Waterborne Exile (11 page)

Alwenna nodded, trying to recall the point she’d reached in her tale. “I only caught a glimpse. There were several of them, all wearing grey. And there was something in his expression – I just knew. It, he, was… wrong. Unnatural. When I first saw Tresilian he looked just as he had ever been. He was standing with the light behind him but I recognised him… No one had warned me he was alive. I’d seen his death in a vision, and until that moment I’d begun to believe the visions I saw were true. And of course, later, I discovered it had been true: I witnessed his death. I have no idea what they must have done to him, although I saw many times visions of him with that… priestess, and…”

“The healing.”

“Why, yes. I was told it was called that.”

“The rite they perform – it’s a form of sacrifice. Every part of the process is in the nature of a sacrifice of one kind or another.”

Alwenna, startled, looked at Jenna. “You know of the rites they perform?”

“It is an ancient magic. Not well understood today and, of course, forbidden in precincts throughout the Peninsula and beyond. For very good reason.”

“Forbidden?”

“On pain of death. I imagine you can tell me why.”

“Tresilian… He looked the same. At first, anyway. But his nature was changed. He was no longer the kind and patient man…”

“Might that have been your doing?”

“Who can be sure? I’m sure some will say so.”

“But you would not agree with them?”

“No. I’d believed my husband dead for weeks.” She did not need to justify her behaviour. She would not, not ever. “It ran deeper than that – everything about him was tainted, corrupted. When he had me touch the mortal wound, it had healed over, but it was… I can’t explain it… Just wrong. Every instinct revolted.”

Jenna nodded. “I understand. I, too, once lost someone dear to the grey brethren. When I discovered what had happened, I fled the place. I did not have the courage to stand and face him, as you did.”

“Oh, I tried to run, but… Marten brought me back. As if he still believed Tresilian might honour his word.”

Jenna nodded again. “Yes, he told me of that. You must appreciate how many years Marten spent working for that moment. He still hoped Tresilian might be convinced to keep his part of the bargain. Or he wanted to hope that. You can trust him, you know – you are his best chance of gaining what he has sought for his people all these years.”

“I do not trust readily now.”

“No. The things you have witnessed – it is, I suppose, possible that you might remain unchanged.”

“Me? No. I’ve changed. I carry a block of lead where my heart once was.”

“Then you will guard that heart with extreme care, I imagine. But I think you are not so cold a person as you would have the rest of us believe.”

How to answer that? This was not Wynne she was speaking to, this was a stranger and Alwenna already felt she’d revealed too much. She’d balked against the lessons that outward appearances meant everything for royalty, but all those tutors at court had shaped her nonetheless.

“This is all by the by – what is done cannot be changed. Would you learn more of that soldier’s fate?”

Of course Jenna had known the truth. She must have known it all along.

“I would. I owe him my life.”

“Very well.” The slightest raising of an eyebrow suggested the elder was not convinced by Alwenna’s justification. “When the time is right, you will wish to seek out the outcasts who dwell in the mountains to the north. I am known to them: mention my name and they will receive you.”

“When the time is right? What does that mean?”

Jenna smiled. “I cannot tell you. But you will know.”

Myrna was nowhere to be found, either upstairs or in the kitchens or sculleries.

The cook was disparaging, expressing her disapproval with a loud sniff. “Sloped off again, that ’un has. No better’n she ought to be.”

“One of the customers was asking for her.”

“Well, that don’t surprise me none. Like I said, no better’n she ought to be. Take this tray for the party in the dining room. Looks like we’re near the end of the evening rush anyway. I’ll have a word with himself, see if he’ll put you front of house instead of yon flighty thing. She’s done this once too often.”

Lena hurried through with the tray of puddings. The merchants in the dining room had also been drinking all day, but they were quieter than the rowdy lot in the tap room, at least. Even so, she didn’t want Myrna’s job. The obscurity of the servants’ areas suited her just fine. Dealing with the public meant a risk, however slight, that she might be recognised. A quick scan of the faces gathered around the table told her tonight she was safe enough. And hopefully in her changed situation, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, she would not be recognised by any but her closest acquaintances. They, for sure, would never be found in a downtrodden inn in Sylhaven.

She made her way back towards the kitchen, but was hailed by Isaac Henty from the taproom doorway.

