a sudden rustling noise and several of Simmerman’s men burst into the small clearing and rushed past. “What’s going on?” cried the soldier that had given Marin her lunch. “We’re being attacked!” yelled one of the soldiers over his shoulder as he raced by them. “Simmerman’s called us all to arms!” The two soldiers flew to their bags and to their horses, and grabbed their swords. Both mounted their horses without a second glance at Marin, bolted from the clearing. Marin’s head was spinning. She looked down. Her hands were not tied. The rope lay harmless on the ground. She jumped aside as several more soldiers came pounding by, some on horseback and some on foot. She ducked out of the way of their swinging swords and hid herself in the trees. Marin wiped the sweat from her forehead and took a deep calming breath. No one knew she was here. No one knew where she was. And no one seemed to care. Without another thought, Marin ran to the bags that the soldiers guarding her had left behind and rummaged through it. There were a few apples and some bread. Marin grabbed what food she could carry in her hands and fled from the clearing. Marin ran as fast as she could, the wind whistling in her ears as her feet pounded the solid ground. She weaved through the trees, and jumped over fallen trunks on the ground. She looked behind her occasionally, but saw nothing. Off to her right she could see a great mass of soldiers in the distance dressed in shiny armor with navy blue overlays rushing themselves at Simmerman’s brown

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clad men. Marin swallowed hard and ran in the opposite direction. Marin tripped suddenly on something hidden in the tall grass and fell heavily to the ground. She lay there in the grass, stunned, for several seconds. Her head was spinning, and the apples and bread seemed to have been lost somewhere in the labyrinth of foliage. Marin frowned and got herself to her knees to look around. She looked up and stifled a scream. There was a navy-clad soldier hovering above her, his sword drawn. “Get up,” said the man in Mykolian. Marin very slowly got to her feet, frightened. “You’re Marin, right?” Marin gave one look at the sword in the man’s hand and nodded slowly. “This way,” the man said. He had a rather large face and a spiky moustache. He pointed with his sword. Marin nodded and began to walk. The soldier prodded her from behind. “Faster,” said the soldier. “Run.” Marin started into a run, with which, to her surprise, the soldier was easily able to keep up. “I can’t believe it was me that caught you,” Marin heard the soldier say behind her after a few moments had passed. He wasn’t even panting. Marin marveled. He must be in amazing shape. Her side hurt and she was breathing hard. “Where…are we going?” Marin asked between large gulps of air. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time,” the soldier answered. “Since you disappeared. I’d have killed you when I found you, but then, how would I have proved that it was you?” Marin’s back went cold. Kill her? Her mind began to spin. She must get away. But this man was so fast and so powerful…how?

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Marin heard a string of curses fly from the soldier’s mouth and then a very heavy thump. Marin spun around, noticing that the footsteps had stopped. The soldier was down on the ground and Elian was on top of him. “Get away!” Elian yelled, pulling out a knife. Marin turned away, and tried to stopper her ears from the terrible shriek that proceeded out of the soldier’s mouth. In a moment, she felt Elian’s hand on her arm, pulling her away from the fallen soldier. “I thought I told you not to run away!” Elian said, his voice earnest. He sounded angry. “That man,” Marin said in a shaky voice, “he tried to take me. He said that these people want me dead and that he would have killed me, but he wanted to prove that it was really me that he’d caught.” “Marin,” Elian said, stopping suddenly and spinning Marin around to face him. “You must not run away! Do you understand me? You would have no where to go! You would die!” “I got some apples, but they –” “Marin!” Elian said, now shouting, red faced. “You don’t know what you were doing!” There was an uneasy silence. Then - “Who are those people?” Marin asked, trying not to look at Elian’s face. “I don’t know,” Elian said, wiping the sweat from his face and looking behind him. “They spoke Mykolian,” Marin said. Elian looked at her sharply. “It’s not the Mykolian army,” Elian told her. “They wear red.” Marin squinted out as though to see if she could see any of them, but they were too far away from where the camp had been attacked. She turned to face Elian again, suddenly. “Now, will you tell me about my mother?” “Not now,” said Elian firmly. “This is not the place. I am going to return you to Simmerman now. He’s

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probably furious, wondering where you are.” “No,” Marin pleaded. “Don’t. I could…” “You can’t run,” said Elian, grabbing her arm and dragging her back toward the camp. “Don’t breathe a word. Let me do the talking.” The pair of them stumbled into a deserted camp area, the fight having taken the soldiers elsewhere. Of at one side of the vast camp among the trees, Marin saw the tall figure of Simmerman. She shrank back involuntarily. Elian took her firmly by the arm and pulled her toward the general. Simmerman heard them coming and turned around. “You caught her then,” said Simmerman, a flash of relief crossing his face. He looked sweaty and feverish, as though he had been searching for something. He rushed up to them and clamped a hand down on Marin’s arm. “No,” said Elian, “shaking his arm. One of them snuck into camp and grabbed her just as I was coming through the clearing where she was being guarded. I immediately made chase.” “Where were her guards?” Simmerman said suspiciously. “They were no where to be seen,” Elian said. “That’s the truth,” Marin said desperately. “When the first of the soldiers came rushing by, they grabbed their stuff and left me.” Elian gave her a hard look that reminded her that he had told her not to speak. Simmerman squinted hard and then threw a glance behind him in the direction of the ensuing battle. “Elian,” Simmerman said, as though making up his mind about something. “It’s too dangerous for us to dawdle our way back to Little Springs with her. I’m going to leave you in charge here. I’m taking her at once on horseback back to Little Springs. You follow with the men as soon as you can.” “Who are they, sir?” Elian asked, looking in the

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direction of the battle and pulling out his sword. “Men from Homed,” Simmerman said distastefully. “They are a weak Mykolian faction with their own agenda. You should make short work of them.” “Yes, sir,” said Elian. He gave Simmerman a salute and turned and walked away. He was leaving – the one man who knew her and her family…he was leaving, she might never see him again, he might die and she might never know – “No, Elian –” Marin had burst out before she could contain herself. Elian turned around and gave her a look that bordered on horror. His eyes told her to close her mouth immediately. Simmerman turned his narrowed gaze first on Marin and then on Elian. “What is she saying to you, Elian?” Simmerman said suspiciously. “Nothing,” said Marin, her cheeks very red. She realized suddenly that she had made a very foolish mistake. Why had she spoken? “What were you saying?” Simmerman demanded, giving Marin a sharp slap to the cheek. Marin reeled and clapped a hand to her face. “I…I didn’t mean anything,” she said, trying to lie easily through her pain. “I just…wanted to tell him thank you for rescuing me from the Homed men…” Simmerman snorted impatiently, grabbed her arm and pulled her toward his horse. He grabbed her around the waist and put her on the horse just behind the saddle. Then, he put a foot in the stirrup and mounted in front of her. Marin cast a look toward Elian as they bolted from the camp, but he was nowhere to be seen. He had left to join the battle.

hey made Little Springs by nightfall. Little Springs was situated around a large citadel

that shared its name. It was a large, formidable-looking ancient thing, built of granite rock. The large round towers seemed to reach the heavens, outlined against the starry sky. “Who goes there!” came a voice from one of the highest ramparts as Simmerman rode up to the fortress, with Marin clutching his waist from behind. “Lord Simmerman,” cried Simmerman, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Welcome to you, Lord General!” the voice returned, and there was a loud creaking noise as the chains to the drawbridge were unrolled, and the monstrous bridge lowered itself down over the large black moat. Stamilon’s hooves made hollow clomps against the solid wood of the drawbridge as Simmerman rode into the fortress’ antechamber. The hall was lit with great torches that made an eerie light dance off everything that moved. Marin felt quite frightened as the drawbridge was hoisted closed behind them. When she was out in the countryside, the possibility of escape had presented itself often. Now, she felt trapped, and knew that should she ever need to get away now, she would have an infinitely harder time escaping. Simmerman dismounted and pulled Marin down from the horse. He didn’t bother tying her hands as he dragged her toward the doors at the far end of the hall. Before he reached it, hands from the inside had pushed aside the doors and Marin and Simmerman were admitted into a larger chamber, this one better lit with strong fires going in two fireplaces opposite each other.

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“Good evening,” said a squat man, running up to them. He was well-dressed in a gold trimmed green velvet robe. He wore a blanched beard that clouded the lower half of his face. “Good evening, Kimmick,” said Simmerman, obviously less than pleased to see the man. “It’s Kimmick, isn’t it?” “Yes, Alfred Kimmick,” said Kimmick excitedly. “Everything was prepared for your arrival, milord, his bald head shining in the light from the fires. “The rooms have been heated, a feast has been prepared – your coming has been much anticipated! Long has it been since the halls of Little Springs –” “Thank you, Kimmick,” Simmerman said, a tone of finality in his voice. “We could use something to eat, I’m sure.” He looked down at Marin, who nodded enthusiastically in spite of herself. She had had nothing to eat since those sausages at noon. “Very well,” said Kimmick excitedly,” I shall alert the cooks that you have arrived.” With that, he rushed from the room. Simmerman looked around the walls of the large hall as though it had been a long time since he had seen them. They stood there in silence, Simmerman’s hand still firmly clamped around her wrist, until Kimmick returned and bowed them into the dining hall. The meal was sumptuous; Marin had enjoyed few meals that were more appetizing than the one set before her. There were many seafood dishes, which Marin appreciated immensely, and the people seated at the table with her remarked on her healthy appetite. “She does like the seafood, doesn’t she,” said one rather overweight woman at the far end of the table. She wore a flashy red dress and had red lips to match. Simmerman gave her a simpering smile. “She’ll fit right in, then, won’t she?”

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Marin looked down at her plate, confused. Why was Simmerman suddenly treating her like a normal person and no longer like his captive? She was eating at the table like his equal, and she was being allowed to eat as much as she liked. It didn’t really make sense. “Rather quiet, though, isn’t she,” said a man with a dark mustache and beard sitting next to her. “Sorry,” said Marin, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “I just don’t know what to say.” “She’s tired,” said Simmerman, by way of excuse. Marin looked at him in amazement. And now he was making excuses for her. Marin, taking courage, cleared her throat and looked around. “I’m afraid you all seem to know who I am, but I don’t know who you are.” “They live here at Little Springs,” said Simmerman. “They are my counselors and advisors and my friends.” Marin nodded once and turned her attention back to her meal. All of this seemed very strange. From what she had previously seen of Simmerman, she knew that he could not be acting from the goodness of his heart. It was frightening not knowing the meaning of his newfound kindness. After a few more mouthfuls, Marin found she couldn’t stifle a yawn. “Charles, she’s tired,” pointed out one of the other ladies, this one with a very narrow face and a pointy chin. “Do let her go to bed.” “Are you tired?” Simmerman asked. “Yes,” said Marin truthfully. Simmerman clapped his hands and Kimmick appeared again. “Yes, sir?” Kimmick said, a bit too excited to have been called. “Take Miss Lindrine to her room,” said Simmerman. “I assume there has been one prepared for her.” “Oh, yes,” said Kimmick, nodding enthusiastically.

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“Oh, yes. Come with me, Miss Lindrine.” Marin stood and walked around the large-backed wooden chair she had been sitting in and followed Kimmick to the door. “Goodnight, dear,” said many of the ladies. Marin merely waved and followed Kimmick from the room. She followed him up a long flight of stairs and emerged on a long corridor with doors flanking both sides of it. Kimmick opened one on the right and Marin walked inside. It was a small room, but there was a comfortable looking bed pushed against one wall, a dresser, a mirror and a large tapestry pinned to the opposite wall. There was also a desk, a lamp, and several extra blankets piled in the corner. “Here you are, Miss,” said Kimmick. “If you need anything, call! Good night.” Marin watched him close the door and turned to the bed. There was a long white nightshirt folded at the foot of the bed, as well as a green dress, not unlike the ones that she had worn at Sandhill. Marin blew out the lamp, pulled off her filthy clothes, wished that she had someplace to wash the dirt off of her skin, and pulled the nightgown over her head. She lay down on the bed and directed her gaze out the small window, dotted with stars. She amused herself counting them and wondering what was going to happen to her here, and fell asleep very quickly.

The next morning, Marin awoke very late to a soft rapping at her door. Sunlight flooded Marin’s eyes as she opened them and sat up. She shook her head and looked around the tiny room. Where was she? She saw her clothes in a heap on the ground, and in a moment, she remembered.

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“Come in!” Marin said, as the rapping became more insistent. Caron walked into the room and closed the door behind her. Marin screamed. “Are you all right?” Caron asked, her long braid swinging as she rushed forward. “Of course,” Marin said, pressing a hand to her face once she had recovered the power of speech. “I just…what are you doing here?” “It must be quite a shock,” Caron said. “I mean, we haven’t seen each other for quite some time.” “How are you here?” Marin asked. “Simmerman told me that he released you the same night that he captured us.” Caron shook her head, frowning. “No, that’s not true. He kept me well-hidden from you. I wondered why he never let me see you. Him telling you that he had let me go must have been the reason he separated us. I’m not sure why he told you that, but I was with the company. I came back with Captain Elian.” “Captain Elian,” Marin repeated, astounded. “You know him? Is he back?” “Of course,” said Caron. “He’s the one that was put in charge of keeping me secret. At first I wanted to do everything I could to make you realize that I was there – I thought maybe we could escape or something together. But Elian told me that the best thing to do was to obey Simmerman. He said that eventually I’d see you again. And I trusted him. And yes, he’s back. We got back very early this morning.” “Caron,” Marin said suddenly. “Simmerman didn’t…do anything to you, did he?” “What do you mean?” Caron asked, narrowing her eyes. “I mean, to your shoulder…he didn’t…” “My shoulder?” said Caron, bewildered. “No, he

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didn’t do anything. I barely saw him.” Marin sighed and sat back. Caron, then, had not been branded with Simmerman’s initial. Why had he done it to her and not to Caron? “Anyway, it’s great to see you again,” Caron said. “Simmerman said that I’m going to be your helper while we’re here. There’s another girl, Adara, who’s going to be helping me too. She’s the daughter of one of the ladies here.” “Caron,” Marin said, not paying attention to what her friend had just said. “It’s strange what’s going on. I mean, isn’t it weird that they’re treating me like this? When I was out on the plain he treated me like dirt. And now I’ve got two servants of my own, apparently, and Simmerman’s been treating me nicely…” Caron shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t be too worried about it. If it’s better than what you had to live through on the plain, be grateful.” Marin nodded, but was still troubled. How could she be so accepting of what had happened to them? “Caron,” Marin said, her mind turning to something else. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a long time.” “What is it, Marin?” Caron asked. “What happened the night we left Sandhill?” Marin burst out. “All I remember is Richard drugging me in the hallway, someone taking Robin away and then I woke up in the middle of the forest tied up next to you.” Caron took a deep breath as though she really didn’t want to relive that night. “What happened?” Marin pressed. “A few minutes after you ran out of your room to try to find Robin, Richard brought you back, unconscious. He said Mr. Rosings wanted us to keep you safe somewhere on the estate – anywhere – until after the attack had passed. He knew there was going to be an attack.” “Yeah,” Marin said. “I broke a code that told him.”

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Caron nodded. “Anyway, we decided to get you away from Sandhill altogether.” “But why?” asked Marin. “Mr. Rosings said for me to stay in my room.” “Marin,” said Caron uneasily. “Mr. Rosings had Patrick killed. At least, that’s what Richard told us.” “What?” Marin exclaimed. “That’s not true! Robin and Elizabeth thought that –” “Marin, Mr. Rosings was seen going to visit a certain Mr. Golden one afternoon.” “Yeah,” said Marin, recalling. “I was with him that day.” “Marin, Golden is a known assassin.” Marin stopped, stunned. “But…” “Richard said that Mr. Rosings had been afraid that Patrick was an informant for Prince Martin. He said that that’s how the prince found out about where you were. He had him killed to stop him from doing something like that again.” Marin was still too shocked to say anything. “So Richard said that if Mr. Rosings could kill Patrick, he could kill any of us, and that it was time that we left Sandhill. So all of us left Sandhill that night. We used one of the secret exits off the fourth floor that Mr. Rosings had told Richard about and we left Sandhill. There were soldiers everywhere. We all went in different directions. I don’t know who made it out of there alive. It was really dark, hard to see anything. I followed Richard, who was carrying you, until we got off of the estate.” “What happened to Richard?” Marin asked. Caron looked away. “We hadn’t gone for more than an hour, when some men surprised us. I thought they were Prince Martin’s men at first, but they spoke Mykolian, so I thought they must be Mykolians. They must have been Simmerman’s men.” “And Richard? What happened to him?” Caron took a deep breath, looking highly distressed.

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“They killed him and took both of us prisoner.” Marin looked down, sickened. They had killed Richard? She was suddenly angry. “How could they?” Marin hissed. “Well, in their defense, Richard did try to kill them first,” Caron said gently, the pained look falling from her face. “Anyway, Marin, it’s a good thing that we got away from Sandhill.” “So you don’t know if Mr. Rosings is alive?” Marin said. “I don’t know,” Caron said, looking a little frightened. “I didn’t see him at all that day.” Marin was quiet, thinking. “It’s strange. It’s been my home from before I can remember,” Caron said. “You’re from Quinier, aren’t you?” Marin said, looking up suddenly. “Yes,” Caron answered. “My parents were from Neail. I don’t remember them though.” Marin looked off into a corner. “Marin,” Caron said, standing up, finally. “General Simmerman wanted me to come and get you dressed. He said that I could take you to the baths on this floor so you could get cleaned up.” Marin let herself be led down the hall, Caron following close behind, carrying the green dress that had been set out for her. Once they entered the baths, Marin saw the girl that must be Adara filling one of the baths with a tub of hot water. She turned around and smiled at Marin. She had very long black hair and a thin face. Her dress was a bright shade of orange and she wore a gold necklace. “I’m Adara,” said the girl with a formal bow. Marin felt very plain next to her. “Marin,” said Marin, shaking the girl’s hand. It only took a few minutes under the two girls’ hands before Marin was clean again. The girls oiled her hair and

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adjusted the waist on the dress to make it fit perfectly. “You look lovely, Marin,” said Caron with an admiring smile once they were done. Marin tried to give an appreciative smile, but her mind was still on what Caron had told her just a few moments before. “Simmerman’s going to want to see you,” Caron said. Marin nodded and followed Adara and Caron from the room. Simmerman was sitting with a group of well-dressed people in the large room at the foot of the stairs. The stone floor was covered in a thick red rug that muffled the footsteps of the girls as they walked across it. The fireplaces were burning brightly. To Marin’s surprise, all the men and women in the room stood when they saw her. Marin looked around uncomfortably, now more confused than ever. Simmerman got slowly to his feet and offered Marin a chair. Marin accepted it and sat down, twisting her hands in her lap. Her cheeks were red; she wasn’t sure what she should say. Once she had sat, the others in the room sat. Caron and Adara gave little bows and swept themselves out of the room. Nothing much happened after that. Marin sat quietly while the men and women talked of the war and of their hopes for the brave Alikan soldiers. Marin couldn’t help but think that they must either all be deceived or trying to keep alive the illusion of the grandeur of Alika they must think that she had. She nodded politely, said she was glad that she was safe and told them about what the country was like near the Rivental border. It was all very boring, until – “They tell me that you can add numbers very quickly,” said a man with a balding spot on the back of

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his head. He scratched his graying mustache and smiled thinly. Marin sighed. She had secretly been wondering when this would come up. “Yes, I can,” said Marin reluctantly. “But –” “And you speak several languages, don’t you?” said a woman seated near Simmerman. She had sleek black hair tied back behind her and a flashy diamond necklace. “Some better than others, I suppose,” said Marin in what she hoped was a dismissive voice. “Oh, how fortunate!” said another of the women. “Those are such interesting qualities to have!” “And she’s pretty as well,” said another. Everyone nodded in agreement. Marin stared at them. Why were they so interested in her “interesting qualities?” “You did get her the dress, didn’t you, Charles?” said one of the men, sniffling loudly. “The one you were talking about?” “Yes, yes,” said Simmerman. “Shall I fetch it?” “Oh yes,” said one of the women with a silly simpering laugh. “She should have it now.” Marin watched Simmerman smile, get to his feet and leave the room. “What dress?” Marin asked, once he had gone. “He had it made especially for you,” explained Kimmick, who had just stumbled into the room under the weight of a very beautiful, very expensive-looking dress. It was a bright blue with intricate embroidery covering the hems and sleeves. “This is for me?” Marin said, breathlessly fingering the needlework. “Do you like it?” Simmerman asked, very much like a father would ask his daughter if she liked the present he had bought her. Marin looked up at him, hardly believing that he could be this generous.

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“Yes,” Marin said honestly. “It’s beautiful.” “Then, yes, it’s yours,” Simmerman said. “Kimmick, take it up to her room, will you?” Kimmick nodded and stumbled out of the room and up the staircase. Marin looked after him as he left. “Go try it on,” said Simmerman, following her eyes. “And you needn’t come back down again if you don’t wish to. I’ve had some books placed in your room that may interest you once you’re done fawning over the dress.” Marin nodded and stood. As she did so, all the ladies and gentlemen got to their feet and gave slight bobs of their heads as she moved toward the staircase. Trying to ignore the eyes that followed her tirelessly, she went up the stairs and to her room. Kimmick was leaving her room. He gave her a wide smile and left the door open behind him as he went. Marin went inside and closed the door behind her. She went to the bed where the dress had been laid and touched the fabric with the ends of her fingers. She could not believe that she had been given this astonishingly beautiful dress. The workmanship on in was beyond anything that she had ever seen at the Rosings, even on Mrs. Rosings, who always was dressed in the latest fashions. Marin looked once more at the dress and then decided to put it on, at least to see how it fit. Marin pulled off the green dress which was shabby in comparison to the blue wonder before her. She pulled the dress over her head and enjoyed the crackle of new fabric brushing against her skin. The seams were rough on the inside of the dress, but the dress fit tightly against her skin, and after a few moments she forgot about them. She twirled around, contentedly watching her skirts billow around her as spun. There was a white underskirt that peeked out from the slit in the front of the dress when she moved, and it too was embroidered with silver

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flowers. Marin couldn’t believe how beautiful she felt. She had never had something like this, never… But a thought crossed Marin’s mind. Why had she been given this? Why had Simmerman suddenly become so benevolent toward her? Marin puzzled on this for a moment and then decided that Simmerman must simply have been under a great deal of stress while out in the countryside and that he was only now getting a glimpse of his true character. It was easier than she might have thought to make herself believe this. Marin sat down on her bed with one of the books that Simmerman had left for her. It was a book of old Quinian epic poems, several hundreds of years old. Marin flipped through it, and began to read from a page in the middle. Reading foreign languages always put Marin to sleep, and after a few moments, Marin’s eyelids began to droop and she fell asleep. It seemed like just a few moments later when Marin was awakened by voices in her room. The sun was brighter and lower in the sky. Marin realized that it must be nearly evening. “Marin!” It was the insistency in the voice that made Marin sit up and look around. Caron had come into her room, looking very upset. “Caron, what is it?” Marin said, catching her friend in her arms as Caron rushed toward her. “Caron, be quiet!” Marin looked up to see Adara stride into the room and wrench Caron around to face her. “Shhh!” Adara hissed, looking very much like she would like to slap Caron across the face. “If they so much as know that you heard anything, you will be beaten to within an inch of your life! You haven’t lived here long enough to know what you are risking!”

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Marin was confused, but had enough presence of mind to close the heavy door. She stood with her back against the door and looked at the two girls. “What is it?” Marin asked quietly, her brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” Adara gave Caron a long look and then turned to face Marin. “She overheard something,” she said at last, her long tanned arms hanging at her side. “What?” asked Marin timorously. Did she really want to get to the bottom of this? Caron took a deep breath. “Simmerman’s taking you to Numan.” “To Numan?” Marin repeated slowly. “But what’s in Numan?” “Numan is the capital of Alika,” said Adara. “The royal family lives there.” Marin still felt that she didn’t quite understand what was going on. “Am I to leave immediately?” “Very soon,” Caron said, taking a step closer. “But…why?” asked Marin, a bewildered look on her face. “Does he want me to break codes for the king? If the royal family lives in Numan, it would be the center of a lot of social activity. Probably the best place for the exchange of –” “It’s the perfect place for an exchange; you’re right,” interrupted Caron hotly. Marin stopped. Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “What are you talking about? What did you hear?” “He’s going to…he…he wants to…” Caron stammered. Adara sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Simmerman is taking you to Numan to…well, to marry you to Prince Esper, the ruler of Alika.” “What!” Marin shouted. “Shhh!” Adara said. “Be quiet!” “Why?” Marin said, hotly, feeling her cheeks redden as she spoke. “What….why…how can he do this?”

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“He can’t do it,” Caron said desperately. “He can do whatever he wants,” Adara contradicted sharply. “Who’s going to stop him?” “We have to,” Caron said. “Will start thinking reasonably?” Adara said. She turned suddenly to Marin. “There’s nothing you can do to stop him. He’s got his entire court behind him. If you refuse to go, he will just truss you up and take you with him by force. The prince will see to the rest.” “How can you be like that?” Caron said in disbelief. “We have to stop him!” Marin didn’t answer. She looked down at the dress she was wearing, and suddenly, it all fell into place. Simmerman wanted to marry her to the prince of Alika, which meant that Simmerman and his court were forced to treat her like a princess, because she would soon become one. But why? It didn’t make any sense. Besides her ability with numbers, she was a nobody. Why would the prince want to marry her, when he could simply employ her as a servant in his house in order to benefit from her talents? “So, he’s already arranged all this with the prince?” Marin said numbly, looking up for the first time since the horrific announcement had been made. Caron and Adara stopped arguing and looked at Marin. Marin gave them a glance and then took a shuddery breath. “I suppose it was the result of some business trade,” Marin said, trying to reason, although her head was still swimming as though she had just been dealt a hard blow to the head. Simmerman was a businessman. He must have been offered something for her surrender to the prince, and somehow was going to profit from it. Otherwise, why would he have bothered… “From what I heard,” Caron said quietly, “This has been in place for some time now. I heard them say that

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they were very glad that you turned out to be pretty enough -” Marin closed her eyes and tried to tell herself to good breathe. Her mind flashed back to the conversation she’d had downstairs earlier that day. They had been discussing her suitability as a wife for the prince. Perhaps she was a good match for the prince, but she didn’t know anything about him. What was he like? Was he old? Was he as cunning and mean as Simmerman? It was impossible to think when her pulse was running so fast it threatened to burst her skull. And yet, she had to use her head to get out of this. It was the only way to win. It was her only weapon against Simmerman. Simmerman…how dare he do this to her? He couldn’t just marry her off to some prince in hope for a hefty payment… “That dress,” Carol said quietly. “He bought it for you so that you would look your best when presented to the prince.” Marin gave both of the girls long looks and then turned and wrenched the door open. Marin ignored Adara’s protests as she strode into the corridor and rushed down the staircase. Her mind was racing. She could not let him do this to her….she could not let him, she could not let him… Her dress was dragging on the stairs. Preoccupied, Marin lifted the hem, ran a few more steps and, eyes at her feet, crashed into someone at the bottom of the stairs. She mumbled an apology and looked up. It was Simmerman. “Ah,” said Simmerman, giving Marin a slight nod. “Good evening. I suppose that you’re hungry. There’s a dinner that’s just now being prepared -” “I have to talk to you,” Marin said stiffly, hardly trusting herself to speak. “Alone.” Simmerman’s manner turned hard, and he gave Marin a long look. At last he made another nod with his

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head, and led Marin into a side room, where they could talk in privacy. He held the door open for Marin, dismissed the servants and closed the door behind him. His face glowed in the candlelight of the room and the dark shadows behind his back lengthened as she approached Marin. “Stop,” Marin said in a strangled voice. She didn’t want him close to her. Simmerman’s face became even stonier. “What is it?” he demanded harshly. Marin swallowed hard. “You can’t take me to Numan.” Simmerman blinked. After a short pause, he said. “I beg your pardon?” “You can’t take me to Numan,” Marin repeated resolutely. Simmerman said nothing. Instead, his dark eyes bored holes into Marin until she spoke again. “I know why you are taking me to Numan, and I won’t go.” “How do you know I’m taking you to Numan?” Simmerman asked. “I…overheard,” Marin lied, realizing for the first time that she could very easily betray her friends and get them into trouble. As upset as she was, she had no desire to do that. “You didn’t overhear that,” Simmerman said, all pretensions of politeness slipping from his voice. “You were in your room when I spoke to my advisors about this today. You are lying. Someone else told you about what they overheard.” He paused. “I would give 13 altans if it wasn’t your friend Caron. She was cleaning in the adjoining room at the time, if I’m not mistaken. In fact, she should be there now. I can send for her and –” “No, please,” Marin said, shaking her head. “I don’t want her to have to…that is…” She broke off, her voice strangled.

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“You want to use your friend’s information without taking the consequences for how you got it,” Simmerman cut her off. He shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, Marin. You should know better that that. Responsibility. It’s a part of real life. You profit from someone else, then someone is going to have to pay the consequences.” “I’m not going to Numan,” Marin said passionately, changing the subject rapidly. “Yes, you are,” Simmerman said. “You are going, and you will marry the prince. I suppose they told you that, too.” “I don’t want to!” Marin protested. “That’s really beside the question,” Simmerman asserted calmly. “I won’t marry him,” Marin shouted. “You can’t force me!” Simmerman’s eyes flashed. “Careful, Marin. You are one very small person, and I have many men at my command. Do not anger me.” Marin made a noise of frustration and shook her head. He could not do this to her… “You will go to Numan,” Simmerman said, as though teaching a child her lesson. “You will meet the prince. He is a very nice man, a few years older than you it’s true, but what does that matter? Handsome, they say, and the dream of every young girl who knows him. You are lucky, my girl.” “How can you make me do this?” Marin burst out. “I don’t want to marry him! And why on earth would he agree to marry me?” Simmerman looked at her, suddenly amused. “Why, indeed. You are a legend, my dear. ” Marin frowned. “It’s all been arranged; don’t worry about that.” Marin felt a strong protest flame up inside of her once more. “You can’t do this,” she said. “You can’t make me marry someone I don’t want to.”

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“Oh, yes I can,” Simmerman said quietly. Marin shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. “But, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? What good will this do you?” “That, my dear, is not your concern,” Simmerman said. “Your concern will be to make yourself ready to leave for Numan tomorrow morning.” “But –” “Now I want you to be silent,” Simmerman said sharply. “You’re being treated like a princess because those men and those women out there enjoy doing having a pet to pamper. But I can assure you that I take very little pleasure in it. I can send you down in the dungeons for a night with the rats if that is what it would take to calm you down.” Marin swallowed hard, her heart racing with anger but fell silent. Adara had warned her that Caron would be in real trouble if Simmerman found out what she had done. Caron had tried to protect her. Wasn’t it her duty to protect Caron? “Now, I want you to go back to your room. I will have Kimmick bring you up something to eat.” Marin turned and walked from the room, understanding. He didn’t want her around the men and women of his little court. He didn’t want her to disillusion them of the image that they had of her as a quiet, submissive, albeit pretty, princess.

he next day, Marin didn’t bother getting up until Caron came into her room and with a pleading look in

her eye, asked her if she wanted to get up. Marin didn’t answer, but she didn’t want to get Caron in trouble either, since Caron had obviously been ordered to make sure that she got ready. So she slowly eased herself out of bed, casting a dark look at the blue dress that hung on a nail across the room as she did so. Breakfast was a loud affair, as each of the members of Simmerman’s little court seemed to be bursting to exclaim that Marin must be delighted to travel to Numan to marry Prince Esper. They make incessant comments about how lucky she was, how they would have given anything to have their daughters in the position that she was in. Just think of it: marrying a prince! Marin didn’t respond and was only too happy when Simmerman sent her upstairs after the meal to fetch the few things that she had accumulated while in Little Springs and pack them away in a trunk. Marin mounted the stairs as slowly as possible, as if she were walking to her own funeral. She reached her room at last, and pushed the door open with one hand. Marin gasped. Edric Elian sat on her bed, rising to his feet as she came in the door. “Elian!” Marin nearly cried. “Marin,” Elian said politely, “please close the door. General Simmerman does not know that I am here, and it would be most unfortunate for him to find me with you, as I am supposed to be off in the Alikan Islands checking out the sentiments of our brothers in the Sea of the South.” Marin stared for a few moments, and then, realizing

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suddenly that Elian had just told her to close the door, turned and pulled it closed with a thud. “Do you have time for a quick word?” Elian asked, making room for Marin on the bed beside him. “Of course,” Marin said. “I’m supposed to be packing, but…” “Packing?” Elian questioned. “Are you going somewhere?” He was dressed in a simple brown traveling costume, a dark cloak laid across the bed at his side. “Elian, Simmerman’s taking me to Numan to marry Prince Esper!” Marin burst out, wanting to break down into tears at her own words. “Marry Prince Esper…” Marin couldn’t tell whether Elian was surprised or not. “I don’t know why he’s making me do it,” Marin continued. “I told him I wouldn’t do it, but –” “Marin,” Elian said, taking Marin’s shoulders. “I came to tell you how I knew your mother, and I see now that it is imperative that you know.” Marin stopped and tried to compose herself. “Tell me,” she said at last, “I’ve wanted to know since the moment you mentioned her name.” “I know,” said Elian, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you earlier. I’ve meant to all along, you know.” Marin swallowed in anticipation. “Your mother was a dear, dear friend of mine,” Elian began. “We grew up together, she and I. We were inseparable.” “Where did you grow up?” Marin couldn’t help breaking in. She had momentarily forgotten her anxiety about the Alikan Prince. “In the province of Rousse, actually,” said Elian. “It was a little town nestled between two hills. Lovely little place. Very open. Very green.” Marin tried to conjure up the image of a young girl and boy running together through the fields. She sighed. It was difficult to imagine. She didn’t know what her

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mother looked like and she didn’t know how to imagine Elian without his beard. “One day I when I was about eighteen, got into a spot of trouble. I won’t tell you the details, but I was arrested. It was serious enough that they wanted to send me away for good.” Elian paused. “Your mother stood up for me. Her family was of very good standing in the village and so they allowed her to pay eighteen altans for my release. She became responsible for me. I was, of course, deeply indebted to her.” Marin started. “Eighteen altans! That’s more money than I’ve ever…” Another thought struck her. “Wait, she paid money for your release and she became responsible for you? Isn’t that like buying you as a slave?” “That’s exactly what she did,” said Elian simply. “But that means…” Elian rolled up his sleeve and showed Marin his right forearm. There was a raised letter that had obviously been burned there just as her own had been. It was the letter “T”. “You really belonged to her, then,” said Marin, in awe. “She said that I was free to go,” said Elian. “But that was a virtual impossibility, in view of the laws governing marked slaves. But in any case, I wouldn’t leave her. I swore to myself that I would always protect her, no matter what happened. I knew I could never repay her, but I owed her so much, and I thought…” “Did…did you love her?” Marin asked quietly, not sure if she should ask the question. Elian looked away, and for the first time, he looked as though he did not want to be completely honest with Marin. “I did love her,” he said at last. “But marriage was always out of the question.” “Why?” Marin asked. Elian smiled sadly and looked down. “We’re getting

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too far from what I came to tell you,” he said. “But to answer your question, I was a slave. That in and of itself completely obliterated my chances to marry her or any free woman for that matter.” “What did she look like?” Marin asked after a moment’s thought. “Much like you,” Elian said, smiling brightly as he looked at her. “But her hair was finer, and she was very thin.” His voice trailed off and the smile fell from his face. “So she married my father, then,” Marin prompted after a few moments of silence. “Yes. Your father was a very interesting man. Not like your mother at all. Your mother was very gentle. Your father was commanding. Quiet, but the sort of person that people always obey. He was from a very good family of Homed, and so her family supported the match.” “How…how did they die?” Marin asked, tracing a dusty pattern on the floor with her toe. “Sorry, I know it sounds sordid, but I’ve always wondered, and –” “You deserve to know,” Elian said firmly. “Your father was a very clever man. Too clever perhaps. He got into a skirmish involving the Muttyl pirates in Jarina and disappeared just after the news got to Homed that the pirates wanted blood in return for your father’s offense. Some think that he went into hiding to protect his family. But most people think that the pirates got him. Revenge for all the gold that he had managed to steal from them over the years.” “He was a sailor?” Marin asked. “Yes,” said Elian. “He had his own fleet. Unfortunately his cunning and greed took him a bit too far. It cost him his life.” “And my mother?” Marin asked. “A few months after your father disappeared, your mother picked up what she thought was your father’s trace. Although most of us thought that it was just the

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pirates trying to lure her out into the open sea where they could complete their revenge on the rest of his family, Tenara was determined to find your father if she could. So, naturally, I went with her and her children, to protect her.” Marin licked her lips. “Tenara took a ship from Kenyon and sailed west through the Sea of the North. We hadn’t been on the water for more than two days when the ship was attacked.” “By the pirates?” Marin asked, her mouth dry. She had a sudden picture of a terrible storm out on the open sea flash through her mind. Then the terrible sensation of sinking she knew so well from the dream overwhelmed her. She shook her head and tried to clear it. “Perhaps,” said Elian. “No one really knows. In any case, men came on board, and in the confusion I lost sight of your mother and of you and your sister. Miraculously, I survived, and several other sailors aboard our ship survived too, making it back to shore in lifeboats.” “And, they killed her, then?” Marin asked, gently. She saw that recounting this memory was painful for him. “I suppose so,” Elian said, his voice a bit raspy. “For so long I thought that you were dead too, but somewhere after all these years there began to be a whisper in Alika about Lady Tenara’s twins. They were still alive, some said. They had survived and been found…” “Then my mother might have survived too!” Marin exclaimed, her heart leaping hopefully. Elian smiled sadly. “We would have heard something. She would have sent word.” Marin’s heart sank again. She had known that it was hopeless, but for just a moment she had thought… Elian paused and looked down at the mark on his forearm. “It’s my fault you know. I had promised to protect her, you see. I had promised…” “There was nothing that you could have done,”

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Marin said quietly, trying to reassure him. “And my sister and me…someone brought us back?” “No one knows how you two were saved,” Elian said. “That’s a mystery I have yet to figure out.” “Thank you for telling me this,” she said. She had learned so much. Her head was full to bursting. “That’s not all I came to tell you,” Elian continued, replacing his sleeve. Marin looked up in surprise. There was more? “That night in the cave I was beginning to tell you about this. At that meeting of the lords of the Mykolian provinces – you remember the meeting I’m talking about?” “Yes, of course,” Marin said hastily. “The one where Prince Esper’s father refused Alika’s support of unification because he wasn’t elected king.” “Yes,” Elian said. “That meeting was called the Council of Governors because it was a meeting of the lords from the provinces of Mykolia. King Anjute was the lord from Alika - Prince Esper’s father - , King Castillo was the lord from Kenyon, and your father, Lord Samuel, was the lord from Homed.” “What!” Marin burst out. “My father was…” “Not only was he one of the seven lords present at the Council of Governors, but he was elected second in command, should King Castillo die without an heir. This was why his disappearance caused such a panic.” “Second in command,” said Marin, her heart racing. “But,” she said, looking up suddenly. “King Castillo doesn’t have an heir!” “No,” said Elian calmly. “He doesn’t.” He looked at her, and Marin noticed for the first time that he had light brown eyes, an oddity in the southern countries. “But that means…” Marin’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t believe what he was telling her. “Yes,” Elian assured her. “Which means that you are

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the heir to the throne.” “Heir?” Marin repeated. “But what about my sister?” “No,” Elian said, shaking his head. “You are the oldest, aren’t you?” “Well, yes,” Marin said, bewildered. “At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what Mr. Rosings said. We don’t talk about it much…” Marin sat still, thinking. Her parents had been the heirs to the Mykolian throne. And now she, their daughter, was next in line… Who knew about this? Was it common knowledge that the Marin Lindrine that was so famous for her numerical genius was also the heir to the throne? Had Mr. Rosings known? Did…Simmerman know? And then it hit her. “I know why Prince Esper wants to marry me,” Marin said, her voice very flat. Elian looked at her. “If I marry Prince Esper, than Alika will get Mykolia without even having to bother with this war. Prince Esper will get Mykolia the moment…” Marin looked up at Elian, her eyes wide. “The moment King Castillo is dead.” Elian stood suddenly. “I must go at once to Kenyon,” he said. Marin nodded, slightly panicked. “Surely they would have thought of this too,” she said under her breath. I just hope they haven’t already succeeded in killing the poor man.” “I will do what I can,” Elian said, moving toward the door. “And Marin, remember. I was never here.” Marin nodded solemnly and opened the door for him. Just as he was about to sneak out, their eyes met. “Marin,” Elian said, fingering his cloak. “One last thing.” “Yes?” Marin asked. “I don’t think Simmerman knows. I think Prince

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Esper has not told him everything.” After a few seconds pause, Marin nodded slowly. Elian continued to stand in the doorway, as though not sure that he could leave her. “I’ll be all right,” Marin whispered, although she couldn’t really believe that it was true. “Go.” “You’re a brave girl, Marin,” said Elian. “Your parents would have been proud. Both of them.” He laid a hand warmly on Marin’s cheek and then disappeared into the hallway.

Marin put her ear to the door. It was late at night, and the citadel had become very still, the normal sounds of people walking and talking through the halls had long since died down. Marin had been sequestered in her room the entire day, and had not been invited to descend into the main halls of Little Springs. This had not bothered Marin much. She wasn’t sure how she would act toward the men and women that buzzed around Simmerman like a hive now that she knew that she was simply the means Prince Esper was using to ensure that Alika gained control of Mykolia. She heard nothing. Although she had not wanted to leave her room during the day, the onset of night had brought a heavy feeling of fear into the room. As a prisoner of Simmerman and hence of Alika, who knew how she might be treated by the Alikan prince? She would likely be forced to respond to his every wish, a thought that made her skin crawl. If she could possibly escape, she had to do it. She thought momentarily of the scarred “S” that had been emblazoned on her shoulder and of Elian’s warnings about leaving. He seriously believed that something would happen to her because of the mark if she left, and having a mark of his own, she knew that he must be in

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most deadly earnest. But the thought of what would happen once she was locked in the castle at Numan, Musatei, was more frightening to her than whatever might happen to her on the Alikan plain. She was on her own now; Elian had left her to figure this out for herself. Marin eased open the door a bit and peered out into blackness. She seemed to be alone. She took a step out into the hallway, and was immediately grabbed around the waist by a strong arm. “What do you think yer doing?” a coarse unfamiliar voice rasped into her ear. Marin shuddered, startled, and pulled sharply away from the person that had caught her. “Get back in yer room,” said the voice, just in front of her. “Lord Simmerman’s not keen on yeh leavin’ this place. He giv’d me permission to use all means nec’ssary to keep yeh from leavin’.” Marin swallowed hard and put her hand back on the doorknob and slid back inside her room. “That’s a gel,” said the voice, although it sounded somewhat disappointed. Marin slammed the door as hard as she could. Marin panted for a few minutes, holding the door closed as she caught her breath. She shuddered, thinking about the man outside. Of course Simmerman would have realized that she wanted to escape and had taken measures to keep her within the walls of the castle. After a few moments, Marin moved to the window a looked out. The courtyard was full of the soldiers with whom she had marched to Little Springs. She sighed. She had heard that they had been called back into the north country by the prince, but he was sure that tonight they had all been informed that she might try to escape and to make sure that she did not accomplish anything of the sort. She pulled herself from the windowsill and fell

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down on the bed. She felt very much like crying, but didn’t, as she didn’t know what good it would do. She lay instead awake on her bed, listening in case the man stationed outside her room decided to come in, and prepared to spend a long, sleepless night alone.

In the morning, Marin found that she had not managed after all to stay awake the entire night. She was shaken awake by Caron and then dressed. Caron did not look at Marin during the process and Marin was rather glad for it; she didn’t know what she would say back to Caron should she have chosen to speak. Once Marin had been dressed in the exquisite blue dress that had been brought to the castle especially for her, her hair tied back behind her head in a rich blue ribbon and a small silver tiara placed above her forehead, Caron was called roughly from the room and a fat man that Marin did not know entered, carrying a length of rope. “No, don’t,” Marin said, feeling her wrists which had just begun to heal after having been incessantly tied on the journey to Little Springs. “I won’t try to run away.” This, of course, was entirely false, and the man did not seem to pay any attention to it. He trussed her wrists together tightly in front of her, causing her to wince with pain as he tightened the knots. Then she was grabbed roughly and forced down the stairs where Simmerman and a small cortège of men were waiting. “Here she is,” the fat man said, pushing Marin forward. Simmerman gave both of them a nod and then spoke aside to one of the men near him. The man wore a tall green hat and bowed when he was addressed. Marin looked away, as she could not hear what they were saying and was not interested by what was going on around her.

