So the Captain of the King's Bodyguard chose a time when the Advisors were all huddled together in Council, threw out the Physician and smuggled them in.
"Now what?" T'fyrr asked her as she surveyed Theovere's bed. Theovere was in it, somewhere in the middle, hardly visible for all the pillows and feather comforters piled atop him, and lost in the vast expanse of it. The bed itself was big enough to sleep three Gypsy families and still have room for the dogs. "Do we need to have physical contact with him?"
"I don't think so," she replied as the Captain moved a little in silent protest to that suggestion. He might not trust the Physician, but he also made no bones about the fact that his trust for them was very limited. "No, there's nothing we can do with a physical contact that we can't do without it."
She turned to the Captain, then, as something occurred to her. "You were there when he collapsed, weren't you?"
The beefy man nodded, face red with chagrin and anger at himself. "And why I didn't think_"
"You're not at fault," she interrupted gently. "There should have been no way for a note to get to the King that hadn't been checked for problems first. Unless_"
He looked sharply at her. "Unless?"
"Unless that note was put on the tray by one of the King's Advisors and had the seal of the Council on it," she said, and got the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow with speculation. "Now, I know if I were an Advisor to the High King, knowing that the King wasn't getting any younger, and suspecting that a successor might be named soon who would want his own Advisors in place..." She let her voice trail off and raised an eyebrow significantly.
The Captain nodded, his face as impassive as a stone wall, but his eyes bright with anger. "I take your meaning, and its one I hadn't thought of."
Nightingale shrugged, pleased that she had planted her seed in fertile ground. But the Captain was not yet finished.
"Lady, I_" She sensed him groping for words through a fog of grief, though there was no outward sign of that grief on his features. "I served Theovere all my life. I've seen him at his best, and at his worst, and_"
He stopped and shook his head, unable to articulate his own feelings. She held her hands tightly together in her lap, holding herself tightly braced against the wash of his emotions, as strong as the tide at its full. Now she knew why every man in the Bodyguards was so fanatically devoted to the King.
He could inspire that devotion once. Lady grant we make it possible for him to do so again.
She caught his eyes and nodded gravely, once, then turned back to the enormous bed and its quiet occupant. "If we succeed, Captain, it will be for the good of all_and if we fail, then at least we will have been able to give Theovere a parting gift of the music he loved so much."
"Nightingale," T'fyrr said suddenly, in the Gypsy tongue, "didn't you tell me that there might be a_a spirit of some kind, holding Theovere away? Look over there."
He pointed with his beak rather than draw the attention of the Captain, and Nightingale stared in the direction he pointed.
There is a shadow there, where a shadow has no business being!
It hovered just above Theovere's head, but it did not feel like Theovere. It felt hungry, cruel, petty_
What is it? Whatever it was, she knew at that moment that they would have to deal with it before they could bring Theovere back to himself.
"I think its occupied," T'fyrr whispered, his voice shaking a little. "I think_I think it might be tormenting Theovere."
Odd. That sounded familiar. A little like_
Like the Ghost that Rune fiddled for, that Robin and Kestrel helped to free! It had been bound to a pass by a malicious magician, and had taken out its rage on those who tried to cross the pass by night. If you had something like that_a lesser spirit, perhaps_and bound it to your service_
Then you might have something that you could set on a man simply by sending him a note to which it had been attached_something that could drive the soul from his body and keep it there. You would have something that would become more and more bitter and malicious the longer it stayed bound.
Which meant it was half in this world and half in the next; and wasn't that the definition of those with the Sight? She had it_she just hadn't used it much, not when her greater power lay with the heart rather than the soul.
And the Elven message had clearly said, "this is magic of the heart and the Sight." Elves simply didn't get any clearer than that. Well, the first thing to do is get its attention. I haven't invoked the Sight in a long time....
She put her hands on the strings of her harp, and began to play quietly, humming the melody under her breath as she slowly sharpened her focus out of this world and into the next. She sensed T'fyrr following her lead, and wondered if he would share her Sight, or if he had a touch of it himself.
The room grew grey and dim, and faded away at the edges as she moved her vision into that other world where shadows were solid and restless spirits dwelled. She could still see Theovere, but now_
Now there were two of him.
One was in the bed, the other standing at the foot of the bed, an expression of fear and frustration on his face. And hovering above the Theovere in the bed was_something.
It wasn't human, not precisely. There was a certain odd cast to the face, as if the structure of the skull was subtly different from a humans. The red eyes were slanted obliquely toward the temples. The fingers were too long and there were seven of them; the limbs looked oddly jointless. It had the pointed ears of an Elf, but It wasn't an Elf, either. At the moment, It was watching Theovere, and it was enjoying his plight.
"Can you See anything?" she whispered to T'fyrr, and she described what she Saw. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shake his head.
"Only the shadow," he replied. "I will trust you to know what to do."
I only wish I did! she thought; but they were in it now, and there was no turning back. Whatever It was, It didn't seem to be paying any attention to her or her music. It also wasn't doing much_except to keep Theovere from reentering his own body. Which meant_what?
That It's probably not all that powerful. That I'm not reaching It. But I'm not really trying. Think, Nightingale! What do you do when you have to reach an audience and you don't know what they want?
You try something so beautiful they can't ignore it.
She heard It speaking now, faintly; It taunted Theovere with his plight and his helplessness, playing with the symbols of his power that It conjured up into Its own hands. It didn't have the real crown, rod, or sword, of course_but Theovere didn't know that.