And then, only a few minutes later, she stumbled upon him as he materialised at the edges of her range on the nearest city bridge. Almost involuntarily she sent him a surge of feeling that began as fury but turned immediately to worry and also relief at feeling him, so uncontrolled that she couldn't be sure some of her deeper feeling hadn't seeped through.
He sent back assurance and exhaustion and apology, and she reached back to him with apology of her own, and he apologised again, more insistently this time. Brigan has arrived, she thought hurriedly to the others, and pushed their own expressions of relief out of her mind. Her focus was unravelling. She scrabbled to regain control of the courtyard.
Lady Murgda was keeping a lower profile than Gentian. Like Gentian, she'd arrived with attendants, at least twenty of them, 'servants' who had the feeling of persons used to fighting. A number of these persons were in the courtyard below. Others were spread throughout the palace, presumably watching whomever Murgda had instructed them to watch; but Murgda herself had gone straight to her rooms at her arrival and had not emerged since. She was holed up there now, a level below Fire and across from where Fire stood, though Fire could not see her. She could only feel her, sharp and intelligent, as Fire had known she would be, harder than her two enemies below and more guarded, but buzzing with a similar edginess, and burning with suspicion.
Clara, Garan, Nash, Welkley, and several guards entered Fire's room. Sensing them, but not turning from the balcony view, Fire touched their minds in greeting and, through the open balcony door, heard Clara muttering.
"I've figured out who Gentian's got tailing me," Clara said, "but I'm not so sure of Murgda's tail. Her people are better trained."
"They're Pikkian, some of them," Garan said. "Sayre tells me she saw Pikkian-looking men, and heard their accents."
"Is it possible Lord Gentian could be daft enough to have no one watching Lady Murgda?" Clara said. "His entourage is pretty obvious, and none of it seems trained on her."
"There's no ease in watching Lady Murgda, Lady Princess," Welkley said. "She's barely shown her face. Lord Gentian, on the other hand, has asked for your audience three times, Lord King, and three times I've brushed him off. He's quite eager to tell you in person all kinds of made-up reasons why he's here."
"We'll give him the opportunity to explain, once he's dead," Garan said.
Fire listened to the conversation with one fraction of her attention and monitored Brigan's progress with another – he was in the stables now – dancing all the while around Gentian, Gunner, and Murgda. So far she had only played around their minds, searching for ways in, approaching but not taking hold. She instructed a servant below – one of Welkley's people – to offer wine to Gentian and Gunner. Both men waved the serving girl away. Fire sighed, wishing the elder were not so plagued with indigestion and the younger so austere in his habits. Young Gunner was a bit troublesome, actually, stronger-minded than she'd like. Gentian, on the other hand – she wondered if it was time to enter Gentian's mind and begin pushing. He grew more and more anxious, and she got the sense that he had wanted the wine he'd refused.
Brigan pushed into the room behind her. "Brother," Fire heard Garan say. "Cutting it a bit close this time even by your standards, don't you think? Everything in place at Fort Flood?"
"Poor boy," Clara said. "Who punched up your face?"
"No one relevant," Brigan said shortly. "Where's Lady Fire?"
Fire turned from the courtyard, went to the balcony door, stepped into the room, and came face to face with Nash, very handsome, very smartly dressed, who froze, stared back at her unhappily, turned, and strode into the next room. Garan and Welkley stared also, mouths agape, and Fire remembered that she was dressed up. Even Clara seemed struck dumb.
"All right," Fire said, "I know. Pull yourselves together and let's get on with things."
"Is everyone in position?" Brigan asked. Mud-splattered and radiating cold, he looked like he'd been fighting for his life not ten minutes ago and had nearly lost, his cheekbone scraped raw, his jaw bruised, and a bloody bandage across his knuckles. He directed his question at Fire, searching her face with gentle eyes that did not match the rest of his appearance.
"Everyone's in position," she said. Do you need a healer, Lord Prince? He shook his head, peering down at his knuckles with mild amusement. "And our enemies? Anyone we weren't expecting? Any of Cutter's foggy friends about, Lady?"
"No, thank the Dells." Are you in pain?
"All right," Clara said. "We have our swordsman, so let's get moving. Brigan, could you attempt, at least, to make yourself presentable? I know this is a war, but the rest of us are trying to pretend it's a party."
The third time Fire instructed Welkley's serving girl to offer Gentian wine, Gentian grabbed the cup and downed it in two gulps.
Fire was fully inside Gentian's mind now. It was not a stable place. He kept glancing at the balcony belonging to Murgda. When he did this, his entire handsome being flashed with anxiety, and with a peculiar wishfulness.
Fire began to wonder why, if Gentian was so anxious about Lady Murgda's balcony, he'd assigned none of his men to monitor Murgda. For Clara had figured right. Fire knew the feeling of every person in Gentian's entourage, and with a small effort, she could locate each of them. They were lurking around the doors and the persons of various gala guests; they were lurking near the guarded entrances to the royal residences and offices. None of them were lurking around Murgda.
Murgda, on the other hand, had spies on everyone. Two of them were milling around Gentian this moment.
Gentian took another cup of wine and glanced once more at Murgda's empty balcony. It was so odd, the emotion that accompanied these glances. Something like a frightened child looking for reassurance from an adult.
Why would Gentian look to the balcony of his enemy for reassurance?
Suddenly Fire wanted very much to feel what would happen if Murgda came onto her balcony and Gentian saw her. But Fire was not going to be able to compel Murgda onto her balcony without Murgda knowing she was being compelled. And then it would be only one more step to Murgda figuring out why.
It seemed to Fire that if she couldn't sneak up on Murgda, she might as well be direct. She sent a message.
Come out, lady rebel, and tell me why you're here.
Murgda's response was both immediate and startling: an ironic, hard pleasure at being so hailed; an utter lack of surprise or fear; a desire, unmistakable, to meet with the lady monster in person; and a blatant and unapologetic mistrust.
Well, Fire thought, her tone deliberately careless. I'll meet with you, if you'll go to the place I specify.
Amusement and contempt in response to this. Murgda was not fool enough to be led into a trap.
And I'm not keen enough to see you, Lady Murgda, that I would let you choose the meeting place.
Stubborn refusal to leave her self-created fortress.
You don't imagine I'd come to you in your rooms, Lady Murgda? No, I begin to think we are not meant to meet after all.
A determination – a need – to meet Lady Fire, to see her.
It was intriguing, this need, and Fire was content to use it for her own purposes. She breathed to calm her nerves, for her next message must be perfect in tone: amused – delighted, even – to the point of mild acquiescence, and somewhat curious, but rather indifferent as to where all of this might lead.
I suppose we could start by getting a look at each other. I'm on the balcony just across from you and up.