LOUISE'S AMULET | Chapter 25: Our Strongest Card
Charlie woke several times during the night. In his dreams, the Emperor’s inquisitor tortured him with red-hot iron. Men carrying torches drowned him in the river after stuffing him into a sack weighed down with stones. Then the minstrel dreamed of something even worse — a gigantic dragon with black scales and savage yellow eyes. The monster dwarfed even lord Zarmian, and, more importantly, it could wield magic. One beat of its immense wings, and the world sank into darkness, swallowed by it forever.
Charlie had not vanished, and that should have comforted him. By all appearances, his double had lied. Or perhaps he had simply tried to find a rational explanation for things no sane person could ever truly accept or understand.
Gilaneris rejected Kirill’s theory outright. To the elf, everything came back to the Everlasting, some sort of “reflection in a shard,” magic, and mirrors. Charlie did not argue. More than anything, he wanted to believe his friend. Besides, he was exhausted beyond measure — his thoughts had become sluggish and tangled, like flies drowning in honey.
But that had been yesterday. Today there was only one fly circling endlessly inside his head. No matter how many times Charlie checked his pulse, no matter how fiercely he tried to convince himself that he was not someone’s fantasy, like a horned rabbit, his mind kept returning to the coincidences.
That was why he had dreamed of the dragon. No omens of fate, no hidden meanings this time. Everything was obvious enough without them. The sky lord had appeared at far too convenient a moment, carrying them to the very tavern where both the duke’s men and Agnes had gathered — the same Agnes without whom there would never have been a portal to the parallel world in the first place. Everything had fallen into place too neatly, too perfectly, as though someone had written it into a score.
“You’re not listening to me.”
Breeze’s unusually stern voice yanked Charlie out of the whirlpool of his thoughts. The minstrel lowered his eyes beneath the young elf’s sharp gaze, a gaze that seemed to see far deeper than it ought to.
“I am, I am...” Charlie muttered, desperately trying to remember why Breeze had gathered them once again in the house beside the stables. “I just didn’t get enough sleep...”
The missing memories quickly slipped back into place. The picture they formed was anything but encouraging.
He was going to have to deceive a stranger all over again.
“Then let’s go over it once more. What exactly are you going to tell her?” the elf asked insistently. “How did you supposedly find out that there’s no magic in the parallel world?”
“Right... just a second...” The minstrel pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to focus. It was hard enough to concentrate on practical matters when he still did not fully understand why he had to go and humble himself before Camilla. “Well... Here’s how it goes. For two months straight I kept dreaming about a horseless carriage — the very one we saw. And Ed. At first it frightened me, but I got used to it... The dreams never stopped, so I decided I might as well talk to Ed. I became curious about what made the carriage move — whether it was magic. Ed laughed, because magic is... just children’s fairy tales.”
“A half-truth should be enough...” Gilaneris sighed. “But pull yourself together, brother. You look as though you spent the whole night running from pursuers.”
Charlie shuddered involuntarily. Gilaneris had said exactly the opposite of what Dietmar once had.
“Half-truths aren’t enough for them.” The sorcerer had warned him to stay away from elves who had lived for more than a thousand years and seek out someone younger instead. Breeze was seven hundred, yet he was anything but foolish. Only a truly clever man would pretend to be weak and simple-minded. He had admitted himself that he concealed his real abilities whenever Camilla was around.
But what if the elven woman whose judgment Dietmar trusted had been leading him by the nose? Or perhaps she had casually remarked that the young understood nothing about life, and the sorcerer... had taken her words far too literally?
“Charlie, forget about it already,” Gilaneris began singing the same old tune. “Your double scrambled your wits, but he doesn’t know how things really work. His world is nothing more than our world reflected in a shattered mirror.”
Well, it must be nice never having to doubt, the minstrel thought, once again envying the elf.
If only he possessed that kind of unwavering faith in his own god. Everything would be so simple — you were being guided, watched over, loved... You had not been created by accident, not in some feverish impulse, not for no reason at all. But Charlie did not even know to whom he had been praying... He had prayed, and help had come from above — or so it had seemed to him then. Now it could all be dismissed as a “convenient” twist in the story. Perhaps that would not have been so bad... if the story had been written by some god seated in a vast library. Far more humiliating was the thought that he had been invented by a sarcastic man who wore his very own face.
“If you want, I can cast Arrow on you,” Gilaneris said, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Its effect will wear off by the time we reach the palace. No one will notice a thing.”
Agnes, who had been sitting silently on the porch until now, immediately came to life.
“What arrow, Master?” She sprang to her feet and hurried back inside. “Is it a spell? Will you teach it to me?”
“I will — but tomorrow. I’m busy today.” The mage spared his apprentice a brief glance. It was enough to silence any further questions. “So, what will it be?” He removed his hand from the minstrel’s shoulder, but did not lower it, ready to touch the back of Charlie’s neck instead.
Charlie stepped away with an apologetic smile. He did not want to show weakness in front of Agnes, even if he thought of her as nothing more than a friend.
“Let’s do without the Arrow,” he said, summoning what little composure he had left. “But, Breeze... if he really did make us up...”
“Oh, I know exactly how to prove otherwise,” Gilaneris replied, his expression softening. A sly grin curved his lips. “If Kirill is the creator of our world, then he must be right about everything, yes?”
