The Dowry Blade (19 page)

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘The sister’s found: dead.’

Tegan sighed.

‘I hoped –’

‘Foolish hope, Tegan. She’ll want watching, that one.’

Tegan glanced up at the blank windows of the Queen’s tower and said nothing.

Eachan walked to the gate and saw the Plains woman still out on the street, an uncertain look on her face. She caught him watching and turned to go. He whistled, the whistle the Plains folk used to draw a foal from its mother. She turned back, frowning, and led the horse back to the gate.

‘I am Eachan, master of the Queen’s horse,’ he said.

‘I know.’

He nodded, letting his eye slide to the horse.

‘You breed horses.’

‘My master breeds horses.’

‘
You
breed horses,’ Eachan reiterated, ‘and I’ll wager you can breed even better than what you have there.’

Jodis shook her head slightly.

‘I’m looking for a horse: something special. Can you supply me?’

‘Who’s to ride it?’ Jodis asked.

Eachan jerked his head toward the tower behind him. Jodis nodded.

‘Then yes, I can supply. My master would be honoured.’

‘Can you bring back your choosing at once?’

Jodis hesitated, then nodded briskly.

‘An hour,’ she said. Then smiling hesitantly, ‘I am Jodis, of Storm Clan.’

Eachan bowed his head, letting his gratitude for her trust go unspoken.

Brede stumbled blindly up the stairs. Passing Ula without a word, she slipped into the side chamber and pulled the door shut. She pulled the blankets from the beds and then wondered what it was she planned – some vague thought of muffling the door, of creating some barrier against the world that had no sense to it. She laid them carefully back where they belonged, and listened to the faint movement from Grainne’s chamber, the sound of voices, Grainne almost cheerful, Sorcha, half-singing, half continuing her conversation.

Brede turned her thoughts away from Sorcha, from Grainne, her mind full of confused images of running in darkness, of unknown children born into chains. Her hand strayed to her throat, and for the first time she fully appreciated how fortunate she was to be here of her own free will, without a length of chain about her neck. She shuddered, and the tremor would not leave her limbs. She watched the emotion quivering through her hands. She couldn’t ignore the muscles screaming for movement, couldn’t be biddable and still. Couldn’t stay.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sorcha stroked Grainne’s hair away from her face.

‘You are sure you want to do this?’

Grainne smiled, happy, confident, and free of pain.

‘Certain. It’s time my people saw that I am not at the Gate. How better than to celebrate midsummer with them? When better to announce my intention of proposing peace talks than on the anniversary of my birth?’

‘Well then, is the Queen ready to discuss the arrangements with her cousin? Phelan’s waiting to see you. And you’ll want to talk to Maeve, and to Tegan, perhaps?’

Grainne nodded.

‘Phelan now, Maeve and Tegan in an hour. Send to let them know.’

Sorcha smiled, Grainne’s sudden energy and enthusiasm were infectious. She went to the door, and called Cei to her. She glanced absently at the closed door of the side chamber, but had no time to investigate Brede’s continued absence. Phelan was at the top of the stairs almost at once. He followed her back into Grainne’s presence.

‘Well, my Lord General,’ Grainne asked eagerly, as soon as he was seated, ‘who shall we send to Lorcan to talk peace?’

‘Peace?’ he asked, astonished. ‘Why?’

‘I do not want to be at war with my heir.’

Phelan hesitated before he responded.

‘Are you giving up, cousin?’

‘Giving up what?’

Phelan searched her face.

‘You look better.’

Grainne laughed at his surprise.

‘Giving up what, Phelan? Living? Do you think I am giving in because I acknowledge Lorcan as my heir?’

‘Giving up all hope of a female heir.’

‘I don’t have a consort, I’m past child bearing age. Ailbhe is dead and Lorcan is almost into his majority. There’s no point fighting anymore.’

‘But we are winning. We should not be suing for peace, we should be dictating terms.’

‘What terms? What could I want but that this war ends?’

‘Do you want him here? After he cut off his own father’s head? Do you value your own life so little? He won’t wait, Grainne. Once he is within these walls, he’ll have the crown off your head and the head off your shoulders in the same movement.’

‘Phelan, don’t be so dramatic.’

‘I’m utterly serious. Your safety is my constant concern.’

Phelan’s eyes flickered to Sorcha as he spoke.

‘Where’s the stable-hand?’ he asked, noticing the absence.

‘Are you still serious?’ Grainne asked, a touch of edge to her voice. Phelan grinned. He reached to pick up her hand and kissed each knuckle thoughtfully.

‘Totally, oh Queen of my heart. If it’s peace you want, then peace you shall have. As to who should go, I think I might take that message myself, if that would suit you. I’d like to see his face when he hears that his great-aunt wants him to come home.’

‘He’s not an errant adolescent who has been out on the town for two nights running, Phelan. He’s a boy with ambition.’

‘Not a mutually exclusive concept. I remember when you used to keep us all up wondering where you were.’

‘I never kept you up. You were only a child when I was going through my wild patch.’

