Magic Can Be Murder (12 page)

With that thought, Nola suddenly saw the
why
—not of the robbery, but of the murder itself. Innis was about to remarry. If he died after that, Kirwyn's inheritance would have to be shared with the new bride, Sulis. And if in the course of time Innis and Sulis had children, especially a boy, especially since Innis and Kirwyn didn't get along...

"You're thinking very hard," Alan told her.

Nola smiled and reminded herself not to concentrate all of her attention on Kirwyn or she'd be in danger of accidentally letting slip the transforming spell that held her to Brinna's appearance. It was not up to her to solve the hows and whys of the silversmith's murder. That was Galvin and Halig's responsibility. What she needed was to learn enough about what had happened that she could trick Galvin into believing she had been there—trick him long enough for her to find an opportunity to get out of the house, out of Haymarket, and back to her mother—Lord! There was a thought!—waiting for her in Saint Erim Turi. If Halig and Galvin couldn't figure out the
who
of this matter—or worse yet, settled on Alan—that was unfortunate, but it didn't, really, affect her.

It didn't, she mentally repeated.

Not that the repetition made it more convincing.

Out loud she said to Alan, "Just trying to get everything resettled in my mind, before Galvin comes in and confuses me all over again."

"Well," Alan said, "eat your lunch. Things always look better on a full stomach. And I need to see if Kirwyn needs help in the shop, before he comes looking for me."

"Thank you for preparing the meal," Nola said. "I'm sorry to be laid up and put more work on you."

"Not your fault," Alan assured her. "And Master Kirwyn has hired the cooper's daughters to prepare the funeral feast this afternoon."

Nola was glad to hear that Kirwyn didn't expect her to get up and hobble around the kitchen, but Alan seemed to be waiting for a reaction from her. "Well," she said, "good."

"No comment?" Alan asked, with a grin that indicated Brinna had strong opinions regarding the cooper's daughters.

Having no idea what those opinions could be, Nola asked, "Such as...?"

"
Such as
that there never were two such lazy girls," Alan said. " They're too lazy to shoo flies off themselves."

"That goes without saying," Nola answered. "Let's hope there will be no flies this afternoon."

As he was stepping out the door, Nola called after him, just to be sure, one more question. "And last night, was Kirwyn in his room also?"

Alan looked at her blankly.

"When Master Innis was attacked and we heard him shout?"

"He was in the kitchen," Alan said. "With you."

Nola hastily took a drink to hide her surprise. Brinna couldn't have provided Alan with that information because Brinna would have known Kirwyn wasn't there. But maybe Brinna hadn't heard this claim yet. Nola asked, "Is that what he said?"

"That's what both of you said."

"Both of us?" Kirwyn had killed Innis. Nola had seen that. Brinna had been alone in the kitchen; Kirwyn had peeked in on her for a few moments, and then he had gone around to the shop and killed Innis. Nola had seen this with her own eyes.

Alan was laughing at her. "Eat, and then rest," he said. "It's one thing for Lord Galvin to make your head spin. It's a sad moment when
I
can send you into a muddle."

To indicate she would take his advice, Nola smiled, though it probably wasn't much of a smile.

"It was a terrible and confusing time for all of us," Alan offered, just before closing the door behind him.

Terrible and confusing for Brinna,
Nola thought. Obviously Kirwyn had been in the kitchen with her just before Nola had used the bespelled water to look in on them. He had left just as Nola was casting the spell and so she had been just in time to see him look in the window, then he had gone and killed Innis, and Brinna—in the horror of finding Innis murdered and in the pandemonium that followed—had forgotten that Kirwyn wasn't with her all along.

There couldn't be any other explanation.

Could there?

W
HY IN THE
world would Brinna lie to protect Kirwyn?

Surely,
Nola thought, after backing away from the thought and having to circle back around to it,
surely Brinna has more sense than to be in love with him.

Nola had to believe
anyone
would have more sense than to be in love with Kirwyn.

