How much good could they do her in that case? How much, when they were at risk, too?
Her second choice was Mistral Belloruus. Isoeld’s implied threat didn’t necessarily mean that her grandmother actually was a prisoner. Phryne had jumped to that conclusion on her own. Now she was rethinking this assumption, especially in light of her belief that Isoeld was hunting for the blue Elfstones. Since Phryne didn’t have them and Isoeld hadn’t found them, it stood to reason that her grandmother still had possession of them. Didn’t that mean she was still free and in hiding? If not, then why hadn’t Isoeld extracted their location from Mistral? Certainly, she wasn’t above using whatever means were available to her. Or did Isoeld know something about all this that Phryne didn’t?
In any case, her grandmother might be out there trying to find a way to set her free.
Those old men who worshipped the ground she walked on would do anything for her, including getting her granddaughter out of the clutches of the Queen.
But somehow that didn’t feel right, either. While there was no reason to trust anything Isoeld told her, she didn’t like the way the latter seemed so confident that the threat of harm to Mistral would make Phryne falsely confess to killing the King. In truth, she was afraid for her grandmother, and as much as she would like to believe that Mistral was safe, she just wasn’t sure.
Who did that leave?
Only one other person. Panterra Qu.
It wasn’t a stretch to think that the Tracker from Glensk Wood had heard the news of her imprisonment. Pan would never believe it was true; he would want to know what had really happened. He might have found Sider Ament and persuaded him to come looking for her. One of them or even both might already be on the way. The note could have come from them. Rescue might be at hand.
But she didn’t think so. Panterra didn’t have the skills or means to effect a rescue on his own, and Sider Ament would approach the High Council first and arrange a meeting.
Even the Queen would have trouble keeping the Gray Man out if he insisted on speaking with her. But no one had come to see her but the Queen. The note suggested that this was someone else entirely.
So she lay on her pallet pondering the myriad options of being rescued, the candles burning in small bright spaces amid the shadows, until a darker possibility suggested itself.
What if Isoeld herself had written the note?
It was a decidedly chilling possibility and not one that could be dismissed out of hand.
If she was right about Isoeld searching for the blue Elfstones, then she had to consider that her stepmother might be trying to trick her into revealing their location. If she thought Phryne knew where the Elfstones were, why not arrange for the girl to escape and lead her to them? After all, if you were a fugitive, wouldn’t you try to reach the one thing that could protect you best or with which you could bargain for your life?
Isoeld was clever. She would not hesitate to use Phryne to get whatever she wanted, particularly if what she wanted was as valuable as the seeking-Stones.
Phryne took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This business of the note was becoming increasingly complicated.
She was still mulling the matter over when the door to the storeroom opened and the little serving girl entered bearing her dinner tray. Was it really dinnertime again? How long had it been since she had last eaten? She couldn’t be sure. It seemed it wasn’t that long ago, but there was no way to know when day and night looked the same and time was a mystery. She watched as the serving girl set down the tray, straightened, and then —as if in defiance of the very explicit order given her—beckoned to Phryne. Phryne stared in surprise, hesitating. The serving girl beckoned again. Curious now, Phryne climbed to her feet and walked over.
When she got to within six or seven feet, the serving girl pulled back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face.
“Surprise,” said Xac Wen.
“Xac!” she exclaimed rather too loudly, then quickly put a hand over her mouth.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting you out of here. What does it look like? Hurry, Phryne, we haven’t much time. The guard is sleeping, but the drug I put in his ale will wear off soon enough.”
She nodded quickly. “So it was you who sent me—”
He ignored her, his attention focused on the storeroom door. “No talking until we’re somewhere safe. Come on, hurry!”
They went out the storeroom door quickly, Phryne moving as fast as her battered body would let her. The Home Guard on watch was snoring loudly, slouched in one corner of the hall, his cup of ale spilled on the floor beside him.