Waterborne Exile (24 page)

Durstan shivered.

He bowed his head in prayer and pressed the whip to his forehead. He would take the lash to his own back, and before another hour was out his own blood would mingle with the girl’s. May his sacrifice please the Goddess twofold.

Vasic studied the letter a second time. His new bride-to-be would be sailing for Lynesreach in a matter of days. The letter had a rather plaintive tone, as if the Lord Convenor Etrus felt slighted Vasic hadn’t travelled to the Outer Isles in person. Had that been why they’d insisted the girl was too ill to be seen?

Kaith’s voice intruded upon his thoughts. “She is their only daughter, your highness. A degree of concern on their part is understandable, I believe.”

“This is not an expression of concern, Kaith. It is a demand that I trail down to Lynesreach to greet the girl. It is a gross piece of impertinence. The journey’s tedious enough as it is, without having to undertake it without my own horses and carriage.” Why the girl couldn’t sail into a northern port and progress overland from there… Well, he knew that. Lynesreach had the deep water port. Lynesreach was the capital. They couldn’t have the future queen of the realm arriving to take her place on a humble ferry along with the livestock and commoners. She would sail into Lynesreach on a vessel appropriate to the rank and wealth of the only daughter of the Lord Convenor of the Outer Isles.

“It is indeed unfortunate repairs to the bridge and road will take so long, but highness, it is important that it be seen you do not let such difficulties stand in your way.” Kaith bobbed his head in obeisance.

Nearby, Marwick’s jaw worked, but he remained silent. The two courtiers rarely agreed, but on this occasion they had both expressed the same opinion to Vasic. Both equally unsought and equally unwelcome. Both right, though it galled him to admit it. Taking Highkell had been a bold, decisive move on his part. His recent illness had done much to counteract the impact of that. He’d told no one of his conviction that the Lady Alwenna had cursed him, of course. The maid he’d set to spy on the queen might have guessed his suspicions, but she’d perished in the collapse of the tower. As had, he could have sworn, the Lady Alwenna – for how else could he explain the sudden lifting of his illness? It had to have had a supernatural cause. Vasic recalled the expression on Garrad’s face before he turned the knife upon himself. No, he would take no chances.

“On the eve of my departure there will be a ceremony, laying to rest the victims of the collapse.” He would bring his new bride back to a stronghold free of taint from past events. “I will not have it said devotions to the Goddess have been neglected. You will accompany me to Lynesreach, Kaith. Marwick, you will remain here to see all runs smoothly in my absence.”

Marwick bowed. “As you wish, your highness. It will be a great joy to welcome my sister’s child to Highkell in the fullness of time.”

“I have no doubt. Since horses and carriages will be impossible, I expect you to have a pathway cleared through the gorge sufficient that the Lady Drelena may be carried in a litter, as befitting her station.”

“It will be done, your highness.” Marwick bowed. Evidently he felt he’d cavilled enough for one day.

“And one last thing – send a messenger ahead to alert the palace of our journey. And make sure the High Seer Yurgen will be present at Lynesreach, for I wish to consult him on certain spiritual matters.”

Vasic retired to his private chambers, dismissing the various servants and hangers-on who littered the citadel these days. He poured himself a glass of wine and sat down at the table by the window. There he withdrew from his belt pouch the small bundle the sharp-faced captain had given him. He opened out the fabric and spread it flat upon the table. There, incongruously untarnished against the stained fabric, nestled the single leaf. It was still an exquisite artefact, even though it was bent out of shape and attached to a broken length of gold chain. He could remember the day he had given it to Alwenna. She’d stood as if carved from ice as he’d fastened it about her neck.

He picked up the leaf and turned it over, admiring the veining. She had worn it for the wedding ceremony as he’d requested. Why had the thing come into his possession now, when he had determined upon a new start? Was the Goddess trying to tell him something?

Vasic had been inclined to dismiss the captain’s story out of hand. He still was: the fellow was an opportunist, nothing more. He’d happened upon the relic and concocted the tale in the hope of a generous reward from his king. There could be no more to it than that. If she lived still, wouldn’t he have known?

