Chapter 3

The chamber was enormous, and she felt insignificant eating at the table in this far corner of the cavernous space. She had been eating for just a few minutes the simple meal brought to her when the prince returned. If his eyes had been cold before, this time his gaze emanated a chill that made her

stiffen. He sat down and took up his pen.

She set her fork on the dish and folded her hands in her

lap.

“Population of your village?” He didn’t look at her, his

eyes focusing on the tip of the quill held an inch above the heavy parchment.

“Just under a thousand.” She could have given him the exact number. Hadn’t she entered the two births from earlier this week only this morning?

“Distance to the nearest village.” “Six miles.”

“Name.”

“Treadwait.”

He looked up, the briefest of smiles on his unfriendly face. “I suppose there’s another heroic tale to go with that?”

“Do you wish to hear it?”

“Some other time, perhaps,” he said, frost returning to his voice. “Location of your center of government.”

“Konright.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your father is a relative of your king?”

“My father is of the First House Kon. A high council rules our region.”

He scribbled a note. “Where does this high council meet?”

“Konright.” “Distance?”

“Two days ride on horseback, three in a wagon.” “If one were to gallop the whole way?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“How many armed soldiers in Paddlyrun?” “Excuse me?”

“The village guard, how many? Soldiers, archers, mounted?”

Kambry leaned back. They kept a list of skills held by the citizens, but she had never thought of them as an army. They had a volunteer force that met once a month. “Thirty men and women. I suppose they all can handle a bow somewhat. Some may have horses used entirely for riding, so maybe six mounted. We’ve never been attacked by an organized group.”

“A population of a thousand, and you have only an army of thirty?”

“They’re not really an army. They just ride out with the quarterly contribution to Konright. There are footpads occasionally.”

“Surely Konright has a standing army?”

“There is a council guard, but I am not familiar with their numbers.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Do you plan to invade Paddlyrun or Konright?”

“Do you plan to attack Kavin Woods?” “I’m a scribe, not a soldier.”

“A scribe can be a spy.”

“Allow me to inform you of what I’ve noted so far.” She huffed and held up her index finger. “One very annoying prince. Four mounted guards, one curricle and driver, four gate guards, with various milling about versions of a guard, numerous maids, footmen, pages and other related servants of a commodious castle above a rather lovely town of a similar

size to Konright. A Sybil, whatever that is, and a housekeeper particular about the neatness of the visitors. Did I mention a rude prince ruled it?”

“Only that he was annoying, but that appears to be due to his rudeness.” He made a note. “I must talk to my guards about their milling about. And Kavinton is the name of the town.”

She just told the prince he was rude, but he seemed amused. Kambry shifted in her seat. He has some decision to make concerning her. What had she done?

“I’d like to go home now.”

He just stared at her a moment, then wrote a few lines on the sheet of paper.

She didn’t have the courage to read his cramped handwriting again. It probably included her permanent stay in a cold cell beneath the castle. A place at least as chilly as his blue eyes. “When may I go home?”

He set his quill down and sanded the sheets before rolling them up. “You won’t be going home, ever,” he said without emotion. “If you’re fortunate, you will find an occupation here at the castle or down in Kavinton. If you turn out to be untrustworthy, I will send you out of Kavin Wood, but never home again.”

“What do you mean, ‘never home again’?” She stood up, then sat abruptly down when his eyebrow raised, not happy with her standing before him. “Can’t the Cut open again to let me return?”

“No one returns to where they came from.”

The legend had implied that same result, and Tia had confirmed she’d heard the same version in her village. “Why not?”

“You came here for protection. If you are who you say you are, you will receive it. If not, you leave. But we are not uncaring, we won’t send you back to what you are running from.”

“I wasn’t running from anything! I didn’t need nor do I now need protection. I just want to go home.”

Prince Russal stood up, the rolled sheets in his hand. “You will never go home.” He strode across the room and to the door Lessa stood by and not once looked back, though he should have felt her frustrated gaze targeting him between the shoulder blades.