“Which means Kirill invented me as well... inspired by some half-elf from a book. And that makes me a half-elf too, doesn’t it?”
“Well...” At that moment Charlie could not help remembering the Lord of Zarmian, who had assumed Anedrion had once loved a human woman. “Aren’t... aren’t you?”
Judging by how painfully the elder Faorde had reacted to that suggestion, the dragon had struck the bull’s-eye...
That was stupid. Why do I care about someone else’s family secrets? My own father is... the sort of man I’d stay silent about until my dying day. And maybe none of us even exist anyway.
True to form, Breeze threw back his head and burst into bright, ringing laughter.
“Oh, now that’s a good one!” He caught the minstrel by the arm and pulled him toward the door. “I’d give anything for that! But... no. No, I’m not.”
Outside, brushing away the tears that laughter had brought to his eyes, the young elf grew serious again.
“Come along, girl,” he called to Agnes.
Then he released Charlie and, with undisguised contempt, added, “I don’t have anything to do with my father’s family — or my mother’s, for that matter — but I know my lineage well. There isn’t a single human in it. Nothing but champions of blood purity.”
“So elves look down on half-bloods?” Agnes asked, walking a little ahead of them while listening intently to her master.
“That depends entirely on the family, thankfully,” Gilaneris answered. “Half-bloods are... complicated, because every race has its own peculiarities.”
Before long, Charles Blanc learned that anyone with even one elven parent looked like an ordinary elf, except that they could never grow a beard. Even those born to an elf and a dwarf remained beardless. Such half-bloods, shorter than Agnes herself, lived in underground labyrinths. They all resembled one another like twins, and it was impossible to explain the concept of private property to them. In ages past, dragons had assumed either human or elven form, depending on whom they fell in love with, whom they wished to stand beside as equals. Yet children born to dragons and members of other races were exceedingly rare.
At least... children without deformities.
Charlie could not stop thinking about what he had heard — and seen — outside the dragon’s cave. Zarmian had unmistakably caught the “stench” clinging to both Charlie and Ed, and Gilaneris’s scent had unsettled him as well. Then there was the day in the square before the Tower of Mages, when Breeze himself had spoken to Aelyra’s brother about “bad blood.”
And yet now he talked as though the fate of half-bloods was not especially tragic and... as though he did not consider himself one of them for even a moment.
Only one conclusion suggested itself.
Breeze was not a half-elf.
There was something else hidden beneath it all.
Bad blood was not the same as mixed blood.
Cantherion had said that, among elves, it was a disgrace if a girl became pregnant before marriage. Gilaneris had said his parents “would have been married,” while Anedrion had stated flatly that there had been no wedding.
Which meant that Anedrion and some woman had... failed to wait just a little longer.
Either the dragon’s nose had failed him, or Gilaneris was mistaken, and his mother was not an elf at all.
If that’s true... Charlie glanced at his friend’s finely sculpted profile. Still far too handsome for a human. Then Anedrion Faorde hid the truth from his son. Breeze really could be a half-elf. And all of us might still be nothing more than Kirill’s fantasy.
It was a far less comforting conclusion than the one Gilaneris had tried to persuade him to accept. Even so, puzzling over Breeze’s origins distracted the minstrel for a while. At last, the maddening “fly” buzzing around inside his head dropped dead.
If I’m the hero of a play, then I exist for a reason. What would the author expect of me? Charlie asked himself in silence, though he already knew the answer.
Help Elinor. Help the princess. Recover the blasted artifact.
Even if all of this was nonsense. A fairy tale. Or one endlessly long dream.
I won’t abandon our cause. Not willingly.
He had nearly abandoned it once before.
Ever since, he had carried the shame.
Ashamed that the first time he saw his mother in the parallel world — in a dream — he had almost betrayed the princess. Ashamed of the cruel words that had slipped from his tongue when Gilaneris had asked whether Louise mattered to him.
Yes, Louise had a father. But how much suffering had that blood tie to the king brought her? The amulet was the only thing she truly treasured, because it reminded her of her mother. The queen had loved her daughter. She had lived long ago.
Charlie’s mother had lived once as well.
Anedrion Faorde had lived for four thousand years.
Each of them had wept with grief, laughed with joy, mourned the past, and made plans for the future... long before Kirill and Lyokha had nearly been killed when their carriage crashed.
All your advisers, merchants, and werewolves lived somewhere too before you put them on paper! Charlie argued with himself. That’s a weak argument.
If he wanted stronger ones, he would have to question someone besides Breeze.
Only the elves — and a handful of dragons — knew anything about parallel worlds.
“Camilla’s been on edge for about a week now,” Gilaneris said. “She’s buried herself in ancient texts, though I doubt they’ll help her much.”
By the time they reached the palace and climbed from the first floor to the second, the elf had led them out onto a balcony overlooking the lists, where part of the decorations for the coming celebration had already been erected. Evidently, the duke intended to hold a proper knightly tournament, the sort conducted by every tradition in Merenberg.
“You don’t need to pretend this is your first time seeing magic,” the young elf whispered, though there were no servants nearby, carefully instructing Charlie. “Just be friendly and polite, as always. She can protect us from the duke. Winning her favor is our strongest card. Understand?”
“I... think so.” For the first time that day, Charlie felt solid ground beneath his feet.
