“How? My mother mistreats you.”
“You can’t be worse than her, so there’s hope.” Chynne gave a weak, humorless laugh.
“Can you help me and believe I’ll pay you back someday?”
“If I can. But I cannot act against her directly, or I would have long ago.” The spark of anger reassured Piers of Chynne’s mental health. He’d not abandoned hope entirely.
“In my time, she is dead but transferred herself somehow into someone else’s body. Not only has she possessed one king, she’s controlling another. How can I help them?”
“You cannot save them both. To save the ensorcelled king, you’ll have to kill her host.”
Kill Wycke’s brother? Saris’s brother? “I… I can’t.”
“How long has she held the host? Longer than a season?”
“Yes.” Or rather, Piers believed so.
“Then there is nothing much of the host remaining. A bit of them is locked in their minds, held prisoner and silently watching Nyanda carry out her atrocities. Would you not wish to be free? Even if she could be banished, the host wouldn’t survive.”
“There’s no other way?” There must be. Piers couldn’t take back word that Saris and Wycke’s brother must die.
“None other.” Chynne ruffled his feathers. Several were missing on one leg, exposing skin. “Tell me, in your time, am I still enslaved?”
The forlorn tone ripped at Piers’ heart. “Not if I can help it.”
“Is the ensorcelled king in Myrgren Castle?”
“I’m not sure.” Had Wycke said? Piers couldn’t recall.
“All must be under this roof. Nyanda and both her victims. The magic lives here.”
“How do I know the magic will help me?”
We’ll help you,said a chorus in Uncle Lee’s voice. In this time, in this dreamworld, Piers clearly remembered his conversation with the beings beneath the castle. Why could he not remember when awake?
We cannot unduly influence you, but we can suggest courses of action.
Bah! The magical realm and all its stupid rules. Piers raised his gaze to meet Chynne’s. “I’m sorry for all the things my mother did to you. One day I’ll try to make it right. I promise.”
Chynne sat a bit straighter on his perch. “I will wait for you,” he said, “Pieravor Gimitri.”
Piers woke to find Wycke and Saris staring at him. “I know how to save the king.”
“Which king?” Saris asked.
Piers paused for a long moment. There was no easy way to say this. “The only one we can. Bring King Broen here, where the magic lives.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
High King Broen paced the chamber hastily outfitted for him. His pacing reminded Wycke of a caged tiger he’d once seen at a human zoo. Or a better-dressed, younger, impeccably groomed Aberfrer.
Wycke conversed with Saris, watching Broen. Jess and Piers stood off to the side, heads together, quietly murmuring. Piers occasionally shook his head, arms folded across his chest. At other times, Jess did the scowling.
She wore her usual jeans and T-shirt, though she’d tamed her fluffy hair and wore a garland of flowers. Though she’d enough to do learning the ways of the elves, she insisted on returning to the castle to offer moral support to Piers.
Feisty, determined, loyal to a fault. And she cared about Piers’ well-being. She’d earned Wycke’s respect.
“How is he?” Wycke asked Saris. Since King Broen’s arrival at Myrgren Castle, Saris scarcely left her mate’s side.
