First he heard something. It began as a sort of buzzing sound, a constant but wavering of sound that seemed pervasive. It melded with the throbbing in his head and seemed to grow and fade in time with his pain.

Awhile later, how long he couldn't say, he began to make out individual sounds. Metallic clangs first, then a far deeper sound, which, by concentrating, he realized was the sound of many people talking. Conversations near and far, apparently. Then, nearer, he could make out the crackle of a fire.

He tried to open his eyes. They seemed to be glued shut. But finally he managed to peak out through a narrow slit, which proved painful. He doubted the light that reached his eyes was very bright but there was enough of it to make his head pound even more.

He closed his eyes and tried to listen instead.

Horses. Men. Smells. Wet wool. Oiled leather. Cold. Food. He suddenly realized he was starving. But he forced himself to lay still. Something had happened, and he still felt fear. He sensed danger. He felt vulnerable.

Then he remembered what he'd dreamt. The horror of seeing....

“He’s awake,” he heard someone say from nearby. The voice sounded familiar. “Phillip,” it said, not loudly, but still the sound assailing his pounding head was like someone sticking a knife through his brain. He winced.

“Here, sit him up,” the other man said. “Let’s try to get some liquid into him.”

Phillip felt someone lifting him up, putting a cold tin cup to his lips.

“Easy, just take a few sips,” the familiar voice said. “You got a good crack on the head, is what's going on. You’ll be fine in a few days.” He chuckled. “You played your part so well Ethan had no idea you were really one of us.”

What was it about that voice? Phillip wondered. He knew it. He was certain. But for some reason it didn't fit. It wasn’t supposed to be here, wherever here was. He was no longer certain where he was, he realized. Somewhere. ... North? In the White Fang Mountains. Oh Father. He suddenly remembered whose voice it was. He opened his eyes.

The man looking down at Phillip was an older, more burly, more muscled version of himself. The man smiled. “Glad to see you alert, little brother,” he said.

“Johan,” Phillip croaked.

“When father ordered you to befriend and convince Lady Elizabeth to trust you, he had no idea how literally you’d take the order, or how well you’d do. Taking off after her? Staying with her until we knew where she was, and keeping us informed as to her movements? You made a very good spy, Phillip. King Charles is deeply pleased with you, and even Father seems impressed.”

“Even Father,” Phillip replied faintly.

“Gather your strength. What we’ve been working toward for years is finally about to come to full fruition.”

-------------------

Lady Emily Egan awoke with a start. Last thing she remembered was fighting off soldiers, trying to give Molly a chance to escape through the secret tunnels. Then a sword cut and she'd been overwhelmed.

She tried to move and groaned in pain. Her head was woozy and she couldn't really feel her body. It as if it were no longer a real part of her, and was off somewhere with someone else.

“Easy,” said a quiet voice.

She looked around somewhat wildly. Then a face came swimming into focus. Brother Vaal was leaning over her. “Vaal! Molly? Did you save Molly?”

He shook his head. “She’s well enough, I hear. But she didn't get away.”

Emily sank back down onto her pillow and suddenly found herself crying. As the tears flowed unregarded, she asked, “Donal? Any word about him?” Please let him be alive, she prayed silently.

Vaal shook his head. “He was headed south to Stefan and Bryce. That’s the last I know of him for certain.” He paused then added, “The Southrons ambushed Stefan’s Rebels. Most of them are either dead or captured. Bryce got Stefan away, if what rumors I’m hearing are accurate. At least the new Regent isn’t marching either them or their heads around as proof the rebellion is shattered.”

“And your Black Brothers? What side will they take?” she asked bitterly.

Vaal’s voice went soft. “I’m not certain,” he admitted. “The Heretic and my order are silent. Possibly because no one is sure who to trust. Possibly, as you say, because they are considering backing the new order of things.”

Emily groaned. “Where are we?” she asked as she tried to sit up, pain from her shoulder almost taking her back into nothingness. She fought through it, and tried to look around, for some least hint of where they were.

“Still in Alba. Underneath Orca House, in a hidden safe room. We’re fine for the moment at least. A friend is sheltering us.” Vaal motioned for a young slender woman to step forward. “Emily meet Lissa.”

-------------------

They weren't unkind. They didn't shackle her, or beat her, or even act ugly to her. Instead the one man, the one who seemed to be in charge, put a hand on her shoulder and said in a hearty and friendly manner, “Now, Lady Elizabeth. That’s enough of that. You've led us a merry chase, but really, there is nowhere to go. Come along quietly. I’ll arrange a bath and clean clothes for you. Then I’ll take you to see the Regent.”

Molly wasn’t fooled by the tone. “R... Regent?” is what she finally asked.

“Why yes. We’ll need to verify your bona fides, and once that is done, you’re still a bit young to rule, so Lord Wallis has been appointed Regent. He’ll hold the Northron throne until... Well, until the King decides what to do with Alba.”

Molly’s head reeled. That had to mean the king, King Octavian, was dead, right? What about Prince Stefan? What about her father? What about Phillip, and Brother Vaal and Donal? Oh, Mother, what about poor Lady Emily who’d risked her life to let Molly get away? Was she dead?

Something told Molly not to ask this man any of those things. She wasn't sure he’d tell her the truth, for one thing, and she doubted he'd care. So instead she let him, and an escort of soldiers, lead her to a spacious and richly appointed suite. There maids, most of them looking terrified, were rushing to fill a bathtub.

The smiling officer said, “There you are, then. You’ll be safe here. Your governess will be along in a minute or two. We’ll be right outside.” It was a threat, the way he said it.

Molly nodded and watched them warily as they withdrew. She heard them lock the door, ensuring she wasn’t going anywhere without their permission.

“Miss Elizabeth,” one maid said approaching her. “Here, I’ll help you undress.” The maid looked down at her, at the state she was in, at her pinched face, at the tears that Molly was refusing to allow to fall, and said, quietly, “You’ll be safe. We’ll get some food for you after you bathe.” She sounded kindly, and had soft caring eyes.

Molly, shaking with either fatigue or fear, she wasn't sure which, allowed the maids to help her. She didn't have the energy to resist any more. And what good would it do her? They stripped her and helped her into the warm soapy water of the small copper tub. She fought not to cry. She wouldn’t cry! Not in front of anyone, ever again.

Then an inner door of the suite opened and Molly turned. her mouth dropping open.

It was her governess. Viola Throckmorton, from Rosslyn. She was smiling broadly. “Welcome home, Lady Elizabeth. Soon it will be Princess Elizabeth.”

Molly just stared, thinking wildly. Then her eyes narrowed. “You... You betrayed us!”

“Now, now. We’ll have none of that. We just have worked for many years to bring this wonderful day about. King Charles is so pleased!”

“What... Stay away from me! I hate you!” Molly hissed.

Viola Throckmorton walked over and slapped Molly hard on the side of her face. Then she smiled winningly. “Stop that. You’re a princess. Princesses do not throw tantrums. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll behave.” She paused, regarding Molly’s rebellious face. Her voice was harder when she added, “Your grandfather is here. He’s hostage to your good behavior. You want him kept safe don’t you?” She didn't need to shout. Molly had gone cold and frightened at the words.

“Grandfather Rosslyn?” she whispered.

“Of course. Who else? The nasty old bear. He’s here. I’ll take you to him before too long. So long as you do as you are told.”