Chapter 32
thirty-two
Isahn finds himself home, again.
Isahn’s heart and lungs bantered in excited tones as they neared the gates of Nowosmont. His and Hil’s alternate identities of Mel Hill and Einarr Strom had gotten them back through Gramenia and into Domos, but they needed to change tactics to re-enter the guarded city.
“Are you all right?” Hildy checked in.
“Excited. Nervous. Yes.”
She chuckled.
“You think Wynnie got the letter?” Isahn had asked one hundred times during their ride north and went for one hundred and one.
In spite of his nerves over the possibility of everything falling apart again, the almost two-week ride wasn’t entirely torturous.
He enjoyed himself most of the time with many of his memories slotted back into place—he assumed—and the prospect of George shimmering on the horizon.
“If the birds didn’t run into any trouble, yes.” She shifted in her saddle. “I hope so, at least.”
They came to a stop beside the tall walls of the false capital, a few hundred yards down from the main gate.
Despite the stars sparkling in the sky and the fact that it was still spring, it felt like a midsummer day in Selwas.
Isahn picked at his tunic and slipped a cool mist down the back of his shirt.
He’d returned to wearing the style of the north, but the airy linen still clung to his back.
“It’s unconscionably hot,” Hildy grumbled, fanning her face while she studied the sky. Clearly, she saw something Isahn could not amongst the stars, because she turned to him then, her smile glowing bright in the dark. “Let’s find out if they got the letter, shall we?”
He returned her smile, and his pulse burst into applause.
Hildy made an odd sort of bird call with her magic, casting it out into the night.
“Ha!” she exclaimed quietly, grabbing her left arm, and rubbing the spot at the crook of her elbow. “They got our note.”
Touch magic. Either Dunstan or George was waiting on the other side.
“That means thank you, right?” He voiced the question as a memory, or something like it, pulsed in his mind, knocking for entry.
When he drew open that mental door, a crowd of details poured in, adding to a night he’d partially recovered before.
A terribly uncomfortable dinner. Lying on a sofa, a beautiful woman at his side. His stomach soured unexpectedly.
“More or less. Sort of a generic sign for ‘all good,’” Hildy explained. “Come on, let’s go. You’re ready.”
Isahn opened his mouth to ask what she meant about him being “ready” when he caught sight of his newly tanned arm covered in coarse black hair.
He looked Salskanan. George or Wynnie was on the other side of the solid stone wall, glamoring him from their hidden position, and Isahn was ready to enter the gates as a new aide.
Wynnie and Dunstan were waiting on the inside. Though he wished it was George, these friends were still a welcomed sight.
Hildy rushed forward, dropping her horse’s reins to wrap Wynnie in a warm embrace.
Dunstan limped slightly as he rounded on Isahn, grabbing him by the upper arm and stepping in to act the part of “soldier transporting enslaved man.”
“Sorry,” Dunstan whispered. “Being watched.” He nodded tersely, greeting the guards of the gate.
“Let’s walk and talk.” Hildy threw a muffled and mundane conversation outward from their group, shielding them in the most innocuous way possible.
“Where’s George?” he asked the moment it was safe to speak.
“You remember!” Wynnie bounced excitedly.
Isahn’s horse nickered as it clomped alongside him.
“She’s inside. Been keeping a close eye on her father since everything went down in town,” Dunstan explained, still holding Isahn, though his grip was no longer tight.
“Does she know we’re back?” His love was safe and sound in the true capital. Soon, so very soon, he’d be with her.
“She does. She’s excited to see you.” Wynnie looked pointedly at him as she delivered the remark.
“And I her.” He grinned like a fool.
“We can tell.” Dunstan laughed heartily before swinging his gaze around conspiratorially and asking, “When can we see the thing?”
“When we’re inside,” Hildy replied.
She was currently carrying the wrapped book in her bag. They’d traded the duty often on the road, both paranoid about moving such a priceless artifact. They’d even taken shifts to keep watch over it at night, like new parents with a fresh babe. Sharing lessened their collective anxiety.
Wynnie kept Isahn looking like a Salskanan while they made their way through the city toward the lake. The plan was to go all the way in: Get Isahn safely back to the palace before dropping his disguise.
“Don’t know about my face, but I don’t think Ean gave me this much arm hair when he glamored me for the Great Assembly,” he quipped.
“Wow, you’re remembering a lot,” Dunstan commented, dropping his hold on Isahn for a minute to rub his opposite arm.
“Slowly but surely.” Isahn smiled wanly.
