“It was Allouette did that,” Gregory said, “and she suffered not at all.”
“But he did!” Allouette said. “The last great hulking brute struck him with its club! I wish I could have torn it to bits!”
“I think you did better than that.” But Alain’s voice was oddly cool.
Allouette glanced up anxiously. Which had put him on his guard again—her skill with telekinesis or her anger?
Geoffrey frowned with concern. “Are you hurt then, brother?”
“It is only a bruise,” Gregory said, “though I suspect it may penetrate to the bone.”
“Not so far as that.” Allouette laid her hand on his arm, quick to reassure. “I probed with thought. It is only in the muscle, and it will heal.”
Geoffrey gave her a quizzical glance, as though trying to classify her—friend or foe? “Still, you should ride,” he said to Gregory. “We go farther into this mist, then?”
“Aye, but warily,” Gregory told him, then turned to Allouette. “Will you lead my horse, so that I can bind my attention to thoughts all around us?”
Now, the last thing Allouette wanted was to be left effectively alone with her two former targets. “Do you lead me, dea . . . sir wizard, and I shall scan.”
“Gregory is best of us all at that,” Geoffrey objected. “Even his name means ‘watcher.’”
“And I have been too much a watcher of life and not enough of a doer, until my love came along.” Gregory squeezed her hand. “Nay, brother, my Allouette is quite equal to the task.”
Alain eyed her thoughtfully, and Allouette had to resist a very strong impulse to read his thoughts. No need, though, really—she knew he would be thinking, She kept watch on us well enough, after all. Still, when he spoke, his voice was kind, though reserved: “I had not known you were as skilled as Gregory, lady.”
“In some things, Your Highness.” She tried to meet his eyes but failed.
“Come, I am Alain to you now, even as I said.” His tone warmed. “Mount and be sentry for us, then, while Gregory leads us through this cloud come to earth.”
Geoffrey brought her horse up to her, telling it, “There now, none blame you for not pulling your mistress out of the mire, and certainly not for staying out of it yourself. Do you bear her proudly, then.”
Allouette mounted, wishing that she would be able to believe him as easily as the horse did, if he told her she was not to blame. That, though, would never happen—she had done what she had done, and though those actions had been founded on misconceptions, biases she had been taught, and a world made far worse than it needed to be, she was nonetheless responsible for her own actions. Admittedly, once she had confronted those festering memories and discredited them, she seemed to be a different person entirely—she looked back on her days as Agent Finister, at the things she had done and that had been done to her, and the Chief Agent seemed to be a different person entirely.
Still, she could not rebuild her life as though she had never been stolen from her mother and reared with lies, half-truths, and manipulation as ever-present as the air she had breathed. She could, however, accept the responsibility for what she had done as Agent Finister, make what amends she could, and live the future so that it would make up for the deeds of her past.
And, of course, cherish this strange, powerful, but tender man who, against all logic and common sense, loved her so deeply. She wondered if being loyal to love could redeem her.
As they rode, Geoffrey and Alain conferred in low tones. Allouette scarcely noticed, because Gregory had posed her a difficult question.
“There is an old saying, love, that once may be chance, twice may be coincidence—”
“But the third time is enemy action?” Allouette turned to him, puzzled. “But three ogres is surely one mischance, not three!”
“A point well taken,” Gregory said, musing. “But the mist persists. What if more monsters come from it?”
“Why, we shall dissolve them again.” Allouette shrugged. “You cannot mean to let them wander about the land, can you?”
“No—but I was wondering at the source of a mist that produces monsters.”
“But that is no riddle! We have already dealt with it—it is but a matter of gathering moisture into droplets!”
“Indeed it is,” said Gregory, “but who gathered them?”
Allouette started to answer, then stopped, brow knit. “You mean that someone may be making mist and monsters both.”
“I had thought that,” Gregory said. “That would be two incidents, would it not?”
“It could still be coincidence,” Allouette said, but her expression belied it. “The mist could be natural, the ogres could have been abroad early, and the children could have put the two together in their minds and thought the mist had borne the creatures when it had really been only happenstance.”
“Children would be likely to see such where it is not,” Gregory agreed.
“But we must consider the possibility that they did not.” Allouette scowled. “Who, then, crafted both?”
“Surely we shall know if we meet a fourth monster,” Gregory said, “though since we go seeking them, perhaps we are making the very pattern that we look for.”
“Perhaps,” Allouette said absently.
Gregory looked at her, realized she was already deep in thought, and said, “I shall bear these tidings to my brother.”
“Aye, do,” Allouette said.
Gregory turned back to Geoffrey. As he did, Alain pushed his horse forward. In a minute he was riding beside Allouette, who was still deeply concentrating on the problem. Alain knew the signs and rode in silence.
All at once Allouette looked up, eyes widening in alarm. “Your Highness! I had not meant—”
“Nor did you,” Alain interrupted. “You were puzzling out our common enemy, for which I am grateful. Have you worked out who or what it might be?”
“There is still too little information to risk an answer,” Allouette said with chagrin.
“But enough to raise a question?”
Allouette stared at him. “How did you know that, Highness? You do not read minds!”
“No, but I have spent much time with the Gallowglass family, and I know the signs.”
Allouette turned back toward the front, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. “Does the lady Cordelia do such guesswork, then?”
“Constantly,” Alain said, “and I have grown to trust her intuition enormously—though she tells me the cost of her intuition is high. However, the education is certainly worth it.”
Allouette frowned at him, not understanding, then saw his lips curve upward a little. “It is a jest!” she accused.
“I had to have it explained to me, too,” Alain confessed. “I asked her if she would prefer that I spoke of her having a hunch, but she answered that Notre Dame was not her church.”
Allouette stared, then gave a peal of laughter, though she tried to muffle it with her hand.
“Ah, I see you know the tale of the bell-ringer,” Alain said, smiling. “I did not, when she first told it me, so she gave me the book and told me to read it.”
“Surely that is quite impertinent conduct, from a subject to her prince!”
“But quite appropriate between fiancés,” Alain rejoined. “Besides, it was an enjoyable tale.”
“And the ringing of church bells will never seem the same to you?” Allouette couldn’t help a smile.
“It does have a peal,” Alain acknowledged, and grinned as she tried to throttle her merriment. “Pray do not deprive us of the musical sound of so merry a laugh, lady!”
“That must have been your reply to Cordelia,” Allouette accused.
“You mean that, like the bell, I might have tolled her so?”