The Dowry Blade (16 page)

‘It is too late to heal this properly,’ she said. ‘It has set into the pattern of its choice and can’t be torn apart and made new.’

She inspected Brede’s face, and gathered her hand up once more.

‘It doesn’t trouble me,’ Brede replied, swiftly, untruthful and frightened.

‘You trouble me,’ Sorcha said quietly, speaking sudden truth out of the depths of her worry. She let Brede’s hand loose, waiting for her to withdraw.

Brede did not choose to do so. She laced her fingers into Sorcha’s.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I had noticed.’

Sorcha didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, it was not with words.

Brede was not surprised by the kiss, nor its urgency, nor its completeness. Relief flooded through her. She had not been imagining this attraction between them; she had not, after all, made a fool of herself. And so a second kiss, and a third, and – voices on the stair.

Sorcha drew away, smiling wryly.

‘Time to be Queen’s Bodyguard,’ she said.

Brede kicked the sword under a chest, and took her double knives from her pack. Sorcha was already making a convincing show of being an aware and responsible guard. Brede went to the door, and schooled her face to impassive responsibility, just as the two men reach the top of the stair.

The men looked in confusion at Sorcha, not recognising her, and surprised to find themselves challenged. Sorcha gazed back, without stepping from their path. She knew full well who they were, and knew, although she had temporarily forgotten, that they were expected; but they could meet the requirements of a password as well as any, be they generals or no.

Phelan accepted her passive insistence on protocol, and stated his name and business, and that of his companion. Sorcha let them by, and nodded to Brede. Brede didn’t know what was expected of her as guard, but instinctively, she left the door ajar behind them, and stood in full view of them. Grainne shot her a questioning look, not expecting her to take this position.

‘Your guests bear arms, lady,’ Brede announced.

Phelan raised an amused eyebrow.

‘Your stable-hand has opinions?’ he enquired.

Rumour of Grainne’s extraordinary choice of guard had reached him, as she knew it would. She registered the slight start that made Brede stand more stiffly at attention.

‘My personal guard has bested the finest fighter within my ward, General,’ Grainne replied, drawing a veil over the nature and reasons for that unexpected victory; giving Phelan the courtesy of his title, a courtesy he had not yet shown to her, trading on their kinship.

Brede wondered how Grainne knew about Tegan. She looked a half question at her charge.

Grainne nodded to Brede, giving permission for her to stay. Phelan shrugged, and turned to his business.

‘You wanted someone to take word to the Horse Clans.’

Grainne inclined her head.

‘Madoc here has offered his services.’

Brede’s attention intensified. Madoc hardly seemed likely to win the confidence of the Clans. Brede suppressed the temptation to show her disdain. Grainne noted the stiffening of Brede’s stance, and recognised what she believed to be the cause, although she hadn’t expected Brede to know who Madoc was.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Not Madoc. He could never have any standing with the Clans. As the leader of the raid on the Horse Gather, it would be insanity to send him as my ambassador.’

She spoke clearly; making sure that Brede understood that she would hide nothing, even this, from her bodyguard. Brede couldn’t believe what she had heard.

Phelan frowned, and tapped his fingers against his sword hilt. Grainne was tiring, the numbing pain beginning to grip her again. She waited for Phelan to respond, but he did not.

‘I will not have him,’ she said, firmly.

‘I was acting on your command,’ Madoc said, seeing to his own defence in the face of his sponsor’s silence.

‘You exceeded my commands. Had I known the outcome of your disobedience to my word, had I known the trouble that would spring from your doing, I should have hanged you – I may yet.
Leave
.’

Grainne turned her face away, ignoring Madoc’s existence. When he was slow to move, Brede took a step towards him. She would have liked an excuse to handle him roughly. He didn’t give her the pleasure.

Phelan cast an eye after his protégé.

‘You are unfair. He knows a lot about the Clans; he knows their routines, their patterns, and their language. Without him, you’ll never track them down.’

Grainne shrugged.

‘I’ll find some other way,’ she said, not letting her eyes flicker to Brede, not trusting Phelan with an admission of the desperation that set a member of Wing Clan as her guard. The rest of the interview was an uphill struggle against the rising tide of pain, and Phelan’s stubborn refusal to understand her. At last Phelan’s voice trailed into silence. Grainne looked up guiltily, aware that she hadn’t responded to a question. Phelan smiled sadly.

‘You are not well, Next-kin. You shouldn’t have let me tire you.’ He stood abruptly, shaking his head at her denial. ‘You shouldn’t let me bully you like that. Forgive me.’

‘Always.’