She remembered once again the expression she had witnessed on his face, when he hadn't realized anyone was watching him watch Brinna—when Nola had first realized, even before she saw him kill his father, that he was dangerous. But she also remembered the night before, the one night she and her mother had spent under the silversmith's roof, seeing Kirwyn's clumsy attempt to put his arm around Brinna's waist. Brinna had deftly eluded him, which certainly seemed proof she didn't want him.

But maybe, Nola thought, even if Brinna didn't love him, she felt sorry for him.

No, that was ridiculous.
You don't lie to protect a murderer simply because you feel sorry that he loves you and you don't love him back,
Nola reasoned. Especially if you were someone like Brinna. Brinna was used to people loving her.
Everybody
loved Brinna. Nola saw that with Galvin's reactions to her. And Halig's. And they'd only just met her.

More likely Kirwyn had threatened her, convinced her that he could cause her harm—some threat so strong that she would fear him even if he was arrested.

Or it might be that Brinna was simply mistaken. In the horror and chaos of Innis's murder, she had simply lost track of who was where.

But whether Brinna had lied or had been confused about Kirwyn being in the kitchen with her, Kirwyn had to be worrying that she might change her story. That made Brinna a threat to him.

Which made Kirwyn a threat to Nola.

People started arriving at the house, beginning with two young women who had to be the cooper's daughters. They came into Brinna's room—several times—chattering and giggling and asking where they could find this and that in the kitchen. Each time, Nola pretended that they had awakened her, hoping that they'd take her feigned grogginess as the reason why she didn't char with them—rather than that she had no idea what their names were. Eventually they took pity and stopped plaguing her.

But others came then, neighbors and friends bearing food—people whom Nola didn't know, whose relationships with Brinna she had no way of guessing. Many had no compunction about sticking their beads into the sickroom to offer their condolences and their advice, and she feared that they'd see through her act of ache and exhaustion. And it was becoming less and less an act. She had walked most of the previous day and half the night, and she wasn't used to lying in bed doing nothing.

It would be
so
easy to drift off.

Don't fall asleep,
she mentally prodded herself. If the spell dial made her look like Brinna slipped away while she dozed, chat was sure to be the time one last person would decide to look in on the poor invalid.

Eventually the priest came, and the noise of the crowd moved down the hall. They were getting Innis's body for burial. Nola squeezed her eyes tight, trying not to imagine what Innis looked like under the burial shroud, trying not to imagine the sad face Kirwyn would be wearing for the benefit of all those onlookers.

The outer door shut behind the last of them, bringing blissful silence. Nola had to fight to get her eyes back open. It would be so wonderful to res:, truly rest, just for a moment, before she got up and started her long, long way back to Saint Erim Turi to unravel whatever catastrophe her mother had woven in her absence.

Someone knocked lightly on the bedroom door.

Nola gathered the transforming spell about herself like a shawl.

"Brinna?" It was Galvin's voice.

"Yes?" She struggled to sit up.

He opened the door. "Everyone has gone to the funeral," he said.

She nodded, relieved that she hadn't gotten up the moment she'd heard the guests leave. As soon as Galvin left, too...

He told her, "I will remain here. Just in case last night's intruder returns—or some other thief, taking the opportunity of an empty house."

"That's a fine idea," Nola managed to say, hoping he couldn't read her true thoughts on her face, her
GO, GO, GO, DAMMIT
thoughts.

He smiled kindly. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. But I was afraid you'd wake up and not hear anybody, and then you'd become worried for fear of being alone."

The worst part was she suspected he wasn't goading her as part of some convoluted plan to get the truth out of her, but that he was being entirely sincere.

"Can I get you something to eat?" he offered. "First choice of all that food laid out."

"No. Thank you."

Still he hesitated. She wondered if he was deciding whether to talk to her further about last night. The way things seemed to be going, she guessed that now that she had the answers he wouldn't ask any more questions. And, indeed, what he asked was, "Arc you feeling better? Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

"I'm fine," she assured him. Sore, exhausted, frantic, and increasingly annoyed, but fine.

