Risha noted Muir’s narrowed gaze. Pulling up, she waited for Emett and rode the rest of the morning at his side.
Rain caught them late that afternoon so that they were cold and wet by the time they reached their evening’s lodgings. ‘We’ll reach Othbridge tomorrow,’ Muir told her as they rubbed down the horses. ‘We’ll rest there a few days before we head south.’
Risha shrugged at her wet clothes. ‘Just so long as it’s dry.’ She could almost hear Lyse saying ‘I told you so’.
‘Dry, but little else. There’s a watchtower and guardhouse. The Othar marks the northern boundary of LeMarc. The bridge is the only route in from the north.’
‘There was a bridge near the marsh,’ Risha said, recalling the flimsy structure of bundled sticks and reeds.
‘Built anew each summer. Nothing survives the river once the rains set in.’
‘What about trade?’
Muir bent to check Torfell’s hooves. ‘LeMarc’s main trade routes are across the Sound and through Saithe, or by sea via Havre. The Othar is virtually impassable for more than half the year, save at Othbridge.’
‘Then whoever controls the bridge controls the border with Fratton.’
Muir straightened. ‘Aye.’
Standing above the deep gorge, Risha could feel the ground shake. A fine mist of spray rose from the falls, dampening their clothes and hair, while conversation was limited by the crash of water falling to the churning cauldron below. Risha thought of Fenn.
With a touch on her arm, Muir beckoned her away. The bridge arced out across the gorge downstream of the falls. Even through the thick stone walls of the watchtower the muffled roar of the river could be heard, a constant rumbling beat that never seemed to tire.
The captain of the guard grinned at her expression. ‘It’s louder during the rains,’ he told her. ‘But you get used to it.’
Risha considered him doubtfully. ‘Have you been stationed here long, Captain Bayer?’
‘Two years. I don’t mind it. I’ve never been one for crowds.’
The last village they’d passed was a full day’s ride behind. ‘Do many people use the bridge?’
‘There’s not much traffic from Fratton these days. Hill people mostly.’
‘Dispossessed farmers and townspeople, gone half-feral,’ Muir expanded. ‘They survive on what they can hunt and gather in the forested hills between here and FrattonWater. It’s a meagre existence.’
‘Supplemented by trading pelts with the valley folk, as well as by less honest means,’ Bayer said.
‘Dispossessed by who?’ she asked.
‘Somoran.’
‘Dispossessed but not ill-organised,’ Cantrel said equably. ‘As a consequence, Somoran’s soldiers steer clear of the hills, which keeps them passable to others.’
The windows of the guardhouse provided a clear view of the bridge, stone-built and high enough above the river that no flood could touch it.
‘LeMarc’s isolation is its defence,’ Muir said. ‘Bounded by mountains, sea and river, LeMarc is impregnable.’
‘If you lost control of the bridge—’ Risha began.
‘Two dozen men could hold it against an army. It’s not for nothing it’s built so narrow. And at worst, we could destroy it.’
‘Will it come to that? To war?’ A darkness swam over her vision. A cry, the flash of a blade and blood — blood everywhere, soaking brightly patterned fabric, pooling across stone. Risha’s fingers tightened on the window’s stone lintel.
Muir hadn’t noticed. ‘Goltoy relies on the Plains and Fratton to support him, but Somoran is as slippery as a marsh snake. While Goltoy remains unsure of his support, no. If they were united … who knows? But if Havre will stand, the south is safe.’
Again, things came back to Havre. The shadow in her head flickered and pulsed. With a shake of her head, Risha banished it.
That night they slept within the watchtower while the early winter rains pattered insistently against the stone. Long after the others had settled, Risha lay sleepless. The roar of the falls reminded her of the howling gales of the northern mountains. It would be winter by now in Torfell. The goats would be shut in their wintering stalls, the villagers busy with final preparations for the long months indoors. She thought about Ganny. Her life would be difficult with Emett gone, especially if she’d fallen out with Bram.
Barc had once asked her whether Torfell would survive without the traders. War would mean they’d have to. As well, there would be young men in the village who would see soldiering as a way to escape the predictability of their lives. She wondered how many would leave, and how many fewer return. War would not go easily for Torfell.
