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The freemerchant met Weaver’s hostile gaze without embarrassment. “I suggest nothing, but people do talk. Your king is killed in the siege, yet you escape unharmed and his lady is committed to his cousin’s control? This has not escaped notice.”

“Then you accuse me of turning coat? I’ve killed men for suggesting less.”

“Of course not, but people do talk. Along with the convenient matter of your escape from Highkell, the commander of the city watch here is your friend. There are some who believe you have already thrown in your lot with the new king.” The freemerchant smiled.

“So they would have it I’m here to bring down any last traces of rebellion? Foolish beyond belief.” Weaver pushed his cup into the middle of the table. “We’ve nothing more to discuss.”

“If you would prove them wrong, there’s opportunity here for you.” For the first time Marten’s expression suggested the conversation was not going his way.

“Opportunity to get myself hanged by talking treason? If the east were going to rise they should have done it when Highkell first fell, instead of bleating about taxes. I’ll take my chance with peacetime.”

Marten spread his hands wide in a theatrical gesture. “I’ve heard this peace will be short-lived.”

“More rumours? Continue like this and you’ll be even shorter-lived.”

“Not rumours, Weaver. Reliable information. This opportunity will be to your advantage.”

Farming had never looked so good. “I see no opportunity here. Unless you mean me to watch while you talk the new king to death.” Weaver stood up.

“Would you leave the lady where she is?” It seemed the freemerchant would stoop to any means to recruit him.

“Don’t drag her into this.”

“She belongs with her own people, and they stand ready to welcome her into their hearts.”

“Then you’ll have no need of me. We’re done here.”

The freemerchant bowed. “Very well. If you change your mind, Weaver, ask for me here. They’ll know how to get word to me.”

Weaver turned on his heel, striding from the kopamid shop. He needed a drink – several drinks – to dull the ache in his head, and to drown the nagging doubt that accused him of once again failing the lady he’d sworn to protect.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

When Vasic finally spoke to Alwenna he did it with a remarkable lack of fanfare. The door to her chamber opened and in he stepped. A guard waited until the maid hurried from the room, then the guard followed her out, closing the door.

Alwenna looked up from where she sat at her tapestry frame. Her cousin’s face was even gaunter than when she’d last seen him. Had he been unwell? That would account for his absence. “Cousin. I thought you had done with me entirely.”

Vasic crossed over to the window embrasure where Alwenna sat, stopping a couple of yards away, well beyond arm’s reach. “And if I had, could you wonder at it?”

“Of course not.” She set another stitch in the canvas, stabbing the needle through the taut fabric with a “pock” sound.

“And would it please you to know I have indeed considered setting you aside entirely?”

“I think it would be a wise choice on your part. But I have no wish to see out my days as your prisoner.”

“‘Prisoner’ is a harsh word, dear cousin. I wish to keep you safe from harm.”

“Indeed? Your loyal servant Hames suggested otherwise.”

Vasic’s fingers clenched then unclenched, a nervous gesture Alwenna remembered from childhood. “He proved to be unworthy of my trust. My judgement was perhaps wanting.”

“Wanting in many ways, cousin.” Alwenna stabbed the needle through the canvas again. A strange hunger filled her once more. She recognised an echo of the reckless fire that burned in her veins the day she’d killed Hames. But only an echo. She crushed it. Right now she would hear what Vasic had to say. She needed to know what he was thinking or, better yet, what he was planning.

He watched her now with something that might have been apprehension. A strange wariness had taken place of the acquisitive way he’d been wont to look at her.

Stab, into the fabric, pull the thread through. Why did he not speak? Stab, draw another stitch through. Stab. This silence was impossible. “I know how you killed Tresilian.”

Vasic made a gesture of annoyance. “You disappoint me, Alwenna. You’ve lived here long enough to know you cannot believe idle gossip.” He paced away from the window, arms folded.

“Idle gossip? I know the very words you whispered to him.”

“That is nonsense.” He raised one restless hand to cover his mouth.

“You tortured him. I know you did. He asked you to finish it and you bent down to whisper in his ear.”

Vasic’s eyes widened as he stared at her.