‘Your wild patch lasted longer than most. We overlapped on that for a while. Do you remember the time I broke a leg jumping from one roof to another?’

‘I remember.’

‘You egged me on, my glamorous young aunt. You had a stronger stomach and a more reckless nerve than I.’

‘Glamorous?’

‘I thought so. I worshipped you.’

‘When did you stop?’ Grainne asked, and her voice lost its breathy weariness and was vibrant with teasing.

Phelan roared with laughter.

‘You know I never stopped. I got distracted, once or twice, but you were always the one for me.’

He sighed, and let Grainne have her hand back.

‘You are planning to make this public I suppose?’

‘On my birthday.’

‘The anniversary of Aeron’s death.’ A twitch flickered below Phelan’s left eye. He rubbed the spot absently. Grainne leant towards him, placing her own hand over his. He turned into her caress, and then pulled away abruptly.

‘Things to be done, cousin. Thoughts to be acted upon. Only two days ’til midsummer. You want Lorcan told first, or no?’

‘No. I need you with me at midsummer.’

‘As you wish. I too, need your company then.’

Phelan stood.

‘I will be back in two days, with your midsummer gift.’ He quirked an eyebrow at her. Grainne smiled, letting him kiss her cheek. At the door he turned, a half wistful frown on his face. Then he shrugged and was gone.

Sorcha and Grainne exchanged glances.

‘You jumped roofs with Phelan?’

‘I was drunk.’

‘And he needed medical attention, but you didn’t.’

‘Yes. I suppose I did lead him astray.’

‘How old was he?’

‘Oh, about nineteen. He was having a hard time adjusting to Aeron’s becoming Queen. He’d lost his mother, and then he lost his closest friend when Aeron was crowned. Aeron had to start listening to advisors; she couldn’t go climbing roofs anymore, so I went instead.’

‘I’m intrigued. You never told me about these escapades.’

‘You were Journeying.’

Sorcha laughed.

‘Journeying? Hmmm. I suppose I must have been.’

Grainne pulled herself up from her chair, waving Sorcha’s help away.

‘I’ve two days to get used to feeling this well. I need to look as though I remember how to walk unaided.’ She took a few steady steps, her back straight, head erect. ‘Yes, I think I might manage that.’

‘Don’t forget you’ll be wearing robes and the crown.’

‘No, I don’t forget.’ Grainne reached the fireplace and leant against it. She rubbed at her forehead, thinking about the weight of the crown.

‘Where is Brede? You’ll need to give her some instruction for this. Find her. Maeve and Tegan will be a while yet.’

Sorcha did not find Brede. She did not find Guida. She stood in the darkness of the stables, uncertainty keeping her immobile for several minutes. She turned at the sound of footsteps. Eachan backed up at the sight of her.

‘Ah.’

Sorcha looked at him. She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Eachan considered the tension in the way Sorcha held herself. He could smell wrongness, danger. Sorcha controlled her breathing carefully, feeling the danger within her as clearly as Eachan, and equally wary of it.

‘Brede?’ she asked at last.

‘Grieving.’ Eachan said, covering all she needed to know in one word. He took a cautious step forward and stared hard, trying to connect Brede to the stranger. Something to do with Grainne – and the black stallion.

Sorcha hid her face in the shadow, not knowing what to do.

‘The river,’ Eachan said, having forced his mind to the connections despite all Sorcha’s undertow of persuasion otherwise. ‘She’ll be somewhere on the river, probably outside the walls this time, if they let her pass the gate.’

Sorcha winced at his poor choice of words. Eachan’s steady single eye met her gaze, and she wondered if the choice was deliberate.

‘There is another possibility. I warned her against revenge, but she may not have listened. If you think she’d know how to find the general called Madoc, you might want to start there.’

Sorcha nodded sharply. She walked the length of the stable to where Macsen was tethered. Eachan watched the horse’s docility under her hand with a touch of envy. He watched her ride out of the yard with a mixture of relief at her going and anxiety for what she might find.

The river then, and a seeking spell, a calling. Sorcha had no time for niceties.

Brede felt Guida’s stride falter. The horse checked her pace, complaining at Brede’s swift jerk of heel, resisting her command. Fearing that the horse had sensed some danger that she couldn’t see, Brede did not insist. She allowed Guida to set the pace, to slow to a puzzled halt. Guida swung her head to and fro, breathing in gusts of anger, ears back.

‘What is the matter, you foolish creature?’ Brede asked. Guida flicked an ear. Brede raised her head, scanning the buildings alongside the river, trying to see which of the high-walled yards – which
garth
– had been her sister’s prison.

Guida refused to move on. Brede dismounted cautiously. She knew horses well enough to pay attention to Guida’s resistance. She listened to the distant sounds of the city, a constant murmur of voices and carts and horses, and – something else. Brede turned her head, trying to separate the sound. Children at the river, making reed pipes; a stray dog barking after its own tail; someone singing. A gentle, hopeful, pleading song; but she had no sense of where the song came from – it seemed to invade her body.

Brede closed her eyes and listened, and felt the song stealing into her mind and her muscles – soothing.

