The Traitor's Heir (63 page)

Eamon watched her, wretched on the ground before him, a mask of tears over her face. He almost knelt down by her to assuage her grief: did he not love her? He knew that he did, or at least that he had done so, and that what they had shared should have some hold on him now. Had she not borne him up in the depths of his own grief? Had she not held true to him? His whole heart moved towards her.

She lied to you, defiled you, betrayed you. And you would go to her? It is treachery, son of Eben. You despise her!

It was treachery. Treachery was unforgivable. The voice spoke truly.

He glared at her. Her face grew paler. She pressed his arm.

“Eamon –”

“Let go of me,” he demanded. She did not.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Let go of me!”

“I took you to the theatre so that we could speak without being heard,” she cried. “But then he came…” Suddenly she gasped. “Eamon! They know about – they're going to take him!”

“Take who?”

It was then that Alessia let go of him. She looked up at him and faltered, as though she knew that with her next breath she would lose him forever.

“Forgive me, Eamon. It's Mathaiah. They're taking Mathaiah.”

For a moment he could not breathe. Then sense came to him, inflamed by betrayal.

“You treacherous, perfidious bitch!” he roared. She recoiled, falling as though struck; he could not stop himself. He answered her with worse than death – he turned from her.

“No,” she called, “please, not like this. Eamon!” It was to no avail. He whirled and ran as fast as he could. She sobbed wretchedly behind him. Rage drove him.

He tore out of the gates. All his thought was on Mathaiah. His ward had been right all along. How could he have been such a fool! He had exchanged honest friendship for lust and dreams of power. Stricken and furied, he cursed Alessia as he raced into the Brand.

There were torches at the college door and a crowd of cadets on the steps. Waite stood by them, watching as Hands filed down, Cathair at their head, his eyes flashing exultantly.

Eamon stared. Mathaiah walked caged among the Hands. The cadet's jacket had been torn from him and he went in the cold night air dressed only in his shirt and trousers, his hands bound behind him. Yet he held his head high. There was a long, fresh streak of blood down one side of his face.

As Eamon gaped at the scene, enraged and appalled, Mathaiah looked up. A grim cloud passed over his face. It accused him.

Eamon wanted to cry out, to explain everything, to beg Mathaiah's forgiveness, to offer himself in his ward's place if they would only let Mathaiah go – but he could not.

Lord Cathair smiled at him as the procession passed, his green eyes mocking him. There was nothing he could do – because of her.

Thunder broke. He was too late.

C
HAPTER
XXIV

H
e watched – he could only watch – the Hands escorting Mathaiah to the palace. Its gates threatened from the distance, lit by streaks of the coming storm. Eamon stared, staggered, his mind a tempest.

They had taken Mathaiah.

“Lord Goodman,” Waite acknowledged, paler than ever.

“Captain.” He heard the cry of wounded men inside the hall. Had Mathaiah resisted? “What happened?”

“Lord Cathair arrested Cadet Grahaven,” the captain answered brusquely, grey eyes pinned on the disappearing escort of Hands. Waite seemed but a shadow of himself. “They say he's a wayfarer. A snake! In my college.” He rubbed his scarred hands. “Lord Goodman, I can't quite… Did you know, Lord Goodman?” The question was sudden.

“No.”

“He was such a determined cadet.” Waite didn't seem to notice the infinitesimally small pause that had preceded Eamon's answer. “Just like all of mine. They're all good lads. You were a good one, better than good…” He shook his head. “If Grahaven was a snake…” Waite glanced over his shoulder at the other cadets and officers. Some were beginning to disperse; others, a group from the Third Banners, still looked on, grey-faced.

“If he was a snake, any of them could be. I will have to have his whole group interviewed. They will get the names of as many other snakes out of him as they can, poor boy. Maybe they'll spin it as an expedient for the culling. Captain Belaal won't let me live this one down, Lord Goodman, when he hears of it,” he added grimly. “Still, this college will survive its losses.”

“Yes.” Eamon felt numb. Mathaiah was… He froze as some part of his brain seized on what Waite had said.

