Wondering what the wizards wanted of her, she glanced around the room. Then her eyes went wide, the blood rushed from her face, and she fainted away, falling like the dead into the arms of the Minion warrior behind her. A startled Morganna began to wail.
55
A short chuckle came from one side of the room, followed by a deep, hacking cough. “I told you she would react that way,” the voice said weakly. Then another cough came. “She always has. Trust me, she will never forgive you. Either of you!”
Prince Tristan of the House of Galland sat up in his bed as well as his sore muscles would let him. He hurt everywhere, and was still so weak he doubted he could even walk across the room. Gray and gaunt, his face carried two weeks’ worth of thick, dark whiskers.
Tristan had been awake since yesterday, trying to regain some of his strength and enjoying the simple fact that he was both warm and alive. How or why, he still did not know. Since his return to consciousness Wigg and Faegan had remained tight-lipped, concentrating solely on his physical condition. But he intended to get his answers soon, wizards or no wizards.
He looked to his twin sister lying inert in Traax’s strong arms. The baby had been handed to Celeste. His eyes welled briefly with tears. We both live, he thought. He then looked around the room at the others: Shannon, Michael, Ox, Geldon, and Celeste, not to mention Wigg and Faegan, of course. All of us live. We have been so very fortunate.
“Lay Shailiha down on that sofa,” Tristan ordered Traax, pointing to the large loveseat next to his bed. Traax did so. Lying there with her long, golden hair splayed out, Shailiha looked like an elaborate, limp, rag doll.
Celeste stood in the doorway, her arms hugging the baby, looking as if she had just seen a ghost. Her hands trembled slightly.
“Can it be true?” she asked softly, taking a tentative step into the room. “Are you really alive?”
“Yes.” Tristan smiled, holding out his hands.
Immediately Celeste went to him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The welcome smell of the myrrh in her hair came back, reminding him of so much he once thought had been lost forever. Between them, Morganna fidgeted, gripping Tristan’s hair with one tiny hand.
Faegan looked at Wigg. His friend’s lips were pursed tightly, making it abundantly clear that Celeste’s embrace of the prince had not been lost on him. Faegan grinned widely at Wigg’s apparent discomfort.
One of the lead wizard’s infamous eyebrows came up. He then purposely cleared his throat. As he did so, Celeste stood upright. Seeing that the handkerchief she had given Tristan was still tied around his left arm, she touched it and smiled.
“It helped,” Tristan told her quietly. “This handkerchief, and the medallion around my neck, always kept reminding me of what I was fighting for.”
“Don’t you think it’s time we revived your sister?” Wigg suddenly asked in that harsh but kindly manner only he seemed able to master. “By the way, now that I can see again, I no longer need ask any others in the room about what is truly going on.”
Tristan actually found himself blushing. “By all means,” he said. “Go ahead and revive her. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Wigg used the craft to wake the princess. Sitting up slowly, she looked around the room, her eyes finally falling upon her brother.
“Tristan . . . ,” she whispered. Tears welled up. “Can it be true?”
She reached one trembling hand out to touch him, as if expecting him to vanish at any moment. But he didn’t. Standing up on shaking legs, she crossed the short distance to his bed and fell on him, sobbing.
She remained that way for some time, his hand in her golden hair, until her gentle crying started to fade away. No one in the room spoke. There was no need. Finally she raised her head.
“They told us you were dead . . . I even lit your funeral pyre . . . How . . . ?” she asked, her words trailing away.
“I do not know yet,” the prince answered. He looked up at Wigg, then over to Faegan. “I’d say the wizards have a great deal of explaining to do.”
“The wizards . . . ,” Shailiha whispered. Her mouth twisted into a frown, and she got up and stalked toward Wigg. Raising her arm, she slapped him hard across the shoulder.
Wincing, Wigg raised an eyebrow and rubbed the stinging shoulder briskly.
“If you ever do anything like that again, you’ll be sorry!” she shouted. Tristan tried hard to stifle his laughter, barely succeeding. But Faegan could not, and actually cackled out loud.
Furious, Shailiha turned her narrowed, hazel eyes on the wizard in the chair. For the first time ever, Tristan saw Faegan’s face actually redden with embarrassment. The old wizard’s eyes widened, and he immediately closed his mouth. But, ecstatic at having fooled so many for so long, he recovered quickly. A snicker escaped his mouth, and then, giving in completely, he clapped his hands in glee. The princess scowled at him.
Celeste walked over to Shailiha and handed her the baby.
“I told you both she would react this way,” Tristan smirked. “Now then, I want some answers from the two of you. I don’t know how else to ask—how is it that I’m alive?”
“It’s a rather long story,” Faegan answered.
“You’re both protected by time enchantments, aren’t you?” Shailiha countered sarcastically, tapping her foot impatiently on the marble floor. “From what I understand of the craft, you have plenty of time.”
Wigg cleared his throat. “Well to begin, as to why the prince still lives—”
“Actually,” Tristan interrupted, “tell me about the battle with the hatchlings. Everything makes sense to me up until that point. But then my bird took me away from the fighting. The bird that supposedly couldn’t talk! I was unable to control it, and the Minions followed me, thinking I had ordered a full retreat.” He turned to his sister, raising an eyebrow. “That was your doing, wasn’t it?”
Shailiha’s expression suddenly became more humble. “Yes,” she answered. “Mine and the wizards. That part of things I know, but little else.”
“Explain,” Tristan said simply.
“Do you remember the Forestallment Faegan discovered in my blood—the one that allows me to bond mentally with the fliers of the fields?” Shailiha asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, as you also already know, the wizards had been of the opinion that Failee placed it there to allow me, as her intended fifth sorceress, to have a mental link with the Minions. Wigg and Faegan believe it was her original intent, among others, for me to eventually be able to probe the Minion minds, allowing me to discern whether there was ever any desire on their part to revolt. As it happens, the Forestallment she infused into my blood apparently works with other winged creatures of the craft, as well. The wizards asked me to infuse the saying, ‘Trust the process, Chosen One,’ into the hatchling’s consciousness, along with when to say it, and other precise orders for it to follow during the battle. Other than that, the bird was ordered to say nothing. I repeated the phrase to you the day before the battle, so that you would make the connection and realize that what was happening was our doing. I then ordered the hatchling to fly to Shadowood, hoping that the Minions would follow and that the other hatchlings would pursue you.” She smiled. “They all did.”
“But how could you be aware of whether it all worked?” Tristan asked. “How did you know we were coming?”
Shailiha smiled. “Caprice, leading a specially picked group of fliers, hovered near the battle zone,” she answered. “We have much to thank them for. I am glad to tell you that they all returned safely.”
Bemused, Tristan looked quietly at his sister; then he turned to Faegan. “But if you wanted those things to happen, then why didn’t you simply ask Shailiha to bond with Traax, instead of my hatchling?” he asked. “Or for that matter, simply inform me of your plan. You could even have used my hatchling, since it had the power of speech, to tell me more. I would gladly have followed it, leaving the scene of the battle as you wished.”