Grinning, Castyll lifted his own mug and took a sip of the bitter brew. Like the smells of the place, the taste of the beer was crude and unrefined. But oh, it was a taste of true freedom for the first time in what seemed like years.
"Now tell me what has happened," Damir requested, settling back to listen.
Castyll lowered his eyes for a moment, then began. He recounted Shahil's "accidental" death. The deaths and demotions of many who were loyal to the late king. The sudden disappearance of Jemma without warning. The traditional summer holiday in Ilantha that had become a prison term. His attempt at thwarting Bhakir with the speech a few days ago, and the lucky breeze that had so obligingly snatched the scripted speech from Castyll's slack grasp. Bhakir's sudden, seemingly unfounded confidence of recent days. Castyll's conviction that there were yet many who were loyal to him, who did not see in Bhakir the monster that lurked beneath the surface. And finally, his own deep suspicion that, if he did not escape now, he never would.
Damir listened without comment, nodding now and then. Finally, when Castyll had finished, he said, "I have come to offer you asylum. My men and I can spirit you away from here by the time Bhakir knows to begin looking for you. The king of Byrn has offered his support and his army to back it up. And," Damir leaned forward, a slight smile on his thin lips, "Cimarys eagerly awaits a chance to see you again."
A lump rose in Castyll's throat. 'The letter I sent — she was not hurt by it?"
"None of us believed you wrote it of your own free will. Cimarys has kept her faith in you."
Suddenly Castyll reached across the table and grasped Damir's hand hard. "Thank the gods. Knowing that she still believes in me gives me the strength to do what I feel I must. Damir… I thank you and your country for your offer of aid. But if I left, it would send the wrong message to my people. It would leave Bhakir utterly in power with no one to stand against him, no one to protect those who still follow me. You know how he twists things around with that cursed clever tongue of his. If I abandon my country now, he will have poisoned the people against me by the time I could return. No. I must remain here, and strike soon. He will not expect that."
Damir allowed himself another of his small, cryptic smiles. "I suspected as much. That's why I told the Blesser what I did."
"And that is?"
"After she has been interrogated with someone who can read her thoughts — and you know and I know Bhakir will locate someone who can-she will be left alone. A few hours later, Adara will have a desire to visit her sister Blesser in Jarmair. She will travel to the capital and find herself at Castle Derlian. She will ask for either Maren or Kester, and, because of her position, her request for an audience will be granted. Once she verifies that she is speaking to Maren or Kester alone, her memory of her night with you will come back to her-and those whom you trust will finally know your true plight."
Castyll suppressed a desire to whoop aloud with joy. Damir continued with the plan he had "outlined" to the unaware Adara, and Castyll's delight grew. When Damir had finished, Castyll could practically feel the weight of an earned crown sitting atop his brow. Damir wet his throat with the cheap ale and said something that took his drinking companion totally by surprise.
"And in the meantime, we can work on your magic skills."
Castyll blinked. If it were anyone other than Damir — Damir, who had just proved his friendship and worth a hundred times over-he would have thought the comment an insulting jibe. He replied stiffly, "I have no magical skills. The Derlian line of wizard-kings died with my father."
Damir shook his head. "Oh, no, Your Majesty."
"But… damn it, night after night I have sat and tried to light the cursed candle in my bedchamber. I failed the Test with the bracers as a child, and I've never exhibited any talent whatsoever." "Did it ever occur to you that you might be trying too hard?"
Castyll did not reply, but apparently his uncomprehending stare was answer enough. Damir continued. "I've seen this before-not connected with magic, but with marksmanship, for instance, or other skills. Sometimes, one can try too hard, and the very pressure of the effort undercuts any hope of success." He leaned forward and spoke quietly, but very intently, so that Castyll could not possibly misunderstand.
"You spoke of the breeze that so conveniently tore the speech out of your hands, when you wished not to have to deliver it."
"Well, yes, but-"
"I have seen many things in my life. I have grown to be highly suspicious of coincidences. I believe that you called that breeze. You were not thinking, 'if only a gust of wind, blowing at a certain speed and strength, would come right here and be of sufficient force to snatch away this speech.' You merely wanted to find an excuse to deliver your own message. And you made that excuse."
The hair along Castyll's forearms began to prickle. "Damir, you are dangling my dearest hope in front of my eyes. I hope you're not toying with me."
"I would not do such a thing."
"No," Castyll said slowly. "No, you wouldn't. I… I hardly dared to hope any more." "Dare, Your Majesty. Dare."
The examiner sighed, removed his fingers from the young woman's temples, and told his master what he knew he did not wish to hear.
"She's telling the truth, milord. When she woke up, he was gone. She really does have no idea where he might be."
Bhakir smothered his anger. Cursed little royal brat. He should have killed the young pup when he had the chance. Accidents happened, after all.
The two little Tenders, huddled close to one another, watched with round eyes. They, too, had been subjected to an examination; they, too, had been exonerated. Now they stared, silent, at their mistress and the big, black-bearded man who had come to see her.
"You must be a very deep sleeper, Blesser," Bhakir said in a voice that sounded perfectly sincere to those who did not know him well. "Two of my guardsmen lie dead in your garden. Yet you did not waken."
The skinny little Blesser shrank back still further. "I did not know. I shall pray for them and their families. Is Castyll-why would he do such a thing?" She seemed genuinely confused, and Bhakir reluctantly dismissed the idea that she was a collaborator. Women, other than Healers, had no magic. There was no way Adara could have "lied" to his mind-reader.
"I fear that our good king may have been kidnapped," he said gravely. Adara's hands flew to her mouth in horror. "That was why I had guards stationed about your Holy House-though I know that it is against custom to do so. Byrn…" He sighed and shook his dark head helplessly. "They pose as our allies, but my dear young Blesser, I must tell you that they are no friends to Mhar. I have long feared that such a catastrophe would occur. But to think that even Byrnians would so blaspheme as to kidnap a king from a Holy House!"
"If this is indeed what happened," murmured Adara, "then their souls are lost in truth. Your Grace, please-if you have word of Castyll, let me know. I would see him safe."
"As would I, dear lady." He bowed as low as the huge bulk about his midsection would permit. "My men and I shall leave you in peace now. Thank you for cooperating with us."
He led the way out into the bright, midmorning sunshine. With an effort, he heaved himself into his saddle, his mind working furiously. He slowly motioned for the two guards to ride at his side and the mind-reader to bring up the rear, and the four horses clopped down the cobblestone way toward the palace.
To the guard on his left, Bhakir said softly, "Keep an eye on the girl. Follow me until we are well out of sight, then slip off the horse and double back."
"Certainly, milord, but may I ask your suspicions? The girl knows nothing."