0857664360 (38 page)

Weaver’s face was in shadow as he leaned forward and held out one hand. She clasped it and he tugged, none too gently, but she was able to stand and gingerly set weight on her injured ankle. She straightened up but he clasped her hand still. And for the first time she could gauge his mood. A thrill of heat tugged deep within her abdomen. There was no thought of duty here. Not tonight.

Somewhere the lovers were losing themselves in one another.

“Thank you.” She ought to release his hand now, but instead she leaned closer. Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t they? She was rewarded by an audible intake of his breath and his fingers tightened about hers.

“You were about to tell me why you were searching my room, my lady.” Was his voice hoarser than usual? “I imagine you were looking for the dagger?”

“The dagger? No.” It was tempting to seize on that as an excuse, but then she’d be no further forward. And she had little to lose now. “It was the letter. I wanted to read it.”

He frowned. “You– What? What letter?”

“From the freemerchant.”

“But why? It was nothing.”

Mention the sight now and he would freeze, turn away. “It was the way you looked at me after you read it. Then you folded it and stowed it away. And I thought there was something in it you didn’t want me to see.”

“So, naturally, you asked me about it.” Still he held her hand in his.

“I didn’t think of that.” She couldn’t help leaning closer. “Can I see the letter?”

“I burned it. I would show you it if I hadn’t – there was nothing you couldn’t have seen.”

“Then why such secrecy?”

“If it ever fell into the wrong hands… Even our two names in association could be enough to condemn us.”

“Laudable, I’m sure.” The lovers had fallen silent, spent for the time being. Alwenna envied them their certainty.

“You don’t agree?”

“You’ve already signed a confession. What difference would that letter have made?”

“It can’t be used to make things worse. I’m a cautious man.” Slowly, as if he acted against his better judgement, Weaver slipped his free hand round Alwenna’s waist. “I’ve always been a cautious man.”

“Are you? I’m not convinced.” It was the most natural thing in the world for her to move closer, so close their breath mingled. She set one hand on his chest and stood on tiptoe to murmur in his ear. “A cautious man would bolt that door before we go much further.”

Weaver laughed and pulled her up close. “I’ll bolt the door if you promise you won’t run away.”

“With this ankle?” She tugged at the drawstring fastening of his shirt. “I won’t run away. Not tonight.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

Alwenna was eight years old, hurrying down the tower stairs.

Tresilian followed several steps behind her. “You can’t. We’ll get into trouble.”

She gestured to him to be quiet. “Only if they catch us, stupid.”

They crept up to the door to the king’s chamber and pressed against the wall to listen. Voices rose and fell in the room beyond, but Alwenna couldn’t make out the words. She reached for the handle. Like the others in the old keep at Highkell it was fashioned in the form of three snakes twisted round in a loop, each one devouring the tail of the snake in front. She hated them. Rather than touch the vile things, she took hold of the latch and hefted it up from the metal catch so she could pull the door open. Just a fraction. The grown-ups were sat at the table, the remains of a meal before them. There were no guards or servants in the room.

Alwenna recognised her grandmother’s voice.

“… empty platitudes. The question is, what should we do with the child?”

Alwenna eased the door a fraction further open so she could see Tresilian’s father.

“That’s easily answered. We can’t relinquish control of the eastern estates to her father’s family.”

The old woman nodded. “There at least we agree. Would you raise her here?”

“Of course. As her closest relative the duty is mine.”

The old woman tilted her head to one side as she studied her nephew. “I thought you might not wish to risk it.”

“What – the seers’ superstitious nonsense? That child is a danger to no one.”

“Once I would have agreed with you, but lately…” She bent forward, seized by a coughing fit. “Already there are rumours it was no accident that killed them both.”

“It’s not the first time heavy rain has loosened that stretch of road.” He shrugged. “I have no time for such folly.”

“Folly or not, you’d do well to heed the mood of your people.”

“They’re happy as long as their bellies are full. And I can ensure that by uniting Eastern and Western Marches under one crown.”

“They’d be unwieldy to administer and impossible to rule. How would you hope to secure the southern border?”