His smile softened almost to indulgence. He took Grainne’s hand and kissed her fingertips.

‘Sleep, my dear, solves everything; so my dogs assure me.’

‘You take advice from your dogs?’

‘About the need for food and sleep, yes. They are far more regular in their habits than you or I.’

Grainne lifted her hand to his face, caressing his chin.

‘I will take your canine advice. Goodnight, Phelan.’ She raised her face to him, and he kissed her gently on the brow, before turning and striding out of the chamber.

Grainne waited until Phelan’s hurried steps could no longer be heard. She reached for Sorcha, trembling with exhaustion.

‘Help me.’

‘Sleep?’

Grainne nodded wearily.

‘Sleep, sleep.’

Chapter Eighteen

‘You knew, didn’t you,’ Sorcha said. ‘I saw your face when you caught sight of Madoc.’

Brede shook her head, wearily.

‘Grainne said he was not acting on her orders. If that is so, why does he still have the favour of her closest advisor?’

‘He is Phelan’s friend. Others think less well of him. I suppose Phelan is trying to – to rehabilitate him.’

Brede shrugged that away.

‘He is a poor judge of character to keep Madoc close.’

‘Yes.’ Sorcha frowned. ‘But what does that matter?’

‘It matters to me. It says that the Clans are still not safe – my people – so, I don’t think I believe Grainne. If what she says is true, Madoc would not still be welcome within her garth. If I am to believe her, then she should not trust Madoc, nor Phelan if that is the kind of friend he chooses.’

‘Madoc hasn’t had her favour for many years, and you saw how she dismissed him. But she won’t do the same for Phelan, he’s her most valued general and he is kin.’

Brede scowled.

‘If I understand it, her next-kin has murdered his father and is trying to win her lands from her. So much for kin.’

‘Yes, but Phelan is – well – Phelan. They love each other. They truly do. I’ve known Phelan since he was born. He’d hand-fast with Grainne if she’d let him, which really shows he’s no judge of character, but he’d never put Grainne in danger.’

‘And Madoc? Can you claim great knowledge of his boyhood too?’

‘You are very sharp of a sudden.’

‘I’m out of my depth. I came to this city looking for a sister taken into captivity, and now that I’m in no position to continue my search, I find the man responsible. I do not know what I’m doing here.’

‘Do you think Grainne is doing more than groping after answers in the dark? When have you done more than follow where the wind leads you? Why this urgent need to know?’

‘Nomads may follow the wind, or run before it, but that doesn’t stop us knowing where we are when we get there. I don’t know where I am. The wind is still blowing.’

‘You aren’t a nomad. You’ve never travelled with the Clans.’

‘It is in my blood,’ Brede snapped. Sorcha took a breath, then shook her head sharply.

‘We are both tired,’ she said.

Brede shook her head.

‘You aren’t listening to me. You are listening for what you need from me.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Compliance.’

‘And what should I have been listening to?’

Brede couldn’t speak. She shook her head again, numb with anger.

Sorcha stood abruptly, laying her sword across the chair and went to the outer door. She bolted it, and placing her hands to either side of the frame, sang a few words. She went to each window in turn and did the same. When she had done, she scooped up the sword once more, put it beside her couch, and began to undress. Brede stayed where she was, stiff with unspilt words.

‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ Sorcha said at last, lying on the couch and untangling blankets. ‘I don’t know why you are here either, with a sister to search for.’

Brede started and Sorcha smiled sadly. ‘I was listening, you see? What I heard is pain, Brede, and loss. Is there more? Have I missed anything else? If you want to tell me again so that I hear you, I will listen.’

‘Why are you here, Sorcha?’

Sorcha looked up, puzzled at the question.

‘I’m being paid.’

‘No. The wind didn’t carry you here. You have a reason, outside of Grainne’s purpose.’

‘Grainne trusts me; can you not do the same?’

‘Loyalty?’ Brede asked.

‘No,’ Sorcha answered her. ‘No, not loyalty, something much more difficult than that. Grainne and I grew up together; we have been friends for – more than thirty years. We have shared happiness and loss, we have helped each other with harsh decisions; we know where we stand. We can each say when we think the other is wrong – or we used to.’ Sorcha hesitated, no longer sure it would be safe to challenge Grainne. ‘Would you call that loyalty?’

‘No. So, I came to this city looking for a sister –’

‘– taken into captivity, and now you believe Madoc to be the key to your search, but you feel trapped by your obligation to Grainne?’

‘She is my sister –’

‘– and she may have been dead these nine years.’

‘I need to know.’

‘Of course.’

