Alwenna sat, ramrod-straight, on the bench and set the bundled cloak down on the floor at her feet. Next to her Erin followed suit.
“You suffered no great harm from your fall, I trust, sister?” He appeared genuinely concerned.
“No, I did not. But I thank you for your concern.”
Marten smiled. “But for that your escape bid might have succeeded. Your servant’s initiative is to be applauded.” He nodded towards Erin, who watched him warily. “You are clearly dressed for travel. But, my lady, did you hope to cross the Blighted Sea without a guide?”
“We crossed it but two days ago. The way was clear enough.” Erin’s chin jutted in defiance.
Alwenna admired her presence of mind – their plan had been to skirt the arid land, but it was far better not to reveal anything of their intention. She had no wish to throw herself on Marten’s mercy, not that she could be too particular now their plan had failed.
“It is the time of year when dust storms blow up without warning. Squalls so wild the sand shreds the flesh of the unwary traveller. So powerful they can redraw the landscape in a couple of hours. So enduring they can block out the sun for days at a time.”
Erin pursed her lips and said nothing more.
“Discussing the weather is all well and good, Marten,” Alwenna said. “But we should be on the road already, and now the whole palace is astir. Do you mean to help us or hinder us?”
“I mean to help you, of course. I named you sister, did I not?” He prodded at the bloodied cloak with his foot. “Whose is this?”
“The cloak, or the blood?” Alwenna hardly cared what he thought at that stage. It could only be a matter of time before the dead guard was found. Their bold escape plan had only taken them from bad to worse. And now Erin – hitherto free of any suspicion – was drawn in by her guilt.
“They do not belong to one and the same person? By the Goddess, you have been busy.”
“The cloak was one of Tresilian’s providing. The blood – on the cloak and my hands – belongs to one of his guards.” Beside Alwenna the servant girl drew in a breath. Alwenna nudged her and she remained silent.
Marten examined the cloak doubtfully. “A great deal of blood. I can scarce credit you would do such a thing, sweet sister.”
Alwenna smiled. “I may yet surprise you. Sometimes unpleasant deeds are necessary.” Again Erin shifted beside her, but didn’t speak up.
“Indeed they are. More often than one would like.” Marten shrugged, then stirred the fire into life and dropped the cloak on it. As it began to smoulder he removed the stopper from a small bottle, releasing the scent of aromatic oil into the room. He dashed some onto the cloak and it burst into flame, sending up dark smoke that would be noticed by anyone outside who cared to stop and look up. “Tell me where to find the unfortunate fellow. I have the means to hide him in a more permanent way.”
Alwenna looked at Erin. Dare they trust the freemerchant? Erin shrugged her shoulders. They had little option now. “In a garderobe. Just beyond the door to my chamber.”
“Then I suggest you wait here while I do what is necessary. Tonight after darkness falls will be our best chance of leaving unseen.” He gestured towards a saddlebag under the window. “There is bread and fruit there – I suggest you break your fast while I am gone.” He bowed slightly and withdrew, muttering an order to someone outside. They could hear his footsteps as he strode away down the cloister.
Erin hurried over to the door and crouched down to peer underneath it. She swore softly. “There’s a sentry outside.”
Curse Marten for a liar. It was one thing to remove a guard during the night in an out-of-the-way corner where there were no witnesses, but there were many passers-by here. “Could we break the back window?”
A quick inspection told them not only did it open onto the bustling well yard, but the gap between the mullions and glazing bars was too narrow.
“I’m sorry. I’ve taken things from bad to worse.”
“We’re not done yet, my lady.”
“If we’re questioned, we’ll say I killed the guard.”
“I’d do it again on the instant, may the Goddess be my witness. He deserved it.” Erin prowled round the small chamber, then turned to inspect the fruit, sniffing an apple cautiously before taking a bite and nodding. “We should eat, my lady. This could be the last time in a while we have something that isn’t prepared just for us.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need it for the baby, my lady. Here, eat.” Erin handed her another apple, then took out her eating knife to cut the bread. She hesitated and put the blade away again, tearing two chunks off the loaf instead.
Alwenna thought she’d kept her secret so cleverly. “When did you guess?”
