"Am I free to go into the city?"
The earl nodded. "Though I would advise against it. There are many dangerous people lurking about. I would advise you to start your search with my wizard, Avallune Martill. He may know something about the Hooded Man's dark magic."
Cara felt a swell of hope. Perhaps, with the earl's help, she would find Renna. She asked, "What about Stanthorpe?"
A brief look of amusement crossed the earl's face. "He would not dare defy me and take you from the palace. If it would make you feel safer, I could assign a guard–"
Alex coughed. Cara twisted to look at him as he spoke for the first time since they'd entered. "It's been a long day, Druam. You've met her and seen me safely returned. May I escort her back to her rooms, to allow her time to think over everything you've said?"
It seemed as if the earl wanted Cara to stay, for his eyes flicked back and forth between her and Alex, but he acquiesced. "Very well. I am sure we will have many more talks, Maid Gellder. My apologies for keeping you from your rest. Good night."
Cara held Alex's arm, her thoughts whirling as he walked her back to her rooms. Her mind had still not quieted as they stood outside her door, and without questioning her need, she said, "Alex, can you come sit with me awhile?"
"Of course." They curled up on a well-cushioned couch, his knee brushing hers. Cara's head felt light from the wine. And, perhaps, Alex's closeness. He smelled of soap and musky sweat, and his hair drifted into his eyes no matter how often he brushed it away.
"If you're such a great lord," Cara asked, "why did you go to Mott?"
"My elder brother, Verdon, studied there. After his disappearance, I visited the library, hoping he might have just...fallen asleep among the tomes. I began to read the scrolls and books, and now I spend as much time there as I can. After the prowlers became more than a pest, I spent my days researching them and translating ancient texts that might have some hints as to their origin. That's how I learned about fampir, too."
"Oh. I didn't know you had another brother."
"Verdon was kind, and fair." Alex settled deeper into the cushion beside her. He spoke wistfully, "Whenever Druam and I fought – which was nearly constantly – Verdon would intervene and find a compromise, or just tell us both to shut it. He was the only one who could make us stop. Since he's been gone, Druam and I have done our best to avoid quarrels.
"But beyond that, he was a gentle soul who hated palace politics. He wanted to help people, but never knew how. He eventually chose the scholarly life. His trips home were infrequent enough that Druam and I didn't even know he'd gone missing until over a month after it happened.
"Verdon never took a wife, but he would have been happy with one. He and Druam used to talk about how they'd name their children and where they'd want them raised. Druam often went to him for advice." Alex paused, and Cara shifted closer to him. He said quietly, "I always imagined us growing into old men together, watching our grandchildren play in the gardens while we talked aimlessly about the weather. It's impossible, but it's such a peaceful dream that I can't let go of it."
"Then don't," Cara said, taking his hand. Heat grew in the space between them. They leaned together into the couch.
"We're going to find Renna, you know," Alex said, his light touch sending thrills up Cara's arms.
"How can you be so sure?" she asked.
His head fell into the nook of her shoulder and neck. "Because you're here now, and there's nothing you can't do."
Cara smiled. "I hope you're right."
For a time, they simply stayed quiet, enjoying the other's presence. When the candles guttered, Alex mumbled, "Are you tired?"
"Yes," Cara said, feeling every ache of the journey.
"Then come to bed." Slowly getting to his feet, Alex offered her his hand. Taking it, Cara followed him into the bedchamber, his skin warm against hers. Though she knew it to be wrong, that she was a lowly rustic and he a high lord, she didn't stop him, didn't hesitate when he kissed her and drew her into the sheets. All the pains of the journey, the losses and the hardships, were forgotten for a time, and all she knew was the taste of his lips, the smoothness of his skin, and the intense need to be with him as they moved together.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sandu
DAWN BROKE, cold and harsh in the mist-folks' swamp. Sandu stretched, his arms and legs aching. Looking around, he saw nothing but pale green-and-grey trees with fog curling around their trunks. Jagger had drowned, and his friends were back in their camp...wherever their camp was.
