living palace and wondered what manner of king he would find upon its throne.
Kellen interrupted Corin’s awe with a curt command. “Take her arm.”
“What?”
“Take Maurelle’s arm. You’re her plaything.”
Corin and Avery responded in perfect time. “What?”
Kellen rolled his eyes. “We can drop the act of prisoners now. It’s only making you conspicuous. But Corin should take Maurelle’s arm—”
“I will be her escort,” Avery insisted.
“No,” Maurelle answered, just as stern. “We two together would be recognized. The House of Violets is out of favor. But if you do not draw attention…”
“I can hardly hide my face,” Avery said.
“Turn it to Kellen,” Corin suggested, while he offered his arm to Maurelle. “Share a quiet conversation. It makes a good excuse for ducking, and if you look engaged, even those who recognize you are less likely to interrupt.”
Avery stopped, stunned. For a long moment he favored Corin with an appraising gaze, but then he started walking again. “You have a gift, manling. I would fain know where you learned these things.”
From the Nimble Fingers at Aepoli, Corin thought, but he kept that to himself. He leaned his head toward Maurelle. “Can you lead us to Oberon?”
“In my sleep. In my fairest dreams.” She sighed, content. “It’s just this way.”
Corin let her lead him while he discreetly strained to hear the conversation between Avery and Kellen. He’d feared another trade of jabs that he would have to interrupt, but instead he heard a heartfelt question from Avery.
“What manner of man draws duty in the lowest of the dungeons? That whole floor was empty until we arrived.”
Corin winced at the question, for he could guess the answer.
And Kellen did nothing to soften the blow. “Heroes who deserve a spot of rest. And fools who cannot be trusted anywhere else. Most often, there is one of each.”
They walked ten paces in gloomy silence, until Corin feared he would need to remind them of their ruse. But Kellen spoke again. “A fortnight gone, I was the useless fool.”
“You have not been useless today,” Avery said. “You have given us our freedom. I…I regret the things I said before.”
Kellen grunted. “I require no apology. What I do now, I do for the king. It seems you do as well. That is all I need to know.”
Four more paces passed in silence. Then Maurelle squeaked a tiny, startled, “Oh!” and Corin moved on instinct. He tugged her off the path, slapping Kellen’s chest as he passed. By the sound of it, Avery was the first to understand, driving Kellen after Corin with a rustle and a grunt.
They darted into one of the verdant sitting rooms, a wide, low grotto beneath the canopy, spotted here and there with trees and bushes bearing aromatic fruits. Corin darted from the entryway and down the hedge to peek back out upon the path. Avery joined him right away while the other two hovered nervously behind him.
Through a narrow gap in the interwoven branches, Corin watched Lord Ephitel come storming down the palace corridor. He had a lieutenant at his elbow, and as he stomped along, Ephitel rattled off orders the lieutenant couldn’t hope to keep track of. Ephitel spoke of dwarves and regiments and writs of provender, but between every irritated order, he paused to curse the druids and the king.
Corin grinned at that. The prince would add more names to that list when he learned what had happened in the dungeons, but for now he hadn’t spotted them. Corin watched Ephitel pass their quiet grotto, never slowing, too distracted by his irritation.
“Fortune favors us again,” Corin said. “Now come, let us see the king.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was not far from there to Oberon’s throne. The king of Gesoelig held court within a clearing more than a hundred paces end to end. At its heart grew a single oak tree, its trunk reaching at least three stories high before the lowest branches broke away.
The limbs of that mighty oak stretched out over the breadth of the palace, and its peak soared high into the sky. From underneath, Corin saw the strands of gossamer draped all across its boughs, glittering with dew that twisted sunlight and cast the distant image of a man-made palace. From where he stood, the tree alone seemed far more majestic than that illusion of marble and gold.
And at the base of that elder oak, its roots rolled and crowded into a knot above the earth, taller than a man and folded lovingly around a throne carved into the tree itself.