He didn't look convinced. Judging by how she felt, she probably looked too pale and weary for someone who had supposedly rested all afternoon—like someone in worse pain than she actually felt. That worked out to her advantage, for he nodded and stepped back into the hall. "I'll let you rest. Call out if you need anything."

"Yes. Thank you."

Nola sighed and tried to be patient. And to remain alert. Or at least awake. She had to hang on to both her glamour and her wits.

Galvin, too, she remembered, had traveled through the night. Maybe, alone in the kitchen and bored, if she was lucky,
he
would fall asleep.

She knew not to count on luck.

Better to count on simply going out through the bedroom window rather than one of the doors. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed but hesitated. For the moment, in its bindings, her ankle didn't feel too bad; but she knew that as so on as she stood, the increased blood flow would make it throb.

Though there was no sound from the kitchen, she had to fight the foreboding that somebody was about to burst in: Galvin, or the returning funeral guests—though that was unlikely, for they had left such a short time ago. But maybe the coopers daughters would come back early to ask where Brinna kept the salt, or Alan, eager to fetch something he hoped would please her.

There's time,
she assured herself.
Don't rush. The important thing is to be absolutely silent.

She tightened the laces on her bodice then found her shoes, which someone—Sergeant Halig, she thought—had taken off when they'd put her to bed. She had trouble getting the right one on because of the swelling and bandages; and once it
was
on, she was unable to fasten it.

With one hand on the bed and one on the wall, she stood, holding her breath for fear of breathing too loudly. She tried putting just a little weight on the injured foot. It hurt, but not beyond enduring. She tried actually taking a step and had to clamp her teeth together to keep from crying out in pain.

You have to do this,
she warned herself.
You have to get out of here.

She was able to hobble forth a few steps, as long as she had something to hold on to: the bed, the clothes chest.

It took forever to cross the room, which, when she and her mother had stayed here, had seemed barely large enough to accommodate the two extra mattresses.

You don't have to get far,
she reminded herself. Once she was outside, she could take on a different appearance and sit and gather her strength for as long as she needed.

So long as Galvin didn't pick now to look in on her.

Alan had thoughtfully closed the shutters in an attempt to make the room dark enough for sleeping. Nola tried to pull them open, but they simply rattled faintly.

Nola held her breath and listened with all her might. The noise couldn't have been loud enough to have alerted Galvin in the next room.

Could it?

Sure that she had to move quickly to avoid being discovered, she tugged impatiently, and the tiny latch she hadn't seen was yanked out of che wood.

The shutters swung open, one flying free of her grip and slamming against the wall, while the other came back at her face so that she instinctively stepped back. Her ankle gave out under her, and she sat down, fast and heavy.

Galvin burst in.

While it had taken her so long and so many mincing steps to get from bed to window, he was across the room in a few quick strides, just long enough to draw his sword from its sheath with a metallic scrape that she was sure would be the last thing she heard. She'd never before seen a sword blade so close, and glinting in the late-afternoon sunlight it was much longer, much sharper-looking than she'd have guessed. Obviously he'd determined she was a witch and took her trying to escape as proof. She flinched and braced herself and hoped that her mother would be able to get along on her own.

Instead of swinging the sword, Galvin demanded, "What happened? Did someone try to get in?"

She opened her eyes and saw that he had one foot up on the window frame, ready to leap out into the yard, ready to take off in pursuit, except that he couldn't see anyone to pursue.

"Are you hurt?" Galvin asked, with his attention still on surveying the yard.

"No," Nola said, only now beginning to breathe again. "
I
opened the window." That needed an excuse so that it wouldn't sound like the escape attempt it was. "I was hot and needed some air."

"Did you hear anything?" Galvin persisted. "Did a noise awaken you?"

"I was hot," Nola repeated, finally beginning to believe that he wasn't going to execute her for witchcraft after all. "There was no one out there. I forgot about the latch and broke it."