I wasn’t surprised to find a fresh company of hounds on his heels, evidently very interested in the food.
The guards passed the food through the bars to us, ignoring my pleas to be taken to whoever was in charge so that we could clear up the situation. Thankfully, they shooed the dogs out before them when they left. So it was that a half hour later, fed, hydrated by ice-cold water that was actually very good, and with the warmth of a thick woolen blanket around us, we all settled down to get a little sleep.
“Things will look brighter in the morning,” my always optimistic mother said as she curled up with Mom Two on one of the camp beds in her cage, Mrs. Vanilla having been settled on the other. “They always do.”
I said nothing, but as I watched the torch sputter and finally die, my thoughts were as dark as the night outside the prison tent.
• • •
“See? I told you things would look brighter,” my mother said some seven hours later. I shot her a brief glare, and she had the grace to look abashed.
“I wouldn’t call a bloodred sky brighter.” My attention was momentarily distracted by the fact that the sky was, in fact, deep, dark red and striped with dirty gray wisps of what I assumed were clouds. Smoke, thick and dark, wafted upward in long, lazy curls from some unknown—but nearby—source. Every now and then, a little rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and twice my peripheral vision caught the sudden flash of lightning.
There were no clouds in the sky.
I took a deep breath, one of several that I had taken during the last ten minutes since we had been released from our prisons. We’d been given more water (which again was fresh and cold and almost sweet, it was so good), thick slabs of bread, a little pottery bowl of butter, and rough-cut slices of the best cheese I’d ever had. Three young-looking dogs who could have been siblings snuck in after breakfast was delivered and waited patiently outside my cell until I couldn’t stand their hopeful eyes any longer and handed over bites of bread and cheese. Two apples completed my food allotment, both of which I stuck in my hoodie pockets for later.
Luckily, I’d just finished using what could only be described as a camping toilet, discreetly located in the corner and hidden behind a long blue curtain that was hung from the bars across the ceiling of the cell.
“Say what you will about the accommodations,” Mom Two said as they settled in to their breakfast. I noticed somewhat jealously that they had also been given plump, juicy-looking grapes. “The food is delicious. Gwenny, don’t give those hounds any more cheese. It will give them wind. Is there more butter, Alice?”
Mrs. Vanilla made happy little noises as she ate grapes.
It was a good thing that we were all hungry, because we were given only a few minutes to eat before a new contingent of guards appeared and herded us out of our prisons.
“Who exactly are we being taken to see?” I asked my guards. I noticed with irritation that I had two of them, while my mothers and Mrs. Vanilla had only one each. The morning sun glinted off the armor they wore, which appeared to be made of pale golden-plated pieces, bound together with mail of the same color. Men and women alike wore the armor, I was somewhat gratified to notice. At least wherever we’d ended up, women weren’t treated like inferior beings. “Hey, I asked you guys a question, and I expect an answer!”
“Gwen, I don’t believe an antagonistic attitude is going to benefit us,” Mom Two cautioned from behind me.
I could have told her that I was fully aware it wasn’t the way to make friends and influence people, but that, at the moment at least, wasn’t my goal. I wanted information, and if being obnoxious was the only way to get it, then I could be VERY obnoxious.
“Dude,” I said, dragging my heels and jerking the guards on each of my arms to a halt. “I am not taking another step until someone tells me what’s going on!”
The guards picked me up with a hand under each of my armpits and simply carried me forward.
“Dammit!” I yelled, kicking my legs and trying to be as dead a weight as possible. “Put me down! Why the hell won’t you speak?”
“They are not allowed to speak to spies,” a man answered. The guards stopped and set me down in front of him, which was at the opening of a purple-and-white-striped tent. The man was also in armor, although his had fancier bits of embossing and little round medallion plates on it. Obviously, he wasn’t just an ordinary soldier. Next to him, on the ground, lay an elderly version of the dogs who had hit me up for part of my breakfast. She lifted her head when the man spoke, her tail thumping on a dark purple rug.
“We are not spies,” I said, straightening my clothing with exaggerated gestures. “I am an alchemist. My mothers are Wiccans. The old lady is just an old lady. She doesn’t talk much. Who are you?”
“Your name?” the man asked, his long, mobile face not at all what I would have pictured as someone in charge of soldiers. He looked goofy, like a young Hugh Laurie pretending to be someone he wasn’t.
“Gwen Owens.”
“I’m Gwenny’s mother, Magdalena,” my mom said as she came forward. She gestured to the right. “This is my partner, Alice Hill. Mrs. Vanilla is our client.”
The man bowed with a metallic rustle. “Colorado Jones.”
I stared at him for a minute. “You mean like ‘Indiana Jones’ but with ‘Colorado’ instead?”
He blinked somewhat vacant blue eyes at me. “I’m not acquainted with Sir Indiana, my lady. Is he with Lord Aaron’s army?”
“OK,” I said after a moment’s pause, “I think for sanity’s sake we’re just going to let that go and move forward. Who do I speak to about this patently ridiculous claim that we’re spies? I don’t even know who we’re supposed to be spying against, or for, and why, but I can tell you that it’s all wrong. We just got to Anwyn about ten seconds before we were captured.”
“You’re not spies?” the man asked (I made an effort to think of him by the name he’d given, but it was difficult). Relief flooded his face. He gestured toward the guards, dismissing them. “It’s all been a terrible mistake. I will inform Lady Holly that these damselles are here to help us, not harm us.”
I started to protest, but my mother grabbed my arm and gave me a look that had me biting off the words. It was better to be thought a friend than a foe.
“Witches are most welcome to Lord Ethan,” Colorado was telling my moms. “Most welcome. As for your compatriot—” He eyed Mrs. Vanilla. She weaved a little, making a creaking noise as she did so. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll find something for her to do. Everyone must have a use, that’s what the Lady Dawn says. She isn’t in Anwyn at the present, but we must still abide by her rules. You ladies may have Mistress Eve’s tent. She has returned to her home, and needs it no longer. My squire will take you there, and then to the apothecary so that you might procure whatever you need to weave your magic.”
“Oooh, an apothecary,” Mom said, looking pleased.
“Now, hold on here a minute,” I said, jumping a little when Colorado bellowed, “Branwyn! Front and center! And see that you’re suitably garbed—ladies are present.”
“We’re not going to go anywhere until we find out exactly where we are and what’s going on.”
He looked surprised. “Why, you are in Lord Ethan’s encampment.”
“Who’s Lord Ethan when he’s at home?”
“Gwen!” Mom Two scolded me, then said apologetically to Colorado, “You have to forgive our girl. She spends most of her time in the States.”
“Lord Ethan is Lord Ethan,” Colorado said, his hands flapping helplessly. “He is our lord and master.”
“I got the relationship basics, but who is he, exactly? And why does he have an army in Anwyn? Wait, we are in Anwyn, aren’t we?”