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“I shall petition for my daughter to be returned to House Elal,” Lord Elal declared. “If Phel chooses to repudiate her.”
“We shall see,” the proctor replied, lifting the tabernacle, her tone making it very clear she doubted he’d be successful. “The Convocation is unlikely to be forgiving in this matter, Lord Elal, no matter your influence. There will be an inquiry as to whether your daughter was spoiled at home—or perhaps given radical ideas.”
“I won’t repudiate her,” Gabriel said, jumping in as Lord Elal sputtered. “I want Lady Veronica.”
“I suggest you wait for the trainers’ assessment, Lord Phel. Though your loyalty is admirable, being saddled with a toxic familiar is worse than having none at all. Go home,” she added, not unkindly, “and allow the Convocation to handle this. We are very good at our jobs.”
Gabriel shook his head, pulled his gloves out of his clock pocket, and yanked them on. “I’m going after her myself.”South and west. How hard can it be?
The proctor narrowed her eyes. “I must caution you, Lord Phel, that you cannot interfere with the Convocation hunters. Their primary task is to capture, subdue, and transport Lady Veronica. They will not be gentle with you should you come between them and Lady Veronica.”
“She already belongs to me, by Convocation law,” he argued, the chill of the proctor’s impersonal assessment settling in his gut. He wouldn’t think about how they’d subdue and transport her. He didn’t need to because he’d get to her first.
“The hunters are not lawyers, Lord Phel. They are simple creatures and single-minded in their purpose. Go home. Wait to be summoned by the Convocation. Trust us to deal with her. That’s my best advice.”
Gabriel glanced at Lord Elal, his docile familiar drowsing on his lap with no more interest in the conversation than any cat would have. Spirits shimmered and twined behind him, and his eyes glittered with resolve. Lady Veronica’s father had no intention of waiting for these hunters to reach his daughter first either, Gabriel was sure of it. The proctor noted it also.
“Need I caution you, Lord Elal, that you must not interfere either?” she inquired silkily. “Any actions on your part will be regarded as prejudicial to your case. The judicial council will not be tolerant.”
Lord Elal nodded jerkily. “As you say, Proctor,” he said in little more than a snarl, clearly not agreeing.
“Lord Elal. Proctor.” Gabriel bowed stiffly to them both and strode out of the room. He could use their enmity to his advantage. In order to marshal his forces, Lord Elal would have to evade the proctor’s notice or wait for her to depart. With any luck, these hunters she mentioned would have much farther to travel, if they were at the Convocation Center. Gabriel should be well ahead of both.
He’d get to Veronica first. And then…
Well, then they’d see, wouldn’t they?
~8~
Nic woke witha start, disoriented by the total darkness, hemmed in on all sides.Trapped.She was trapped and unable to move. Frantically, she squirmed against the cage that held her, barely able to move. A scream bubbled up in her.
Wait, no.Not a cage. Crates. On the export sled. The hiss of the runners over snow penetrated her hidey-hole, the smooth glide of the sled as it hurtled to parts unknown barely felt. How long had she slept? Where in Elal was she? If she was even still on Elal lands.
Her body, at first heavily numb from lying in the same position for so long, began to tingle painfully with returning circulation. Unable to do much to alleviate the discomfort, Nic groaned. As if in sympathy, her stomach rumbled. She was thirsty as well as hungry,andshe needed to pee rather desperately. Though she understood Maman’s abundance of caution in keeping Nic ignorant of the specifics of her plan—mainly because they didn’t dare discuss them—the staggering extent of her vulnerability hit her hard.
How much longer would she be stuck in this sled? Tasha had been vague. If Nic got desperate enough, she supposed she could just pee in her clothes—after a point, she wouldn’t have a choice there—but what if something had gone wrong? She’d die of thirst in here. The sled might travel for days before reaching its destination. Or it might get stuck in a snowdrift. Papa had fumed about those kinds of incidents often enough, enraged that he had to send actual, expensive workers to dig the sleds out.
Keep calm, she told herself.Maman would’ve planned for that. She’d know you’d need to get out before days passed, or she’d have given you water, at least.Still, Nic wriggled down until her booted feet pressed against the closed gate of the sled. Or the crate between her feet and the gate. Had Tasha put a crate there? Nic fervently wished she’d paid better attention. What if Tasha had been supposed to give her water and forgot? No, Tasha never forgot things like that.
Calm down, she ordered her hammering heart. Panicking would get her nowhere.
Bending her knees for as much power as she could muster, Nic readied to kick down hard against the gate, then thought better of it. If the gate opened, that could alert any observers that she was inside. Or she’d discover that she couldn’t open it, and then she’d really start to panic.
Thick and too warm, the air became difficult to breathe. Nic’s heart accelerated even more. What if she never got out of this hole? She’d die in here, buried in a coffin of these crates, and no one would ever know what had become of her. Maman might even think her off living free in wherever the sled was going, but no. Instead she’d molder in this unmarked grave of export crates and—
The sled slowed. Did it? Yes, the pitch of its gliding runners had definitely decreased.See?she scolded herself.All that panicking for nothing. You need to get smarter.
Her imagination, however, already going at high speed, simply switched tracks to a new worry—and she began to fret about why the sled was slowing, was that planned, who would open it, where would she be and what would happen next… At least Nic managed to roll her eyes at herself. Slowing her breathing, using the meditative techniques she’d learned at Convocation Academy, she did her best to lie and wait. Not like she could do anything else. Lie and waitcalmly.
The sled came to a full stop, muffled voices calling outside. Not in alarm, though. Workers, maybe. The sled lurched, then moved slowly in fits and starts, the shouts fading. Then it came to a full stop. Nothing happened for a while, and Nic began to consider kicking her way out again. Then the sound came of the latches on the gate releasing.
See? You could never have kicked it open anyway.
The gate fell open, a gust of cold, fresh air flooding in. Nic inhaled it gratefully.
“Do ye need help getting’ out of there, gel?” a man asked, sounding unsurprised to finding her packed in with the crates, so that was a good sign. She hoped.
Nic wiggled, trying to do it on her own, to scootch herself down—with little result except heated puffing and painful knocks to her elbows. “Yes, please,” she replied, trying not to sound as pitiful as she felt.