She imagined him walking down the hall, an icicle of rudeness, and she visualized pulverizing him into tiny shards of ice until he was just a trail of melting chips the length of the hall. What a shame. He seemed a handsome and rather bright icicle.

She took a bite of her potato and found it cold. Chewing, she considered her options. Maybe she could walk the road from the castle to the woods and find a way back on her own. She gazed up at the stained glass window, now nearly so dark that the proilis flower making up most of its design disappeared in the shadows. The sun set in that direction. She turned in her seat. So that put Paddlyrun off that way. How could that be? How did she get so turned around on a path that ran straight? It meandered, but never turned.

Lessa stood beside her chair. “Are you finished?”

Kambry looked at her cold meal. She picked up the half- eaten roll and wrapped it in a napkin. “I suppose I am.” She stood.

“Did he see your feet?” “What?”

“Did the prince notice your feet?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Why would he care about my feet?”

“They’re bare.”

“They’re just feet. I left my shoes on the blanket.”

“A woman who meets a man with her feet uncovered is offering herself for marriage.”

Kambry sat down hard on the chair. Her voice small, she said, “I was not offering myself for marriage.”

“Saying he was rude would have probably led to a refusal, anyway.”

Kambry looked up at Lessa. The guard was grinning. What if he considered the marriage proposal and took her up on it? She shivered. Who would want such a heartless man for a husband?

“I’ve never felt so out of place in my life,” she said. “Nothing makes sense.”

“Come with me,” Lessa said. “Maybe Sybil can explain.” “Who is Sybil in all of this madness?”

Lessa gave her a flat look that to Kambry’s eyes looked purposely applied.