Of course they would try to extract information from Mathaiah. They would torture him and breach him if they could not make him talk. Eamon's mind span. Had he taken Mathaiah for interrogation, what would he be expected to do? Seek the chain of informants through which the cadet had contacted the wayfarers – by any means necessary. Cathair was a master of the art. Whose name would they get first?

He lurched. Lillabeth. The very first name they would draw from Mathaiah's screaming lips would be Lillabeth's.

Thunder cracked.

He had to do something,
now
. He could not be too late again. He was the only one who could save her. As he thought it he felt the hiss of the voice in his mind. It stole his faculties in its vehemence.

You will not, Eben's son.

“Are you well, Lord Goodman?”

The question drew him back to his senses. He could not listen to the voice. If he did not go both Mathaiah and Lillabeth would be lost. He would not pay that price.

“Yes. If you will excuse me, captain, I must attend to some urgent business.”

“Of course.”

Eamon turned to go.

“Lord Goodman?”

“Captain?”

“He was your ward.” There was tangible grief in the man's voice. The captain stared at him in disbelief. “Did you never even suspect?”

Eamon didn't answer. He bade the captain good night and left the Brand. As soon as he was out of sight he channelled all of his anguish into his limbs; he began running as fast as they could carry him.

He had to get Lillabeth out of the city. But how? There was nowhere to go. Where could he take her? He tried desperately to force his mind back to Hughan. Hughan had said something…

You won't remember
, the voice spat.
You can't remember, Eben's son.

He had to remember, he had to… Before leaving the Hidden Hall, Hughan had said…

He swore. He remembered nothing but the falsified events he had presented to Lord Tramist.

You do not remember!

He gave an angry cry; he would not lose Lillabeth on account of a voice in his mind!

“I will remember!” he retaliated. “As I am a King's man, I will!”

The voice sneered.
You are no man of his!

But his declaration dragged Hughan's face through the mire of memories until it was crystalline before him. He was holding papers and stone, and hearing his friend's voice as clearly as though it spoke beside him: “
There is an inn on Serpentine Avenue in the South Quarter…
”

The Serpentine! The inn was called the South Wall; he remembered Giles showing it to him. That was where he had to go. He would take Lillabeth there and speak to the landlord – somehow he would get her out of the city.

He would go to Alessia's house and get the girl out. But he had to do it discreetly. He trusted some of the servants but knew others would talk at the slightest opportunity. He did not want his name mentioned when the Hands came looking for their snake.

He raced to Turnholt House. What would he do if the whore saw him? How could she have betrayed him as she had done? He had put all his trust in her. For that, Mathaiah would suffer and die.

It was his fault. He had made that exchange. His lusts and ambitions had done it.

He howled and ran on.

The tall windows of the house were mostly dark; only those at the lower levels were lit. So it was only the servants still about.

He did not go to the main doors. Skirting the stables, Eamon moved to the servants' entrance. He drew his cloak tightly about his face and, breathing hard from his long run, pounded on the door.

At length he was answered by the house's elderly matron. As the woman peered into the dark Eamon struggled to remember her name.

“Toriana!”

Seeing the hooded figure at the door she shrank back.

“My lord.” Terrified, she curtseyed low. Eamon relaxed – he counted her trustworthy. He let the cloak fall from his face. “Lord Goodman!” she said, surprised.

“Toriana, is Lillabeth here?” She frowned at his haste. “Answer me!” he snapped. “Where is Lillabeth Hollenwell?”

“She's in the kitchen, my lord –”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, my lord –”

“Then let me in and close the door. Bolt it. Take me to her.”

“My lord.” She latched and bolted the door behind him, then led him down the narrow kitchen passageway.

A low fire burnt in one corner and Lillabeth stood, setting a cup and jug on a tray. She looked pale, and shook with what seemed fatigue. One hand was pressed across her stomach and she leaned hard against the table.

“Oh, Lilly!” Toriana cried, hurrying to her. She sat the girl down in a chair. “Lilly,” she said, pressing her hands. “Lilly, are you well?”

“Yes.”

