Page 60 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

Suddenly her gaze went distant, and a stricken expression fellover her face. She bit her lip, shook her head slightly. And something about the look of her just then—small and ragged, frightened, miles away—left me terribly afraid. I curled my fingers around the edge of the sofa cushions, steeling myself. Ryder’s face flashed before my eyes; I wished desperately that he were with me.

“Yvaine?” I managed to say.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice thin. She shook herself a little. “I’m here.”

But she sounded unconvinced, and she wavered there for a moment before her eyes glazed over once more. Before me, she changed, her body shifting subtly from familiar to unfamiliar, from very human exhaustion to the quiet, burning vitality of something inhuman and indefinable, somethingelse.

“Moon by day,” she said, her voice soft as falling snow, “fire by night. Come and dance. Don’t try to fight. The beauty of shadows, the garish sunlight. Spin for the watchers, their revels so bright.”

A chill tore down my spine. Dancing. Moonlight. Recognition tugged at me.The word I keep hearing is Moonhollow, Talan had told us. A story heard across the continent—a legend, a new piece of lore. Scraps of rumor picked up here and there, coming together to make a strange, frightening whole: a palace surrounded by gardens. No sunlight, only that of the moon. Dancing and never growing tired.

“What?” I whispered to Yvaine. I went to her, and though I was afraid to touch her, I held on to her shoulders, desperate for her to start making sense. “Look at me. Atme, Yvaine, atme. Say that again.”

Slowly she dragged her gaze up to mine, though it was clear her true attention lay elsewhere. “Moon by day,” she repeated, smiling a little, “fire by night. Come and dance. Don’t try to fight. The beauty of shadows, the garish sunlight. Spin for the watchers, their revels so bright.” Then her soft, dreamy expression shifted into sadness. “No,” she said, “not yet.”

“Not yet? Not yet what?”

Yvaine slumped under my touch. “They’ve come for you,” she said, rubbing her eyes. Irritation bristled in her voice. “They’ve found us out.”

The next moment, the doors to my music room burst open, admitting Lord Thirsk and three other scowling advisers—Lord Jarvis, Lady Bethan, and Lady Goff, all of whom I knew. Behind them hurried four armor-clad guards.

“Your Majesty,” said Thirsk sharply, “though you’ve indeed honored the terms of our agreement by staying in these rooms, I think you’ll agree that entertaining guests, even Lady Farrin, goes decidedly against the many reasons for your confinement.”

But Yvaine didn’t respond. She stared blankly at Thirsk, and then her gaze hardened, and a mean little smile flickered across her features before she turned away from us to face the windows. Ignoring us, she began to dance—a slow, measured swaying, her hands drifting eloquently through the air to music none of us could hear.

Thirsk dragged a hand over his white beard and jerked his head at the doors.

I stood firm in the center of the room. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You will, Lady Farrin,” Thirsk snapped, “whether by your own power or that of my guards. Don’t make me drag you out of here.” He gestured sharply at the queen. “She was well enough today before you arrived. And now look at her. Do you want to upset her even more?”

Gutted, speechless, I couldn’t find the strength to argue with him. Whether he was lying or not, the harsh truth was that I didn’t know how to help Yvaine out of whatever strange mood she’d fallen into, and perhaps her advisers did. I allowed myself to be ushered out by Thirsk and the guards while the other advisers carefully approached Yvaine. The last thing I heard before the doors closed behind me was Lady Bethan saying, “Your Majesty, perhaps you’denjoy finishing the rest of this pie? Or shall I send to the kitchens for something fresh?”

Once outside in the corridor, two of the guards resumed their stations at the doors, and the other two, implacable, turned to glare at me. I hardly had time to think of what to say—an apology, a cool defense—before Thirsk rounded on me, his expression more furious than I’d ever seen it.

“You foolish girl,” he said quietly. “We’ve been lenient with you for years. Your family’s status, the queen’s fondness of you…gods know she has very few joys in this life, and I’ve been happy to protect this one for her. But are you truly this dense? You saw what happened to her the last time you were here, and now the city’s in an uproar and the entire continent is terrified, grieving. Did you really think this was the time to sneak into the castle like some kind of rebellious schoolgirl? I assume the perimeter guards told you the queen wasn’t receiving visitors, and yet you considered yourself above such restrictions. The arrogance, Lady Farrin. Did it never occur to you that those safeguards were in place for the sake of the queen’s health and that you should respect them?”

“Thirsk…” His reprimand—which, in my misery, I felt I fully deserved—had granted me time to get a good look at the man, and when I did, shock whacked me right in the gut. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

He looked as though he’d aged ten years since I’d last seen him only a few weeks prior—deep lines in his face, his brown skin turned ashen and haggard. His eyes were bloodshot, and his normally immaculate clothes—gold-hemmed black robes, tasseled velvet hat—were rumpled and askew. He blinked at me in astonishment for a moment, and then something in his countenance gave way. I got the horrible feeling I was the first person in quite some time to ask about his well-being.

“My apologies, Lady Farrin,” he said, his voice suddenly as dull and tired as his appearance. “You are neither a girl nor a fool. But nevertheless, I’m afraid I’ll have to escort you from the Citadel grounds and request that you do not return until Her Majesty’s health has improved. I will send you a letter myself when that happens, at which point you are welcome to resume your customary visits. And tell your friends,” he added, his expression hardening a little, “that whatever clever magic they possess, they too must honor this request. No, thisorder. An order from the head of the Royal Conclave. Do not make me ask the Senate for an official petition of exile. I don’t want to do that. It would upset the queen, and I bear you no ill will. In fact, I’m grateful that you’ve long been a friend to her. But Iwillgo to the Senate if I must. Do you understand me?”

“I’m not dangerous to her,” I protested, though even as I said it, I realized I couldn’t know that for certain. The thought made it difficult to breathe.

“I don’t know what’s dangerous and what isn’t,” he said, “but I do know—as I’m sure you do too, now—that our queen is ill. I know that she needs rest and peace and that often you and your family bring the opposite of that. Late nights and neglect of her duties. Stress and gossip, assassination attempts and public brawls. And I also know that if she gets worse…” He paused, shook his head. His mouth turned down at the corners. “Then gods help us all.”

He nodded at the two waiting guards, then turned on his heel and left us, but before he disappeared around the corner, I scrabbled for courage, and for my voice, and found a scrap of each.

“Wait,” I called after him. “I have some information you and the other advisers might find useful—”

“Goodday, Lady Farrin!” he shouted back over his shoulder, his tone brooking no argument. Abashed, utterly defeated, I let the guards escort me away.

Chapter 13

After that, we wasted no time. We stopped at Ivyhill only long enough to gather supplies for the journey north, then in the village of Fenwood, in the southern Mistlands, to collect Mara. Even a few miles from Rosewarren, I felt on edge as we waited for her in the village’s most popular tavern, even with all of us—Gemma, Ryder, Gareth, Talan, and I—in glamoured disguise. Gemma had used her power to touch each of us, excepting Talan, with the barest hint of a glamour—nothing dramatic, just enough to make our faces uninteresting and unrecognizable. Bland, sleepy patrons in a crowded tavern.

I tried not to worry about how that act of magic might have exhausted Gemma and instead distracted myself with random musings—such as how a town as relatively small as Fenwood could support multiple bustling establishments of drink and revelry—and forced myselfnotto think about my perhaps not irrational fear that at any moment the Warden would come bursting through the doors. She would demand news about the draft, about Yvaine; she would know at once what we’d planned and lock Mara up in the priory, separating her from us forever.

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