And then there was a sound like cloth brushing against stone. And then something breathing impossibly evenly, like a bellows with pneumonia.
When Prince George turned to face the fiend, Chantel rolled quickly away, scrambled to her feet, and charged for the door.
Franklin was running up the front steps.
“Why—” Chantel gasped as they fled. Her throat still hurt and her head ached. “Why did you come here?”
“I saw the king and the wise women headed this way and I thought I’d better check up on you,” said Franklin, not out of breath at all as they ran through the streets.
“You didn’t . . . feel summoned?”
“Summoned?” said Franklin. “No.”
As they climbed the city, Chantel hurriedly told Franklin what had happened.
“Who was winning?” said Franklin.
“I don’t know. The patriarchs will probably win; they’ve got the guards.”
“Were there any guards there?”
“No,” said Chantel. “But—”
“People side with kings,” said Franklin. “The guards will go over to him once they see he’s got the wise women.”
Chantel didn’t see that this made a whole lot of difference. “Either way, your father’s going to—”
“But if the wise women win, they can do the Buttoning,” said Franklin.
“What there is of it,” said Chantel.
It took the girls from Miss Ellicott’s School a long time to fall asleep. Chantel had to roar at them, almost like a dragon, to get them to settle down, and she wouldn’t have minded being able to breathe fire as well. The dragon merely watched in amusement.
Chantel went to sleep on the dragon’s purple couch, near his tail, and woke with a start to find Lightning staring down at her.
She remembered everything that had happened the day before. The city. The patriarchs. The king—and Miss Ellicott. Was the king in control of the city now?
“Is it dawn yet?” she asked.
“Soon,” said the dragon.
There was still time.
She conjured a light-globe, got dressed, and made her way alone through the dark cavern, up through the tunnels, and then down through the still-slumbering city of Lightning Pass to Dimswitch.
It was a windy night—morning, rather. Chantel could feel another storm brewing.
The steep straight stair that had been used for Franklin’s execution was unguarded. Chantel did a self-abnegation spell, climbed over a low iron gate, and scaled the stairs. She stood on the wall-walk and looked out over the parapet.
The Sunbiters’ catapults stood assembled and loaded with heavy boulders. The siege engines, tall rolling towers of wood that protected ladders for scaling the wall, had been moved closer to Seven Buttons.
Black storm clouds loomed on the horizon.
If the king had won, then the sorceresses should be arriving soon to do the Buttoning. Chantel turned and looked down into the city. She heard footsteps crossing the cobbles.
Chantel felt some trepidation—she needed to talk to Miss Ellicott, to find out what had happened. But she did not want to be captured and handed over to the king.
“Good morning, Miss Ellicott,” she said.
Miss Ellicott glanced at Chantel and nodded absently. The sorceress had probably not had time to go to the school yet, and discover her pupils were gone, Chantel thought.
A new sound began—a distant, rhythmic thumping. “What’s that?” Chantel asked.
“A battering ram, most likely. The Marauders are at the gates,” said Miss Ellicott.
Her eyes were on the lightening sky overhead.
Chantel followed her gaze and saw something circling in the sky. Lightning, the dragon, almost too far away to see.
Chantel sat down, and waited to see what Miss Ellicott would do.
“Chantle, don’t dangle your feet like that,” said Miss Ellicott. “It’s not ladylike.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Ellicott,” said Chantel, tucking her robe around her legs. “Could you please pronounce it shahn-TELL?”
“Have I pronounced it incorrectly?” said Miss Ellicott. “I beg your pardon.”
“Thank you,” said Chantel. “Um, did the king’s brother . . . die?”
“I have not seen Prince George since the glorious battle of King’s Hall,” said Miss Ellicott.
And you probably won’t, thought Chantel. I . . . I killed him. Or as good as. Oh dear. “King’s Hall is the Hall of Patriarchs?”
“It is now,” said Miss Ellicott. “You must learn, Chantel, to be on the winning side. A girl must obey. It behooves her to obey those who are winning.”
The battering ram thumped steadily on. Chantel looked toward the city gate. In the growing light, she could make out the rocks and arrows raining down from the towers, onto the attackers below.
“Miss Ellicott, are you going to do the Buttoning now? It’s dawn. And—”
“Just a moment, Chantel. I am telling you important things. Do not take advice from poor advisors. They will lead you astray. And do not fail to obey your king, or you will find yourself in a place that you do not like. You will find yourself there very soon indeed.”
Chantel watched the dragon circling the city. Flickers of lightning rippled across the horizon. Along the wall, she saw guards pointing to the dragon and exclaiming.
Miss Ellicott’s advice, Chantel thought, was much too small.
“Are there sorceresses at all of the buttons?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Miss Ellicott. “The Six are positioned to do the spell.”
“It’s—It’s not the real spell, is it, Miss Ellicott? The rhyme you hid in our heads said the real spell was gone.”
Miss Ellicott looked all around to make sure no one was within earshot. “It is part of the real spell,” she said, her voice so low Chantel had to strain to hear. “It brings comfort.”
“If we found the long lost lore—”
“It is lost,” said Miss Ellicott.
Chantel thought of the vast library far beneath their feet. “What if we made a new spell—”
“Making new spells is far too dangerous. You never know what they’ll do. Now we must begin. And we would like your help.”
“What kind of help?” said Chantel warily. She had no intention of winding up inside a cage again.
“If you come down here, I will show you,” said Miss Ellicott.
“I think I would rather help from up here, thank you,” said Chantel.
Miss Ellicott gave her a cold stone look. “I expected you to be more dutiful, Chantel.”
“I—” Chantel began.
I think I am dutiful. I’m not sure what my duty is, but I know it’s not to the king. That would be too small. I think it’s to the people, but that might be too small, too. She wanted to say these things, she wanted to talk about these things. But Miss Ellicott did not like questions. Only answers.
Questions are more important.
“If you’re doing the spell now,” said Chantel, “does that mean the patriarchs are . . .” She searched for the acceptable word. “Deceased?”
“Those who remain alive have sworn loyalty to the king,” said Miss Ellicott. “Real loyalty this time, for which they will be properly rewarded. They have seen the advantages of being his men, not his masters.”
“What about you?” said Chantel, curious.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”
“Is the king rewarding you? Or is he just rewarding the patriarchs?”