The Perilous Sea (The Elemental Trilogy #2)

“Once I realized that your memories might not resurface again, I wanted to protect you against damages brought on by permanent suppression. Which meant I had to find a way to bring back your memories.

“I decided to duplicate the kind of protection that had been placed on me. If someone tampers with my memory, and someone who meets the contact-requisite threshold still could, my memory will recover within weeks, if not days. But some of the ingredients required for the potion base do not travel well—they must be used very fresh, and they lose their effectiveness if they are vaulted.

“So I needed to set up a temporary laboratory here in Paris—it is the nearest city with a master mage botanist who can supply my needs. And while I looked for a suitable location, I decided that I might as well make it a place where the two of you can live together comfortably, after you are reunited.”

Master Haywood bowed deeply. Iolanthe did nothing—she didn’t know what to do.

Titus waved them toward the desk. “Anyway, I did not tell you earlier because I did not have the potion base ready yet and I did not want you to think I was making it easier for you to leave Eton. I mean—” He shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

He brought out two glasses and poured them each half-full from a pitcher that he said contained seawater. “It needs water from the first ocean in which you had set foot—which I assume is the Atlantic for the two of you. And then you must add three drops of your own blood, and three drops of voluntarily given blood from someone who loves you. Would you mind giving us some fire, Miss Seabourne?”

She called forth a small sphere of flame.

The prince opened his pocketknife, passed the blade through the fire, and handed it to Iolanthe. She let fall three drops of blood into each glass, passed the knife through the fire again, and gave it to Master Haywood.

When Master Haywood had squeezed three drops of his blood into one glass and was about to do the same for the second glass, the prince stopped him. “I would like to have the honor for Miss Seabourne’s potion.”

Blood from someone who loves you.

Master Haywood glanced at Iolanthe, not so much shocked as thoughtful.

Now Titus brought out a vial of gray powder, divided it between the glasses, and stirred until the potion turned bright and golden.

It tasted of sunlight and chamomile tea.

Master Haywood again bowed deeply to Titus, who took him to yet another room and showed him where a supply of cash was kept. “This should last you until you can go to the bank. You also have credit at most of the nearby shops, if you would care to use that.”

He turned to Iolanthe. “Almost time for another blasted Absence at school. We had better head back.”

“Head count,” Iolanthe explained to Master Haywood. “They are always counting the boys.”

“But I haven’t heard your story yet,” Master Haywood protested.

“Another day,” she said, hugging him. “I will come and see you as often as I can.”

Back in her room at Mrs. Dawlish’s, Titus turned to her and said, “These are for you.”

“These” were calling cards for A. G. Fairfax, of Low Creek Ranch, Wyoming Territory.

“Before you leave Mrs. Dawlish’s, give these cards to your friends. When they write to this address, the letters will go to the safe house. And the letters you send out from the safe house will reach them as if having come all the way from the American West.”

“Thank you.” More words wouldn’t express her feelings better.

“No need,” he answered softly. “It is a compulsion on my part to give you everything, while I still can.”





CHAPTER 29


The Sahara Desert

THE NEWCOMER WAS UNBELIEVABLY FAST on his carpet. Titus had to put in real effort to not fall more than a body length behind.

And whereas Titus set his carpet on an approximately ten-degree angle, with the front of the carpet rolled underneath, the newcomer’s carpet was tilted at an incline of at least thirty degrees, with two creases in the body so that in profile it looked like an elongated, backward Z.

A dragon could keep its own course, but a carpet usually relied on the distribution of the rider’s weight for directions. A new rider, while learning, could accidently set the carpet into a tailspin by doing nothing more than trying to look over a shoulder. This young man, however, casually turned around, one hand holding the carpet to its course, the other raised in spell-casting.

Distance spell-casting—as the nearest pursuers were still miles behind—and with amazing accuracy. The boy was a sniper to behold.

Titus turned to Fairfax, who was still gaping at the newcomer, and said, “Is there any chance he is your admirer?”

At his question, she squinted. “Probably not. Since he already came off his carpet to get us onto ours, he could have easily given me a kiss. But he just shoved me onto the carpet like a sack of potatoes.”

“But what if he is?”