Did she have some secret amusement like the prince? “I’m sure she can explain that, too.”

~~~~~~~

Sybil’s office didn’t lack desks. One large, ornately carved one sat just feet from the entrance. Standing beside it, a tall woman dressed in a red gown, the bodice cut like a uniform, seemed to expect them. Her hair, dark with streaks of grey, sat gathered into a bun on the top of her head. As neat as she was about her dress and confident in her stance, her bun was loose, almost casual in its arrangement. Behind her were three more desks, simpler but no less cluttered. Two men and a woman were busy making notations in bound ledgers.

Lessa dipped her head, dropping her gaze to the floor and said, “Sybil, this is Kambry do Brode.”

Kambry mimicked Lessa’s nod, not wanting to offend another person who seemed to have some influence on what might happen to her.

Sybil gestured to the chair in front of her desk. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Kambry do Brode of

Paddlyrun.”

Kambry thought she heard a hint of laughter in the woman’s voice. She looked at the desk, recognizing at once the prince’s notes, and sat down with a feeling of resignation. His crabbed writing was easy to identify.

Her sharp gaze held Kambry’s. “The Cut opened to you when you sang the chant.” She sat, straightening the notes. Her voice was all business now.

“I did not sing the chant,” Kambry said, immediately frustrated by the uncertainty present in her voice. I didn’t sing it!

“So the prince said you claimed.”

Claimed?

Sybil set a finger on a line of his notes, running it along the script as though rereading it. Folding her hands over the top of it, she raised her gaze to stare into Kambry’s eyes. “That’s not how it works, you know.”

“I don’t know how it works. I only know I did not sing the chant.”

“Your friends, excuse me, your brother’s friends, danced and sang it.”

“Yes, they did.”

“They believed you needed protection? They sought the Kavin Wood sanctuary for you?”

“As I told Prince Russal, they sang it for entertainment.”

“With you at its center.” Sybil sat back in her chair. It squeaked, and she rolled it back a few inches before turning to look at the people seated at their desks behind her. “Take your breaks together. When you return, be sure to knock first.” She faced front. “Guard Veed, you may return to your duties. I’ll take the interview from here and send for you when I finish.”

Lessa turned with a scrape of her boots on the hardwood, and Kambry watched her leave. The female guard may not

have been the friendliest, but she was the most familiar, and watching Lessa exit made her legs weak.

The two men and the woman filed out behind her and shut the door.

“Would you like something to drink?” asked Sybil.

“No, thank you,” she said, unable to maintain eye contact with the woman.

Sybil watched her, and Kambry crossed her ankles under her chair and folded her hands in her lap, her gaze pinned to the edge of the desk, hoping Sybil would look away soon.

“So you find yourself in Kavin Wood and don’t know why.”

Kambry raised her gaze and nodded.

“It is an unusual case.” She rolled her chair up to the desk and shuffled the papers. “Do you know who I am?”

“Only that your name is Sybil.”

“Sybil is not my name. It’s my job and my title. I am the prince’s prognosticator, diviner, forecaster. There are a variety of names for what I do, but here in Kavin, I am the Sybil.”

At a loss for what to say in response to such a claim, Kambry examined the room. It was simple, without decoration. Even the wallpaper was nondescript.

Sybil watched her, following her gaze, and smiled as color rose on Kambry’s face. “I work best without distractions.”

“You knew I was coming?”

“Prince Russal informed me.”

Kambry shook her head. “No, I mean you expected me to enter the woods. You divined it.”

Sybil folded her hands on top of the papers and leaned forward. “I knew the Cut was bringing someone different.”

“Will I get to go home?” Kambry gripped the desk.

“You future is rather foggy at the moment. However, didn’t the prince tell you no one ever returns home?”

“It was a mistake,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m not here for protection. I did not sing the chant. I want to go home.”

Sybil sat with her hands still folded, looking relaxed and unaffected by Kambry’s emotional state.

Her calmness helped Kambry ease back in her chair. She wasn’t going to get anywhere dissolving into childish ranting. “If you don’t know my future, do you know why I’m here?”

Sybil shuffled the notes, then set them down. “That is a good question, but not one I can answer yet.” She paused, her tongue running across her front teeth. “What do you know of the history of Kavin Wood?”

“I read pieces of the legend.”

“Hmm, it’s a legend, is it? That will suffice. What do you know of the Legend of Kavin Wood?”

She leaned back, wanting space between the intent gaze of the Sybil and herself. “I read that if one sings the chant when in danger or otherwise in need of sanctuary, the wood will open a path up for the individual.”

“Go on.”

“When people enter the Kavin Cut, they don’t return to the place they were running from.” Kambry’s heart sank at her own confirmation of her plight. But I wasn’t running from anything.