Erin sat down on the bench, stretching her legs out before her. “Oh, a long time ago. Back at Highkell. My sister took the same way with her first. I never told Vasic, though.”
“He set you to spy on me, didn’t he?”
Erin nodded. “Didn’t learn much of use from me. And neither will this lot, if it comes to it.”
“It won’t.” Alwenna couldn’t have said how she knew, she just did. The Goddess had other plans for them. But she could find nothing remotely reassuring about that.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
Marten was gone for hours. Alwenna tried to follow Erin’s stoical example and spend the time dozing, but she was too much on edge. Every time she closed her eyes that same vision of fire threatened to overwhelm her. Eventually she got to her feet and paced back and forth. The confines of the guest chamber were too tight, too restricting. Goddess, was the fire to consume them both here? She couldn’t shake off the conviction they were trapped. Trapped, traduced, and condemned. She was certain.
Alwenna was staring out of the window, wondering again if it might be better to break it and risk recapture than remain here, when the door latch clattered and Marten entered the room. He bristled with energy and purpose.
“Ladies, you are well rested and fed?” His smile was too bright, too determined.
Alwenna folded her arms. “You lied to us.”
Marten set one hand over his heart. “Never. I have done what was necessary. Your Goddess will watch over you.”
Erin jumped up from the bench, anger etched in her face as she reached for her eating knife.
Alwenna caught her by the arm. “No. When the time comes I’ll cut out his lying tongue myself.”
“I have no doubt my wife would thank you for such a service, sister, but from what remains of poor Scoular I suspect your fair companion might make a swifter end of me. Please, if you will accompany me, Tresilian is expecting us.”
Four soldiers were waiting outside and they stepped in behind them as they walked along the cloister and into the great hall. It was largely empty at this time of day, with only a few servants sweeping the stone floor and cleaning the tables. The air was heavy with the smell of lavender. Motes of dust raised by the servants’ brooms hung in the light from the windows along the south side of the hall.
They carried on up the steps to the dais, past the priestess’ bench and stopped at the door leading to the panelled chamber beyond. They waited there while the guard made much business of knocking on the door and announcing their arrival to Tresilian, before gesturing to them to enter the room.
Tresilian was seated on a throne-like chair set on the raised dais before the window embrasure. The heavy wooden chair to which Alwenna had been tied was set off to his left-hand side, the leather straps dangling from the arms as if in readiness. Either side of the window stood Curtis and Weaver, neither of whom made any sign of recognition. Beyond Tresilian, in the deep window embrasure, the priestess knelt at the altar table with her back to them, head bent in prayer. Incense burners on either side of the embrasure filled the room with an overpowering scent, while dishes of lavender were ranged along either wall. All this Alwenna noticed as if in a dream. Her eyes were drawn to the ornate dagger lying on the altar table, glinting in the sunlight. Either side of it were two metal bowls, both inscribed with runes – identical to the bowl used to catch her blood.
Two bowls? She glanced at Erin, who was keeping her head lowered and eyes on the ground. One each? One for each arm? One for each throat? No, surely then they’d have need of bigger bowls. The thought was scant comfort.
In front of her Marten made his obeisance in formal court style, omitting the freemerchant gestures he normally used. Sycophant, she thought, and two-faced to the last. She could remember his anger of the day before, even if he and Tresilian preferred not to. That at least had been honest.
“As promised, highness, I bring the fugitives before you.” Marten turned and took his place on Alwenna’s right-hand side, while Erin stood on her left. He clasped his hands before him and lowered his head in suitably submissive style. Beneath his elaborate court tunic Alwenna could see he wore serviceable travelling garments. Ready to make a swift exit if his plans went awry? Some plan of his own that Alwenna and Erin had overset?
“Dangerous fugitives they must be, to require so many soldiers to keep them in line.” Tresilian ran his gaze over Alwenna and the servant girl. “Wife, remove that peasant’s garb. It does not become you.”
Alwenna tugged the scarf from her head and shook her unbound hair free.
Tresilian’s mouth tightened. “I care even less for the way you’ve styled your hair.”
