Finally someone entered the anteroom leading to the dungeons. There was an exclamation as, presumably, the new arrival spotted the fallen guards. A male voice swore, at length. Alwenna was diverted briefly trying to work out if the act he described was even physically possible. The prisoners had been gone at least an hour, probably more. And now, every profanity the man added to his litany meant Weaver and the others were several more paces clear of Highkell and any possible pursuit.
The relief left her almost euphoric. Almost.
The man peered through her cell door, belatedly ensuring she’d not fled with the others, then hurried away. She wondered idly if he would report the news himself, or perhaps find some unfortunate messenger to do the job for him.
Some time passed before other guards arrived, and while there was much discussion of the bodies strewn about the place they did nothing. They must have been waiting for their superior to inspect the scene. Sure enough, a few minutes later Hames arrived.
Alwenna waited quietly in her corner, knees tucked up, arms wrapped about them. It would not be long.
Sure enough, Hames barked orders at the other guards and they set about removing the bodies. Then the key grated in the lock and a moment later the door swung open. Having ascertained she offered no threat, he stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind him. He didn’t advance any further into the room, but stood there looking down at her.
“Well, well. The high and mighty Lady Alwenna. Fallen from grace and all her friends gone off without her.”
She made no reply.
“Cat got your tongue?” He took a step closer. “You’d do well not to ignore me. I am a man of influence now.”
“Oh?” She glanced at him with indifference. As long as he kept his distance she’d have nothing to worry about.
“Have you nothing to say to that?”
“No, I don’t think I have.”
“Don’t try to get clever with me.”
“I’m trying to be polite. But I’ll be honest – you make it difficult.” She straightened up where she sat, gathering her legs beneath her so she might move quickly if she needed to. She folded her arms over her stomach. Drew’s throwing knife was there inside her sleeve, the looped handle reassuringly solid beneath her fingertips.
Hames stepped closer, still remaining beyond arm’s length. “What would you say if I told you Vasic’s ordered me to teach you some manners?”
“These are strange times, certainly. But as strange as that?”
The steward glared from beneath pale lashes. Although greying, he still had the fair colouring typical of a southerner. He might well have been working on Vasic’s account for years. She shrugged; it mattered little now. Every word wasted here saw Weaver and Drew a step further beyond Vasic’s reach. That thought filled her with a strange elation.
“I’d say you’re making it up. Vasic will have ordered you to do no such thing. Because you’re a fool.” She smiled, giving it just enough mockery, but hoping it wasn’t too much. If he kicked her it would hurt.
Hames kept his distance. “Take care you don’t regret this day’s work, my lady.” He didn’t spit on the ground at her feet but he might as well have. “I’m an influential man now.”
“It seems to me you were in charge while two of Vasic’s prisoners escaped.”
He didn’t rise to the bait; instead his fleshy lips curled in a smile. “And they left you behind. That can’t be pleasant, not after everything you’ve done for them.” He was enjoying this too much. But, if he liked to boast about how important he was – well, he would be privy to secrets she might find useful.
Alwenna shook her head. “All I ever did for them was get them imprisoned. I’m sure they’re glad to be rid of me.” That might be the truth, after all: hadn’t Weaver been restless to be gone from her side ever since they had set off on their journey? As for Drew, he must surely have regretted the impulse to help her escape Vorrahan. No, they were well rid of her. Weaver had wanted to break down the cell door, sure enough, but that didn’t mean anything. He’d sworn to protect her, hadn’t he? And a man like Weaver lived by his word – without that he’d be lost.
“That’s not what I heard, my lady. I heard you did a whole lot more for them. I heard…” He paused, grinning. “There are witnesses who have sworn to what they saw at Vorrahan on oath. They say you seduced the King’s Man from his duty and turned the novice from his vows.” Still he kept his distance. But he wanted this to be true, she could sense it.
“I wonder you dare enter this cell lest I corrupt you.”
“I’m not scared of you, nor of any woman.” The lascivious curl to his lips remained. “They say even two men couldn’t satisfy you – but you’ll find I’m a better man than either of those two.”
