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“A wise choice, Lady Alwenna.” Did she imagine a note of relief that he’d prevailed upon her stay within the walls?

She returned his smile, mirroring his for emptiness. He didn’t appear to notice.

In the cool of the library the librarian bent over his table, scrolls and ancient tomes spread before him. He raised his head at Alwenna’s approach and smiled. This was a true smile. As well, since instinct told her the question she was about to ask was important.

“I wonder, brother, if I might find such a thing as a history of the seers and their lore somewhere on your shelves?”

He straightened up from the manuscript he had been copying, painstakingly setting down his quill. “Indeed you may, my lady. The seers have made their home here at Vorrahan some four centuries and more. We have works concerning their lore dating back to their earliest days here, but they are kept in a storeroom. I will send my assistant to retrieve them for you, if you can wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, there is a simple history you might find interesting.”

She lifted down the tome he indicated and knew in that instant it did not contain whatever it was she sought, but she sat for an hour in the library leafing through the descriptions of the building of the precinct at Vorrahan. She lingered for some time over a diagram showing the layout of the precinct. It indicated the position of a shore gate she’d not noticed while walking through the precinct. She replaced the book and thanked the librarian, promising to return the next day. He nodded and smiled, the greater part of his attention on the work he was copying so meticulously. She left him in the silence of his domain, determined to see if the gate was still there.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Weaver let his horse pick its way through the forest. The tree canopy shaded out much of the moon’s light, but there was still enough to continue his journey. It was good to be on the move again: easier to take action than sit at Vorrahan waiting. And watching. The further he travelled from the Lady Alwenna the better it would be for both of them. But before he was too far from the island he had discreet enquiries to make about Father Garrad. The priest was playing some kind of double game. Tresilian’s faith in Garrad had been unshakable, but Tresilian now lay in a mass grave of his cousin’s, providing that Alwenna’s sight could be trusted.

But Weaver would be wise not to trust anything about Alwenna, tainted as she was by her father’s blood. She claimed to know nothing of her dark legacy, but it made her anathema nonetheless. Soft-skinned, warm-curved anathema. She might already have worked her wiles on him. Since Tresilian had first led his bride-to-be to the top table at Highkell her ill-starred beauty had drawn Weaver like a moth to her flame. Tresilian had finally introduced Weaver to her when they’d just finished a training bout. She’d looked over him with that cool green gaze and he’d known she saw a smelly commoner with no wit or charm to offer her – a misfit among the courtiers. And in case he’d been left in any doubt, Stanton had leaned to whisper some joke in her ear, drawing a smile from her. No, the further Weaver travelled from his king’s wife, the better. Her allure remained as potent as–

Something smashed against the side of his skull. His horse spun around, pitching him towards the ground. Head ringing, Weaver dropped his shoulder as he fell, rolling as he hit the ground and reaching for his knife as he regained his feet. A veil of sparks clouded his vision as he faced his still-mounted assailant. Hoofbeats thudded on the forest floor behind him.

The man before him stepped down from his saddle, drawing a short sword. Weaver took up a defensive stance, blinking in an attempt to clear his head as another horse barrelled into his left shoulder and a second cudgel blow, harder than the first, hit the back of his head and he toppled into darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Alwenna stirred in her bed at Vorrahan, close to waking. There was something she’d forgotten, something important. Her horse trotted on briskly, unheeding as she commanded it to halt, to turn around. Hooves beat out a muffled rhythm over the carpet of pine needles on the forest floor. The gibbous moon rode high in the sky, strong enough to cast shadows between the trees. Then the shadows shifted and she spun away. Far below her Weaver fell from the saddle, rolled and reached for his dagger. Moonlight flashed on a blade. She tried to shout a warning but her words were drowned out by the crackle and hiss of flames. All around her buildings were burning: roof timbers were aflame, cracking with the intense heat, collapsing in bursts of embers which drove everyone back. Water turned to steam as bucketful after bucketful was hurled in an attempt to douse the inferno. The librarian staggered through the cloister, arms laden with precious manuscripts, smoke rising from the smouldering sleeve of his robe. She would have helped him, but behind her someone laughed, stopping her as she reached out. And there Vasic stood at the window of Highkell solar, exultant. In his hand was a sheet of parchment, and on that sheet a signature, firm and clear: Garrad.