Camilla was one of Duke Ridley’s closest allies.
She was exactly the person who deserved a few carefully chosen questions.
She had brought back a book about parallel worlds from the islands and had most likely been the one to suggest — to both the duke and the Emperor — that the two worlds should be made equal. True, she inspired little trust, but there was no one else to turn to. It was either her or Breeze again. The elf had dug his heels into theology; there was nothing more to squeeze out of him.
“Then let’s go.” With an easy motion, Gilaneris slipped a small triangular packet from his trouser pocket. Unfolding it, he took out a pale brown pellet and tucked it into his cheek. He crumpled the paper and slipped it back into his pocket. “We’ll help Camilla, and she’ll cover for us.”
The sight puzzled the minstrel, but he kept silent. His thoughts wandered to the apothecary, Matthew Karn, and camphor.
Why would Breeze need medicine for nervous breakdowns when he possessed a spell that could, however briefly, strip away every emotion?
Camilla’s chambers lay at the end of the corridor in the western wing of the estate. At first, Charlie mistook the women gathered outside for palace guards.
“At last!” exclaimed one of them, a full-bosomed lady in a green dress. “You’re slower than death itself, Favorite. Your mistress threw us out into the hall, as you can plainly see.”
Ignoring the lady’s barb, the elf knocked softly on the door.
Half a minute later, he was admitted into the room.
“I don’t know how she does it, Ida,” the second lady remarked with a snort. She had an unusually long neck. “She can convince anyone she’s a genius, even though she has less power than... well, than you, for one. And that one too... the upstart, the little sycophant. Hangs on her every word. I wonder why he doesn’t bother writing them down.”
“Teresa, you’re as naïve as a child.” Ida giggled behind her painted fan. “What do magical abilities have to do with it?”
Her gaze swept over Charlie before lingering on Agnes. Then she explained — not only to Teresa, but to everyone within earshot:
“That boy warms our Camilla’s bed. Lucky for him His Grace the Duke no longer burns with desire for her. Otherwise, jealousy would have driven him to kill them both.”
Charlie had despised gossip ever since childhood, and now he felt himself its latest victim. It did not matter that Ida’s venom was aimed at Breeze. Charlie took every word as a personal insult.
He searched in vain for something he could say to defend his friend’s honor, then turned to Agnes, hoping for support.
She was in no condition to give any.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. The hatred in her eyes as she stared at Ida left no room for doubt.
A fight was only moments away.
“Agnes, there’s something I need to tell you,” the minstrel said. Without waiting for her reply, he took her gently by the elbow and steered her down the corridor in the opposite direction. “We’ll be right back, ladies!”
After putting thirty or forty feet between themselves and the others, Charlie stopped and lowered his voice.
“Who are they? I’ve never seen those women before, though their names sound familiar...”
“Witches,” Agnes muttered through an indignant sniff. “Idalia and Teresa. Camilla’s assistants. The duke assigned them to her. They’re lying..! About Master... Master loves his fiancée, and they’re lying. They are, aren’t they?” Her voice trembled. “Tell me they are!”
How should I know? was the answer that nearly escaped Charlie before he caught himself.
Gilaneris had called Aelyra his fiancée.
He had worn the teardrop-shaped pendant hidden beneath his clothes...
The pendant that had turned black.
And that very same day Gilaneris had been beside himself — he had wept, slammed his head against the table, begged Aelyra for forgiveness...
What if they aren’t lying?
Breeze stayed at the palace for a while...
“Of course they’re lying. And... actually, there was something I wanted to tell you...” Charlie hurriedly changed the subject. Even entertaining the thought that Gilaneris and Camilla might be having an affair made him feel sick. “I mean... I wanted to ask your forgiveness.”
“For... what?” Agnes took an involuntary step back in surprise. “You didn’t do anything to me...”
“No.” The minstrel gently cut her off. “Back in the carriage, I was rude to you. I wanted to throw you out. But you... you helped me expose my father for what he really was. And with the jeweler too... You’re an excellent partner, Agnes. And a friend. My friend.”
The more he spoke, the lighter he felt.
“I never would have managed the jeweler without you. Besides... you opened the portal.” Mentioning the portal with the witches nearby was hardly wise, but Charlie was beyond stopping himself now. “It was because of you that I got to see my mother. I’ll never forget that, Agnes. If you can... forgive me. Sometimes I act like... a complete numbskull.”
“Uh... all right?” Agnes smiled shyly, thoroughly bewildered by his confession. Then she noticed Camilla’s assistants watching them. Lifting her chin, she spoke with much greater confidence. “You’re forgiven. And I understand everything. If I had a father like yours, I’d be angry too. I’d push everyone away as well. Well, now Mistress Hughes knows he’s a fraud... and that’s a good thing! You really are going to have that talk with him tomorrow?”
Charlie needed a few seconds before he understood what she meant.
They had to go to the capital to collect the counterfeit amulet.
“I’ll have to,” the minstrel sighed. “Though the old man’s a hopeless case.”
“Oh! Could you buy some nuts while you’re there?” Agnes rose onto her tiptoes and clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. “They’re so delicious, I can’t help myself! Especially the jelly coating!”
“You’ll get your nuts,” Charlie promised with a nod, then added — already regretting it before the words had fully left his mouth — “A squirrel can’t very well live without nuts.”