“Here, lass, come and deal wi’ this bloke.”

Not again. She quelled the urge to snap at the landlord. “Pardon?”

“Yon feller in the corner is asking after ye.”

“He should make his mind up, you said he was asking for Myrna before.”

“Aye, so he was. Just sweet talk him off the premises, he’s been drowning his sorrows all afternoon.”

“But, Isaac–”

“He’s a wealthy man, go about it right and ye’ll get a handsome tip, lass. He’s harmless. There’s others here I need to keep a close eye on tonight. See him safe home, then you can take the rest of the evening off.” He vanished back inside the taproom and Lena trailed behind him. She was paid for kitchen work, not being polite to drunks. And she was paid precious little at that. Henty nodded towards the corner table as he resumed his place behind the bar. A man sat there, slumped over his empty tankard, hair falling over his face. He gave every appearance of remaining upright only by virtue of the substantial table on which his elbows and forearms rested. She sighed and threaded her way through the crowded room.

“Come on, sir, it’s time for you to head home.”

“What about Myrna?” He focused on her slightly unsteadily. “Isaac said he’d bring her.”

“She’s not here.”

“She isn’t?”

“No. She’s finished for the night. And now it’s time for you to go. Up you get, sir.”

“The name’s Nils. Darnell. You can call me Nils, if you want.” He stood up, swaying slightly. She caught hold of his arm by the elbow just before he overbalanced.

“Watch your step.” She steered him towards the taproom door.

“You haven’t told me your name,” he observed when they were alone in the hallway.

“There’s no need to worry about that.”

“I’d rather know your name, all the same, ’s only polite.”

“I’m Lena.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lena.” He executed a shaky bow. “You may call me Nils.”

“Pleased to meet you.” She supported him down the steps, hoping he’d find his sea legs in a minute, but he reeled sideways as they reached the street.

“Where do you live, Mr Darnell?”

“Call me Nils, I insist.”

“Don’t start that again. Where do you live?”

He raised his eyebrow.

“Where do you live, Nils?”

“Tha’s better. Vine Street. It’s the house with the biggest courtyard.”

“That’s nice.” Lena hoped he wasn’t going to lean any more heavily on her, she wasn’t sure she could support his weight much longer. Thank the Goddess the walk to Vine Street wasn’t far.

“I’ve done a lot of work on it, you know. It wasn’t in the best order when I bought the place. Had to work hard to get where I am today. Damned hard.”

Lena winced as he trod on her foot. He didn’t seem to notice, however.

“Not good enough for the likes of Barrett, of course. Looks down his nose at a self-made man. Unless the money’s generations old he’s not impressed. Damn fool, I’ll show him. Pardon my language, Lorna. Shouldn’t have said that in the presence of a lady. Hope you can forgive me.” He stopped and pulled himself up to his full height. “I must be making a poor impression on you this evening. Between you and me, Lorna, I’ve had a bit too much to drink. I don’t normally drink to excess.”

“That’s a relief. Can you make your own way from here, Mr Darnell?”

He frowned. “Nils, please. We’ve been through all that. I can’t call you Lorna if you don’t call me Nils, wouldn’t be right.”

She sighed. “It’s not right anyway. My name is Lena.”

“Lena? That’s much nicer than Lorna. Why’d you tell me it was Lorna?”

“I didn’t. Is it much further to your house?”

“No. See the wide gate up ahead? That’s it.”

“Will you be all right the rest of the way by yourself?”

“I want to see what you think of the house. Can’t do that if you don’t come in.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic. “That’s true, but it wouldn’t be proper.”

“I know how to treat a lady. Anyway you wouldn’t be alone with me, there’ll be servants about the place.”

Nils pushed open the heavy courtyard gate, stepping back with a flourish for Lena to precede him. “After you, my lady.”

“No, really, you don’t need me from here. I’ll bid you good night.” She stepped back from the gateway, but Darnell followed her.

“Come now, the night’s young.”

“Not for me, sir. I have an early start in the morning. I wish you well in nursing your sore head tomorrow.” A clunk from the top of the steps behind Darnell heralded the opening of the door. Light pooled out into the courtyard and a middle-aged manservant stepped forward, casting a wavering shadow across the cobbles.