The man’s conceit really was astounding. He appeared to believe every word of it. “I doubt Vasic would be overly pleased. And he has a way of making his displeasure plain.” The handle of Drew’s knife remained within easy reach of her fingertips, but she wouldn’t need it. Not this time.
“My lady, I have influence and can smooth your way here at Highkell.”
“How selfless.”
“Treat with me and you will find me generosity itself.”
“If Vasic were to hear what you have suggested, your situation here would become at best extremely uncomfortable.”
“Would you threaten me? Let me remind you that you are the prisoner here. And everyone knows what you are. Do you imagine for one minute that Vasic would take your word over mine?”
Had the man’s certainty slipped a fraction there? “I have known him a long time – longer than you, I suspect. He will take whoever’s word suits his purpose. And as long as his purpose is to rule the Peninsular Kingdoms, he will have more need of me than of you.” She rose cautiously to a standing position.
Hames backed away a half step. “Think on what I have said, my lady. The day may come when Vasic is no longer lord of Highkell.”
“Would you take his place? Then you are bolder than I thought – I must take care not to misjudge you in future.”
The preening fool straightened up at those words, sucking in his beer belly. He nodded graciously. “And I see you are as wise as your reputation would have it, my lady. We will have our day of reckoning, you and I.” He stepped back to the door and opened it, keeping his eyes on her. Not so confident he would turn his back on her. Perhaps he was not such a fool after all.
She made no answer. The key grated in the lock of her door, then his footsteps retreated across the guardroom, and the outer door closed with a thud.
“Oh yes, Hames, we will have our day of reckoning.” She couldn’t believe a word the man said. Vasic had never been shy of doing his own bullying – he enjoyed it too much.
She returned to her corner and sat down again, resting her back against the wall and closing her eyes. The tiny life inside her stirred. Whatever she did next, it was not just her wellbeing depending on her choice: she had to make the right decision for Tresilian’s child.
For a moment she’d forgotten: it was no longer just her needs to consider.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The first thing Weaver noticed as they entered the outskirts of Halesworth was the smell of scorched timbers. Looking about, he located the source. Beyond the houses ahead of them a plume of smoke curled upwards – not the smoke of a raging fire, but the sulky smoulder of doused flames making a last attempt to break from cooling ashes. The streets were quiet and the few people around hurried about their business. Some averted their eyes when they caught sight of the strangers, others stared with outright suspicion.
Curtis pushed his horse alongside Weaver’s. “Friendly lot, ain’t they?”
“Aye. Do we push on through?”
“We need to stop for provisions. We’ll have to be careful.” Curtis had never been one to go hungry if it could be avoided. “And Blaine was going to leave word if they found anyone hiring.”
An old woman shuffling along in front of the houses stopped and glared at them. “We don’t want your kind here – bugger off, before we set the dogs on you. You hear me, you filth?” She gestured wildly with her fist. “Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, you misbegotten sons of whores. You’re nowt but filth and wasters.”
Weaver kicked his horse forward into a slow trot. Once they’d rounded the corner, the woman’s cursing faded. Alongside him Drew clenched his reins with white knuckles.
“Times are bad. Pay her no heed, lad.”
“She hated us. Really hated us.”
“She’s mad as a coot. That’s how some old folk get when they’ve seen too much life.”
“Gwydion didn’t, and he saw countless other lives as well as his own.”
“Maybe. But he never went hungry unless he chose to fast, and he never lost children or grandchildren to war. Grief like that can tear a person apart without leaving so much as a mark on the outside.”
“It’s left a mark on her for sure.” Drew looked over at Weaver. “And– No, never mind.” He studied the street ahead of them.
“If there’s something on your mind lad, spit it out.”
“It was nothing.”
Weaver suppressed a flash of annoyance. The boy was too damned deep sometimes.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Alwenna’s guards came and went in silence for the most part. They were bearable enough, but Hames was a different matter. He would let himself into her cell daily – she kept track of the time passing by his visits. And he would talk to her. Or, rather, talk at her. Most of the time he didn’t seek a response.