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Simmerman finished speaking to the man, who immediately left the entrance hall and disappeared out the front gate. Simmerman nodded to the men behind him, grabbed Marin by the arm, and made her walk in front of him out of the castle. Marin stepped into the blinding sunshine and blinked. She had not been outside since she had come to the castle, and she welcomed the warmth of the sun on her face. The courtyard was all in an uproar around her. In the midst of running men, hired boys and maid girls, Marin saw that an open carriage, very much like the one that Mr. Rosings used to drive, was sitting in the middle of the courtyard. A thin dark man was hitching a pair of horses to the carriage. “Go on,” Simmerman said, his face hard. Marin understood, and began to walk toward the carriage. This was how they were getting to Numan. At least they weren’t walking; she could be grateful for that. Three men on horses rode up beside them as Marin and Simmerman pulled themselves into the carriage. All three were fine white horses, which elaborate bridles and hangings. Their hooves pawed the ground impatiently as Simmerman took up the reigns in his hands. Sitting beside him, Marin was suddenly reminded of the trip to Hullberry that she had taken with Mr. Rosings. How long ago that seemed, and how different circumstances were now. They set off under the warm sun. Marin soon became tired of the sun and wished that she had something to shade herself with. She thought of mentioning this to Simmerman, but quickly dismissed the idea, since Simmerman’s brown face was continually twisted into an expression that said he would as soon hit her in the jaw as listen to her requests. The journey took three days, and the horses made

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good time, as there were stone roads that connected Numan and Little Springs. In some places the roads were in very bad repair, and Marin sat very still next to Simmerman who began to fume every time the carriage was forced to make a detour to avoid falling off the road and into the ditches on either side. The men on horseback talked amongst each other almost constantly, and often with Simmerman himself. But no one talked to Marin, and although she was glad that no one was angry with her, she began to feel very lonely. They slept under the stars, Marin next to Simmerman, their wrists tied together every night. Marin often looked up at the starry sky and tried not to cry, thinking that she was getting her last taste of open sky. Soon she would be under close surveillance at Musatei, the palace at Numan, not free to do anything that she wanted. It was late afternoon when the carriage rolled at last into Numan. Marin was not crying when she passed under the vaulted ceilings of Musatei for the first time, but at the same time, her mind was so overwhelmed with emotion that she had no eye for the marvels of architecture and culture of which the grand palace just north of Numan was the center. Marin could only watch the self-satisfied manner with which Simmerman’s gloved fingers directed the horses in through the entryway into the interior courtyard of the castle. Great pillars shot up in vertical columns above their heads, splitting at the top into a myriad of arches and buttresses spidering across the ceiling. At eye level, all was rush and bustle. No one seemed to even notice that the girl that was to be married to the prince had just arrived. No one took any more notice of them then of the poor peasant driving a donkey away from the front gates, loaded down with bags of flour.

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Marin suddenly perked up, realizing that no one here knew who she was and for the moment, no one, not even Simmerman was paying attention to her. He was basking in the beauty of the castle, Marin as far from his thoughts as Little Springs itself. This was it. Without a second thought, Marin sprung from the buggy and landed square on her feet on the dusty ground. Although her hands were still tied in front of her, and the dress made running awkward, she quickly caught her balance and then began to run in the opposite direction of the press of the crowds. But Simmerman was no fool. “Stop that girl!” he yelled, cupping his hands to his scratchy chin. “Theif! Stop her!” Marin set her jaw and ran harder. She crashed into a woman carrying a basket of clothes, threw an apology over her shoulder, slammed into the side of a horse, received a kick from its rider, and was thrown to the ground by the shove of the woman’s son. Marin coughed up the dust that had rushed down her throat in the scuffle, and quickly jumped back to her feet, pushing wildly through the crowds, doing anything to get away from Simmerman and from the horrific fate that awaited her inside the castle. Marin did not know if anyone was pursuing her, but she didn’t care. She ran as though the devil himself were after her, pushing through people and racing toward the outer gate. ‘He’ll expect me to leave,’ Marin realized, before reaching the gate. She stopped, and ran to the right, toward the courtyards that spanned the grounds between the outer and the inner walls of the castle. There were fewer people here, and, to Marin’s dismay, fewer places to hide. Marin looked around desperately and found a crevice built into the side of the castle wall. She dove into the darkness, and panted, her back pressed against the

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wall, her hands still bound in front of her, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. Now that she was still, Marin could hear that her escape had indeed managed to shatter the comforting chaos of the inner courtyard. The voices were loud, shouting to each other about where they had searched and where they planned to look next. She heard her name, which made her heart catch in her throat. People now knew that she was here. She sunk back further against the wall and moved further into the space in the wall. Once out of the sunlight, Marin turned and realized that there was actually a small staircase built into the tiny room. She looked behind her and then without a second thought, went down. Marin had difficulty reaching the bottom. The chalky stone fell away when her clothes brushed against it. It was very dark; the only light filtered in through a couple of cracks several feet above her. The air was cold and damp. Marin stifled a cough as she descended. When there were no more steps, Marin pushed away from the stairs and took a step forward. Although it was now pitch black, Marin had the distinct impression that the space in which she stood was very small and cramped. She felt forward with her hands, and after just two steps forward, felt the hard wood and iron of a door. Marin felt hastily for the doorknob and turned it. She opened the door and light suddenly poured into the tiny chamber. She had come upon a cellar, where crates packed with wine and ale were stacked along each wall. Marin wondered how she had been able to so easily make it into the cellar, since wine and ale were valuable; Marin would have expected them to be kept under lock and key. For some reason, however, the door had been left open. Marin quickly turned and, as quickly as she could with tied hands, bolted the door behind her.

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Marin took a deep breath, feeling suddenly fairly safe. She was sure that no one would look for her here. She was certain that Simmerman would search the outlying areas of the castle before any searching was done on the inside. “Who are you?” Marin froze and searched the room rapidly. At last she saw a girl of about twelve years perched on a small staircase at the far end of the room, staring at her. Marin’s heart sank. “Hello,” Marin said quietly, hoping the girl was sensible enough not to call anyone. “Who are you?” the girl asked again, her dirty dark hair falling around her thin face. “Are you the girl that brings the wine?” Marin swallowed. “Uh, I…please, come here!” The girl hesitated and looked up toward the top of the stairs. “Please,” Marin said, frightened suddenly. “Please, I need your help. Please come.” Please don’t let her call… The girl gave Marin a long look and then took the stairs two by two to the bottom. “Thank you,” Marin said. She sighed, deciding to tell it like it was. “I’m in trouble,” she said, holding out her hands to show that they were tied. The girl took one look at Marin’s clothes and her eyes widened. “Are you a lady?” Marin looked down at herself and sighed. The dress that Simmerman had insisted that she wear was covered in dust, and the fine embroidery no longer shone. But there was no mistaking it, it was a fine dress, one that clearly marked Marin as unusual, among all the faces she had seen mulling about the castle. “Yes,” Marin said, although she felt like she was lying even as she said it. “And I need your help. Can you help me?”

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“What do you need?” the girl asked. “Do you have a knife or something that you could cut these ropes with?” Marin asked. The girl looked at Marin, as though trying to figure out why anyone with the clothes that Marin had would be tied up, and then cast her eyes around the room. They landed at last on a shelf. She turned and climbed toward the shelf, taking down a large knife, which she brought toward Marin. “I’m not supposed to touch this, you know,” the girl said. “It’s for the girl that brings the wine. She needs to cut ropes on the barrels of wine when she brings them” “Can you cut the ropes – careful now! – yes, just like that…” The ropes fell from Marin’s wrists and she was free. She gulped in a mouthful of fresh air, as though she had been underwater. She rubbed her wrists and arms. “What’s your name?” Marin asked, suddenly remembering that the girl was still there, staring at her. She glanced at the stairs and hoped that no one came down them while she was taking to the girl. “I’m Badice,” the girl said. “My father keeps the prince’s wine cellar. I help him.” “Badice,” said Marin, trying to talk normally despite the pounding in her ears. “I can’t wear this. I need new clothes.” Badice’s eyes widened. “What for?” “I’m in trouble,” Marin confided. “Some bad men want to hurt me. I have to hide from them. They’ll recognize me in this dress.” Badice nodded. “Take it off, then.” “I need something else to put on,” Marin said, blushing in spite of herself. “My dress is too large for me,” Badice said. “Take it.” “But you –” “I’ll get another,” Badice said. “I have more

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upstairs.” “Thank you so much,” Marin said in a rush of gratitude. “Where should I put the other one?” “Anywhere,” said Badice dismissively. “Just stuff it somewhere, no one will find it down here.” She looked around and then, after a moment said: “And after a while, when you’re safe, I can have it, can’t I?” “Yes,” Marin said. “But only after a long time has passed. More than a week. No one can know I was here. I don’t want to endanger your family.” “I can say I found it somewhere else,” Badice said wisely. Marin nodded and Badice pulled off her dress and flung it at Marin, who pulled it neatly over her head. Badice, now just in her dirty petticoat, smiled at Marin. “Thanks,” Marin said, turning for the door. “I wish you could stay,” Badice said, suddenly mournful. “There’s not much to do here when you’re the only girl.” Marin smiled sadly. “I’d like to stay,” she said. “But people are looking for me. It’s best if I go. It would be bad if they found me here. Bad for you.” Badice nodded. “What’s your name?” “Marin,” Marin said, unbolting the door. “My name is Marin.” And that was the last Marin saw of Badice.

Once Marin had pulled the golden chain off her neck, thrown it into the well along with all her rings and rubbed her face and arms with dirt, she looked very much like the other people who continued to flow into the castle. She was invisible, but the pleasure of being free did not last very long once the sun had gone down. She had nowhere to go. She was alone, and the longer she stayed

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around the castle, the more gazes she was going to attract. Marin considered leaving Musatei, but she felt strangely attached to it, since it was the only familiar thing to her for miles. Besides, if she left, where would she go? How would she eat? She had no money, no means to provide for herself. Who was to say that she was not in more danger outside the castle walls than in the grip of Simmerman himself, especially with the mark that marred her shoulder? Her other choice was to enter the castle. Marin thought this over for a moment and then decided that she could do as all the other peasants were doing and seek an audience with the prince. Prince Esper would not know her from any of his subjects and might give her at least a few coins to help her survive a few days. She would risk, of course, running into Simmerman, but she believed that he would not have dared present himself to the prince without the girl he had promised to bring. No, she was probably safer inside the castle than out. Once Marin made it back to the gate to the inner courtyard, she was surprised to see that the crowds of people had sorely diminished. She rushed to the door and asked to see the prince. “The prince has dinner in fifteen minutes,” the tall man with a plumed hat at the door told her haughtily. “I doubt that he will wish to take away from his dinner by conversing with a dirty brat such as you.” Marin frowned. “I have only a small request to ask of him,” she said, “and I’ve come such a long way.” The man with the purple hat smiled in a way that was not very nice at all. “Visiting hours are over.” “Come on,” said another man, pushing his way to the door. He took a look at Marin and then sighed. “Let her have two minutes. What harm will it do?” “Very well,” said the man with the hat impatiently. “Take her in.” Marin smiled gratefully at the man who had

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intervened for her, and followed him in through the entrance hall whose walls were glowing with brilliant candlelight. This time she did notice the furnishings. “It’s beautiful,” Marin murmured, really impressed. “It’s the prince’s palace,” the man explained, leading her through another hall whose sides were covered in portraits of the royal family of Alika. “This is where he holds court. The prince of Alika has traditionally held court here for hundreds of years.” Marin nodded taking in the intricate detail on the chandeliers. “Here he is,” said the man, sweeping open a large pair of cherry wood doors. Marin suppressed a gasp as the golden glint of the throne room met her eye. The columns seemed to tower even higher above her in this room. The prince was seated on the throne on a pedestal at the far end of the room. Marin squinted as she looked at him. Simmerman was no where to be seen. “Your name?” “Uh…Adara,” Marin said, her eyes falling to the floor as she lied. The man nodded once and turned to the throne. “Your Majesty Prince Esper, I present you Adara.” At a nudge from the man at the door, Marin took a few hesitant steps forward and walked toward the throne. Her heart began to pound inside of her chest like a hammer, and she wondered if everyone was noticing her red cheeks. Marin couldn’t help but indulge in a curious observation of the prince. The prince was medium in height with a sharp chin and straight nose. He had a rather unruly crop of dark hair and a square face. The prince turned toward her and fixed his blue eyes on her. They were piercing and hollow, but his face was turned into a smile as he ceased conversing with his courtiers. His long ermine cape trailed down the steps to

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the throne before him. Standing in her miserable state in front of such majesty, Marin felt very low and very dirty. She felt suddenly very uncomfortable. The prince watched her stop at the foot of the throne and sink to her knees. Marin felt his eyes upon her as she stared at the red carpet on which she stood. Somehow, she could not articulate what she had come to say. She felt a strange churning in her stomach as she realized her incapacity to beg. She simply could not do it. “Rise,” said the prince. Marin got slowly to her feet. “What can I do for you, my little urchin?” said the prince. Marin felt her cheeks go red. She did not dare raise her eyes. “How can I help you?” the prince repeated, a slight giggle of mirth rising in his throat. Marin swallowed. She should never have come. She felt her knees go weak. “Adara, did you just come to catch a glimpse of my majesty? Or to attract my curiosity to a maid that asks to see me just before dinner and says nothing?” At the mention of the name that was not hers, Marin looked up and met the prince’s eyes. She had to speak. He would simply continue to mock her if she were silent. “Your highness, I…” Marin said, speaking at last. “I…I can’t get home…I am alone and have no place to stay –” The prince gave her a long look. “Where’s home?” Marin sighed. “I don’t know.” The prince nodded curtly. “Give her a room,” he said loudly. “Your Majesty,” Marin said, a rush of gratitude filling her chest. Surely she would be able to hide herself away in the castle for a few days and then go on her way once Simmerman was unable to find her. “Thank you.” “Furthermore,” the prince continued in his

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unnaturally loud voice, “I want you to accompany me to dinner tonight.” “No!” said a lord stationed a the prince’s side. “No!” said Marin simultaneously. Marin and the lord looked at each other in surprise. Marin blushed. She did not want to be in the eye of the court. Someone from Simmerman’s party might be there at dinner and recognize her. Then all would be lost. “Your Majesty,” said Marin, trying to speak calmly. “I must decline. I appreciate your kindness, but –” “I insist,” said the prince shortly. “You shall sit next to me.” “Your Majesty,” Marin said, now sincerely regretting that she had come to see the prince, “I can’t. Please.” “Not another word. Lord Bendel, see Adara to a room and furnish her with all that she needs to prepare herself for the meal. Get her a maid to dress her and see that she is led to the dining room in time for dinner.” “Your Majesty! What is possessing you to do this? You do not seriously pity the brat? What if people ask questions? You are supposed to be meeting your wife tonight! You know that –” the lord at the prince’s side, Lord Bendel spluttered. “Silence,” said the prince, now somewhat irritated. Marin tried not to betray any emotion in her face as she listened to this violent rush of words spew from the lord’s mouth. Lord Bendel had turned a strange shade of purple, but he bowed and took Marin from the room. “This will be your room,” said Lord Bendel, once they had reached a room several stories above the throne room level. “A maid will be here shortly with something presentable for you to wear to dinner.” “I’m sorry about this,” said Marin, sensing a great dissatisfaction emanating from the courtier. “I don’t want to go to dinner at all –”

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“Say nothing at dinner unless you are spoken to,” said Lord Bendel curtly. “The prince does not need to be embarrassed by the peasantry at this stage in his career.” With that the noble turned on his heel and left Marin alone in front of her room. Before she could decide whether to run again or stay and fill her aching stomach, a girl, who could only be her appointed maid, appeared at the end of the hall and rushed Marin into the room. In fifteen minutes Marin had been scrubbed and clothed in a dress that was every bit as luxurious as the one that she had worn to the castle just that afternoon. Her hair was oiled and scented, and a silver chain was fastened at her neck. Marin sighed as she looked in the mirror, dreading what could happen in just minutes. Even if no one from Simmerman’s party was there, might someone suggest that she looked as though she could be the girl that was supposed to marry the prince? And what if Simmerman had thought to tell someone about her mark? She could be so easily identified.

arin was led into the dining hall by a servant who had been sent to fetch her and bring her to dinner.

Her stomach was done up in a tight knot that not even the scent of freshly roasted beef could untie. She dared not look around her for fear that she would see Simmerman –or see anyone - and be recognized. She was led to the head table, and seated at the prince’s right. She hesitantly returned his smile and then busied herself staring at her silver plate and goblet. Lord Bendel took his place near the prince and held up his wine glass to be filled. As he did so, he threw a meaningful look in Marin’s direction, which clearly was a threat to not open her mouth. There’s no fear of that, Marin thought. Marin worried that she would be spoken to by the prince, since he had shown enough interest in her to invite her to dinner and to sit at his right side. The prince, however, ate in relative silence, asking only for more wine when his goblet was empty and so Marin was spared the task of providing any conversation. Instead, she occupied herself with looking inconspicuous and pointedly avoiding looking toward the other tables of guests present at the meal. Marin watched a servant hand the prince a message and read it. As she did she wondered what she would do once morning came. Where would she go? She certainly could not stay here any longer. Lord Bendel had made it all too clear that she was far from welcome at the court, and the prince had taken a dangerous interest in her. Marin clinked her fork against the side of her plate and let out a melancholy sigh. “I would like you to join me in my chambers once dinner is through,” the prince said, speaking to Marin for

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the first time since the dinner had begun. He looked over in her direction and handed the message to Lord Bendel who began devouring it with his eyes the moment his fingers touched it. It was clear that Lord Bendel took great pride in his job. Marin’s heart leaped into her throat. “Your Majesty,” she said in a trembling voice, “I would prefer that you let me return to my room. I’m very tired…” “That’s an order,” said the prince in a voice that was far from angry. He turned to Lord Bendel and spoke softly to him. Whatever it was he said caused lines of annoyance to sprout on Lord Bendel’s face like weeds in a garden. Marin could eat no more. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. What could the prince want? Could he possibly know who she was? Did he know that she was his intended bride? After the meal was through, Lord Bendel practically pounced on Marin and pulled her from the dining room. Marin followed him sullenly to the prince’s chambers, hoping each step of the way that Lord Bendel would forbid her to enter and force her to return to her room. But Lord Bendel did nothing to stop her from entering and only opened the door to the prince’s rich apartments and closed them behind her, telling the prince who was already comfortably installed there that he would make sure they were not disturbed. “How did you like dinner?” asked Prince Esper, who was seated on one of his magnificent couches before the warm fire. He offered Marin a chair near him. Marin stoically sat, not wanting to give the prince the idea that she wanted to spend more time with him. “It was very good,” Marin said, wondering how honest she should be. It was one of the best meals of her life. “Thank you, your Majesty,” she added tactfully. Now that she had the chance, she took a long look at the man that was destined to be her husband. He had

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dark curly hair and a rather thin lithe body that slouched easily and made him look younger than he was. He had sharp eyes and a strange manner about him that was spoiled and self-centered. Marin realized that she did not feel comfortable in his presence and that if she married him, she would not be considered important enough to warrant the prince wasting a thought on her. She would be his, and he would have difficulty believing that she did not want to be. “Now that we’re alone, there is something that I must say.” Marin froze, tried to paste a smile on her face, and waited for the prince to speak. “There’s something about you,” the prince said. “I sensed it the minute you walked in the door. You’re very unusual. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about you that makes me want to talk to you.” Marin felt a strange knot form in her stomach. She did not know what to say. “And then you didn’t want to eat dinner with me, and you rejected a spot of prominence that - don’t think me bigheaded for this, I simply know it’s true – a thousand girls in my realm would die to have at my side while I ate. I don’t think that you want to be seen. You don’t want to be found. I am right, am I not?” Marin swallowed. She raised her eyebrows and tried to find a non-committal response. “I’d like to help you.” the prince reached out and his finger brushed Marin’s arm. Marin pulled her arm back quickly. The prince seemed to find this funny. “This has been the oddest day,” said the prince. He picked up a bottle of wine from the table and uncorked it. “Do you mind?” Marin looked from the bottle to the prince’s face and shook her head blankly. The prince took a glass from the table and began to fill it. “I was supposed to meet my wife today, but there

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was some sort of disturbance where they lost track of her. Maybe that’s why my mind is on women. Here.” He shoved a glass into Marin’s hand. “Uh, I don’t dr –” “Normally I wouldn’t mind,” the prince interrupted, smelling his wine, “but this girl was supposed to have been astounding. They say that she is so smart…” He stopped and leaned forward, a half-smile on his face. “They say she can tell you any mathematical sum, product, difference or dividend in a fraction of a second. Incredible, isn’t it?” Marin didn’t know what to say. She hitched another smile on her face. “Really?” she said uncomfortably. “Yes,” said the prince. “No matter how large or complicated. She sounds most interesting.” He took a long drink from his glass. Marin said nothing. “This man, Simmerman, was commissioned to find Marin Lindrine and bring her here to be my wife,” the prince continued. “Simmerman doesn’t realize it, but this girl could knock Prince Alder off the throne if she went to Prestani.” Marin had never really considered that point. She settled instead, for: “Did you ever consider that this girl might not want to marry you?” Her voice sounded upset and strangled. The prince gave her a very surprised look that made Marin wish she had said nothing. “I mean, this was a political marriage, wasn’t it?” Marin said hastily, her face now almost as red as the prince’s. “Yes,” said the prince dismissively. “But why shouldn’t she want to marry me?” Marin watched a thin line of dark wine run down the prince’s chin and said nothing. The prince took another long swig and said.

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“Anyway, it’s really no disaster. If one bride doesn’t work out, they find you another. They’re very interested in making sure that I’m well-married; I hardly need to worry about the affair at all myself.” Marin was surprised about this. If the prince could talk so casually about his potential marriage to the heir of the Mykolian throne, then he must not realize what the marriage would give him. Someone must have told him, Marin reasoned, but it looked as though he had forgotten the reason why Simmerman was bringing her to Numan. “But enough about me. You still haven’t told me what it is that made you act the way you did earlier this evening.” Marin turned away. “Is there someone after you?” the prince asked with great interest. Marin was quiet for a long time. At last, she said: “There is.” “I thought so,” said the prince triumphantly, eyes shining. Marin smiled in spite of herself at the prince’s naïve excitement and dropped her eyes. “I ran away from someone and then came here to get away…there were so many people here in the afternoon; it was a perfect place to blend in.” The prince smiled. “There always are!” “Anyway, I ran away, and he couldn’t catch me. I changed my clothes and then felt somewhat safe…but I realized I didn’t have anywhere to go. That’s why I decided to come see you.” “Hope I was of some help,” said the prince swirling the contents of his glass. “You were,” Marin assured him, although she desperately hoped that any minute he would tire of her company and send her away. But the prince still seemed interested in her. “Why did you run away?” the prince asked.

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Marin gave him a long look and then took a deep breath. “I ran away because the man I was with…” “Does he mistreat you?” the prince asked. “Yes,” Marin said. “That’s why I had to get away. I don’t want to go back to him, but I don’t know where to go. I really have no home anymore.” Prince Esper took a deep breath and leaned back. He looked back up at Marin and a quick smile flashed across his face. “That happens a lot, you know. You can stay here,” he said. Marin blinked. “But I can’t,” she said. “Once word gets out that I’m here, the man who brought me here will come and get me.” “I can hide you,” said the prince simply. “You can just live in a little apartment next to mine – I’ll make sure you’re kept well and watered. And there are books for diversion. You like books?” “Oh, your Majesty,” said Marin shaking her head, “someone would see me.” “Who would see you?” asked the prince. “Who do you want to be hidden from?” “Your Majesty, I can’t even tell you,” Marin said. Surprisingly, the prince seemed to accept this. “Very well. For tonight I can have a small room set up very near here – I’ll have my lord chamberlain get you installed in the side bedroom. I trust him completely,” Prince Esper said, stifling a hiccup. Marin closed her eyes. Somehow she didn’t think that this would work out, but she didn’t have a better plan so she nodded in agreement. “Thank you,” she said at last. “Simmerman left to go find my wife,” said the prince suddenly. “She also ran away.” His mind seemed to be working even slower than usual. It was probably the effect of the wine he had just drunk. “Will he be back soon?” Marin asked. “Most likely,” said the prince, staring forlornly into

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his empty glass. “And then,” Marin forced herself to ask, just to cover her tracks, “what happens?” “And then what happens? Then I marry her and I live happily ever after!” The prince gave a loud belch, revealing in all certainty his highly drunken state. Then he laughed. Marin shook her head and let the prince lead her from the room. Before she walked into the room the prince offered to her, Prince Esper leaned forward and planted a sloppy kiss on her forehead.

True to his word, the next day Marin was given her own small room next to the prince’s apartments where she was kept entertained by the books that completely covered one wall. She passed the time alone pouring over the languages and stories that the books afforded her, drinking in the information. After a few days of this, however, Marin grew tired of reading and had to do something else. She took up drawing, which diverted her for a day and a half; afterwards she was forced to wonder how long she could stay locked up in this cell she had made for herself. The prince came to visit her often, sometimes in a mood so silly that Marin was embarrassed for him, but other times she was surprised to see the amount of calculation that was behind his words. He talked much of his country and how Alika should be free from Mykolian rule. He also talked about the girl that Simmerman was bringing him to marry, and when the subject turned to her, Marin felt very uncomfortable. Prince Esper spoke of her only in connection with subjects of power and politics. Simmerman, it seemed, was still looking for Marin, as he had not returned to the palace and no one had any recent word from him. Marin cringed each time Prince

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Esper came to see her, fearing that it he brought news that Simmerman was returning to the palace. But no such news came. Marin was given a delicious wardrobe full of dresses that Mrs. Rosings would have given her left arm to posses. She had bright colored gowns and silky skirts that floated attractively around her thin waist. Alder smiled whenever he walked into the room, as though proud that he could have provided her with such finery. Marin began to feel like she was somewhat of a pet for the prince, and that sooner rather than later she was going to have to leave the palace if she was going to regain her dignity. The first week passed uneventfully and eventually Marin began to relax. She lost the fear and anxiety she felt. Soon it seemed to Marin that her life with Simmerman was no more real than a story she had read a long time ago that had frightened her, but left no lasting traces. Only the brand mark on her shoulder reminded her of the danger she could face if Simmerman found her again. But life had become easy, and Marin began to feel more and more secure and less and less comfortable hidden away in the prince’s apartments. “I’ve read all the books in this room,” Marin told the prince one day when he asked her how she was enjoying her reading. The prince raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?” Marin blushed and looked down, thinking that she should have said something else instead – like that she had not found them interesting enough to read. It was odd to be able to read as fast as she could, and she had forgotten that it was not common to be able to read an entire bookshelf full of books in a little over a week. “Well, I suppose that I could take you to my personal library,” Prince Esper said thoughtfully. “Oh, but if someone should see –” The prince waved his hand dismissively. “No one

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ever goes in there without my express permission. There are some very valuable things in there that we wouldn’t want everyone putting their dirty hands on.” Marin blinked, not sure what to make of this speech. Apparently, however, her hands were deemed “clean” enough to enter the library, because the prince took there down just a few minutes later. Marin couldn’t help being impressed as she walked into the room. It was a very large rectangular room whose vaulted ceiling was held up by magnificent blue marble pillars. A vast skylight panned overhead, letting in soft blue light. She stepped out onto the marble floor and her slippers clicked mutedly against the polished stone. There were large squashy looking chairs for enjoying books as well as large tables that could be laid out with many different materials if a subject was being studied in detail. The walls were lined with shelves, many of which were obscured by ladders that granted access to the highest shelves. “Do you like it?” the prince asked. “It’s magnificent,” said Marin fervently. “Then you can come here whenever you like,” said the prince, proud that his library had made such an impression. “You won’t be disturbed, I can promise you that. If ever someone has to use the library I shall make sure that you are hidden away safely in your room.” Marin nodded and, still entranced by the shelves and shelves of books, did nothing as the prince withdrew, closing the doors behind her. As if in a dream, Marin walked to the shelves and began to read the titles, enjoying herself more than she could ever remember. “The Tale of the Prince,” Marin read, tilting her head sideways as she scanned the books before her. “Numan is my Home, The Reign of the Seven Brothers, The Kingdom of Alika: An In-depth History.” These books seemed to be all directly connected to the royal family of Alika.

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She passed several more shelves and stopped at one to pick up the book Pathways to Power. It seemed that whomever had come up with the scheme to wed her to Prince Esper must have been familiar with its contents. There were descriptive pictures of weddings and instructions on how to choose the best bride or husband for the heir to the throne. Marin replaced the book and continued on. At last she pulled Known Ciphers from the shelves and took it to one of the large plush armchairs. She flipped it open and began to read. She was familiar with every one of the ciphers that the book presented, in fact, she thought that she could have written a far more comprehensive text had she been given the task, but enjoyed the read nevertheless. The book contained anecdotes about cases where certain ciphers and codes had been used, and Marin much enjoyed reading about the people that had first figured out how to crack them. After about an hour, Marin replaced the book and began once again to scan the shelves. She looked around her, and noticed that to her left, under a large bright window, there were what looked like shelves of parchment and old scrolls. With a great degree of curiosity, Marin approached the shelves. They were very old, older than anything Marin had ever seen, written centuries before her birth. She picked one of the manuscripts from a stack and saw that it was made of vellum, a sort of parchment made from calf-skin. There were vibrant drawings over the page, as well as several columns of writing. Marin squinted at the writing. It was Old Mykolian. She had studied Old Mykolian under her tutor at Sandhill, but had never actually held a real manuscript covered in it. “The tale of the sheep who in far fields did roam,” Marin translated under her breath. She smiled, noticing the pictures of small animals that could only be sheep wandering around the borders of the page. She set the

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manuscript down, and shuffled through the rest of the pages. There were too many for Marin to have time to read even if she had a solid month to dedicate to them. She didn’t mind though; she quite enjoyed looking at the pictures, reading the titles, and scanning a few lines of each text. Marin took a few pages that declared themselves to be A Chronicle of How Kenyon was Made. Marin was interested in learning more about Kenyon, since the current ruler of Mykolia (if he was still alive, she thought, her stomach taking a sudden dive) King Castillo represented Kenyon. She went to the large table and sat down in a chair. Marin put chin in her hands and began to read. She read for several minutes, and then, after having finished the first page, turned the manuscript over. She stopped suddenly. The back of the first page clearly continued the tale that was begun on the first side, but the second page looked very different. The parchment was darker, as though it had survived much longer than the manuscript that she was currently reading. It didn’t seem to belong to the Chronicle of How Kenyon was Made at all. It seemed to be a completely different text entirely. With interest, she lifted out the manuscript. The Chronicle continued on the next page – it seemed that this manuscript had been hidden inside the Chronicle. Was this done on purpose? Marin examined the manuscript more closely. It was very old and the ink was very faint. Besides this, the copyist had a very unique style of forming letters that made Marin have to squint to make them out. There were pictures here too, but they were not clear. There was a large circular shape floating at the top of the page, though what the circle represented, Marin did not know. There was a figure drawn underneath it that looked very much

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like a girl. The girl was dressed in a very simple robe and was looking up at the circle, which was several times larger than she was. Marin frowned. Intrigued, she moved her gaze to the words and let out a small gasp as her eyes scanned the first line. It did not seem to be Old Mykolian – in fact, it wasn’t any language that Marin knew. Her heart began to pound as she realized what it was. It was a cipher. Marin turned over the sheet of vellum and noticed that the text continued on the other side. There was no indication whether the text was complete or whether she would have to look elsewhere for a continuation. Marin licked her lips. She would need a lot of time to decode this, especially if some old cipher were used that she did not know, and if the language were difficult to make out anyway. She hesitated a moment, and then replaced the Chronicle on the shelf where she had found it, and rolled the other text into a scroll and stuffed it down the neck of her dress. She would examine it at more leisure when she was back in her room. For some reason, she was very glad to have stumbled across this text – it would give her something to do to pass the hours, and she was strangely curious about the picture of the girl under the large circle. What could it be depicting?

he cipher proved strangely difficult to break. Marin spent that evening going over all the

methods she knew of breaking ciphers, but to her surprise, not one of them worked or even gave her any clues that a similar technique might be used to decode the text. The text was made up almost entirely of numbers, but the numbers were spelled out, which confused Marin greatly. She had never seen a cipher where the numbers were written out in long form. She felt that it must be a clue as to how to decipher it, but she was unable to make any progress although she thought long and hard. There were letters in the manuscript however, and they were the first characters in the text. The series of letters looked as though perhaps it might have been encoded in a different way then the rest of it and that it must hold some secret about how to decode the rest. Marin went to bed that night frustrated, but excited. Here was a code that she had not been able to easily break. This was surprising, somewhat frustrating but very interesting. She had never failed at breaking a code – never. And now, it had been more than six hours since the text had come into her hands, and still, the text was a mystery. The next morning, Prince Esper came into her room, and Marin was just able to stash the manuscript out of sight before he entered. “Good morning,” the prince said, setting down a tray of food before her. “Good morning,” said Marin, a little surprised that the prince himself was bringing her breakfast. “Did you like the library?” asked the prince. “Oh yes,” said Marin. “I plan to return today, if

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that’s agreeable.” “You may have it for the day,” said the prince vaguely, taking one of the rolls from Marin’s tray and biting into it. “No one else has any desire to get near those books.” Marin nodded and waited for the prince to leave. Once he was gone, Marin pulled the manuscript out from under her pillow and examined it again. She looked at the first letters again and thought hard:

caacacdcddacacbd

There were so few letters there – only a,b,c and d figured in the short line that seemed to be the title or clue to the rest of the text. There was also quite a bit of repetition: the pattern “ac” was repeated four times.

caacacdcddacacbd Marin frowned. The letters were in groups of two, she realized. This meant, that two letters stood for one decoded letter… Enlightened, Marin seized a pen near her desk and began to scribble furiously. In seconds, she had constructed a kind of table:

a b c d e a b c d e

The letters “ac” had to be a letter that was repeated four times. It could be anything, Marin thought, disappointed. She glanced down at the rest of the text and

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took in the numbers again. They were written out… They were in groups of three… She thought again and after a few minutes something crossed her mind that hadn’t for many, many years. She remembered Mr. Rosings telling her that sometimes people encoded things by using a book as the source of words. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember how it worked… And she remembered. They used numbers to indicate the page, the line and the word. She looked down at the numbers and smiled. The numbers on the text were in groups of three. Surely this was what this was. And if this was a book code, then the first line must tell her what book would help her break the code. What book… “Two O’s,” Marin said out loud, taking up her pen again. “ac” meant “o”...

caacacdcddacacbd was now

caoodcbook Marin set down her pen excitedly. She was stuck for the moment. What she needed, was to go to the library.

Marin burst into the library and began to search for the sections of old books. She found them, right next to the old manuscripts. The texts seemed to be contemporaries to the manuscripts, both being written at about the same time. She scanned the titles, looking for something with two O’s in the first part of the title and the word “book” in the second.

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She searched and searched, but found nothing. Disappointed, she returned to her room. That evening when the prince dropped in for a visit, Marin, in the most casual way she could think of, decided to ask the prince if he knew about the book she was looking for. “A book is missing?” the prince asked, his mouth making a large O, as though he were shocked. “No, no,” Marin said hastily. “I’m simply looking for a book that was written a long, long time ago, centuries ago, that has the word ‘book’ in the second half of the title.” “An old book?” the prince said. “One from the Foundation of Things?” “Do you really believe in that?” Marin asked the prince skeptically. This was a story that she had known since she was a child, the story that told how Mykolia came to be. She had a hard time believing that Mykolia had simply begun to exist. It seemed to her as though it had always existed. “Of course,” said the prince solemnly. “Don’t you?” “I don’t know,” Marin said evasively, seeing that he held firmly to this belief. “But have you heard of any books –” “There are many,” said the prince. “Most of the epics have ‘book’ in the title. There’s the Waterbook, the King’s Book, the Gardenbook, I’ve had to read them all.” Marin nodded. None of them fitted the title she was looking for. “Thank you,” she said in a voice that clearly displayed her disappointment. “There is a scholar here who might be able to help you,” the prince said thoughtfully. “He’s been my tutor since I can remember – a very clever man.” “But I don’t want anyone to know I’m here,” Marin reminded the prince desperately. The prince waved his hand in his characteristic gesture of dismissal. “I can tell him that you’re a scholar

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visiting from somewhere – anywhere – oh, let’s say Palin.” Marin considered. One slip and she could risk revealing who she was. On the other hand, she would never find out about the mysterious circle unless she asked for some help. “All right,” Marin said. “Let me see him.” The tutor was a tall man with graying hair that stuck out around his face rather wildly. He had a pair of grave eyebrows that weaved themselves together over his crooked nose. He was dressed in a long dark robe that swirled around his feet as he entered the library where Marin had agreed to meet him. “Good morning, my dear. I am Marcus Saylor,” said the man in a raspy voice. His Alikan accent was so thick it was almost difficult to understand his Mykolian. “Good morning,” Marin returned politely. “I’m Adara.” She shifted nervously on her feet. The man did not seem overly convinced. “His Majesty Prince Esper tells me that you have a question for me,” the man said, getting right down to the point. “Yes,” said Marin, swallowing hard. “I’m looking for a book. An old book.” “What book are you looking for?” Saylor asked, looking a bit puzzled. “It’s a book – an epic, I think – that was written way back in the beginning – at the Foundation of Things, if you believe in that.” “Oh, but don’t you?” the man answered, as though she had just told him that she did not believe that two and two made four. “I don’t know,” Marin said, giving him the same evasive answer she had given the prince. “It’s hard to believe that things simply came to be.” “How do you think they came, then?” the tutor asked, somewhat amused.

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“I think they’ve always been here,” she said. “No, no,” said the tutor. “Things have not always been here. The world does have a beginning, and it will have an end.” Marin blinked. “Is it going to end soon?” she asked in spite of herself. “Oh, no,” Saylor reassured her. “It has only just begun.” Marin nodded. “Anyway, this book I’m looking for came from that time at the beginning. I just don’t know the name exactly.” “What do you know about it?” Saylor asked. “Only what I’ve told you,” Marin said. “But, I think it has to do with a large circular thing. And the title has two O’s in it before the word ‘book’.” Saylor blinked, a bit confused. “A large circular thing?” “Yes,” said Marin. “I don’t know what it is –” “Two O’s,” repeated the tutor, thinking hard. Marin waited patiently until he spoke again. “There is one book that might be what you need,” said the tutor at last. “It deals with things that are very ancient and things that are not understood. And there is mention of this large circle you mention.” “What is it?” Marin asked, her heart leaping into her throat. “It’s called the Moonbook, and there was only one copy ever made.” “Moonbook,” repeated Marin in confusion. “What does that mean?” “I assume it’s a book about a moon,” Saylor said. “A moon? What’s a moon?” “I don’t know,” the tutor said, putting a hand to his chin. “But many believe it to be this large circular thing you mention.” “There was only copy ever made?” Marin asked. “Where is it? Where can I find it?”

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“I believe that it is in Prestani,” said the tutor, and Marin’s heart sank. She couldn’t simply go to Prestani… “It is there because its story is deeply tied into the Mykolian royal bloodline,” Saylor said. “It is believed to be some sort of story that has to do with them alone.” Marin’s heart skipped a beat. “Royal bloodline? But didn’t the royal house of Mykolia just come to be? I mean, Mykolian bloodlines aren’t well established, and –” “No, they’re not,” Saylor conceded. “But from the beginning they have believed that someone would come along and understand the Moonbook and be able to do whatever instructions are provided for the heir of the Mykolian royal bloodline.” “So no one’s ever read it?” Marin asked. “Oh, people have tried,” the tutor said. “And it’s not as though the language is too old or that the words can’t be made out. It’s the meaning that isn’t understood. So many mentions of this large circular moon.” Marin nodded. “I see.” Her head was spinning. She was beginning to believe that she was somehow connected to this Moonbook and that she had to find it in order to read the manuscript. “Thank you,” she said to the tutor, who gave her a slight bow of the head. She turned and walked to the door, still excited, when the tutor spoke once more. “Good luck, daughter of Tenara.” Marin whirled around, her cheeks red. She walked slowly back to where the tutor stood in the middle of the room. “How did you…how did you know…” Marin stammered. “You look too much like her,” the tutor said. “I’m staying here in the palace,” Marin confided in him. “But I don’t know how long I can stay hidden…” “I would leave as soon as you can,” said the tutor. “You will be in danger if anyone sees your face.” “Will you –” Marin asked, her heart pounding hard.

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“No,” said the tutor, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I will say nothing. Good luck.” Marin nodded and with mixed feelings, turned and left the room.

“Good morning, milady,” said the prince, one morning, coming into Marin’s room. A couple of servants with trays of food followed him. “I thought I might eat with you today.” Marin looked up from the book she had been reading (The Foundation of Things: How History became Story) hoping to learn more about the Moonbook. “Of course, your Majesty.” Marin marked her page in the book, set it on her chair and came to the table which the servants were quickly setting. The prince pulled out a chair for her, and Marin sat down. The prince let the servant nearest him pull out his own chair and he flipped his long coattails behind him and sat, taking his napkin from the table as he did so. “It’s a beautiful morning,” said Marin, looking longingly toward the window. She suddenly wished that she were free. Free to go to Prestani… “It is,” said the prince, leaning over and taking some butter for his bread. “You know,” said Prince Esper suddenly, wiping his mouth with his napkin after a few moments of silent eating. “You know, I don’t really understand where she could have gone.” Marin froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Who? What do you mean?” she said at last. “It doesn’t seem to make any sense,” said the prince. “I mean, Simmerman can’t find her anywhere and it’s been quite a while. He wrote me this morning to tell me that he is at home to Little Springs and will contact me later should he find the girl.”