‘Of course what?’

‘Come here, Brede. I understand: I’ll help, if I can.’

Brede sat on the couch within the curve of Sorcha’s body.

‘How?’ she asked baldly.

Sorcha lifted her shoulder awkwardly.

‘I have spies.’ Her eyes glinted and Brede wasn’t sure whether to take her seriously. ‘I can ask questions with greater freedom, and in places that you could never go. I have no sisters, Brede, but I’ve lost friends. I know that it isn’t the same, but I can imagine.’

‘If I ask, will Grainne truly give me anything? If my sister lives, if her child lives, I want them freed. Will she do that?’

Sorcha nodded.

‘Of course.’

Brede’s head came up and her smile faded into a cold glare.

‘And even if they are alive and freed, I will be wanting Madoc’s head, will Grainne give me that I wonder?’

Sorcha shook her head very slightly.

‘No, perhaps not that, not officially, nor with a ribbon in his hair, but she might not choose to investigate some unexplained death in a tavern brawl. You know she doesn’t value him. There might be others who’d be more – concerned – should he die.’ She cast her eyes down, then fixed them on Brede’s face. ‘I have a question. You never said until now, even when I asked you – persuasively – what you were doing here, you gave no indication.’

‘I did not lie.’

‘I know that, but so strong a reason, I should have known, I should have been able to convince you to confide in me. So it seems you are able to resist me;’ Sorcha caught a grin on Brede’s face, and laughed, ‘Yes, it is a rare occurrence, but if I ask you something now, will you tell me the whole truth, not just enough to satisfy me?’

‘Perhaps.’

Sorcha leant her weight gently against Brede, curving an arm about her, feeling the tension in the rope of muscles beside her spine.

‘What keeps you here, with a sister to pull you away?’

‘You know the answer to that.’

‘No.’

Brede grinned.

‘There was a woman at the horse fair, in a silly dress and silver combs.’

Sorcha rested her hand against Brede’s back; the rope was loosening. ‘And what was it about this woman that attracted you?’

‘I don’t know, but it wasn’t the dress or the combs. She distracted me so far from my path I don’t know if I’ll ever find a way back.’

‘Not without help.’

‘No. And you are offering?’

‘Yes –’

Brede sensed that Sorcha might say more, but the faintest sound came from the inner room, and Sorcha was on her feet and gone.

Sound carried in these rooms, Brede noticed; she could hear Sorcha soothing Grainne’s distress. She wondered that the spell did not affect her too, but Sorcha’s song was a skein of notes and meaningless words to her. She wondered if Grainne had been conscious long, whether she had been listening.

And Sorcha, what of her? There was a link between her and Grainne that Brede couldn’t quite fathom: thirty years shared. She thought of the way Sorcha’s mouth felt against hers, and wondered if Sorcha had ever kissed Grainne that way. She wished, and did not wish, to hold Sorcha in her arms. She wanted to be out of Grainne’s hearing.

Sorcha leant against the door, her bare feet flinching from the cold floor.

‘Is she asleep?’ Brede asked.

Sorcha shook her head. She moved across the room, gathering her blankets from the couch.

‘Not sleeping, nor likely to. I will have to stay close by her tonight. The sword has disturbed her. She needs me more than she needs drugs or my songs. I’m sorry.’

Brede shrugged.

‘I can sleep anywhere. Nomad blood, remember?’

The uneasy frown slipped from Sorcha’s face.

‘Of course,’ she said, flicking the edge of the blanket across Brede’s face in a playful feint. ‘It was just that I was hoping you’d be sleeping with me,’ Sorcha said casually, gathering the blanket back up.

‘You presume on very short acquaintance.’

‘Tell me you would have refused.’

Brede swallowed what she wanted to say, her whole body crying out to say
no
.

‘I would have refused.’

Sorcha raises an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

‘Why?’

Brede laughed.

‘Because I think you’ve been short on truth again.’

‘About what?’

‘Grainne. Tell me she has not been your lover.’

Sorcha grimaced. ‘A long time ago.’

‘And you really want to make love within her hearing?’

‘Ah. Now who is presuming? Some people sleep together to keep warm.’

‘You are an impossible flirt,’ Brede said, suddenly feeling relaxed, certain once more of the ground.

‘Yes, it is too warm to share blankets for any other reason. However, I hope you will understand me if I tell you that I’m going to share Grainne’s blankets tonight, because she is cold – cold to her soul.’

Brede blinked, the teasing had vanished again, replaced with the weight of all of Grainne’s pain and fear. Sorcha was visibly trembling with the effort it had already cost her to cope with Grainne’s poisoned frame.