In the hazy light, Sandu couldn't quite tell the sun's position. It all looked the same. Plugging his ears against the mist-folks' cries, he trudged through the mire, his boots squelching with each step. His stomach rumbled in hunger, his throat clenched against thirst. All that pushed him forward was the thought of finding Cara and Alex.
Around midday, Sandu reached a farmer's track cutting through the swamp. Looking to his right and left, he knew that he was utterly lost. Going right might lead him back to the village, but it could also lead him farther away.
I was a gambler once, he thought, taking out a shem and flipping it. It landed printed-side-up, and so he went right. The track was old and worn, and he stumbled and scrambled over rocks, tree roots, and small streams, his hands and knees scratched and his clothing torn. At least he could quench his thirst with the streams, and knew enough of botany to pick a few non-poisonous berries to eat. His stomach rumbled around the meagre food.
As the sun began its descent, Sandu realized that he was heading vaguely west. Away from the town. Darkness closed around him, but he saw firelight gleaming through the trees. Bashing through shrubs, he ran as fast as his lungs would let him until he crashed down a hillside and into a circle of torchlight. Large sconces ringed a good-sized camp, which was filled with carts, a smelter, lumps of stone, and ten or fifteen well-muscled men. One of them shouted something as Sandu flopped to his feet, and he found himself surrounded by a ring of axes and picks.
"He don' look like a prowler," one man said.
"Or a misty," said another.
"I'm a vecking man," Sandu said, raising his hands. "A traveler. I was separated from my companions; I mean no harm."
"You look like shit," said one man, brawnier than all the rest. "I'm Mason, foreman of this mine. Who're you?"
"Sandu Crin. Can I share bread and ale with you tonight? I'll be on my way come morning, as long as I'm shown the road to Riverfen."
"Aye, we can grant you that. Stand down, fellows. We've got ourselves a right purty little man dining with us tonight."
With a meal and ale in his belly, Sandu relaxed. These were good, simple folk. All of them were friendly enough, swapping stories around the fire. A small group sat a little ways off, throwing dice and alternately laughing or cursing.
"Care to join?" one of the gamblers shouted to Sandu, waving the dice enticingly. "Only a copper penning to start you off."
Sandu hadn't gambled in deshes; surely one night wouldn't hurt? He could recoup some losses, maybe pay off his debts, maybe even go home to Tambrey and the twins someday...
...The stench of mead clung to his tongue and spilled out onto his breath. He hadn't bathed in a deshe, and old vomit stained his filthy shirt. Bartholomew scrabbled at the door until he found the worn metal handle. He lifted it and tripped over the threshold on his way in.
"Veck!" he swore, louder than he intended. He couldn't see any shapes moving in the dark room. The door to the only bedroom was closed. Tambrey was asleep, then, cuddling with the children.
Bartholomew Barrow – for he had yet to change his name to Sandu Crin – shuffled to the fireplace with its cast iron cauldron hanging above smoldering embers. The cauldron still had stew left over from that day. Making more noise than he thought he was, he found a bowl and spoon and proceeded to feast on the cold food.
"You're drunk again." Tambrey sounded as if she hadn't slept at all that night. Slurping down the last dregs in his bo
wl, Bartholomew said, "Your stew's as good as always." His words were more slurred than he had hoped.
"You're lucky you didn't wake the twins." Suppressed venom layered Tambrey's voice, as if she wished to rant and shout at him but resisted. "How much did you lose tonight?"
"It's not–"
"The pot on the hearth is empty, I know you took the last of our silver."
"I'll win it back."
"Horseshit."
"I promise, I've just had a string of bad luck..."
Tambrey didn't wait for him to finish. She stalked into the bedroom, and when Bartholomew tried to follow, she shoved him back and lodged a chair against the door. Tired and with a pounding headache, Bartholomew slept in front of the fire.
