Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

30

The secret door swung open again to reveal Eovin, looking distraught. He gestured to indicate that they should come out. "They found your clothes, Sister Mhera. I covered it with a lie, but we need to move quickly. They are going to the royal wing next."

Matei and Eovin exchanged a glance. Mhera could read their thoughts. She had missed breakfast, which was not unusual, but were she nowhere to be found as the day progressed, hell would break loose.

"Quickly. Your clothes are in there on the bed, Mhera. Dry your face. Matei, we have allies in the kitchens. If you can make it that far, they can get you out. They know you are here and that you need their help."

Mhera was shaken by this knowledge. Allies? In the kitchens? How could there be more folk loyal to Matei's cause here in the peaceful heart of the capitol? But there was Eovin, after all. Perhaps the rebellion was everywhere, unseen.

"Go, Mhera!" Matei urged her, waving his hand. "Please, go."

Mhera was still on her knees in the closet. She held the book she'd recovered out in front of her. The cover was black leather, embossed in gold with a tracery of leaves and vines framing a large four-pointed star. There was no title. She turned it over in her hand, feeling the worn spine. It was warm now with the heat of her hands. There were a few dark spots on the edges of the pages where her tears had fallen.

Slowly, she slid the book back onto the shelf. For the first time, she wondered why Master Eovin had all these books hidden away in this little room.

Mhera forced her feet to move, although they felt like lead. She went into Master Eovin's bedchamber, a room she had never seen except in brief glimpses. She shut the door behind her. The room was small and immaculately ordered, with no clutter and few personal effects. In the corner was a bathing tub, empty now, and on his small dresser stood a pitcher and basin. On the floor, a painted vase lay shattered. Carelessly tossed over a chair was a bundle of cloth.

She looked toward the window and, in her numb state of mind, she considered opening it and climbing out. Or flinging herself out—there would be nowhere to climb to, not this high up in the tower.

She pushed the thought aside with some force and went to sort out the garments: a long red skirt, a tunic not unlike the one Matei wore, and a red headscarf. She fingered the clever embroidery around the hem and thought of Madam Gella. She would never have time now to meet with her governess, to talk about how much their lives had changed. She would never have time to properly say goodbye.

Do not think. Just do it. Mhera closed her eyes and stripped off the long gray habit with its impractical, trailing sleeves. She peeled off her plain chemise and stood shivering in her stockings and shoes. Quickly, she slipped into the borrowed smallclothes, the skirt, the tunic. The new clothes settled around her body, fresh and clean after her ordeal, but she felt anything but relieved. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, remembering Matei's hand over her mouth, his grip on her arm, his words: You cannot run from me.

She reached back to pull her long braid out of her tunic and picked up the headscarf. Mhera had very long hair; most of the Daughters of Zanara did. Her braid fell past her hips. There would be no concealing it in this square of cloth.

She went back out into the main room of the Archmage's Tower, carrying the headscarf in one hand and her old clothes in the other arm. Eovin and Matei stood near the dining table in quiet consultation. They looked up as she moved closer. Eovin took her old clothes from her and quickly crossed the room to stow them in the hidden library.

"My hair," Mhera said weakly, watching as Eovin closed the painting over the secret door again.

"Come here." Matei beckoned her forward. "Eovin, I do not suppose your secret servant lover has any hair pins lying about?"