Page 50 of Kingdom of Locks

Amell realized, as he looked the prisoners over, their capture indicated not all the escapees had fled further afield. Some of them must be hanging about the general area, unable to make a clean escape. Which meant that Honeysuckle was doubly vulnerable. What if one of them had magic strong enough to counteract Cyfrin’s concealment enchantment, as Amell’s cloak could do?

The rest of the afternoon passed in a strange sort of tension, the camp torn between dismay at the news of the attack on the farmer and his family, and delight at the unrelated recapture of three more fugitives.

Amell, meanwhile, couldn’t focus on any of it. When his father once again refused to allow him to attend the interrogation of the newly captured prisoners—citing his clear distraction as the reason—he tried to pull his mind back to matters of the prison. But all he could think about was the beautiful girl trapped in the tower, and how she was trusting him to help her get free. All attempts to tell Furn, or anyone else, about any aspect of what he’d seen in the clearing led to the same result. The magic was stopping his tongue, and he had no idea how to get around it.

“Well, I have good news, Your Highness.”

Furn’s voice pulled Amell from his reverie.

“What’s that?”

“Some action,” the guard said, in a heartening tone. “There’s been a report of magical activity only an hour’s ride north. His Majesty is sending a squadron to investigate, and I’ve talked the captain into letting us form part of it.”

Amell raised an eyebrow. “Why, Furn. It almost sounded like you were happy about a report of criminal activity.”

His guard grinned appreciatively. “Of course not, Your Highness. I just thought you’d welcome the opportunity to actually do something.”

He glanced pointedly down, and following his gaze Amell realized that he was jiggling his leg. He hadn’t even noticed himself doing it, and he stilled it at once. But a moment later, his foot was tapping.

“I’m not sure, Furn,” he said, glancing at the sky. “If it’s an hour’s ride, we’ll be arriving as the sun is setting.”

The guard raised an eyebrow. “Are you worried about riding in the dark, Your Highness? I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

Amell laughed reluctantly. “Of course not. It’s just…” He trailed off, and Furn’s forehead creased in thought.

“It’s to do with whatever you found in the woods, isn’t it?”

Amell tried to nod, but his head wouldn’t move. Clearly his friend understood, however.

“You’re sure whatever it is has nothing to do with the prison, or with any of the fugitives?” Furn pressed, not for the first time.

“Positive,” Amell said curtly.

“And you’re not in any danger?”

Amell made an impatient noise in his throat. “Of course I’m not.”

Furn nodded. “Well then, if you’ll excuse me saying so, Your Highness, I really think we should focus on what we came here to do. There are still twenty-two inmates out there in the community, and this might be a chance to help capture one of them.”

“You’re right, of course,” Amell sighed. He glanced toward the distant trees, his foot once again tapping. It was hard to accept that Cyfrin would be approaching the tower within the hour, and Amell was just going to stand by and let it happen. He knew Honeysuckle had been determined he leave before the enchanter arrived, but he’d had vague thoughts of hiding in the grove and following Cyfrin, perhaps finding out where he lived.

Or maybe confronting him in a blaze of righteous wrath.

Amell sighed again, acknowledging the folly of his own daydreams. He couldn’t forget the earnest entreaty in Honeysuckle’s face when she’d told him he was the first real chance she’d had, and begged him not to mess it up. Real people were on the line, and as much as he wanted to engage in heroics, he couldn’t give rein to his imagination.

Fleetingly, he wished his father could see inside his mind, and realize how capable Amell was of showing restraint. But of course the one time Amell was making a sensible choice, he was magically prevented from telling his father about it. Instead the king had been impatient with his son all afternoon for his inability to concentrate on the crisis before them.

“All right, let’s saddle up,” he said, turning abruptly to Furn. “And thank you for making it happen,” he added, reminding himself that it wasn’t Furn’s fault that he was uncharacteristically reluctant to join a mission.

Still looking a little confused by Amell’s manner, Furn nodded.

When the group departed the prison, Amell and Furn were positioned at the center of a full squadron of the soldiers who had traveled from Fernford with them the day before. Two enchanters from the prison guard occupied the protected central space with them. They traveled by the main road, so Amell could only glance in the general direction of the hidden clearing as they passed through the trees. With a sigh, he turned his attention northward, trying not to wonder if Cyfrin was already on his way to the tower.

For the next hour, he and Furn rode in silence, as the tension in the group rose palpably. They heard the hubbub before they saw it. The group rode into the chaos of what had clearly been a twilight market, although now it more closely resembled the site of a stampede.

“There were two of them,” a merchant told the captain, his voice unsteady. “They demanded my horses, and when I refused, they said they were cursing me to fail in everything I put my hand to. It’s not true, is it? They can’t…I mean, they can’t actually do that?”

One of the enchanters rode forward, speaking reassuringly to the man. He explained the process by which he could seek assistance from the Enchanters’ Guild, which would examine him and his family for any sign of lingering magic, and ascertain a way to counteract any curse they might have suffered.

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