Tower of Thorns (3 page)

“Court, mm?” he said.

“Seems so. But what if Conmael says no?”

“Why would he?”

“The promise. Go to Winterfalls. Quite specific.”

“Then you tell Lady Flidais the truth,” Grim said.

“What, that the wise woman she trusts with her unborn child is actually a felon escaped from custody? That the only reason I help folk is because I have no choice in the matter? That the person I answer to is not even human?”

Grim fetched a bucket, took a cloth, wiped down the table. He spooned the leftover soup into a bowl for Dog. “Thing is,” he said, “she knows you now. She's seen what kind of person you are. She's seen
what you can do. That's why she trusts you; that's why the prince trusts you. And you did get them out of a tight corner.”

“You mean we did.”

“Something else too,” said Grim. “Escaped felons. We may be that, and if we went south we might find ourselves thrown back in that place or worse. But Lady Flidais is hardly going to take Mathuin's side. He's her father's enemy.”

The thought of telling Flidais the truth—of telling anyone—made me feel sick. “Trust me,” I said, “that is a really bad idea. What lies in the past should stay there. I shouldn't need to tell you that. Let word get out about who we are and where we came from, and that word can make its way back to Mathuin.”

“Mm-hm.” He poured water from the kettle into the bucket and started to wash the dishes. After a while he said, “Why don't you ask him, then? Conmael?”

“What, you think he's going to appear if I go out there and click my fingers? I need to know now, Grim. Before I go and see Flidais.”

“Mm-hm.” He looked at me, the cloth in one hand and a dripping platter in the other. “What were the words of it, the promise you made to the fellow? Was it
live at Winterfalls
, or was it only
live in Dalriada
?”

I thought about it: the night when I'd been waiting to die, the terrible trembling that had racked my body, the way time had passed so slowly, moment by painful moment, Grim's presence in the cell opposite the only thing that had stopped me from trying to kill myself. Then the strange visitor, a fey man whom I'd never clapped eyes on before, and the offer that had saved my life.

“I'm not sure I remember his exact words. One part of the promise was that I must travel north to Dalriada and not return to Laois. That I mustn't seek out Mathuin or pursue vengeance. Then he said,
You'll live at Winterfalls
. Or,
You must live at Winterfalls
. He told me that the prince lived here, and that the local folk had no healer. And that we could live in this house; he was specific about the details.”

“Maybe you don't need to ask him,” said Grim. “Isn't part of the promise about doing good? Looking after Lady Flidais, that's doing good. Sweet, kind lady, been through a lot. And her baby might be king someday. If it's a boy.”

“Some folk might say a future king would be better served by a court physician.”

“Lady Flidais doesn't want a court physician,” Grim said. “She wants you.”

“Why are you arguing in favor of going? You'll hate it even more than I will.”

“Be sorry to leave the house. And the garden. Just when we've got it all sorted out.” Grim spoke calmly, as if he did not care much one way or the other. His manner was a lie. It was a carapace of protection. He had become expert at hiding his feelings, and only rarely did he slip up. But I knew what must be in his heart. He had spent days and days fixing up the derelict cottage when we first came to Dreamer's Wood. He had labored over both house and garden until everything was perfect. Then the cottage had burned down, and he had done it all over again. I wasn't the only one who would find going away hard. “But it's not forever,” Grim said. He tried for a smile but could not quite manage it. “Lads from the brewery can keep an eye on the place. Emer could drop in, make sure things are in order.”

I said nothing. A lengthy stay at court would be miserable for both of us. We had a natural distrust of kings, chieftains and the like, based on our experience with Mathuin of Laois. That Oran and Flidais were exceptions did not mean a stay at Cahercorcan would be easier, since the king and queen would leave a good part of their household behind. We preferred to be on our own, Grim and I, which was why Conmael had suggested the cottage as a likely home for us. Conmael, a stranger, had somehow known that living at a distance from the settlement was the only way I was going to cope with being a wise woman again. At Cahercorcan, private quarters or not, we'd be right in the middle of things.