“Rekhart again? What is it with you and that fellow?” Jervin’s irritation wasn’t the good-humoured sort. Drew should have known better than to raise the subject at the breakfast table.

“I happened to meet him in town yesterday, that’s all.” Now Drew had started down this road he might as well push on. “Did you know he’d lost his job with the city watch?”

Jervin snorted. “The man’s a whining fool who doesn’t know when he’s well off.”

This was not a promising start. But he needed to push this issue. Why, he couldn’t have said. He just knew it must be done. “I always thought him a man of principle. It troubles me… to think he may have lost his work because of something you might have said.”

Jervin set down his bread and stared at Drew. “I’ve told you before not to trouble yourself with my business.”

He should apologise, beg Jervin’s forgiveness. “I’m sorry. I can’t help but notice things sometimes.” Drew set aside his plate, no longer hungry. “But Rekhart losing his job like that, all of a sudden – that is your business this time, isn’t it?”

“Are you questioning my decision?”

Goddess, this was more difficult than he’d feared. “Then you did have him dismissed? He seemed to think so, but I confess, I couldn’t believe it. You’ve always been so generous with me.”

Jervin pushed slowly to his feet. “Of course I had him dismissed. He needed to see what happens to those who try to cross me.”

Drew forced himself to remain still in his seat. He pressed his fingers against the fine table covering, as if that would somehow help him. “I think he has learned his lesson.”

“And have you?”

“You let me see a side to you denied to others. I think… if you were to offer Rekhart work now he would be loyal.”

“You think, do you? Does it occur to you I might not be interested in what you think?”

“Apparently not.” Drew raised his chin slightly, keeping his hands on the table to stop them shaking. “Rekhart is a man of principle. If he is no longer torn by his duty to the city watch he will serve you well. Better than before.”

“You think and talk a deal too much about Rekhart.”

“I have few friends besides you in Brigholm, but he is one of them.”

“And you think that is a recommendation?”

“No. It is the simple truth. I do not lie, Jervin. And I do not cheat. If that makes me foolish and naive, then so I am. And since I am it troubles me that a friend could be made destitute for one small mistake.”

“Yes. It makes you very foolish and naive indeed.” Jervin walked over to the glass fronted cabinet, studying the exquisite ceramics displayed on the shelves. He steepled his fingers, bowing his head as he was lost in thought. His shoulders were tense. “I won’t have you thinking of Rekhart as a martyr. I’ll offer him work.” He turned to face Drew. “Whether he accepts or not is another matter. But I’ll make the offer. And you won’t repeat his name at this table again. Is that clear?”

Air crept into Drew’s lungs again. Quite when he’d held his breath he couldn’t be sure. “Thank you, Jervin.”

“It’s more consideration than he deserves, but he can be useful to me yet.”

Drew nodded, willing his limbs to be steady once more. He hadn’t felt this way since he’d fled the kitchens at Vorrahan.

Jervin paced across to the window. “I’ll need to go away in a few days’ time. Those traders from Ellisquay are proving more troublesome than ever and I intend to petition our new king for trade sanctions.”

Was Drew’s first reaction really relief?

“Have you nothing to say to that, in your naivety? Do you not think it ironic I intend to petition the king?”

“Well – it sounds like a bold move.”

“I’m going to become a respectable businessman in this community, Drew. The most respected businessman in the Marches. I shall surround myself with fellows like your principled friend.”

“I see. Do you want me to take care of things in your absence?”

“No. I have stewards for that. You will come with me and grace the royal court with your presence.”

Drew’s heart sank. “Jervin, I cannot. There is a price on my head in Highkell. I can’t return there.”

“Nonsense. My mind is made up. You will be travelling in my entourage – I am a successful businessman and you’ll be untouchable. You’ll see.” Jervin laughed. “You’re no longer the runaway novice from Vorrahan – take a look in the mirror and see for yourself.”

Jervin bent over Drew, raising his chin with a finger and placing a languorous kiss on his lips. “Now I have much work to do, so I cannot stay here all day with you as I would prefer to.”

“Can’t it wait – just a while?”

Jervin shook his head. “No, not today. But we will settle this tonight, over a bottle or two of wine.”