“Sir, is there some trouble?”

“Evening, Rossiter. The lady seems to think I’m not to be trusted.” The servant stepped closer, frowning as he studied Lena.

She was acutely conscious of her scruffy scullery maid’s garb. Without thinking, she drew herself up to her full height. “Isaac Henty of the
Royal Hart
bade me deliver your master safe home. I trust I can assure him I have left Mr Darnell in capable hands?”

The servant bowed slightly. “Of course, my lady.” Lena knew a moment’s satisfaction; she could still draw on the old ways when she needed to. But she ought not. It wasn’t appropriate for her situation. But it was so, so satisfying to see the servant’s manner change. She spent too much time at the inn taking the brunt of others’ snobbery and the moment felt good. Maybe it was time she went back. Her grand adventure involved a whole lot more drudgery than she’d expected.

“Thank you, I shall inform Isaac Henty that Master Darnell has been left in safe hands. I bid you good night, Mr Darnell.”

Darnell had straightened up in the presence of the servant, and perhaps regained some stronger sense of his surroundings. “Nils, I insist. At some more propitious occasion I shall hope to offer you my hospitality, my lady.” He bowed, staggering only slightly as he straightened up. “But tell me now, who will see you safe back to the inn?”

“Have no fear on my account, sir, the troublemakers are all gathered in the taproom.” She turned to leave.

“No, I protest, you can’t go alone.”

“Sir, a serving girl won’t suffer ill at this time of night.” The servant took his master by the arm and nodded towards Lena.

“Good night, then.” She walked briskly down the street away from the gate, ignoring Darnell’s protest that she could not leave so soon. She glanced back as she reached the corner; Darnell was watching from outside the gate. She walked on out of sight, shaking her head. Henty had been right, the fellow was good natured enough, an amiable drunkard. The world would be a better place if they were all like him.

Myrna was back in the kitchen when Lena returned, sitting at the table, pouting.

“I’d’ve seen to Master Darnell. You shouldn’a taken him, Lena. You’re nobbut a kitchen skivvy. I’ll tell you what – you’re gettin’ ideas above your station.”

“I was only doing what Isaac told me. Believe me, I’d rather have stayed warm in here than half carry a drunk up that hill in the cold.”

“You’d no call to go stealin’ my tips.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t get any tips.” She hung her cloak on the peg behind the door. “He won’t even remember my name tomorrow.”

“More fool you.” Myrna sniffed.

“There’s a fool in all this, to be sure, but it isn’t me.”

Lena made her way up the back stairs to the attic room where she slept. It was tiny, scarcely large enough to hold a bed, but at least that meant she didn’t have to share it with anyone else. She thought again of the manservant’s instinctive reaction to her tone of voice. Just for a moment it had been good. Doubtless she’d pay for that moment’s weakness somewhere along the way, that was how life seemed to work. And in the end, if her little deception was uncovered, what did it matter? It had been good to taste real life, but she had to admit the work was hard and the rewards were few. Really, she would be missing nothing if she were to return home now. Doubtless Myrna was already plotting against her, for her imagined usurping as favourite of Nils Darnell. Not that she needed to. As Lena had said, he wouldn’t even remember her name in the morning.

All was decay: Drew was surrounded by it and it had consumed him, without and within. Every pore, every fibre stank of death, of corruption. Of something so wrong and so unnatural Drew couldn’t bear to move, lest it sense him and somehow turn upon him. He lay there, stock still, a cold stone slab beneath his back. It pressed against the nape of his neck, it pressed against that point on his ribs where he’d fallen from a horse years ago and landed badly on hard ground, and it pressed against his tailbone. He felt as if his body was being torn asunder along a line connecting those three points. He had to move to ease the pressure, but he was frozen there. Immobile. He couldn’t move so much as a single fingertip. His body refused to obey any of his commands. What was this? Death? Was death meant to be this painful? Surely…

He tried again, to lift one hand, to wriggle his weight on the stone slab to ease some of the terrible pressure through his ribs. But… nothing happened. How could he be here, aware, yet unable to respond? Where even was “here”? His eyelids refused to open, but somehow he knew it was dark. And dank, and chill. Yet he couldn’t see, couldn’t explore anything with his fingertips to confirm or deny his assumptions.