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“No, it doesn’t make any sense,” agreed Marin hesitantly. Why was he suddenly talking about Simmerman now? The subject had been dead between them for some time. “It’s like he’s given up,” said the prince. “He said that he’d been interested at one time in the girl’s sister – thought that maybe she would be a good substitute for the girl Marin.” Marin shuddered. She didn’t like how he had called her “the girl Marin.” “She had a sister, did you know that?” the prince asked, bringing her back from her reverie. “No,” said Marin, faking a blank look. “How could I have known?” “True,” said the prince, laughing merrily and spearing an egg on his fork. “Yes, she had a sister. Simmerman found out why I wanted to marry her and thought if he could get a hold of the sister than he’d still have someone to offer me as a bride. The point is to get a Mykolian heir, you know?” There was that ugly sharp look in the prince’s clear eyes that Marin did not like. It was greedy and desperate looking. “Yes,’ said Marin in a voice that was rather strangled. “I suppose it would be.” “I mean, if this Marin is gone,” the prince leaned closer and Marin saw for the first time an almost evil glint in his eye, “then her sister will be the heir to the Mykolian throne. And once I marry the heir, Mykolia will belong to me. Poor Simmerman was in the dark for far too long, the dear loyal old man.” Marin felt very much like throwing up, but she instead smiled painfully. “But she’s dead,” the prince continued, sitting back in his chair. “Someone found her at the bottom of the lake.” Marin choked suddenly. She pressed her napkin to

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her face and coughed violently. Robin was dead? “Are you all right?” the prince asked, pounding her heavily on the back. “She’s dead?” Marin cried, unable to control herself. The prince stopped. “The sister,” he said, thinking Marin had misunderstood. “Not the girl that was to become my wife.” “Oh, no, Robin,” Marin breathed, a tear coming to her eye. Dead…in the lake. Violent scenes of the watery grave that had killed her mother flashed back into her mind. She remembered the wind, the lightning… “I’m sorry,” the prince said slowly. “Did you say ‘Robin?’” Marin gave the prince a startled look, a hand to her face, drying her tears. “Did you? Because….because if I remember right, that was her name – at least, that’s what she was called. It was Robin. How did you know? I thought you didn’t even know Marin had a sister,” the prince pointed out, a strange look on his face. He got slowly to his feet. Marin got to her feet, realizing her mistake. “I…I don’t know…I don’t think I said –” The prince, however, was giving her a very penetrating look that Marin did not like. “Yes,” he said in a soft voice as though he had just had a revelation. “You’d be just about the right age…and you escaped from someone, you said that the first day –” Marin bolted for the door. The prince, however, was too fast for her, and grabbed her arm. “Marin!” he said in a hot voice in her ear. “You’re Marin! Simmerman was bringing you! You’re my wife! You escaped from him!” Marin shook her head and fought once again to get to the door. “Guards!” the prince yelled when she squirmed out of his grasp. “Guards!” Marin wrenched open the door but her flight was

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immediately arrested by two large men who grabbed her roughly around the waist and dragged her back into her room. “Marin!” the prince said, still in amazement. He gave a funny chuckle in his throat like he’d just been granted three wishes. “You’re Marin!” Marin decided it was time for desperate measures. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said, still struggling against the iron-strong arms of her captors. “Just let me get out of here –” “You’re going to be my wife,” the prince said, shaking his head. “No need to even mourn the sister now.” “No,” said Marin, suddenly incensed at the prince and his heartlessness. “I don’t want to marry you!” The prince’s eyes narrowed and he laughed sharply. “That doesn’t matter,” he said flatly. “I’m the heir to the throne of Mykolia,” Marin spat at him, surprised at her own audacity. “I’m not just a peasant girl you can bully.” “No, but you are in my power,” said the prince, “and so you’ll have to do what I want you to do.” He motioned to the guards. “Take her downstairs and fit her out with a cell.” Marin gave an angry struggle in response. “Don’t worry, I’ll have you brought out for the wedding,” the prince said with a smile. “It will be a glorious celebration; something to look forward to. I must not forget to write to Simmerman and let him know you’re here. I might even let him in on who it was he captured!” Then he waved the guards down the hall, Marin continuing to struggle in protest.

arin was at least glad that they had not made her change clothes. If they had, they would have

discovered the manuscript that she had been carrying around with her for some time and she would have lost it. Once the guards had left her alone in a small stone cell and closed the heavy oak door, Marin pulled out the manuscript and began to study it once more. She was still intrigued by the image on it, even though she didn’t have the slightest idea what a moon could be or why it was the subject of an epic poem and the manuscript she had discovered. Without the Moonbook, she was helpless to decode the words of the manuscript, but she liked looking at it, since, especially after having talked to the tutor, she felt as though she were connected to it. When night fell, the cell became completely dark. Marin didn’t expect anyone to bring a light or food, but she still felt very alone and very frightened once the cell faded from her view. There wasn’t much to see, of course; the stone walls were a pale gray and looked as though they had been worn smooth from many years of people rubbing against them. There was some old straw on the floor that Marin did not want to touch, as, in the light of day, it had appeared to be crawling with small black insects. She preferred sitting on the small bench in the cell, but it was too small for sleeping. She wondered what she would do when she was tired enough to sleep. There was a flicker of light and Marin realized that someone was at the door. There was a click as the lock sprang open, and then someone carrying a lantern came into her cell. It was a man. He was slightly hunched over and Marin could see a full growth of whiskers blanketed his cheeks and chin. “Who are you?” Marin asked. Her voice

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reverberated weirdly off the walls. She wasn’t sure whether to be afraid. The man did not look like a guard, and yet, if he had gotten into her cell, who could he be? “My name is Ashwin,” the man said, setting the lantern down on the floor next to Marin. He turned and closed the door to the cell behind him. “Milton Ashwin. But that doesn’t really matter.” “What are you doing here?” Marin asked. “I’m here to let you out,” the man said. Marin’s jaw fell open. “You’re joking.” “No, no,” the man said, shaking his head. “I don’t understand,” Marin said. “You’re in the high security level of the dungeon,” the man said. “They only keep important prisoners here.” Marin watched numbly as Ashwin reached down and unlocked the single shackle that had bound Marin to the bench. “If that’s the case, then why does it look like my escape is going to be easy?” Marin asked, still not sure she trusted this man. Ashwin smiled widely. “The prince made a mistake once. He locked up a man who was a locksmith. He was out of his cell in two minutes flat and had found a way of the castle in seven.” “And…that was you!” Marin guessed. The man smiled again. “That’s right. Ever since then, I’ve gotten my revenge on the prince by releasing prisoners held here. I hide out a few cells down from here. The guards don’t think much of me and no one has ever suspected me.” “Why are you doing this? How did you know I was here?” Marin asked. “I heard the struggle as you were brought in,” Ashwin said. “I just waited until it was dark enough for it to be safe enough to let you go.” “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me,” Marin

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said. “It’s a pleasure,” said the man, standing and picking up his lantern. “Take this lantern,” said Ashwin, picking it up from the floor. “Then go up the stairs on your left. You’ll find yourself in the stables. You can get out easily from there. Don’t touch the horses. They’ll know if one’s been taken and come after you. “And take this key. Lock the cell when you leave and hang it on the hook just before you reach the stairs.” Marin nodded and walked toward the door. “Thank you,” she said at last. “I am so grateful to you. I couldn’t have married that…” Her voice trailed off. “You were set to marry the prince?” Ashwin said with some interest. “Can’t blame your choice. I’d have gone to prison first as well.” Marin smiled. “Goodbye then,” Marin said with a nod. She turned and walked out of the cell and into the small corridor that connected the cells. Following Ashwin’s instructions, Marin turned to her left, and made for the stairs. She hung the key on the small hook near the stairs and then began to climb the stairs. Marin emerged, as Ashwin had said she would, in the stables. A pungent odor met her nostrils and she frowned as she made her way toward the end of the long row of stalls. She looked longingly at the horses as she passed them, but realized that Ashwin was right. Taking one would endanger her escape. She reached the door to the stables, nodded once to the sleepy guard at the entrance, and then, at last, she was outside once again. The sky was alight with stars and they illuminated the ground beneath her feet. The prince’s extensive gardens shone as though they were lit by a thousand white lanterns. The pools of water glistened and shimmered. It was a beautiful sight.

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Marin walked out along the path that led to the gates and was surprised that there were no guards to pass. She turned and took one last look at the castle, before squaring her shoulders and disappearing into the night.

Marin was shocked at how quickly she became hungry. She had no food, and she had only been walking a little less than a day. It was late evening now, and the sun was low enough in the sky that her skin no longer objected to the bright rays that warmed it. Her feet were very tired too, and she was reminded of the march with Simmerman across the Alikan plain. She had forgotten how difficult it was to travel on foot. And without food, walking became almost unbearable. After another hour of walking, Marin stumbled into a small village, barely large enough to have twenty houses. She walked very slowly through the streets, hoping that someone would see her and offer her something to eat, but no one bothered with her. Marin bit her lip and tried not to cry in self-pity. Surely there was someone here who could help her. Marin decided at last that she had to fight back her pride and knock on a door. She approached the door to the nearest hovel and knocked softly. There was a shuffling noise from inside, and then the door opened and an ancient woman with a long bent nose stuck her face in the crack. “Good evening,” Marin said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I…I’m sorry to bother you, but I haven’t anything to eat, and I…” Her voice trailed off, not sure how to finish. “Could I do something for you for some food?” Marin asked at last. That was good. That way she wasn’t asking for something for nothing. Instead of answering, the woman gave a snort and

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opened the door wider. With one withered hand, she waved Marin into the house. The room that Marin entered was dark. There was a fire burning in the fireplace that made the room almost unbearably hot. Marin began to sweat the instant she set foot in the door. But there was a large pot of something bubbling over the fire that gave off a pungent odor that smelled unmistakably of food. “Watch the pot,” the woman said. “I need to get more meat for the soup.” Marin nodded and felt the tiny old woman brush past her and disappear around a corner. Marin took up the long wooden spoon that was floating in the brown mass in the pot and began to stir. In a moment, the woman was back, carrying a handful of horribly red meat, which she plunked into the pot under Marin’s nose. Her hands were dripping with blood, and she wiped them on her apron. Marin felt slightly sick. Marin didn’t know what to say to this woman, so she said nothing. She simply watched her as she did little things around the house, now and again going around the corner again to get things to throw in the soup. After about half an hour of stirring, the woman snatched the spoon from Marin’s hand and brought the scalloped end up to her mouth so she could taste the soup. Her pale pink tongue cleaned the end of the spoon; she considered a moment and then gave a curt nod. The soup was done. In a few minutes there were two bowls of steaming soup on the old wooden table in the center of the room. Marin and the old woman sat down next to each other and began to eat in silence. Marin tried not to remember the dark red meat that had been added to the soup and hoped that all the blood had cooked out. She was very hungry, however, and quickly finished the small bowl she had been given. “Thank you,” Marin said, not sure what to do next.

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“There’s more,” the woman croaked. Marin looked at the pot, shrugged and then filled her bowl again. She had taken two spoonfuls when the woman spoke again. “You’re not from ‘round here,” the woman said. “No,” said Marin, looking up from her soup. “I’m from the east. Near Rivental.” “Thought so. You talk strangely. I usually don’t let people in my house,” the woman said, eying Marin beadily. “Don’t know who they are. They could be marked, you know.” “Marked?” Marin repeated. “You mean, like branded?” The old woman gave Marin another sharp look, and then, in one moment, she had grabbed Marin’s arms and twisted them around so she could see them. “Ouch,” Marin said, a bit disgruntled. “That hurts –” But the woman had no intention of sitting back down. She seized Marin’s hair and pulled it off her neck and then she had pulled Marin’s tunic down so that her shoulder was exposed. “You’re marked!” the woman yelled suddenly, screaming with all her might. “You’ve got a mark!” Marin, startled, pulled away from her. “I don’t understand why you –” But the woman threw herself and Marin and suddenly began scratching at Marin’s face as though she wanted to rip her eyes out. Marin tried to fight off the woman, but she was tough in spite of her age. The woman succeeded in opening the door to her hovel and thrusting Marin outside. Marin landed in the dust with a thud. Behind her, she heard the woman screaming again that she was marked. The village seemed to suddenly come alive. Marin jumped to her feet, but was at once tackled by what seemed like the entire population of the village. Men

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pulled her arms behind her, and picked her up off the ground. Marin struggled mightily but was unable to free herself. She bit the hand closest to her, and immediately her torso was dropped toward the ground. Upside down, Marin could see the skirts of the old woman approaching rapidly. She pulled herself upright again, and the hands clamped down securely on her chest. “She’s marked!” the woman was screaming, pointing at Marin with one long wicked finger. “She came into my house and stole my soup!” “I didn’t steal anything!” Marin said. But her words were drowned out in the clamoring of everyone around her. “There hasn’t been one here in a very long time,” a gruff voice above her said. “Haven’t had to get rid of one in ages.” Get rid of… Marin struggled again, but was unable to free herself. She felt one of the men that held her pull down her tunic again so that the “S” on her shoulder was exposed to the crowd. There was a general gasp and then an angry murmur that began to break forth. “Take her to the river!” yelled a man near the old woman. “Get rid of her now!” There was a general roar of agreement and someone appeared in just a few moments carrying a large burlap sack. Marin took one look at it, and began to scream. They were going to drown her. Marin screamed and shook as they forced her body into the bag, and pushed her head down into the darkness after it, securing the top with string. Her ankles were quickly scratched from the rocks that had already been put in the bottom of it. She felt herself being lifted and carried again, and she could feel the motion of the men walking. There were loud yells circulating around her, and she felt more

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helpless and frightened than she had ever been. She hated the water; it was the one thing she feared above all others, and now she was going to die in it, just as her mother had. She was going to drown. Marin did not stop screaming until they had reached the river. Even through the sack and over the cries of the angry men around her, Marin could hear the rushing, gurgling of the river. She felt as though her heart had stopped. “Stop!” Marin felt herself being dropped, and then she cried out as she hit the ground heavily. She had fallen on the rocks and was surprised, upon examining her legs, that she had not broken them. “Stop! What are you doing?” It was a very clear voice that spoke, a young voice but an authoritative one that lacked the rural accent of the villagers that were trying to drown her. “This girl’s marked,” snarled one of the men above her. “We’re mercifully ending her life so she can’t do any more harm to us.” “What harm has she done?” the clear voice demanded. “Nothing!” Marin cried out from the sack. “I didn’t do anything!” “She stole soup from Old Woman Cynwise,” responded the first man. “Surrender the sack, or you will answer to His Highness King Alder!” Marin sat up slowly, astonished. Prince King? Who was this man? Marin felt herself being lifted and then handed into other hands. “You can all go home now,” Marin heard the clear voice over her order the men who had tried to kill her. “She will do you no more harm now.”

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Marin felt herself being lifted onto the shoulders of a man and then carried for several minutes. She did not dare to speak. She was grateful for having been rescued from the villagers, but did not know into whose hands she had fallen. Perhaps she was now in more danger than she had been in Musatei. After about half an hour, Marin heard that she was being brought into an area with many people, all men, from the sounds of it. Marin trembled slightly, hoping against hope that they were friendly. “Where is Lord Keene?” the clear voice demanded that Marin recognized as having stopped the villagers. “In his tent.” “Fetch him for me.” There was some small talk that passed between the man with the clear voice and the men around him that stopped suddenly when, evidently, Lord Keene came into view. “Lord Keene,” said the man. “I came upon the villagers trying to drown a marked girl. As King Alder decreed that the inhumane treatment of marked slaves be discontinued, I saved her and brought her here, thinking that you or the king might decide her fate.” “What has she done?” The voice that belonged to Lord Keene was sharp but had the same clear tonality as the man who had saved her. “They say that she is a thief, but they will invent the wildest tales about marked people, as you know, milord.” “And she is in that bag?” “Yes, milord. They were planning on drowning her.” “Open the bag,” Lord Keene ordered. Marin moved to get herself into a position where opening the bag would allow her to simply step free of it, but the men did not seem to notice which side was up as they untied the string, lifted the bag, and poured Marin, and the rocks out at Lord Keene’s feet. Marin fell face first on her hands coughed the dust

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out of her lungs. She was looking at a pair of dark boots and at the hem of a dark robe. “This is the girl, then?” Lord Keene said. He lifted his toe and brought it under Marin’s chin so that it was raised to let him look at Marin’s face. Lord Keene, like most Mykolians, had dark hair and a thin face, but his facial hair made him look severe and the sneer on his face made him look less than friendly. “Not much to look at, is she?” Lord Keene commented at last. “You say that she’s a thief?” “I’m not a thief!” Marin said, pushing herself up and standing slowly. She brushed the dust from her clothes and brought herself completely upright. “The woman invited me into her home and then threw me out when she saw my mark.” At the word “mark,” Marin noticed that several people took an involuntary step backward. Lord Keene was not among them. “I see,” said Lord Keene slowly. “Lord Keene!” Marin saw a man with lighter hair than Lord Keene, but much more richly dressed, come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. “They told me that they’d caught…” His voice trailed off as his eyes fell on Marin. He took a step toward her. “Hello.” “Hello,” Marin said, guessing that she was looking at Prince Alder – or King Alder, as his men had called him. That must mean, she realized, that King Castillo was dead. Elian had not managed to save him. King Alder was about the same age as Keene, perhaps in his thirties. His face was a good deal softer than Lord Keene’s however, and he smiled a bit shyly as he looked at her. Marin was forced to look down to hide her burning cheeks. “Your Highness, this is the marked girl that your

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men discovered the villagers trying to drown,” announced Lord Keene, giving Marin a look with no trace of a smile. “I see,” said King Alder, approaching her. “I am sorry that you were treated this way.” “Your Highness, she has been accused of theft by the villagers, and as she is a marked girl, I would suggest that we discuss her fate together and make a decision,” Lord Keene said. Marin liked Lord Keene less and less. King Alder looked at Marin and then gave a small apologetic nod. Lord Keene snapped his fingers, and Marin was seized around the arms and pushed toward the tent nearest them. Inside the tent it was dark and cool, and Marin was simply glad to be out of the bag. She sat where the men put her, and then watched as Lord Keene and King Alder sat down regally next to one another. King Alder gave Marin a long look and then said, “You must know that people with marks are quite feared.” “Yes,” said Marin slowly, “but I don’t understand why. That was my first experience like that. I had no idea that they would try to kill me.” “Yes,” said King Alder. “They will do anything to remove you from their presence.” “But why?” Marin asked. “You will address King Alder as ‘your Highness’,” Lord Keene said disagreeably. Marin blushed. “I’m sorry, your Highness,” she mumbled. “The mark is a symbol that you belong to someone,” King Alder said, ignoring her apology. “Someone put it there to make sure that others did not take you away from them or help you should you ever run away. There are strict laws that prohibit interaction between a marked person and others that are not their owners. If a person is

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caught fraternizing with another’s slave, that person could face serious penalties, often death. That is why people with a mark are avoided at all costs.” “But I’m not a slave,” Marin protested. “Simm – Someone marked me, but I didn’t belong to them.” King Alder frowned and exchanged a long look with Lord Keene. At last, Lord Keene turned to her and said: “We must see your mark.” Marin was surprised. She wasn’t sure that she wanted these people to see it – might they not respond in the same way that the villagers had? Lord Keene, evidently impatient at her hesitation, got hastily to his feet, grabbed Marin’s neck and forced the tunic down so that he could see the mark. Marin could feel his hot breath on her neck as he looked. “An ‘S’,” Lord Keene said, dropping Marin’s tunic and returning to his place next to the king. “That letter does not mean anything specific to me,” said King Alder. “Nor to me,” said Lord Keene. “However I can tell that the mark was recently branded. Perhaps within a month or two.” “Yes,” said Marin. “That’s right.” “How did it happen and who marked you?” Lord Keene asked sharply. Marin hesitated again. She did not want to reveal her identity to anyone, since she knew that very soon there would be people from Numan on the look-out for her. She would be much better off if no one knew who she was. “I…I’m sorry,” said Marin. “But I could get myself into trouble if people learn who I am.” This was evidently not the right thing to say. “You will be in trouble if you do not say who you are,” Lord Keene said sharply. “We could return you to the bottom of the river if you would prefer its hospitality to our own.” King Alder held up his hand and Lord Keene began

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fuming in silence. “I understand that you are afraid,” said King Alder, “but we cannot help you unless we know your story.” “I told you, someone marked me, and he didn’t own me. I’m not a slave. I was kidnapped from my house and then was forced to do what that man wanted. I’ve only just got away. I have to get to Prestani,” finished Marin. “It’s very important.” “We’re heading to Prestani now on return from a short campaign here in Alika,” said the king, looking at Lord Keene. “I don’t think it would do any harm to take you along.” “Oh, thank you!” said Marin, her heart overflowing with gratitude. “I would do anything to repay you.” “Your Highness!” said Lord Keene. “I must object! She will not tell us who she is and could simply prove to be a burden to us.” “I won’t be,” Marin assured him. “Do not speak to me!” Lord Keene said angrily. “Your Highness, you must understand –” The king held up his hand again. “I understand your hesitations, but she does not look like a thief to me. I think that she has run afoul of the wrong people and could use our help. If I can help, I will.” Marin smiled at him and for a brief moment, met his eyes. She was startled to see that he was looking at her very ardently, as though hoping that she would continue to speak. “Thank you,” Marin said again, not knowing what else she could say. King Alder nodded. “Jonathan,” the king said to one of the men that had brought her in. “Would you show her to a tent? I believe that there is an extra one on my horse.” “Yes, your Highness.” Marin recognized his voice as belonging to the person that had saved her at the river. “Thank you,” Marin said quietly to him. Jonathan looked down at her and touched his hat lightly. Then he

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ducked out of the tent. Marin bowed awkwardly the king as she stood and was shown out of the large tent and to the small tent that had been set up very near for her. She crawled inside and saw that there were a few blankets that had been provided for her. She yawned and settled down among them. The night was cool, and Marin was very grateful to have some sort of feeling of security at last. These men seemed like good men, and King Alder seemed very kind. She didn’t like Lord Keene, but perhaps her views of him would change as she got to know him. In any case, she was glad to have a safe place to sleep, and after peeking out of the tent at the stars for a few moments, laid down her head and fell fast asleep.

arin awoke early the next day to the sounds of men bustling around outside. She knew those sounds

well from the time that she had spent with the Alikan army. She crawled out of her tent, and looked around her. The sun was just coming up in the east and it was splaying soft rays of sun around the camp, lighting it as though it were on fire. Marin blinked and shaded her eyes. To her right she could see the king’s tent at some distance, and noticed that he had just stepped out of it. The king was dressed in a very sleek navy blue riding outfit, with a thick jacket and sturdy books. Marin watched him talk to the men at his side and then realized that it was rude to stare as she was doing. She looked away and wondered what she should do. “Good morning.” Marin turned and saw that King Alder himself was standing next to her. Marin ducked low in a quick bow. “Good morning,” said Marin, slightly embarrassed and being taken off guard.” “If you’d like, you can go to the river to wash,” the king said. “No!” Marin exclaimed involuntarily. Then she blushed hard and said appologetically: “I’m frightened of rivers.” The king looked at her for a moment without smiling. Then he said gently: “You can wash when we get to Prestani then.” “Thank you,” said Marin. “I think I’d prefer that. How far are we from Prestani?” “Just a few days,” said the king. “It’s not far from here.” Marin nodded.

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“Do you ride?” asked the king suddenly. “No,” said Marin, surprised. “My sister does.” She stopped suddenly, as talking about Robin made her remember that her sister was dead. “What is your name?” the king said. “I feel very foolish having nothing to call you.” “I don’t know what you should call me,” said Marin. “Really, I would tell you my name if I could, but I’m afraid.” “Walk with me,” King Alder said, trailing his hands along the tall grass as he walked. Marin noticed a small smile on his lips and it once he had moved past, Marin noticed suddenly that there were bright pink flowers on the tips of the stalks. She blinked. They seemed to have appeared there from nowhere. But how was that possible? No, they simply must have been blocked by the king’s body. “Why do you need to get to Prestani?” King Alder asked, beginning to walk by the side of a streamlet. Marin followed him. “There’s something I need to look at in the library. That is, if you’d allow me to use it.” “The library? Certainly,” said King Alder, a bit surprised. “You can read then? That’s rather unusual for a Mykolian peasant.” “I’m not a Mykolian peasant,” said Marin, trying to hide her indignation. “I know I look like it, but I actually didn’t grow up around here at all. I grew up in the east.” “Near Rivental?” the king asked. “In Rivental, actually,” said Marin. She was surprised that she had given this much information to the king when she had told him that revealing her identity would be dangerous for her. The truth was, however, that she somehow trusted him and wished that she could tell him more. “You speak Mykolian so well for being from Rivental,” said the king. “Do you speak other languages as well?”

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“Yes,” said Marin. “A few others.” “A few others?” repeated the king in surprise. He turned and looked her full in the face, and Marin once again was caught in the king’s gaze. “You must have been raised in a great house to have had such an education.” “I wasn’t raised in a poor village,” assented Marin, feeling that they were getting a bit too near the truth for comfort. There was a silence as the two continued to walk together through the grass. Then, Marin spoke again. “If you’re the king, then that must mean that King Castillo has died,” she said, not quite knowing how she could phrase it most delicately. “Yes,” said King Alder. “He was murdered.” Marin said nothing; she simply continued to walk. “You’re not surprised?” said the king. Marin swallowed. “I had thought that something like this might happen.” The king stopped for a moment and then, slowly, began to walk again. “You must know then, about the rumors surrounding the girl Marin Lindrine. You’ve heard of her? They say that she is alive. In fact, I believe that is why King Castillo was killed. Her resurfacing has meant that great things are about to happen.” “Yes,” said Marin carefully. “The Alikan prince wants to marry her and bring Mykolia under its control.” The king looked at her. “How do you know all this?” King Alder asked. “I have only just become aware of the situation.” Marin swallowed hard. King Alder was looking at her intently. Marin could not meet his eyes. Then, very gently, King Alder touched Marin’s hand. “I swear,” he said, “your secret is safe with me.” Marin looked up, swallowed hard again and then met the king’s eyes. They looked at each other for a long

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time. At last Marin squeezed her eyes shut and looked away. “You know, don’t you?” “Marin,” breathed King Alder in Marin’s ear. A chill shook Marin’s body. “You’re Marin Lindrine.” Marin did not say anything. She simply looked back at the king pleadingly. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone,” Marin whispered back. “If your court discovered the truth about who I am, they would make me take the throne from you. If I did that, people would know who I am – and they would come to get me…” “You are the queen,” King Alder said, his voice still very low. “The throne belongs to you.” “But I must not take it! Not now,” Marin said firmly. “I understand,” said King Alder, looking away. Marin let out a sigh of relief. “But I need a name that I can call you by at court. You cannot simply remain nameless.” “I don’t know,” said Marin. “I’ve used Adara, but the prince of Alika knows me by that name.” “I will call you Ruth,” said King Alder. “It was the name of a dear friend.” “I am honored,” said Marin softly. King Alder touched Marin’s hand again, and Marin suddenly realized that her palms were both very sweaty. “Sorry,” she said, wiping her hands on her tunic. “I don’t know if I should stay at court in Prestani,” she continued. “I only need to use the library.” King Alder gave her a long look and then nodded once. “I see. Where will you go once you have found what you need?” “I don’t know,” said Marin softly. “I hope to find that out after I do a bit of research.”

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“Her name is Ruth,” King Alder announced to the small group of people that had gathered in his tent for dinner. “She will be going with us to Prestani.” “Lord Josiah,” said a man at Marin’s side, extending a large hand. Marin took it and had her hand squeezed tightly by the athletic-looking man. “I’m Lord Leptum,” said another, beefier man, this one with a large moustache and copious beard. “And this is Lord Keene,” he continued, indicating the man at his left. “We’ve met,” said Lord Keene lazily, giving Marin a sour look as he poured himself some wine. He swirled the liquid around in his glass and surveyed Marin with a calculating look that Marin did not like. “Ruth,” he repeated slowly, as though testing out the name on his tongue. “A familiar name, your Highness. What a coincidence.” “As you have guessed, Lord Keene,” said King Alder, “it has been decided that Ruth will be best protected if her identity is not known to the court.” “But it is known to you,” said Lord Keene, his glass half-way to his lips. “Indeed,” said King Alder shortly. “I know what needs to be known, and I can tell you that she is no threat to us.” Marin was grateful for the king’s protection but also sensed that the other lords felt a bit disgruntled by being denied information that they believed they should have access to. Lord Keene particularly was irked at not being informed as to the “marked girl’s” identity, and threw continuous snide comments in her direction whenever she passed by him. The king, however, continued to be polite to her, keeping her company during the hours when the camp stopped to rest. He seemed eager to hear about her past, and enjoyed discussing his own with her. They always made sure that they were well out of earshot when these

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conversations took place, but Marin felt curiously vulnerable whenever they took to discussing her past. “Do you know a man named Elian?” Marin asked, during one of their walks together. It was evening and the stars were just beginning to dot the sky above their heads. “Edric Elian?” King Alder repeated, swatting a mosquito buzzing in his ear. “Yes, I know him.” “He was the one who told me who I am,” she said. “Yes, he has long been at court and is one of my close friends. The last few years he has been traveling with a man named Simmerman. General of the Alikan army, last I heard.” “Yes, that’s right,” said Marin. “Simmerman was the one that took me to Numan to marry the prince. He’s still looking for me. Prince Esper said Simmerman knows now who I am. If he does, he’ll be more dangerous than ever.” “I will do my best to protect you from him,” said King Alder. Marin looked at him. He was staring up at the stars, a sad sort of expression on his face. “What is it?” Marin asked. “Do you ever feel that there’s something missing?” said King Alder, looking over at Marin with a small smile. Marin blinked. “What do you mean?” She followed his gaze up into the stars, trying to fathom what he must be talking about. Alder smiled and looked at Marin. “Perhaps there’s nothing missing after all.” Marin gave him a long look, and then picked a long blade of grass. She cleared her throat and twisted it around her fingers. “I’m so glad to be free of him,” she said, returning to their previous subject. “I hate him. I’d do anything to get away from him if I ever fell into his hands again.” “He was cruel?” “He gave me this,” Marin said, motioning toward the “S” on her shoulder.

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Alder nodded once and looked away. “I’m sorry that your life has been made so terrible. The battle for the throne is often a long and dangerous one. You can get caught up in it so easily.” “I don’t want the throne,” Marin reminded him. “Yes, and that’s what’s so remarkable,” said King Alder, giving her a searching look. “What do you want?” “I want to go home,” said Marin at once, her eyes filling with tears that she tried to hide. “I don’t want to be queen, I don’t want Simmerman to find me, but…” “What is it?” King Alder asked her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Marin looked at his hand, so warm, there on her shoulder. “There’s something I have to find out,” she said quietly. “I think I’m tied up in something. Something big. Something bigger than taking the throne of Mykolia. Something that no one has been able to figure out before me. “You’ve heard how I can decode things?” Marin went on. “Well, I’ve found a manuscript from back during the time of the Foundation of Things, and I think I’m the only one that’s ever figured out how to read it. There’s something about it that’s very important, something about it I have to figure out. I can solve puzzles, I can reason where others can’t.” She was speaking very fast now. “I have to find out about this. I know it’s important. It’s more important even than me going home.” When she said the last words, she felt her throat choke up and she started to cry. King Alder put one arm around her and then another. Marin breathed in the musty smell of his uniform and felt, for the first time in a very long time, protected and sheltered. She cried for several minutes there in the dark, and then looked up at the king who held her. “Thank you,” Marin said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

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The king pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Thank you,” Marin mumbled again, wiping her eyes. He must think her such a child – she was always crying. “Keep it,” said the king when Marin attempted to return the handkerchief. Marin folded it and put it inside her shirt, along with the manuscript. They both stood there looking at the starry sky, and then the king spoke, breaking the silence. “It’s late,” he said simply. “It’s time to get back.” Marin nodded once and followed the king back to the camp. Once in her tent, Marin pulled out the handkerchief and pressed it to her face. It smelled nice, like spiced cider. She took a deep breath, and then, holding it against her chest, fell into a deep sleep.

They reached Prestani, as the king had said they would, within three days. The sun was high in the sky when Marin was introduced through the gates of Prestani Palace and into a large reception hall. Immediately servants sprang to the king’s side, and Marin, although she had been walking next to him as they entered the palace, was quickly separated from him. Marin tried to make her way toward him, but could not because of the number of people milling around the king. Instead, she was seized by the arm by Lord Keene, and pulled away from the group. “You will not bother the king now,” Lord Keene said in his customary sharp voice. “He will have much business to attend to now that he is back in Prestani.” He took Marin up a flight of stairs and entered a long hall filled with rooms. He flung open a door and ushered Marin inside.

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It was a very small room, but a comfortable one. There was a bed covered in a blue satin coverlet, a small wardrobe and a stunning view from the window. “Lord Keene,” Marin said, turning from the room to the noble. “King Alder said that I might use the library while I’m here. Do you think that you could –” “You will be summoned when you are wanted,” Lord Keene cut her off. “Until then, you will stay here. Don’t wander out into the halls, or I may just let it slip that you are marked.” With that, he slammed the door behind him. Marin scowled and flopped down on the bed. She was tired and dirty, and had hoped that someone would show her immediately to the library where she hoped to find out what was written on the manuscript she had carried from Numan. After waiting in silence for half an hour, there was a light tap on the door and a dark-headed young man entered the room. He had a large mole near his bottom lip. “Lady Ruth, his Highness has asked that I show you were the bathing facilities are located and where the library is.” Marin jumped to her feet, a smile sweeping back over her face. “Thank you,” she said. She followed the servant from the room to a large white tiled room filled with fluffy robes, hair ointments, soaps and other bath supplies. She was immediately seized upon by six plump women in their fifties and washed, preened, dried and dressed in a simple red floor-length dress. She let them comb her hair and tie it back behind her. She thanked the women profusely and sighed with content as she was led to the library. How long it had been since she had felt properly clean! The library was very small compared to the vast trove the library at Musatei had been. She was slightly disappointed in its humble appearance, but wasted no

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time pulling the manuscript from its customary hiding place under her clothes and beginning to search the shelves for the Moonbook that would help her decode the manuscript. Although she searched the dusty shelves up and down, she was unable to locate the book that she so desperately wanted to find. She gave an exasperated sigh and left the library. Once outside, a tall man in a blue tunic swept down upon her from an unseen corner. “How can I help you?” the man asked. He had a twitchy sort of moustache that trembled as he spoke. “There was a book that I wanted from the library,” Marin said, hesitantly. “But I couldn’t find it. I was going to see if I could find King Alder…maybe he would know where it was.” “King Alder would not know the contents of the library as well as the librarian!” the man exclaimed. Marin paused and then said: “Are you the librarian?” The man puffed out his chest rather pompously. “At your service, my lady.” He gave a low bow. “My name is Mar – uh, Ruth,” said Marin, holding out her hand. “Ruth, Dolph Albrickt at your service!” Marin nodded. “Nice to meet you. I’m looking for a book called the Moonbook. Apparently only one copy exists, and I must have it for…for some research I am doing.” “The Moonbook?” the librarian repeated. He put a hand to his chin. “In that case, you’d better find the king after all. The book is in his possession.” “The king has it?” Marin repeated, surprised. “Yes,” said the librarian. “It’s a rather special book for him.” Marin nodded, although she was not quite sure what he meant. “If you would like,” Albrickt suggested, “I could go

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find the book and bring it to you. Just wait here in the library.” Before Marin even had time to respond, Albrickt turned on his heel and left Marin alone. Marin stood there a moment, thinking, and then reentered the library. She had waited only a few minutes when Albrickt, clearly out of breath, returned holding something wrapped in a white linen cloth. “Here it is,” said Albrickt, steering Marin toward a chair and laying the thing on the desk in front of them. “This is the Moonbook. It’s very old. Probably the oldest piece of writing we have. It was written at –” “The Foundation of Things,” Marin finished. “I know.” “I’ll leave it to you, then,” Albrickt said with a smile. “I’m working on a project in the next room. Don’t hesitate to ask should you need anything!” “Thank you,” said Marin, her eyes glued to the white cloth. “I’ll do that.” The moment Marin was left alone she eagerly pulled the cloth away to reveal an old brown collection of manuscripts, held together by some loose stitching along one edge. The book seemed to be in amazing shape for its age. It seemed as though very few had touched its pages since it had been written. The writing was small and neat, but there were no images in the book at all. Only the tiny writing covered the fronts and backs of the vellum. As she touched the pages, she could feel a strange sort of excitement dancing in the ends of her fingers. The answers to the manuscript were here. Soon she would be able to read it. First, however, Marin was interested to see if the Moonbook would tell her what a moon was and why it was so difficult for people to understand. Marin read easily and quickly the ancient pages that lay before her on the desk. Her eyes seemed to eat the

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words that were before her, almost as though they were a part of her – a part of her that she had forgotten existed.

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Marin read on and on, reading hungrily these legends about the world. She read how the sun was made by King Arnaldir, and the dazzling light that it brought to the sky and the earth and was amazed. The Moonbook told about everything – how the waterfalls were made, how the animals came to be and how the birds came to have their wings. It even told how, when the kings and queens that had made the earth had died, they left the world that they had created, their bodies not being able to be held by it, had risen to the sky and there found their place as the stars. And even now, the Moonbook assured her, they were there, still with the world, still watching everything that happened. The book told about the kings and queens and how almost all of them ended up marrying each other and living long happy lives, having children that would become the inhabitants of the world. Marin thought it was all a fascinating story, although

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she wasn’t sure that she believed it. All the same, she felt somehow enlightened after running her eyes over the entire book. To her surprise, there was no mention of the moon, until she had made it a good ways into the poem. She read them over and over in her mind, as though they meant something for her alone.

Marin liked the last bit, although she couldn’t really understand what it was this king was waiting for. She also was disappointed that the author of the book had not identified himself. It was a beautiful poem, even if she could not ascertain the validity of it.

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She could understand why the librarian back at Musatei had said that the Moonbook concerned the royal line. Clearly, a queen was supposed to come who would set this Tree King free. Marin shook her head. If what the book said was true, then this Tree King would be hundreds of years old by now, certainly too old to wish to marry anyone. Still taut with interest, Marin finished the book. Not only did it speak of how the world had begun, but also of how it one day would end. She gazed up at the ceiling after lifting her eyes from the pages and thought about what she had seen there. She couldn’t imagine that the world could really end, that the stars would blink out of existence, that the world would be left dark and cold, and that in the final hours of its existence, war would break out among the war-obsessed inhabitants, unable to be saved even by the valiant efforts of the few who still understood about love, honor and bravery. Marin frowned and looked down at the manuscript. She was eager to decode it, but at the moment, she was feeling a bit tired of reading. After stowing away the manuscript in her dress, she left the library, leaving the Moonbook in the care of the overly-helpful Dolph Albrickt. On her way back to her room, she looked around her and tried to take in the superb craftsmanship of the stone around her. The palace was luxurious, but there was a certain hollow feeling to the building that probably came from the fact that the walls in much of the palace were solid stone. The rock was cold when she brushed up against it, and she wondered how the stone carvers could have gotten high enough to create the amazing patterns on the ceiling. “How are you doing? Were you shown the library?” Marin looked down and saw that King Alder was standing before her, an amused expression on his face. “Sorry,” Marin mumbled. “I didn’t see you.” “The carvings are amazing,” the king said, following

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her glance upward. “Some say that they were done by King Eldin back at the Foundation of Things.” Marin gave a start. King Alder noticed her start. “You read that name in the Moonbook, didn’t you?” he said without hesitation. “Yes,” Marin answered, a bit surprised. “Have you read the book?” “Of course,” said the king with a small laugh. “I know it practically by heart.” “Wow,” said Marin, impressed. “It’s very long.” “Yes,” agreed the king, “but I have had a long time to familiarize myself with its words.” Marin nodded. A long pause fell between them. “I was just heading off toward the gardens,” said the king suddenly, his cheeks noticeably redder than they had been a moment before. “I was wondering if you might like to join me.” “Of course, your Highness,” said Marin, following the king down the hallway. The king led Marin through several beautifully carved corridors and then at last came to a large door ornate with crystal panes. The panes had been carved with beautiful images of trees and plants. Marin marveled at them as the king threw them open for her. Marin blinked in the warm sunlight of the afternoon as she entered the expansive gardens of the palace. The green of it all startled her. For some reason the plants here seemed more alive than any others she had seen. “Do you like it?” the king asked, looking out himself at the vast display of leaf and flower. “It’s beautiful,” said Marin in amazement. “You must have wonderful gardeners.” The king only smiled and began to walk along the paths. Marin followed him. “What did you think of the Moonbook?” King Alder asked rather suddenly.

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Marin looked up at the king’s face which was framed in a golden halo of light. “It was…like nothing I’ve ever read before,” said Marin, not quite knowing how to answer. “What does that mean?” asked the king in some amusement. “It was difficult to understand,” Marin admitted. “There were parts that didn’t really make sense, and then there was the mention of the moon that really interested me, but it wasn’t very well explained at all.” “Do you know what a moon is, Marin?” “Ruth,” Marin said, suddenly insistent. She had no desire for anyone to overhear them and get her into trouble. “Of course,” said the king contritely. “Do you know what a moon is?” “No,” said Marin. “Do you?” “Not exactly,” said the king, looking away, “but they say that it is one of the most beautiful things a man can behold.” “The Moonbook said something about a queen coming,” Marin said. “It said that she would bring the moon.” “Yes,” said the king. “That’s right. No one knows how or when this will happen, however.” “So you believe in it,” Marin said carefully, not wanting to be disrespectful. “Of course,” said the king in some surprise. “Don’t you?” “I don’t know,” Marin said, giving once again that evasive answer that had become the norm for that question. “I think it’s a beautiful story…” “The Moonbook was written by someone who was there – someone who saw it all,” the king explained. “Yes,” said Marin skeptically. “And according to the book, that person would still be alive. And that’s impossible.”

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“Is it?” said the king, giving Marin a piercing look that she did not particularly like. “Of course,” said Marin, slightly exasperated. “Besides, it doesn’t make much sense even in the context of the book. It said that the kings and queens who made the earth died; that’s how we got the stars. This Tree King should have died too.” “But he couldn’t,” said King Alder. “He had not yet finished what he had come to do.” “He made the trees,” Marin said skeptically. “Yes, but his work was not done. Something still rested for him to do.” Marin made a noise of derision in her throat. “Is that so important?” “It was for him,” the king said quietly. Marin looked at a tall-stemmed flower and touched its pink petals. Then she looked back up at the king. “You know a lot about this,” she said. The king looked at her and smiled. “Yes,” he said, “I know a lot.” “And you believe it?” Marin said again. “I told you that I did,” said the king. “And I can assure you that there are very few in the learned community who do not believe it.” “I’d never heard of it before now,” Marin said, her brow furrowed in frustration. “I mean, I’d heard mention of it, growing up, but it was always treated as a legend, a myth, a story for people who are easily deceived. I didn’t think it could ever really be true – that there was a beginning to things and that…one day things will end.” The king pursed his lips. “It is true, Marin. I know very few things for certain, but I can tell you that this is one of them. The Moonbook really tells how things came to be.” “How can you know?” Marin said, still suspicious. The king began to laugh. “I suppose you’re right. There is no way for me to convince you. You’ll have to

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learn of its truth for yourself.” “How can I do that?” Marin asked. “One day you’ll know,” said the king. “Life has a way of teaching what is true and what is false.” This answer was not very satisfactory to Marin, and she looked away, a little disgruntled. “Marin, I brought you here, because I have something important to tell you.” Marin’s head snapped up. “What is it?” King Alder took a step nearer and touched her hand. “Your sister has been found.” Marin’s eyes widened. “She’s not dead!” “She’s alive,” said King Alder, looking at Marin in concern. “You thought that she was dead?” She felt suddenly as though she’d been struck. “Where is she?” she asked at last. “How did you discover this?” “She’s been discovered by Lord Simmerman,” King Alder said somberly. All elation that Marin felt quickly deflated. “Lord Simmerman?” she repeated, breathing hard. “No – he’ll know who she is – what will he do to her?” “Edric Elian has returned to his position at Little Springs. He sent me word that Simmerman had found your sister, and at first, believed her to be you.” “That wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” Marin said quietly. She thought wildly for a moment and then said: “Thank you for telling me.” “Marin,” King Alder said, taking her shoulders. “I feel to warn you that you must not try to set out alone to rescue her.” He touched her shoulder. “It would be too dangerous for you in many ways.” Marin nodded after a few tense seconds had gone by. “But I can’t just do nothing –” “No,” said King Alder. “I understand that. As soon as can be arranged, I promise you, efforts will be made to rescue your sister. With Elian in place - ”

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Marin nodded and looked down. “How do you like Prestani Palace?” the king asked, changing the subject abruptly. “Very much,” said Marin, brightening. “I love it. I hope I can stay here always.” The king looked at her and once again met Marin’s eyes. Marin swallowed. She could feel her heart pounding strangely inside her chest like she wanted something to happen, but wasn’t sure what. The king reached out and touched Marin’s hand. Marin felt as though she had just touched something warm and comfortable. “I hope you can stay here too,” said the king. He was still looking at her. Marin swallowed hard, and then, not really knowing what she was doing, she bowed her head and kissed the king’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, her cheeks beginning to moisten with tears. “I feel safe, for the first time in a long time.” The king smiled and touched her cheek. Very gently, he reached up with his thumb and wiped away Marin’s tears. And then, he leaned forward and before Marin quite realized what was happening, he was kissing her. Marin felt very warm, as though liquid warmth were spreading from her mouth down to her toes. She had never felt so wonderful in her entire life. She wanted the moment to last forever. When the king pulled away, Marin saw that there was something in his hand. It was a perfect rose. The king looked down at it, as though noticing it for the first time, and smiled. He handed it to Marin without a word. “Thank you,” said Marin, taking the flower. “You’re wel –” The king stopped suddenly and looked hard into Marin’s face. Then, all at once, he began to smile broadly.

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“What is it?” Marin asked, curious about his reaction. “Nothing,” said the king, although he looked elated. He laughed. “I’m just very happy. Very happy.” He sobered for a moment and then reached up and touched Marin’s face again. Marin, caught up in the sweetest emotion of her life, leaned forward and kissed the king again. She kissed his fingers again and the king let his hand be caressed. After a moment, he dropped it and smiled again. “It’s dinner time, and I would be most honored if you would accompany me to the dining hall.” Marin nodded, feeling fuller than she had ever felt before, and yet hungrier than she could ever remember feeling.

t was difficult to concentrate on anything except the king anymore – or Alder, as he had asked her to call

him – even though she knew that she was very close to decoding the manuscript she had brought from Musatei. All she could think about was the next time that she would be able to see the king again, and how it would feel when she could touch his hand again, or feel his fingers on her face… Marin pulled herself from her daydream and pulled out the manuscript once more. She had at last sequestered herself in the library and told herself that she wouldn’t come out until she had unlocked the secret that the manuscript held. The light in the library was dim; Marin huddled over a candle and squinted at the Moonbook and the page of the manuscript in the flickering light. She was still intrigued by the picture of the girl with what was supposed to be a moon. What might a moon really look like? Or did it even really exist? Marin turned at a sudden noise. Alder stood in the doorway. “What are you doing?” he asked, coming up behind her. “Still looking into the Moonbook?” “Yes,” Marin said, smiling. “But remember how I said I needed to come here?” “Yes,” said Alder, pulling up a chair beside her. The light from the windows fell across his face in yellow stripes. “What do you have there?” “This is the manuscript that I found when I was in Musatei,” Marin explained in a low voice, should anyone happen to be listening in on what she was saying. “I don’t know why, but I felt sort of drawn to it. I’ve wanted to translate it for a long time.”