“You asked if it would be a kindness. And he said you hadn’t the mettle.”

Vasic’s hand moved, then settled again over his mouth.

“Do you still care to tell me it’s idle gossip, cousin? Can you deny you told him he’d always underestimated you as you pressed your knife against his ribs? Dare you deny it? You stabbed your own cousin – not just kingslayer, but kinslayer. Doubly damned by your own hand.”

A tremor shook the fingers he still held over his mouth. He clenched then unclenched them. “How could you possibly…”

That echo grew louder. Alwenna’s needlework was forgotten.

Vasic paced across the room to the table and turned to face her again. “I don’t know who you’ve been speaking to, but it doesn’t matter now. All that is in the past. It is with the future we must concern ourselves.”

“I have little confidence it would be a long future, cousin. The scowl on his face told her she’d overstepped the mark. She should have curbed her tongue. The echo of that raw, wild hunger faded, leaving her strangely bereft, drained of the will to do anything at all.

Vasic took a couple of steps towards her. He’d come into the room all conciliatory, but now he was back to the familiar bluster. “Let me tell you how it will be, Alwenna. You and I will be married, in proper order. I’ll have no one claim it was done in haste. The announcement will be made this very day and the wedding will take place on the next holy day. I have made my decision and it is for you to accept it.”

She’d been foolish to hope he’d had second thoughts. “Vasic, I know you’ve long sought this marriage, but do you really believe you are getting a good bargain in me?”

His eyes narrowed, as if he suspected some new trick on her part. “We will unite south, east and west for good. This will be a new age of prosperity for the Peninsular Kingdoms.”

“There is another way.” Once the idea took hold she could not shake it off. “You could still do all those things if I were to abdicate my authority to you. I could go into exile. I could leave the Peninsula and there would be no cause for unrest then. I could go to the Outer Isles – further, even.”

“Come now – do you think me such a fool? You would be rallying supporters against me before you were out of sight of the citadel.”

“I would not, I swear it. I would support your claim to the throne unequivocally.” She had to make him understand. “I have no appetite for the business of royalty. Keep me here and I’ll be a constant reminder of Tresilian. And people will seek to use me to influence you. Let me leave and the kingdom will truly be yours. It makes sense, Vasic.”

“You would choose poverty over staying here at my side in your rightful place?”

Was he considering it? A little flattery couldn’t hurt. “You would be too generous to leave me in poverty, cousin.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You will remain here, as my queen. I am decided. And all will be as it should be. You will have no cause to reproach me.”

He turned and left the room.

Alwenna stabbed her needle into the canvas. She’d dared hope for a moment. She’d never be able to trust Vasic. She never had, even before he’d killed Tresilian. And how long before she went the same way? She wouldn’t wait to find out. Vasic would get little joy of this marriage.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Weaver hunched before the campfire and pressed his hands to his temples, nursing another sore head. This would be his last hangover. Not because he’d sworn off drink, but because he had nothing left to buy drink with. Not even an old friend on the city watch had been able to use his influence to secure work for him. Times were hard in Brigholm. Times were hard everywhere.

Curtis was busying himself adding more wood to the campfire, every so often glancing towards Weaver.

Weaver recognised the expression of old: a man with something to say, but aware this wasn’t the right moment. There never would be a right moment. “Well, spit it out, man.”

Curtis turned his eyes away briefly. It was clear he didn’t want the conflict. But Blaine had gone in search of something to put in the cooking pot and Drew was away in town, working, supposedly. There wouldn’t be a better opportunity.

“You’ve got something to say, say it before the others get back.”

Curtis shuffled his feet and dropped the bundle of wood by the fire. “We go a long way back. A long way. And it’s not for me to question your choices, but… We need to decide what to do next. There’s nothing to keep us here – there’s no work going. Not the sort we’re fit for, anyway.”

“And you think I should drink myself into oblivion somewhere more congenial?”

“Eh? No, I never–”

“I get it. You think it, but you were never about to say it.” Weaver picked up a small pebble from the ground, turning it between his fingers. He should never have come back to Brigholm at all. It brought the past too sharply into relief. His wife and child’s deaths, Stian, and, because of him, the Lady Alwenna. All of it was pressing in on him, demanding his attention when all he wanted was to forget the whole sorry lot.