Agnes had only just opened her mouth to protest the comparison when the door to Camilla’s chambers flew open.
Gilaneris practically burst out of the room.
To anyone watching, he looked as though he was barely holding back tears. One hand clamped over his mouth, the elf rushed past the two witches, the minstrel, and his apprentice without slowing down.
“Come in, all of you,” Camilla’s voice called from inside. “And if anyone else feels like throwing up, don’t blame me.”
Camilla Fleming’s chambers were spacious, but they were also thick with a cloyingly sweet smoke.
Teresa broke into a coughing fit.
Idalia hid her face behind her fan.
“You’re all so delicate,” Camilla remarked as she crossed to the window and threw it open to air the room. “You’d never survive in Taringat.”
“As if we wanted to... Ah-choo!” Agnes declared war on the smoke, waving both hands furiously in front of her face. “As if we wanted to go to your... your Taringat, my lady... Wait... where is that?”
“Taringat is the kingdom of the islands, as you would call it.” Camilla was not satisfied with opening a single window; she threw open the second as well. “Honestly, young people from Merenberg and Ardor alike never see beyond the ends of their noses. History, geography, the customs of other kingdoms — they’re nothing but empty words to them.”
“Forgive me, my lady...” Charlie attempted to defend Agnes in the only way he knew how: by appealing to Camilla’s weaknesses. “But why would the road be ‘closed’ to us? Would we... offend the islanders somehow?”
The duke’s former favorite — and there was no longer any doubt in Charlie’s mind that the two of them had once been lovers — considered herself cleverer than most people and delighted in instructing others.
“The people of Taringat are famously hospitable.” Camilla approached her guests with the lazy, graceful stride of a cat. Her gown was far plainer than the one she had worn the day Charlie first met her, though her feet remained bare. “And one part of that culture of hospitality is the hookah.”
With a smooth wave of her hand, she gestured toward a low table.
Resting on it was a remarkably strange contraption. At first glance, it resembled either a candlestick or...
A bowl of glowing coals sat atop its narrow neck. Below that was a small tray holding a pair of tongs. From the base extended a silk-wrapped hose ending in a mouthpiece.
“Refusing a hookah that has been offered to you is much the same as throwing bread onto the floor in Merenberg.” Camilla smiled faintly when Charlie looked away from the curious device and back at her. “The look on your faces alone would insult your hosts like a spit in the soul.”
Then the witch’s gray eyes narrowed.
“If I understand correctly... Charlie, you’re the dreamer?”
The minstrel smiled as well.
That was the first name Mary had ever called him by, just before she left for the Central Quarter carrying Master Blum’s portrait.
If only Mouse knew the predicament the Marquis has landed himself in...
“Yes.” The memory of Mary lent him unexpected courage. “To be honest, my lady, there was a time when those dreams nearly drove me mad.”
“That’s hardly surprising.” The witch nodded. “If they truly are connected to parallel worlds, they’re not so easily escaped. We can’t begin without Gilaneris, so... while he’s away, why don’t you tell me everything yourself?”
Replacing the double with his best friend, Charlie recounted almost the entire conversation he had had with Kirill.
Perhaps he should have mentioned the “swords” as well — the wooden one and the iron one, the latter oddly misshapen.
But he had not even shown Gilaneris Albina’s final gift.
That secret belonged to him alone.
Camilla Fleming listened with her head tilted slightly to one side. Her sharp-featured face betrayed neither curiosity nor disappointment. It was almost as if she had heard every word before.
Charlie was running out of things to add when Gilaneris returned.
“Are you all right?” Camilla asked at once, her attention shifting to him without hesitation.
The concern in her voice was impossible to miss. It made Charlie shiver.
“Don’t worry,” the young elf replied hoarsely. His face had gone pale, and his fingers trembled ever so slightly. “At the very least... I’m still capable of calling upon magic.”
Camilla’s first concern was security.
She ordered the door locked from the inside.
Teresa laid a spell upon the lock, while she and Ida carried the mirror that had been standing against the wall into the center of the room.
The current of magic flowing in an endless circle.
Charlie recognized it all.
Even so, he dutifully continued playing the part of a man utterly unfamiliar with magic and rituals.
“Picture the road where you saw yourself and your friend in your dreams,” Camilla said at last. Standing behind Charlie, she reached out and touched his temple. Her long nails grazed his skin. “The roadside would be best. Don’t be afraid.”
Charlie did as she instructed.
He was not afraid. Only a little disappointed that Agnes had not been allowed to take part.
This time, instead of a crimson sphere, a golden one drifted through the air. When it reached the mirror, it slipped into the glass and dissolved into a dense cloud of smoke. The frame could no longer contain it.
Through it, trees slowly came into view.
A little closer to the portal ran a road — smooth, paved with some dark, uniform material, and divided into two lanes by white lines. Charlie had seen those same white markings in his dream of the horseless carriage.
“It looked something like this,” he said, stepping aside.
No one was asking him to “dive” into the portal again, but he had had more than enough of parallel worlds. He chose to keep as far away as possible from yet another doorway leading there.
“Well then, let’s see whether your friend was right or not...” Camilla, on the other hand, strode forward without the slightest hesitation.
Only a few inches separated her from the portal.