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The king took a long look at the folded piece of parchment Marin had been safely guarding. He nodded and set it down, his face expressionless. “I think you should translate it. Can you?” “Of course,” said Marin. “I have all the tools right here. All it will take is a few hours, and I’ll know what this is all about.” The king nodded. “I think that should be very interesting. You should find out what’s in it.” Marin turned and looked at Alder, a smile on her face. “What do you mean?” “Nothing,” said the king, pulling a smile onto his own face. “I just think that you’ll find the contents very interesting.” “Have you read it before?” Marin asked, surprised. “No,” said Alder innocently. “But…if you found the Moonbook interesting, then I’m sure a manuscript based upon it won’t disappoint.” Marin gave him a long look; his look had been a bit too innocent. What did he know? Before Marin could question him further, Alder took her hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt you like this,” he said regretfully. “But there was something that I came to tell you.” “What is it?” Marin asked in concern. There was an almost sad look in the king’s eyes. “I’d rather discuss it out in the garden, if you don’t mind,” Alder said quietly. Marin nodded, thinking in excitement of the kisses they had shared there the last time. “I can work on this later.” Alder waited while she slipped the manuscript into the Moonbook and then took Marin’s arm and led her from the library. Once out in the garden, it was clear that Alder was more at ease, if only slightly. He seemed much more

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comfortable when he was out away from his servants than when he had to be inside the palace walls. “What is it?” Marin asked, once she was sure they were out of earshot of anyone. “What did you have to tell me?” “Marin,” Alder began, hesitatingly, “I think that I have made it clear that I like you very much. Love you, actually.” Marin was surprised at this statement. She did know that he liked her, but couldn’t think how his liking her could make him worried. Unless… “People have noticed, haven’t they?” Marin said quietly. “They don’t want me to get close to you. They don’t trust me.” Alder looked at her and then touched her shoulder. “They are worried,” Alder admitted, brushing his hair from his eyes with his other hand. “What are they worried about?” Marin asked, prepared for the worst. “They are worried about what might happen because we have taken you into our protection.” Marin looked down, thinking. After a time, she looked up. “It’s because of the mark, isn’t it? They don’t want someone who is marked getting involved with you.” The king closed his eyes for a moment. “There has been a demand that there be a council held to decide…” “…whether I stay at the palace,” Marin finished bluntly. “Who is behind this? Keene?” “Marin,” Alder said, looking very pained. “There is nothing I want more in this world than to protect you. But –” “But there’s nothing you can do against men like Keene,” Marin said, her voice turning cold. “I understand.” But, of course, she didn’t. “Marin,” the king hissed, taking her hands and

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looking into her eyes. “The thought that they might take you away from me…well, it almost killed me when they suggested this. But there is nothing I can do. The entire Council of Lords decided that this council had to be held. There was nothing, politically, that I could have done to stop it, and I would have been foolish to have tried other means.” Marin looked down, trying to blink back tears. She shook her head. “I understand,” she said again. “No,” said the king, “you don’t. And I wouldn’t either if it were me. You trusted me to help you, and believe me – I want to help you –” “It’s okay,” Marin said, touching his hand. “I really do understand.” She heard herself say the words and forced herself to smile back into the king’s eyes. Her mind, however, had left the garden and was traveling back to Keene and the other advisors to the king. They wanted to get rid of her. And if they succeeded, where would she go? “Marin,” the king said, pulling her back to the garden with him. “When does the trial start?” Marin asked, ignoring the fact that he had begun to talk to her. The king licked his lips and looked down. “It starts tonight,” he said. Marin nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. She felt as if the ground were slipping out from under her feet. What was going to happen to her?

Marin was glad, at least, not to have her hands tied. Lord Keene had suggested it as a precautionary measure, but King Alder pointed out that the fact that she had submitted willingly to the trial indicated that she was cooperative, and therefore would not need to be restrained. She felt nonetheless like a criminal under the

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scrutinizing eyes of the men that would judge her for a crime that she could not help – being marked with a brand on her left shoulder. The room into which she was brought that evening was a smaller room than what Marin had expected and relatively bare. There was a single table inside with high-backed chairs running down both sides. Marin was brought to the far side of the room and set in the chair at the very end of the table. She watched as many well-dressed lords entered the room, one by one. All of them wore very serious expressions on their faces and none of them looked at Marin properly as they entered the room. Marin swallowed hard and tried not think once more about what could happen to her should the trial go badly. The key, she told herself, was to prove that she was not a threat. When the lords had all filed into the room, King Alder himself entered, and although she had not felt warmly toward her when he had broken the news of the trial, the very sight of him filled Marin with hope. He was, as usual, finely dressed, and he wore a thin gold band around his head as a token of his position. He nodded to all the lords and to Marin and then sat down at the chair at the other end of the table, across the table from Marin. “You all know why we are brought here today,” King Alder began, casting a glance over some papers before lifting his eyes to those present. “We are here to decide the fate of the girl Ruth.” Marin started, hearing the name that was not hers. She had been in the presence of the king so much that she had not grown accustomed to hearing her alias. There was some shifting of positions in their chairs by the lords. “So that this trial may go forth in an orderly manner, Lord Keene has appointed himself head of the arguments

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of the prosecution of Ruth. Lord Leptum has been appointed judge of these proceedings and Lord Josiah will act as recorder.” Marin’s heart sank. He would not be the judge. Lord Leptum got to his feet and stroked his moustache and beard. “This court can then be opened.” He turned and looked at Marin. “Have you anyone to defend you or do you wish to defend yourself?” Marin was surprised. “I…I didn’t know I was supposed to find someone to defend me…” “You have no one appointed?” Lord Leptum said, looking not at Marin. but at Lord Keene, who looked very self-satisfied. “I will defend her.” Marin looked up in surprise and saw that it was King Alder who had spoken. “Your Highness!” Lord Keene exclaimed. “Are you sure that you wish to lower yourself to defending this common slave –” “Yes, I’m quite sure,” King Alder said shortly, silencing Lord Keene. “Now at least, the sides will be intellectually balanced. Each of the most cunning men at court will be on a side. It seems quite fair to me.” This response caused a light ripple of laughter to wash over the council. Marin blushed happily and wished that she could tell Alder right then and there how much his gesture meant to her. “Very well,” said Lord Leptum, reading a few lines on a sheet of parchment he held before him. “We shall now proceed as follows. The prosecution will make his arguments after which the defense will have opportunity to question the accused. Then the prosecution will have another opportunity and the defense will conclude the arguments. After all arguments have been presented, this court will reach a decision based on the recommendations of the prosecution and the defense. Lord Keene.” Lord Leptum sank down into his chair and put on a

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pair of spectacles. Lord Keene rose gracefully to his feet and fixed Marin with a disdainful look before he spoke. “My fellow members of the court, I ask you to hear my arguments in prosecution of the girl who is known as Ruth. “First, I must present the incontestable fact that the girl is marked.” “The prosecution will provide proof of this fact,” Lord Leptum said, looking over the top of his spectacles. “Ruth, rise and show the court your mark,” Lord Keene said to Marin. Marin got tremblingly to her feet, exposed the mark and turned to the court so that they could see it. There were some soft remarks that were exchanged among the nobles and the soft scratching of Lord Josiah’s pen. “Thank you,” Marin heard Lord Leptum say to Marin. “You may be seated.” “It is an “S”,” Lord Keene said as Marin took her seat. “We do not know to whom she belongs, but as you all can attest, the mark was recently made, and more likely than not, her owner will be currently looking for her. “This girl, then,” Lord Keene said, pointing a long accusing finger in Marin’s direction, “is a danger to our court. We could be seen as attempting to keep her from her owner, which would put the reputation of the Mykolian court in serious jeopardy. “In fact,” Lord Keene continued, pulling a large book from the table in front of him and opening it to a marked page in the center, “there was a similar instance 74 years ago in which a slave was taken from his owner and forced to work in the home of a great lord. The lord was later condemned by a local court and forced to pay 560 altans to the owner of the slave in retribution. As the lord had not the sum to pay, he was killed and his wife and children branded into slavery to pay his debt.”

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Marin’s eyebrows lowered in worry and she looked away. “Similarly, 50 years ago, in the city of Palin…” Keene’s voice droned on and on, listing numerous instances where great misfortune or ruling on the part of a court had punished the one who had taken or sheltered the slave of another. “And so you see,” said Lord Keene, “sheltering a marked girl that clearly belongs to someone else is an act the royal court cannot afford to commit.” “But you don’t understand –” Marin burst out. “Silence,” Lord Leptum said, fixing Marin with a stern look. “You will have your chance to speak. Lord Keene, if you would continue.” Marin’s heart beat angrily inside her chest. Lord Keene had no idea what he was consigning her to. She couldn’t understand how one man’s sense of mercy could be so underdeveloped. “I wish to question the accused,” Lord Keene said in a steely voice. “Granted,” said Lord Leptum, looking at Marin once more. “Ruth, do you swear to answer all questions posed to you in a truthful manner?” Marin swallowed. Then, thinking that she had no choice, she nodded. “Say, ‘yes’,” Lord Leptum said. “It must be in the record.” “Yes,” Marin said. “Very well,” Lord Leptum said. “You may proceed, Lord Keene.” Lord Keene turned to Marin and fixed her with his dark eyes. “I want you to explain what you have been doing since you arrived in Prestani,” Lord Keene said. Marin swallowed hard, surprised. “What I’ve been doing?” “Yes,” Lord Keene said. “Tell us what you do during

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the day.” Marin thought. “I…I have spent some time in the gardens, and I very much enjoy sitting in the shade watching the birds in the aviary,” Marin said timidly. “Continue,” Lord Keene said sharply. “I…I have spent time in the library,” Marin said, after a short silence. “And this was the reason you wanted to come to Prestani in the first place, is it not?” Lord Keene questioned. “Yes,” Marin said truthfully. Where was he going with this? “What have you been doing in the library?” Lord Keene asked. Marin gave King Alder a searching look. His eyes were blank. “Look at me, not at the king,” Lord Keene ordered. “Answer the question.” “I have been reading,” Marin said simply. “And you wanted to use the library at the palace simply to catch up on the latest fiction?” Lord Keene said rather scathingly. Marin looked down. “No,” she said. “I wanted to translate a manuscript, and I could only do it here.” “And did you translate it?” Lord Keene asked. “Not yet,” Marin answered truthfully. “I was just going to when I got word of this trial.” “Why do you wish to translate this manuscript?” Lord Keene asked pointedly. “This doesn’t have anything to do with –” Marin burst out in protest. “Milord, the issue at hand is not what Ruth has been doing in the library,” King Alder said at the same time. Lord Leptum frowned. “I too do not see the relevancy of your questioning, Lord Keene.” “I only wish,” said Lord Keene, “to give you a picture of what this girl has been spending her time doing

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since she came to the palace.” “We understand that she has philological interests,” Lord Leptum said. “Please take your questioning in a different direction.” Lord Keene scowled and looked down at his papers. At last, he looked back at Marin and said. “I want you to answer me honestly.” Marin swallowed. “Are you in love with King Alder?” There was a sudden outburst at the table at this question. King Alder was objecting loudly from the end of the table, an objection that many of the other lords were voicing as well. Others were shouting that the questioning continue, and Lord Keene was giving her a sharp shrewd look that expressed his confidence that Marin would have to answer. “Silence!” Lord Leptum shouted, and the room eventually regained a state of calm. “Lord Keene, I do not see the purpose of this question –” “You will if she answers it,” Lord Keene snarled. Lord Leptum turned to Marin and took off his glasses. “Very well. Answer the question, Ruth.” Marin swallowed hard. “You swore to tell the truth,” Lord Keene reminded her with a grim smile. Marin wanted suddenly to be anywhere but here. If she thought that she could have made a break for the door and succeeded in getting away, she would have done it. “Yes,” Marin said in a voice that was barely audible. There were more violent whispers that swept around the room. “How many hours do you spend with the king each day?” Lord Keene pressed, his eyes glinting. “Uh…” “Your Highness, this question is undoubtedly indiscreet,” Lord Leptum said to the king.

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King Alder waved his hand. “It is a valid question. Let it be asked.” Marin felt all eyes on her. “I…I don’t know,” she said at last, truthfully. “More than two?” Lord Keene said. “Yes,” Marin said. There was another outbreak of murmuring. “Every day?” “Yes,” answered Marin. “You see,” said Lord Keene, “that this girl is attempting to infiltrate the very workings of this court! We have, up until now, only considered the possibility that she is hiding from an owner. We cannot, however, dismiss the possibility that she is a spy, working to worm her way into the court and learn the delicate workings of the very privileged and secret matters that concern the government of Mykolia!” Marin wanted to cry out again, but knew that she would be silenced. How could he propose such preposterous ideas? “This girl is a danger to the court from every angle,” Lord Keene said. “We must make every effort to remove her.” With that, he gave Lord Leptum a nod and sat down. “That ends the first turn of the prosecution,” Lord Leptum said. “The floor will now be given to the defense. King Alder.” King Alder got slowly to his feet and looked at Marin before turning to the court. “There have been serious accusations made,” the king said in his customary low voice. “And there have been many reasonable arguments brought forward against the proposition that the court harbor Ruth. “But I would like you to see another side of this story. Ruth, please stand.” Marin got slowly to her feet, not sure what the king was going to say.

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“I want you to show us that mark again,” King Alder said. Marin obediently turned and displayed the mark that marred her shoulder. “Note the size of the mark,” said Lord Alder. “This is not a common Mykolian brand. This is a large brand from the southwest. In the southwest, the rules governing slaves are very different than here in Mykolia. Thank you, Ruth, you may sit.” Marin sat while King Alder continued to speak. “Here in Mykolia there are certain rules governing the treatment of slaves. Although they may be made to work hard and the penalties, as Lord Keene has pointed out, are severe for those that meddle in the slave-owner relationship, there are laws that keep the Mykolian slave from being unduly harmed. “In the south this is not the case. I have known several instances, and I have brought documented cases,” (here the king laid his hand on a large book similar to the one from which Lord Keene had read) “when slaves have been tortured, starved, and even killed. There are no laws keeping an owner from doing whatever he likes to his slave. “This girl is clearly in terrible danger and could risk her life should she be returned to her owner. This court has always been a dealer of mercy, not of cruelty. I would like to question the accused.” “Granted,” said Lord Leptum. Marin noticed that her palms were sweaty and rubbed them on the skirt of her dress. “Describe the character of the man who put that mark on you.” Marin took a deep breath. “He is cruel,” she said. “He never cared about me. He used me to do things to further his own reputation, but never cared about what he did to me.” “Sending her back to the man who marked her could

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very well result in the end of her life,” King Alder said, addressing the court. “He would punish her severely for having attempted to leave him.” King Alder took another deep breath and then said: “I suppose many of you do not know much about how the mark is put on people.” He reached down and picked up a metal brand from the desk that looked very much like the one that Simmerman had used to put the “S” on her back. “Ruth, was a similar instrument used to mark your back?” King Alder asked. “Yes,” said Marin, feeling slightly disgusted as she looked at the metal brand. She could remember coming into the cave and seeing a similar brand in the fire, not yet knowing what it was. She recalled the smell and felt a rush of nausea overcome her. Marin shook her head and tried to focus on what the king had asked her. “But it was a little larger than that.” “Pass this around,” said King Alder. “I want you to examine it. Imagine that being pressed, burning hot, into your flesh. Ruth, will you describe for us what that feels like?” Marin, her hands trembling as she thought of the day Simmerman had pressed the hot metal into her back, nodded. “It feels like fire,” she said. “It’s a burning that doesn’t go away for days and days. And once it’s stopped burning, it’s itchy and you can’t scratch it or you’ll tear off the skin that’s trying to heal and it will bleed.” “How was it done?” King Alder asked. Marin shivered. “He had two men hold me down and then he pushed the metal into my back. He held it there for a long time.” “Your owner did it himself? He didn’t have any of his servants do it for him?” “No. He did it himself.” The nobles around the table shook their heads and

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muttered darkly under their breath. “We can turn Ruth back over to the man who would be cruel enough to want to hear himself the screams of a girl as she is burned, or we can be gentle and kind and protect Ruth from the sort of man who simply enjoys hurting others.” King Alder gave a nod to Lord Leptum and then sat down. Lord Leptum looked a bit shaken by the way that the king had decided to conclude his argument, and he looked discomfited enough that he was unable to speak as he motioned to Lord Keene that it was once again his turn to speak. It was clear that there were no tears of pity falling from the lord’s eyes as he fixed Marin with another sour look. “I’m sure that we are all touched by the account of how the burn was inflicted,” Lord Keene began acidly, “however, this does not address the fact that the Mykolian court cannot afford to harbor a girl that lawfully belongs to someone else and who is clearly evading her owner.” Lord Keene frowned and thought a moment. Marin waited, uncomfortable. Whatever he was taking time to think out in his mind could not be good for her. “I believe that I have thus far presented enough arguments to dissuade any reasonable man from providing custody to this runaway. However, I would like to bring one last point to the forefront of your minds. “This girl is referred to as ‘Ruth’, not because this is her name, but because she refuses to disclose her identity to anyone. We know very little about her history. The account of her branding seems cruel, yes, but how is it different from the branding of any other marked person? In my mind, she is only a runaway who is afraid of recapture by an owner which may or may not be the sort of cruel man the king describes. The fact that she is

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hesitant to reveal her identity does not seem like the mark of someone who should be trusted. We know nothing about her. She is attempting to conceal who she is and may be concealing other things as well.” Marin shook her head violently, since she knew that she could not speak. “No? You disagree?” Lord Keene said, approaching Marin. “I could ask you before this court – and you have sworn to tell the truth – to tell us who you are.” “Milord, Ruth has already made it clear that she cannot reveal her identity,” King Alder interrupted. Lord Leptum, however, had removed his glasses again and was looking curiously at Marin. “Forgive me, your Highness, but I believe that the question is valid.” The court turned their eyes on Marin. She sank down in her chair as Lord Keene came ever closer, his dark eyes drilling into her frightened ones. How could she answer? She had already explained that she could not tell them who she was… “Who are you?” Lord Keene snapped. “I want your real name!” “Answer him,” Lord Leptum said firmly. “I cannot answer,” Marin said, her throat beginning to close off. “I would be in such danger –” “You are getting yourself into worse danger by refusing to answer the question,” Lord Keene said softly. “These lords will not look kindly on the fact that you are withholding information from them. Secrecy shows an unwillingness to cooperate and is not the mark of an innocent person.” Marin swallowed hard. “Tell me your name.” Marin looked across the room and met King Alder’s eyes. The moment she looked at him, she knew that he too was at a loss for what she should do. She looked up at Lord Keene, his latest words rushing around in her head. It was true what he said, she knew. Secrecy was not the

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mark of an innocent person. And yet, if he only knew how important it was that she stay hidden… “If you don’t,” said Lord Leptum, “it will go down in the record. Only thieves and criminals wish to remain unknown.” If they thought she was a thief, then what would they think of Alder, who she had admitted to loving? She took a deep breath, and made up her mind. “Marin,” Marin said at last, looking down as her name crossed her lips. “My name is Marin Lindrine.” There was the sound of chairs scraping the ground as lords who were shocked by this news got suddenly to their feet. “Marin Lindrine!” “The daughter of Tenara and Samuel!” “Impossible!” “She’s alive!” “And marked! How can this be?” “Marin Lindrine, here in Prestani?” Lord Keene himself seemed so startled by this news that he backed away from Marin and returned to his seat. “I didn’t want to tell you,” Marin said, once some degree of calm had returned to the room. “I am in such danger, I thought it would be best if it were not known that I am here.” “The proceedings of this court are strictly confidential,” said King Alder in a severe voice. “If one word of this slips to anyone outside this room, there will be severe penalties.” Lord Keene seemed to have been shocked into silence. As it did not seem likely that he would begin speaking again in the next few minutes, Marin took the opportunity to speak unrestrained. “Since the question at hand concerns the mark I wear, I will tell you about it. I have already conveyed the cruel way in which it was put on me, but I have not told you the circumstances.

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“I was kidnapped from the home of my youth by a general of the Alikan army. Many of you may have heard of my ability to manipulate numbers, which means that I am able to decode messages at amazing speeds. For this, the general kidnapped me. “Once we were on route, he dragged me into a cave and had the mark put on me. I did not realize what it meant then, but I have since discovered what others have tried to tell me: that the mark is a shameful thing that can endanger one’s life. “I am sorry I was not honest about this with you at the beginning, but it was for my own safety. Now I hope that you will help me and not give me back to the Alikans.” Marin looked around and saw that the gazes of all in the room were riveted on her. She nodded once and sat down. Lord Leptum wiped his face with a handkerchief and looked at Lord Keene. “I assume that this marks the end of all arguments on the side of the prosecution?” Lord Keene gave a slight nod and wave of his hand. “And your Highness, King Alder, have you more to say?” “I think that the accused has defended herself better than ever I could,” said King Alder. Lord Leptum looked down at his papers and then up at the court. “I don’t suppose there is any need to continue with this trial. If this girl is Marin Lindrine, than it is to her that the throne belongs.” “No,” said Marin suddenly. All eyes turned on her again. “I must remain hidden,” Marin said desperately. “At least for the time being. No one must know that I am here. Taking the throne would reveal where I am to everyone.” “But the throne belongs to you,” Lord Leptum said in surprise, as though Marin had just suggested that they

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all begin to dance the minuet. “Milord,” Marin said quietly, “there are reasons why you don’t want me on the throne.” King Alder put an arm on Lord Leptum’s and patted it. “I will need to talk to you alone,” said King Alder. “The rest of you are dismissed. “And remember. Not a word.”

“I know I shouldn’t have said anything,” Marin said, as King Alder escorted her back to her room. “I mean, for my own sake. Once word gets out that I am here…” “With any luck at all, word won’t travel that fast,” Alder said. “I threatened those men with their lives, and they are faithful to me. You are safe.” Marin shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. They had come to Marin’s door. Marin put her hand on the handle. “It’s time for me to leave Prestani again,” Alder said after a short pause. “Within the week I’ll be leaving with the army. I wish I could stay, but the Alikans are doing so much damage to the country right now. I have to go and stop them.” Marin nodded, feeling suddenly hollow. “I understand.” Alder looked at her for a few moments “I know why you did what you did, admitting who you are to the court,” said Alder hesitantly, taking Marin’s arm. “And I wanted to thank you.” Marin looked up at him. “You wanted to protect me,” Alder said, shaking his head. “Of all people, I was the one that least needed protection in that room, and you, being accused, you thought of me.” Marin shook her head again. “If they could bring me to trial, might they not have brought you? I mean, I am

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marked, and for a king to associate with me…” “Marin,” Alder said, shaking his head. “You’re very brave. Braver than anyone I’ve ever met.” Marin smiled weakly. “It’s nice to hear you say that.” “You told who you were for me,” Alder said again. “I still can’t wrap my mind around it.” Marin smiled again wordlessly and turned for the door. “I love you,” the king said. Marin stopped and turned around. He stood there, looking slightly awkward, as though there was something that he wanted to do very much, but didn’t know how to go about it. He looked suddenly very young, and Marin’s heart went out to him. She threw herself into his arms and then he was kissing her deeply. Marin felt as though she had been enchanted. All the fear and anxiety that had surrounded the trial melted away in the warm embrace of the king. “I love you too,” she said, pulling away and touching Alder’s collar. “I love you.” The king pulled her close again and embraced her gently, stroking her hair. “Whatever happens,” he said. “You know that I love you and that I’ll always do whatever I can to help you.” Marin nodded. “Of course I know that.” “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” the king said, smiling. “I’m not worried,” whispered Marin, turning and taking the door handle once more, this time with a very light heart. “Goodnight,” whispered Alder, as Marin slipped into her room. Marin closed the door behind her with a feeling of exhilaration. Love. It was a feeling she had never known before, and a feeling that consumed her every thought.

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With a smile on her face, she pulled her nightgown over her head, and slipped between the cool sheets, ready for a night of dreaming of handsome princes.

arin’s dreams, whatever they had been, were cut short when Marin felt a rough shake.

Her eyes flickered open. It was still night, and she could see nothing. She knew, however, that someone was there in the room. “Sit up,” said a soft voice. It was a man’s voice. “Now.” Marin’s heart began to pound. Who was there? Should she do as the voice asked? She was still trying to shake the sleep from her head, and she felt as though she knew the voice, but couldn’t quite place it. “That’s right,” said the voice as Marin, shaking, pulled herself upright. Marin’s breath was cut short as a thick hood was pulled over her head. Marin began to scream. “Be quiet!” said a rough voice. “Stand up!” Marin struggled in her captor’s grip. “You are sadly outnumbered. Cooperate and you will not be hurt.” Marin gasped in what little air she could. “I can’t breathe,” Marin said, her voice muffled. “When we get where we’re going, I’ll take the hood off, so it would behoove you to do as I say so that we get there faster. Get up.” Marin got to her feet and in a few moments, she knew that she had been taken into the corridor and led for some distance down it. After a few minutes of walking, the man who led her pushed toward the wall, where a door had apparently been opened, and thrust her into a room. It was spacious, from the echoes of her own struggling that Marin could hear. “Let me go!” Marin cried.

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“Be quiet!” the voice hissed back at her. She knew that hiss… All at once, someone pulled the hood from her face and Marin gulped in a breath of fresh air. Once she had filled her lungs, she looked around and found herself in a large room with Lord Keene and, farther back in the room, two large men. “Good evening, your Majesty,” said Lord Keene smoothly, blowing out the match he had used to light the candle. He made a motion with his hands and the two men came forward and seized Marin around the arms. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.” “What are you doing?” Marin asked, her voice somewhat hoarse from fear. Lord Keene smirked. “Surely that question does not need an answer.” “Answer me!” Marin demanded, angry tears beginning to fall from her eyes. “Simmerman brought you to Musatei marry the prince,” Keene said lightly. “Instead you ran away. Good girls obey their masters.” Marin felt as though there were a wild beast raging in her chest, tearing to get out and rip Lord Keene to pieces. “Simmerman is a monster,” she spat. “He kidnapped me, and he marked me with this horrible –” Lord Keene smiled sinisterly. “I think I’ll take that as confirmation that Lord Simmerman was indeed the man that marked you.” Marin dropped her eyes and shook her head in frustration. “He ruined my life,” she said in a shaking voice. “Only since I’ve been here have I felt any peace.” “Touching,” said Lord Keene in a bored voice. “I would give your sentiments to the king, who would no doubt find them moving, except that I can’t have him know that it was I who took you.” “Took me? Where are you taking me?” Marin

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demanded, now very alarmed. “You have spirit,” said Keene, watching Marin breathe heavily. “There’s no doubt about that. Running away from Simmerman took a lot of courage, I dare say. I dearly hope that he rewards you for it once you are safely returned to him.” “No!” Marin said, panting with real terror. “You can’t – you don’t know what he’ll do to me! He’ll kill me!” “No, he won’t. At least not right away. You can rest assured of that,” said Lord Keene with another smile. “Take her to the entrance hall. There is a cortege ready to take her back to Little Springs.” “Please!” Marin pled, nearly screaming. She could barely see because of the mass of hair and tears marring her face. “Let me go!” “No,” said Lord Keene quietly. He turned to the two large men. “Take her away.”

Marin was smuggled from the castle with little trouble on the part of Lord Keene’s men. They threatened her with the suffocating hood should she make any noise, and although she desperately racked her brain for any way to signal Alder what was happening to her, she was unable to think of anything. And so she was taken, against her will from Prestani, the palace that had begun to feel like home to her. Marin and the men walked in virtual silence for over an hour. Marin was far too upset by recent events to be tired. After three hours had past, she was beginning to feel slightly drowsy again and the trauma of her kidnapping was becoming less and less fresh in her mind. She was grateful when the men set up camp for the night in the middle of the forest. She took the mat that was given her and immediately fell asleep. The next morning, Marin awoke to the early

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morning cool air and the sound of birds singing. She opened her eyes and took in the clear blue sky above her, not yet touched by the sun’s rays. She felt strangely numb, not quite able to recall the details of her abduction. She shook her head and sat up. The two men were already sitting around a small fire that they had made, drinking something from their leather skins. One of them noticed that Marin was awake and nudged his partner. “She’s awake, Farley,” said the taller of the two men. He had a thick beard and moustache. Farley looked over and glanced at Marin. “Hungry?” Marin nodded. She waited patiently while Farley set down what he was eating, and dragged Marin, whose legs had been tied together for the night toward the campfire. He set her down on a log next to him. “Here,” he said, pushing some bread toward her. Marin, her hands still bound together, pushed the bread into her mouth, and tried to avoid looking at the two men, who seemed to find the fact that she was eating an interesting spectacle. “Mifflin, pass me that bag,” Farley said. Farley had lighter hair and a thinner beard. He took the bag that Mifflin gave him and began rummaging through it. “Let me go,” Marin said, the moment the bread was gone. She felt tired and worn as she said it, and was sure that it wouldn’t do any good, but still felt as though she had to try something. “Simmerman –” “You keep quiet,” said Mifflin severely, pointing at Marin with a bony forefinger. “Keene told us about you. Said you might try to convince us to let you escape. None of that. We’re not letting you go.” “Why are you doing this?” Marin asked. Farley reached out and hit Marin hard in the face. She reeled and tasted blood. “Told you to be quiet, didn’t he?” Farley barked.

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“You listen to what we say and you won’t get hurt. We made a promise to deliver you. Mifflin and I aren’t going to pass up the reward that we’ll get for delivering you back to Little Springs.” Money. That was it. Keene and these ruffians simply wanted the money that Simmerman would be sure to have offered for her safe return to him. She looked away in disgust. They didn’t even have a proper motive… It was a long day, but Marin found, as she had when traveling with Simmerman, that the time went quickly. She passed the days thinking, and the one thought that refused to leave her consciousness was the regret that she had not found out what the manuscript had said before leaving Prestani. That had been the whole point, and she had not even managed to do that during her stay at the palace. She was angry at herself for it, and furious at Lord Keene for taking that opportunity away from her. She would have decoded it the previous day if Keene hadn’t brought her to trial. She might know now what that manuscript contained. She thought again and again about the conversation that she had had with Alder just before he had told her that she was being accused by the court. He had told her that she should read the manuscript, and she remembered that he had been adamant about this point, although he would not tell her why when questioned. Why had he not told her why? And was it true that the manuscript would contain something important? Marin had felt an attachment to the manuscript since she had discovered it at Musatei, but reflecting on that conversation with Alder made her feel even more as though there was something that tied her to it. Alder thought it would be of special interest to her. She now began to think that the king was right and that the manuscript might even prove important – or indispensable to her.

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Why she felt this connection to the strange text she could not say, but she thought about it again and again as the days passed. “I think that should be very interesting,” he had said. Marin remembered the smile on his face as he said it. And there was something else he had said… “I think you should translate it. Can you?” “Yes,” Marin said under her breath, thinking as she walked. “I can translate it. I could have, if I had had the time.” She shook her head in frustration. “I think you should translate it.” “I know,” Marin said again to herself. “I should…” Marin stopped. She remembered suddenly very clearly Alder saying something that she had not remembered before this. “If you found the Moonbook interesting, then I’m sure a manuscript based upon it won’t disappoint.” She had never told him that the manuscript had anything to do with the Moonbook. She had told him that she needed to translate it, and she had asked to borrow the book, but never had she said anything that would have associated the two. Alder had only seen them together when she had been about to translate. He had seen the Moonbook and the manuscript together. And he had associated them by sight. He knew them, Marin realized, which meant that he had read it – he had lied to her when she had asked him about it. Why? What was in the manuscript that would cause him to lie about having read it? She kicked a rock, now more angry than ever that she had not had a chance to discover the contents of the manuscript. She silently followed her captors through the forest. Her feet were always untied so that she could walk, but this was always done with many threats to her life should she decide to run away. She walked between Farley and Mifflin, ever under their watchful eye. Escape seemed

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impossible, and although she thought about it a lot, she realized that even if she did escape, she would be lost in the forests of Mykolia with nothing to eat. And she knew from past experience that her mark would not earn her the trust of anyone she happened to meet. Marin reached up and touched the raised skin on her back. Was there any way to get rid of it? She imagined herself rubbing her back against the sharp bark of a tree and winced. Certainly if there was a way, it would not be painless. They crossed the Odessa far enough north that there was no canyon to enter. The river flowed by peacefully, but Marin’s stomach contracted in terror as she looked at it. “Come on!” yelled Farley, turning around and noticing that Marin was not following him. He had chosen a shallow part of the river to traverse, and it looked as though he would be able to do the entire thing on foot, without swimming. “No,” Marin said, goose bumps breaking out on her arms. “I…I don’t like water…” Farley looked as though he had no desire to waste time. He gave a wave to Mifflin, and Marin felt the suffocating swoop of the hood fly over her head. Marin felt herself being picked up and thrown over a large shoulder. She could hear the grunts of the man who carried her as she was carried across the river. The crossing seemed to last a long time. At last, she was set down, and the men pulled off the hood. “Thanks,” Marin said, sweat running down her face. Her legs shook underneath her. Mifflin simply threw the hood back into the bag and grunted. The trees on this side of the river were just as thick. Marin continually wished that she had the use of her hands so that she could swat the insects that came to prey on her blood. The air was misty and thick as they walked,

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and Marin was sweating so profusely she thought that she might be just as wet as the air around her. After a few days, Marin remembered that Alder had promised her that he would try to rescue Robin. Alder did not know where she had been taken – but perhaps, if he kept true to his word, he would find her. It was a vague hope, one that made Marin almost sick when she thought of the possibility of rescue, but she clung to it. They walked for days and days; Marin lost track of how many. As she walked, she couldn’t help but tell herself over and over. He knew what was in that manuscript. What had he known?

arin was not ready for the flash of silver as the guards fell upon her. It was as though they

expected her to try to run for it the moment Mifflin released her arm. The soldiers forced Marin’s arms behind her back and bound her hands tightly behind her. From pure habit, Marin struggled at first, but then, realizing quickly that her resistance was futile, let the soldiers push her through the gates and into the citadel of Little Springs. Her heart was pounding badly. It felt as though it might burst free of her chest at any moment. She swallowed and tried to breathe normally. She had to think up a story – anything – to keep Simmerman from being angry at her... “Call Lord Simmerman!” one of the guards cried. The cry echoed around the open courtyard: “Call Lord Simmerman!” There was a rush of bodies and the sound of pounding feet as masses rushed to fulfill the soldiers’ orders. After just a moment, the heavy wooden doors on the far end of the courtyard were flung open, and the tall figure of Simmerman came striding into view. He was followed by several men, all of whom seemed to share the intensity Marin saw in Simmerman’s eyes. Marin quailed upon seeing the man who was the embodiment of a great many of her darkest fears. All chance of telling lies left her as quickly as a rabbit chased by a fox. “Well done,” Simmerman said, almost out of breath. “Well done. Bring her into the Great Hall.” Marin was frightened. She gasped for air, trying to calm her nerves as they brought her into the hall. Thick oak beams held the expansive ceiling in an impressive arch above them but the walls were made of cold stone.

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Marin remembered them well from the first time she had been brought to Little Springs. Marin moaned once and looked up at Simmerman and his cortège. “General Simmerman,” Marin panted, trying once more to think of something to say. “I –” Simmerman threw her a glance. “Silence,” he said, his voice very hard. “You will speak only when I say that you speak.” “You found my sister,” Marin burst out. “I want to see her!” Simmerman slapped her hard across the face and Marin’s words were cut violently short. “I told you to be quiet,” he said meaningfully. Marin’s eyes filled with tears. She saw Simmerman and the two men that had brought her from Prestani converse together in low voices. After a few moments there was light laughter escaping from Mifflin’s lips and he and Farley shook hands with Simmerman and disappeared from the castle. Marin was not sorry to see them go. “I dare say I need not go into the trouble that you caused me the day that you ran away,” Simmerman said, walking toward Marin. The lantern on the table in the room seemed to cast diabolic shadows on his face. Hell itself gaping before her would not have been able to cast more fear and dismay into Marin’s mind than she felt at that moment. “And I warrant that your mind can imagine the uncomfortable situation you were creating for yourself once I got my hands on you again.” Marin said nothing. Her large eyes were open wide, painfully alert. “If you were worth anything less to me, I would kill you now,” Simmerman said. Marin swallowed hard, feeling a bit braver at this last statement. “I told you that I wouldn’t marry Prince Esper. And I won’t.”

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“We can be friends, you and I,” Simmerman interrupted. “It would be so easy. You have suffered so needlessly at my hands.” Marin stared at him. “What do you want of me?” Marin asked at last, still rather breathless. “What is required of you is that you complete with exactness every order that is given you,” said Simmerman. “As is your duty since you belong to me.” “I don’t belong to you!” Marin burst out, a flame of anger kindling inside her. “You kidnapped me – you stole my freedom from me!” “Hold your tongue,” Simmerman snapped. Marin swallowed hard and tried to regain her state of calm. “I need you. You will work for me just as you did before,” Simmerman said, clearly trying to remain calm himself. “There are still plots to be discovered, codes to be cracked, and power to be gained.” “I won’t help you conquer Mykolia,” Marin said recklessly. “Alika has no right to plunder, burn, steal and kill! You’re helping them do it, and I can’t –” “You will do as you are told,” Simmerman said roughly. “I am finished speaking to you now.” He turned to the guards that held her. “Escort the brat to her room, and make sure that the doors are heavily guarded. I will call for her when I am ready for her.” Before she could say another word, Marin was pushed from the room and out of Simmerman’s sight. She didn’t see him turn and exchange looks with the men around the table.

Marin stared at the roughly woven blanket that covered the cot which was to serve as her bed. Her wrists were tied with a thick rope in front of her and every few

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seconds, they absorbed another tear that fell, hot as acid, from Marin’s tired eyes. She was not hungry: she had been given a decent meal. She was not thirsty: there was a pitcher of cold water on the table next to the cot. She was not even sleepy. She was worried for her life. She was also worried about Robin. Marin mind was running itself around in circles. What could she do? She was trapped in Little Springs once more, but this time, she felt quite alone. Alder was her one hope, but he did not know where she was. It was a very real possibility that by the time he arrived in Little Springs Simmerman might have killed her. That was her choice, she realized. She could help Simmerman or she could be killed. He seemed quite ready to do it, and Marin knew that he would have no remorse carrying out her murder. The idea of facing death made Marin quail, but at the same time, she could hardly bear the idea of working against all that Alder and Elian and the Mykolians were struggling to achieve. Marin sniffed and another tear fell into her lap. She knew she should be happy that she had not been hurt, but here, in this sad, small, little room, she felt violently alone. The light in the room suddenly dimmed, and Marin looked to the window and saw that the sun had at last gone behind the hills, hiding its warm face from view. There was a sharp click, and a rush of air that hit Marin’s back as the door was swung open. With no warning, strong hands wrapped themselves around Marin’s arms and pulled her to her feet. She was given a rough push forward, and then, realizing that these were her guards, Marin let herself be pushed from the room and down the stairs toward the hall where she had left Simmerman hours before. Simmerman was still there in the room, still accompanied by some of his black-garbed henchmen,

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although they were less numerous now then they had been earlier. They wore somber expressions and many were carrying long rolls of parchment filled with cramped writing. Simmerman made an impatient gesture, and Marin was set in a chair near the table and near to the cross-faced general. Simmerman’s face was accented strongly once more by the light from the lantern that flickered on the table. He gave one last look to what Marin now saw was a map on the table, and then turned his attention to Marin. “There you are,” he said brusquely. “There’s work that needs to be done.” Marin watched him unroll a long sheet of parchment and place it near her on the table. Marin didn’t have to look closely to see that there was a long list of difficult equations cluttering the face of it. “Get to work,” Simmerman said. The guards behind her shoved Marin’s chair closer to the table. Now was the moment of truth. She knew that she couldn’t help him. Marin sat back. “I won’t do it,” she said in a low voice. “Yes, you will,” Simmerman said, his voice trembling with apparent rage. Marin had not bothered to dry her tears from her face, and now they were cold in the chilly breeze that floated through the hall. “No,” she said, though her voice trembled. “I told you that I won’t help you. What you’re doing is wrong –” Simmerman made a quick move and before Marin knew what was happening, Simmerman had plunged his knife into the table in front of her, piercing the parchment at the top. Marin stared at it, startled badly. “One more word and I will put this through your hand,” Simmerman hissed.

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“Charles, for pity’s sake.” Marin looked up and saw Simmerman’s henchman, Alfred Kimmick, hovering over Simmerman’s shoulder. “I won’t do it,” Marin said, with a courage she did not feel. “I won’t,” she whispered hoarsely. Simmerman snapped. In a flash he had wrapped his fingers around Marin’s bound wrists and dragged her to her feet. He stormed through an exit at the far corner of the room and pulled Marin mercilessly after him. Marin blinked, too startled to think properly. She started to breathe hard, wondering what was happening. She could see the red burning behind Simmerman’s eyes and she understood that he was very angry. They stormed into a black room that needed Simmerman’s orders to light the torches on the walls in order to illuminate its contents. The room was bare except for a human size cage on one wall, a large stained stone table and a number of frightening devices the sight of which drew a sharp shiver down Marin’s spine. Marin’s breath was knocked from her chest as hands unexpectedly clamped around her forearms and launched her toward the table in the center of the room. Her ribs slammed hard against the cold stone, and Marin luckily raised her chin the moment before her jaw would have struck the surface of the table and shattered. Marin was still dumbfounded when she felt the same hands rip her shirt from her back. And then fell the first lash. Marin screamed. She had absolutely no control over her reaction: it was a cry of pain and of surprise. When the second came, Marin still had not caught her breath from the first. She choked as the next stroke was laid and by the fourth time the lash fell, her face was soaked in tears. The fifth stroke was dealt and she was roughly grabbed and pulled upright. Marin hurt so much she felt that she had lost her

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mind. She spit convulsively from her mouth as though trying to rid herself of the pain that was overcoming her. Through the waves of pain shaking her back, Marin felt someone grab her chin. She opened her eyes and Simmerman’s face came into view. “You hateful, slimy –” “Silence,” Simmerman thundered, cutting off Marin’s delirious insults. “I am very serious, Marin. You will now come work.” “No,” said Marin, her voice shaking. She swallowed hard and tried to regain some of her dignity. “I won’t change my mind.” Simmerman reached around and dragged a finger across Marin’s back. Marin flinched visibly. Simmerman looked at his bloody finger and rubbed the redness between his fingers. “You’re bleeding,” he pointed out simply. “You can whip me until I’m dead,” Marin said, her voice shaking in spite of herself, “but I won’t –” “This was just to make you understand,” Simmerman said in a rough voice, “what will happen to your beloved sister if you refuse.” “Robin!” Marin cried in spite of herself. “Refuse me and I will have her brought here now and you can testify to the fact that what you just felt was only a token amount of pain compared to what she will suffer,” Simmerman snarled. Marin broke. Large tears oozed from her eyes. Her sobs shook her whole body. She felt very stupid crying in front of Simmerman, but she couldn’t help it. “All I want is Robin and to go home,” Marin said, breaking down. “I don’t know why you’re doing this to me. Let us go.” “I need you to help me,” Simmerman said levelly. “If you want to see her, do as I say.” Marin’s back seared with pain. She shook with

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another sob and then nodded. ‘Okay,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ll do whatever you want.” Simmerman nodded once, and turned to the guards. They redressed her in a ragged tunic that was lying on a table and then pulled her back up into the light of dusk that was filling the main hall. She was returned to her chair, a pen was thrust into her hands, and she was faced with a world of numbers that seemed for the first time completely foreign to her. This was absurd, all of it. How could these codes, these meaningless numbers mean so much to a man that he would hurt her and her sister to get at their answers? Marin noticed that the men around her were watching her with great interest. She turned her eyes back down to the paper and frowned. She dipped the pen into the inkwell on the table and after clearing her mind with no small effort, she began to work through the equations as easily as though she were simply writing a letter. She was half-way down the page, when she stopped. Her mind was racing. Her mind went from the map in front of her to the equations that she was working out. They were longitudinal calculations, she realized. Very likely they were mathematical formulas which would give the Alikan army an advantage in understanding the way that the Mykolian army would move, and the speed with which they would do it. And then Marin realized that just as Simmerman had her trapped, she too was the keeper of one of Simmerman’s greatest weakness: his trust in her work. Marin’s hand hesitated again, only briefly, and then she wrote a 3 where there should have been an 8. Marin looked up at the men who were still watching her. They didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what was happening on the paper, so she made another error. And then another. “There,” Marin said, pushing the parchment toward

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Simmerman. Simmerman grabbed it and the guards pounced back upon Marin, binding her hands together once more. “Take her back to her room,” Simmerman said with a wave of his hand. “But you promised that I could see Robin,” Marin cried. Simmerman stopped. Marin did not drop her gaze. “Very well,” Simmerman said, turning away, his eyes focused on the results of Marin’s deciphering. “Guards, take her to her sister.” There was a small smile on the lips of Simmerman’s prisoner as she was taken from the room, but it was not because she had tricked her captor. It was because, at last, she was going to see her sister.

