“There’s no need for such excitement,” he said. “There’s enough of me to go around.”
“Tell me your name and your business here.” Neirin was cold, his eyes narrow and his lips curled in a sneer.
“This lot call me Six.” He jerked his head at the crowd below, all staring very hard at the floor. “They’re learning not to play dice with me.”
“I asked what your business was. Not what your hobbies are.”
“Dice is my business,” he replied. “But perhaps you gentlefolk prefer cards? Cockfighting? Name your poison and I’ll play.” He grinned. “I hear Eastern coin just became good currency in the Heel.”
Neirin stilled. “Where did you hear that?”
Six shrugged. “The rumour mill,” he said. “Doesn’t grind the finest flour but you being here suggests it’ll make a fine bread this time.”
“Enough,” Neirin snapped. “The truth. What are you doing here?”
“Swindling these men out of their money.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Supporting myself with games of chance.”
“What are you doing here?”
Six sighed. “Getting bored. And a headache. Got any arnica?”
Neirin leaned over the table. “I can do this all night.”
“Stamina, eh? The ladies must love you.”
Neirin slapped him. It was a casual, back-handed affair but delivered with a ferocity that made Tom jump. It snapped Six’s head around with astonishing force and his cheek opened up, blood oozing from a small cut.
Six’s smirk grew stronger, like a balm against the pain.
Neirin’s eyes blazed and his jaw clenched. Then he seemed to calm. “You are a scout.” The cold, icy tones were back. “Tell me how many troops are waiting to invade. How many dragons has Idris sent to this duchy? Is he looking for us?”
“I have no idea what Idris wants.” But Tom could see something behind that smirk. A liar knows a liar. “In case your eyes are not what they were, this tattoo here means I’m banished. I haven’t been in the Western Kingdom for four years.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Neirin hissed.
“It’s true, Lord Neirin,” Katharine spoke in a tone Tom had never heard from her before. Careful. Soft. Scared. “That tattoo is a brand. It tells the world that he has done something so bad that he cannot be allowed to remain in the Kingdom.”
Neirin’s lip twitched. But he nodded to Katharine all the same. “So. You’re some sort of criminal. Seeking a way back into your king’s good graces?”
“That king doesn’t have good graces.”
“And how would you know?”
“Well I’m an innocent elf branded as a traitor. That sort of thing leaves an impression.” The smirk was gone now. There was anger. Bitterness. Blood trickled down his cheek in a fine dark line.
“I’m sure everyone who wears that tattoo says the same.”
“Probably.”
An impasse. The two elfs stared at each other, one dark, one golden.
“Take him to our rooms,” Neirin said. “Bind him. Gag him. Watch him.”
Draig nodded, pulling Six out of his chair and dragging him towards the stairs before he could get his feet under him. Neirin watched them go, his face a cool, confident mask. Then he sat and noise returned to the inn, tentative and strained. The mask fell away and Neirin looked troubled, the weight of Tir on his shoulders.
“You think he’s a scout, my lord?” Siomi asked.
Neirin blinked and seemed to remember where he was. He squared his shoulders and the mask slipped back into place. He waved at a boy, who trembled though Neirin didn’t look at him. “Wine. A bottle. Glasses.” The boy ran as soon as he was sure Neirin was done. “It is too convenient that there are Westerners at the Heel’s door and there is a Westerner here.”
“Yet these men did not seem to mind,” Siomi said. She stood at Neirin’s side, her hands together and hidden in her sleeves. “Would they not have been hostile to him, were he a scout or a spy?”
“I doubt he’s being honest with them either,” Neirin replied. “Or perhaps he has money.”
“You think he was paying them for their silence.”
Neirin nodded. “And for information.”
“But the West wouldn’t take it,” said Katharine. “An elf who is banished is considered worse than dead. They wouldn’t look at him, let alone listen to him.”
“Why else would he be here?” Neirin asked. “If he is so hated by the West, why is he in a duchy soon to be invaded by them?”
“Maybe he’s not very smart.”
Neirin smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.