Every night for months, Bartholomew came home drunk with an empty purse. Always, he had an excuse. Tambrey grew more and more angry with him, but it was only after his father was dragged to debtors' prison in his place that Bartholomew found his house empty. All their belongings had been taken to the property of Tambrey's new husband. When he'd tried to beg her forgiveness, Tambrey told him coldly that he was dead to her and everyone else in town. She'd already told the twins he had drowned in a river. So he changed his name, left Dunfrey, and took with him the few things he had left in the world...
...Declining the miners' invitation, Sandu turned back to the fire. He couldn't start all over again. His father was in jail, but not Cara. He would make her see how much he regretted his betrayal, yet how happy he was to have met her. I won't gamble again. I won't do that to myself.
But as the night drew on, and the gamblers' talk grew more boisterous, Sandu found it harder and harder to resist. His fingers tugged at the purse on his hip, his mind straying to the many good times he'd had playing cards or dice. But those good times didn't last.
One of the miners sat down beside him and offered a drink. Sandu accepted it, taking the excuse not to speak. The miner said quietly, "You can join 'em if you like. They don' mind dealing to strangers."
Sandu hunched his shoulders. It appeared the miner had misinterpreted Sandu's glances at the gamblers. For a moment, Sandu didn't know what to say. After a minute's awkward silence, he mumbled, "I really shouldn't."
"What's to lose? A penning or two? A game won' hurt, and you'll feel better for the company."
The words beat against Sandu's resolve. His fingers danced with a coin in his pocket. He's right, one game can't hurt. I need some fun after the last few days. Sandu lurched to his feet and stepped toward the gamblers before he realized what he was doing. He stopped short, halfway between the fire and the table, and stared at the ground.
"Alright there?" the miner asked. "Come on, let's join the next throw."
"No," Sandu forced out. "I...I think I should just go to bed." He could have said that he needed all his money to reach Riverfen, but he knew these sorts. They'd merely say that he had a chance of winning far more than he lost.
The miner shrugged as Sandu turned away. Quivery steps took Sandu to a tent, and he crawled into the blankets with no small relief. As he shut his eyes, he tried to stifle the sounds of the gamblers outdoors. If Cara turns me away, then I can gamble everything I have, Sandu told himself. I just have to hold on another day.
In the morning, Sandu hitched a ride on the miners' cart which deposited him in a town on the western edge of the swamp. The only people he saw were strangers. Sandu half-wondered if he shouldn't just go join the miners and live out his days doing menial labor and gambling away his earnings.
Then he sighed, hefted the pack a kindly miner had given him, and headed into the town's bunkhouse. The man at the bar gave him a small nod and said, "Bit early for a bunk, isn't it?"
"I'm not staying," Sandu said. His eyes drifted over the empty tables where he had hoped to find Alex and Cara. "I'm looking for someone."
"Mayhaps I can help."
"A man and a woman, about my age. The man is well-dressed, with light hair. The woman has dark hair and a sword."
"Aye, I saw them both last night. They left early this morning. Though the woman was fairly hurt by the looks of her." The innkeep held out a mug. "Friends of yours?"
"Yes." Sandu took the mug, slapped a coin on the counter, then gulped down the bitter ale. He handed it back and gave another coin. "Thank you, sir."
Though his body still ached and his feet were sore, Sandu set off once more for Riverfen. His lightened heart gave him strength to push on. They would all meet in Riverfen. Everything would be right again. And Cara will forgive you. You just have to keep believing that.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Seanna
SEANNA WOKE first and gently rolled to her side so as not to wake Maeria. The young woman slept on, heedless of the sunshine pouring across her cheeks and golden hair. Maeria snuffled a little bit, one hand cupped against her chin. Reaching over to stroke the girl's hair, Seanna smiled. If only this simple moment could last a lifetime...
Leaning down, Seanna kissed Maeria deeply, savoring the taste of the girl's morning lips. When she drew back, Maeria's eyes flitted open. The girl yawned and stretched out her arms, then pressed herself against Seanna, entwining their legs. Her fingers traced across Seanna's skin, pale white against light brown, and ran down to Seanna's belly.
"How did you sleep?" Seanna mumbled.
"Like a babe. I had the sweetest dreams of being with my lover."