Marin’s heart was pounding hard as she was led, her hands still tied, into a small dark room in which there was a single cell. No sound was coming from the cell, and Marin’s heart thumped even harder. Had they hurt her? Was she in any shape to talk to Marin? The guard that led her walked before her and rattled sharply on the bars of the cell. “You’ve someone here to see you,” the guard said roughly. Marin’s eyes were riveted on the cell and she crept forward, afraid of what she might find. She was afraid to find her sister severely injured, or even dead. As she approached, she began to make out a dark figure with long stringy hair. Marin moved toward the cell and sat down near the bars. “Robin,” she whispered, hoping she was not disturbing her. “I’m here! It’s me! It’s Marin!” The head of the figure slowly looked up and Marin

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hardly dared breathe as she took in the thin face the emaciated body and the blinking dark eyes of her sister that she knew so well. Marin’s heart leapt into her throat and she clutched the bars with both of her bound hands. “Five minutes,” said the guard, heading for the door. He slammed it behind him and Marin was left alone with her sister. “Marin!” Robin’s voice was as calm and clear as Marin had remembered it. Marin swallowed hard and knew that she must relish every second she was permitted with her sister and not think that in just minutes she would be taken from her sister and Robin would be left separately to the mercies of Simmerman and his servants. “Robin, it’s me – are you all right?” Marin choked out. “I’m fine,” Robin said calmly. Marin smiled. That sounded very much like the Robin that she knew. “What are you doing here?” Marin asked. “What can they want with you?” “They want to marry me to the prince of Alika,” Robin said calmly. “He’s agreed to marry me.” “Robin!” Marin exclaimed. She felt as though someone had just slammed a rock into her head. “Do you know why Simmerman wants you to marry the prince?” “Yes,” said Robin. “You can’t let them do that to you,” Marin hissed. “What can I do?” Robin said in a weary voice. “They told me that you were coming and promised that they would do terrible things to you unless I consented. I couldn’t do anything but agree.” “But Robin,” Marin said in a panicked voice, “you don’t know what so many people are doing to try to keep Mykolia free!” She told her sister all she knew about Alika’s attempts to overthrow Mykolia. “Marin, I can’t fight them alone,” Robin said. “And I

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have been alone. You can’t know what I’ve been through. They’ve done terrible things to me. First I was captured by Prince Martin who was incredibly angry when he found out that I was not you. They’re after you Marin,” Robin said suddenly, looking quite wild. “I don’t know why they want you, but they do.” “I know,” Marin said, trying to keep her sister calm. “I’ve spent so long running from everyone. But there is something that I have to do.” Marin started as the door was suddenly thrust open and the soldiers came marching back into the room. “Back to your cell,” one of the men said sharply. “Just a few more –” But the guards wrenched Marin to her feet. “We’ll get out of here. I promise you,” Marin said quietly, a tear running down her cheek. “If it’s the last think I do, I’ll get you out of here.” Marin hardly noticed that she was locked back in her room. The moment her door was locked, she sank to her knees at the bedside and broke down into violent sobs.

Marin awoke to a terrifying crash and a blinding light. Before she could even open her eyes, Marin felt hands yank her to her feet, heard the candle dashed to the floor in the commotion and was dragged from the room. Marin blinked rapidly, trying to understand what was going on and where she was, but she had been dreaming too short a time ago to be fully awake and alert. Marin had not even been taken as far as the bottom of the stairs when she heard the yelling. Marin’s insides curdled as she heard the violent outbursts echo around the Great Hall that could only be coming from Simmerman and his men. The hall was ablaze with hundreds of torches fitted into iron casings on the walls. There were men scurrying

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about, casting glances in her direction and then stopping. Marin saw Simmerman push through the men and rush toward her. Marin involuntarily tried to get away from the enraged man, but as she was being held by several men, there was little that she could do to escape. Simmerman grabbed her by the arm and slung her toward the table, which was still bedecked with the map and several rolls of parchment. “You did it wrong!” Simmerman bellowed, flecks of spit wetting the back of Marin’s neck. “The equations are wrong!” Marin blinked at the map and then up at the furious face of her captor. He had discovered what she had done. Marin strangely did not feel any triumph. Why had she done that? All she felt was fear. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, although she knew that Simmerman would not believe her. “You did mean to!” Simmerman shouted, throwing her from the table to the floor. Marin struggled to break her fall with her hands, but as they were tied together, the cold stone floor made full contact with her body. “Charles! Anyone could make a mistake!” Marin was not sure who had spoken, but she was sure that whoever it was could not really believe what he was saying. She was known as a prodigy. She would never have made a mistake. “She doesn’t make mistakes!” Simmerman said, as though on cue. He gave Marin a kick in the side, and she folded her legs in on herself, moaning. “Do you know how many lives were lost on account of you?” Simmerman yelled. “This night was stained in blood! Hundreds of Alikan soldiers died because of what you did!” Marin’s heart began to pound in her ears, but not from fear this time – from anger. How dare he blame her for the war that he was raging? She was not responsible;

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he was. “I don’t care!” Marin said, feeling blood drip from a cut on her mouth as she spoke. “I’m glad I did it! The more Alikan soldiers that die, the fewer there are to invade Mykolia!” There was a general gasp, and Marin saw the bearded man she had noticed the day before put his head in his hands. Simmerman grabbed Marin and threw her back into the hands of her soldiers. “Get me the sister,” he said, livid. “Bring me her sister now!” “No!” Marin cried, suddenly remembering what her emotions had made her forget: that because he had her sister, Simmerman always had the upper hand. “Don’t do anything to her!” Simmerman turned and wiped a fleck of spit from his lip. His face was red and he was panting hard. What was he going to do to her sister? He was not going to harm her…he couldn’t… Guards burst into the room, and the men and courtiers in the room backed out of their way. In their arms they held her sister, Robin, and Robin was cursing loudly. “Put her back!” Marin screamed, having lost all control of her emotions. She struggled hard against her captors. “Leave her alone!” “Bring me a full tub of water,” Simmerman shouted, ignoring Marin’s struggles. “I’m going to drown that rat…” “No!” Marin screamed again, anger blinding her. Simmerman knew about her fear of water and he was going to drown her sister Marin screamed as loud as she could and threw all her weight onto the men’s arms and then kicked hard behind her. Stunned by her burst of strength, the guards let her fall to the ground. Marin scrambled to her feet and then threw herself at Simmerman, who was taken

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completely off-guard. Marin and Simmerman fell to the ground, Marin pummeled Simmerman’s chest hard with her bound fists. “Leave my sister alone!” Marin howled, wildly thrashing her hands. The room around them was in an uproar. In just seconds, Marin was dragged off of Simmerman, and pulled to her feet. She was punched hard in the stomach, and she struggled momentarily for air before falling limp in the arms of the soldiers. Simmerman got slowly to his feet, holding his jaw in the cup of his hand. “She’s insane,” said Simmerman at last, his voice much quieter than before. “She is mad. Lock her up. Take her sister away. She is not to see her again for any reason.” “To her room?” a guard asked. “Take her downstairs,” Simmerman said. “To the dungeons. Lock her up well.” They took her down a long flight of dark stairs where it was black and damp and threw her into a cold cell. Once the soldiers had gone and she was left at last alone, Marin sat in silence for a moment and then once again began to cry. When she had no tears left, Marin’s thoughts returned to Robin. It seemed that Simmerman had no reason to hurt her except to try and manipulate Marin. She prayed that Robin was being left alone. Exhausted from the recent events, Marin curled up in a tight ball on the floor and fell asleep. Marin had only been asleep for a few hours when she heard the lock on the door of her cell click and the rush of air as someone entered the room. Marin squeezed her eyes closed, ready for the guards to grab her and pull her back up to face the anger of Simmerman, but nothing happened. “Marin.”

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The voice was soft enough that it coaxed Marin to look up and see who would be speaking to her so gently. To her surprise, she saw Alfred Kimmick standing before her, his bright face floating over a long black robe. Marin sat up quickly, suddenly on her guard. The man bent down so that his head was level with Marin’s. “I must be quick.” “What do you want?” Marin asked coldly after a moment of skeptical silence had passed. “You’re playing a very dangerous game,” the man said quietly. The simpering manner that he always held around Simmerman was gone. He seemed completely serious and respectable now. Still, Marin did not trust him. Marin frowned sourly. “I don’t need you to –” “Your life is on the line as is that of those you love, so you had better listen to me,” the man continued sharply. Marin stopped. “What do you want?” “You did those equations wrong on purpose to thwart the plans of General Simmerman,” Kimmick said. “Your scene earlier tonight was blood-curdling.” “He was going to hurt my sister,” Marin shot back. “I will die before I let him do that.” “You and all those that Simmerman has in his power,” Kimmick said grimly. “He’s more powerful than you are, Marin. You’ve got to face it.” “What he’s doing is wrong,” Marin said defensively. “I can’t just let him do it without –” “You want to fight,” the man interrupted, “but you are going about it completely the wrong way.” Marin’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you to be speaking to me this way?” she demanded. “You’re with Simmerman. All you care about is serving him.” Kimmick gave a wry smile. “It’s an act,” he said. “I know there’s no way I can convince you that it’s true, but it is. I want to help you.”

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Marin took a moment to digest this. “I came because I want to protect you,” said the man gently. “It was because of me that the soldiers have done very little to harm your sister.” “My sincerest thanks,” Marin said sarcastically. “Now if you could just help her escape –” “You must let me help you now,” said the man. “You must do as Lord Simmerman says if you wish to remain alive. Those to whom you want to return will find a way to rescue you.” He leaned closer. “I have sent a message to King Alder. He will very soon know you are here.” Marin’s heart jumped. She reached up and grasped the bars. “How soon will he come?” she demanded. “I don’t know,” Kimmick said honestly. “But in the meantime, you must keep yourself alive.” “I won’t do any more equations right,” Marin said passionately. “He’s too stupid to see the mistakes before they are realized on the battlefield.” “He’s convincing everyone that you’re mad,” said Kimmick, his eyes flashing. “You’re making enemies here. Everyone is beginning to think you are dangerous.” “Good. I am dangerous –” “Listen to me! The more you struggle, the more Simmerman’s grip will tighten on you. I know him. I know how he works.” Marin paused and then raised an eyebrow. “What do you want from me?” she asked skeptically. “Nothing,” said the man. “I want you to live.” Marin swallowed hard, taken aback. “Is…is he going to…” “Yes,” said the man gravely. “You continue to be a thorn in his side, and he will not hesitate to eliminate you. He only needs you so that he can fool Prince Esper! The Alikan prince believes that Simmerman is sending him the heir to the throne, when in reality, he plans on sending your sister. It is a game he doesn’t have to play!

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He could kill you and still control the heir!” Marin blinked, her lips turning white. “But…but he needs me to decode, he said…” “Precisely!” Kimmick exclaimed. “You know his weakness! Why will you not exploit it?” Marin said nothing. She just watched the wrinkles in the man’s face as he spoke. “Can you imagine a time when he will want to strategize and break codes himself when he could have you do it at speeds that are dangerous for his enemies? He wants you. He needs you. And you need to make him realize that.” “But how?” Marin whispered in despair. The man put a hand on Marin’s shoulder and drew her nearer to him. “By doing what he asks.” Marin pulled back, repulsed. “I can’t do that,” she said flatly. “Not when others are working so hard to bring him down.” “You are his prisoner,” Kimmick finished harshly. “His slave. Have you forgotten that you are marked? I hate to bring you down from the clouds, but you must realize the reality of these facts.” Marin shook her head. “It took bravery to change those numbers,” the man said with something that was almost a smile. “Someone that dared to do that will dare to do other things. She will dare to live.” “But I don’t want to work against my own country!” Marin protested. “If you want to help your Mykolian friends, then you will cooperate with Lord Simmerman,” said the man. Marin gave Kimmick a long look. “Go away,” she said at last, her voice dangerously low. “You’re doing this on his orders.” Kimmick gave her a surprised look and stood. “I must go. Good-bye.” In spite of herself, Marin scrambled to her feet and

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wrapped her fingers around the cold bars as she watched Kimmick float from the room.

arin was left alone. She saw no one; it was as though the fortress

had been suddenly abandoned and she was the only living soul within its walls. She pressed her ear to the wall occasionally searching for sounds, and pulled away only when she heard the echo of a loud laugh or a sharp cry from the floors above her. But no one entered the dungeon. Marin watched the door but it never opened. Marin was surprised to find that she found the days unbearably long. The first day she had welcomed her solitude, but the longer she was kept from seeing anyone, the more she began to be afraid for what might be happening to her sister. Here in her cell she could do nothing to rescue her. She was helpless. She was useless. She was also hungry. She had been given a lump of stale bread when she had been thrown into her cell, but no one had made any appearances since her imprisonment to bring either food or water. She tried to block out the burning thirst and the gnawing hunger, but the effort only made the sensations more and more vivid. It was morning when they came. Marin’s head snapped up when without warning, guards filed into the dungeons. She scrambled to her feet as the door was unlocked and braced herself against the rough hands she knew would grab her at any moment. “Chain her hands together!” Marin looked past the guards to see Simmerman, his face hidden in shadows stride into the room. “Please!” Marin cried, her stomach growling as she spoke. “I’m hungry!” Marin’s hands were secured inside the iron bands the guards carried and she was dragged toward the door of the cell. Once she was outside, she noticed something

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there on the floor. It was a human-sized cage. Marin looked at Simmerman in confusion. “Please, sir –” “Put her inside,” Simmerman interrupted coldly. Marin was too surprised to react. She submitted to the shoves of the guards as they pushed her into the rusty iron box. Once she was inside, the door was creaked closed and a large lock was secured around the handle. Marin opened her mouth to beg once more for something to eat, but Simmerman only pointed toward the door. The guards reached down and lifted the cage into the air by the parallel poles that stuck out of the base of the cage. It was rather like being carried in a royal litter, except that Marin knew very well that she was not in the cage to be pampered. Again Marin tried to ignore her hunger and told herself that now she must be alert, and try to figure out what was happening to her. She shifted her weight to her knees and watched wide eyed as she was carried up a large staircase and into the Great Hall. The hall was filled, as usual, with men in brightly colored garb. They stopped and stared when she was brought in. “Don’t get too close,” said Simmerman as several took a few steps toward the cage in interest. “She’s insane and dangerous.” The cage was placed on the large stone table in the center of the room, and the guards that had carried it moved away. “Please,” Marin said, not quite sure whom it was she was addressing. “I’m hungry!” A few men laughed at her sharp voice as it echoed around the room. “She doesn’t look dangerous,” said an older man who sported a large belly and full lips. He smiled and walked toward the cage. Several of the men followed his lead.

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Marin moved as far from the men as she could. She watched them intently, distrusting their smiles. “So this is the miracle,” said another man, thick irony in his voice. “Yes, the miracle,” Simmerman said from behind the men. This evoked several loud laughs. The crowd around her cage parted just enough for Marin to see that Simmerman was talking softly to a few men gathered around him. He cast a look around him and his eyes met Marin’s. “And the sister of the brat we saw the other day,” a man with a thick brown beard said. “I hear the prince is a good sight happier to marry the younger of the twins,” added another. “I’m not surprised,” said another man. “This one’s the homeliest girl I’ve ever seen .” “Stop it!” Marin shouted. The men all looked at her more intently, curious as to what had made her cry out. Marin rubbed her arm and looked down at it. There was a small stream of blood trickling down from it onto the cage. Someone had stuck her with something. She knew neither with what nor who had done it. She let out a shaky breath that only just revealed a burning of anger that was growing inside of her and tried to press down on the wound to stop the bleeding. “Looks like her sister screams as loud as she does!” Everyone laughed. Marin’s face was wet with sweat and her insides churned with fury. She tried to move out of the men’s reach, but with them crowed around on every side, this was almost impossible to do. “Leave me alone!” Marin said, her voice trembling with rage. “I thought you were hungry,” said a taller man, his vile moustaches curling around a foul little mouth. The man held a bowl of something warm in his hands. Marin stopped, her stomach lurching.

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“It’s almost dinner time, you know, and as the saying is, ladies first…” The man, smirking slightly, approached and took a key from a large ring. He unlocked the door to Marin’s cage and laid the bowl inside. Before he had relocked it, Marin had grabbed the bowl and lifted it to her mouth. “No thanks?” said the man. Marin stopped and looked at him. He was mocking her, she knew it. She swallowed hard and then said: “Thanks.” “For that, you get your bread,” said the man, pushing a hard roll between the bars. Marin picked it up and in a moment had swallowed the entire thing. Her throat hurt as the food went down, but she paid it no attention. She was hungry; it was all she could think about. Her heart leapt, thinking of the soup that awaited her… There was a hollow splash and Marin felt warm liquid wash up onto her legs. It was the soup. The bowl was now empty, someone having thrown something into the cage and upset it. What little remained was now running out of the cage and onto the table and the rest was soaking into her hem. Marin’s eyes teared over. She looked at what was left of the soup and began to cry. “You don’t like this, do you?” Marin raised her tear-stained face and saw that Simmerman had pressed his face against the bars. Marin had to use all her self-restraint to keep from throwing herself upon him in fury. Marin choked on another sob and tried to catch her breath. “You aren’t made for this,” said Simmerman calmly. “I can take you out of this. I can give you all the food, all the drink you need. Do you remember the little room you used to occupy? It is ready for you. Do you want it?” Marin was still crying.

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“Or, if you prefer,” Simmerman said, lowering his voice. “I can leave you in the hands of these merciless scoundrels and even leave them the key to your little cage.” He rattled the bars. “No,” Marin managed to say. “Then I want you to listen to me very closely,” said Simmerman calmly. “I want you to follow my orders exactly. In return for this, I will make sure you are taken care of.” Marin gulped down another sob. She thought of Kimmick and what he had told her. Was he trying to make her obey to help Simmerman, or had he really been trying to help her? She felt so tired; she couldn’t reason. He must know that she couldn’t fight anymore… “Okay,” she said in her smallest voice. “Okay.” Simmerman took the key and unlocked the door to the cage. “Let her out,” Simmerman said briskly to a guard that stood nearby. With a bit of help, Marin was released from the cage and set on her unsteady feet. “Take her upstairs and see that she is washed up, given something to eat, and then put to bed,” Simmerman said, removing the iron shackles from her wrists. They fell to the floor with a loud clamor. Marin followed the guard in a sort of stupor up the stairs and after being washed, dressed and fed, Marin was put into her old room, where she fell heavily onto the bed and immediately fell to sleep.

The days passed very slowly, each very much like the one before. Marin spent hours everyday down in the Great Hall surrounded by Simmerman and his attendants, deciphering messages, planning tactical strategies and interpreting Mykolian movements. Marin felt a sort of numbness about the whole thing.

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She didn’t dare to disobey or mess up any of the deciphering that she was doing for fear that she would be found out and Robin would suffer even more than she had already. She kept her eyes and ears open for signs that Robin was still at Little Springs. So far there had been no indication that Robin had been removed to Numan where she was to marry Prince Esper, but she had missed too many days locked away in the dungeons to be sure. She tried to stay as quiet as she could, hoping in that way to hear everything she possibly could. One thing that she was able to gather was that the campaign for the Alikans was not going well. She decoded message after message telling of the defeat of Alikan generals by their Mykolian enemies. Each message seemed to enrage Simmerman further, but he continued to pile messages from his fellow generals upon her for decoding. Marin had wondered why he could not decode them himself, and even asked him so on one occasion. Simmerman had answered by telling her that her job was to decode, no matter who the message was from. After that, Marin realized that Simmerman was just lazy and she was probably faster at cracking the code than Simmerman would be at decoding the message knowing the code already. “Here,” said Simmerman one afternoon, throwing down a stack of parchment in front of her. “I need these decoded. They were recovered yesterday.” Marin nodded and pulled a pen from the inkwell next to her. She squinted at the paper, thinking, and then began to write. In a few moments, she had decoded the first one, which she handed to Simmerman, who stood nearby waiting. “Heading south south east at 150 minutes,” Simmerman read under his breath. He thought a moment

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and then rushed from the room, presumably to show it to his advisors. Marin immediately went to work on the next one, which she found took her more time, because the message was doubly encoded. But she quickly ciphered it out and her pen flew across the bottom of the paper as she wrote out the message it contained. She sat back to read it, and then gasped. She pulled the paper toward her and read it with a frown. will be arriving at little springs before

evening Marin’s mouth was dry. It was talking about the Mykolian army. She was sure of it. Could it really be true? Were they really coming? Marin’s eyes flew to the windows and she noticed that the sun had nearly descended halfway from its position directly overhead to the horizon. It was nearly evening. Simmerman strode back into the room. He picked up the message that Marin had just decoded and read it silently. “Arriving?” Simmerman cried in disbelief. There was a sharp loud cry made from the courtyard that reverberated around the Great Hall. Marin jumped to her feet and ran toward the stairs. She could feel Simmerman and most of the men that usually accompanied him follow close behind. She took the stairs two by two until she burst out onto the battlement. She grabbed the cold stone of the castle battlement and peered out into the valley. She gave a startled cry of delight. Below her, stretched out far into the valley, was the Mykolian army. They were arrayed in brilliant shades of

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red and silver which made Marin nearly break out into peals of enraptured laughter. Their sheer number took her breath away. The air was alive with the voices of the soldiers and the snorting and pawing of the horses. “They’re here,” Marin said under her breath. Simmerman leapt up beside her and took one look at the army before giving a cry of rage. “How can this be?” Simmerman cried. He gave Marin a look of loathing and grabbed her by the collar. “Come with me,” he growled. “Simmerman!” Simmerman stopped. The cry had come from down below. Marin knew that voice. It belonged to King Alder. He had found her. Marin felt a rush of joy sweep over her. He had come for her. Everything was going to be all right. “Simmerman!” Alder cried again, his mighty voice carrying over the ramparts. “I have business with you!” “What do you want?” Simmerman shouted back down in an ugly voice. “Is this the last stronghold in Alika? Do you want to bring it down?” The last stronghold? Could it be true? Was Alika really that close to being conquered? “Your life and the lives of all who live within the walls of Little Springs are now in danger,” cried Alder. “Unless you agree to talk with me, we will not hesitate to raze this castle to the dust from which it was built!” “If you destroy this castle,” Simmerman shouted back, “you can be sure that Marin will die before you pass the gate!” Marin felt Simmerman’s grasp tighten on her collar. “What is it that you want, Simmerman?” Marin heard Alder shout after a slight pause. Simmerman looked down at Marin and then back

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over the battlement at King Alder. “I am willing to talk,” Simmerman said, a small smile creeping onto his face. Marin looked up at Simmerman surprised. He must really believe his life to be in danger to be willing to parlay with the enemy. “Very well,” shouted Alder. “You will come into the castle alone,” shouted Simmerman. “No,” said Marin under her breath. That would be dangerous for him. Marin could just imagine the treachery that Simmerman might have planned for the Mykolian king. “No,” shouted Alder the next moment. “I do not trust you. I propose an exchange – only for the time that we negotiate with each other.” Simmerman looked down at Marin, understanding what the king meant. “Marin Lindrine leaves the castle while you enter?” Simmerman shouted down. “No!” Marin shouted, troubled by the idea of Alder in Simmerman’s power. “It’s got to be a trap!” “Be quiet!” Simmerman hissed, giving Marin a shake. Marin shook her head wildly but did not open her mouth. If Simmerman had the king of Mykolia in his power, there was nothing that he would not be able to bargain for. “Very well,” Marin heard Alder shout up. “The exchange will be done immediately.” “No,” Marin whimpered, as Simmerman dragged her down from the battlements and across the Great Hall. Several soldiers followed them through the entrance hall and out toward the courtyard. Simmerman nodded to the guards at the gate, and the great iron-gated doors began to creak open. Marin blinked in the sunlight of the late afternoon as

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it came filtering in from outside. Simmerman, still clutching her by the collar, dragged her forward and walked out into the courtyard. King Alder stood there, surrounded by his own guards. “Your Highness,” Simmerman said with a snide smile. “Release her,” Alder said, taking a step forward. Simmerman released the front of Marin’s dress with a violent thrash of his hand that nearly sent Marin to the ground. She managed to catch her balance in time and right herself. “Alder,” Marin said, as the king passed her on his way to Simmerman. “Go, Marin,” Alder said, not turning to look at her. Marin felt a sob rise up in her throat, but knew she had to do as Alder said, or Simmerman would have them both. She burst into a trot and ran out of Little Springs and toward the generals of the Mykolian army. At the same time that she felt herself enclosed in the arms of a hundred people around her, her thoughts were turned to Alder. How could he abandon himself to Simmerman in this way? What would this help them gain, in the end?

arin struggled to breathe as she was embraced on every side by people that she didn’t know but who

were, from all appearances, relieved to have her safely in their care. Marin tried to look behind her, but the castle was being swept from her view. Men were pulling her away from the drawbridge, away from the horrid castle of Little Springs where Marin had spent so many terrible days. “Bring her over this way, Josiah,” Marin heard a familiar voice shout over the tumult of the crowds. It was a voice she knew very well; it had figured in her dreams for quite some time after her trial in Prestani. It was the voice of the Lord Leptum. Marin looked up and realized that the man at her shoulder was Lord Josiah, another lord that Marin recognized from the court at Prestani. She was jostled through the pulsing crowd of soldiers, not really hearing what they were saying, seeing only the flashing light from their armor and feeling very claustrophobic. “Thank you,” Marin heard Lord Leptum say as his firm but bony hand closed around her wrist. “Let’s get her away from this place.” “I don’t think that Simmerman is going to try to steal her back,” Marin heard Lord Josiah try to explain to Lord Leptum. But Leptum was already leading Marin even farter away toward a group of tall tents well out of sight of the castle. “In you get,” Lord Leptum said, pushing her into one of the tallest tents. Marin, still overcome by the number of people that were buzzing around her, obeyed. The noised was dulled somewhat within the walls of the tent and the absence of people crawling all around her

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made her breathe with more comfort. The air of the tent, however, was stale and warm, and she wondered after a few moments if she wouldn’t prefer to remain outside. Lord Leptum ducked into the tent after her, and Lord Josiah and a few other men that Marin did not recognize came into the tent after him. They all took seats upon thick cushions on the ground and all of them looked at Marin. “Are you all right?” Lord Josiah asked, touching his dark trim moustache. Marin appreciated the kindness in the noble’s dark eyes. Marin nodded. “I’m fine.” “Did Simmerman hurt you?” Lord Leptum asked. His eyes were piercing and held very little of the warmth that Marin saw in Lord Josiah’s. Marin looked down, thinking that she should answer this question, but simply could not think of how to do it. “They have my sister,” she said at last, realizing that this was important news. “She’s alive. Robin’s still alive.” “Did you hear anything about where Lord Simmerman’s army is now?” Lord Leptum said, practically interrupting her. Marin blinked. Hadn’t he heard what she had just said? “No,” Marin said, slightly annoyed. “I didn’t hear anything. We have to get my sister out of there! Simmerman wants to send her to marry Prince Esper.” “He won’t be sending anyone anywhere,” Lord Leptum said, shaking his rather wrinkled head. “We have his castle surrounded. One false move on his part...” “We have to rescue Robin,” Marin said very slowly, as though Lord Leptum were having trouble understanding. “We cannot simply attack the castle!” Lord Leptum scoffed, shaking his head. “I must remind you, Lord Leptum, that you are

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speaking to the queen of Mykolia!” All eyes turned to Lord Josiah, whose cheeks were slightly red. He turned his gaze on Marin. “I’m sorry. King Alder is now within the walls of Little Springs. I’m afraid that we cannot attack the castle without risking the king’s life.” “He went in to discuss a peaceful solution to this problem,” another of the lords said. “Hopefully we won’t have to fight.” “But Simmerman won’t let him go,” Marin said suddenly. There was an uneasy silence, as though they had all considered this possibility but had never wanted to entertain it long enough to convince themselves it was actually probable. “It’s something he would do,” Marin said, her voice beginning to tremble. “He could do horrible things to him while he’s there. He could make demands of you that you could not resist. And my sister is still there.” “If he breaks the agreement, he and all within the walls of Little Springs will be in great danger,” Lord Leptum said pompously. “Yes, exactly,” Marin snapped. “Especially the king and my sister! He would kill them if you attack. And then what good would taking the castle do?” “The king wanted this,” said a noble Marin remembered to be named Lord Jonathan. “He must feel that this was the right course of action.” “There’s nothing you can do,” Marin said, shaking her head slowly. “Once you gave up the king, you lost.” “That is not true!” Lord Leptum spluttered. “As was mentioned, King Alder asked –” “The king knew what he was doing,” Lord Josiah said quietly. “At least, I believe that he did.” Marin went quiet. She looked down at her feet and thought. Why had he done this? There seemed to be no advantage to this move. Even if Simmerman reversed the

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exchange and the Alder went free, he could kill Marin and Robin once both were within his reach. Simmerman had wanted both of them for different reasons, but when faced with the possibility of losing his life, Marin was sure that he would have very little regard for the life of her and her sister. Only one thing had been accomplished by this. For the moment, Marin was free. She was free… Marin’s head jerked up suddenly. “Did the king say anything before he left you? Anything?” “Yes,” Lord Leptum said, nodding vigorously. “Of course he did. He told us that you would have something to tell us. Given your reputation with code breaking, we knew that Simmerman would have used you to advance his army. His Highness was counting on the fact that you would know what the army was doing. So I’m asking you again: do you know anything about Simmerman’s army?” Marin blinked. Alder had said that she had something to tell them? What? Her mind raced. She had certainly never overheard anything that had to do with Simmerman’s armies – only with the armies against whom Alika had been fighting. She shook her head. Surely Alder would have realized that Simmerman never would have surrendered her if he believed she knew anything useful about the movements of his army. Alder would have realized that… What else did she know? She thought back to her discovery that she was the queen, but knew that everyone in the room already knew that this was the case. They knew too about her proficiency with numbers… “Do you know anything about the Alikan army?” Lord Leptum repeated, looking at Marin very ardently. “No,” Marin said, shaking her head, still confused. “I never heard anything.” Lord Leptum sighed and sat back on his cushion. Marin watched most of the lords get up and leave

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the tent. Lord Josiah gave her a nod of the head before he left. Lord Leptum sat staring at the tent wall for a moment before getting up. “Think hard,” Lord Leptum said, brushing the dust from his embroidered clothes as he stood. “You know something that can save the king. And your sister.” Marin said nothing. She watched as Lord Leptum left the tent, leaving her alone in the stifling air. Marin sat, thinking for a moment, and then stood and walked out into the cool evening air. Marin ate with the nobles, watching the fires of the soldiers in the army begin to flicker up in the field all around them. The tents were multicolored and looked quite cheerful even in the light of the dying sun. Once she had finished, she was given her own tent and wished a good night. Marin settled in among the blankets but did not fall asleep. She wasn’t sleepy. Instead, her mind was churning wildly over what Alder had said. She knew something. She knew something that could save Alder and Robin. But what was it? Marin turned onto her stomach and propped her chin up on her fists. It didn’t make any sense. If Alder had wanted her out of the castle so that she could tell these men something, and he knew what that thing was, why hadn’t he simply told them himself? Unless… What if it wasn’t something he wanted her to say, but rather something he wanted her to do? Marin suddenly remembered the manuscript. Alder had known about the manuscript. He had known that the Moonbook was needed in order to translate it. That meant that he knew what the manuscript contained. He had told her to translate it. He had said that it “wouldn’t disappoint…” Marin sat up, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

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This was it. He had told her to do something, but it had been a very long time ago. Somehow, translating this manuscript would give her the answer. Somehow, it would save Alder. Somehow, it would save Robin. Marin didn’t understand how this could be so, but she was absolutely sure that this was the one thing that only she alone could do. For some reason, Alder had wanted her out of the castle so that she could find out, at last, what that manuscript contained. Marin scrambled to her feet and threw her blankets to the ground. She stepped out of the tent and blinked up into the night. “What is it?” Marin jumped back, startled. Then she realized it was only the guard that had been posted to guard her tent. “I need to see Lord Josiah,” she whispered, trying to catch her breath. “It’s urgent.” The guard took her from her tent and weaved around several others until he came to another tent several yards away. There was guard standing outside this tent just as there had been outside her own. The guards spoke quietly to each other, and then the guard at Lord Josiah’s tent ducked inside. After a moment, Lord Josiah appeared, looking very tired. “I’m sorry,” Marin said in a voice that was too quiet to be heard. “Hello, Marin,” Lord Josiah said, stifling a yawn. “I have to talk to you,” Marin said, hugging her robe around her tightly. “It’s important.” Josiah nodded. “Very well. Alone?” “Yes,” Marin said, trembling in the night air. Josiah dismissed the guards and held open his tent flap for Marin. Marin and the noble slid inside the blackness of the tent. “Make yourself comfortable,” Lord Josiah said. “I’m

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afraid it’s a bit cluttered.” Marin felt around and sat down on what seemed to be a pile of blankets. After a few seconds there was the sharp scratch of a match being struck and Lord Josiah lit the lantern hanging from the ceiling, closing the small glass door as he blew out the match. “What is it, Marin?” Lord Josiah asked, once he had seated himself. “Lord Leptum thought that the king wanted me to tell you all something,” Marin began, trying to contain his excitement. “I don’t think that’s quite right. I think he wanted me to do something.” Lord Josiah nodded, still obviously a bit sleepy. “I see. And do you know what that was?” “Yes,” said Marin, swallowing hard. “He wants me to translate a manuscript.” Lord Josiah didn’t say anything. “I know it sounds crazy,” Marin said apologetically. “But we talked about this before I was kidnapped. He told me to do it.” Lord Josiah thought for a moment. “Forgive me,” he said at last, “but I don’t understand how translating a manuscript will help us now.” “I don’t either,” said Marin. “But Alder did. This is why he wanted me free, if just for a little while. I’m the only one that can do it. This is it. I’m sure of it.” Lord Josiah nodded. “I see.” “Do you believe me?” Marin said in some surprise. “The king told me, just before he entered Little Springs that whatever it was that you had to do, I should let you do it,” Lord Josiah said, turning from Marin for a moment and rummaging among some items in a corner of the tent. “And then, he had me retrieve something from the library before we set off from Prestani to find you. It was something that you were working on, he said.” “I have to do it as soon as possible,” said Marin, watching him search. “I don’t know how long it will

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take.” “I understand,” Lord Josiah said. Marin nodded, her heart beginning to pound again. “You have it here?” “Yes,” said Lord Josiah, turning and handing Marin a package bound in a leather bag. Marin pulled the bag from the book contained inside and looked down. The Moonbook looked up at her. She flipped through the pages and remembered her first excitement upon discovering its contents. “And the manuscript?” Marin asked, still examining the book. “The manuscript?” Lord Josiah repeated in some surprise. “Is it not there?” Marin stopped and looked up. “No,” she said. “There’s only the book.” “Are you sure?” Lord Josiah said, taking the Moonbook into his hands and examining it. He looked for nearly a minute, but it was clear – the manuscript was missing. “Was it there when you left Prestani?” Marin asked, beginning to feel slightly ill. “I went to the library as the king directed, to get this book and the manuscript,” Lord Josiah explained, looking distressed. “I met the librarian there who said that he would gather what you had been working on and package it for me. This bag is what he gave me. He said that he had been watching you and knew what you had been doing.” “No,” Marin said, shaking her head. “Dolph Albrickt never saw the manuscript. He didn’t know about it. I was looking at it secretly. I think only the king knew about it.” Lord Josiah swallowed hard. “Then it is likely back in Prestani.” Marin sat back and put a hand to her head. It wasn’t here. Alder had wanted her to do this, but it wasn’t here. There was, then, only one choice.

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After a moment, she looked up. “I have to go get it.” “No,” said Lord Josiah in a terrible voice. “You can’t leave this camp.” “The king knew that I had to translate this manuscript,” Marin insisted. “It’s not here, so I have to go to Prestani where it is so that I can do this.” “If you leave, the life of the king and of your sister will be in danger,” Lord Josiah warned. “Simmerman will kill them if we cannot produce you at the moment when the exchange is to be reversed.” “I have no choice,” Marin said, trying to keep her voice from cracking with emotion. “I trust Alder. This is what he wanted me to do.” Marin caught her breath, realizing that she had just used the king’s first name. Her cheeks were very red, and she hoped that Lord Josiah would overlook her slip. Lord Josiah was silent. “Then I must go with you,” he said after some reflection. “No!” Marin exclaimed. “If you do that, then Simmerman will think that we double-crossed him. I have to go alone. You must make everyone believe that I ran away, that I was too scared of the prospect of going back into the hands of Simmerman. You have to tell him that you’re looking for me, that you’ve sent out scouts to find me…” “Marin, this is dangerous,” Lord Josiah said. “The journey back to Prestani is not easy. And you are all the talk of the country right now. You could be recognized, captured, or even killed.” “I know,” Marin said, closing her eyes. “I don’t want to think about that, though. This is what I have to do. I have to go back to Prestani.” Lord Josiah paused. “I will prepare you a bag and you can leave in the morning –” “I have to leave now,” Marin said, nervously fingering the book. “There is no time to lose.” Lord Josiah nodded. “Very well.”

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“There’s just one thing,” Marin said, her forehead wrinkling. “No one asked me about how I was taken from Prestani.” “We are very curious, of course, but you must understand that at this moment we were only concerned with what was essential.” “I understand,” Marin said. “But did you know, did anyone know, that it was Lord Keene who kidnapped me?” “No,” said Lord Josiah, his eyebrows furrowing deeply over his eyes. “We didn’t know.” “It’s true,” Marin said, taking a deep breath. “It was him.” “He’s still at Prestani,” Lord Josiah said suddenly. “In fact, he’s the one that the king left in charge during our absence.” Marin felt stunned. If she went back to Prestani, she would not receive a welcome at the gate. She would be in danger of Lord Keene’s caprices once inside the walls of the palace, and Lord Keene was on Simmerman’s side. “You don’t have to go,” Lord Josiah said, noticing her anxiety. “We can think of something else.” “There isn’t anything else,” Marin said, shaking her head. She wiped glistening sweat from her forehead. “This is the only way. I have to go.” “Keene will pay for this,” Lord Josiah said. “One way or another, he will pay for his crimes. I promise you that.” Marin swallowed and nodded, although the thought was not particularly comforting at the moment. She would have to face him before she was avenged. “I’ll be back in just a few moments with your supplies,” Lord Josiah said, getting to his feet. He nodded once again at Marin as he left, turning the nod almost into a bow.

arin slid into the smallest traveling clothes that Lord Josiah had been able to dig out from the reserves in

the great pile in his tent. She tied her hair behind her and took the pack that the noble had prepared for her. “I’m ready,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Lord Josiah gave her the smallest of smiles. “Tell them,” she said in a deep breath, “that I ran away. I was scared…” Marin was not surprised to hear that her voice was indeed trembling. “Go,” said Lord Josiah, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I hope that when we next meet, everything will be well.” “Thank you,” Marin whispered. She gave Lord Josiah a last long look. “Goodbye,” she added, turning and sliding into the darkness. Marin ran through the trees, blindly holding her hands out in front of her so as to keep her from running straight into the trunks. It was very dark, but occasionally light from the stars filtered in between the branches and lit her way. Within a few minutes, Marin had put a good distance between her and the camp. She slowed her pace somewhat, and in a short time, she had emerged from the trees and was able to take her journey through the easier country of the flats. Marin walked all night, not stopping to rest or to eat. She walked continually in the direction in which she knew Prestani Palace to be. Marin touched the knife that Lord Josiah had given her before leaving her, and tried to reassure herself that if she met any danger, she would be able to defend herself. When dawn finally arrived, Marin moved toward a small grove of trees and entered. The morning sunlight

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looked beautiful streaming through the leaves, but Marin was so tired she hardly noticed. She sat down against the trunk of a large sturdy tree and opened the pack Lord Josiah had prepared for her. Inside, Marin found a brass compass that she could use to navigate her way toward Prestani and a sizeable ration of food. Marin opened the packet of food and discovered a quantity of dried meat, bread, a few apples and several large hard cakes made with oatmeal. Marin munched on one of the cakes, took some of the water from the skin that the noble had provided and then leaned back against the tree and fell asleep. It was midday when Marin awoke again, and the sun was very hot on Marin’s face. She opened her eyes and brushed the mosquitoes from the rivers of sweat on her face. Marin stood suddenly and pulled her pack back on. She knew that it was more dangerous to travel at night than to travel during the day, but she felt strangely awake and knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep any longer now. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well make some progress. Marin nibbled on an apple as she walked and tried to ignore the sweat that was pouring down her back. She was grateful for the boots that she wore, as she had to traverse many a marshy field. Marin felt quite alone. It was true that the trees were alive with birds and insects, and Marin even saw the occasional green snake, but as far as she could tell she was the only person around for miles. By nightfall Marin was quite tired. She found an open space, cleared the leaves from the ground and built a fire. She munched on dried meat and wondered how long it was going to take her to reach Prestani. She frowned to herself and looked into the bright flames of the fire. She tried for the millionth time to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. She

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thought that she was, and yet she couldn’t help reminding herself that what Lord Josiah had said was true. They were taking a big risk. If she failed – or even if she didn’t arrive in Prestani in time – Alder, her sister, and the king’s army would be in very real trouble. “Good evening.” Marin froze, her hand still clutching a piece of the dried meat. The voice had come from behind her. She spun around and looked into the face of a gray-bearded man. “Elian!” Marin exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “What are you doing here?” Elian embraced Marin and kissed her on the cheek. “I was on my way north,” he said. “I ran into some trouble after arriving at Simmerman’s. He did not trust me anymore. Some how he had discovered that I had ties to Mykolia.” “Did he imprison you?” Marin asked. “No,” Elian said with a smile. “He simply sent me on a ridiculous mission to the far south of Rivental, somewhere where I wouldn’t be a nuisance to him, but I had no intention of leaving the action of the events that are to now come to fruition!” Marin nodded, motioning for Elian to take a seat near her. “There’s something else you should know,” Elian said, pulling a large bag from his shoulder and setting it on the ground. “In Kenyon, I went there to see if I could warn King Castillo about the plan to assassinate him. I was too late.” “I know,” said Marin softly. “I heard about that.” “I ran into Simmerman’s army,” Elian said. “They have orders to survey this area.” “Did you escape?” Marin asked, worrying suddenly, now that she knew that Simmerman’s army was not far off. “Yes,” Elian said, nodding his head. “I got away, but

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I did hear some disturbing news. I heard that you’d been found. I heard that Lord Simmerman had gotten a hold of you once more.” “Yes,” Marin said. “While I was in Prestani Lord Keene sold me to some men that took me back to Simmerman. He knows who I am now.” “Most people do,” Elian said with a sigh. “It’s not much of a secret that Marin Lindrine is the Marin that is now heir to the Mykolian throne. People are not only on the lookout for you, but also for your sister.” “Robin’s been captured by Simmerman too,” Marin said. “Robin?” Elian repeated in confusion. “My sister,” Marin said. Elian was silent a moment. “You know, your sister’s name was Masina. Not Robin.” “Masina?” Marin repeated. She thought a moment and then shrugged. “I suppose Mr. Rosings might have changed it to protect us.” “Yes,” Elian said thoughtfully. “Did you escape from Simmerman’s men, then?” “No,” Marin said dismissively. “I didn’t. But I’ll tell you more about that later. What other disturbing news did you hear?” “I heard that the army was going south,” Elian said grimly. “Back toward Little Springs?” Marin said, her mouth falling open. “Yes, indeed,” said Elian. “But that’s where King Alder’s army is!” Marin said, her forehead becoming creased with worry. “King Alder is inside the castle, and if his army doesn’t have complete control over what’s going on outside…” “Tell me what has happened,” Elian said sternly. Marin took a deep breath and recounted everything that had happened since the moment she had been awoken from her bed in Prestani and handed over to the

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Alikan kidnappers to how she had decided to head north and find the manuscript. “King Alder wants me to translate this manuscript,” Marin finished, “but somehow it didn’t get brought down to Little Springs. I have to go back to Prestani so I can translate it.” “And then?” Elian asked. “I hope that the manuscript will tell me what I’m supposed to do,” Marin said resolutely. “The king thought that doing this would save us.” Elian looked into the fire, thinking. “I’m hungry,” he said after a few moments. He reached into his bag, pulled out a pot and some small leather bags and began adding things to his pot. “I have to go find some water,” Elian said. “I’ll be back.” Marin watched him go, wondering what he thought of all this. He hadn’t commented on what she had told him she was going to do. “Do you…do you think I’m doing the wrong thing?” Marin asked at last, when Elian came back within the light of the fire. “No,” Elian said simply. “I think you are doing what you think is best. And so I am going to come with you and help you as best I can.” Marin’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Prestani is just a few days from here,” Elian said, squinting in the direction of Prestani as though he could see it from where he sat. He stirred the contents of the pot and was silent. “Thank you,” Marin said quietly. Elian looked at her and gave a small smile. “Somehow I feel as though I’m helping your mother when I help you. I feel as though I’m getting a chance to redeem myself.” Marin looked down. “I don’t know how I’m going to get to the manuscript once I get there,” she said. “Lord

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Keene is at the castle in command of its forces. He’s on Lord Simmerman’s side.” “We’ll think of something,” Elian reassured her. “But for now, let’s eat.”