She slipped her hand through the shimmering golden veil.
Good thing there aren’t any people or carriages on the other side, the minstrel thought, suddenly picturing the driver of a passing vehicle catching sight of a portal out of the corner of his eye — with that... bony hand sticking through it. The poor fellow would forget how to steer and plow straight into a fence. Still, the witch could stop dragging this out. Fire spells are simple enough for them. What’s keeping her?
Charlie cast an anxious glance toward Breeze.
Meeting the minstrel’s eyes, the young elf gave him a slow blink, as if to say, Don’t worry.
The next instant, the chamber rang with laughter — laughter filled with genuine astonishment.
“Not a single one works!” The witch spun away from the mirror so abruptly that her skirts flared. A broad smile lit Camilla’s face. “I tried every incantation I know. Every single one!”
Touching the thumb and ring finger of her right hand together, she separated them again.
A tiny flame sprang to life above her palm, no larger than the flame of a candle.
“But here...” she said, her eyes gleaming exactly the way Ditmar’s had whenever he spoke of his experiments or of immortality, “...they work.”
The room exploded with noise.
It was hard to believe only two people were responsible for it.
Teresa and Idalia showered the “honored lady” with congratulations, praising her immense learning and fearless resolve. No one watching them would ever have guessed that, behind her back, they considered Camilla mediocre and spread rumors about her.
“We must send His Grace a letter at once! He’ll be overjoyed to hear of your triumph, my lady!” Idalia exclaimed, practically choking on her own excitement. “How wise you were to allow... Agnes to visit the capital with... with... Um... what was your name again, sir?”
“Charlie.” The minstrel raised his foot over the stream of swirling, multicolored magic. He wavered slightly, but stepped out of the circle without stumbling. “I’m glad... I could help.”
“It’s too early to speak of triumph.” Lifting the hem of her flowing dark-gray gown, Camilla stepped gracefully over the barrier as well. “You and Teresa can tidy everything up. I’ll write to Alfred myself. The rest of you are free for today—and tomorrow.”
Then, as though merely making idle conversation, she added,
“It was Gilaneris who suggested letting the girl spend a few days in Meyrith to clear her head.”
To everyone present, that was exactly how events had unfolded.
Agnes had been sent to Meyrith to enjoy herself, to rest, to gather pleasant memories.
Quite by chance, during her stroll through the capital, she had discovered that her artist friend suffered from persistent dreams.
Naturally, she had told Breeze. Naturally, he had remembered Linaria’s book.
“Really?” Ida clasped her hands together. “The young master... what a remarkable fellow.”
She had no time to continue lavishing praise upon the elf.
Teresa had already dispelled the barrier and was waiting beside the mirror. There was no sense carrying the thing back alone.
After bidding Camilla farewell, Gilaneris and Agnes took their places by the door while the elf removed the magical seal from the lock.
He crossed the room to the low table where the witch sat among embroidered cushions.
“My Lady Camilla...” the minstrel began. “Forgive me. I feel awkward interrupting you, especially with such a foolish question. I’m not even sure whether I have the right to ask...”
“You do.” Without pausing, the woman continued writing in broad, sweeping letters across the parchment. At the top of the page, Charlie caught the words:
“As my ally, you do. Though I can’t reveal all of His Grace’s plans.”
She set the quill aside and looked up.
“What is it you wish to know?”
Her eyes narrowed again, birdlike.
Not as dangerous as the duke’s...
But those of a predator nonetheless.
Compared to that bird, Charlie felt like a beetle. Camilla was sitting on the floor itself.
Even so, she seemed to tower over him.
“You see...” The minstrel rubbed his forehead. “In my dreams, my friend Ed... Well, over there his name wasn’t Ed... Never mind. When I told him about Merenberg...” Charlie let out a quiet breath. “He said something extraordinary. He claimed that... because of books — fantasy books with magic and dragons — he created me.”
“In what sense?” Camilla arched an eyebrow.
“He... dreamed about me too. Everything I described exists in his world. Only... it’s all different. Merenberg isn’t a kingdom or a city there — it’s... the surname of a physician. Yes! Ed said he invented me, and our whole world... as a story. Or a play. I don’t know whether he’s right, but lately I’ve been unbelievably lucky. It really does feel as though someone calculated everything in advance.”
“And what exactly troubles you about that?” The witch’s fingers paused for a heartbeat before resuming their slow movement over the string of pearls. “Most people complain about bad fortune. You, it seems, have chosen to be burdened by good fortune instead.”
“No, no...” Charlie shook his head. “You see... I always liked believing that the gods existed. That at least one of them cared what became of me. Back home, in Merenberg, the gods were abolished, the priests driven out, and the temples torn down. The North has its own faith. The elves have theirs. And now my...” He caught himself just in time before saying double. “...my best friend from the parallel world is trying to make himself into a god. What do you think, my lady? Where does the truth lie? Because if... if... Ed is right...”
“Then it’s utter nonsense.” Camilla grimaced. “The world is far too complex to have been created by the mind of a young man. Of course, you are free to believe your friend and even raise an altar in his honor. Or believe in the old gods, the elven ones, whichever you please. The truth is hidden from us, and everyone chooses their own version of it.” She picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell. “As for me, I chose to live without gods, clerics, or unnecessary laws. Life is much simpler when no one rules over you. You should try it, Charlie.”