"Mm. Sounds exquisite." If only Dotschar could have two queens...
"And you?"
"I slept perfectly."
"The child? Did he kick at all?" With a longing look, Maeria cupped her hand against the largest part of Seanna's pregnancy.
Seanna said, "Oh yes. But I loved each one."
"Good." For a second, neither spoke, merely enjoying the other's presence.
Maeria said softly, "I wish I could be with child. To feel it moving within me, to know that soon I'd be the mother to a new life. I'm terrified that I will live to old age having never experienced such profound joy."
"I do feel so blessed. To feel him grow and wonder what his life will become. All I want is to shape him into the finest, kindest king D'Ehsen has known. But it's not all joy," Seanna said, remembering her miscarriages. "There is pain, and discomfort, and sometimes loss. Children die so often before their parents."
Maeria sighed. "Yes, but that is a risk we must take. And think of the times when the parents get to see their child ride a horse for the first time, win tourneys, marry. I want so badly to have the chance to rear a child born of my own flesh and blood."
"I'm sure you will someday, dear one. Then we can raise our children together and watch them grow up side by side. Who knows...perhaps you will produce a daughter that marries my son and becomes queen."
"To be the queen's mother..." Maeria sighed again, though wistfully this time. "To see that fulfilled would be the greatest achievement of my life."
Seanna kissed her forehead. "If the gods are good, they will see it done."
They rested together for a few minutes more before Maeria rose and slipped away through a servant's passage. Seanna lay among the disheveled sheets, thinking of Maeria as the baby moved inside her.
The day passed the same as many now did, with tea and small gatherings to talk and embroider with other noble ladies. That evening, though, was yet another dinner with an exclusive guest list.
A guest list, fortunately so, which included Egil Rask's favorite nephew, Sir Chadron Elliot of Goblinshield.
Sir Chadron was in his early thirties and a prime target for Seanna's wiles. He had not yet arrived, so she practiced her craft among the nobles. Druam was her target this time, as his constant notes and invitations had started to annoy her.
"Poor Earl Seastone; his young wife is still carrying on in a most disgraceful manner with Lord Far-Eyes."
"Have you heard that Earl Seastone's health is fading? Accounts by those closest have reported his failing humors."
"The upcoming Masque is the earl's last effort
to make a place for himself among my husband's closest supporters. If it has any disturbances or issues, who knows what the results may be?"
Seanna's words caused ripples of murmurs to spread across the room. Buoyed by the effects, she plunged into her agenda regarding Predicant Manderly. Speaking to a group of lords, she said, "From what I've gathered, there are three undecided predicants; they are the ones who will choose between Manderly and Ropaz. Lord Rockhaven, I believe one of those predicants to be within your province...is there anything you can do to sway him toward the more righteous path?"
Lord Rockhaven tapped the side of his nose. "I hear Predicant Krinnow has a taste for fine wines. Perhaps I can send him a few bottles as an offering for his vote?"
"That would be most appreciated, my lord."
At last, Sir Chadron arrived. He had the stern, chiseled look that Egil must have possessed in his youth. Seanna waited for him to ask her to dance – it would not do to seem desperate – and during a Dotsch cantinella, her desire was fulfilled. He took her to the dance floor, leading her stiffly through the stately steps.
"Is it true," Chadron asked as they danced, "that you dined with Kair Aremo? I have heard such tall tales of the Dedarian prince that I question their veracity."
"I did dine with him, though in mixed company. Which tales intrigue you?"
"That he flaunts his paramour as if she were a creature of noble birth, and that he is overly lewd in his speech. Most importantly, that he is outright dismissive of any concerns that his kin are gathering on Dedaria."
"All true," Seanna said. "I asked him myself, and he believes his lands to be too small for a sizable host. And his paramour, while beautiful, is so obviously of low means that I cringe to think of a prince consorting with such a woman."
"Really? That is refreshing to hear. So often, all these rumors fly about with nothing to verify them."
"Absolutely. The gossiping in these courts is astounding, and to be frank, too much for one to keep up with."
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