Marin awoke a few hours later to a loud crack of thunder. She sat up and blinked water out of her eyes, her face wet with rain and stringy hair. She pulled herself out of the blankets she had lain in and got hastily to her feet. Elian, sleeping in a bedroll a few meters from her, had not yet woken, although rain was now pouring liberally from the sky. “Elian!” Marin cried, watching the flames of the fire die out in the pounding rain. “Elian!” She dived under a tree as another loud crack of thunder sounded. “Marin!” Elian had been woken and was now extricating himself from the blankets he had been lying in a moment before. “Get away from that tree!” Marin jumped out from under the tree as more thunder shook the ground. “Follow me!” Elian shouted over the din of the storm. “Grab your blankets and follow me!” Marin scooped her wet and muddy blankets from the ground and trotted after Elian toward the hillside. Elian stopped once they had come to a small overhang and reached inside his large bag. In a moment he had constructed a small lean-to from a large waterproof canvas and some branches. “Get inside!” Elian said, pulling the now shivering Marin into the small tent. Marin let the water run in rivulets from her body and huddled, grasping her knees, in one corner of the tent. It was very muggy and wet in the tent, but at least

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the rain was not coming down directly upon them. Elian’s beard was very wet and his hair clung to his forehead in a way that made him look very different. He set his things down in a corner of the new tent and then sat down across from Marin. “Look at us,” he said at last, a smile breaking out across his face. “Wet as rats.” Marin smiled, in spite of the discomfort she felt from her wet clothes and hair. “I’m glad you had this canvas.” “A little of everything in this bag,” Elian said with a smile. “Even something for a rainy day.” Marin smiled again and listened to the pounding rain. “You should try to get some sleep,” Elian said after a few moments. “We will need to be on the road again by morning.” Marin nodded. “I’m not sleepy anymore, though,” she admitted. Elian smiled warmly. “We should both get some rest. Lie down.” Marin nodded after a short pause and tried to get comfortable on the ground. She moved some rocks out from under her back and tried to close her eyes. “I don’t know what we’ll do when we get there,” Marin said, voicing something she had been thinking about all night. “I feel like I should have some sort of plan, but I have nothing. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” “You can’t know right now,” Elian said softly, finding a place for himself on the ground a short distance from Marin. “There’s no way you can know what we’re going to encounter when we get there. We’ll just have to wait and see what we are faced with, and then face it.” “But Alder wanted me to do this. This is important,” Marin said, her forehead wrinkling. “I’ve been trying to think about ways to get into the castle. I mean, I’ve even considered scaling the castle walls.”

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“Scaling the castle walls?” Elian repeated in some amusement. “I’m afraid I forgot my grappling hook.” Marin grinned. “I know: each of my ideas is worse than the last.” “Just relax,” Elian said. “You don’t have to figure it out now. For now, you just have to get there. Once you’re there, you’ll know what to do. You’ve done well this far.” Marin sighed softly. “Now it’s time to sleep,” Elian said. “There’s a long road ahead of us in the morning.”

The next morning, the sky had cleared and a cool breeze wafting through the cracks in the tent woke Marin. It was still early morning, but Marin felt very awake. She sat up and realized that the tent was empty. Marin left the tent and looked around her. The sun was not yet up, but the cool rays of morning light illuminated the trees with a soft verdant glow. Elian was crouching near a fire, cooking something over the flames. “Good morning,” Marin yawned, sitting down next to the man. “Good morning,” Elian said with a smile. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes,” Marin said. “I have a crick in my neck from sleeping in a strange position, but I slept well.” “I thought we should eat breakfast early and get on the road soon,” Elian said. Marin saw the contents of the pot as he stirred. It looked like brown porridge. “This will fill us up and last us until midday,” Elian said. “There is sugar in my pack, in a small leather pouch, if it didn’t get melted in the rain.” Marin went to retrieve the sugar and returned to Elian’s side. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Marin said at last, feeling that she had to say it, since she had been feeling it so

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strongly for so long. “And I’m very glad to be here with you.” Marin smiled thoughtfully and looked down. “I think…I mean, I don’t know what she would have thought, really – I never knew her – but, I think…I think my mother would be happy that you’re helping me.” Elian looked up and met her eyes. “It’s why I’ve been helping you,” Elian said after a short pause. “I’ve thought that somehow in helping you I could satisfy the pain I felt when your mother left to marry another man. I felt that I could somehow make up to her the loss that she might have felt when I was powerless to stop her marrying someone else.” “I know,” Marin said quickly. “But that has changed somewhat,” Elian said. Marin looked at him in surprise. “I thought about this last night. I realized that I am not doing this for her anymore. I am doing it for you. “You are an amazing girl, Marin,” Elian continued. “There’s something about you that caught my eye the first time I saw you, and it wasn’t because you looked like your mother.” “What do you mean?” Marin asked, confused. “I mean, you had a certain look to you. It sounds strange, but you almost…glowed.” “I glowed?” Marin said, a bit incredulously. “Literally?” “You’re special, Marin,” Elian said, shaking his head. “You’re different from anyone I’ve ever known. There are so many manifestations of that. What you can do, who you are, what you must do now…I am honored to be with you, Marin. If I can help you, I will.” “I don’t know what’s coming,” Marin said, squaring her shoulders. “But it feels better knowing that you’ll be with me to face it.” Elian smiled and stirred the porridge. “I’ll be here,” he said. “I’ll be with you.”

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Elian and Marin ate their breakfast and drank heavily from the leather skins that Elian had refilled after the rain. Elian consulted his compass and pointed off into the distance. “This way,” Elian said, slinging his pack onto his back. Marin did the same and the two began another long day of walking. After another two days of walking, the land had changed somewhat. There were not as many trees and the sticky humidity of the forests had subsided. The sun seemed hotter, though, as they no longer had the shade of the trees to protect them from the hot rays. Marin was miserable, sweating incessantly as she walked. “We’re nearly there,” Elian said, wiping his brow with a filthy handkerchief. “How long?” Marin said, a little wearily. “I would say we are within half an hour of the palace.” “Half an hour!” Marin exclaimed. She sucked in a large gulp of air. They were here! She had done it! “Yes,” said Elian. “And that means that we need to stop here and figure out how you are going to get into that castle.” Marin slid the pack off her back and chose a large rock to sit down upon. “Tired?” Elian said, sitting down beside her. Marin smiled weakly. “Yes,” she said. “But we’re here. It doesn’t matter.” “We have to get into the palace without Lord Keene or any of the guards knowing we are there,” Elian said, as though Marin were completely unaware of what they were about to attempt. “Somehow, we have to get into the library unnoticed.” “We could disguise ourselves,” Marin suggested, swatting a fly away from her nose. “That might work,” Elian said. “How would we

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disguise ourselves?” “It would be best if we could be mistaken for people that work at the palace,” Marin said. “Then we could walk around without attracting attention.” “Good idea,” Elian said. “Any ideas of how we could do that?” Marin thought. “I know. We could pretend to come to the palace looking for work. They would give us the clothes we need –” ‘If they decided to take us on,” Elian interrupted. “And who’s to say that Lord Keene wouldn’t want to have a look at us before taking us on in his staff?” Marin nodded, frowning. “We have to get the clothes we need and then enter as though we already work there,” Elian said. Marin nodded slowly. “How exactly would we get a hold of the clothes we need?”

Elian leaped out of the bushes and knocked the girl to the ground. She gave a small cry and then fell unconscious. “You just hit that girl!” Marin exclaimed, shocked at what she had just seen. Elian wasn’t listening. He pulled the girl back into the bushes where the two had been waiting. “What are you doing?” Marin cried, her voice nearing a squeal. “Be quiet,” Elian said. “I’m getting you what you need to get into the palace. I think she is a maid…” Marin looked at Elian as though he had just gone mad. Elian ignored her and began to remove the girl’s dress. Marin put a hand to her head and turned away. It was dusk, now, and the heat of the day was finally subsiding. Marin had been waiting with nervous anticipation all day. They were here; she just needed to

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get inside so she could translate that manuscript. “And who knows how long that will take,” Marin said under her breath. “Now I just hope that a man comes by,” Elian said, handing Marin the dress he had just recovered. Who knows how long that will take… “Elian,” Marin said suddenly. “What?” Elian said, covering the girl with a blanket. “I have to go in alone.” Elian slowly stood and looked at her. “What do you mean?” he said at last. “I want you to come,” Marin said desperately, “but I don’t know how long it will take me to translate the manuscript. It could be very complicated. It might take me days, I don’t know. And you, you would run the risk of being recognized all that time.” Elian was silent a moment. “I want you to come,” Marin said again. “I want you to help me. But I have to go in there alone.” Elian laid a hand on her shoulder. “Very well,” he said quietly. “Then you’d better get that dress on.” Marin nodded, feeling almost sick to her stomach. “Take this,” Elian said, handing her a brightly-colored scarf. “If you run into trouble, tie this in the window.” Marin folded the scarf in her pocket. “You can do this,” Elian said confidently. “I know it.” Marin nodded. “If I don’t come out –” “You will,” Elian interrupted, his voice firm. “You worked in a large house once. This will be just like doing it again.”

Marin looked around her, unsure of what to do or where to go. The guards had nodded to her and not even made

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her explain who she was as she passed them. The knot in her stomach relaxed somewhat as she was admitted into the palace, but now she did not really know where she was supposed to go, as the guards had not given her any instruction. It was a strange thing, walking once more around this place that she had come to know quite well. Somehow, knowing that Alder was not here made it seem empty and even ominous. The palace halls were relatively empty compared to what Marin had expected. The torches fixed into the walls flickered off the faces of several other servants that passed her. They seemed to study her for a moment and then go on with what they were doing. Marin tried not to catch their eyes, thinking it better to remain unnoticed. She was approaching the library. Marin threw a glance behind her and slid up to the library doors. As quietly as she could, Marin slipped inside. She closed the door very gently behind her and then turned around. Marin swallowed a gasp of surprise. The library was not empty. There was a man at one of the tables that looked up at her as she came into the room. Marin tried to pull a shy smile onto her face. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Marin said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking too badly. “I was told that I needed to clean the shelves.” The man wore a beaded cap and had greasy gray hair that spilled out onto his shoulders. His wizened face studied her as closely as he had been studying the book in front of him. “Are you new?” the man said. “Yes,” Marin said, an unbidden blush coming to her cheeks. “I just started a few days ago.” “The library was cleaned yesterday,” the man said. “I was here when they came to clean it.” Marin’s heart began to pound hard. Marin tried not

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to show her alarm. “I know,” she stammered. “But they said that the shelves in the back needed cleaning. I guess they got missed.” The man gave her a long look and then shrugged, going back to his book. Marin let out an inner sigh of relief and moved past the man toward the shelves in the back of the room. Once she was there, she slid between them and out of sight. With a rag that Elian had pushed into her pocket before she had come into the palace, Marin slowly began to rub the polished shelves. She peered through the spaces in the books, looking around for the manuscript that had not been taken to Little Springs. Marin, seeing nothing, moved out of the row she was in and slid between two more tall bookshelves. She couldn’t see where the manuscripts were kept. They weren’t readily visible. Marin moved to another row of shelves and at once, under the large windows, spotted a stack of manuscripts. Her heart sunk. They were very close to where the man was sitting. “Get up,” Marin murmured under her breath. “Go.” But the man did not leave. He stayed studying without glancing up at Marin or the large clock that hung above the door. Thirty minutes passed, and Marin began to get uncomfortable. She could not stay here dusting for very much longer; the man would certainly become suspicious. Marin crept back into a space in the shelves at the back of the room and crouched down on the floor. The ground was dusty, but Marin paid it no attention. She concentrated on keeping very still. The man, perhaps, might forget that she was still there. Fifteen more minutes passed and then Marin heard a shuffling of papers, the click of a book closing and the scrape of the man’s chair as he stood. Marin got very

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quietly to her feet, and watched, her heart pounding loudly again, as the man went to the door, opened it, and left the room. Marin stepped out from the shelves and went straight to the pile of manuscripts near the table the man had been working at. She began to leaf through them. When the manuscript she was looking for was not on the very top of the stack, she began to lose hope. But then – at the very bottom, she found it. With trembling hands, Marin pulled the manuscript out from the stack and looked at the familiar images and writing. She grabbed a pen and inkwell from the table and took herself back to the back of the room and hid once more in the back shelves. Marin sat down on the ground and pulled the Moonbook from the inside folds of her dress. Her mouth was dry with excitement. This was it. She was about to find out what she had to do. Marin licked her lips, opened the book, dunked the pen in the well, and began to work.

arin pushed a lock of hair from her face and tried to ignore the hunger pains that were tearing at her

stomach. Hours had passed since she had begun work on the manuscript and, although not discouraged, she was overwhelmed with how difficult the task was proving to be. Her back ached from working on the floor, and the light from the torches in the room was not bright enough to allow Marin to work without squinting. Finding the words from the Moonbook that corresponded to the numbers listed in the manuscript was not difficult. But the result she had been left with after completing this task told her that she still had a lot of work left to do before she would understand the message that the manuscript held for her. Marin sat up and rubbed her neck. She was eager to discover what was hidden in the manuscript, but she was exhausted and hungry. She had to sleep. She would also soon need to eat. Marin sighed and closed her eyes. She would have to find someplace where she could work and sleep in peace, without fear of disturbance. At once it came to her. Alder’s bedroom. She was sure that his room would be unguarded, as the king was not there. And it would remain undisturbed for the time that Marin would need to crack the code of the manuscript. But how could she get there? Marin got to her feet and went to the window. With some effort, Marin managed to open the large brass levers that were fixed into the sill and she swung the window open. Out the window, Marin could see that there was a

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roof that connected the library window to a darkened section of the palace that Marin knew to be the king’s chambers. Marin’s heart began to pound. She could go over the roof and enter the king’s apartments through the window. Marin looked at the roof. It was very steep, and on either side the drop off was far enough that if she fell, she could be killed. But there was no other way. Marin ran back to the shelves where her things lay and gathered them up into her arms. She put them all into the pocket in the inside of her dress, making sure that the cork was firmly planted into the inkwell. Then she climbed up onto the window sill and stepped out onto the roof. Marin was still wearing the boots that she had been given by Lord Josiah before leaving Little Springs, and she was glad that she had them now. Her boots gripped the shingles of the roof well, giving her sure footing. Marin traversed the roof on all fours. She willed herself not to look down, nor to think that the wind that whistled past her ears could gust up to a strength forceful enough to knock her from the roof. “You laughed when I talked about scaling castle walls,” Marin said under her breath. “Well, here I am.” Marin reached the other side of the roof and sat, straddling the roof with her legs. She reached forward and tried the window. It was, of course, locked. Marin felt around the frame, examining the window, and at last decided that she would have to take the window off its hinges. Luckily the bolts were easily removed. Marin lifted the heavy glass pane from its place and taking care not to lose her balance, lowered the glass into the room. Then she slid inside after it. Marin felt along the walls until she found a lamp. She lit one and then turned and looked around her.

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She sighed with relief. It was indeed Alder’s room. Marin touched the bedpost affectionately and looked around for signs of the man she loved. The room was very bare, with no signs that it had ever been lived in. It seemed he had taken all that was important to him with him. Marin settled herself on the floor and pulled out the Moonbook and the manuscript. Marin set them on the floor and then curled up next to them, closing her eyes. For the moment, she felt safe. Now she simply had to work as fast as she could so that she wouldn’t starve before she discovered what it was Alder had wanted her to know.

Lord Keene was coming toward her through the door to the king’s bedroom. He was holding a hand to his chin and was followed by several guards. Lord Keene turned to Marin and gave a laconic smile. “I didn’t think we’d meet again, Marin. I didn’t expect you to come back” “You’re a monster,” snapped Marin, jumping to her feet. “How dare you speak to me, you traitor!” “And you recovered the manuscript? What does it say?” Keene walked toward her, a mad look in his eyes. How did he know about the manuscript? He couldn’t know – and why did he care? Marin kicked Keene and he buckled, falling to the floor. Marin’s eyes flew open and she snapped up from where she lay. In the same instant, the image faded. Marin blinked and realized that she was sweating hard. She looked around her and saw that the first lights of morning were peeking through the space where the window had been removed and that the manuscript and Moonbook where there on the floor beside her.

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She had been dreaming. Marin took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. Now she was having nightmares... She shook her head and reached for the manuscript. She had to get to work so that she could get out of here. Marin’s stomach rumbled. She frowned and told herself that once she discovered the message, she could leave the castle and get something to eat. The work was still slow. The message in the manuscript was very well-guarded. She tired every cipher that she knew, every code device that she had ever heard of, one after the other, but with little success. There were probably many ciphers at play at the same time, Marin realized. She would have to try combinations. Midday came, and still Marin worked. She feverishly worked equations and substitutions, hoping that something would reveal itself. And then, at last, she had the first line. She wiped the sweat from her face and read. Marin looked at what was written there in the manuscript, and then, with complete confidence, finished cracking the code. In a few moments, she had the message. She knew at last what she had to do.

Marin stuffed the manuscript into the pocket in her dress, and left the library, having placed the Moonbook under the king’s bed for him to recover later. Marin walked into the hallway and, keeping her head down, took the shortest way to the palace outer doors. No one took any notice of Marin, still dressed in her maid’s dress, as she walked down the hallway. She came very soon to the hallway that led to the entrance hall and began to walk down it, trying to keep her pace in the

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unnoticeable range. “Let me go!” Marin turned to see a young girl, about Marin’s age, being pulled down the hallway in the arms of a tall man. Marin took one look at him and knew him at once. It was Lord Keene. She knew she should go, but for some reason, the scene stopped her. She recognized something in this girl’s plight that she could not ignore… The girl was fighting Lord Keene, wildly flinging her arms, and yelling as loudly as she could. Marin watched her hit Keene in the face, then duck under his arms and run down the hallway toward Marin. The girl was immediately seized again by a guard that came rushing up behind. He pulled the girl back toward Lord Keene, who was brushing off his clothing and smiling in a self-satisfied way. Marin caught the girl’s eyes and read panic in them. “Very good,” Lord Keene said to the guard. “Very good. If he doesn’t want to marry her, then we can sell her to a dignitary as a servant.” “No!” Marin said, feeling the anger boil up inside her. In the king’s absence, Keene was taking up the practice of selling Mykolian girls to foreign dignitaries? Marin was appalled and angered. It took her a moment to realize that she had spoken out loud. Keene, the girl, and the guard had all turned their gazes on Marin. “Seize her,” Lord Keene said simply. Marin turned on her heel and ran. She ran as fast as she could, dodging people that she passed, catapulting herself up stairways, trying doors and finding them locked all in a desperate attempt to get away from Lord Keene. She shouldn’t have said anything, she told herself as she ran. But this discovery was so disturbing that her

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reaction had been completely involuntary. Marin tried another door in a long corridor, and then, to her surprise, felt iron-strong arms clasp around her neck. Marin tried to elbow the man in the ribs, but he held his grasp firm. Marin struggled in vain until she saw Lord Keene, the man she had come to loathe, rushing up the corridor toward them. “Marin Lindrine,” said Lord Keene, smiling despite the fact that he was clearly gasping for air. “I thought I sent you back to Simmerman.” Marin continued to struggle, giving Keene furious looks as he spoke. “But no matter. In fact, this is really quite a delight, my dear. It seems that there is always someone who wants you, Marin. If it’s not Simmerman, it will be someone else. And do you know what the best thing about it is? They’re always willing to pay something.” Marin stopped struggling a moment and started. What was he talking about? Lord Keene grabbed Marin’s arm, pulled a dagger from his belt and pointed it at Marin’s side. “Leave her to me,” Keene said to the guard. “I can take her form here.” “King Alder would kill you if he knew you were selling girls as servants,” Marin spat. “What King Alder doesn’t know is for his own good,” Lord Keene said. “No,” said Marin, “it’s for yours. Once he finds out about this –” “And who’s going to tell him?” asked Lord Keene, pushing Marin farther down the corridor. “I’ll give you three guesses,” said Marin sarcastically. “You? I’m not sure how that could possibly happen,” said Lord Keene. “He left with the entire army to find you, and here you are in Prestani. It seems then he

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was almost inviting me to take over, as his military campaign has apparently proved completely fruitless. Poor inept, foolish king.” Marin snapped. She grabbed the wrist that held the dagger and pushed it violently away from her. It fell several feet from them on the ground. Then she kicked Keene as hard as she could in the leg. Keene roared. He pounced on Marin and threw her against the wall. Marin’s head hit stone, and for a moment, she saw stars. “You little devil,” said Keene in fury. Marin shook her head, waiting for things to come back into focus. Keene looked desperately around as though he had decided that Marin was in fact too much for him. Spotting the nearest room, he dragged Marin toward it and threw her inside. Marin fell to the ground but jumped immediately back to her feet and ran toward the door. She was not fast enough to reach it while it was still open, however. The door slammed shut at the same moment she threw herself against it. Marin stayed there against the door, catching her breath, and wishing suddenly that she had not stopped to watch that girl. Why hadn’t she realized that it would be very easy for Keene to recognize her? Why hadn’t she realized that by taking interest in that girl, she had been putting herself at risk? Marin sighed and shook her head, coming away from the door. She thought a moment, and then, snapping into action, Marin removed the red scarf from her head and tied it in the window. Marin heard the door click open. She quickly dropped the scarf and spun around, ready for Keene should he enter. But it wasn’t Keene. Mr. Rosings stood in the doorway. There was a silence.

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“I don’t believe it,” said Marin in a small voice. He was the last person Marin ever expected to see again. She took a small step toward him, as though somehow afraid that he might be a mirage. “For some reason, I…I thought you were dead.” Mr. Rosings was dressed as he usually was, in a dark black suit. His dark moustache was still in place, but his hair seemed to have grown some since she had last seen him. How long ago that seemed. How much had happened… “It’s been a long time, Marin,” Mr. Rosings said, coming into the room. He turned and closed the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” Marin asked, partially overjoyed that he should have come and partially inexplicably afraid. What was he doing here? “I’m here to see you, of course,” said Mr. Rosings. Marin nodded, not sure what to say. “It’s good to see you, sir.” How had he known that she was here? “So much has happened,” Mr. Rosings said in a low voice. “So much has happened since that night when you disappeared.” Marin’s mind too went back to the night when Sandhill had been attacked by Prince Martin and his army. She recalled the horror that this incident had brought into her calm life and shuddered. “I never wanted them to get you, you know.” “I know,” Marin said, swallowing hard. Mr. Rosings pulled up one of the chairs and sat down. Marin shook her head. “We have to get out of here. Lord Keene –” “Don’t worry about Lord Keene,” Mr. Rosings said soothingly. “He’s not going to hurt us. I took care of him.” Marin did not quite understand what this meant. “Are…are you here to rescue me?” Marin was suddenly

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worried. She couldn’t go with him back to Sandhill. There were things that she had to do… “I am here to take you away from all this,” Mr. Rosings said. Marin shook her head, troubled. “But I can’t go with you – there are things I have to do…” “Marin,” Mr. Rosings said calmly. “Sit down. We aren’t going anywhere for now.” Marin took a deep breath and reluctantly sat. “I’ve always wondered what happened to you that night,” Mr. Rosings said. “That night you disappeared. I was so worried.” Marin took a deep breath. “I was captured,” she said. “Simmerman and his army were in the vicinity when Prince Martin attacked. They said that they’d heard that I was alive and had come to get to me before Prince Martin.” “And they succeeded,” said Mr. Rosings. “I did hear that the Alikans had you. But I lost your trail.” “It feels like I’ve been everywhere, doing everything,” Marin said wearily. She stopped and looked at him. “Where have you been, sir?” Mr. Rosings smiled wryly. “I’ve been here and there, keeping out of sight. Once people discovered that I had once protected Marin Lindrine, I had to go into hiding.” “Why?” Marin asked. “Enemies would want me for questioning,” Mr. Rosings answered. “And not only about your whereabouts, but about your abilities. They would think that I had learned how to exploit them to my very greatest advantage and would want to know all that I knew.” Marin turned away, feeling a bit sick. “Yes,” said Mr. Rosings. “I felt just as you look. That’s why I’d always done my best to keep the knowledge that you were at Sandhill a secret.” Mr. Rosings paused. “I ordered Richard to keep you hidden that night that Prince Martin attacked the estate.

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Did he?” “He…he tried,” Marin said, her voice wavering as she remembered that night. “But that’s probably the reason why Simmerman got me instead of Prince Martin. I tried to find Robin, and I saw Prince Martin’s men taking her away. Richard pulled me back. He wanted me to come with him, but I couldn’t leave Robin. That’s when he drugged me.” “Yes,” said Mr. Rosings. “I gave the drug to him and told him to use it if he needed to. And after that?” “After that, I was unconscious,” Marin said. “I don’t remember anything until I woke up in Simmerman’s camp.” “Richard and Caron both disappeared that night,” Mr. Rosings said lightly. He looked up at Marin, waiting for her to explain. “Caron was kidnapped too,” Marin said quietly. “She told me that Richard was killed soon after leaving Sandhill.” “After leaving Sandhill? He took you from the estate?” Mr. Rosings voice had become a great deal harder. “Yes, sir,” Marin said carefully. “Why?” Mr. Rosings demanded. “I…I don’t know –” She didn’t like the look that he was giving her. “Don’t try that with me,” Mr. Rosings said sternly. “That may work with others, but I know you too well for that. Why did he take you away?” Marin swallowed. “Because…because he said that – everyone was saying it, I’m sorry, sir – that you had killed Patrick and he didn’t want that to happen to me…” “Do you think that I would have killed you?” Mr. Rosings demanded, taking her shoulders and shaking her once. “No,” Marin said, shaking her head. “I didn’t believe them. I didn’t believe that you had killed Patrick.”

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Mr. Rosings sat back in his chair and put a hand to his lips. “But I did, you know.” Marin head snapped up and she stared, her eyes wide. “He was the one that leaked information to Prince Martin that you were at Sandhill. He told Mr. Herring – you remember him? – that you were working for me and so he came and tried to take you away. I wouldn’t have it. I won’t have servants that scheme behind my back. That day we went into Hullberry I commissioned Mr. Golden to kill Patrick.” Marin slowly stood, troubled. “I…I didn’t believe…I trusted you…I defended you…” “I’m very glad,” said Mr. Rosings, “since I did it all for your protection.” Marin felt as though she had been stung. She closed her eyes and supported herself on the table with one hand. “You have been busy in the time that we have been apart,” said Mr. Rosings. His voice seemed to come from some distance away. “Yes,” said Marin a bit coldly, looking back at Mr. Rosings. “I found out a lot about myself. I found out who I am. I found out that I’m heir to the Mykolian throne.” Mr. Rosings smiled. “Good girl.” “You knew!” Marin exclaimed. “Of course I knew,” Mr. Rosings said calmly. “Why would I have taken you and your sister home with me if I hadn’t known?” “You never said a word about it!” “No,” said Mr. Rosings. “What was the point? Besides, I wanted to keep you hidden away and safe.” “I heard things about my parents,” Marin continued, her voice still hard. “Things you never told me. They were killed by pirates.” Mr. Rosings looked like he was cleaning a tooth with

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his tongue. Marin paused, thinking. “I remember you taking me to Sandhill when I was seven,” she said at last. “My mother had just been killed.” Mr. Rosings was smiling very strangely as though recalling that day in his mind. “Do you remember leaving for the sea with your mother?” Mr. Rosings asked. “No,” said Marin. “I don’t really remember anything about her or my father. I know it’s strange, but I’ve never really been able to recall faces. Sometimes I remember feelings, but…” “You remember,” said Mr. Rosings slowly. “Your mother took you and your sister to the sea and the three of you boarded a ship.” Marin shook her head. “I’ve been told about this,” she said in frustration, “but no images come. I just can’t remember…” “The sea was calm, Marin,” Mr. Rosings said quietly. “It was your first time out on the ocean. You loved how it moved. You loved it.” And then, all at once, Marin saw, just briefly, the scene lost in her memory for so long: the clear skin of the ocean barely rippling and casting back quick flashes of the sun’s rays to her eyes. Her mother was there. She could see her mother’s long silky hair floating in the wind. But someone else was there… It was her father. He was tall and dark-headed and he was talking to Marin’s mother. Marin shook her head violently and emerged from the images of her memory, panting. Mr. Rosings was looking at her, his brows furrowed low over his eyes. “He was there!” Marin whispered. “My father was there. I remember him for the first time. He wasn’t dead like people thought…”

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“The calm of the ocean didn’t last,” Mr. Rosings said quietly. “There was a storm…” Marin was once more plunged into the memory that she had not revisited since the night it had been made. The beautiful day on the warm water had become a nightmare in the dark. Marin saw, as though it had happened yesterday, the other ship approach. She heard the violent splashes of men swimming toward them, the slopping of the water as they threw themselves on board. She felt her mother’s hands around her neck, pulling her away from the side of the boat, and pushing her toward the cabin and urging her to hide. She had pulled away and run, understanding that something terrible was happening and did not want to leave her mother. She heard more splashes and loud screams that drilled themselves into her ears. She had run to the side of the boat and in the darkness had seen the spray of the thrashing bodies in the water. She heard her father’s voice and then that of her mother’s. She knew that they had somehow been thrown into the water. Without a second thought, she threw herself into the sea after them. There was a loud rush and then she couldn’t breathe; she felt her hair float eerily around her face. She churned the water with her hands, but she was suspended in a world that she did not know. Her lungs ached; she looked up and somehow made out the faint light from the stars. She fought toward the light and all at once heard her hands beating the water around her as she broke the surface. She shook her head, let out a cry and then slipped once more under the water. Frightened, she sucked in and her lungs filled with water. In just a few moments, she was unconscious. Marin opened her eyes and realized she was crying. “They died in the water,” she said, sobbing hard. “They drowned…” “You’ve always been terrified of water,” said Mr. Rosings softly. “And I had so hoped that you would like

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it…” “Who were those men?” Marin asked, rubbing her salty eyes with the back of her hand. “Who attacked the ship?” Mr. Rosings smiled again, and this time, Marin didn’t like the look of it at all. “I did.” Marin froze. “You…you killed my parents?” Marin said hoarsely. “You killed my mother and father?” “No,” said Mr. Rosings calmly. “I killed your mother.” “My father was there too,” Marin protested. “He died as well –” “No,” said Mr. Rosings, “He didn’t die. Marin, I took you back to my estate straight after and you began to put your talents to good use.” Marin saw once more the scene inside the carriage when Mr. Rosings had taken her back to Sandhill with him. She remembered the rocking of the carriage and the comfort she had felt. Why had she been so comfortable? Marin looked up into the face of Mr. Rosings and saw at once the same face that she had seen on the ship talking to her mother in her memory. It was unbelievable, but the only explanation. Mr. Rosings was her father. “No,” Marin said, feeling as though she were going to suffocate. “You’re my father…” “That’s right,” said Mr. Rosings softly. “But why did I never know that?” Marin gasped. “I think I knew it when you took me back with you to Sandhill – how could I have forgotten who you were?” Marin suppressed another sob. “Trauma,” said Mr. Rosings calmly. “In your mind your parents had just been killed. The experience was intense enough to give you a deathly fear of the water. It was also intense enough to make you forget the

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experience ever happened. Even forget your own father. Even make your sister forget her name. I would have changed yours as well, but I let yours slip when I asked you a difficult problem – just to make sure you were the right twin, and then it was too late. Marin you stayed.” Marin’s chest shook. She tried not to cry, but she couldn’t help it. “You killed my mother,” she choked out. “You married her. Why did you kill her?” “To appease the pirates,” said Mr. Rosings simply. “Once they were sure that she was dead and I was well punished, they stopped looking for me.” Marin looked at Mr. Rosings as though seeing him for the first time. “I don’t understand,” she said at last. “This is insane! I don’t understand any of this.” “It’s a long story,” Mr. Rosings said, “but as my daughter, I suppose you have a right to know it.” Mr. Rosings cleared his throat and put a hand on his knee. “You realize, of course, that if you are heir to the Mykolian throne, then I am –” “In line before me,” Marin finished, a terrible sinking feeling coming over her. “It’s not that simple,” Mr. Rosings said. “If I could take the throne at any moment, I would have done it.” “What was stopping you?” Marin asked. “Before I settled down at Sandhill, I’d been a sailor all my life. Even after I was married to Tenara I did a lot of sailing. I had some dealings with the Muttyl pirates that went sour. Things were bad. The pirates had demanded my life or the life of my wife in retribution. “I disappeared from court to try to fool them,” Mr. Rosings said. “People thought that I had been killed by the pirates, I suppose, but I really went to Sandhill and established the estate under the name of Rosings. I knew that I could not return to court, or I would be found by the pirates. But I couldn’t stay in hiding forever. Something had to be done. “Then I dropped some evidence to Tenara that I was

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still alive. She took you and Robin and went out to sea to see me. I met her out at sea, on a small island I had told her I had been staying to hide from the pirates. “When the storm came, the pirates attacked. In the confusion, I settled my debt to the pirates. I pulled your mother into the sea and drowned her.” Marin whimpered as though she had been physically hurt. “I steered the ship back to land once the pirates were gone, and as Mr. Rosings took you and your sister back to Sandhill. “Unfortunately for me, some of the sailors knew who I was and word got back to the Mykolian court that I was alive and had arranged for the pirates to attack my wife. I was disinherited and unable to go back home, but I had anticipated this. I changed you and your sister’s last name and took you with me to Sandhill. “At Sandhill I taught you the best I could and used you once you were able to decode military messages my men were able to pick up. I still had men loyal to me in Homed, and they agreed to help me should I need it.” “I ran into them on the Alikan plain!” Marin said, through her tears. “And they were working for you…” “They didn’t accomplish much,” said Mr. Rosings. “But they did nearly capture you. I’ve been trying for years to get back to the throne that is mine.” “I don’t understand,” said Marin with a shake of her head. “If you’ve been disinherited, then all this work has been for nothing. You still can’t take the throne.” “Ah,” said Mr. Rosings with a smile, “but it was all provisionary! I was barred from the throne, but only as long as any heirs to it survived. If there is no one left to take the throne, then my disinheritance is revoked. Mykolia must have a king.” Marin got slowly to her feet, horror struck. “Why now?” Her voice shook; she knew what was coming. “King Castillo is dead, and King Alder was

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captured. It’s perfect timing,” said Mr. Rosings, getting to his feet and pulling a dagger from his belt. “I’m sorry about this,” he said, taking a step toward her. “You’ve always done exactly as I wanted, and this is a poor reward for that.” “Simmerman won’t kill Alder,” Marin stammered, backing up. “It won’t matter if I’m dead; Alder will still be alive –” “No,” said Mr. Rosings, with a smile. “The Mykolian army at Little Springs sent word back, and it arrived a very short while ago. King Alder is dead.” “No!” Marin said, an intense sadness coming over her. “And so is your sister Robin,” Mr. Rosings said with a devilish grin. “I sent my men to Little Springs find her, since I had heard that he planned to marry her to the Alikan prince, but Simmerman took care of her first.” “What do you mean?” Marin choked out. “He married her to gain control of Mykolia. Seems that his loyalty to Prince Esper ran dry. And then, once sure of his success, he killed her. But that marriage won’t have done much good in a few moments. The king died in the battle. Seems things erupted in chaos once Simmerman’s army and my own men from Homed met up at Little Springs.” Marin tried to swallow her tears, but could not do it, even with the threat of Mr. Rosings before her. Alder and Robin dead. How could it be? Not now. Not after all she had done… There was a bang as the door to the study slammed open. Mr. Rosings and Marin both spun around to see who had entered. It was Edric Elian. Marin immediately dived out of the way as Elian rushed into the room, his sword drawn. “Get away from her!” Elian cried, bolting toward Mr. Rosings.

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Mr. Rosings had only his dagger with him, but that did not cause him to hesitate in running to meet his opponent. Marin, pressed up against the wall watched the battle in silence. Mr. Rosings jabbed at Elian while Elian was using his sword to distance himself from the man attacking him. Seeing that Elian was staying well out of reach, Mr. Rosings cocked his arm and threw his dagger hard at Elian’s chest. Elian dived out of the way but in so doing let his sword fall to his side. Mr. Rosings lunged at Elian and pulled him to the floor. The sword skidded across the room, several feet from the struggling pair. Blows were dealt out on both sides, neither seeming to gain the advantage of another. Marin watched, them, still crying, and tried wildly to think how she could distract Mr. Rosings. And, more easily than she might have thought, the answer came to her. She walked around the struggling pair, giving them a wide berth, and made for the door. “No!” Mr. Rosings shouted. “Stay where you are!” He threw Elian from him and rushed toward Marin, scooping up Elian’s sword from the floor on his way toward her. Marin squeezed her eyes closed just in time to hear the dull thud as Mr. Rosings’ knife flew from Elian’s hand across the room and sank itself into Mr. Rosings’ back. Mr. Rosings titled forward, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell heavily to the ground. Marin looked past him and saw Elian crouching on the ground near the spot where Mr. Rosings’ dagger had fallen. Marin broke down once more into tears. “Are you all right?” Elian cried, jumping to his feet and rushing toward her. “Are you hurt?” “No,” Marin managed to choke out, shaking her

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head vigorously. Her body shook with sobs. “I saw your scarf and came as soon as I could. What is it, Marin?” Elian asked in real concern, folding her in his arms. “They’re dead,” Marin sobbed. “Who’s dead?” Marin could feel Elian look toward Mr. Rosings’ body on the ground. “No,” Marin said, pushing away from Elian and shaking her head. “Not him.” “Who then?” Elian asked, frowning. His face was marred by a line of blood that trickled down from a corner of his mouth. “Alder,” Marin managed to choke out. The moment she said the name, she lost control again, and cried harder than ever. Elian folded her once more in his arms and touched her hair. “Robin too,” Marin continued sobbing. “Simmerman killed her to gain control of Mykolia.” “I thought something like that had happened,” Elian said. Marin looked up at him. “What do you mean?” she sniffed. “I could just…tell,” Elian said quietly. “Because of the trees,” Marin said, tears streaming down her face. “And the leaves.” Elian nodded. “Yes.” “You knew?” Marin said, swallowing tears. “You knew who he was?” “Yes,” said Elian. “I knew. I was the only one to whom he entrusted this information and I had to swear not to say a word.” Marin shook her head. “He wasn’t supposed to die.” “He could if he wanted to,” said Elian gently. “Then it’s my fault!” Marin said in anguish. “I was the one who left him back there at Little Springs alone! I left him there alone – the manuscript wasn’t there…he

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thought I would be able to translate it in Little Springs. He must have believed what I told Lord Josiah to tell everyone. He must have believed that I really ran away, that I abandoned him.” Elian took her shoulders, and pulled her toward him. “Stop this,” he said firmly. “This was not your doing.” “It is my fault,” Marin insisted. “I left him there.” “You had things to do,” Elian said. “You came back for a reason. A very important reason.” Marin licked a tear from her lip. Elian “You read it, then? You know what you are to do?” “Does it matter now?” Marin asked, still crying. “Yes,” said Elian. “It matters. For you, for me, and for all of us. You were meant to do this. We must go.” “Lord Keene will have summoned guards by now,” Marin said, trying to swallow her sobs. “He will be here any minute.” “No, Marin,” Elian said. “I came here and persuaded Lord Keene to show me where you were.” “Where is he now?” Marin asked, wiping the tears from her face. “Dead,” said Elian shortly. “Unfortunately he had a very bad fall from a battlement shortly after our discussion.” Marin shuddered. “You killed him, then.” “There was a fight,” said Elian. “He would have killed me first if he could have.” Marin shook her head, as though trying to clear it. “Come,” said Elian. “We can get horses from the stables. We don’t have any time to loose. There are things to be done!”

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hat did the manuscript say?” Marin looked up from the hardtack she was

dipping in water and sighed softly. She had known that Elian was going to ask her that, and she knew that he needed to know. And, from what she had just discovered about him being in the king’s confidence, he probably had a right to know. But she didn’t like thinking about it now. After learning that Alder was dead, every thought she had was focused on the king. If he was dead, then that meant that he had lost his faith in her. He thought that she had deserted him when really she had been trying to do all in her power to save him. Thinking of this just made her want to cry. “Did it talk about Alder?” Elian asked gently. “Sort of,” Marin said after a pause. “What do you mean?” Elian asked, pushing aside a pile of leaves with his foot and sitting down next to Marin. “Elian,” Marin said, “Alder wrote that manuscript.” Elian blinked, but did not look particularly surprised. “How long ago?” he asked. “I don’t know. Maybe five hundred years,” Marin said. “A long time ago.” “At the Foundation of Things,” Elian said quietly. Marin nodded. “Comes in handy, being immortal,” Elian said with a smile. It had come as quite a shock, learning about Alder. Marin thought back to what she had read in the Moonbook, about what she had read there so long ago, without realizing what it was saying.

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Alder was the Tree. He was one of the kings that had come in the beginning, back at the Foundation of Things to organize the world. He had been there when the water, the cliffs, the sun, when all of that had been made. But he had been alone. All this time, he had been waiting, immortal, for her, And she had understood at last that she, Marin, was the Moon. The Tree and the Moon were to be brought together. And the manuscript had told her how. “I don’t understand how it could have escaped anyone’s notice that he had been alive for such a long time,” Marin said at last. “Wouldn’t someone have noticed that he didn’t age?”

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Elian smiled. “Alder lived alone before coming to court,” he said. “But he had a father,” Marin said. “A real father, Lord Orsten. How is that possible?” “Orsten wasn’t Alder’s father,” Elian said. “Orsten was a good friend that had come to know Alder well. Soon, Orsten was old enough that he looked like he could have been Alder’s father. So they decided that when Alder went to court, he should do so as Orsten’s son.” “Then the throne didn’t really belong to him,” Marin said. “Oh, it always belonged to him,” Elian said. “He was one of the first kings, if you remember. The only one left.” Marin felt like crying again. “And now he’s dead.” Elian looked up at the brown leaves that were falling from the trees around them. Just a few short days before, the forests had been green and lush. Now, little green remained at all and the world seemed dead. Just as dead as Alder. “His trees are dying,” Marin said quietly. “He wasn’t supposed to leave.” “Marin, what did the manuscript say?” Elian repeated earnestly. “Surely it gave you direction.” “Kenyon,” Marin said simply. “Yes,” Elian said. “You told me that.” Marin sighed and pulled the manuscript from where she was keeping it against her chest. She unfolded it and looked once more at the words, now decoded and there in plain simplicity. “He was writing to me,” Marin said softly. “He knew that I should find this someday.” Elian said nothing. He waited patiently for Marin to speak. “Alder told me who he was. He talked about me, too.” “What did he say about you?” “He said that I, like him, had neither mortal father

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nor mortal mother, but somehow, I came to be,” Marin began. “He said that I was conceived by the virtue of which he too is a part because he belongs to the first kings and queens that organized the world.” Marin hesitated, not sure how to tell him what else she had read. After a second’s thought, she shrugged. “He said…he said it happened in a moment of…what was it? Oh yes: great joy, a moment of great pain, but a moment of great good.” “Great joy, great pain, great good,” Elian repeated, as though realizing something. “What is it?” Marin asked. “Do you know what he meant?” “In a forest,” Elian said, his eyes shining very brightly. “A forest?” Marin said. “What do you mean?” “I was with your mother,” Elian began, “just before she left to marry your father. We loved each other so much…” “What happened?” Marin asked. “Nothing,” Elian said, a sad smile breaking out over his face. “I told her that I loved her but that I couldn’t be with her any more. Those were her words you quoted: ‘This is a day of great joy, a day of great pain, but a day of great good.’” “And that’s how I came to be?” Marin said in wonder. “It must be,” Elian said. “The virtue of life of which Alder is a part resides in the trees that he has kept alive all these years. Somehow, there in that forest that power was very strong. There, you came to life.” Marin thought a moment, and a wave of relief swept over her. “Then that means,” Marin said, her heart swelling, “that you are more my father than Mr. Rosings ever was.” Elian clasped her hand. “I could never pretend to have had anything to do with how you became the

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beautiful person that you are.” “But you’re with me now,” Marin said. “And that’s all that counts.” “What do you have to do?” Elian asked. “I am the Moon,” Marin said quietly. “I have to make it grow just as Alder made his trees grow. When the shining orb is in the sky, I will have the chance to save those I love.” “And you must do this in Kenyon?” Elian asked. “Yes,” Marin said. “At the Alcazar of Hazuki.”