Curtis cleared his throat. “What I was going to say is there’s no point sticking around here. We’ve already gleaned that much firewood we’re like to outstay our welcome. I’m for pushing further east. The more distance we put between us and Highkell the better, I’d say. Now we’ve got prices on our heads an’ all.”

Nobody made you break me out of prison, Weaver thought. And nobody even asked you to. “How much further east? The mining towns? There’s not much else, but they won’t be hiring fighters. And after that there are just mountains.” He hadn’t mentioned the freemerchant’s promise of work. Now would be the time if he was going to. But he didn’t trust Marten. In the past it hadn’t stopped him taking money for a day’s work, but… something didn’t smell right. He realised Curtis was speaking.

“Y’know, the big port? What’s it called – Ellisquay?” Curtis straightened up, with a hint of his old enthusiasm. “There’s labouring work to be had on the dock, or ships – and merchants hire protection for cargoes, overland as well as by sea. What better way to drop out of sight?”

Weaver considered. Curtis had a point. Attached to a trade caravan, cash-in-hand, staying nowhere too long – the idea had merit. They would disappear from Vasic’s view, for certain. The image of the farm on the northern coast faded and died. The road he’d travelled had led him too far away from it after all. He couldn’t hope to get much further from Highkell without getting on a boat. Trouble was he didn’t really want to get away from Highkell. Not while Alwenna remained captive there. Common sense told him the longer he hung around there in Brigholm the less likely he ever was to move on. He should find himself an accessible woman and cure his fixation with the one he couldn’t have.

He was distracted by the sound of someone whistling as they drew near to the campsite. Drew, sounding remarkably pleased with himself, came into sight between the trees. He carried a small bundle slung over one shoulder.

“Fancy some newly baked bread? And eggs? Fresh from the market this morning.” He grinned. His hair flopped over his face, growing rapidly out of the severe novice’s crop.

“From the market?” Curtis didn’t need a second invitation, reaching up to unwrap the bundle.

“I came by some money,” Drew said, still grinning. “Honestly,” he added when he saw the doubtful look on Weaver’s face.

“And there I was thinking you’d taken to robbing old ladies.”

“I told you I’d found work. I’ve been running errands for a trader uptown. He says I can stay on.”

The lad looked remarkably pleased with himself, still. Now he was up close Weaver could see heavy shadows beneath his eyes. Seemed he was working night shifts. He’d found himself rather more than a job, if Weaver knew anything about anything.

“Steady work?” Weaver asked.

Curtis had already set about cooking the eggs in the one pitted pan they’d gleaned in town.

“Oh, yes, steady. I’ve the chance of a room above the shop.” Drew radiated happiness.

Weaver tilted his head sideways. “It’s that way, is it? I’m glad for you.” He hesitated. “We’re talking about moving on. There’s no work in sight for us here.”

Drew’s face fell slightly. “You’ve had no luck? That’s a shame. I…” He rubbed one hand awkwardly on his leg, looking troubled. “I think I need to stay here. It’s a good opportunity for me… If you don’t mind?”

“Mind? It’s your life, lad. Better we split up – we’ll be less easily recognised if Vasic’s men come searching for us.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think they will?” Drew looked anxious.

Weaver shook his head. “I doubt it. Not now. He’ll have more urgent matters to bother him. We’d already served our purpose.”

For a moment the youth looked downcast. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful – I owe you so much, but I’m no fighter. And that’s the work you’re looking for, isn’t it?”

“Aye. You’ll be better off here. It’s far enough from Highkell for you to rest easy, I’d say. And a big enough city for you not to stand out. But you don’t owe me anything – you cleaned out one of Vasic’s guards, remember?”

“That reminds me – something I heard in town last night.” Drew hesitated. “It’s news you might find unwelcome, but… it’s public knowledge, so you’ll hear soon enough.”

Weaver could guess what it was. He nodded. “Tell me, then.”

“It’s the Lady Alwenna. She’s to marry Vasic on the next holy day. There are town criers proclaiming it throughout the Peninsula.”