In the dim light he could see Leslie's face freeze into its most queenly pose—the kind of expression she usually reserved for vanquished enemies.
She didn't want to kid. He instantly repented his unkingly manner.
Leslie chose to ignore it. “Let us go even up into the sacred grove and inquire of the Spirits what this evil might be and how we must combat it.
For of a truth I perceive that this is no ordinary rain that is falling upon our kingdom.”
“Right, queen,” Jess mumbled and crawled out of the low entrance of the castle stronghold.
Under the pines even the rain lost its driving power.
Without the filtered light of the sun it was almost dark,
and the sound of the rain hitting the pine branches high above their heads filled the grove with a weird, tuneless music.
Dread lay on Jess's stomach like a hunk of cold, undigested doughnut.
Leslie lifted her arms and face up toward the dark green canopy. “O Spirits of the grove,” she began solemnly.
“We are come on behalf of our beloved kingdom which lies even now under the spell of some evil, unknown force.
Give us, we beseech thee, wisdom to discern this evil, and power to overcome it.”
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