“You’ll have to hand off the horses up here.” Wynnie gestured to a stableboy from Villa Senone who emerged from a side street.
Isahn gave his mount a scratch behind the ears before saying goodbye. It was a paltry thanks to the horse who’d served him well for the past month. But he would come back out to visit the beast, bringing many treats when he did.
“We think we can help with your memories,” Dunstan said as they continued toward the docks.
“Can you really help?” Isahn perked up. “I’m still missing things, I’m pretty sure. Some memories end abruptly, or the sound is absent, or faces are blank.”
“That feels pretty normal to me,” Wynnie commented softly.
“Not for me. Especially not when the memory involves George,” Isahn replied. “How can you help me?”
“Ean has ideas. He taught us some techniques,” Dunstan said. “He claims it’s going to be like using our sensory magic to deconstruct whatever’s left of the wall around your memories. We have to wield our magic like it’s elf magic—the way Ean moves objects.”
“He said his elf power involves pulling an object apart to reposition it in space,” Wynnie explained.
“But we won’t reposition anything, just get rid of the bricks the veil built. We hope. Does that make sense?” Dunstan finished.
“Yes. Let’s clear the rubble, please.” They had a plan, an honest-to-gods plan. His smile spread alongside a warmth in his chest. His friends had come through.
“We’re getting close,” Hildy announced. “Let’s wrap up this conversation, so I can handle Isahn’s accent.”
“We have a sanctioned token for you and a note from Georgie to get you through.” Wynnie pulled her lips into a thin line. “Do you know how she sometimes has to pretend to be a little—”
“Harsh?” Isahn asked.
“Yes. Don’t be alarmed about the contents. She may have gone a little overboard. She just wants you through intact.”
“Here we go,” Hildy warned. “Test your voice.”
“What should I say?” His false accent was thick and unfamiliar.
“Perfect. We’re not taking any unnecessary risks. And I’m dropping my sound mirage now.”
Isahn nodded, silent, as an aide should be.
“Who’s this, Morelli?” one of the legionaries at the docks questioned Dunstan as they approached.
“A friend, for the princess.” He yanked Isahn roughly by the upper arm, pulling him toward the waiting boat.
“Ferry doesn’t leave until the morning,” the second soldier said.
“We have a special missive. Have to head in immediately.” Wynnie and Hildy hung back as Dunstan handled the men.
The first legionary was uncertain, until he skimmed the page Dunstan produced. Skepticism turned to mirth. “Get a load of this.” He stepped closer to the second man on duty. “Princess Georgetta says she wants this aide informed. The last one was too dull.” He burst into laughter.
The other soldier turned beet red as he processed the implication of the note. “Let them through, then.”
“Yeah, you all can go. Sounds like the princess is in a bit of a frenzy, better not keep her waiting.” He continued laughing as their group passed through.
Hildy followed Wynnie on board the actuaria, then Isahn, being “prodded” by Dunstan, as if he wasn’t eager to cross the lake.
“Are you all right?” Hildy checked.
“I think so. Slightly nervous. Exceptionally excited. I’m all right.”
“Here’s George’s token.” Wynnie set a bronze coin in his palm. One side featured a circle of raised dots, and the other had a weathered star. Isahn ran his thumb over the embossed design, tracing the bumps.
With his hand shoved in his pocket and the coin safely enclosed in his grip, he wrapped his entire hand in a thick cord of water, just to be safe. He was not about to risk losing all of his memories again.
As Isahn’s freshly un-miraged feet pounded up the spiraling tower stairs to George’s apartments, one thought kept somersaulting through his mind: It was good to be home.
Dunstan reached the door to the sitting room first and peeked to make certain the coast was clear before letting Isahn in.
Burke and a vaguely familiar man waited, poised to greet them. Burke’s hands hung by his sides, then he lifted them, and dropped them, a few times over.
With a glance over his shoulder, Isahn realized the guard was watching Hildy, who’d entered behind him and was still in conversation with Wynnie.
Hildy nodded at Burke like she might on any old afternoon, not at all how one might greet someone they’d missed. Now that Isahn thought about it, he realized Hil hadn’t talked about him at all on their journey, not in the context of him being her partner.
Burke pinched his brow as Hildy and Wynnie made straight for the low sofa and plopped upon the cushions.
“Lord Yaranbur, it’s nice to finally meet you.” The tall, dark-skinned man with cropped, coily hair stuck out his hand. “I’m Ceadda Carozza. Everyone calls me Adda.”
A memory rushed Isahn’s periphery, but he looked away—figuratively. It wasn’t the greatest time to go all topsy-turvy in the head. “It’s nice to meet you. Where’s George?”
