A Play of Shadow (26 page)

Where everything could be fixed. Jenn shook her head in admiration.

Radd chuckled. “I wouldn’t argue, if I were you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Bannan, who seemed overwhelmed. “Though I regret disrupting your home.”

“Speak no more of that.” The miller’s eyes rested on the sleeping boys. “They were sent to you, but they’ll be cared for by all of us. Now come. Sit with me. You too, Covie. Tell us about your nephews.”

Her father saw how Bannan struggled to keep his worry in check. Not the least of those worries must be what the villagers would think of having new mouths to feed this of all winters. Radd would reassure him. They’d manage.

Another worry, Jenn took care of as she followed Peggs.

Sweet dreams, she wished the boys, as she’d learned to do, as only a turn-born could.

So Marrowdell would let them stay.

Why, Lila?

Surely Tir would know. Must know. However desperate he was for that conversation, Bannan let his friend rest. In all their years together, he’d never seen Tir Half-face so spent. A lump filled the truthseer’s throat each time he thought of how close he’d come to losing all three.

As for the dragon, Jenn, and Scourge? How had they known?

Ancestors Forlorn and Forsaken. What if they hadn’t?

Busy staring into his cup, he started when the neck of a bottle appeared in his view. He glanced up as Kydd, smiling, tipped a generous dollop of amber liquid into his tea before doing the same for Radd and Covie. “Try this before the food comes,” the beekeeper advised, pouring his own.

“My thanks. To families, wherever they are.” The healer took a goodly swallow. Village rumor, namely Hettie, said the mail had brought encouraging news from the demas if not directly from Covie’s now-distant son. Roche had apprenticed with a respected lens maker, in an Ansnan town on no map Bannan had ever seen. Dema Qimirpik had vowed to keep his eye on the young man.

“Ancestors Blessed and Beloved, watch over them all,” the truthseer agreed earnestly, taking his own drink. A welcome burn down his throat nestled in his stomach; most welcome, after being out in the storm. “Thank you for your care, Covie.”

She nodded graciously. “Thank me by keeping an eye on Tir. He’ll need to stay off those feet for a few days, and keep applying the medicine I’ve brought. His toes are soft, still.” This with a confidence that warmed Bannan even more than the drink. “They’ll blister, badly, and forever feel the cold, but he shouldn’t lose them.”

“By the Hearts of my Ancestors,” he vowed, “I’ll sit on him if I must.”

The others chuckled. “I’d help,” Kydd said, “but I fear our doughty warrior would toss me over his shoulder.”

“Your lads. Eight years and five, you say?” Radd raised an eyebrow. “They’re alike in size. Who’s eldest?”

“Semyn.” Bannan leaned back in his chair, hands around his cup. “He’s the one with red in his hair. Werfol’s the family weed.” “Weed” being Emon’s pet name for the boy, the baron swearing Werfol grew out of shoes so quickly he could support a tannery. Seeing Radd smile, the truthseer went on, “Semyn’s the image of his father; Werfol takes more to the Larmensu.” Though appearances were deceiving, Semyn already a strategist like his mother and Werfol inclined to tinker—and break—whatever he laid hand upon. “They’re both—wonderful.” And well-loved. Emon spent every minute he could pry from his work with his sons and Lila, while her love for them all was as fierce and beautiful as her own heart.

See a real winter? Life beyond the estate? She hadn’t even bothered to lie well. Lila scattered her family for a reason. Whatever it was, he’d see them together again, Bannan swore to himself. See them whole, again.

Or die trying.

They’d left him one of their precious candles, but Bannan snuffed it out and made do with the glow from the heatstove, wanting neither to waste the light, nor disturb the rest of those who deserved it. Radd snored gently. He’d slung his hammock from waiting hooks in the rafters, settling in with the ease of long practice, for this was how he slept on the porch spring and summer, giving his sister his bed.

Buried under quilts, Tir slept on the settee. Covie had bandaged his feet in loose wraps, finishing with soft scarves. Time, she’d said, would tell.

Bannan sat in a chair by the wide bed. The dim light caught on round young cheeks and noses, suggested shape beneath the covers, but couldn’t give color to the hair on the pillows. No matter, he knew it well. Among his belongings was a tiny wooden box, containing a curl from each precious head, a keepsake from Lila. He could picture sunbeams finding red highlights or brown, touching skin freckled or tan.

No need to imagine what sagged the mattress near the foot of the bed. He looked deeper, glimpsed the violet of a wild and vigilant eye, and bowed his head in thanks.

The dragon had returned from wherever he’d gone to warm himself, to keep watch too.

“Hearts of my Ancestors,” he prayed soundlessly, in the dark. “I’m Beholden for their safety, for losing them would have broken all our hearts. I’m Beholden for the kindness of these people, who shelter us despite their own need. I’m Beholden for the magic of Marrowdell, for without it Jenn Nalynn and Wisp and Scourge could not have saved them from the storm. Most of all, I would be Beholden if Lila could know her boys are with me and well. However far we are apart—” he choked at the last, but it didn’t matter. Risk winter’s wrath on the Northward Road? Despite having no Scourge of her own, Lila wouldn’t hesitate.

Unless she chose to risk something worse.

Dark thoughts. Bannan shrugged beneath the quilt over his shoulders. Dark thoughts were the only ones he had.

“Sir.”

