While they waited, the prince looked back at the woman trapped in the light and thought about all of the history she must have seen. He wondered what her importance might have been to Wigg and the Directorate. Jessamay had said that she had been brought here by Succiu after the Coven's attack on Eutracia. Had she known his parents? Or Faegan?
"I have it!" Wigg shouted.
As he picked up the book, Celeste took him by the arm.
"Please be careful, Father," she said. Wigg nodded.
"I want you two to stay here," he said. Then he winked at them.
"Don't worry. I may be more than three hundred years old, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."
Holding the open book in his hands, he walked back to the cone of azure light. He looked into Jessamay's eyes.
"I am going to try to free you," he said. "But first-can you manage to cut yourself slightly with your manacles?"
Jessamay nodded. "You wish to be sure that it's really me, don't you?" she asked.
Without waiting for an answer, Jessamay carefully used the edge of one of her manacles to scrape the skin of the opposite wrist. Then she did it again. She started to bleed.
Tilting her hand slightly, she allowed a few drops of her blood to fall to the alcove floor. As they landed, they began twisting themselves into matching blood signatures. Coming as close as he dared Wigg bent down and looked at them. Satisfied, he stood back up.
"It's really me," Jessamay said. "I swear it to you."
"I know," Wigg answered.
"Please promise me something," she said then.
"Anything."
"If you see your efforts failing, you must improperly violate the boundaries of the cone and let me die. I would rather join the Afterlife than spend one more moment as Failee's plaything."
"I promise," Wigg answered gravely.
Holding the grimoire before him, he started to read the passage. Tristan and Celeste held their breath.
At first nothing happened. Tristan looked at Celeste, wondering whether the incantation was going to work. Then the cone began to change.
As Jessamay slinked fearfully toward the rear of the alcove, droplets of azure energy began to run down from the cone's apex. Their paths crisscrossed as they descended in snaking, undulating streaks, and the cone slowly vanished from the top down. Wigg continued to recite the incantation until the prison of light was gone. Only an azure pool remained on the floor.
Wigg closed the book and pointed at Jessamay.
"Spread your arms and close your eyes," he ordered.
She obeyed, and the rusty chains binding her to the wall rattled.
A bolt of azure light streaked from Wigg's hand. The chains attached to Jessamay's right manacle exploded in a cloud of smoke. Then he did the same to the ones on the other side.
"Tristan," the wizard called out, "come here."
Tristan and Celeste walked to his side. Wigg handed the grimoire to the prince.
Stepping forward, Wigg looked into Jessamay's eyes. She was crying freely now and she was barely able to stand. Wigg took her into his arms and carried her out of the alcove.
"You must take Failee's blood criterion and signature scope!" Jessamay said urgently, her voice a rasping whisper.
Wigg looked around. "Where?"
She waved an arm weakly in the direction of one of the tables. "There," she said.
Although confused by her request, Wigg barked out the order to Tristan, who went to gather the tools. "But why-" Wigg began. He was interrupted by the sudden squeal of rusty hinges.
Tristan spun around. Just as before, the iron door on the far side of the room had begun to close.
Horrified, he shoved the grimoire into Celeste's hands and ran. He reached the door and tried with all his strength to stop it, but he couldn't. Through the narrowing gap he could see and hear Alrik and his warriors on the other side.
Shouting frantically at one another, several of the Minions grasped the edge of the door and pulled against it. But even their combined strength could not overcome the craft.
Tristan let go just in time to save his fingers from being crushed. But some of his warriors were not so fortunate. Even as the door closed with a final bang, they never gave up. Severed fingers fell to the floor at Tristan's feet.
His chest heaving, Tristan turned away from the door. Then he froze. The pool of azure liquid left by the cone was growing…and fast. "Look out!" he shouted.
Jessamay in his arms, Wigg turned around. "I should have known!" he exclaimed. "It's another trap!"
The fluid was nearly at their toes now.
"Take Jessamay!" Wigg ordered. Handing Celeste the blood criterion and signature scope, Tristan took the sorceress from Wigg. Then Wigg snatched the grimoire from his daughter.
He raised his hands and the glow of the craft appeared. In a moment, Tristan felt his body growing lighter. Soon his toes were off the floor. Wigg raised his hands farther, and they all levitated toward the ceiling.
Tristan looked down at the floor and saw, to his horror, that the fluid was increasing in volume. The temperature in the room was rising; steam began to roil. Rushing waves of the fluid began noisily overturning the furniture.
Two of the bookcases tumbled down. As furniture and books swirled in the strange fluid, they caught fire, sending acrid smoke toward the fugitives hovering near the ceiling.
The fluid was already halfway to the ceiling. Tristan found it difficult to breathe. Coughing, he struggled to hold Jessamay higher. There was now very little space between his head and the ceiling.
He looked toward Celeste. There was so much steam and smoke that he could barely see her face. Then he smelled burning leather. Looking down, he saw that the fluid had reached the toes of his boots.
With his last bit of strength he lifted Jessamay higher. She screamed as the searing, smoking fluid began to reach them. Tristan looked frantically over at Wigg, to see the wizard desperately trying to decipher a page of the grimoire.
The smoke and the heat were suffocating, and Tristan felt close to passing out. He knew he could hold Jessamay for only a few more seconds. Leaning close, Celeste kissed him goodbye.
CHAPTER XXXIV
"Put your backs into it!" Scars shouted at the top of his lungs. Even his booming voice could barely be heard above the raging storm. "Pump those handles with everything you have and turn that screw quickly! This is our last chance to stay alive!"
As the Reprise heeled hard to port, the Minions and Tyranny's crewmen struggled to repair the great ship. Scars watched anxiously as his men turned the screw and K'jarr's warriors manned the pumps. He knew Tyranny wouldn't be able to hold her over for long, and they had to get the fresh boards into place before she righted again.
The frigate groaned in protest. Scars cast his gaze upward. He couldn't imagine what it must be like above decks. He knew the ship wouldn't be able to take much more of this.
With one of its flat iron braces firmly against a supporting timber, the screw inched the opposing brace toward the damaged hull. Crewmen were busy hammering the fresh-cut planks into place. Finally the brace seated, and the crew slathered on pitch and tar, covering the gaps between the planks. Scars barked out orders, spurring the men on. Their lives depended upon the next few moments. Scars knew they needed just a little more time, if only their captain could give it to them. Then he felt the heavy ship come to starboard again, and he knew he had a decision to make.
As the Reprise came back over, the shifting stress on the hull would transfer through the screw and against the timber. The already weakened timber might well break under the strain. If it did, the freshly seated planks would cave in again, and this time all would be lost.