And there was another complication. The baker, Branoc, whom we'd helped bring to justice after he kidnapped and abused a young woman, was serving out his sentence as a bondsman to the king. He would be living in the household at Cahercorcan. I doubted Grim's capacity to be so close to the man without killing him.

“So, you going to ask him?”

“You mean Conmael?”

“Mm-hm. I know you don't much like the fellow. Me neither. But he's had his uses. And he did save your life.”

I hesitated. If Grim was right, and the promise had been only to stay in Dalriada, then going to Cahercorcan would not be breaking my vow. On the other hand, if Conmael had bound me to stay at Winterfalls, then heading north would put another year onto the term of our agreement and lose me one of my four chances. That was a sacrifice I was not prepared to make.

“Brew?” asked Grim. “Ready when you get back.”

“What makes you think Conmael will be there when I need him?”

“Came when I needed him, didn't he? The day you took it into your head to rush off south on your own.”

There was no arguing with that. I had believed a lie that day, and I'd let anger guide me, not common sense. Although there were times—more than a few of them—when I'd have preferred my own company to Grim's, there was no doubt that he had the ability to steady me, and that was not something to be lightly set aside. “I'll look. But he won't be there.”

•   •   •

The herbs had been an excuse to get rid of Donagan; I had no immediate need to gather anything. I went into Dreamer's Wood without my basket and knife, and without any real expectation that Conmael would make an appearance. Dog came with me, pattering along behind as I walked down the pathway toward the shadowy, fern-fringed pool that lay within the woodland. She had not yet learned the way of being
a creature, and did not venture far from the path in pursuit of interesting smells or rustlings in the grass. I felt for her, though as a woman she had done Lady Flidais a great wrong. If Flidais's own experience was anything to go by, Ciar still had her human understanding while trapped in her canine body. No wonder she was sometimes ill-tempered. Who would look after her if we went to court?

I reached the strip of pebbly shore where, last autumn, I had witnessed a sudden death and a strange transformation and had not fully understood either. One thing I had learned from that experience—I would never dip so much as a single toe in the waters of Dreamer's Pool. I might frequently despise my wretched, inadequate self, but I far preferred this body to that of, say, a dragonfly or trout. In Dreamer's Pool things were apt to change, and not always in the way one would wish.

I sat down on the shore, not too close to the water. Dog retreated into the undergrowth and hunkered down to wait for me. The wood was hushed; the birds knew it was a place of deep mystery, and within the shade of these trees they did not sing. So, how to summon Conmael? When Grim had needed our fey friend, he'd cursed him, shouting. I was disinclined to attempt that approach.

I was considering the right words to use when my skin prickled, I looked up, and there he was, two paces away, tall and pale in his dark cloak, gazing down at me with an expression of mild amusement. I rose in a measured fashion, not wanting to show that he'd unnerved me.

“Conmael.”

“Blackthorn. You need me?”

Could the man see right into my mind, every moment of every day? “I have a question for you, concerning our agreement.”

“Ask it, then.”

I explained what Donagan had told us. “While I have absolutely no desire to spend time at court, let alone that much time, under the terms
of my promise to you I am bound to assist Lady Flidais if she asks for my help.”

Conmael made no reply, simply fixed me with his deep blue eyes and lifted his brows as if well aware that this was only part of the truth. He was handsome after the manner of the fey, his features high-boned and haughty, his nose straight, his mouth thin-lipped but not devoid of humor. His crow's-wing hair was not loose today, but gathered at the nape by a silver cord. His long fingers wore shining rings worked with signs I could not decipher.

“I have a great deal of respect for Lady Flidais,” I added. “I would help her even without the obligation under which you've placed me. But I believe our agreement included a requirement that I live here at Winterfalls. A lengthy stay at Cahercorcan would seem to break the terms.”

“You wouldn't enjoy court,” said Conmael. “All those folk, all those rules.”

