one they think you can use. Once inside, you find a way to disrupt the production of smoke.”
“That’s a little thin on detail, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“None of us knows exactly what’s happening in there. You’ll have to react to the situation you find. You’ll have the best men and equipment—whatever you need. And Geratan, of course. You’ve both been in that world. You know what it’s like. Get back in there and do whatever you have to do stop the Brigantines from getting the smoke out—destroy any stockpiles, kill the soldiers, take control of access to the demon world if possible.”
“Oh, is that all?” Ambrose muttered.
The plan was stupidly dangerous and almost certain to fail, and yet Ambrose was already calculating how many men would be needed. A small force might be better in the demon world, where communication was so difficult. But how many Brigantines would they be facing? And, just as importantly, how many demons . . . ?
“How soon do you want us to go?”
“Yesterday.”
CATHERINE
NORTHERN PITORIA
Love, passion, desire—they’d all be terribly straightforward if people weren’t so terribly complex.
Queen Valeria of Illast
“OF COURSE we wish to cooperate with you, Your Majesty.” Lord Darby nodded and smiled. Albert, his assistant, nodded and smiled as well. “And now that I have a thorough understanding of the various strengths and weaknesses of the forces, I feel I can give you my advice.”
Catherine had to bite her lip. “I’m most grateful for your advice, of course, Lord Darby, but what I need most is ships.”
“Ah, the ships.”
“Indeed. The ships. To protect our coastline.”
“Yes, indeed. And the very same ships that Calidor needs to protect her own coastline.”
“If you help us now, we could help you in future.”
“But we may not have a future if we make ourselves vul-nerable by moving our ships from their defensive positions.”
“So not even one can be spared?”
“Each ship is doing a vital job for Calidor.”
“Really? So how many ships do you have? Where ex-actly are they all along your coast? What, precisely, are they all needed for?”
Darby looked to Albert, who replied, “We’ll have to look into it.”
“How?” Catherine exclaimed, her patience finally ex-hausted. “How exactly will you look into it?”
Albert paled. “I’ll . . . I’ll send a request for information to Calia, Your Majesty.”
“Well, let’s hope it gets across the sea safely—if only we had the ships to protect the message!”
Catherine swept out of the tent, muttering to Tanya as she went: “Another delay, another evasion. What we need are the ships.”
“I spoke to Albert earlier.”
Catherine turned to her. “You did?”
“He’s as frustrated as we are. He says that Thelonius wants to help, Lord Darby too, but many Calidorian lords fear us as much as Aloysius.”
“Fear us?”
“Well, fear that an alliance will mean a loss of indepen-dence. Pitoria is so much larger than Calidor—they think we’ll take them over.”
Back in Catherine’s tent, Tanya plopped into her chair and almost instantly fell asleep—Catherine wasn’t the only one working long hours. But Catherine couldn’t afford to rest. There were more papers to go through, more money to be found, and surely there was an answer somewhere to the ship problem . . .
Catherine paced around her tent, passing the chest that contained her bottle of purple demon smoke. A small breath of smoke would do her a world of good—relax her and give her energy for the afternoon. Looking across at Tanya, who was snoring lightly, Catherine carefully lifted the lid of the chest and took out the bottle, warm and heavy in her hand. She let a wisp of purple smoke slide up and out of the bottle, and inhaled it deeply, waiting for a hit of energy.
Nothing happened.
Catherine blinked. She felt a little lightheaded but noth-ing more.
She mustn’t have taken enough. She took another, larger breath. Now she felt the warmth of the smoke fill her nostrils, her throat, and her lungs. Her head swam and she felt slightly dizzy, but she had no spike of energy, no feeling of strength or power.
She sat on the bed. She could weep. Even the smoke wasn’t working now.
But why? Only a few weeks ago it had given her strength enough to fight a man twice her size. She knew that the smoke didn’t work on adults, but she was still seventeen. A girl in many ways, though with the responsibilities of a woman—of a queen. Catherine lay back and stared up at the canopy above her. She couldn’t be too old for the smoke.