He had always tried to put himself in another person’s shoes, to understand those close to him, to avoid pointless arguments. He had imagined himself in Ed’s place long ago.
The result had been unbearable sorrow. And even deeper pity for his sworn brother.
“Hm...” The minstrel pretended the idea was entirely new to him. “Perhaps I will, my lady. But then... without gods, how would you explain... fortunate coincidences? There seem to be an awful lot of them.”
“If I were you...” Camilla returned to her letter. The hint was unmistakable; the conversation had nearly exhausted her patience. “I would worry less about why fortune favors you and more about the fact that one day it won’t. Everything in this world exists in equal measure... Life walks beside death, just as pain walks beside love.”
Nearly an hour later, the witch’s words were still echoing through Charlie’s mind as he lay on his bed in the house by the stables.
Just what we needed! But she could be right... The jeweler will botch the job. The duke will keep wearing the amulet instead of locking it away in the cabinet in his study. Gilaneris won’t be able to open the lock with magic...
Charlie forced himself to stop.
There was no point worrying over things that had not happened. After all, his meeting with his double had not gone nearly as badly as it might have.
There had been no guards.
And Camilla... She spoke grandly about freedom from gods and laws, yet she still reported to Alfred Ridley. She was forbidden to leave the estate. The other residents of the Golden Ray clearly held her in little esteem—her own assistants were proof enough.
Agnes had said they had been “assigned” to Camilla. For all Charlie knew, they were watching her, reporting her every move to the duke.
What kind of freedom was that?
The only liberty left to her was walking barefoot in dresses from the islands.
Camilla contradicts herself. She has enough pride for an entire... some kind of Queen of Darkness, yet she’s still nothing but His Grace’s pawn. Damn the pair of them.
Charlie swore off thinking about either Camilla or the duke. Closing his eyes, he listened to the rain drumming against the roof.
The first rainfall in two months had come without warning. It brought welcome coolness and scattered everyone indoors. The servants were probably still cooking, washing, and polishing the floors until they shone.
Agnes had no doubt found work for herself somewhere in the palace.
Gilaneris had sent the girl away and was now busy in his “laboratory.”
The sound of the rain lulled Charlie toward sleep.
But it could not drown out the crash that nearly sent him tumbling out of bed.
“Breeze!” Charlie called, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Everything all right? Did lightning strike a tree or something?”
Cursing under his breath, the minstrel hurried toward the kitchen.
A sense of dread tightened inside him.
The last time, the reckless mage had nearly cracked his own skull open. There was no telling what he might have done this time.
The words died in Charlie’s throat.
Every breath fled his lungs.
Gilaneris lay motionless on the floor.
Broken dishes and empty bottles from the capital’s apothecary were scattered all around him. He had fallen so badly that he had swept half the table down with him.
Charlie rushed to his friend, remembering the shards just in time to keep from slicing open his hand.
The young elf showed no sign of life. His skin was no longer merely pale. It had turned gray.
Refusing to give in to panic, Charlie looked more closely.
Gilaneris’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
“So the pointy-eared fool’s still alive,” Charlie hissed. “And if you die, it’ll be my fault!”
Angry with Gilaneris — and with himself, because he had been the one to buy the ingredients — the minstrel slapped the mage lightly across the cheeks.
He undid the stiff collar of Gilaneris’s doublet and began rubbing the elf’s chest with his knuckles.
The discomfort ought to help.
Charlie’s grandfather had always come around after that.
“Come on!” Panic surged through Charlie, and he redoubled his efforts. “Come on!.. Come on...”
Please save him. Save him, if anyone can hear me!
Once again, someone seemed to answer.
Gilaneris let out a low groan.
His eyelids fluttered, as though he were desperately struggling to tear himself free from the chains of a nightmare — and failing.
Encouraged, Charlie rewarded him with one more sharp slap across the face.
“Easy...” Gilaneris drew a ragged breath as his eyes fluttered open. “I... miscalculated. Need... more. Bring... the potion... from the wardrobe... Bring... all of it.”
Never in his life had Charlie moved so quickly — or so carefully.
Afraid of accidentally smashing one of the vials, he made three trips between the kitchen and the main room. He even carried over the little sacks of dried herbs.
Once that task was done, he began clearing the broken glass from the floor.
Gilaneris, having drained the contents of no fewer than four potion bottles in rapid succession, refused any assistance and managed to sit up on his own.
As always, tidying up helped Charlie cool his temper.
Although after sweeping the shards and corks into the waste bucket, he spotted a sheet of parchment lying beneath the table.
The anger that had only just begun to subside flared back to life.
The minstrel sat down on the floor opposite the elf, mirroring his posture, and held out the parchment.
“I bought every single thing on this list, Gilaneris,” he said quietly. “Do I have the right to know what in blazes you’re doing — or not?”
The elf remained silent, deliberately avoiding the parchment with his eyes.
“You swallowed a leech,” Charlie went on, trying with all his might not to raise his voice. “A leech. Along with a pile of other revolting things. I understand you weren’t acting entirely of your own accord — the apothecary mentioned Camilla, and that’s her handwriting down here — but... why are you listening to her? What kind of magic is this?”