“And why does Kavin Wood offer sanctuary?” Sybil’s words held a considerate note, as if she understood the unwelcome revelation Kambry was facing.

“I don’t know. I assumed it was just a story.”

“True. And we give the protection without need of payment.” It was neither a question nor a statement, left open- ended by the tone Sybil used.

“If there’s no cost to enter, is there a cost to leave?” Kambry leaned forward, hope filling her chest. “What must I pay to leave?”

“To leave you must commit treason.” “What?” Treason?

“The rules are clear. Those who enter Kavin may stay indefinitely and enjoy protection here. However, if they commit treason or any crime, Kavin expels them.”

“But if I want to go.” “Treason.”

“That’s insane,” she murmured.

“So is entering the Cut and approaching the prince in bare feet only to request to be returned home,” said Sybil.

“I understand nothing here. Bare feet. Who should care about my bare feet? I just want to go home.”

“And yet you offered the prince marriage, did you not?”

Kambry wanted to cry. None of this made any sense. Her shoes were on the blanket in the meadow. Her life was back in Paddlyrun. She had no need of sanctuary, had no desire to marry the prince, and the whole situation was ridiculous. She stood, frustrated by the situation. “I need sanctuary from your sanctuary! Is there a chant for that?” She looked down at her fisted hands. She wasn’t getting out of Kavin by yelling at this sybil. She sat down. “I’ll take that drink of water now.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Sybil rose from her desk.

Reviewing each step from arriving at the meadow and joining Stahn and his friends to following the trail and being found by the guards, Kambry could find no sense behind her predicament. What had she done to deserve this, and what could she do to get out of it?

Sybil handed her a cup of water, and she gulped it down, the water tasteless and not even touching the dryness that seemed a concrete block in her throat.

“What’s the first question that comes to your mind?” asked Sybil.

Kambry huffed and tried to settle her muddled thoughts. One question rose to the surface, and she felt as silly asking it as she felt it was a serious concern. “Is there any chance the prince will accept my unintended proposal?”

“Highly unlikely.”

Relief washed over her, and the lump in her throat shrunk a bit.

“You think he didn’t notice?”

“He noticed. He went into particular detail about your appearance. Here.” She pointed at a line on the top sheet. “Bare feet.”

“Oh.” What could she expect? Did she think he would consider marrying her? No one else ever took her seriously. Of course, outside of scribing, she never did either. Even Stahn said if she didn’t view herself as worthy of notice, no one else would. She rolled her eyes. Did she want him to accept it? No! She brought the cup to her lips again and found it empty.

Sybil put out her hand for the cup, and Kambry gave it to her. “Perhaps a history lesson is called for.” She walked to the davenport where the pitcher was and poured more water into the cup.

“Excuse me?”

Sybil snorted and handed the cup to Kambry. “I really enjoy how polite you are, in between your frightened outbursts.” She sat down.

Kambry choked on the water and sputtered. She was a polite person, and she was really frightened about being in Kavin stuck indefinitely unless she committed treason. What a ridiculous option!

“Let me tell you about Prince Russal.”

“Should you? I mean, he’s the prince, and you probably shouldn’t tell secrets about him.”

“This is common information, just not known to you, and perhaps not given much thought by those who do know.” She gave Kambry an appraising look. “You’re a scribe you said, so

it is not uncommon for you to read memoirs or histories about a monarch.”

“I’m an apprentice, but yes, that is true. I’ve had access to quite a few such documents.”

“Think of what I’m about to tell you as a condensed version, a digest if you will.” She pushed the papers aside. Rolling the chair back, she propped her heels on the desk.

Kambry blinked and sat more primly in her chair.

“When Prince Russal was eight, invaders killed the king and queen.” Sybil gave Kambry a moment to take in the information.

“Okay.” What was the appropriate thing to say? How sad?

It was sad, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

“The prince was fortunate to be away at his first hunt. By the time he returned, the guards had contained the coup. He found himself ruler of Kavin. His father’s advisers were dead. He appointed me Sybil. He and I were comfortable with each other; thus, he named me first adviser along with my role as forecaster. He never wanted to go unwarned of danger again.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“It isn’t. He should have had someone more experienced to guide him in his rule, but one of his father’s trusted advisers led the coup, and he trusted no one.”

“Oh.”

“When Prince Russal was sixteen, he fell in love.”

Kambry sat perfectly still and did not let her expression change. Did she proposition a married man?

“She broke his heart.”

Kambry stared at the desktop. “Are you sure you should tell me this?”

“At seventeen, he made a friend, a few years older and wiser, that he felt he could build his trust with. Things went very well. He grew into a fair ruler, considerate of his people,