“Master Rymour, have you foreseen anything that might shed light on this?” Siomi asked.
Tom felt nervous. After that display of casual violence, he wondered how Neirin would react if Tom said something displeasing. “He knows something of magic,” he said. “And he comes with us.”
That surprised everyone but Neirin. He looked at Tom with calm and trust. “You’re sure?” he asked.
Tom nodded.
“That seems unwise,” Siomi said, as if it were Tom’s idea.
“I agree,” Katharine said. “We have enough problems already without a prisoner to worry about.”
“And yet.” Neirin gestured towards Tom. “He comes with us.”
There was no further discussion. Neirin stared through the table, mind elsewhere, absently turning a ring on his right hand. Katharine looked back out over the inn. Tom felt the boards beneath them move and knew she was bouncing her leg; she only did that when she was worried. What was she worried about? Six? Neirin? Was she looking for Regent’s men? He glanced at the inn but the patrons were showing as little interest as possible.
Siomi, however, was looking at him with great interest. She did not look away when he caught her gazing at him. She was unembarrassed, examining him as if she had never seen him before. It made Tom feel uncomfortable, wondering what meaning she found in each of his movements. He became conscious, of all things, of how often he was blinking.
Thankfully Brega took the attention from him. “The innkeep thanks you for your generosity, my lord,” she said. She had an edge to her voice, as if she was angry at everything. “He swears the elf was not a scout but an outcast.”
“Indeed?” Neirin seemed unimpressed.
“So he claims.” She remained at the bottom of the steps, looking up at them. “He also claims the Westerner has been advocating calm. That the West isn’t planning to invade the Heel at all.”
“Really?” Neirin turned to Siomi. He didn’t see Brega bristle at the interruption. “The Western King marches at the head of a mighty army backed by dragons. Do you think peace is on his mind?”
Tom had thought the question sarcastic but Siomi treated it straight. “Not likely, my lord. It’s not easy to turn an army around. I’d say he means war.”
“So does the outcast,” said Brega.
“He can’t have it both ways,” Neirin snapped. “Peace and war in the same breath? Next he’ll be saying an elf can lie with a man.”
What did he mean by that? Were men not good enough for elfs?
“No, my lord.” Brega was getting angrier. Tom could see it in her eyes. She spoke in a rush, trying to get her words out before Neirin interrupted again. “The outcast is saying that the West is invading Erhenned first.”
Erhenned. Where they were headed.
“You are certain?” Neirin’s voice was slow and careful.
Brega seemed calmer, her message delivered. “That is what the innkeeper said. His fellows agreed.”
All eyes turned to Neirin. His fists and jaw clenched and he stood, every motion slow and deliberate, as if it caused him pain.
“My lord.” Siomi began, but Neirin barked something in elfish before storming from the dais and up the stairs. Brega followed. Siomi did not. Tom watched Siomi watch Neirin. She seemed worried. Stricken. Upset. She stared at the door l
ong after Neirin had disappeared inside.
The boy arrived with the wine. His hands shook as he placed the bottle and glasses on the table and he didn’t look at Siomi. Tom and Katharine stood out of his way, awkward and unsure of what to do.
“Begging your pardon.” The boy’s voice quavered. What was he, ten? Certainly no older. Grubby too. He spoke as if he were repeating lines given to him by another, voice flat and monotonous. “Can I fetch anything else for my lords and ladies? Food or music?”
Tom’s stomach growled loud enough for all to hear. Even distracted Siomi looked at him. He blushed.
Emboldened, the boy said, “We have a fine pottage, if it please my lord. Or a good lentil loaf? Or some meat pies?”
“Enough,” Tom said, but smiled to remove any sting.
“Eat,” Siomi said. Her eyes were gentle again. “You travelled far today.”
“Thank you,” Tom replied. To the boy he said, “Pottage sounds good to me. I haven’t had any in so long.”
The boy scampered away and Katharine smiled. “Only you would think pottage is a treat.”
He smiled back. “I have simple tastes.” He turned to Siomi. “Will you join us?”