This time her shout of protest was real. The sound still echoed in her ears as she sat up in the darkness of her bedchamber. Her limbs shook and her mouth was dry, foul with the tang she’d learned to associate with the sight. She stumbled over to the window, but there was no sign of fire, no sound as the precinct slumbered. She returned to her bed, wrapping the covers about her shoulders and waited for the pounding of her heart to ease. She sought to recall the vision, to divine what had happened to Weaver, to find some trace of him, some hint he’d survived the attack. There was nothing. Everything had been engulfed by flame, by Vasic’s glee.

Nothing.

Sitting there in the dark, the only waking creature in the room, she had no doubt her vision was true. She was utterly alone, and Father Garrad had sold her to Vasic. She was defeated. The flight from Highkell had all been in vain. All it had done was bring about the deaths of those closest to her. Now Weaver’s loyalty had been repaid with base treachery. What recourse had she now, but to sit back and wait for Vasic to lead her back to Highkell in shackles? If not literally, she’d be shackled by wedlock soon enough, to secure his kingship over the territory Tresilian had ruled. She had no one to turn to, no place to hide. Tresilian’s plan had failed.

She sank back on her pillows. Then it happened: that same fluttering sensation deep within her abdomen she had felt once before, so tiny she’d wondered if she’d imagined it. There it was again, a second time, stronger, determined, as the child within her kicked.

She couldn’t give up. Not now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Alwenna eased the door shut behind her and crept along the cloister, keeping to the shadows. No one stirred. She found the shore gate where the plan had shown it and, as she’d hoped, it was unmanned. The bolts were stiff, but yielded after a struggle. She eased the gate open but it gave out a raucous screech of rusty hinges. She slid through hastily and drew the gate shut, the grinding of the old hinges too loud in the silence of night. She thought she heard a faint scuffling from the precinct behind her. She listened intently, but all she could hear was deafening silence, a rushing sound that she realised was the blood running through her veins. Once again she felt that fluttering sensation deep within her womb. This time she was the one protecting an innocent life.

She hurried down to the place where the precinct boats were beached. Here was her first real difficulty: the tide was out, so she would need to drag the boat some distance to the water’s edge. The smallest boat proved heavier than she’d anticipated. She managed to heave it over the short stretch of grass and onto the shingle where it grated against the stones, shattering the night’s calm.

Alwenna froze, listening, but nothing else stirred. No shouts of alarm sounded from the precinct. She summoned her strength and heaved at the boat again. It jammed against a cobble and she tugged harder. She couldn’t fail now, not at the first obstacle. The boat gave way in a rush and she overbalanced, toppling backwards and landing with the boat jammed against her knee, pinning her leg to the ground. A look over her shoulder told her she’d only dragged the boat a fraction closer to the water. The muscles in her forearms were already taut with effort.

Then she heard the footsteps. Several people crunched steadily over the shingle towards where she was sprawled among the pebbles. She pressed in behind the bulk of the rowing boat, hoping against hope that she might not be spotted. A single set of footsteps stopped a few yards away, on the other side of the boat. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She held her breath lest it betray her whereabouts.

The footsteps crunched closer.

“Lady Alwenna. You appear to be in need of assistance.”

Alwenna recognised Father Garrad’s voice. She raised her head and sat up slowly. He gestured to the two priests who had waited some distance away and they hurried forward and lifted the boat from her leg.

Brother Drew bent to help her to her feet. “Are you hurt, my lady?”

“No, no, I’m fine, thank you.” She straightened her knee cautiously.

Garrad cleared his throat. “That will do, Brother Drew.”

The priest dropped her arm as if he’d been burned and stumbled back two hasty paces. “I meant no disrespect, father.”

“No one ever does, Brother Drew, that is the insidious nature of sin. When we first set our steps along the path to ruin we never mean any harm.”