The Alcazar of Hazuki was different from what Marin had been expecting. They arrived in Kenyon after a few days’ uneventful travel and had little trouble locating the alcazar from the description that Alder had given of its location in the manuscript. Marin’s boots crunched through the foliage as she and Elian approached the edifice. The sun had recently set and the air was cooling down. The alcazar was smaller than what Marin had been expecting. It was probably a hundred feet in diameter and round. The walls of the building were built straight up on every side. Marin walked around the alcazar, taking in its sides of slate. There was no door. “How do we get in?” Marin asked, turning back to find Elian. “I don’t know,” Elian said. “Do you suppose we’ll have to climb it?” “No,” Marin said absentmindedly, now looking around her. “There must be a way in. An easy way in.” “If it were easy, might anyone have come here?” Elian asked. “I don’t know,” Marin said. “Maybe they never knew it was here. Maybe it was only for me to find.”

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“Here?” Elian asked, walking to a large mound in the ground covered with twisted foliage. “Do you suppose it’s some sort of entrance?” Marin followed Elian to the mound and pulled the plants from it. There was a large box-like structure made of the same slate from with the alcazar was built. “That stone,” Marin said, pulling on a large rock blocking one side of the large box. “Is it an entrance?” With some effort, Elian helped her pull the stone away. Their efforts revealed the opening of a long black tunnel that gaped open before them. Marin took a deep breath and stepped inside. “This is it?” Elian said, following Marin into the stone edifice. Marin did not answer at once. She ducked inside the doorway and blinked into the dark shadows. She reached into her bag, pulled out a lantern and lit it. There were spidery roots lacing the walls of the stone passageway that draped down into the darkness and a strange scuttling of insects. “Yeah, I think this is it.” Marin felt a strange sort of feeling come over her. It wasn’t foreboding exactly; it wasn’t that negative. She felt instead as though all her senses were alive, and that she was linked to this place. There was an otherworldly feeling Marin had never felt before that hung around her thick as water. She swallowed as she took a few steps into the blackness. “Do you want me to go first?” Marin threw a glance behind her and saw Elian outlined against the pale twilight they were to leave behind. “No,” she said at last. “No. Somehow I feel like I have to go first. Like all of this is for me to do.” “Marin, I’m here to help,” Elian said firmly. “I know,” Marin responded quickly. “And I’m very glad that you’re here. I just feel like I should do as much

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of it as I can.” “Forward, then?” Marin swallowed hard and nodded. “Forward.” The tunnel sloped steeply downward. Marin kept one hand on the side of the tunnel as she cautiously proceeded. Her eyes were wide open, waiting to spot anything unusual. “We’re now quite far beneath the surface,” Elian said. His voice echoed strangely around the tunnel. “I know,” Marin said. “I didn’t really expect this to be underground.” The two continued along the tunnel, neither speaking much. Marin found it difficult to keep her balance and was content to concentrate on staying upright rather than chat. Elian did not seem to be having as much trouble as Marin. He was very surefooted on the stone slope. “It opens up here,” Marin said, stepping down carefully into a spacious grotto. She heard Elian follow her into the cavern. The two looked around them. “Amazing,” he said simply. And amazing was indeed an adequate word for the sight that greeted them. Four waterfalls tumbling from four different overhangs in the grotto fell into deep channels that coursed around and through the open space. The water seemed to be glowing at first, but when Marin looked up, she saw the reason for this. The vast ceiling of the grotto was punctured with holes that let light in, presumably from the surface above. The evening lights from outside lit the water and gave it a cool blue luster. The pounding of the water was the pervading sound in the grotto. Marin walked into the room and looked around. It was beautiful. It was all absolutely stunning. “There are carvings on the walls,” Elian said, running his fingers over the indentations on the sides of

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the grotto. Marin walked over to join him and, in turn, touched the stone wall. There were inscriptions of many of the same things that had been described in the Moonbook; there were the tales of the first kings and queens, who, at the Foundation of Things had founded the world and made it what it was. She trailed her fingers along the wall, looking at the carvings. And then, when she was about to turn away and look once more to the waterfalls, she stopped. There was an intricate carving of a tree with a man beside it in a long robe. Her eyes moved from the man to another figure, this one a woman, holding hands with the man and what looked like a small sphere in the other. She squinted and her heart began to pound in excitement. It was a depiction of her and Alder. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of him. “Do you suppose we’re in the alcazar now?” Marin asked. “Yes,” Elian said. “This would explain why it appeared small from the outside. Most of it is underground.” Marin walked away from the wall. Elian was looking down at the ground to what looked like a circular pool. Marin frowned and walked toward the pool. It was lined with a tile made from a very smooth white marble. The pool appeared to be very deep. The water was very still and alive with what appeared to be white flames dancing up from the surface. “What is it?” she asked Elian. Elian did not take his eyes from the pool. “Look down there,” he said quietly. Marin set down her lantern and crouched down near the pool. There, blinking up from a depth of perhaps a hundred feet, was what looked like a white sphere. Marin felt very strange, almost as though her chest were on fire. She licked her lips anxiously.

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The white of the sphere was nearly blinding. It was whiter than anything she had ever before seen, and it was shining as though the light were coming from within the sphere itself. “That’s it,” Marin said quietly, her mouth going quite dry. “That’s it. The manuscript talked about it. A picture of that sphere is carved onto the wall, too. That’s what I have to get.” Elian looked at her. Marin could see light from the water reflected up in wavy patterns on Elian’s concerned face. “How am I going to get it out?” Marin asked, turning back toward the glorious sphere below her. “I think,” Elian said softly, “that you are going to have to go in and get it.” Marin turned to him in shock, half hoping that he was joking. “You have to go down there,” Elian said again. “There’s nothing for it.” Marin got hastily to her feet and backed away from the pool. She realized that she was beginning to sweat. Elian got to his feet and took a step toward her. “Marin,” he said gently. “I can’t go down there,” Marin said, feeling the familiar suffocating sensation come over her. “Marin, breathe,” Elian said firmly, taking her farther away from the pool. Marin shuddered and turned away, her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t do what Elian was suggesting; it was completely out of the question. The fear of water that she had known since the day when her mother had been murdered exerted its full force on her. She simply could not dive into that pool. “Elian, I can’t,” Marin said, closing her eyes. “I can’t do that.” “Yes,” Elian said firmly. “Yes, you can.”

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“Elian, my mother, she…she drowned,” Marin said, feeling tears come to her eyes. “I was there. I was pulled out of the water, but I don’t remember it. I could have died too…” “Marin, listen to me,” Elian said. “Look at me.” Marin reluctantly opened her eyes and looked up to see Elian holding her shoulders, looking at her intensely. “You are not your mother, do you understand me?” Marin shook her head and looked away. “You are not your mother,” Elian continued. “And you are not going to die the way that she did. You read that manuscript. You read what you have to do.” “I didn’t know that I would have to do this,” Marin said, feeling short of breath once more. She tried not to look toward the pool that loomed behind Elian’s back. “This is your greatest fear,” Elian said. “But don’t you see? Isn’t it appropriate that you should have to face the one thing that you fear the most in order to save the people that you love?” Marin swallowed. “But the water…” “Is nothing, Marin,” Elian said. “Listen to me. It is nothing! It is a fear of the past, a past that has now become clear to you! You know now what happened. You know who you are.” “Yes,” Marin said, her voice trembling. “I know you’re right, but I –” “Marin,” Elian said shaking his head. He turned and looked toward the pool. “The king knew you could do it,” Elian said after a pause. “He knew that you would come and that you would do this.” “Yes, but he didn’t know that I would be so afraid –” “Yes, he did,” Elian said. “He’s been waiting for you, Marin. You, complete with all your fears, your dreams – everything.” “If he were here now…” Marin began, her eyes filling with tears.

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“If he were here now, would you do it for him?” Marin looked up slowly. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Well, you are doing it for him,” Elian said. “You’re doing it for him.” Marin looked toward the water. He was right, she knew. She had to do this. And Alder had known she could. “He knew that I would be afraid,” Marin said, trying not to cry. “Yes,” Elian said quietly. “But he knew I would do it anyway.” “Go,” Elian said, his eyes shining. Marin swallowed a sob and stared toward the pool. After a moment, she took a deep breath, and walked toward the water with a firm resolve. Her boots touched the edge of the tile and she looked down into the water. Her insides began to squirm as she thought about what she was about to do. “Do I jump, or…” Elian’s voice came from behind her. “Don’t think!” Marin closed her eyes, and stepped into the water. There was a smothering rush of water and Marin was pulled toward the bottom of the pool. This wasn’t the feeling that she had expected; it seemed as though she were being pulled down toward the bottom at an abnormally fast speed. She felt her heavy clothes disappear around her as she sank toward the bottom. Marin very timidly opened her eyes. To her surprise, the act was not in the least bit uncomfortable. She even found that somehow, when she could hold her breath no longer, she was able to breathe normally. In a few moments she had reached the bottom of the pool and came to rest a short distance from the glowing white ball. Marin, her hair floating weirdly around her, took a slow step forward. Then, she took another which put her in front of the glowing object that was perched on a

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marble stand. Marin reached out and with a very steady hand, took the sphere up in her hands.

t was very warm, and Marin felt an overwhelming feeling of comfort spread from the sphere through her

limbs to her chest and face. She looked down and discovered that her body, now clothed in some sort of thin gown, was now glowing in precisely the same way as the sphere. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Marin looked up in some alarm to see who had spoken. A lithe young woman with flowing hair and a rather blue tinge to her skin stood just a few feet from Marin. Marin had the very strange feeling that she had seen this person before. “Who are you?” Marin asked, her eyes wide. Her voice sounded strange, as though it were echoing off the walls. The woman smiled. “Do you know me?” “No,” Marin said, squinting. “At least, I don’t think I do. And yet…I feel that somehow I have seen you before.” “I decided to come back for you,” the woman said. Marin was entranced by her beauty. “What do you mean?” Marin asked, once she had taken her eyes from the woman. The woman smiled again. “I came back to the world to be your mother,” the woman said. Marin let out a low gasp. “What, my mother?” “I came back to watch over you,” the woman said. “I didn’t want you to be alone. Not when you were so young. You’re the only one of us to have had a childhood. I didn’t want it to be spent alone.” Marin took a step toward the woman. “You came back? What do you mean ‘you came back’?”

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“I was here once before,” the woman said, “although my task then was very different. I was first here to create the waters. I am Alena.” Marin was stunned. The queen who, at the Foundation of Things, had made the waters was her mother? “You loved Elian,” Marin blurted out suddenly. “He’s here! You have to see him!” “I am here to see you,” Alena said firmly. Marin blinked. “But he loved you,” Marin said insistently, once she remembered what she had been talking about. “And his love for you somehow made it so that I came to be.” “Yes,” Alena said. “It was because he loved me that you came to be. And it was time for you to come.” “And Mr. Rosings killed you,” Marin said. “I had done my job,” Alena said with a quiet smile. “You had no more need of me.” “Come back with me,” Marin said desperately. “I need you now.” “You don’t need me,” Alena said confidently. “You have what it takes to do this.” “Then come and be with Elian,” Marin pleaded. “He loves you still.” “What happens to Elian is not in your hands,” Alena said. “But he’s been so good to me,” Marin said, feeling helpless. “He’s come with me here – if it weren’t for him, then I wouldn’t be here now. And now you’re here. You should -” “It is good of you to think of him,” Alena said. “But there is really no need for you to worry. What happens to him will be for the best.” “But –” “He will be rewarded for what he has done.” “But –” “My daughter,” Alena said in a voice that made

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Marin pay attention to what she was saying. “I loved him too.” Marin stopped. She looked at the woman who had raised her and then said: “Why don’t I remember you?” “Ah,” Alena said, a smile breaking out across her face. “I made you forget.” “What?” Marin exclaimed. “Yes,” Alena repeated. “I made you forget. Especially after the incident on the ship…I didn’t want you to remember.” That would explain why she hadn’t remembered her father… “But I did remember,” Marin said suddenly in anguish. “That’s why I almost couldn’t come down here. I was afraid…” “I know,” Alena said. “But you came anyway.” “Yes,” Marin said. She thought a moment and then said: “I want to remember everything.” “Not now,” Alena said sagely. “The time will come when you will remember. Not just what happened then, but what came before.” Marin felt suddenly as though she didn’t understand what was going on anymore. She thought a while longer, and then, instead of asking another question, she said: “Alder is dead.” Her voice was hard as she said it. It was the only way she could keep from becoming emotional. “I think you will find,” Alena said after a long pause, her bright hair floating around her face, “that the kings and queens that came in the beginning are rarely gone forever.” “Then I’ll see him again?” Alena smiled. Instead of answering, she said: “I had to come and see you now, before you do what you came here to do.” “I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to do,” Marin said, her voice trembling.

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“Take that sphere up to the surface,” Alena said. “You’ll know what to do once you get there.” Marin nodded. “I don’t want to leave you.” Somehow, seeing the mother that she thought was gone forever made her want to stay with her. “You have to go. You know that.” And, of course, she did. Marin took a step back. Alena came forward and planted a kiss on Marin’s head. “Go.” Marin took a deep breath, and then with one great effort pushed herself toward the surface, sphere in hand. Just as fast as she had come to the bottom of the pool, Marin reached the surface. It was strange; as soon as she came to the surface, she continued to rise a few feet until her feet just scraped the surface of the water. And then, beneath her feet, the water instantly became solid. She looked up toward the fissure in the ceiling directly above her and saw the stars peppering the night sky. And then, just as her mother had said, Marin knew what to do. She let go of the sphere and let it rise from her hands. It traveled upwards, far above her head, presumably growing in size as it went. Several minutes went by before Marin realized that it seemed to have ceased moving. It had found its place in the sky directly above her head. “Marin!” Elian was standing a few feet from the pool, watching her with a strange look in his face, almost as though it were reflecting something very bright. Marin looked down at herself and realized that the white gown she was wearing seemed to be made from the same stuff as the sphere that she had held. Her skin was almost translucent and she felt more than saw that she was giving off some sort of weird glow. “I did it,” Marin said, feeling triumphant.

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Elian smiled at her. “And I saw my mother!” Elian blinked and then, after a slight hesitation, he smiled. “She couldn’t come out of the pool, I don’t think,” Marin explained. “I wanted her to, but I think that somehow it wasn’t the right thing.” Marin thought a moment and then said: “Did you know who she was. I mean, did you know that she was Alena?” “Yes,” Elian said quietly. “Of course.” “Of course,” Marin repeated, shaking her head. Elian had yet to be really surprised by anything that Marin had said, and yet Marin was startled by the newness of everything that she had learned in the last little while. “Has the water turned to ice?” Elian asked. “How are you standing on it?” “No,” Marin said. “It feels more like glass. It’s not cold.” She grinned. “This is all very strange, isn’t it?” Marin looked around, still standing on the glass that covered the surface of the pool. She looked up toward the moon there in the sky. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She gave a sigh of pleasure. She looked out at Elian and made to step toward him, but at that moment, something caught Marin’s eye. Something wispy had floated by, something that did not look quite tangible and yet not quite transparent. She followed it with her eyes, and then, to her great surprise, the wispy smoke seemed to form a sort of frame. Inside, Marin saw, as though looking through a window, a very strange sight. “What do you see?” Elian asked. “I don’t know,” Marin said slowly, watching the floating frame. Her eyes widened as she watched herself sitting at a desk, back at Sandhill, working hard under the tutelage of one of Estelle Rosings’ tutors. She knew that dress. She had worn if often and loved it.

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She was looking at her ten-year-old self. “It’s me,” Marin said after a moment. She looked away from the frame and noticed that several wispy frames were now forming around her, each showing a different moment in Marin’s life. “I see myself riding with my sister,” Marin said, watching one frame with wonder. “They can’t be real,” Elian said, his voice holding some concern. “They seem real,” Marin said, looking to another frame, where she saw herself at the river with Simmerman and Elian. She recalled the fear she had felt while she was there and quickly turned away. “I think it’s showing my life, somehow,” Marin said. “Here’s one that seems to be me, but I’m…I’m old.” Marin’s stomach twisted at the unusual sight before her. Her features in the frame before her were the same, but wizened and older. Marin swallowed hard and concentrated on what the woman was doing. She seemed to be looking out the window at a few flakes of falling snow. She felt as though she were there. She knew the coolness of the air coming in through the window. She could feel the velvet of the slippers on her feet. She knew that in just a few moments her chambermaid would appear… There was a loud crack that echoed around the grotto. “Marin!” Marin wrenched her eyes from the scene and found Elian somewhere behind all the wispy moments from her life swirling up around her. “Marin! The glass is breaking!” Marin looked down at her feet and saw that Elian was indeed right. There was a long crack that ran right under her feet. It looked like the water that was in the pool had somehow previously gone down, but was now

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mounting slowly toward the crack. Confused, Marin looked back up and saw another frame. This one was of Alder. She was walking with him in his garden. She saw him trailing his hands along the tall grass, the flowers blooming at his fingertips. Again she could feel the world that was shown her. She could smell the flowers, hear the bees. She watched as she and the king talked together, and her heart ached. How she longed to be with him! “Marin!” There was another loud snap, and the crack spidered under her feet. The water was now rising much faster. “It’s happening when I look at the frames,” Marin said slowly, raising her eyes to Alder’s face once more. “When I try to look closer, I –” “Close your eyes!” Elian shouted as another crack sounded. Marin squeezed her eyes shut almost against her will. “He’s there, Elian,” Marin said, her eyes beginning to tear up under her closed lids. “If I look at him, then I can be with him. I feel him.” “Marin, listen to me,” Elian said. “This wouldn’t be happening if there wasn’t something that you have to do about it. You’re seeing these scenes for a reason.” “I can go there,” Marin said with a strange unfounded confidence. “The more I look at them, the more I feel like I’m there. I have to go back and be with Alder.” “No, Marin!” Elian shouted. “Listen to me! This is what Alder meant! This is how you can save him! There was some moment in your life when you could have done something that would have changed what happened to Alder. You have to find that moment and go there.” “But I don’t know what that moment is!” Marin said in anguish, keeping her eyes closed tightly. “Think, Marin,” Elian said gently. “Alder would not

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have trusted you if you did not know.” Marin’s mind began to race. All the events that had taken place from the moment that Marin had been kidnapped from Sandhill began to run through her mind. She remembered being branded on her shoulder, she remembered arriving in Little Springs for the first time, finding the manuscript and then finding out, at last, who she was. And then she had been captured and sent back to Little Springs by Lord Keene. That moment seemed quite pivotal. Marin was just about to mention it when she remembered discovering that Alder knew who she was and was very close to rescuing her. The Mykolian army could have destroyed Simmerman and his evil fortress if only… If only she had not been there. Her being inside the castle had forced Alder to take her place as Simmerman’s prisoner and had kept the army from taking the fortress. Marin realized, at last, what she had to do. “I have to find a way to get out of Little Springs before Alder gets there with his army,” Marin said, her skin crawling with excitement and fear. “I have to go back to Little Springs.” “Very good,” Elian said. “Now, open your eyes and find the moment that you need!” Marin opened her eyes and began to look through all of the frames that wafted by her, trying not to concentrate on any one frame for too long. It was very difficult; every time she spotted Alder, she longed to let her eyes linger on the scene and let herself be drawn to him. “Concentrate!” Elian’s voice seemed to come to her from far away. Marin took a deep breath and turned to look behind her. After skipping over several scenes, Marin’s eyes fell on the one she wanted. She saw herself just where she needed to be. She was sitting in the dungeons of Little Springs, alone, cold and hungry.

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“Elian,” Marin said, squeezing her eyes closed suddenly. “What are you doing, Marin?” Elian asked, worry in his voice. “Elian,” Marin said, her skin crawling with sudden fear. “Simmerman did terrible things to me in Little Springs.” “I know,” Elian said quietly. “But this is everyone’s one chance.” That was all he said. Marin took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The scene of the dungeons of Little Springs was easy to find. She locked her eyes on it. Marin heard a loud whoosh from beneath her feet and her head snapped down to look at what was happening under the glass. The water was surging forward fast, stopping slightly now that she was no longer looking at the scene that she wanted. “Elian,” Marin said, a terrible feeling coming over her. “You have to get out.” “Marin, I came here to help –” “Elian,” Marin interrupted sharply. “When the glass breaks, the water that’s under my feet will come rushing up into the grotto. The cavern is going to flood.” “Marin,” Elian said calmly. “I’m not afraid…” “You’ll die,” Marin said desperately. “You have to get out.” “Marin,” Elian said again, his voice soft and soothing. “I came this far because I wanted to see this come at last to its end. I’m not afraid to see it all play out.” “Elian,” Marin whimpered, beginning to cry. “You have to go.” “I’ll be all right,” Elian said comfortingly. “I feel that I need to stay and watch. Besides, you may need my help if something goes wrong.” “Nothing’s going to go wrong!” Marin exclaimed, nearly hysterical. “Please go.”

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“Marin, if I sense that I need to go, then I will,” Elian said. “But I want to stay here with you.” Marin tried to breathe normally. She couldn’t make him go; she saw that all her talking was useless. She took a long deep breath. “I’ll be gone in a moment,” Marin said, sniffling. “After all we’ve been through together, I can’t leave you now. You must know that.” Marin swallowed hard and nodded at last, seeing that it was useless to try to persuade him. “You get out the moment I’m gone,” Marin said, her voice shaking. “I will,” Elian said. “One last thing, Marin. There is something that you should realize.” “What?” Marin said. “When you go back, you will no longer be immortal. Having accomplished what you were to do in this world, you have rescinded your claim on immortality. You will be able to die just like everyone else.” “What!” Marin exclaimed, startled. “I was immortal?” “Be careful, Marin,” Elian said simply, stepping back. Marin wiped the tears from her face and then looked up once more toward the scene that seemed to be waiting for her. Marin watched herself there in the cell more intently. As she did, she felt the glass underneath her feet shatter. Then, with a great rush, she felt a burst of water thrust her forward and she heard the waterfalls in the grotto suddenly increase with intensity. The water lifted her up and hit her in the face, and then – Marin opened her eyes. The noise of the water had stopped, and now, all the water she heard was a distant drip somewhere in the dark. She was in that cell. She was back in Little Springs. And now she had to get to work.

arin.” Marin scrambled to her feet, her mouth dry

with anticipation. Alfred Kimmick was walking toward her cell, his long black robe swirling around his feet as he approached. Alfred Kimmick bent down and grabbed the bars of Marin’s cell. “I must be quick.” “Mr. Kimmick,” Marin said in greeting. Certainly he could help her escape… “You’re playing a very dangerous game,” the man said quietly. Marin blinked, thinking that this was the strangest thing that she had ever done. She remembered her scowl that had served as a response, and she remembered the words that had followed: “Your life is on the line as is that of those you love, so you had better listen to me,” the man continued. “You did those equations wrong on purpose to thwart the plans of General Simmerman. Your scene earlier tonight was blood-curdling.” Marin swallowed hard and nodded. “I know,” she said with humility. “I’m sorry.” It was incredibly strange that he could be talking about events that, to her, seemed to have happened so long ago. Kimmick, on the other hand, had just seen Simmerman get tackled and Robin threatened. “You want to fight,” the man interrupted, “but you are going about it completely the wrong way.” Marin’s heart began to pound. “What must I do?” “You must do as Lord Simmerman says if you wish to remain alive. Those to whom you want to return will find a way to rescue you.” His eyes burned bright. “I have sent a message to

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King Alder. He will very soon know you are here.” “Do you know him?” Marin asked suddenly. “Not well,” Kimmick admitted. He seemed surprised that Marin was so willing to listen to him. “But I do what I can to help those that fall under the iron hand of Simmerman.” “I have to get out of here,” Marin said, coming close to the bars. “Do you know how I can escape?” “Little Springs is well guarded,” Kimmick said slowly. “If Simmerman does not want you to leave, then you will not leave.” “There must be a way,” Marin said desperately. “There is a way…I just have to find it.” “Marin, you must know that he is planning to kill you.” Marin looked up suddenly. Kimmick had not spoken so plainly the last time they had met. “I know,” she said after a long pause. “I know that he wants Robin to marry Prince Esper instead of me.” “Yes,” Kimmick said. “They want to send her to him very soon, which means that you do not have the luxury of continuing your current course of behavior.” Marin caught her breath and looked down. “They are planning on sending her to him soon,” Marin repeated. Simmerman had killed Robin, Marin remembered. After Marin had left for Prestani, his plans to send her to the prince had changed. For now, they were still in place. Marin looked up, a look of intense concentration on her face. “When is Robin going to be sent to him? And how exactly is this going to happen?”

“Be quick.” Marin lifted her hood and looked at Alfred Kimmick who stood beside her dressed in a similar long black robe.

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A large ring of keys hung from his hand. It was night and yet a faint light was filtering in through the windows. Marin looked up in some confusion, thinking that the stars could never be bright enough to produce so great a light. “You must hurry,” Kimmick said urgently. “I have unlocked her cell. Now go.” Marin reluctantly tore her eyes from the window and crept into the room from which Kimmick had just emerged. She eased the door closed behind her, trembling with anticipation. “Marin!” “Shhh!” Marin hissed, falling down beside her sister. The two girls embraced. Marin hugged her sister tightly against her body, wanting to cry when she thought what her fate risked being at the hands of Simmerman. “Robin,” Marin said, throwing a glance behind her into the dark to be sure that the two were really alone. “There is a plan to get us out. Kimmick is helping us.” “What is it?” Robin’s voice pierced through the darkness toward Marin. “We have to trick Simmerman,” Marin whispered. “I think I’ve got it all worked out. But Robin, some of this is going to sound crazy. And it could be dangerous.” “I don’t care,” Robin hissed back resolutely. “I’ll do anything to get out of here. Just tell me what you have in mind.”

“Come along, Marin.” Alfred Kimmick removed his hood and blinked out into the bright morning. He felt uneasy on his brown horse as he was not used to riding, but felt refreshed in the morning air. They had gone only a short distance from Little Springs. Kimmick wondered when Simmerman would realize that he had taken Marin with

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him instead of Robin, as he would likely first surmise. Actually, the moment Simmerman realized that they were gone, Kimmick’s own life would most likely be in danger. Charles Simmerman had not known that Kimmick was taking either of the girls from the castle. Simmerman had always talked about sending Robin to marry Prince Esper when Marin had not worked out, and then, after learning of the twins’ identity had only considered it as a way to make the prince believe that he was still loyal to him. Simmerman had instead been busy with other plans for the older twin that would serve his own interest. And who could blame Simmerman for scheming? Kimmick thought wryly to himself. Wasn’t that what he, Kimmick, was doing himself? Kimmick smiled again at the thought of his own cleverness. Just when it was becoming obvious that Simmerman was growing tired of his loyalty to Prince Esper, he, Kimmick, would prove his loyalty to the prince by bringing him back the girl the prince had planned on marrying from the beginning. For down in Marin’s dark cell the two had hatched the plan that Marin and Robin would trade places and that Kimmick would take Marin, only distinguishable from her sister by the mark on her shoulder, from the castle. When Simmerman discovered that one of the twins was missing, he would assume that it was Robin, since Robin had taken Marin’s place in her cell. Indeed, the twins were virtually identical, and there would be no need to check for a mark – that is, with a bit of good acting on Robin’s part. Kimmick was not too surprised that his trickery had won over Marin so easily. Once he had her convinced that he only had her best interests at heart, she had come up on her own with the plan that would secure his power and popularity at the Alikan court. What was more, Kimmick did not feel badly about

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what he had done. The way he saw it, Marin was getting the good end of the deal by securing a marriage to a wealthy prince, one that would control a united Mykolia after their marriage. It was certainly better than what Simmerman could do to Robin once he discovered that one of the twins was gone. “How far do you think we have to go before we make it out of Alika?” Marin asked, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. Kimmick had to work to keep himself from smiling at Marin’s distorted idea of where they were going. “I don’t know,” Kimmick said, trying to make his voice sound kindly. “I suppose it will take several days, which is why I wanted to make sure that we loaded the horses up with food before leaving Little Springs.” “How long before Simmerman discovers that we’re gone?” Marin asked. She was riding a pale sand-colored horse. “I’m sure he will have discovered that Robin is not in her cell very soon,” Kimmick answered. “We are, however, fairly safe as Simmerman does not have a large force at his command at Little Springs. He would have to send a message to his army and that could take a couple of days.” That night Kimmick made a fire and he and Marin huddled around it to keep away the mosquitoes as they ate their simple dinner. “You know,” Kimmick said after a moment’s thought. “You know, the whole world’s amazed by what you do.” Marin seemed to hesitate a moment and then she gave a quick smile and nodded, a sort of bitter irony in her voice. “I know. Strange isn’t it. I don’t deserve it.” “Your capacity with numbers has always astounded me,” Kimmick continued. “Your gift is almost divine.” Marin laughed. “Yes, it must seem that way to other people. My life has been pretty unglamorous, though. I’m

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just shut up in people’s offices all day, translating random messages. Usually I don’t even know who they’re for or what they’re about.” “Was your sister ever jealous of you?” Kimmick pressed, taking a spoonful of soup from his bowl. “No,” Marin answered at once. “She has her own talents.” “No one knows what they are, though. She’s not famous.” Marin stared hard at him. “My being famous is what has gotten both of us into all this trouble. I don’t think fame is necessarily something that either one of us wanted. If I had simply shut up about my abilities we might both be in a lot less trouble right now!” Kimmick nodded. He had always been fascinated watching Marin rapidly translate documents and had heard that she could do amazing sums in her head. He was about to ask her to do a complicated one when Marin stood. “It’s late,” Marin said, yawning. “Time for bed?” Kimmick hitched a gentle smile onto his face. “Time for bed,” he repeated in what he hoped was a paternal voice. Marin gave him a nod and slipped into her tent. Kimmick turned back toward the fire and smiled widely as he looked into the flames. In just a few days they would be in Numan. And then he would be the famous one.

“Kimmick!” Kimmick turned from his horse that he was grooming and looked to see why Marin had called to him. “Kimmick, men!” Marin shouted, coming to a halt at his side. Her hair was quite wild as though she had been running a great distance. There were dirty marks on her

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face where dust must have clung to her sweat. “Calm down!” Kimmick said, though lines of worry were sprouting on his face. He threw down his brush and dusted off his hands, coming around the side of his horse to see what Marin was talking about. Sure enough, off in the distant trees, Kimmick could see a vast amount of men marching in their direction. Marin swallowed. “They’re Simmerman’s men. Alikans.” Her voice had taken a hard tone. She was giving him a piercing look that Kimmick did not like at all. “Was this your doing?” Marin shot at him angrily. Kimmick gave her an askance look. “No, of course not…” “Where are we?” Marin demanded. “We should have crossed the Odessa days ago.” “We’re taking another route,” Kimmick lied quickly. “That’s not true,” Marin snarled. “There’s no time for that now,” Kimmick returned, beginning to sweat. “Get on your horse. We’re going to get out of here.” This was most unexpected. He had not thought that he would cross paths with Simmerman’s men. As he threw his saddle back on his horse a sudden though occurred to him. It was not certain that they would be able to outrun the army. He would be much more likely to escape unscathed if he could convince them that he had apprehended the girl and was simply bringing her back to Simmerman. Kimmick peered around the flank of his horse and saw Marin, crouched down near her pack, throwing things quickly inside. He quickly looked around and found a length of rope which he coiled stealthily in his hand. As swiftly as possible Kimmick strode over to Marin, grabbed her arm and forced her to her feet.

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“Hey!” Marin shouted. Kimmick was startled when Marin wasted no time in connecting her fist to his nose. Trying to ignore the profuse tears and blood that were now clouding his vision, Kimmick tightened his grip on the girl and forced her hands behind her, but she pulled them away again and this time, kicked him hard in the knee. Kimmick cursed and decided that tying her hands was perhaps a waste of time. He threw down the rope and dragged her toward the clearing where the first soldiers of the Alikan army were appearing. “I found her!” Kimmick shouted out crazily. “She tried to get away, but I got her!” “Why you –” Marin fumed. “Who?” The man at the forefront of the army who seemed to be the leader did not dismount from his horse. He simply fixed Kimmick with a look that made him feel rather silly. “Marin Lindrine!” Kimmick shouted. “She escaped from Little Springs and I just now caught up to her. You have come at an opportune moment!” “Marin Lindrine?” The captain’s dark eyes fixed Kimmick with a look of concern and interest. He descended from his horse and walked toward Kimmick, who held Marin prisoner by the arm. “Marin Lindrine, you say?” the captain repeated with a frown. “But we brought her to Little Springs just a short time ago. She was in the custody of General Simmerman.” “That’s right,” Kimmick said, nodding furiously. “But she escaped!” Marin suddenly began to laugh in what sounded like disdain. All eyes turned on her. “I’m not Marin,” the girl scoffed. Kimmick became angry. “Don’t listen to her! You

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know her face! This is Marin!” “I’m her twin, you idiot,” the girl snapped. “That’s impossible!” Kimmick exclaimed. The girls had traded places in their cells so that Simmerman would think that it was Robin that he had taken from Little Springs. She was trying to fool them… “There’s one easy way to tell if you’re telling the truth,” the captain said. “I was there when Simmerman put a mark on Marin Lindrine’s shoulder. If this is her, she’ll have the mark.” Kimmick grabbed the girl’s collar and forced it down over her shoulder. There was nothing. Kimmick’s heart nearly stopped. How could this be? Surely the girls had not double crossed him! He had volunteered to help rescue them! This was a fine way to repay him! He quickly grabbed the girl’s other shoulder and examined it. Still nothing. “Nothing there, is there, Kimmick?” the girl said with a triumphant smile. She pulled away from him angrily. “Kimmick?” one of the soldiers repeated. “Alfred Kimmick? What are you doing outside the castle? Simmerman has much faster men that he could have sent out after an escapee.” The air was suddenly cut by the sound of a horn blowing in urgency. “What is it?” the captain shouted, turning back toward his men. From the back of the ranks surged a man who was holding the horn that had just been blown. He looked worried. “My captain, there is a band of men coming our way.”

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“How many?” the captain demanded, seizing the reigns of his horse. “At least a thousand,” the man said with a bow. “They have seen us and have sounded the attack!” “But who are they?” the captain said, mounting in haste. “They bear the symbol of Homed,” the scout said. “Prepare for battle!” the captain shouted. “And you,” he added, turning to the men at his side. “Tie these two up. We’ll take them back to Little Springs once we finish with this vermin.” Kimmick looked around and realized that the girl was gone. At the same moment, the Alikan soldiers fell on him and bound his wrists. “The girl is gone!” Kimmick shouted. “If you hurry, you can catch her! She must have disappeared in the trees!” “She slips out from under your nose so easily,” said the man who was tying his wrists. “Perhaps you didn’t notice that she took your horse as well.” “Aren’t you going to stop her?” Kimmick spluttered in fury. “Leave him!” the captain said over his shoulder. “If he’s still alive after we have destroyed this vermin, we’ll take him back to Simmerman and hear his story. In the meantime, you, Selmer, take a message back to Simmerman. I want him to be aware of the recent developments.” The captain looked over his shoulder at Kimmick and then said reluctantly: “And send a pair of men after the girl.” “You can’t leave me here!” Kimmick bellowed as the man holding him let him fall to his side on the leafy ground. But there was no answer from the Alikan captain as he led his army in full charge against the menacing Homed band.

here is she?” The roar awakened Marin from her sleep. She

lifted her head from where it lay on her knees and blinked up into the semi-darkness. “She’s here, sir,” and over-eager young male voice answered, rushing up to Marin’s cell. “I know where she is, you idiot! I’m not talking to you!” “I’m sorry, sir, I –” “Unlock this cell!” Simmerman had stridden up beside the young man and stood, eyes burning like two bright coals in his darkly shadowed face. He looked exceptionally frightening. Marin tried to remain calm. The young guard fumbled with the keys. After rattling them rather uselessly against the bars, he managed to find the keyhole and push the iron door open. Simmerman descended on Marin like a falcon on a small rodent it has spotted. His hands clamped vice-like around Marin’s forearm and yanked her to her feet. “Where is she?” Simmerman bellowed again, raging like a wounded bull. Marin could tell from the way his hot breath was blasting her in the face that he was very angry. “Who?” Marin asked, trying to pretend that she knew nothing about the disappearance of her sister that had obviously enraged him. Simmerman slammed her up against the bars and looked her straight in the eye. “Don’t play games with me,” he snarled. “You know who I mean. Where is Robin?” “Robin? She’s gone?” Marin said, attempting to keep

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her voice steady. “Fine,” Simmerman said with a disturbing finality in his voice. He released Marin and marched out of the cell. He made a gesture to someone standing in the shadows and then another man came forward, this one with a patchy beard. He was holding in his hand a cage just big enough to hold Marin. Marin pressed herself against the wall, unable for the first time to remember why she had chosen voluntarily to come back to this. She had known what she might face returning into Simmerman’s power. But now, looking at that cage again, Marin wasn’t sure that she had made the right choice. Without any explanation Marin was dragged from her cell and forced once more into the tiny cage. She grabbed the bars as she was lifted from the ground and carried from the dungeon. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Marin exclaimed to Simmerman who was walking alongside Marin’s cage, her voice sounding winded. “I didn’t even know she was gone! Besides, how could I have helped her escape? I never left my cell!” “Escaped did she?” Simmerman said out of the corner of his mouth. “That’s very interesting. I’ll have you expound on that theme once we are upstairs.” Marin was taken through the great hall. It was completely devoid of the usual people milling around. A strange feeling of disconcertment filled Marin’s stomach. What was going on? Where were the courtiers that Simmerman always had on hand to keep him company? Simmerman led the small troupe into the dark room that Marin had visited once before. It was here that Marin had been beaten and threatened. The dark feeling of foreboding in the pit of Marin’s stomach grew stronger. The man holding Marin’s cage set her down on the table. Simmerman peered into Marin’s cage.

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“How did she escape?” Simmerman asked, his voice short like the crack of a whip. “I don’t know that she did escape,” Marin said, shaking her head. “I just thought that if she wasn’t where you left her, then maybe she found a way to –” “I am warning you,” Simmerman cut her off violently. Marin could see every one of his large teeth as he spoke. “I am warning you that if you do not tell me the truth this very minute, you will sorely regret it. I know what frightens you.” Marin swallowed hard, taken aback. What did he mean by that? She shook her head. The important thing was to keep talking as though she knew nothing about the matter. “I don’t know anything,” Marin insisted. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” Simmerman straightened and gave a curt nod to the large man that had carried Marin’s cage. Marin felt herself being lifted and taken toward another corner of the room that had hitherto remained in the shadows. She sucked in her breath when she saw what was there. It was a large cubic pit built into the floor, just large enough for the entire cage in which Marin was being held to be lowered. Water filled the pit; the surface a few feet from the opening. Marin tried not to panic. “I don’t know anything,” she said, her voice beginning to shake. “I really don’t…” “We’ll see,” Simmerman said simply. He made a wave with his hand and the large man that had carried her cage grabbed the bars. There was a sickening splash and the man dropped Marin’s cage into the pool. He gave a push to the top of the cage. Marin watched in horror as water began to submerge first her feet and then her chest. She thought that she might faint when the water reached her chin.

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The man holding the cage gave a mighty push and pushed it under the water. Marin just managed to swallow a breath of air before she was forced under the water’s surface. She hung suspended in the water, flailing her arms, trying not to think about what was happening, trying not think about the slight pressure in her ears or the fact that she was quickly running out of air… When it felt as though her lungs were about to burst, the cage was suddenly lifted from the water and Marin sucked in as much air as her lungs would hold. She began to cough loudly. “Where is she?” Simmerman demanded again. Marin shook her head. “I will put you under again unless you tell me now where she is,” Simmerman threatened. “I don’t know where she is,” Marin choked, water dripping from her face and her eyes. She was shaking hard, trying not to think about the repulsive feel of the water in the pool. She tried to ignore the fear that he would put her back again, but it suffocated her. “Kimmick is gone too,” Simmerman barked, “and there were witnesses who saw him go down to the dungeons. What did you talk about?” Marin looked him in the eye. “He never came to talk to me,” Marin heard herself say. “Put her back in,” Simmerman said coldly. “No!” Marin exclaimed, feeling her cage being lifted once more toward the pool. There was the initial splash as the base of the cage hit the surface and cool water sloshed in around her legs. “No! Stop it!” Marin shouted. She tried to calm herself, but she could not do it. She closed her eyes in despair. Why could she not conquer this fear? She had thought that she had learned to control it when she had been down in the grotto and had retrieved the moon-

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sphere… “I’ll tell you where she is!” Marin said suddenly, as though she had just realized that this would make him stop. “Put her under,” Simmerman said acidly. “No!” Marin shouted again, but her cries were stifled as the water rushed up around her body. Marin pushed her nose up through the bars in the top of the cage gasping as the water enveloped her mouth, nose and eyes. Marin grasped at the bars and pulled with all her might, mad with fear. They did not budge. Several seconds passed. Marin let out the last of the air in her lungs and looked up. It did not seem as though the man was ever going to let her up. Was she going to die here, in this cage at Little Springs? Had she come this far only to be stopped now? Marin shook the bars once more and then felt her hands gently release the bars. Her arms stopped flailing and her feet stopped pushing off the bottom of the cage. Her eyes gently closed and she had the very strange sensation that she was falling asleep, but that she was keenly aware of it as it was happening. Without knowing how, Marin felt herself suddenly being thrown to the floor. She was out of the water now, choking and trying to breathe at the same time. She tried to get up, to see where she was, but everything looked as thought it would from a great distance. “Where is she?” Simmerman said, pulling her to her feet and throwing her against the wall. His eyes were like two bright lights. “I want you to answer me right now, because if you don’t, then I will personally drown you in that pool.” “She’s gone,” Marin burst out, water pouring from her ears, nose and mouth. “Kimmick took her away from here to people that will take care of her. To the Mykolians.”

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She breathed heavily for a few moments, feeling her wet hair fall against her face. She gave a soft laugh. “She’s gone and you’ll never get your hands on her again.” Simmerman stared Marin in the eye for a moment and then took a step back. He looked at the floor and then paced toward the window as though he expected to see Robin and Kimmick out in the distance. At last he turned around, a small smile on his face. “I’m glad that you’ve told me this,” Simmerman said, sweeping his long robe away from his feet. “Yes, I’m very glad because now I know exactly what I’m going to do. You’ve helped me make up my mind.” Marin said nothing. She watched him begin to pace again, a small smile growing on his face. “I have grown very tired of you,” Simmerman said, clasping his hands behind his back and turning once more toward Marin. He spoke very calmly as though they were discussing the weather. “You are insubordinate and extremely difficult to deal with. I was going to simply keep you in the dungeon, but I’m afraid your usefulness is now limited to only one thing that you can give me.” Marin’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?” “Your title,” Simmerman said. “After you give me that, you will die.” “What?” Marin stammered. “Serving Prince Esper has been the sum of my life,” Simmerman said as though he had not heard her. “From the time he was very small I fulfilled his every wish. I led his army for many, many years. “But the boy has grown up to be a stupid, foolish man. I saw it, but never really realized it until just recently. The boy tried to hide from me your identity. Once I discovered it, and happened upon Robin, I thought that I had everything figured out.”

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Marin glared at him. “It’s a shame that your sister is gone,” Simmerman said. “Now that your sister is no longer here, I suppose that I will be forced to marry you instead.” “You can’t marry me,” Marin said, her blood feeling like it was freezing in her veins. “Can’t I?” Simmerman said, a smile playing around his thin lips. “And if you did, I would make your life miserable,” Marin said, baring her teeth. “I don’t doubt that,” Simmerman said dryly. “But did I not just mention that there is no need for me to keep you alive after we are married? All I need is a ceremony and then an executioner and then I am the ruler of Mykolia.” Marin swallowed but her throat was dry. “It will have to be a grand ceremony,” Simmerman said dreamily, as though Marin was not present. “All the foreign dignitaries will be invited. Prince Esper too, of course, so he can understand the consequences of not trusting me.” Simmerman turned to the man that was still clutching Marin’s cage and waved toward Marin. “Take her upstairs and put her in a dress. She is about to take her rightful place as queen of Mykolia. She should start looking respectable.” “You don’t know the first thing about respectable,” Marin spat, as the man grabbed her arm and dragged her from the room. “Your company is delightful,” Simmerman said as she was taken away from him. “It’s a shame that I have just a week left to enjoy it.”