“Cena with the king,” Adda replied.
He nearly growled. “It’s almost midnight.”
Ceadda jumped to the side when Isahn plowed across the room toward the hidden panel.
“The king keeps late hours!” Burke called from the pouf he’d claimed as his own.
“She’s alone with that monster. Why aren’t any of you worried? Where’s Ean?” He paused by the wall that opened into the hidden hallways.
“Wow, you remember a lot,” Burke quipped.
Isahn shot him a withering look. He genuinely liked the guy, but was getting sick of any and all comments related to his faulty mind.
“Ean’s on guard outside,” Adda offered, gesturing toward the rest of the palace.
“Hey, Isahn.” Wynnie scurried toward him, voice carrying a sort of gentle reassurance. “Everything is fine, it’s going to be all right. She’s at a normal dinner, if a little late. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. My father’s there, do you remember him?”
He nodded, it was a valid memory-related question. One of very few good men George had ever known. Viceroy—whatever their surname was—was in their corner.
“She should be back in thirty minutes, based on the menu I saw this morning,” Adda added helpfully.
Isahn rolled his neck, and it crackled in a string of pops. “I can’t wait for George to get back. Don’t want to.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Hildy put in.
“Come on, sit down, we’ll keep you company.” Burke patted a pink patchwork pouf on his right.
“I wish we could just get it over with.” Isahn paced between the door to his bedchamber and the princess’s room.
“Gasparo?” Burke asked.
“The mindmolding,” Dunstan said with certainty.
“Both.” Isahn paused his steps. “But I was speaking of the memory issue. I’m ready for it to be over with. I want the rubble gone.”
“I mean... we could start now,” Hildy began. “I’ll be on sound, Dunstan’s handling touch, Wynnie will manage vision, Burke, scents, and Adda, taste. We’re all accounted for.”
Tension drained from Isahn’s shoulders at the premise of beginning the process. He was nervous about everyone prodding around in his head. But he wanted nothing more than to be whole for Georgie when she returned.
The old Isahn would’ve waited it out, waited for someone with George’s forceful personality to come and tell him what to do, waited to see if his life changed.
Not any more—apparently. As Lia so helpfully pointed out, he’d been taking control a lot more than he realized those past months.
He’d risen to the occasion for George, and now he’d rise for himself.
“Do it now,” Isahn demanded.
“I’ll get Ean,” Wynnie offered with a soft smile before slipping into the dining chamber, sectioning herself off before opening the outer door.
According to a conversation with Dunstan and Wynnie on the ride across the lake, the king hadn’t yet replaced his two “missing” spies with anyone of value, but the princess and her friends couldn’t be too careful.
The dining chamber door reopened, and Wynnie and Ean entered together—Eanraig fluttering just above her head.
“Ach, Lord Yaranbur, I cannae believe ye're back!” The young faerie zoomed across the room to greet him.
Wynnie huffed, attempting to smooth her wing-blown hair.
“Ean, it’s great to see you.” Isahn stuck out a pinky for a sort-of handshake. “I hear you’re the brains behind saving this operation?” He tapped his temple.
Ean grinned. A tinkle announced the arrival of a tea tray, loaded with supplies. “Indeed I am. Are ye ready to begin?”
Adda busied himself with drink preparation, while the elf and the mindmages ran over their plan one final time. Hildy moved from the sofa and ushered Isahn over to take her spot.
“We’ll move you to the bed when it’s time, but sit here so it’s easy for us to grab you.”
He took his assigned seat and his special tea and sipped it. “Oh, this is delicious. Uncharacteristically so. How does it taste like nostalgia and a rainbow after a thunderstorm?”
Adda chuckled in baritone as a wide grin lit up his face. “Glad you like it.”
Taste magic was much more nuanced than Isahn had realized. Taking another deep sip, he savored the post-storm flavor.
“Ach, Eanraig,” Burke said in a very poor imitation of the elven brogue. “Can ye tell oos a storae?”
Caught between amusement and fury, Ean zinged into the air, and Isahn found himself enraptured by the boy’s zigzagging movements.
So very tiny. Tiny little pixies and elves. How ridiculous. He laughed to himself and took another sip.
“What’s ridiculous?” Wynnie asked, leaning in to peer at his face.
Oops, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
“You all right?” Hildy checked. “Feeling sleepy?”
Isahn tried to nod, but his eyelids, his head, his hands, everything was too heavy.
“Let me take that for you,” Adda rumbled as he retrieved the leaden cup from Isahn’s weak fingers.