She opened her eyes and looked up at Sorcha in silence.

Sorcha lilted her song to matching stillness.

‘Don’t use anger as a shield against grief, it doesn’t work.’

‘It helps me,’ Brede said softly, ‘but you’re not the enemy.’ Her eyes strayed to those high walls on the far side of the river.

Sorcha put herself between Brede and the sight of those walls.

‘I’ve thought Falda dead for so long, that finding I was right was – a relief. But her daughter – that’s new, and harsh, and I want –’ Brede raised her hands. ‘I want to make Madoc pay for turning one of mine into a chattel.’

Sorcha pulled Brede to her, hugging her tight. She could feel Brede’s resistance, her unwillingness to admit vulnerability.

‘You want to find the child.’

‘And what if I’m too late? What if she is dead, or so cowed – ?’

‘A child of your sister, cowed?’

Brede’s eyes strayed back to Sorcha’s face. The tremor of anger stilled.

‘No. But Jodis is right, children make escape impossible.’

She shrugged out of Sorcha’s embrace.

‘Escape?’ Sorcha asked, keeping her voice unconcerned.

‘For Falda, for Jodis, for me, now.’

‘Escape?’ Sorcha asked again, feeling sick with alarm.

‘Not from you,’ Brede said, at last understanding Sorcha’s anxious expression. ‘Never from you.’ She reached out, pulling Sorcha into her arms and a kiss that left them breathless. Sorcha pulled away, wide-eyed.

‘You were thinking of leaving?’

‘I thought of it, yes. Falda dead, I thought – go home. But the child – I have to find her – I must stay until –’

‘So, if you find her, you’ll go?’

Brede considered.

‘I want to be away from here. I want the wind in my face. I want you with me, but –’

‘But?’

Brede sighed.

‘You were with Grainne, and I couldn’t – I could not bear the feeling of stone about me for another second. Grainne always comes first with you.’

‘No. For Grainne – Brede stop this. Don’t make a balance between you and Grainne. I am Grainne’s only for the rest of her life. After that, my life will be my own again, and I shan’t make the mistake of choosing this kind of responsibility again.’ Brede started in surprise. Sorcha raised her hands, half laughing. She pleaded, ‘Stop now, this can wait for later.’

‘There never is a later,’ Brede observed, catching at Sorcha’s hand, and kissing her palm. Sorcha shook her head.

‘Eventually, there has to be.’ She took a steadying breath and called Macsen to her.

Jodis waited at the gate, once more asking for Eachan of the Queen’s horse, once more with a horse at her shoulder. The same young sentry set out to find Eachan, and Jodis paced the same short stretch of road waiting for him to return. This time Eachan brought her into the yard and silently considered the horse she had brought him.

‘Will she do?’ she asked.

‘You know she will,’ Eachan said softly, approaching the horse with an outstretched palm and an apple. The mare eyed him thoughtfully and huffed down the apple in a single bite.

‘She’s a little greedy,’ Jodis said confidently.

Eachan laughed.

‘She’s beautiful, magnificent; she’s entitled to her greed. Is she yours?’

Jodis shook her head swiftly.

‘You asked for the best. Brede’s sister bred this one.’ She reached to wipe imagined dust from the mare’s neck. Eachan sighed at her wilful refusal to look to her own good.

‘Doran is willing to sell?’ he asked.

‘For the Queen, of course.’

Eachan paid the asked price without argument. As Jodis turned to go, he put a detaining hand on her arm.

‘Thank you, Jodis of Storm, for the news you brought earlier today. I’m in your debt.’

Jodis shook her head, patting the money belt at her waist. Eachan shook his head in turn.

‘That’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Not my money, and not your profit; so if there is anything I can do for you, let me know it.’

Jodis smiled.

‘It’s good to have friends,’ she said, making it a question.

Eachan nodded, and this time, he let her go.

Tegan couldn’t concentrate on what Grainne was asking her. Her eyes kept drifting to Brede, trying to see what she was thinking. She didn’t like the way Brede’s hands constantly pleated the edge of her cloak. Tegan knew that trick of old. Brede would not meet her glance, did not appear to be taking any part in the discussion, not even listening. Every time Tegan looked in her direction, Brede was looking at Sorcha.

Maeve listened to Grainne, but her mind was on Tegan. Every time she looked in her direction, Tegan was looking at Brede.

Sorcha frowned, her eyes flickering from Tegan to Brede, to Grainne, to Maeve – confused, distracted.

Grainne sighed.

‘Are any of you listening to me?’ she asked.

Three pairs of eyes focused on her with abrupt guilt. Brede remained oblivious, forcing her mind to the precise feel of the cloth between her fingers, the bulk of three folds, four –

Maeve offered a summary of the conversation so far, and glared at Tegan.

‘Good.’ Grainne tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the arm of her chair.

‘Go away,’ she said abruptly. ‘I’m sure you can all manage the necessary arrangements without any more interference from me.’

The eagerness with which they departed did not please her. She called Sorcha back.

‘What is going on?’ she asked.

‘With Tegan and Maeve? I’ve no idea.’