“I don't need reminding of that.”

“Why go, then? Are not the king's physicians capable?”

“Conmael. It is a simple question. Would my spending two or three turnings of the moon away from Winterfalls constitute a breach of our agreement?”

Conmael gave a wintry smile. He folded his arms. “If my memory serves me well,” he said, “the requirement was to stay within the borders of Dalriada and not to travel south toward Laois. To stay away from Mathuin. And, yes, to live at Winterfalls, but that part of it is not binding—provided you do not leave Dalriada, I see no reason why you should not travel about, going wherever there is a need for your services. I would expect you back at Winterfalls on the fourth full moon, if not before.”

“Or . . . ?”

“Surely I need not spell it out for you, Blackthorn.”

“The term of our agreement becomes longer. And my chances fewer.”

He smiled again. “Walk with me awhile.”

“I have patients to visit. And Lady Flidais to see.”

“Indulge me a little.” He cupped my elbow as if to guide me to the path; I could not help flinching, and his hand dropped away. “You are strung tight,” he observed.

“I don't take kindly to folk putting their hands on me without asking first.” I made myself take a steadying breath. “I'd like to say a year in that place of Mathuin's didn't leave a mark on me, but I'd be lying.”

“Then let us sit here side by side, not touching, and talk awhile. Not about our agreement. Not about the past; at least, not the painful past.”

I sat down again, and he settled beside me, a careful arm's length away. His cloak made a pool of liquid darkness on the stones.

“You have done well,” he said quietly.

“I thought you said we wouldn't talk about the agreement.”

“Ah. You came close to breaking it, when you fled south on the strength of a foolish lie. That was the day when I realized your guard dog does indeed have his uses.”

“I'd appreciate it if you didn't use that name for Grim. He's a man like any other man. If Prince Oran can treat him with respect, so can you.”

“You measure me by the yardstick of a human prince.”

“Oran is a good man. It irks me to admit that, but it's the truth. And I have no other yardstick to use.”

“When I say,
You have done well
, I mean in the matter of solving Prince Oran's puzzle. Your solution pleased me. It was bold, risky, clever, ingenious. Everything that I would have expected of you, Blackthorn.”

“I would say
thank you
, but I am wary of compliments. They so often come with requests attached.”

There was a silence, as if he could not think how to answer this. Then he said, “You do not believe I have asked enough of you already?” His voice was oddly constrained.

“I believe you please yourself. I think that may be typical of the fey. But what would I know?”

“More than some of your kind.”

“Because I was once a wise woman? A dealer not only in potions and cures, but in spells and charms?” I glanced sideways at him, and caught an odd expression on his face. For a moment he looked . . . softer. A little less fey; a little closer to human. Something stirred in my mind, a fragment of memory, gone before I could grasp it.

“You never ceased to be a wise woman, Blackthorn,” Conmael said. “You simply lost your way for a while. As for the spells and charms, they may not come as readily to your fingertips as they once did, but that is only a matter of practice. On the night when you helped Lady Flidais return to her own form, did you not hold back the rain in order to assemble those you needed here at the pool? That was no easy matter.”

I grimaced. “And there was I thinking maybe you'd had something to do with that.” It was pleasing to know that my use of natural magic had been effective; that the success of that night had owed nothing to fey intervention.

“I?” Conmael's elegant brows shot up. “I trust you. Possibly more than you trust yourself. Why do you imagine I offered you the lifeline I did? It was not out of a wish to play some kind of game, I assure you. I did so because I knew you could make something better of your life.”

“Then why the conditions? Why not just free me and let me go my own way?”

“Hatred was devouring you. The only thing left in your heart was the will for vengeance. You wouldn't have survived a single day. Even now, the desire to go back to Laois, to see your enemy face justice, tugs at you constantly. That is your great weakness. Give in to it, and you will disappoint me.”

“I cannot think why your disappointment should matter to me in the slightest, Conmael.”