Her dreams, when she slept, were of Ganny and Pelon, of her goats and the high summer pastures of the mountains. And of soldiers on horseback, pennants flying, and the grief they trailed behind them and gathered up to carry home.
In the morning Cantrel announced an errand that would take him into the forested hills beyond the bridge. Risha placed her closed fists on her hips. Did the man think her dull-witted? She could scarcely have failed to notice that the speed and character of their journey had changed immediately Cantrel received the letter Emett had carried.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said. ‘I’ve a fancy to see Barc on a matter of my own.’
The amusement that flashed across Muir’s face confirmed her guess. Cantrel, after offering a few token objections, acquiesced. In the end only Emett remained behind with the guardsmen.
Across the bridge they turned east, quickly crossing the open ground that separated them from the chill shadows of Great Caledon Forest. Muir and Harl seemed on edge, their hands hovering near their swords.
‘Have we far to go?’ Risha asked when Cantrel called a halt to rest the horses. Muir shook his head.
Near midday they reached a lake fringed by dense trees that ran right to the waterline. Its surface, ruffled by wind, was almost black. Risha shivered. Above them the sky was swollen dark with unspent rain. Dismounting, Muir led them around the shore to where a cabin was tucked into the trees at the toe of the lake. There was no sign of life. Leaving them with the horses, Muir went inside. When he reappeared, shaking his head, Harl spat into the grass.
‘He might have been delayed,’ Cantrel murmured. ‘We’ll wait.’
With a shrug Harl led the horses out of sight behind the building while Risha followed the seneschal inside. The cabin reminded her of her childhood home, though built of wood rather than stone. She glanced at the empty hearth. ‘Shall I light the fire?’
Cantrel nodded. ‘We may as well be comfortable.’
Cobwebs were strung across the logs that had been left for a fire, and a fine layer of dust covered the table and shelves. It had been a month or more since anyone had been here, Risha decided, though it would be easy enough to make the place homely.
Muir paced restlessly from one window to the next as she knelt to her task. She glanced at him. ‘Will he come?’
‘He should have been here before us.’
Risha lifted the blackened kettle from its trivet and went out to fetch water. A layer of scum floated on the surface of the barrel by the door. Raising the hood of her cloak she walked to the lake. Its surface, flurried by rain, had lightened to grey. She filled the kettle and turned back. A stick cracked in the trees. Transferring the kettle to her left hand, Risha eased her knife from beneath her cloak, cupping it out of sight along the inside of her wrist. Despite Gorth’s lessons, she felt nervy, her hand damp with sweat.
She’d taken only a handful of paces when a figure stepped from behind a trunk. ‘Is this how well the lady is guarded?’
‘Aye,’ came a voice to Risha’s left. Harl appeared from the trees, crossbow notched at his shoulder.
Barc pushed back the hood of his cloak. ‘Then it’s lucky I’m a friend.’
Flipping her knife casually, Risha settled it back within its sheath. ‘Lucky indeed.’
18
The
heir of LeMarc
‘What news of the girl?’ Cantrel demanded. ‘Your letter claimed the situation was urgent.’
Barc tossed his damp cloak across a chair. ‘Somoran has moved his plans forward. He intends to wed her come mid-winter.’
‘But she’s still a child! Breath of Sargath, how can he conceive it?’
Barc growled. ‘Precisely his intention. I have to adjust my plans accordingly.’ He ran a hand through his hair. Strain showed in the lines and shadows of his face. ‘I trust I can rely on Donnel’s support.’
The silence stretched thin. ‘There are matters which muddy the waters.’
Barc looked from Cantrel to Risha and back again. ‘She’s safe, as I promised. Margetta is not.’
‘We owe it to luck and little else that Arishara reached LeMarc,’ Cantrel growled.
‘I did what I had to. And without my intervention: who knows?’ His eyes narrowed on Cantrel. ‘As soon as I was sure, I brought word to Donnel.’
‘As a bargaining counter,’ Cantrel answered. ‘Without telling us where she was.’