with the guidance of Felip Covey. The intent of the Kavin Wood Cut continued.”

A sense of foreboding cringed at the center of Kambry’s shoulder blades. First assassination, followed by disloyalty, perhaps dishonesty, heartbreak and then a friend helps him return to some sense of security. What terrible thing happened that changed Prince Russal? Hadn’t Lessa said he was nice, once? She’d then said Kambry shouldn’t be fooled. By what? His rudeness or his kindness? By someone else?

“What did his friend do to him?”

“Ah, you see the pattern.” Sybil stood up and paced the length of her room, past the desks behind her own and up to the door.

Kambry watched her, noting the confidence in her stride. “Why are you telling me this?”

“So you will know what you are up against. Proof that you are a sweet, innocent woman caught up in a game will not bring him around.” She stepped up to Kambry and leaned on the desk. “He’s a good ruler, but he’ll never be the ruler Kavin needs if he expects everyone to stab him in the back.”

It still made little sense to her. She couldn’t guide him; she barely was a good adviser to herself. He had no reason to trust her and could not expect to even if he had never been betrayed. “What makes you think I can change anything?”

“I wish I knew. Even from my vantage point, I can’t see how you make a difference, but I feel that you can.” She tapped her breastbone and closed her eyes. She looked at Kambry, her gaze searching. “The future is murky, but you are essential.”

“What did his friend do?”

“Learned all he could of the prince’s defensive strategies, even suggested strategic changes to implement.” She huffed. “Then he arranged an invasion that nearly succeeded. It resulted in Prince Russal changing the magic of the Cut. No one who enters can return to where they came from.”

But hadn’t that always been the rule? Perhaps, it had been a safety condition for those who didn’t want to return. Did he make it the rule after Covey tried to take over? “You want me to help a kingdom I don’t want to stay in. What are you offering me if by some miracle I convince him that not everyone is out to betray him? I get a job in Kavinton or maybe something here at the castle and Never Go Home!”

“Convincing him is the only thing that will get you home.”

Kambry stared into Sybil’s eyes. Was that true? Was there a way? “But you said no one can return. He said I’m never going home. The legend says no one ever goes back to where they came from.”

“If he can change the magic once, he can change it twice.” She paced the room again, then stood before Kambry. “Something tells me you are key to that. If you want to go home, then perhaps you will.”

She examined every nuance of Sybil’s features. If there was one thing Kambry knew she was good at, it was catching the minute details of expression. She wasn’t good at making friends, but she knew who to avoid. After a moment, she sat back. Sybil was lying, but not because she wished to fool Kambry. She was trying to convince herself. “What do you think is the biggest obstacle?” asked Kambry.

“People often get what they expect,” Sybil said. “He expects you to prove his lack of faith in people is accurate. Fall into that trap, and we all lose.”

There was truth in every aspect of Sybil’s statement. Hadn’t Kambry fulfilled everyone’s belief that she was a shy mouse, not likely to accomplish much or impress anyone? She hadn’t fought it? Except today when she wore this dress. Look how that turned out. Fulfilling his expectation wasn’t such an improbable outcome.

A knock at the door startled them both.

“Come,” said Sybil. She stepped around the desk and sat down.

One of her assistants poked his head in past the partially opened door. Short auburn locks hung over brown eyes that gazed questioningly at Sybil. “May we come in?”

“Yes.” Sybil spread the papers out on her desk again. “Have one of you get Veed to escort Miss do Brode to her room. Confirm pen and paper supplies are in her chambers.” She looked at Kambry, her gaze no longer confiding. “I would like a written history of your village and a detailed description of exactly how your actions led to the Cut opening to you. Don’t stop writing until you have described your first view of the castle. Remain seated until Veed comes.” She looked at the prince’s notes and kept her gaze on them while she said, “I have my expectations, too. Decide which you intend to satisfy, his or mine.”

Is this what they mean by palace intrigue? Only the lump in her throat rather than a giggle responded to her effort to make light of the situation.

Lessa arrived shortly, but Sybil had one last thing to say before Kambry left.

“You will have dinner with the prince this evening.” Kambry looked to Lessa than back to Sybil. “What?”

Sybil looked up from the paper she was adding a note to. She set her quill in the stand. “Dinner, food, with the prince this evening. Veed, make sure she is not late.”

“Yes, Sybil.” Lessa took her by the arm and pulled her out the door, shutting it quietly behind them. “What did you do in there? I’ve never seen her so cold.”

“I… nothing.”

She huffed. “Come with me.” She propelled her down the hall. “I’ll tell you one thing, you’re wearing shoes this time.”