Alwenna raised her chin. “Your court is teeming with vermin, husband. I would sooner make life difficult for them.” She was aware of a tiny motion from Marten. Did he presume to warn caution? She glanced his way before returning her attention to Tresilian’s face. “I fear my measures to rid myself of them were not extreme enough.”
Did she imagine Tresilian smiled?
Behind her one of the soldiers coughed, and Tresilian turned his attention to them. “You four, wait in the great hall until I give you further orders.” He watched, frowning, until they’d withdrawn.
The overpowering smell of incense was making Alwenna lightheaded. Absent-mindedly, she let the headscarf slide from her fingers.
The priestess’ voice grew louder as she continued to intone her strange, misshapen words before the altar. Alwenna felt as if she should have recognised them. Tresilian seemed to. For a moment he closed his eyes, his attitude reminiscent of Gwydion when he became lost in meditation. Tresilian opened his eyes, his expression once more dispassionate. She was nothing more than a problem he needed to solve. She might have reasoned with the old Tresilian, the one she knew. This one was a stranger to her, and the time for reasoning long past.
Marten cleared his throat. “Your highness, I have brought the fugitives as I promised I would. You can have no reason to doubt my loyalty. I beg you will now sign the decrees we agreed at Highkell. That is all I ask, then I shall withdraw from court and trouble you no more.”
“But Marten, if you withdraw from court you will serve me no more.” Tresilian studied the freemerchant. “And you have been inordinately useful.”
Marten bowed graciously. “I try my humble best, your highness.”
“Unfortunately in the matter of Highkell, your humble best has not been good enough.”
“Highness, I have brought you through death, and you are as strong as you ever were. I have brought you your queen, who is key to the east. Without the support of her people Vasic’s situation is untenable.”
“It is not enough. I would be stronger than I ever was. You must remove the usurper from Highkell and bring him to me.”
“Highness, for that you would need an army. I am no general.”
Alwenna watched them argue. Key to the east? Was that all she’d ever been to her husband? She couldn’t believe that. She realised the priestess had fallen silent, thank the Goddess. She looked up to find the girl had stood up and was staring straight at her with those colourless grey eyes.
“You mustn’t do this. You mustn’t.” The girl’s voice cracked on the final word.
Foolish girl. “I’m doing nothing.”
“Nor will you!” The priestess snatched up the dagger from the altar and rushed forward, throwing herself at Alwenna. Alwenna ducked as the gemstones flashed towards her. Marten grabbed Alwenna’s arm and pulled her clear, sending her sprawling on the floor when her ankle gave way. He drew his sword as Erin caught hold of the priestess’ knife arm, grappling with her. As abruptly as she’d attacked, the priestess went limp and crumpled to the ground, dropping the dagger. It rolled across the floor and came to rest against the foot of the dais, gems bright and vivid.
Curtis ran forward and dragged Erin away from the priestess, pinning his forearm about her throat.
The priestess slumped on the floor, her words muffled by sobs. “You mustn’t do it. The king has been singled out for great honour by the Goddess.” She tried to speak with an air of authority, but her voice was that of a frightened child. “You must not fight their will.”
“Great honour?” Alwenna pushed herself up to her hands and knees. “All of that died with him in the dungeon at Highkell.”
The girl turned her grey eyes to where the dagger had fallen.
Alwenna was closest to it and before she knew what she was doing she’d grabbed it by the hilt. The gemstones flared. “This is the only instrument the Goddess needs.” She felt the blood coursing through her veins and that same lightheadedness she’d experienced when Hames died. This was the will of the Goddess, she was sure of it. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life.
The girl stared, wide-eyed. “You mustn’t. You mustn’t.” She leaped to her feet and dashed for the door to the private chambers beyond, diving through it and slamming it shut. The instant later they heard the sound of the bolt being slid across, then the girl’s footsteps retreating.
Weaver had moved to Tresilian’s side, his sword at the ready. Tresilian seemed frozen halfway through rising from his seat, unable to tear his eyes from Alwenna. Erin struggled, but Curtis now held her arms pinned behind her back.
Marten turned to Tresilian. “Highness. Nothing has changed, let us discuss this calmly.”
“Everything has changed.” Tresilian’s voice was ice. “You have drawn steel in the king’s chamber.”