‘I understand you,’ Brede said, quietly, lapsing into her native tongue. ‘You’d best go to her.’

Sorcha lit more candles, and spread the extra blankets over Grainne’s bed. She finished undressing, and climbed in beside her friend.

‘You did hear, I suppose?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Grainne said. ‘It won’t be easy.’

‘That is the least of our problems,’ Sorcha said tersely, feeling raw to that suggestion.

‘Ah, but it is one with a solution. I want you to be happy, my sorcerer.’

‘I’ve not told you this before, Grainne, Lady, most worthy liege; I can’t stand it when you call me sorcerer.’

‘Well then, that is something I can put right. If you are going to spit liege at me, I will call you Songspinner.’

‘You will not. Sound travels, remember?’

Grainne nodded.

‘Brede has made that point adequately.’ she dropped her voice to the merest breath. ‘Hold me,’ she said. ‘I am so cold.’

Sorcha edged closer, encircling Grainne’s trembling body with her arms; knowing that her very touch brought pain, but that even the pain was better than the fear which had roused Grainne despite drug and spell, to stare into the darkness watching for the Scavenger to come claim her soul.

Brede listened to the murmur of voices from the next room, and watched the fingers of light across the ceiling, from the many candles that Sorcha had lit, trying to drive the shadows from Grainne’s night. For a long time she turned over Sorcha’s few words about Grainne. Her thoughts stuck on those thirty years. She drifted into sleep at last, Sorcha’s changing face before her eyes, first the unremarkable face she offered the world, and then the fierce brightness of the face she turned to Brede, and to Grainne.

Brede woke to the sound of ash being scraped from the fire. She glanced round for Sorcha and realised who was clearing the fire in the adjoining room. No wonder she was constantly tired.

Brede shrugged into her clothes, and joined Sorcha over the embers of the fire. She took the shovel from her, and finished cleaning the fireplace. Sorcha folded herself into a chair, pulling her knees up to her chin, in exhausted acceptance of Brede’s presence.

Brede glanced at Grainne’s unmoving form.

‘Do you cook her food too?’ she asked.

‘No. I go to the common kitchen, and I take food from the common pot. The Queen eats what we all eat.’

‘When did she sleep?’

‘Not above two hours ago,’ Sorcha responded, ‘but she’ll not sleep long.’

‘Can you rest?’

Sorcha grimaced.

‘I could try.’

She dragged herself out of the chair and wavered through to Brede’s rumpled couch, asleep before she had completely laid herself down. Brede pulled the blankets from beneath her, and tossed them carelessly over her huddled body. She gazed down at Sorcha, wondering how Grainne had inspired such devotion.

Brede returned to the inner room, and laid more wood on the fire, one piece at a time, slowly, careful of making noise. Before she had finished the task, she was aware of Grainne’s wakeful stirring. She went to the end of the bed, wondering what, if anything, she could do for Grainne.

The Queen’s wandering gaze lit on the shadowy figure at the end of her bed.

‘Where is Sorcha?’ she asked.

‘Asleep,’ Brede said quietly. Grainne nodded.

‘That is good. Come and sit beside me, Ahern’s daughter.’

Brede hesitated at this unexpected command, and Grainne beckoned her forward. There was nowhere to sit but the edge of the bed. Brede placed herself cautiously, so as not to jolt Grainne’s frailty.

‘So,’ Grainne hesitated, finding words to fit the strangeness of the occasion, ‘we hear each other too well, Plains woman.’

‘Yes.’

‘You and Sorcha deserve some quiet time together. I promise you shall have your time, when I can spare Sorcha.’

Brede didn’t respond.

‘Talk to me, daughter of Wing Clan. It seems you have thoughts to share.’ Grainne suggested.

Brede tilted her head, questioningly.

‘You have Sorcha firmly influenced,’ Grainne persisted. ‘What can you persuade me to?’ Grainne reached out and touched the braided hair Brede had tied about her wrist. ‘Sorcha hasn’t cut her hair before. A passing remark from you, and a lifetime’s growth was on the fire.’

‘She did that for you, not me.’

‘Yes, she told me. And that is what she believes.’ Grainne shifted herself slightly towards sitting, trying to make the movement look easy.

‘Before Aeron died, when I did not expect to rule, I did what I liked. And what I liked included Sorcha.’ Grainne smiled, in easy reminiscence, an infectious smile. ‘I was not always as you see me, Brede. I had a youth – a happy, misspent, wild youth. A lifetime ago; but now, Sorcha takes your suggestions. The question is: should she trust you?’