“Not a one,” said Rinka. “But her last suggestion was the best one. She has a friend who works for a women’s magazine in Arcas Dyrne, and she likes to write stories about the court. Apparently the court likes to ‘leak’ information to her as well.”
“Of course they do,” said Lady Sibba.
“Princess Chloe thinks we ought to do an interview with her and tell her the real story of how we met on the ferry, the pirates, all of it. The king will be happy to have the pirates back in the news to drum up support for his military buildup. And if he publicly disapproves after it’s already been announced, it’ll look like he doesn’t have control of his own son.”
“Which he doesn’t,” said Alison.
“Which he doesn’t,” agreed Rinka, “but he’d die before admitting that.”
“When is the interview?” asked Lady Sibba.
“We’re going to meet with her at the end of the term,” said Rinka. “It will give us a bit more time to enjoy each other’s company in case…”
In case it all turned into a disaster. Rinka and Idris could be forced to split at best. At worst, she could be imprisoned for impersonation.
“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” said Alison, squeezing her friend’s hand reassuringly. She meant it—she had seen Idris inaction, and she couldn’t imagine him letting anything happen to Rinka.
Alison listened as Rinka told them of her short trip to Arcas Dyrne, where they had visited Rinka’s father, and the trials and tribulations of packing up Idris’s office at the King’s College. As the carriage entered the forest, she was surprised by how dark it became. It was so dark, she could barely see Rinka sitting next to her.
“What trees are those do you think?” asked Alison during a lull in conversation.
“Hmm, some kind of pine,” said Lady Sibba. “Different from the ones in our forest, I’m fairly certain.”
The forest was certainly different here. Alison knew the woods around Herot’s Hollow well, but even the dense tangle of the spriggan’s grove didn’t compare to this. She was reminded of something Aras had said when she’d gone looking for the fairies about fouler things lurking in the woods.
In these woods, she could believe it.
Alison was relieved to reach the gate of High House. But when the servants led them inside, she found it was nearly as dark as Gwenla’s home had been without any of the comfort. There was something unsettling about the sheer number of paintings in the place covering every inch of wall space. It was as though a hundred pairs of eyes followed her every move as she walked down the long corridors. She was grateful her friends were here—she wouldn’t want to be in these hallways alone.
They’d been given several rooms divided by gender, but Idris assured them no one would mind if they switched as long as they didn’t make too much of a fuss about it.
“I’m going to make a quick trip outside,” said Willow once Alison and Keir had settled her into their room. The cat seemed completely undisturbed by their strange surroundings, but Alison was reluctant to let her go by herself.
“I’ll come with you,” said Alison.
She hurried along behind the cat, trying to shake the feeling that she was being followed. Willow chattered away happily, glad to be back on stationary ground once again.
“And we’ll need to find the kitchens soon as well,” said Willow. Alison had missed the first part of what she said. She agreed with her nonetheless.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Willow as they exited the building into a large courtyard, which was empty except for a single grove of trees in the far corner.
“I don’t know,” said Alison. “I’m tired from our travels, I suppose.” It seemed silly to mention whatever vague sense of wrongness she felt to the cat.
She and Willow headed to the trees to give Willow some privacy, but as they approached, Alison saw that it wasn’t a grove of trees at all.
“It’s all one great tree,” said Alison. She could tell from the way the bark was different in the center—there had been something in the middle that was gone now. It must have been hundreds of years old. She’d need to get Weyland out here to sketch it so she could show the spriggan when they returned to Herot’s Hollow.
As they approached, she saw a small fence had been erected around it. “Don’t go into the middle of it,” she told Willow. “We don’t want to do it harm.”
“What are you doing?” came a voice from beyond the tree.
Alison nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t seen or heard any movement.
She was relieved to see it was merely an elderly dwarf in overalls. The skin on his face was deeply scarred, but it looked like whatever had happened to it had happened long ago. The groundskeeper, she presumed.
“We were just admiring the tree here. Do you know how old it is?”
The groundskeeper’s deeply scarred face was stern. “Don’t go inside that fence there. It’s fragile.”
