Page 125 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

Tears burning in my eyes, anger sour at the back of my throat, Igrabbed the invitation from where it lay on the floor and crushed the delicate paper between my palms. A hiss wafted up from it, as if it were a living thing I’d stomped flat. Alastrina clapped her hands over her ears with a soft cry of despair. I ran for the hearth; Father was already there, lighting the wood. He’d heard Philippa’s words, or else he simply sensed the wrongness of this thing in my hands and knew it must be destroyed. Either way, I was grateful. I tossed the wad of paper into the tiny fresh flames, watched it light up and blacken. A wheezing sound puffed up from it as it burned. It was laughing at us; Kilraith was laughing at us.

I watched the fire grow and snap until the paper was ashes in its teeth, swearing to myself all the while that he would not be laughing for long.

Chapter 27

Father went to Rosewarren to bring back Mara, for which I was immensely glad. The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was argue with the Warden. I couldn’t even imagine how I would explain the impossible danger of what we must do.

When at last Gemma and Mara and I were alone in my rooms, I realized with a quiet thrum of shock that this was the first time Mara had been back to Ivyhill since she was ten years old, the day the Warden had taken her away.

She sat rigidly in one of the chairs by my hearth, Osmund purring in her lap and Una lying contentedly upon her boots. She rested her hands lightly on Osmund’s head and back, not petting him, not even moving. I couldn’t read her face, stoic and stony as it was, but when I tried to imagine what she might be thinking, how it must feel to sit in that chair in a house she knew and yet did not, my heart filled with sadness so fresh and sharp that it hurt to breathe.

But there wasn’t time for sadness. Gemma and I told her what had happened. I recited to her what the invitation had said, hating the feel of the words on my tongue. Una gave a low whine from her position on Mara’s feet.

It was the best thing I could have done. A threat, a mission, planning how best to accomplish it: this was Mara’s life. She listened hard, and when we’d finished, she said, “‘Bring any guests you desire.’” She looked wryly at me. “A pity we don’t yet have the armies ready to deploy. What a sight they would make, marching in after us. Guests indeed.”

“Whowillwe bring?” Gemma asked. “Talan will insist on going, and so will Father.”

“Even in his current state, yes, Talan must come.” Mara frowned. “I hate to put him anywhere near Kilraith, but of course his past experience with him could be an asset.”

“And perhaps having another sentinel to help us is an advantage we can’t ignore.”

“As long as Father can keep his temper in check,” I said, “or at least directed at the right people. That’s the thing that worries me most of all. This is Kilraith we’re talking about. He already had a talent for mind games.” I shivered a little, remembering the house of horrors we’d navigated by the Far Sea, all the cruel things those walls had whispered. “And now his arsenal includes Jaetris, god of the mind. Father has not been well, and his moods have been unpredictable. Fertile ground for Kilraith to play with, I’d say.”

“But Philippa said there are three thousand souls in Mhorghast,” Mara pointed out. “In my estimation, we need Father. Weneedan army.”

“Alastrina certainly thought so,” I said, remembering her dismay when she had realized Ryder and I had come to Mhorghast alone.

“Could you convince the Warden to send at least your own unit down here to join us?” Gemma asked.

Mara shook her head grimly. “Father barely managed to convince her to let me go, and I think he did so only because she’s too exhausted to fight yet another battle. If we go back and ask for more, she mightforget how tired she is and become angry. At most, I could perhaps persuade her to send Nesset.”

Gemma’s face brightened at the mention of her resurrected Vilia friend. “She did say in her last letter that she’s now been on, what, twenty missions with the Roses?”

Mara nodded with a fond little smile. “Her body’s held up well, even in the thick of the Mist. If she’s not careful, the Warden might officially induct her into the Order.”

Finally I voiced a thought that had been turning slowly in my mind since I’d first read Kilraith’s invitation. “Maybe we’re thinking about this all wrong—as a battle, not a game. He’ll expect us to come ready for a fight.” I looked at Mara. “What if we did the opposite?”

She frowned. “You mean surrender immediately?”

But Gemma seemed to catch on, her eyes sparkling. “You mean arrive not with our swords drawn but with our dancing shoes on. A celebration, the invitation said. A glorification.”

“So we celebrate,” I said. “We dance and enjoy the party, entertain the revelers. Kilraith has invited us into his city. He’s even going to send the road for us, if that letter can be believed, and I think it can. Based on how strange Gilroy was acting, Kilraith delivered his invitation in person. If he wanted to kill us, he would have done it already. Talan said he likes games. I think he’s curious about us. I think he wants to show off what he can do and see how we respond.”

Mara looked at me thoughtfully. “An experiment.”

“Something like that. We’ll bring Talan. He won’t expect that, not when Talan’s been constantly on the move specifically to elude him. We’ll join in the fun. He won’t expect that either.”

“Surprise will be our weapon,” Mara agreed. “Defiance of expectations.”

“He might think we’ll come with an army at our backs,” Gemma said, “or bring no one at all so as not to endanger anyone else’s lives.”

“How noble of us,” Mara said drily.

“And so we’ll do neither of those things,” I said. “No army, and we won’t go alone either. A single companion each?”

“Like proper, polite guests,” Gemma said, amused.

“Nesset, Talan.” Mara looked at me. “Father?”

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