She nodded. “Lord Neirin told me to watch you.” But she stared at the door.
Tom wondered why Katharine and he would need watching. “Sit,” he suggested. She didn’t move for a moment. Then she sat and stared at the table, eyes pinched. He wanted to reassure her but he barely knew her. It felt too forward, to pry into her thoughts and act like he knew her. So they sat in awkward silence.
“We shouldn’t sit here,” Katharine said. “We’re too visible.”
The patrons were still refusing to look at them.
“Easterners in the Heel will be visible wherever they sit,” Siomi replied. She was looking at her hands, hidden in the sleeves of her robes.
“I was thinking of Tom,” Katharine said.
“You said it would be safe here,” he said.
“I did.” But she didn’t sound so sure. “It is.” She kept looking at the patrons. Had the incident with Six spooked her? Tom frowned. Katharine wasn’t the type to be easily spooked. But she looked nervous. Uncertain.
“What do we do?” he asked. When the pair of them looked at him, he added, “If Six isn’t lying. If Erhenned is next.”
“Whatever Lord Neirin decides,” Siomi said, with a finality that brooked no further discussion.
But what if Neirin made the wrong decision? “We can’t risk losing our path into Faerie.” Or that’s what he wanted to say. But he felt that pressure in his mind, a thought that stopped his words before they could begin; it wasn’t true. They could risk it. There was no danger if they failed. So he said, “Can we risk losing our path into Faerie?”
“We can,” said Siomi, “if he orders it.”
“You will have made me an outlaw for nothing,” Tom said. He kept his voice calm and reasoned.
“We made you do nothing.” Her voice was the same.
“What will I do if he decides to give up?” He would have to leave the Heel. And go where? Not to the Marches, to the brutality and oppression of the West. Not to Erhenned, where the West would be shortly. And not to Tanabawr, not there. Tom felt his breath quicken and a little panic bloom in his chest. He was running out of places to go.
And Siomi saw it. Her brilliant blue eyes seemed to pierce his outer layers and peer into that panic. She said, “You do not need Lord Neirin to find your death, Thomas Rymour. Nor anyone else. You need only yourself.”
What did that mean? Was she saying he would die? Or was she threatening him? No. Her eyes were too open. Too calm. He realised she was trying to reassure him.
“You advise him,” he said.
“I do,” she replied. “Since my fifth summer.”
Fifth? She was just a child. “Then he will listen to you.”
“And you would have me persuade him to do what you want him to.”
Tom fought a grimace. Those eyes saw much.
“I will not fight your cause, Thomas Rymour.” Her voice was calm, soothing. “When I was chosen as Lord Neirin’s protector, a great honour was bestowed upon me. And in showing myself as worthy of the choice, I bested thousands of other children. So, were I to betray Lord Neirin’s trust, I would betray not only him, but his father, and all of the children who wanted the honour I now bear.”
She spoke with such conviction and honesty that Tom felt ashamed for suggesting it. He couldn’t meet her open gaze. He looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Do not be sorry,” she said. “You did not know and so cannot be blamed.”
He looked up again and saw a smile in her eyes. He offered a smile of his own, though he was still embarrassed.
“We should leave tomorrow,” Katharine said. “Whatever we do.”
“If that is Lord Neirin’s will,” Siomi replied as the boy returned with three steaming bowls. This time he stole a glance at the elf, staring until she looked back. The pottage smelt good, full of vegetables and herbs. A few small pieces of meat floated in it but most of it was leek and potato, it seemed. It was odd to see potato in there, but it still made Tom think of home. “This looks delicious,” he said to the boy. “Would you take four more to our companions? They’re probably hungry too.”
“Three bowls,” Siomi said. To Tom she said, “There shall be none for the Westerner.”
The boy looked between Tom and Siomi for a moment. “Four,” said Tom and gave the boy a push. He ran off. “It’s wrong to let him go hungry.”
“He is a prisoner.”
“He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“His own people say differently.”