Drew bowed his head.

Alwenna looked from one to the other. “Father Garrad–”

Garrad pulled himself up to his full height. “A nobly born lady such as yourself may not be bound by the rules of our order, my lady, but see the effect your presence in our midst has on gullible novices. Damage is so easily done, yet so, so hard to remedy.”

Alwenna gaped at the priest. “Father, you have received me here at my husband’s behest, but if my presence creates difficulties for the community you have only to call the ferryman and I shall leave.”

Garrad twisted his lips in something like a smile, but even by the forgiving moonlight it was a sorry effort. “Lady Alwenna, your understanding is greatly appreciated, but it will not be necessary for you to leave. If you are more circumspect about your movements and keep to your quarters there will be no further harm done.”

“No harm to whom, father?” Alwenna’s words seemed to hang in the air between them; everything about them stilled.

“Your perception does you credit. I seek only to protect the community here at Vorrahan. These are my people. What manner of leader would I be if I did not ensure their welfare?” He met her gaze levelly at first, then he turned his eyes away, to the precinct. “This has been my life’s work.”

“And yet so easily you break your word to Tresilian? Your duplicity is breathtaking.”

Behind her, Brother Drew stifled an exclamation.

She hurried on before Garrad could respond. “Father, you might restore some vestige of honour to yourself if you let me have use of a boat and oarsman now. I will ask nothing more of the brethren here at Vorrahan if you will grant me that.”

“Alas, my lady, I gave my word you would remain here.” His tone was unctuous.

“We have already seen your word counts for less than nothing.”

“But you, my gentle lady, understand such matters and can embrace forgiveness. The one to whom I promised to deliver you is, I fear, less refined, and the consequences of breaking my word to him would be far more painful.”

“If you won’t help me then you’ll have to stop me by force.” Alwenna took hold of the boat, tugging it again towards the sea. Anger lent her strength. She dragged it a couple of yards before Garrad barked an order to the two younger priests.

“Stop her, you fools.”

Drew hesitated. “But, father, if she wants to leave–”

“You’ve no idea what’s at stake. Don’t question my orders, stop her!”

The other priest caught hold of Alwenna’s arm and tried to prise her fingers loose from the boat. A moment later Drew took hold of her other arm in a gentler grip. “I’m sorry, my lady. The tide’s running against you tonight.” He stooped closer so no one overheard his next words. “It’ll turn, you may count on it.”

She made a token struggle, but the two priests pulled her away from the boat and marched her back to the precinct, Garrad following behind them.

“Father Garrad, it’s you who do not know what’s at stake. Reconsider, please. It’s the only way to save Vorrahan.”

“Save yourself the effort, I’m proof against your dark wiles. Why do you think Tresilian sent you here in the first place?” He seemed to expect some answer.

“You were his trusted tutor.”

This time his smile was much closer to a sneer. “No, you foolish girl. He sent you here because we can contain you safely, where your accursed powers cannot bring ruin to Highkell.”

Her husband didn’t believe in such backward nonsense. He’d told her so, every time Vasic had thrown that particular insult in her face. And she’d never had reason to doubt Tresilian’s word. Until now.

Once back in her quarters the key was removed and the main door was locked from the outside. Alwenna threw herself down on the bed and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out the vision of Vorrahan burning: the smoke, the flames, the shouting. Garrad’s last words circled in her head. Tresilian had insisted Weaver should accompany her and no one else: Weaver, who was renowned for being proof against dark magic. And renowned for defeating her kinsman in single combat. Was there more behind his choice than she’d first imagined? And what had happened to Weaver? She lay there in the dark, trying to draw on the sight, but she could find no trace of the King’s Man.

Instead Gwydion waited in his cave, but he was somehow younger and more alert. “Don’t let Garrad worry you with his closed mind. He has no idea, no vision. As for doubt, that’s all that prevents men turning into monsters. Rest, my child.” He turned away.

She tried to call him back but she could make no sound, couldn’t even move her limbs as the cave pitched around her and she spun away into darkness.