“He’s forcing me to marry him!” Marin exclaimed as Caron entered the room, bringing an armful of long

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dresses with her. Caron gave Marin a long look and then walked to the wardrobe, where she hung the dresses all up neatly in a line. “I said, he’s forcing me –” “I heard you,” Caron interrupted, turning from the wardrobe to face her friend. “What do you want me to do about it, Marin?” Marin blinked. She put a hand to her head and got up off the bed. She went to the window and stared out at the dark, rainy afternoon. “Things are bad, Marin,” Caron said. “Things are bad for all of us, not just for you.” “Then he’s said that he’s going to kill you too?” Marin snapped. “When was that going to happen? After he stole your title?” There was a silence. After a few moments, Caron came up to the window behind Marin. “He’s going to kill you?” “Forget it,” Marin said, shaking her head. “Forget I said that.” “Is he?” Caron demanded. “All he wants is to be king,” Marin said quietly. “After he marries me, then he won’t need me alive anymore. And he hates me. If he wanted me alive, I might have a chance, but…” Caron was quiet a moment. “He’s making elaborate preparations,” she said at last. “He’s had invitations sent to every important person I’ve ever heard of. He’s making this into a major event.” “There’s really nothing I can do, is there?” Marin whispered, tears filling her eyes. “He’s really won, hasn’t he?” Caron put her hand on Marin’s shoulder. “But King Alder – he’s coming for you, isn’t he?” A flicker of hope kindled inside Marin. The King was alive! She had nearly forgotten that!

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“Yes,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “Kimmick said that he’d sent a message, but…” Marin swallowed. “I don’t know how long ago that was. I don’t know if that was even true. He might get here. But he might not.” “He’ll make it,” Caron said staunchly. “You can’t know that,” Marin said. “No,” agreed Caron. “But it’s the only thing we’ve got to hold on to.” Marin gave Caron a long look. She had forgotten that others besides herself had had to suffer because of all that Simmerman had done to capture her. “I’m sorry about all of this,” Marin said forlornly. “We’ll get out,” Caron said. “We will.” Marin nodded and clasped Caron’s hand. Caron gave her a smile and then looked slightly uncomfortable. “What is it?” Marin asked. “I’m sorry, Marin, but I was sent here by Simmerman. He wants you down in the Great Hall with him. And he wants you nicely dressed.” “I am nicely dressed,” Marin said sourly, looking down at the long blue gown that she was wearing. Caron shook her head. “He had these dresses brought from the capital,” Caron said. “They are nicer than the one you’re wearing.” Marin sighed. “Don’t make him angry,” Caron pleaded. Marin gave her a long look. She wanted to tell Caron that making Simmerman angry was the only way that she could fight back against him now. She wanted to tell her that she couldn’t just give in and follow his every order. But seeing the sad, broken look on Caron’s face made her think twice before she spoke. “All right,” she said, standing. “I’ll put on one of his dresses.” Caron helped Marin into a long scarlet dress and

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brushed her long hair back behind her. Once she had braided it with gold ribbons, Caron handed Marin a mirror. Marin pushed it away. “I don’t care how I look,” she said. “I don’t care.” Caron took the mirror and set it on the bedside table. “You can go down,” she said without looking at Marin. Marin went to the door, and when Caron did not turn around, Marin closed the door behind her and started down the stairs. Marin took a deep breath, her stomach turning cartwheels inside of her as she took the stairs carefully one by one. She knew neither what she would find once she was down in the hall, nor did she know how she would react. The hall was relatively bare. There were a few guards posted at several of the doors to the hall. One of them approached Marin as she entered the room. “His Lordship is waiting for you in the library.” Marin stared at the guard as he pointed her toward a door at the far end of the hall. The guard nodded a quick bow to her and then returned to his post. Marin, frowning, pushed on the large wooden door, and let herself into the spacious library. Simmerman was sitting in a large tall-backed chair next to the fire, reading. The library was dimly lit, and shelves of books loomed high over Marin’s head, making her feel oddly surrounded. “You wanted me?” Marin said rather loudly. Simmerman looked up from his book and his mouth curled into a smile. “Ah, Marin, my dear. Please, have a seat.” “I’d rather not,” Marin said shortly. “What do you want?” The smile fell from Simmerman’s face. “Sit down,” he said in a hard voice. “Or what?” Marin said, snidely. “Or you’ll kill me?

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You must have realized that I can’t die until after our wedding. That one has lost its sting; you’ll have to try something else.” Simmerman’s features were like ice. “We have played this game before, and we have already discovered who is the most powerful. Sit down.” Marin took a deep breath and then walked to the chair opposite the odious man and sat. “What do you want?” Marin said again. “A great many things, the greatest of which you will be providing me in a very short amount of time,” Simmerman retorted. “Now keep your mouth shut until I ask you to speak.” Marin, only too happy to oblige, clamped her mouth shut and fixed Simmerman with a hate-stare. Simmerman looked down at the book he was reading and fingered a few of its pages. “I’ve always liked reading,” Simmerman said after a short pause. “I’ve always liked the feeling of power that it brought me. When I was very young, I thought that if I read every book that had ever been written, then I would know everything that there was to know. I thought things would come easily to me. The sorts of things, I mean, that come easily to you.” Marin stared at him. “I thought that I would be very powerful with my knowledge.” “But it hasn’t happened that way,” Marin said flatly. “No, it hasn’t,” Simmerman said, putting his book down on the table and leaning toward Marin. “Having many men at my command has made me powerful. Serving Alika and its prince has made me powerful. And those things I thought that books would teach me have served me very little.” “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” Marin said, hoping that the look on her face was one of boredom.

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“I’m telling you this because it has once again been confirmed to me that I am more powerful than your extraordinary capacities for arithmetic, ciphering and strategy will ever make you. I see once more how foolish my young dreams were.” “I don’t follow,” Marin said carefully. Simmerman gave her a nasty smile and reached into his pocket. He pulled a rolled message from his pocket and handed it to Marin. “Take it,” he said. Marin hesitantly reached out and took the message. “You want me to break the code,” she guessed. “Oh no,” Simmerman said. “There is nothing there to be decoded. Just a little note from one of my soldiers.” Marin frowned and looked down at the message. She slowly unrolled it and read what was written. INTERCEPTED KIMMICK AND GIRL JUST SOUTH OF

NUMAN. IN PURSUIT.

Marin went pale. “Numan?” This wasn’t according to plan at all. Kimmick had said that he would take her sister the fastest way out of Alika, which meant heading east, a route that should have taken them nowhere near Numan… Simmerman smiled cruelly. “Seems that perhaps Kimmick wasn’t the man to trust, doesn’t it? But I could have told you that. The man has only lived for his own promotion. He attaches himself to prominent people.” “There’s a mistake,” Marin said numbly. “You’re just trying to make me lose hope, and it won’t work.” “Lose hope? For what?” Simmerman scoffed. “Surely you don’t think that your sister will really get away? The entire army is in pursuit!” “Why are you telling me this?” Marin asked, feeling her cheeks burn red. “Because I want you to understand that I am in

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complete control of this situation,” Simmerman said, enunciating every word. Marin frowned furiously at him. “You don’t have to be on the losing end of this.” “What are you talking about?” Marin said. “Don’t fight me,” Simmerman said. “You have an opportunity to become the first queen, the most powerful queen of united Mykolia. We could be so much together.” “That’s very benevolent of you,” Marin said sarcastically. “And I suppose that in return I would only have to slavishly decode every message that ever crossed your path and obey your every order? Oh, and live with a monster? How tempting.” “You are throwing away an opportunity to become great,” Simmerman said in a hard voice. “I don’t want to become great!” Marin exclaimed, louder than she meant to. “All I want is for you to leave me and my sister alone!” “You have three days to reconsider,” Simmerman said, getting to his feet. “I’m willing to let you live.” Marin did not say a word. “Have a good evening,” Simmerman said, leaving her alone.

arin was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in the room. They rose up on every side of

her, pressing on her, jostling her. Her arms were held tightly by the two soldiers who stood at her sides. Another walked behind her, ready to jump into action should she somehow miraculously manage to get away from the men that held her in a vice-like grip. Late afternoon light was pouring into the enormous room and it fell on her face as she was pulled forward into the room. She was frightened, and did not make it easy for the men at her sides to move her forward. She knew that somewhere among all those people in the room, Simmerman was there, waiting for her with the man that would marry them. They would be married in front of all these people, all these dignitaries, and then she would most certainly be shuffled away in silence, taken down to that horrible room where she had been whipped and almost drowned, and there, she would be killed. She wore a long red dress, whose velvet covered many layers of lacy petticoats. Caron had helped her to dress, but she had done so in silence, not even looking at her friend. Both of them knew that there was really little to say. She would be marrying Simmerman, which would launch him into the most powerful position in the world and end with her death. There was a continuous murmur coming from the crowd, most of them likely disturbed by the fact that Marin was being forced to the front of the room. Few of them seemed to realize that Marin was actually Simmerman’s prisoner and not the object of his love, as he had likely tried to make them believe before inviting them to the castle to see the wedding. Marin’s mouth rested a straight line, her breathing hard, and her eyes fixed

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keenly in front of her. At last they reached the front of the room and Marin was pushed up against the odious Simmerman. She turned away in disgust as he put his richly coated hand on her arm. The men at her sides did not move away, which caused another round of murmuring in the room. Simmerman did not seem to be affected, however. He had a tight smile on his face that he turned at intervals on Marin. There was a silence as a darkly robed man came up before them, looming above them on the stand. He was already a tall man, and the stand he stood on made him seem even taller. He had little hair on his head and his scalp shone in the afternoon light. He wore a small pair of spectacles that he perched on his nose as he opened a large book and gazed down at Simmerman and at Marin. Marin wanted to scream as the man began to speak, but she knew that it would do no good. There was nothing she could do. “Charles Simmerman,” the man began in a strong low voice. “This is the woman that you have chosen to be your wife?” “Yes, it is,” Simmerman answered, his sharp voice resounding around the quiet hall. “And Marin Lindrine,” the man continued. “This is the man that you have chosen to be your husband?” Marin shivered. She shook her head violently. The crowd began once more to murmur in discontent. Marin immediately felt a hand grasp her right arm and an ugly voice whisper in her ear: “Say yes, or you lose your hand.” Marin caught a flash of silver out of the corner of her eye and faltered. They couldn’t make her do this. She began to sweat. But there seemed to be nothing she could do. She was condemned to marry this man. She was

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condemned afterwards to die. And then it came to her, as powerfully as a bolt of lightening from a clear sky. “Sir,” she said, calling up to the man who held the book. “I can’t answer your question.” “Why not?” the man asked, considering her through his spectacles. “Because,” Marin said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not Marin Lindrine!” There was a shout of outrage from the crowd. Immediately Marin was surrounded by people, well-dressed, well-born people who pulled away the soldiers at her side and isolated her from Simmerman’s men. “I order you to stop all this!” Simmerman roared. Very slowly, a silence fell. “I’m not Marin,” Marin snapped up at Simmerman, once she could be heard again. “You are a snake,” Simmerman retorted, coming toward her. “You stay where you are!” The order came from a young man who had practically materialized at her side, one of those that had taken her from the soldiers’ grasp. “This is my house, my domain,” Simmerman countered, his face red from anger. “I make the orders here.” “You can’t marry a girl under a name that is not hers,” the man retorted. He had a youthful face and smooth blond hair. Marin admired him at once. She gave him a nod of encouragement. “This is absolute nonsense,” Simmerman spat. “This girl is Marin Lindrine. There is no question about it! I can prove it!” “How, then?” the blond man shouted. Simmerman smiled in a very nasty way. “On her shoulder there is a mark. An ‘S.’ Any one of my men can attest that Marin Lindrine has this mark.” “A mark?” the man on the pedestal said, rubbing his

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forehead. “Dear me.” “It’s true!” several of Simmerman’s men cried out. “I was there when she got it!” “This is the girl!” The blond man turned and spoke to several next to him. It was impossible to hear what he said over the rush of conversation that was spilling from the crowd. At last, he turned to Marin. “Do you have this mark?” “I want you to look,” Marin said very slowly. “I want you to show them.” “If you think that sympathy will save you,” Simmerman said mockingly. “Your Highness, may I?” the blond man asked quietly, touching Marin’s shoulder. Marin stared, having forgotten that Elian had said it must now be common knowledge who she was. “Yes,” she said, her eyes shining. The man stepped behind Marin. “Which shoulder?” “The left,” Simmerman answered loudly. Very carefully, the man lifted Marin’s hair from her back and pulled down the fabric of the dress just enough to reveal a few inches of skin. “Sir, there is nothing!” Once again there was an outburst from the crowd. “That’s not possible!” Simmerman shouted, practically going mad with rage. “But there’s nothing,” said the blond man, shaking his head. Simmerman’s eyes looked red. “You traded places,” he spat, clearly making no effort to control his anger. “You and your rat of a sister traded places.” “That’s right, I’m Robin,” she shouted, “and I hate you. And Marin hates you even more!” “Silence! Silence!” Simmerman shouted, looking quite dangerous. He ran forward, tossing soldiers out of his way as he went, and seized Robin by the wrist,

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dragging her forward and throwing her into the grasp of one of his men. “Tie her hands!” Simmerman barked. “This marriage will go forward nonetheless!” The crowd had turned into a mob beginning to riot. “This is my domain!” Simmerman shouted above the clamor. “I will do as I please! Now give me order!” But the people in the crowd did not seem to have any inclination to follow Simmerman’s orders. They pressed forward. Robin could feel once more people pressing in on all sides of her. She felt suffocated, her hands bound before her, held by several men at once. Robin was upset. Upset enough, in fact, that tears were being shaken from her eyes as she was jostled about. And somewhere above the movement came once again Simmerman’s insane: “This marriage will go forward!” But then, there was another sound. It took several moments before Robin realized what it was. It was the clear metallic sound of a horn. Slowly, the noise in the room died down. Heads were turning toward the entrance to the hall, trying to make out whom or what had made the noise. Robin stood on her tiptoes and leaned forward, squinting across the room – “Simmerman! You will release her at once! This madness has gone far enough!” That voice… “So says who?” Simmerman retorted without hesitation. A pathway was being made in the center of the room as the people in the crowd pushed up against both sides of the hall. As the people cleared the way, Robin was able to peer down to the center of the room where a man stood, a horn in his hands, several brightly clad men surging into the room behind him. They were all wearing

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bright red hangings trimmed with silver embroidery. Robin fixed her eyes on the man and began to breathe very hard as she recognized him. She tried not to smile, but not smiling was futile. “So says Alder, the king of Mykolia,” the man answered, taking a step forward. There was an immediate hush in the room and many of the people in the room fell instantly to their knees. Others, with clear Alikan loyalty, stayed defiantly upright, folding their arms defensively in front of them. “The king of Mykolia,” Simmerman scoffed. “I don’t believe you received an invitation.” The king continued to walk toward the end of the room where Simmerman and Robin were standing. “You have no business here, Alder,” Simmerman snapped. There were cries of dismay at the familiar and disrespectful use of the king’s first name. “I see that you don’t understand what is happening,” the king said. “So let me speak in terms you can understand. Your army has been defeated. You are powerless. Prince Esper has renounced you as his general. You are without connection. I could defeat you now, and believe me, that is something I have wanted to do since the day I met the girl that you branded so cruelly. But I am going to give you an out. Let the girl go and survive this day.” “Or what?” Simmerman demanded. The king shrugged. “Or we take her back anyway and kill you.” “Your threats will do you no good –” “These are no threats,” the king interrupted sharply. “This is a chance for you to leave this alive.” Simmerman seemed slightly rattled. “The joke is on you, your Highness,” he said after a slight pause. “This is not Marin, the girl you harbored up in your castle and even, I am told, grew affectionate toward. The two switched places –”

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“I know exactly what happened,” the king said in a hard voice. “I have known for a long time. Please don’t embarrass yourself by revealing that you only now were let into the secret.” “How could you know?” Simmerman scoffed mockingly. There was a movement among the soldiers in the room and out from their shiny ranks stepped a girl, dressed just like a soldier, clad head to foot in bright silver armor. “Marin,” Simmerman cried out. Robin gave a smile of triumph. “I told him everything,” Marin said, fire in her eyes. “He knows everything you did to me. Everything you did to us.” “Your reign of horror is over,” King Alder said. “We defeated your army before coming here to take care of you. You will surrender to the crown, now.” Simmerman made a sudden dive for Robin, who simultaneously bolted away from him. Her dress flapped loudly against her legs as she pushed through the crowds of lords and ladies around her. Simmerman was too quick, however, and closed his fingers around Robin’s wrist, yanking her backwards. The room erupted into chaos. Nobles and foreign dignitaries were running in every direction, some charging toward the door, others drawing their swords, ready to defend themselves from those that threw themselves across their paths, few taking the time to determine who was friend and who was foe. The Mykolian soldiers that had come pouring into the room were attempting to subdue those of Simmerman’s men who had suddenly come alive and were waving long thick swords in the direction of anyone who appeared to be on the side of King Alder. King Alder, meanwhile, had drawn his own sword and was pressing through the anarchy, cutting his way

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through those of Simmerman’s soldiers who had thrown themselves at him. He searched desperately for Simmerman and over the heads of the mob spotted him at the far corner of the room dragging the girl in red along behind him. “I’m going to lead a party through the rest of the castle and secure it,” Lord Josiah shouted as he rushed past the king. “Very good!” King Alder shouted back, parrying a hard blow from an opposing soldier as he spoke. “I’m going with him!” It was Marin who had spoken, looking stalwart and tall in her shiny silver armor. She held a light sword in one hand and had pulled a red cap up over her long hair. “Stay with Lord Josiah,” King Alder warned, pushing a soldier off of him. “Don’t worry about me, you old goose,” the girl shouted back merrily. King Alder shook his head and watched her go. She ran after Lord Josiah, toward the opposite door, overwhelmed by the sheer insanity of everything that was happening in the room. In one corner she could see that torches were being pulled from the walls and used as clubs on opposing heads. In another she could see… She stopped and squinted. It was Simmerman with her sister. He was trying to pull her from the room. “Lord Josiah,” she shouted, grabbing the noble’s arm. “What is it?” Lord Josiah asked over the din. “Simmerman’s taking my sister!” “Where is she?” Lord Josiah asked, his eyes darting over the occupants of the room. “There!” She pointed to the opposite end of the room where Simmerman had a hold of Robin. “Let me go!” Robin was shouting, kicking Simmerman hard in the shins. Simmerman let out a shriek of pain and released

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Robin’s wrist. Robin’s eyes danced desperately around her, searching for something, anything with which to defend herself. But Robin was suddenly grabbed from behind and thrown against the wall, dazing her. “This is not a game,” she heard Simmerman shout at her as she held her pinned against the wall. She opened her eyes and saw Simmerman’s angry face reddening behind the stars floating in front of her eyes. He yanked her from the wall and once again seized her wrist and pulled her toward the door. “Let me go!” Robin shouted again, regaining coherency. She was about to aim another well-aimed kick at her tormentor when Simmerman suddenly stopped. “You’re not leaving,” a voice said, in front of them. Robin ran around Simmerman so that she could see who had spoken and smiled. It was King Alder. “I don’t think all your guests have had the chance to wish you well,” the king said sardonically. “It would be terribly rude for you to run away from them before they have an opportunity to congratulate you.” Simmerman did not answer. Instead, he whipped a knife from his belt and, throwing a hand around Robin’s waist, pulled her up against him, leveling his dagger at her throat. “If I killed her now,” Simmerman said, his face still red, “you might at last realize that I am not going to play games with you.” “Or I might not,” the king said, his voice steady. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his face. The sight before him made him feel quite ill. The thing to do, he told himself, was to speak softly and cajole him into releasing the girl. “Both of these girls have caused me more trouble than I could ever have expected,” Simmerman hissed. “Then perhaps you never should have attempted to

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destroy their lives,” the king returned, taking a step toward the angry general. “Not one step,” Simmerman spat. The king stopped where he was. He sheathed his sword and showed his empty hands. “What do you want?” he said wearily. “Something,” Simmerman said very distinctly, “that is not yours to give,” There was a look in his eyes that quite frightened the king. Alder looked in horror as Simmerman suddenly drew his dagger sharply and deliberately across the girl’s throat. There was a flash of silver and then of red, a cry and then she crumpled to the floor. Alder saw it happen as though time itself had slowed. Forgetting all else, he gave a sharp cry and flew to the spot where the girl had fallen. Simmerman seemed to have fled, but Alder wasn’t sure. He had eyes for nothing except the broken, bleeding girl on the floor, dying before his eyes. He scooped her up in his arms and then collapsed on the floor next to her, crying like a baby. “Your Highness!” He felt arms around him, heard the voice of Lord Josiah, felt that there was something urgent around him that needed to be resolved, but that suddenly felt so unreal, so unimportant now that this girl had been killed. But the shock that seemed to slow time existed only in his mind. Around him, things were still in motion, the room still in utter chaos. Marin, took in the same scene, but for her, it happened all in the blink of an eye. It took just a second for her to launch into motion. Without hesitating even one second, her eyes red with fury and determination, she scooped the dagger up off the floor where Simmerman had dropped it and barreled headlong for the man who had killed her sister.

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Blind with anger, she reached him before he had even guessed she was near him. With a brutal cry she slammed him into the wall and with a stiff wrist deftly plunged the dagger into his chest. Simmerman froze, immobile with pain. He blinked once, and then looked up at Marin, still holding the knife that was lodged in his chest. A smirk flicked across his face as he looked at her. “How appropriate that you were the one to kill me,” he gasped out slowly. There was a ghostly trace of blood appearing on his lips that made Marin want to turn away. She tightened her grip on the dagger, however and fixed her face. “You’re not the winner” he coughed, splattering Marin with blood. “I killed Robin. I killed your sister!” “You fool,” the girl said, trembling with violent rage. “You did not kill Robin. I am Robin.” With that, she pulled the knife from his body and left him to slump down against the wall, eyes wide with shock, dead. “Robin!” Lord Josiah shouted from a few feet away. He was bent over the king, who held a very still Marin in his arms. Robin turned from the man that she had just killed, looked at him, and then numbly stared out into the room. In a nightmarish sort of way, it had calmed somewhat now. The nobles who had come to attend the wedding had all either submitted themselves to the Mykolian soldiers, or else had been chased from the castle. The red-clad soldiers strode around the hall, trying to restore order as best they could. Robin dropped the knife and walked over to the king and Lord Josiah, who immediately stood and put an arm around her, leading her away from what little she could see of her sister. “Marin’s dead,” Lord Josiah said very quietly. “There’s nothing you can do.”

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She wanted to protest, but instead, Robin nodded, even though everything was very wrong. She squeezed her hands into tight fists and recalled that she had just destroyed the man that had killed her sister. The thought did not make her feel any better. This plan had been Marin’s plan. Marin had wanted Robin to be the one to get away from Simmerman first. Marin had thought that she could somehow survive the time until the king’s army came, as she had said it would, to rescue her. Marin had been wrong. Robin wanted to say all this, but couldn’t find the words. “The king loved her,” Lord Josiah said in almost a whisper. “I thought he should have a moment with her before everyone else discovers what has happened.” Robin looked back over her shoulder at the king holding her sister in his arms and then quickly looked away, turning to the scene of madness quietly coming to its deadening close.

Alder did not say a word. It was as though his throat, his lungs and his mouth had all frozen. His eyes were riveted on the face of the girl in his arms, her eyes slightly open and still tinged with shock. Alder suppressed a sob and slowly reached up and closed her eyes. His fingers lingered on her lids a few moments and he let his hands trace the curves in her face. Her hair was ruffled; he tried to smooth it as best he could. Whether he was alone or surrounded by people, he did not know. He could not take his eyes from her pale face. The long river of blood that had surged from her neck was stemmed by his handkerchief that he had pressed there in haste, but there were still glistening

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stains on her cheeks that seemed savage in comparison to the whiteness of her face. He knew not how long he sat there with her. Time too seemed to have stood still for him as he cradled the lifeless Marin in his arms. How he had loved her! And he had been so close to saving her. If only he could go back and change this moment… He clutched his fists in anger at himself. He who could make the plants spring forth from the earth was helpless now in the face of the death of the one person he loved more than any other. “Your Highness.” Alder did not look up. He tightened his grip on Marin’s body. “Your Highness, night has fallen. You must get up and eat something. Then you should get some rest.” It was Lord Josiah who had spoken. “I’m not hungry,” Alder said. “I will not be separated from her.” Lord Josiah gave a sigh. “Let us at least clean her.” “I won’t leave her,” Alder repeated in a hard voice. “Bring her with us, then,” Lord Josiah said quietly. “Let us leave this place.” Alder felt the noble kneel at his side and pull Marin away from him. There was a sudden cold that penetrated him as she was lifted away. “Come,” Lord Josiah said. “Let us find a room for her.” Alder followed closely on the heels of Lord Josiah as he carried the girl out of the now deserted hall and into a smaller bedroom up a long flight of stone stairs. He felt strangely detached form the scene as he watched the fair-headed girl that was in the room let out a shriek when she saw Marin’s body, Lord Josiah try to quiet the girl and send her from the room and the man who had accompanied them up the stairs set a bucket full of water on the floor and began to wash the blood from Marin’s

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arms. “I wish to be alone,” Alder said loudly. The two men turned their heads and looked at him. “I will finish that,” Alder said, heading off their protests. “Please. Leave me.” Lord Josiah looked at the other man and the two gave short nods and left the room. Alder felt Lord Josiah’s hand on his shoulder as he left the room. The men closed the door behind them. The room was dark, lit only by a single candle sitting on a nearby bedside table. He knelt slowly at the side of the bed, and then very slowly began to clean the body. After he had finished, he placed the discarded stained dress on a chair and slipped a white gown over her thin frame. He laid her gently back on the bed and once more attempted to smooth her hair. Now, except for the ugly jagged line at her throat, she looked peaceful and still. Unable to resist, he reached up and took her head in his hands. Her face felt terribly cold under his warm hands, but he held them there, almost as though he were warming her from a chilly breeze. After a few moments, Alder felt overwhelmingly tired. He let his hands fall to his sides and he began to cry.

Her eyes flickered for a moment and then she opened them. It was dark. There was no light but for the strange whitish glow slanting toward her from one direction. She thought for a moment that it must be her mother again, since that was what the light reminded her of. But as she sat up, she saw that the light was not coming from a person. It was coming from a window. She looked around and saw that she was back in the room that Simmerman had given her. She was in Little

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Springs, then. She sat up very slowly and got to her feet. The ground was cold, and she was wearing just a thin gown. She shivered momentarily and then went to the window from whence the light was coming. There was a bright white object in the sky that reminded her of the sun. She smiled at it, a strong warmth coming over her as she gazed at it. It was the moon. She knew it, inexplicably, just looking at it, and at that moment, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She turned from the window and noticed that there was something on the floor near the bed. She picked it up and examined it. It was a dark-colored dress. She squinted at it, and then she remembered that she had worn it when Simmerman had forced her to marry him. “Marin.” All was very still. She looked up and saw, there in one corner of the room, a man coming toward her. He looked as though he had been sleeping for some time. As he got closer, she realized that she knew him. She gave him a smile. “Marin,” The man’s eyes were wide and his arms hung down in fatigue at his side. But those eyes were bright. She knew them. She loved them. She fell into his arms and kissed him. He was crying. Smiling, clearly very happy, but crying. “Marin,” he said again through his sobs, “how can this be?” “Marin,” she repeated with a strange smile. “Is that my name? It doesn’t seem right, somehow.” The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Don’t you remember?” She looked out the window at the moon and then back at the man.

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“Alder,” she said excitedly, as though waking suddenly from a dream. A small smile grew on her face. “Alder, I know everything!” Alder’s face broke out into a wide smile and he kissed her again. Marin laughed. “I don’t understand,” Alder said, wiping tears from his eyes with a joyful expression plastered over his face which had a sudden youthful glow to it. “I don’t understand how this happened.” “I came back to you,” Marin said, walking with Alder over to the bed. The two sat down together and grasped hands. “But, the moon,” Alder said, pointing with one hand. “You did it. I mean, you succeeded and…there it is!” Marin laughed. “Yes, I did. You guided me to it, Alder.” “Did I?” Alder said, a bemused smile on his face. “Yes,” Marin said. How strange it must be for him to not understand how this all had worked together. She would have to tell him. Sometime. Not now. “But that should have taken your immortality,” Alder pressed. “As soon as we finish our tasks, we become mortal and –” “I did become mortal,” Marin said. “At least, I think I did. I felt slightly different after I put the moon in the sky. Weaker. More tired. Less alive.” “Then how can it be that you are here now?” Alder asked. “Alder,” Marin said slowly. “Don’t you feel any different?” Alder looked at her in confusion for a moment and then away as his eyes grew large as saucers. “Me?” Alder said in a hoarse voice. “I…” “You called me back somehow,” Marin said, her

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eyes reflecting the moonlight. “That was your last task. You have spent so long keeping the green of the earth alive. Now you have finished in giving the last of it to me.” She paused and then: “I don’t think the trees will need you anymore.” Alder looked at his hands, his eyes still wide. Marin grabbed his wrist and he turned his eyes on her. Marin broke into a wide grin. “We did it, don’t you see?” Alder threw his arms around her neck and kissed her again.

ut how to explain such a story to all those who were, without a doubt, burning with curiosity to know how

things had happened? It was easy enough for Marin and Robin to excitedly tell how they had duped Alfred Kimmick into thinking that the two of them were trading places, when really, Robin had been the one that had left Little Springs with the treacherous servant and Marin had stayed in her own cell. The two told their story over the fire on the long march back to Prestani. “It was so hard to remember that I was you,” Robin said, yanking off a bite of meat from the drumstick she was holding. “He kept asking me things about you, about us,” she added shaking her head. “Like: ‘do you think that your sister is jealous of your abilities?’ I had to remember very hard that I was you before I answered.” There was laughter from the entire group. “But he found out eventually?” Alder said, a large smile still on his face. “No,” Robin said, “I had to tell him! Boy, was it a shock for him.” “I have to admit,” Lord Josiah said, his mouth greasy from the steaming meat. “When you came barreling into camp, I could have sworn that it was Marin. You two look amazingly alike.” “Yes,” Marin broke in. “How did that all work out? You ran into Simmerman’s army, didn’t you?” “Yes,” Robin said. “But at that very moment, Rosings’ men from Homed appeared and attacked. They were distracted and I got away.” “It seems as though the men from Homed were

B

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destroyed by Simmerman’s men before the Alikans crossed our path,” Alder said, the firelight dancing weirdly on his face. “We didn’t see any sign of them ourselves.” But it was much harder to answer such questions as: “But your mark? Where did your mark go?” How could you explain that when you had put the moon in its proper place, (and why would they believe that you had anything to do with the strange glowing body that so mysteriously had suddenly appeared in the sky?) a feeling of white-hot fire permeated your body, inside and out, removing all impurities and all physical defaults? And should you keep quiet when you know the answer to the question everyone asks night after night when they see that new things they have heard to be called a moon up above them there where there used to be only stars? But who would believe? Even as Marin followed Alder who rushed through the corridors of Little Springs that first night, banging on the doors and shouting joyfully that she was alive, Marin could not help but wonder how anyone would ever understand. “I don’t understand it,” Lord Leptum said, looking very troubled with the wrinkles around his eyes thrown open into wide ellipses. “How can this be?” Even if they didn’t voice it out loud, Marin knew that this was the question on the minds of all that jumped out of their rooms to see for themselves that she was not dead. They had left Little Springs early the next day, all of them heading for Prestani. The sky was bright, but it was cloudy, and the sun only lit up the clouds, never breaking through them. “Marin,” Robin said, riding up next to her sister. “How are you?”

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“Fine,” Marin shrugged. Marin turned to see her sister looking at her in a very peculiar way. “What is it?” Marin asked, feeling suddenly strange. “You were dead, Marin,” Robin burst out after a short pause. She brushed her hair back from her face in frustration. “I saw you get killed with my own eyes. You were dead.” Marin frowned and looked just ahead of her mare. “Marin, there’s something going on that I don’t understand,” Robin insisted. “You can pretend that you were just badly hurt, or…something, with the others. But really, Marin, I’m confused. I really just want to know.” Marin swallowed hard and looked in front of her, feeling the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves on the ground below her. At last she turned and fixed her sister with a penetrating look. “All right,” she said. “First of all, you should know that Rosings is our father.” Robin did not say a word. After a short pause, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “I know,” Marin said with a sigh. “It’s horrible. He told me himself before he tried to…” Marin stopped. How could she tell her sister things that had happened in a strange sort of time that now, never had existed? “Before he tried to what?” Robin demanded, a frown crossing her face. Marin swallowed hard again. “Listen,” she said. “This is going to sound incredible –” “It had better, if it can explain why you’re alive now after you died,” Robin said flatly. Marin gave a weak smile. All that morning and most of the afternoon, she told her sister how the quest to decode the manuscript had let her know at last who she was and what she had to do. She told her about Alder and how the two of them had been part of something much

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larger than she had ever imagined, something so big that it had changed the course of their lives, of the lives of all their friends, forever. “What do you mean you were a part of it?” Robin asked, frowning. “Well, we’ve both lost our immortality – at least for here and now,” Marin said. “Now we just live our lives like any other person. We’ll grow old and die just like everyone else.” Robin looked like she wanted to laugh. “What?” Marin demanded. “I’m telling the truth! Look, I didn’t want to tell you, because I knew you wouldn’t understand, but it’s the truth, and I –” “Calm down!” Robin said, her eyes widening at the tirade. “I believe you. I mean, it’s the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard, but somehow, coming from you, I believe it.” “Then why are you grinning?” “Because I know something you don’t know,” Robin said playfully. “What’s that?” It was nightfall and the two had long since fallen behind the others, absorbed in their conversations. After a few minutes they had found the others again and dismounted from their horses. Robin handed the reigns of her horse to a man that walked by, waiting to take care of the animals for the night and trotted up beside her sister. “You won’t believe it,” Robin said, a wide grin spreading over her face. “I’ll believe it,” Marin said without a smile. “My own story is so wild –” “This is wilder,” Robin said fervently, turning toward a small group of trees and running toward them. “What?” Marin called after her. She followed her sister excitedly into the dark little grove. “What is it?”

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Robin’s face was outlined with the moonlight that was filtering through the trees. She still had an impish grin on her face. “What is it?” Marin demanded again. “I’m Marin,” Robin said simply. Then she laughed. “What?” Marin said, thinking that Robin had lost her mind. “What…what do you mean?” Surely Robin had not suddenly become truly confused after all the switching that they had done. “We…we switched places so that Kimmick…” “I know, you idiot,” Robin said, not laughing anymore. “Listen to me. I am Marin! Your name is Masina.” Marin felt her insides do a funny sort of dance. “Masina?” she repeated. “But that’s you! Elian told me that our names were Marin and Masina, and Mr. Rosings said that he would have named me something else to, but he forgot and called me by my real name, after the incident at sea–” “No, no, no,” said Robin, her eyes shining. “I’m Marin. Rosings…or, Dad, I guess – gosh, that sounds terrible – called you Marin because he thought you were me!” “But why –” “Well, he couldn’t just cart twins across the country and hide them well in Rivental if they were carrying the names they were born with.” “But what I mean is…” Marin said, feeling lightheaded suddenly. “Rosings–” “Dad,” Robin cut in with a smirk. “Not a chance,” Marin snapped. Robin guffawed loudly. “Anyway, how could he mistake me for you? He told me that he tested me. You know, to make sure that I was the one that could do the math problems and stuff. He accidentally said my name and so he couldn’t change it–”

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“No!” Robin said, her cheeks very pink. “He got the wrong twin.” Marin shook her head. “But how? He was our father. And he knew about what I could do with numbers before he left our mother for Sandhill! He couldn’t have made a mistake.” “Oh no?” Robin said, her voice suddenly hard. “And why is that?” “Come off it,” Marin said sourly. “You can’t –” “Can’t calculate sixty-four times eighty-nine in my head? Well, let’s see here, it wouldn’t happen to be fifty-six hundred ninety-six?” Marin’s mouth went dry. “Are you saying…” “That I can do what you can do, only I didn’t broadcast it to the world? Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been saying.” Marin looked as though Robin had just cut down one of the trees they stood in and hit her over the head with it. Robin touched Marin’s elbow. “Look,” she said. “Once they discovered what you could do, no one really cared about me. They just assumed I’d be different. Dumber, I guess. Besides, with everyone focusing on you, nobody cared about me.” “But you can do all that number stuff too?” Marin asked, not able to wrap her mind around what Robin was telling her. “And code breaking –” “No,” Robin admitted. “I can’t do that. I haven’t got the training or the experience.” “But Rosings gave me that,” Marin said. “He might have given the same thing to you if he had known…” “He might,” Robin said grimly. “And then I would have been in as high demand as you.” “But it didn’t matter did it?” Marin said softly. “You were pulled into this just the same.” ‘I know,” Robin said, straightening suddenly. “Makes me wish that I had gotten some fame at least for

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being a walking abacus.” Marin laughed. “So in short, he thought you were me, called you Marin, and then changed my name – although it was your name, you understand – from Masina to Robin.” “How did you find this out?” Marin asked. “I read his letters,” Robin said. “See, it paid to be suspicious of him.” “His letters?” Marin said in confusion. “But if he didn’t even know, how could you –” “It wasn’t clear at first,” Robin said confidently. “He wrote about how great your skills were and how they would bring him to power. He called you Marin, of course. Then he wrote about how I wasn’t quite as good - that made me mad, since I knew I could do it - but he called me Masina. I was very confused. I didn’t understand at first. I thought that Masina might be my real name. And then, I remembered that it wasn’t my name. It was yours.” “Why didn’t you say anything to me?” Marin asked, a bit hurt. “Like you would have listened,” Robin scoffed. “You thought Rosings was like a god.” Marin looked away. She knew Robin was right. No wonder Robin had distrusted him so much. “Did you know all the time, then, who you really were?” “No,” Robin said. “I knew Rosings had gotten our names mixed up, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. The man was stupid. That’s all. Besides, I never wanted to be Marin.” Marin looked down and laughed. “But just a little while ago, back when I thought you were dead – or, when you were dead, I guess, I remembered everything. I remembered Mom. I remembered Rosings. I remembered growing up with them, I remembered Rosings leaving her. I remembered

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the palace, I remembered Mom getting the message that her husband still was alive, I remember the attack on the ship, everything. I knew very certainly then that I wasn’t Robin at all. I remembered that I was Marin.” Marin felt as though her throat had turned to dust. “What is it?” Robin asked. “She said that I would remember,” Marin said softly. “When I saw her in the pool in the alcazar, she said that one day I would remember everything.” Robin paused. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “maybe this was how it was going to happen. I remember, Marin. I can tell you everything. I will, too. Once we get back to the palace.” “You know,” Marin said after a pause. “I don’t know if I’m really Rosings’ kid at all.” She squared her shoulders. “So –” “Come off it,” Robin scoffed. “Are you going to tell me that you think I should take the throne, since I’m the ‘natural’ child?” “Well…” Marin shrugged. “You needn’t bother,” Robin cut her off. “Since if you remember correctly, Marin is the oldest.” It was true. “I can’t believe this,” Marin said with a grin. “All along you were the heir, with the same abilities I had –” “And you were the moon-goddess whom no one would have cared about had they known about me,” Robin finished with a wry smile. Marin smiled back with a laugh. “Something like that.” “I think I have those abilities because of you,” Robin said contemplatively. “We were in the womb together for awhile, you know. Maybe all Elian’s tree-magic or whatever that conceived you sort of rubbed off on me.” “Maybe,” Marin said. “But remember, our mother was Alena. She would have been full of some sort of water-power stuff herself.”

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Robin smiled. “Yeah. Well, anyway…” The two began to walk toward the clearing where they could see flickering patches of campfire light. “Don’t worry about losing the throne,” Robin said suddenly. “I’ll make you a duchess.” “You wouldn’t dare,” Marin said with a growl. Robin must have understood that Marin’s growl had been playful, but still she threw Marin a confused glance. “I’ve had enough of castles and palaces,” Marin said with a smile. They walked toward the largest fire where Alder and the others were sitting. Alder got to his feet and held out his hands to Marin. She realized as she looked at him that he would no longer be king. Marin smiled. “I’ve really had enough.”

Once they got back to the palace at Prestani Marin and Robin wasted no time in telling the Council of Lords about their true identities. Everyone was shocked, and Alder squeezed Marin’s hand very tightly as she told everyone present that she freely relinquished the crown and that there was no need to hold any sort of inquisition into Robin’s claims. It was decided that Robin would be crowned within the next week. Marin and Alder stayed around the palace until the coronation, participating in the festivities and celebration of the event. Robin, with her sharp wits and bright, out-going character would make a fine ruler for Mykolia. Everyone knew it. After Robin was crowned, she wasted very little time in putting Lord Keene in prison for his treachery and hunting down Mr. Rosings, who, it turned out, was on his way back to what was left of Sandhill, having heard that the Mykolian army had defeated their Alikan oppressors and were now heading back to Prestani with Marin and

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Robin in tow. There was a trial, and Robin herself was able to present evidence that Mr. Rosings had been plotting against Mykolia, against his own country. He was found guilty of treason and of the death of Patrick and several others that had been in his employ. He too was escorted off to prison, speaking neither to Marin nor to Robin as he was taken away. The court was told as much as it was deemed that they would be able to believe of the amazing story of Marin, Alder and Robin. They said nothing of Alder’s or Marin’s fantastic destinies or of how Marin had somehow been brought back to life. And as to where Marin had been during the time that she was presumed dead, Marin never spoke a word to anyone, not even to Alder or Robin, except at one moment when it had become apparent that Elian was missing. “He’s with my mother,” she said simply. “She took him to be with her. They loved each other and now things are as they should be.” “You know,” Robin said to Marin one night after everyone else had gone to bed. “I’ve decided to move court to Kenyon.” “Really?” Marin said, raising an eyebrow. “Miss the ocean?” Robin smiled. It was strange how different she looked dressed in a flowing green dress and bedecked with flashing jewels. She looked more like Marin than like the boyish athletic Robin Marin had grown up with. “No,” Robin said. “I…I decided that Prestani belongs to Alder. You two will need someplace to live. Someplace of your own.” Marin smiled. “That’s nice of you,” she said, “but like I told you –” “I know, you’re done with palaces and positions,” Robin said with a hint of exasperation in her voice. “But

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your children may someday want someplace to call their own.” “Why would my children have anything to do with Prestani?” Marin asked innocently. “Ha ha,” Robin said, drinking deeply from her silver goblet. “As though you aren’t going to marry Alder.” And, of course, marry him Marin did. The two enjoyed a festive wedding given in Prestani, an event that was well-attended by all their friends and many foreign dignitaries as well. When the two joined hands and were married by Lord Josiah, Marin felt a strange sort of warmth grow up through her that reminded her strangely of when she had held the moon-sphere in her hands. But when Alder kissed her deeply and everyone applauded, she thought no more of it. After the ceremony there was dancing, food, music and laughter. Alder and Marin reveled together in it with their friends, and then quietly retreated to the empty rooms of the palace where all their things lay packed in large oak trunks. Marin smiled at Alder as she looked around the room that had for so long been her new husband’s. Just like that day that she had burst in though the window to translate the manuscript that had pointed her to her destiny, she felt a strange buzz of excitement flow through her. “What are you thinking?” Alder whispered in her ear. He wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her neck. “I’m just happy,” Marin said, turning toward him and kissing him briefly. “Happy to be with you.” Marin looked down and there, in Alder’s outstretched hands, was a small sprig of holly. Marin looked questioningly at Alder. “It just grew there,” Alder said with a smile. “When we kissed after we were married.”

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“But I thought that you couldn’t –” “It’s strange,” Alder said contemplatively. “Holding your hand, I somehow found a last bit of strength…I couldn’t help it.” Marin took the sprig and kissed it and set it on her trunk. The two looked at each other, understanding. “It’s time,” Marin said simply. At the gates of the palace, Marin kissed Robin, who looked suspiciously as though she would like to cry, hugged Lord Josiah, patted Caron’s hand and embraced all those that she had come to love at Prestani, Sandhill and across Mykolia. Then the two were rushed away in a carriage, waving happily to the many that had come to wish them well. And then they were gone. They disappeared into the dark, the lantern hanging inside the carriage the only light that indicated when they had at last vanished into the trees. The years passed, and far away from Prestani, far away from where Robin, now Marin the Valiant, held court at Kenyon, Alder and Masina lived hidden deep in the shelters of the forest. The days were busy and long, each filled with laugher, love, work and play. But when the children were put to bed (twins, both with temperaments that reminded Masina of her own twin) Masina and her husband would leave the house and walk calmly through the fragrance of the foliage that felt each day more and more like home. And always, there, under the tallest tree in the forest, the two would look deep into each others eyes and read things that only they would ever understand. Then Masina would push back the hood to her long cloak and kiss her darling husband. And somehow, by a power neither of them really understood, a small holly sprig would appear in Alder’s hand. And far, far above them, the moon shone down,

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lighting their skin, the tree, the ocean, and all of Mykolia.