“And they punished him for it,” said Tom. “Can you imagine not being able to go home, lady elf? Can you imagine how lonely he feels, in a world he doesn’t understand filled with people who don’t understand him?”
He didn’t look at Katharine. He couldn’t. Because he knew what he would see: pity. He couldn’t bear to see pity.
“It was his choice to come here, Master Rymour,” Siomi said. “His choice to sink so low. He must bear the cost of that choice.”
Sink so low? “Is that what you think, Siomi?” he asked. “Are we so unworthy of your company?”
She blinked. It was hard to read her expression behind the mask. Surprise? Surprise at the idea? Or surprised he’d figured her out? “No,” she said. But she said nothing more.
“I see.” He stood and picked up his bowl. It was hot but he tried not to show it. “I think I’ll eat upstairs.”
“Tom,” Katharine began but he held up a hand.
“Goodnight,” he said and climbed down from the dais.
The boy showed Tom to his room, climbing creaky stairs and passing a handful of closed doors. He wondered which one Six was behind. The boy showed him into a small room, dominated by a small bed. He recognised Katharine’s bags on the floor next to some others. Perhaps the clothes Neirin had rescued from his rooms at Cairnagan.
“Anything else, m’lord?” the boy asked.
Tom waved him away. “I’m not a lord.”
“But you’re Lord Thomas Rymour, ain’t you?”
“I am Thomas Rymour,” he said, sitting on the bed and pulling off his boots. It felt good to free his feet. The rushes were clean and fresh beneath them. “I’m not a lord.”
“Oh,” the boy said. He waited at the door.
“Yes, boy?”
He fiddled with the hem of his tunic, a grubby, sleeveless affair. “Begging your pardon, sir, but have you seen my future?”
Tom’s first thought was to sigh and send him away. But he didn’t deserve a brusque dismissal. “No, I haven’t,” he said, as kindly as he could. And when the boy looked disappointed, he said, “But knowing your future is not as wonderful as it sounds.”
He nodded but it was obvious he didn’t believe it. “Very good, sir.”
“No sirs, either,” Tom said. “I’m not a knig
ht.”
The boy frowned. “What are you then?”
It was a good question, and the answer was too complicated at that moment. “Just a man,” he said. And it was hard to hear those words coming from his mouth. Not special, not unique, no different from any other.
The boy nodded. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The door closed and Tom sighed, rubbing his eyes. His body ached in places he’d forgotten he’d had. What was he going to do? He didn’t think Neirin would abandon this journey. But if they didn’t go to Erhenned, what then? Tom didn’t relish the idea of wandering Tir for the chance of stumbling across a Faerie Circle. Would the fay help? He wished Glastyn was here. He was surprised to find he missed the fay. Even if he wouldn’t help, which was almost certain, his presence would have been a comfort.
He sighed again and climbed into the bed. He’d figure it out later.
“I can do no more,” the dwarf said. Her voice was quiet and her eyes were downcast as if she feared rebuke. “I don’t have the supplies.”
“Is it enough?” Tom asked.
The dwarf hesitated. Then, “No.” It was an obvious struggle to say so.
“Then what do we do?” he asked.
“We need to get her to a doctor.”
Tom’s hands were covered in blood, sticky and warm. They were stood in corridors, sharp and dark. It was not warm and it was not cold.
“Tom.” Katharine’s face was pinched. Pain made her eyes ugly. She reached for him. “It’s too late for that,” she said. “Just hold my hand.”
Tom woke to the sound of the door closing.
“Sorry,” Katharine whispered. The only light was from the candle in her hands and it took a moment for Tom’s eyes to adjust.
“Everything alright?”
“As well as can be expected.” She placed the candle on the bedside table and stripped off her clothes. She made no attempt to hide herself and Tom made no attempt to look away. Perhaps it was the sleepiness, or the dream, he told himself. He let himself admire her figure. The candlelight highlighted the muscles stretching under her smooth skin. She was lithe, stronger than she looked, sensual. His eyes lingered on her breasts. She caught him staring and he looked away. His discomfort grew as she climbed into bed and put an arm over his chest.
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 8
