“How much older?” And did Wycke really want to spend his days chopping sage and hovering over a simmering cauldron?
Saris leaned to the right, looking over Chynne's sleek sides. “I've changed my mind. Can we go back for the hat? I'm freezing. I don't remember Myrgren being this cold!”
“You don't know cold.” Jess giggled. “Try being from Minnesota!”
“What is a Mini Sota?” Aberfrer asked.
“Apparently, where Jess came from, before she met Piers,” Wycke replied. No need to give away exactly how familiar he'd become with the human realm. The “I Love Miami” shirt in the back of his closet might give a hint.
Aberfrer wouldn’t let the subject drop. “Where precisely is that?” He waved an idle hand. The air around them grew warmer. Asshole. He could have made them more comfortable a long time ago.
“Oh, look!” Wycke pointed ahead to change the subject. “Myrgren Castle.” Not a moment too soon. As the words left his mouth, a pull locked onto him, tugging him toward the imposing, gray stone walls. “What the fuck?”
“What do you feel?” Aberfrer murmured into Wycke's ear, urgency in his tone belying his soft words.
“I feel… woozy.” Wycke's head spun. He clutched Saris to stay upright. “Piers. Piers is there, but he's drugged or something.”
“Disconnect a bit. He must be wishing for you, but you can't allow yourself to get drawn into his thoughts. Stay focused. What else do you feel?”
“Helpless. Immobile. And I’d give those damned mages twenty silvers to stop chanting.” It took Aberfrer pulling Wycke’s hands down for Wycke to realize he'd clapped them over his ears.
“Focus. Now, where is he? You've said there were mages.”
“I've never been there. Round room. High up.” The image of gray stone walls invaded Wycke’s mind.
“The tower!” Saris called back.
“I know it well,” Chynne rumbled beneath them, vibrations coming from his back. “I can feel him now too.”
“Hey, it's like sitting on the back of a Harley! Wicked!” Jess patted Chynne's neck. “Do that again.”
“I hope Chynne can reverse whatever he's done to her,” Wycke griped, quickly adding, “but not too soon.” They surely didn’t need a screaming woman on their hands.
They soared over the castle, Chynne banking to the left.
If Aberfrer spoke the truth, coming in from above bypassed any wards. Even powerful sorcerers had limits, but with the source of much of Tirra Neu's power directly below them, Wycke stayed on guard.
Chynne formed tight loops, spiraling down toward the castle.
“Wheee!” Jess squealed.
They needed to land. Soon. Each circuit brought them closer to the tower window. Chynne slammed into the stone wall with jarring force, gripping the window ledge with razor-sharp talons. “Owww!” Chynne wailed. “I've never made the landing with so much weight on my back. I'm talking to you, Sorcerer! Are you part giant or something?”
Wycke's blood ran cold. Oh, ancestors, no! Inside the room, Piers lay naked on a stone table, Radre looming above him.
Holding a knife.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Oh, the monologue! Radre railed against Saris, Wycke, Chynne, High King Broen, Jess, and someone named Raphael who’d snubbed him at a party. Everyone but George and the elf, and only because the asshole hadn’t properly met George and likely didn’t know Elf Boy’s name. One more indication Vale hadn’t betrayed them.
What if King Asshole hadn’t freed Wycke, leaving him stuck in a cell? What about Jess, Saris, and Chynne?
What if no one planned to rescue Piers, and this lunatic did whatever he’d schemed in his overcooked brain? What if this megalomaniac really did kill Piers? And would those damned mages or monks or whatever please shut the hell up? Their droning drove Piers crazy!
The more they chanted, the more Piers lost hope. The high king placed his own queen in a cell. Or did he? Maybe Radre made everything up. Images appeared in Piers’ mind: Saris, Jess, and Wycke standing side-by-side on old-western-movie gallows, nooses around their necks. Or beheading. Did they behead people in this realm?
Radre said something about beheading.