“You grow old, Aunt Vanna. It’s a challenge for someone younger, more ambitious.”

“Someone such as yourself?” She snorted. “Over-ambitious, I’d say. Even without warnings from the seers.”

“The seers! As ever you set them above worldly concerns, but they feel cold and hunger in winter like the rest of us. Think how it would enhance their standing – and fill their coffers – to have a descendant of the Venerable Alidreth within their precinct. Alwenna will stay here – she and Tresilian are of an age, after all.”

“So is Vasic. Raise her to be loyal and send her to form an alliance with the south. Don’t forget that girl from the Outer Islands – she would do well for Tresilian. Take care you don’t–” Vanna was seized by another bout of coughing.

Alwenna heard footsteps descending the stairs behind them and spun around–

Alwenna woke in the darkness, disorientated, expecting to find herself at the foot of the newel stairs at Highkell. Instead there was warmth. An arm wrapped about her…

Weaver.

She burrowed against him. His arm tightened about her, fingertips pressing against her ribs.

“You’re a restless sleeper.”

“I’m not asleep.”

“But you were just now.”

“I dreamed I’d just arrived at Highkell. Wynne caught us eavesdropping when the grown-ups were talking about what to do with me.”

“Did you get into trouble?”

“No. She never told anyone.” Everything had been so simple then. “I’d forgotten all about it, but it was like I was right back there.” She slid a hand up over Weaver’s chest, her fingertips exploring the scar tissue from an old injury. His life was mapped on the outside, for all to see, yet he never spoke of it. Hers was mapped on the inside, in her mind, and hardly made enough sense for her to speak of it. “They were talking about the seers – how they said I was dangerous. Tresilian and Vasic used to tease me about it, even though everyone said it was nonsense.”

Beneath her hand, Weaver tensed. Always the same reaction when she mentioned anything to do with the sight.

“I suppose they were right,” she ventured.

Weaver drew in a breath, as if to speak, but he remained silent.

“What – do you think I’m dangerous too?” She pushed herself up on one elbow to study him by the dim firelight.

“No.”

There was something he wasn’t saying. “But?”

He raised a hand and pushed back a stray strand of hair from her face. “A man like me keeping company with the likes of you… that’s dangerous. You’re a queen. You grew up with future kings.”

“Kings or not, they started out as little boys. They’re no different.” She trailed her fingertips down his sternum, felt his muscles tighten as her hand reached his belly. “And no better.”

“Kings don’t like commoners messing with their women.”

“So? There aren’t any kings here.” She slid her hand further down. “This is no time to talk caution.”

“Maybe not, but… Alwenna, we both know it can’t end well.” His body responded to her touch, putting the lie to his words.

“It won’t end tonight, though, will it?”

Weaver drew in a deep breath. “If we had any sense it would.”

“Oh, listen to you. When did you get so old?” She wriggled up against him.

“I’m just trying to say–”

She silenced him with a kiss. “Nothing I want to hear tonight.”

“Understood.” Weaver rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. “And now I’ll have you know I’m not old, just short of sleep.”

“There’ll be plenty more time for sleeping.” She bent forward and their tongues entwined once more as they found far more pressing things to do than talk.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

Several heavy-eyed people gathered about the breakfast table the next morning. Curtis and Erin sat next to one another, sharing secretive smiles, leaning close every now and then. Weaver had stationed himself across the table from Alwenna, but when she looked up from her food and caught his eye, he too smiled. Perhaps smile was too generous a word for the infinitesimal change of his expression. At least they were a little less obvious than the other two love-birds. They’d both agreed they should be discreet when they’d parted company outside Alwenna’s door sometime shortly before dawn – but there was something of the old, silent Weaver about him now. Blaine was nursing a heavy hangover, and impatient for them to be on the road. They didn’t linger over breakfast, gathering their belongings and loading up the horses without wasting any time.

Weaver waited to give Alwenna a leg up into her saddle. “My lady, are you ready?” His hand touched her shoulder for the most fleeting of moments as she turned to face the saddle, then he legged her up in business-like manner. As she arranged her skirts she smiled at him, but he lowered his eyes when she would have held contact with him for longer.

