his bare feet and Lionel thudding along behind herâthe big lout, surely the guards would hear him! But no one raised the alarm as she sprinted through the hazel bushes and across a few paces of open clearing to crouch, breathing hard, in the shadow behind her fatherâs pavilion. She could hear the wild boy and the oversized minstrel panting beside her.
Then there was a ripping sound. As planned, Lionel was cutting a way into the pavilion with his dagger. Soft yellow light spilled through the rent: candle glow. Within the tent, an expensive beeswax candle stood burning uselessly in the middle of the night. Mirthless, Etty smiled. Yes, her father still required his candle for comfort in order to sleep. Likely he still required his sleeping draughts, too.
As Lionel cautiously spread the opening he had made in the canvas, Etty could see her father lying there with his pointed beard in the air and his hands symmetrically tucked under his chin, over the coverlet.
Etty touched Lionelâs arm, then stepped softly inside the tent.
The other two catfooted after her. Soft deerskin boots made little noise. Silently Etty begged the spirits of the night, Please, let him sleep like a fish under ice until we get our hands on him . He must not awaken and summon the guards.
King Solonâs pavilion was a rich sort of tent, well hung with draperies to please the eye and to mute noises from outside. Etty could hear the guards only faintly now:
â âTis a full wondrous wolf, forsooth.â
âLook! Yon friendly wolf wishes to greet the lady.â
âGo ahead, my lady. Reach through the bars and pat him.â
And then her motherâs courteous voice:
âWelcome, Sir Wolf. Or should it be Lord Wolf? Are you the wolf ruler of this wilderness?â
Ettyâs heart beat harder as she heard her motherâs voice, harder and faster as she drifted forward silently, oh so silently, to position herself at her sleeping fatherâs head. Just as silently, Lionel stood at his side, and Rook at his feet. Etty met their eyes and nodded. Now!
All three at once seized King Solon. He awoke with what would have been a shriek but was only a squeak, for Etty had clamped both her hands over his mouth. He tried to thrash, but Rook leaned on his feet and Lionel held both of his hands easily in one of his own, binding them with a thong of cured deerskin.
Etty glanced down at her fatherâs face. He saw her, and his mouth squirmed and mumbled under her hands, and his pale eyes met hers with such fearsome upside-down fury that she flinched as if she had encountered a viper. Hastily she looked away from him. âGag him,â she whispered to Lionel, although she knew he was not finished with his own task yet.
From somewhere in back of the draperies that lined the pavilion, behind Lionel, a high-pitched, sleepy voice asked, âWhat passes here?â
Etty startled so hard she almost lost her hold on her fatherâs mouth. And Lionel jumped even harder, losing his hold on His Majestyâs half-bound hands entirely. Rook reached over and seized the end of the thong. Lionel spun around. Etty froze. All three of them gawked at the face gawking back at them from between the draperies.
A delicate, narrow face with great dark eyes under masses of curling hair paler than the candlelight. Never had Etty seen a human being with such black eyes and such blond hair. âItâs the page boy,â she gasped. Still in his crimson tunic, it was the dandified messenger she had seen riding in on the slender white pony. And had not thought of since.
His mouth started to open, to scream.
In a single giant stride Lionel was upon him, clapping one big hand over his mouth as he seized him around the arms and body. â Certainly , your father hates people,â Lionel hissed at Etty as he hauled the page boy out of the draperies to the center of the tent. â Absolutely , he always sleeps