Eamon had forgotten the gentle tone of her voice, and was suddenly struck by her as never before. There was goodness and nobility in her, and unfailing service. How could he have forgotten that? She lived in Dunthruik and served the enemies of her King, and yet she bore it faithfully. How could he not have done as she had done? It shamed him.

“I am well, but Lady Alessia –”

“Lilly, Lord Goodman is here –”

“Lord Goodman!” Lillabeth cried, seeing Eamon for the first time. She tried to climb to her feet but was unsteady. The matron grasped her. “I'm sorry, my lord, I would have risen –”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Eamon told her. “I should be standing for you.”

Lillabeth stared at him with round, astonished eyes, and glanced at the silent matron before looking back to him. He could not guess her thought. “My lord,” she whispered.

“You have to come with me, now.”

“How can I trust myself to you?” Lillabeth demanded.

Eamon could only imagine what she thought of him.

There was no time to explain, but he had to try. “I have been a foolish man,” he answered, anguished, “and now hope to repent and make amends, at least in part. I can offer you no proof of that intent but my words.” He faltered. She watched him in silence. His forehead and palm burnt. “Lillabeth, they've arrested Mathaiah – they'll come for you next. I can't let that happen.”

Lillabeth sank down with a shudder. “Mathaiah.”

“I am truly sorry, Lillabeth,” Eamon told her. He understood her fear: however courageous Mathaiah was, her cover was as good as gone. The Hands would not be gentle with her when they found her.

The matron tried to check her shaking with soothing words. Eamon started forward.

“Please,” he said. “Please, Lillabeth; get a cloak and come with me. There isn't time for anything.”

Shaking, Lillabeth rose. Toriana rushed to find a cloak. This she draped over Lillabeth's shoulders, doing it up tightly at the front. She kissed the girl's forehead. “Courage, Lilly. You knew it might come to this. Courage!”

“Is she trustworthy, Lillabeth?”

Lillabeth matched his gaze. “As I am.”

Eamon turned to the matron. “Toriana, on your very life I charge you to speak nothing of what you have seen tonight. You must not mention my name, and you must not tell Lady Turnholt anything. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

At Alessia's name Lillabeth started in anguish. “I cannot leave her like this!”

“But you will,” Eamon told her vindictively. Lillabeth stared; he realized how fiercely he had spoken.

He drew a deep breath, trying to temper, or at the very least swallow, the anger and urgency that he felt. “We must go now. Keep your charge, Toriana.”

“I will, my lord.”

The matron quietly unbolted the door. She glanced outside.

“It's safe.” She took Lillabeth's hand a moment. “Take care, Lilly.”

“Take care of Lady Alessia,” Lillabeth answered urgently. “There is some terrible grief on her tonight.”

Eamon grabbed Lillabeth's other hand. “Come on.”

They went in silence, and far more slowly than Eamon would have liked; Lillabeth seemed weak. He pulled up his hood to disguise himself. As they passed the doors of the house he heard footsteps and weeping on the balcony above.

With a firm hand he pressed Lillabeth back into the shadows of the building. He heard his own heart pounding. Then a call broke the silence:

“Lilly!” it called, shredded with tears. “Lilly!”

The girl gasped. “My lady!”

“No!” Eamon hissed, forcing her back. What if Alessia had guessed his intent and meant to trap them?

“She needs me!” Lillabeth countered angrily, striking him away.

The lady called again. The voice was torn and desperate: “Lilly!”

Lillabeth drew breath to answer – Eamon drove his hand over her mouth.

“I said no!”

She glared at him with angry, suspicious eyes, and shook herself free.

“What did you do to her?” she hissed. Eamon could not comprehend the fierce love in the girl's voice. “What did you do!”

“Lilly?”

Eamon seized the maid's hand. Blocking Alessia's weeping from his ears, he dragged Lillabeth out of the gates.

The moon lit the road. Eamon made sure that Lillabeth's hood covered her face and looped her arm through his. He slowed their pace and hoped that anyone who saw them would not guess the identity of his companion. Lillabeth shuddered angrily. Eamon ignored it.