‘What has it to do with Donnel?’ Risha asked.
Barc frowned. ‘You … she doesn’t know?’
‘What don’t I know?’
No one answered. Her anger flared from a simmer to a boil. ‘Ever since I left Torfell I’ve been hedged about by lies and half-truths! What more don’t I know?’ Cantrel’s face was closed. She spun to face Barc. ‘You told me in Torfell that you knew nothing of my family, while all along, you knew who my mother was.’
‘And your father,’ he said quietly.
‘My father? My father is no secret. But—’ A sudden, cold tightening in her belly stopped her tongue.
Barc was watching Cantrel, the old man’s lips compressed in an angry pout. ‘She has a right to know.’
Muir stood abruptly. ‘She does. Risha, I would have told you before now, were I not sworn to silence—’
‘You’re still sworn!’ Cantrel snapped. ‘By blood oath.’
‘Then on my blood be it,’ Muir said. ‘Risha—’
‘Wait! What do you mean, blood oath?’
‘I will not countenance this!’ Cantrel thundered. ‘Risha, you must wait unless you would choose Muir’s death.’
‘No! I want no more deaths on my hands!’
A barbed silence followed her words. Cantrel broke it. ‘I was not aware that deaths lay on them already.’
Risha might have bitten her tongue — but perhaps it was better the secrecy came to an end.
Barc cleared his throat. ‘Not being sworn to Donnel, I have no oath to break. My life is not forfeit.’
‘That, I doubt you should assume,’ Muir said, deceptively quiet.
Barc’s quick grin was humourless. ‘Even so. Risha, my allegiance was sworn to Everil, last true lord of Fratton. Before he died I took an oath to protect his granddaughter and heir, the Lady Margetta, and to see her gain her rightful seat.’
‘I always suspected you were something other than a trader.’
‘As I suspected you were other than a maker of pies and milker of goats.’
Despite herself, she smiled. ‘The first time you came to Torfell, you said my pie tasted good even though I’d burned it.’ Barc gave a mock bow. ‘You knew who my mother was from your first visit?’
He shook his head. ‘Pelon denied it. He was reluctant to hear what I told him: that once there were rumours, you were no longer safe in Torfell.’
‘If your allegiance is to Margetta, why should my safety have mattered?’
Muir made an appreciative noise.
‘The ancient houses have not always stood together,’ Barc conceded, ‘but in these embattled times they must.’ His eyes slid to Cantrel, but the older man made no comment.
Risha decided to prod them both. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the parchment you carried came from Cantrel? Along with letters,’ she added, and was pleased at the surprise that flickered across the seneschal’s face.
Barc drew a stool near the fire and, catching her by the shoulders, steered her onto it. ‘A better question,’ he said softly, ‘is why it was sent. Have you not wondered that?’ He squatted in front of her. ‘This will be a hard thing to hear, for it concerns Pelon, who raised and cared for you in the safety of the mountains, and cared for your mother as well, while he could.’ Risha’s body felt rigid. ‘Pelon loved you, Risha. I told you so in Torfell, and you know better than any the truth of it.’ She nodded. It was clearer to her now than it had been. Barc’s eyes held hers. ‘Pelon shouldered the responsibility of a parent, but he was not your father. He loved your mother, but as bondsman not husband.’
Risha sat silent, unable to speak. Her father was not her father. Pelon who had raised her, cared for her, was not— ‘Who?’ she croaked.
‘Can you not guess?’
She shook her head. She couldn’t think at all.
‘Your father, Arishara, is Donnel, Lord of LeMarc. You are heir to both houses.’
Risha’s mouth sagged. Here’s my lady, blithe and pretty, comes my lady of the sea. She’d learnt the nursery rhyme in childhood — but not from Pelon. Heart is lost to distant mountains, cross the waves she’s lost to me. Her hands clenched in her lap. ‘Why was I not told?’
Cantrel answered. ‘Donnel wished you to know him first.’
Risha’s thoughts flicked back to their morning ride up the mountain, to Donnel pointing out the boundaries of Havre and LeMarc. The legacy of her birth, he’d said. She had been stupid not to have realised.