He straightened up and left the room, looking well pleased with himself. Drew sat at the table a moment longer. Jervin’s changes of mood were as unpredictable as they were frequent. To go to Highkell would be madness. But… He knew a sudden moment of clarity: he should go. And not because Jervin said so. Highkell was the place he needed to be. He could not mark time forever here in Brigholm, living out his days in tangled sheets and uncertainty.

He got up from the table and crossed over to the cabinet Jervin had been studying. It contained some of his best enamelware: exquisite pieces, all of them perfect, all of them flawless, imprisoned in this glass case where dust could not touch them, sunlight could not fade them and no one could damage them. The back of this cabinet was mirrored glass and there stood his reflection, surrounded by row upon row of carefully hoarded treasures. His hair reached to his shoulders now, his chin bore a beard trimmed in the style Jervin favoured. His face was gaunter than when he’d left Vorrahan, his shoulders squarer. Yet there he stood in Jervin’s house, just another piece in his exquisite collection.

Yes, he must go to Highkell.

The nightmare was the same every time. And every time the thing that was pursuing her drew a little closer. Alwenna tried to push herself upright, flailing awkwardly as the ancient mattress sagged beneath her. The bulk of unborn child in her midriff made her movements ungainly at best, and things she had routinely done were now virtually impossible, but lifelong habits died hard. She tucked her knees up and twisted onto her side so she could swing her feet onto the floor. Now she was able to push her upper body clear of the bed until she was sitting upright, bulging midriff and all. Goddess, if only she could laugh at herself right now.

It was still dark and all was silent in the cave chamber. Erin must be out somewhere with Marten’s eldest again. That was all to the good; it meant Alwenna would not disturb her as she made preparations. She should have done this days ago. Goddess knew why she hadn’t: perhaps so she could not be accused of chasing Marten? As if it mattered now what anyone thought of her. She could scarcely lift her own royal carcass out of bed – she was a threat to no one.

She shivered. The night air was not cool, but some deeper apprehension gripped her. She was as close to helpless now as she had been at any time in her life. Why had she tarried here so long? It had been clear for months the elders could do nothing to help her, even had they been willing. The only exception had been the wisewoman, Jenna, and she had not been near Scarrow’s Deep for weeks. Alwenna had pinned too many hopes on her returning, even though she’d been gone far longer than she’d said she would. Alwenna feared some mishap had overcome her. And now she dared not wait any longer, for the thing that stalked her during her sleep was drawing closer, night by night.

So she would run away, just as she had fled the summer palace, tail between her legs. But first she would take back what was hers.

She took up the wine glass, wiping it out with a cloth to be sure it was clean. Of all the ridiculous luxuries to have in an out of the way place like this, wine glasses had been the most unexpected. She rummaged around in the storage niche cut from the stone of the cliff until she found the whetstone, then settled down to apply it to her eating knife. The sharper the better. Once she would have used water, or even wine, but instinct told her only blood would tell her what she needed to know this time. She lost track of time as she honed the blade, recalling one evening on the road to Vorrahan when Weaver had sat sharpening his knife. She’d watched him in silence then, but every movement came back to her now. She’d never imagined she would need to know how to do such a mundane task. That had been a fault of her imagination, she now realised, not of the events that had brought her here.

She tested the blade across the pad of her thumb absentmindedly. It was sharp enough, as the slice across her thumb testified. She pressed on her thumb and blood welled obligingly along the cut. How much would she need?

She’d thought to reopen the scar where blood had been drawn before, but now this slight damage was done… Murmuring an invocation to the Goddess for guidance she applied the blade a second time, then held her hand over the wine glass so the blood dripped into it. A smudge on the table had been enough before, after all, but she was asking deeper questions this time. She set the question firmly in her mind as she watched the blood drip. Where was the dagger: the blade that had twice ended Tresilian’s life, once in Vasic’s hand and once in her own?

She watched and waited until the cave blurred around her and she was sitting in some other darkness in some different enclosed space. The floor rose and fell beneath her – was it about to collapse and trap her all over again? She fought a moment’s panic before she began to note other sensations: the creaking of timber and another sound, one she recognised as the slap of waves against a timber hull.