“Camilla has nothing to do with it,” Breeze rasped. “I wrote... the note to the apothecary myself. Forged her handwriting. Copied the recipe... without permission...” He clenched his teeth as another wave of pain hit him, doubling over with one arm wrapped around his stomach. “And I’m not... going to die.”
Some color had returned to the elf’s face, but the lingering pallor and the beads of sweat standing out across his forehead suggested he was lying.
“Oh, really?” Charlie found himself torn between pity and exasperation. “You look... half dead.”
“Heh...” Gilaneris slowly straightened up, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “You... almost guessed it. I suppose... it’s time I confessed something.”
With a trembling hand, he uncorked a vial filled with murky green liquid — the same restorative potion Agnes drank whenever she needed to replenish her magical strength.
After swallowing several mouthfuls, the elf summoned magic and directed it into his own chest.
“You heal and you maim”, Charlie had once remarked sarcastically.
Now he was witnessing exactly what that meant.
Gilaneris was both the enemy on the battlefield and the patient who had somehow survived it.
“Where should I...” The elf’s breathing finally steadied, though a cough still escaped him. “...begin?”
“With the apothecary.” Though he knew it would do little good, Charlie gently rubbed Gilaneris’s back.
Before Charlie could voice his confusion, the elf continued.
“She knows... a great many things. Even the locations of the secret passages, despite being little more than a prisoner here herself. She manipulates the duke, but it changes nothing. She still needs power over someone else... Idalia, Teresa, even Agnes make no effort to hide how much they despise her. But I...” A bitter smile touched his lips. “Like you, I found her weak spot very quickly. I was the perfect student.”
“And I overplayed my hand. To some people, admiration is the same thing as love.”
The young elf lowered his hand from his chest, exhaled slowly, took the parchment from Charlie, and tossed it into the air.
The list of ingredients hung there for a moment.
Fire and ash merged together, dissolving into a shower of magical sparks.
Not the slightest trace remained. No hint that the list had ever existed.
“Wait...” Mesmerized by the spell, Charlie realized a heartbeat too late that Gilaneris had not mentioned love without reason. “Those two women called you her favorite... Is she... making advances toward you?”
“Not anymore.” Breeze turned away. “I did everything I could to discourage her... without ruining our… relationship. Today I... reinforced the result, so to speak.”
His friend had revealed so much that Charlie felt obliged to complete the picture himself.
Yet his thoughts spun in circles.
Disgust... What could you possibly do to make someone stop pursuing you?
Only one answer came to mind.
And it was deeply unpleasant.
“Gilaneris...” Charlie asked quietly. “Back on the balcony... what was that little pellet you tucked into your cheek?”
“An emetic,” the young elf answered, still staring at the wall. “Bite through the wax coating... and about a minute and a half later your stomach turns itself inside out. I first used it when she... invited me to her chambers.”
He let out a humorless chuckle.
“To show me her books. Dark magic. True power... I was such a naïve fool. She meant to seduce me with knowledge... and with her body. First the books, then the food, the wine.”
Fragments of the past — both distant and recent — flooded Charlie’s mind.
Elinor with the ancient tome on magic.
The news Agnes had brought.
The silent prince who had found his voice again...
And the mistress of magic at the estate.
She threw up her entire meal all over the bed and the carpet.
Agnes had thought the story amusing.
The girl had not known one crucial detail.
It had not been Camilla who was sick.
It had been her master, Gilaneris.
And afterward, according to Agnes, her master was furious.
“Enough of sitting on the floor. We’re not islanders!” the elf declared with exaggerated cheer. “No, no — I’ll get up myself!.. Just take my potions... and put them on the windowsill...”
Here you are again, Charles Blanc — the apprentice, the minstrel thought as he gathered up the vials, pouches, and little jars. Everything’s repeating itself. Rain. A wizard with his mind turned inside out. And I... I promised Aelyra’s brother I’d keep an eye on him. Looks like I failed.
After somehow making it to his bed, Gilaneris collapsed onto it and lay there, breathing heavily.
Charlie neither disturbed him nor urged him to speak.
Instead, he arranged every potion on the windowsill so that Gilaneris would be able to reach them easily during the night.
“You know...” the young elf said at last. “The old woman has all sorts of herbs... intoxicants... Usually she smokes... the harmless kinds. But that evening...”
He broke into another fit of coughing.
Charlie’s heart clenched.
His “handsome brother” was rarely this vulnerable.
What a cruel burden beauty had turned out to be.
“That evening...” the elf continued, “...the intoxicant was different. And Camilla... she was worse than drunk. The same thing should have happened to me. I only pretended... Luckily, I found the recipe before... dinner. No...” He dragged a hand across his face. “The intoxicant doesn’t affect me at all. But if I’d picked up the book afterward, she would have realized... Today I set her up. Right in front of the duke’s spies. They’ll figure out the dinner... wasn’t meant for her alone...”
A faint, bitter smile crossed his lips.
“Though to the Abyss with all of them.”
Outside, the rain fell harder.
The sky had disappeared beneath thick storm clouds.
Nature itself seemed to be weeping.
“You took an enormous risk just to get that recipe,” Charlie said, lighting the hanging lantern so they would not have to strain their eyes in the gathering gloom. “But forgive me... I still don’t understand what good it does you.”