Weaver turned away to mount his own horse. As they rode out of the inn yard he took up position in front, telling Curtis and Blaine to follow up in the rear, behind the two women.

They were an hour along the road towards the summer palace, crossing gently rising ground, when three horses appeared in the distance ahead of them, descending the hill in single file.

Weaver halted and called Curtis forward to join him.

“What is it? Trouble?” Alwenna moved her horse alongside his.

He glanced her way. “No, my lady. Not of the kind you mean.”

There was little to see from this distance, beyond the fact the riders rode tall bay horses.

“What – are there different kinds of trouble?”

“We don’t know yet what we’ll find at the summer palace, my lady. I know what the freemerchant told me–”

That letter again. There had been more to it after all. “Then tell me. This sounds like something I should know.”

Weaver took a breath, his eyes flicking over to where Curtis waited. “This isn’t the time or place.” He dismounted from his horse, delving into his saddlebag to retrieve a cloth-wrapped bundle.

Alwenna recognised it instantly. “The dagger? Why now?”

“In case you need it. I–” Weaver shrugged. “It’s no good to you in my bags, is it?” He stowed the knife in her saddlebag.

“You said you don’t expect any trouble.”

“No, I’m just–”

“Being cautious?”

He didn’t smile. “Yes, my lady.”

“But, Weaver, you didn’t want me to carry this.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Drew said you would need it. And there might not be another chance – this freemerchant is watchful.”

“And is he one of them?” She gestured at the riders in the distance.

“He may be.”

Weaver vaulted back into his saddle and he and Curtis moved on again.

Alwenna followed, a knot of anxiety tightening her stomach. Deep inside her womb the baby shifted uneasily. It, too, sensed all was far from well. Somehow, the path she was travelling had taken another turn. Darkness lay ahead, and all she could do was continue riding towards it.

As the unknown riders drew near, two of them halted. They waited casually in the road on loose reins, their horses stretching their necks. The third, a tall and lean man who sat on his horse with easy grace, rode forward to meet them. As he drew closer Alwenna could see he wore his hair in freemerchant braids.

“Greetings, fellow travellers. May your roads be clear and the water pure.” He raised his right hand to his left shoulder and bowed his head. He ran his eyes over the group, pausing briefly on Alwenna then halting at Weaver, who responded with the same gesture, albeit a more perfunctory version.

“And so may your road be blessed.”

“Weaver, my brother in arms.” The freemerchant smiled. “The Hunter has indeed watched over you. This, I take it, is the Lady Alwenna.”

Weaver performed the necessary introduction, punctiliously polite. Alwenna responded as she had been taught, with courtly dignity.

The freemerchant, Marten, inclined his head again. “We will be honoured by your presence among us, my lady. I am delighted to be able to escort you for the rest of the journey. If we ride on now we can expect to reach our destination before the worst of the afternoon heat is upon us. You will be able to rest in the shade of your family home.”

Again that stirring of apprehension. Alwenna nodded politely. “That will be most welcome.”

Marten smiled, then turned his horse about to lead the group, signalling Weaver to ride at his side. Weaver had not so much as a glance to spare for Alwenna as he took his place alongside the freemerchant. She was left in no doubt Weaver actively distrusted Marten. This must have been what he’d been trying to warn her of the night before, though she couldn’t fathom why he’d found it so difficult to speak up. It was clear she, too, had to be cautious unless she wanted their secret redistributed to the kingdom at large for the freemerchant’s gain.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

They reached the summer palace by mid-afternoon. It was as unlike Highkell as Alwenna could have imagined. The site was surrounded by a high wall with a robust gatehouse and watch towers along the length of it, but it was not designed to withstand serious attack. As Alwenna rode in beneath the gatehouse there were no glimmerings of recognition. The sight stirred, lazy as rolling mist, although for once she was able to see the real world through it and she knew this place featured in Gwydion’s store of knowledge. But that was not what she needed to know. The sight subsided. That had happened more of late – was she finally learning to control the visions?