“He says he’ll have you thrown from the curtain tower, his highness does.” Hames grew bolder each day, yet despite his constant air of menace he hadn’t so far attempted to touch her. She suspected he never would, for all his boasts. She was, in effect, his perfect woman: a captive audience.
“Does he, indeed?” The man was more annoying than a mosquito, but also, sadly, more problematic to crush.
“Onto the rocks at the edge of the gorge. A shame to smash open such a pretty skull. He plans to leave you there as a reminder to his subjects of what happens to those who disobey him.”
“That sounds a pleasingly swift end, all considered. Why ever does he delay?” Hames was going to be no use to her. Any notion she’d had that he might help her cause had long since fled.
“It can only be a nostalgic fondness for your childhood together, do you not think, my lady?”
“I cannot imagine. Obviously you, enjoying his confidence as you do, must be privy to his innermost thoughts.”
He actually smiled, the preening fool. He was oblivious to her sarcasm. He got all his satisfaction from taunting a prisoner who had no redress against him. Enough. How many days had it been now? Five, or six? She couldn’t ignore his annoying buzzing any longer – she wanted done with him.
“There was a time I thought you ready to take his place – you admitted as much yourself. Has your appetite for danger weakened since then?”
“I never said any such thing. Do you hope to turn his highness against me with such lies?”
“How could I do that, imprisoned here? You have Vasic’s ear, not I. I find myself at your mercy…” Would he rise to the bait? “If you were to think kindly enough of me to plead clemency from his highness, I would count myself fortunate. I have had much time to think of late.”
Hames ran his eyes over her where she sat in her corner. She had his attention now.
“You would find me… not ungrateful.” A tiny voice told her this was unwise, but she ignored it. She’d spent too long sitting in the dark with only that voice for company.
“I am a busy man – I have not time to exchange riddles with you. Speak plainly.”
The smug bastard knew what she hinted at, but he wanted to hear her debase herself before him. Their reckoning inched closer. As did he.
“Would you not care for a token of my gratitude?” She folded her hands in her lap in a submissive gesture. Mesmerised, Hames leaned forward. She smiled and he closed the distance between them, as if he could not help himself. She willed him to lean closer still, to reach out. He stooped down, extending his left hand to touch her.
It was the work of a moment to slip Drew’s blade from her sleeve and plunge it into his neck. Hames’ eyes widened with shock as she dragged the blade across his throat with all her strength. Warm blood gushed over her hands and with a terrible rattling breath he collapsed on top of her, limbs flailing. She shoved him away and his head hit the flagstone floor with a hollow thud of finality and his desperate movements stilled, leaving empty eyes staring upwards. A dark stain spread over the crotch of his woollen hose as his bladder voided.
“As if any woman in her right mind would have looked at you.” Alwenna climbed to her knees and cleaned the blade on Hames’ shirt, methodically transferring every smudge of his blood to the fabric.
She’d killed a man. Deliberately goaded him and, in cold blood, she’d sent a soul from this world. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, quelling a sudden urge to laugh aloud. She ought to be revolted by what she had just done; instead she found herself exulting in it. What was it Weaver had said – something about death being the ultimate truth? She shivered. Goddess, now she understood him. She’d gone against every tenet by which she’d been raised, breaking the law of the land by taking a life without trial. And her only regret was it had been over too quickly.
She stood, and spat on the corpse. “You useless pile of meat.”
The fool hadn’t even locked the cell door behind himself. She stooped and loosened his belt, tugging the bunch of keys from it. She might not have much time. The guards would be used to him spending several minutes in her cell as his daily routine, but how long before one of them felt obliged to check? Perhaps, of course, they’d been warned not to interfere. In any event the anteroom was empty. She heaved Hames’ carcass into the corner behind the door then stepped out of the cell and locked it. Peering back through the grille she could see only his boot protruding from the corner. She tossed the key down the garderobe off the antechamber. It amused her to think of them running around trying to find another key before they could release the dead man. A tiny voice told her she shouldn’t find it as amusing as she did at that moment, but she shrugged it off as she stowed the short blade safely inside her sleeve. Now to find Vasic.