The stool crashed over as she sprang up. ‘How could you not tell me?’ She stared at the faces around her, all of them complicit in her ignorance. Suddenly she wanted to be away from them, as far away as possible. Her palm slapped hard against the door, the impact jolting up her arm. Rain gusted in her face as she stumbled around the side of the cabin and into the lean-to. Torfell whickered a greeting and Risha wrapped her arms around the mare’s neck. Sobs welled within her.
Pelon! What had Meredus said? Pelonius had given his heart in a way a scholar shouldn’t. He’d loved Cattra, helped her escape, and when she died, he’d been left burdened with her child. Hers, but not his.
Hush, my kitten.
She tossed her head, shaking Nonno’s voice away. It was too large a grief to be soothed like a childhood hurt. Risha breathed in the mare’s warm, salty smell and shuddered as tears forced their way down her cheeks. She felt as though she’d lost Pelon all over again; lost him in a way more permanent than death. Barc might think a living father better than a dead one, but it was not so simple. Her whole world felt torn from under her.
She bunched a fist against Torfell’s neck, a hot flush creeping over her skin as she recalled asking Donnel about her mother, telling him she’d never felt able to ask Pelon. She’d been so blind! But they had all conspired to keep her so. She reached to unhitch Torfell’s reins.
‘They would have told you if they could.’
She spun about, outrage trumping grief. ‘Would they? And what of you, Barc? What excuse do you offer for making me a fool?’
He made a gesture of impatience. ‘You’ve never been a fool, Risha. Don’t become one now. I would have told you in Caledon, but after Sulba …’
She considered him sceptically. Barc seemed a little too able in his dandling with truth. ‘How was it that you came to be delivering letters from LeMarc to my — to Pelon? And don’t tell me you didn’t know where they came from.’
He sucked at his teeth. Risha met his stare levelly.
‘When I approached Donnel regarding the Lady Margetta’s plight, I told him I’d heard a rumour of you. Cantrel bid me carry them.’
‘Why did Donnel not come to find me himself?’
‘I didn’t make it clear where you were.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You tried to blackmail him.’
‘I tried to convince him to secure the future of two girls of royal blood, rather than one.’
‘He could have sent for
me.’
‘He did, Risha. That was the intent of the letters. Pelon … Pelon was not ready to give you up.’
A tear leaked down her cheek.
‘Come back inside,’ Barc coaxed. ‘Muir and Harl are out scouting the lake, and Cantrel would like to speak with you. You might humour an old man.’
She made a derisive noise, but let him lead her out of the makeshift stable. A movement in the trees caught her eye. She stopped as Muir strode swiftly towards them.
‘A word, my lady, if I may.’
Risha hesitated. Muir gave Barc a look that sent him several paces distant.
‘Risha.’ In a fluid movement he drew his sword and dug its tip into the ground, dropping to one knee beside it. ‘My oath is sworn to Lord Donnel, your father, and I would not forswear him. But know, Lady Arishara, that my sword and my life are yours, both as his daughter and in your own right.’
‘Muir …’
He looked up at her. ‘My lady, I am deeply sorry that I could not tell you. I respected Donnel’s wish as a father’s right, as much as for the oath I’d sworn. Don’t judge him too harshly for it.’
She had not yet begun to think how she might judge Donnel. She felt a sudden lurch of dread. ‘You didn’t tell him what I said when I took Firefly?’
‘I would not do so.’
Something unknotted in her chest. ‘Muir, get up.’
He rose and sheathed his sword. ‘My lady.’
They stood in silence a moment, then he made a formal half-bow and turned away. If he’d been waiting for her to say something, she couldn’t think what. A wave of tiredness seeped through her. When Barc touched her shoulder she looked at him blankly, then, with a nod, followed him into cabin.
Cantrel sat hunched near the hearth. Risha walked stiffly to the fire and stretched her hands to the flames, steam rising from her damp clothes. After a moment the old seneschal cleared his throat. ‘Your parents had been married a year when you were born.’
Risha sank onto a stool, her doubt at hearing him out dispelled.
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