“I’m stronger now...” Gilaneris murmured, once again directing healing magic into himself. “Than I was before. I have to... hold on to that strength. My body rejects it... and it will keep rejecting it... for a long time. But I won’t die. It will be worth it. Don’t... worry.”
“What else am I supposed to do,” Charlie spread his hands helplessly, “except worry? My friend swallowed powdered ghoul bones and washed them down with wyvern bile! Where in Ardor did anyone even find a wyvern?”
Unable to discover a more comfortable position, Gilaneris curled into a ball.
“Apothecary Eklund...” he rasped weakly.
Pain stabbed through him before slowly ebbing away.
The shortness of breath, however, remained.
“The underground... They keep all kinds of beasts... Experiment on them... On mages too. They kidnap people. Not everyone... agrees... to join them... Camilla... boasted that they once wanted... to create... an army of the dead. But the plan... changed...”
The final piece, Charlie thought bitterly, hurling the fire striker onto the floor. What an idiot I’ve been. Why didn’t I see it sooner? We’re standing in the heart of the conspiracy.
The answer had been in plain sight all along.
Archivist Bertrand had spoken of secret societies and kidnapped mages as enemies of the Crown — evils His Majesty fought against.
The truth was the exact opposite.
The Emperor and the duke encouraged it all.
And an army of the dead... It was brilliant.
Once the enemy’s fallen soldiers rose again to fight for you, casualties no longer mattered.
They devised something even more insidious, while telling everyone it was all about purifying magic...
Charlie never finished the thought.
Watching his friend suffer had become unbearable.
He hurried to the bedside, helped the elf sit upright, and practically forced another potion into his hands.
Gilaneris drained it without complaint. Remaining seated, he leaned forward, bracing himself on his knees. As he bent over, the pendant slipped free from beneath the collar of his shirt.
And Charlie noticed something he had overlooked while trying to bring Gilaneris back to consciousness.
“Breeze... it’s blue again.”
The young mage lifted the pendant toward his eyes, blue as clear summer skies — the same color as the teardrop-shaped gemstone.
“It is...” He straightened slowly, unable to take his eyes off the pendant. “Then Lyra... solved whatever was troubling her.”
A smile of quiet relief flickered across his face.
“Thank the Everlasting, if that’s true. She has a fiery temper. She could simply have quarreled with someone from her family...”
Coming back to himself, Breeze blinked several times.
“I don’t deserve her.” He tucked the pendant back beneath his shirt and hunched over once more. “I should never have allowed it to happen... No knowledge was worth that.”
Bewildered, the minstrel turned his gaze toward the window.
Out in the courtyard, beneath the driving rain and relentless wind, a slender young tree bent almost to the ground.
It’ll hold, Charlie decided. And Gilaneris will too. He’ll survive... but he’ll punish himself for this betrayal every single day.
He wanted to comfort his friend, to tell him that the love between Gilaneris and Aelyra was real.
Charlie had seen it with his own eyes when the elf had said farewell to his fiancée outside the dragon’s lair.
He had heard it in every word of the song about the star.
But Gilaneris would only bristle at such comfort. He would throw Charlie out into the rain just as readily as he had sent Agnes off to bed the moment she dared suggest that dark rituals were dangerous.
“Listen...” Charlie tried another approach. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know what arcane wisdom you found in those books, and I don’t know your fiancée. But I do know this: if you’d brushed off that dried-up old hag, she would’ve scribbled a few lines to the duke out of spite...” He gave a sharp whistle. “...and we’d all have been thrown out of here in an instant. Goodbye amulet.”
The minstrel flopped down onto his own bed and pulled his notebook from its hiding place.
“Well then...” After checking the calendar, he snapped the notebook shut. “We’ve still got almost three weeks left.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The elf answered stubbornly. “I should never have allowed it to happen. I never should have... been alone with her... under those circumstances.” His voice grew quieter still. “I betrayed Lyra.”
Nothing gets through that thick skull of yours, Charlie thought, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Ed’s so much easier... At least Ed isn’t such a hopeless bore. He actually knows how to laugh...
When logic failed and open sympathy only made things worse, there remained one final weapon.
The one Charles Blanc was about to invent on the spot demanded every ounce of his concentration.
And no small amount of audacity.
“So...” Charlie said casually as he flipped through the notebook’s pages, glancing sideways at the elf. “Did things get as far as kissing the witch?”
“What?” Gilaneris snorted. “Of course not. I would’ve... thrown up without any medicine.”
Charlie closed the notebook with theatrical finality.
“Then you’re not a cheat. You’re acquitted before the law, your fiancée... and the entire universe.”
Gilaneris laughed quietly.
“Who...” The laughter dissolved into coughing. “Who sa... who says so?”
“I do.” Charlie arranged his features into the solemn expression of an important government official.
The hardest part was keeping a straight face himself.
“You see, after talking to Camilla, I realized something. My double didn’t invent me.” He nodded gravely. “I invented everyone else. Including our dreadful, hopelessly imperfect world. That explains all the coincidences. And why all my friends are just like me — equally stubborn sheep.” He raised an imaginary hand in judgment. “As your Creator, I hereby pronounce you innocent.”
The weapon struck dead center.
Gilaneris bolted upright.
“You can’t be the Creator!”
The philosophical debate did not last long. Sleep claimed the elf before he had the chance.
To Charlie’s surprise, it was a peaceful sleep.