A whisper. It flickered open a pair of young eyes, gleaming in the embers’ light. Bannan leaned forward to kiss Werfol on the forehead. “You’re with me, Dear Heart,” he murmured gently, “and safe. Sleep now. I’ll be right here.”

He waited until the boy’s eyes closed again before going to Tir. “What can I get for you?”

A whisper, hoarse but amused. “Dancing women in scanty clothes, sir, an’a bottle o’the finest, but I’ll settle for making my report.”

Bannan smiled, the stiffness of his jaw telling him how set it had been until now. “Good to hear.” He felt for another chair and brought it near the settee, sitting down. “Mind you don’t overdo, or Covie will have my head.”

“How’re the lads?”

“Better than you,” Bannan assured him. “Asleep.” Or listening. He wouldn’t put it past them and Radd’s snores had taken on an artificial air. Fair enough. “Ancestors Crazed and Confounded, Tir. What’s this about? Yes, I’ve Lila’s letter, saying the boys are to stay with me. I don’t need to see her face to know the lie.”

“Aie, Sir. The letter’s to prove you’ve right to the boys, should anyone else come after them.” Tir’s voice, though low and raspy, took on a familiar cadence. “I went to the baroness after the Lady Mahavar was settled at home, to pay my respects and because—begging your pardon, sir—your sister would have cut off more than my ears if I hadn`t told her your situation.”

Bannan nodded. “Go on.”

“When I was done, she asked me if you were in a safe place. I told her you were, though now I’m back, I’m wondering, sir, why.” A meaningful pause, then, “She’d the boys ready within the hour. My guess is she’d been waiting for somewhere to send them.”

The truth. “Why?”

Tir shifted as if uncomfortable, then sighed. “The baroness didn’t say. No need. Whatever the baron’s up to in Channen? There are those eager to change his mind on certain matters. The boys—they’d be leverage, sir, wouldn’t they?”

Bannan felt cold. “There’s nothing Emon wouldn’t do for them,” he agreed. Which didn’t explain why they were here, with him. “Lila would have kept them safe. And her staff.” Handpicked, the lot of them. Her standards were nothing if not exacting, and she wasn’t above using his gift to check their loyalty. When he’d been there.

“Not all hers,” Tir said darkly. “Not anymore. The prince suggested Vorkoun’s noble houses accept Ansnans into their employ. Show support for the treaty. The baron had no choice. Your sister sent her two best with us—you’ll know the names: Rowe Jonn and Seel Aucoin. Meant leav’n not a one at the estate I’d trust.”

Worse and worse. “Where are Rowe and Seel?”

“Can’t say, sir. We’d left in secret—didn’t send word even to Lady Mahavar, who’ll by now think the worst o’me—but we were betrayed. By Weken, we’d hunters on our trail. Passed Endshere by night, rather than risk a stop, but outrun riders, us with a loaded wagon?”

Bannan could see the moment, understand every choice, all too well. “They hung back.”

“Aie. So me and the lads could make a dash for Marrowdell and help. The hunters caught up to us right as the storm hit. There’d be but one way past those brave men, Ancestors Dear and Departed. I’m sorry, sir.”

A whimper, stifled and soft, from the bed. “Go on,” Bannan said, hearing pain in his own voice.

“We’re here, as your sister wanted.”

“And the hunters?”

With grim satisfaction. “Won’t be making reports, sir.”

“Good.” Bannan rose to his feet. “Rest, now.”

“Sir. Bannan. The wagon—the baroness sent supplies for the five of us—we can’t abandon it.”

Of course she had, the truthseer told himself, feeling a pang of memory. How many rainy afternoons had they spent, sprawled on a carpet, adding cutlery and potato slices to their ranks of toy soldiers because Lila insisted armies moved on their stomachs? Ancestors Calm and Collected, sitting here in the dark, in this valley so remote few knew it existed, he could almost hear her calculating the burden of five extra mouths on Marrowdell. She’d sent what would compensate.

While he’d bought candy at the fair.

“We’ll go for the wagon in the morning, Tir,” Bannan promised. If the storm subsided by then. The wind still rattled the shutters every so often. Maybe there was a limit to how much snow could fall in a night.

Or a winter.

He settled himself back in his chair by the bed, wrapped in a quilt. Lila’d been beset and surrounded, a situation she’d not tolerate. She’d made her first move, to put her children out of reach. What next? Bannan pulled the quilt tighter, sinking his chin to his chest. Whatever she had in mind, his role was to be here, with Semyn and Werfol.

Whatever she had in mind, he’d hope no more blood would spill.

As well hope snow had limits.

Lila had none.

“More playmates for you, Dearest Heart,” Gallie told Loee as the baby nursed.

Zehr smiled. “I’ll see if Covie kept any of the twins’ clothes. We passed them along for Cheffy,” he explained to Jenn. “They’ll be well-worn. You know the lad.”

“That’s what patches are for,” his wife countered with a laugh. “We’ll have Bannan’s nephews snug as can be in no time at all.”

The Emms hadn’t been this happy since their return from Endshere. No one had. Despite the uncertainty and worry surrounding Semyn and Werfol’s arrival, Jenn decided, they couldn’t have come at a better time. Children, Aunt Sybb had said, were the surest remedy for grief. She’d also said children were the surest distraction—or was that interruption?—but all in all, her meaning was the same. Marrowdell’s worry over Frann’s illness had eased, however slightly.