Waterborne Exile Page 5

  Whichever was the truth of it, Vasic was heartily sick of hearing her name. He doubted she could have survived the collapse of the tower. If she had survived, then there could be no accounting for the way her curse upon him had lifted. It was the only thing that made sense. She must have been trapped in the rubble for days before the end. Such a waste.

  He realised Marwick had finally ended his monologue. He needed to keep these northerners sweet, and Marwick’s family was one of the oldest and most highly regarded. If they’d been a bit more fecund it might have made Vasic’s job rather easier. One old man could only stretch his influence so far. It remained to be seen how court loyalty would shift now Stanton was gone – the younger man’s sword arm would have been a more useful deterrent for malcontents than any amount of the old man’s prosing. But Vasic had to work with the materials he had to hand.

  “And is that an end of it?” Vasic studied the old man; for a moment he appeared confused.

  “An end of what, sire?”

  An end to your endless prating, Vasic thought. But he kept his vexation in check. “Your difficulties in collecting our dues.”

  “Time will tell, sire. I believe my response to have been adequate.”

  “Northerners are legendary for their dislike of parting with taxes.” It was one of the reasons for the importance of the stronghold at Highkell. A stronghold that was in sorry state right now, thanks to the collapse of the tower and the road bridge with it.

  “I cannot deny it, sire. But I have a suggestion to make, if I may be so bold?”

  Vasic steepled his fingers and surveyed the old man just long enough to put him out of countenance. “I appointed you to my privy council so you might offer counsel. What is this suggestion?”

  “Why, sire, if you will forgive my presumption. You may recall my youngest sister went in marriage to the Lord Convenor of the Outer Isles?”

  Now there was something to catch his attention: the Outer Isles boasted a wealthy ruling family. Fishing fleets and merchant vessels that paid their way and more. “Can’t say I do recall. Your sister, you say?”

  “My youngest sister. She was blessed late in life by the Goddess, but her daughter – my niece, and their only child – will be of marriageable age now. When last I saw her she was a fair child, very fair indeed. By all accounts she’s a beauty now.”

  “Marriageable age and never yet been presented at court, Marwick? That’s lax. Or she’s not as fair as you’d have me believe – I have a memory for fair faces.”

  “Sire, I am convinced you would not find her lacking. She was, I believe, unwell last year when they might have brought her to the mainland. I can assure you there was no slight intended.”

  “And none taken, unless she turns out to be as ugly as a bucket of rusty nails.”

  “Of course, sire, as her uncle I am far from impartial, but I can assure you she favours her mother’s side of the family for looks.”

  And her father’s as far as wealth might be concerned? Such a paragon would be too good to be true. “Then she should without doubt be presented at court without delay.”

  “I shall write to my sister immediately, sire.” Marwick hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “They are keen now, I understand, to make an eligible match for their daughter.”

  Vasic steepled his fingers again and surveyed Marwick. It didn’t do to seem too eager. It helped a great deal that his last venture into matrimony – one which he’d anticipated all too keenly – had culminated in disaster. A man did not endure calamities like that without acquiring a certain amount of caution. “If they are keen as you say, then they will let the girl be seen at court that we may judge her worthiness.”

  “Then I shall write to my sister, sire.”

  “Write by all means. We will discuss her future as we find most fitting.”

  “I thank you, sire.” Marwick bowed, his effort less than elegant thanks to lumbago, and backed away from the throne in suitably subservient position before Vasic waved him away.

  Marriage. Vasic had developed a certain distaste for that particular institution. Perhaps a fresh-faced innocent from the furthest corner of the Peninsular Kingdoms might cure a jaded palate. And perhaps not. If the girl were unsuitable he would doubtless find other uses for her.

  He watched Marwick’s retreating back thoughtfully. The fellow wasn’t so decrepit, acted older than his years. He might be glad of a young bride to lighten his twilight years. With his heir dead, he might be ready to reconsider his unmarried state. Vasic was acutely aware of the need to recover lost ground. A rash of marriages throughout the court might be just the thing to cement his new peace. And to secure funds for rebuilding the damaged bridge, at the very least.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Brett didn’t feel good about following his father like this, but sometimes it was the only way to find out what was happening. From the room he shared with his brothers, deep at the back of the cave, he’d heard his parents talking, long into the night. What with the snuffling of his younger brother and the snores of his older one, he’d not been able to catch many words, but he knew they hadn’t been in agreement over something. And he guessed that something was the Lady Alwenna.

  She was the most exotic creature to have been seen at Scarrow’s Deep. He’d been thrilled beyond measure to learn she was an actual royal queen – and true heir to the throne of the Marches, too. His father would set her back on her throne and he, Brett, would become a knight of her court. She would smile upon him for his bravery…

  He was pretty sure his stepmother didn’t agree with his father’s plans, and wouldn’t agree with his own plans if he told them to her. But for many years he’d simply elected not to tell her what was in his head, that way his dreams couldn’t be trampled under her proficient feet. Yet she wouldn’t have him travelling about the country with his father, learning the trade, either. He was old enough, and then some – plenty of his friends had been on the road with the caravans since they were twelve. Here he was nearly sixteen and knew nothing of what it truly meant to be a freemerchant. He knew his father went to places other freemerchants wouldn’t venture, and handled business other freemerchants saw no value in. That was why he’d brought the deposed queen here, after all. And Brett was burning to find out everything he could. About her, about his father’s world, about… Well, everything. Everything beyond the arid confines of Scarrow’s Deep.

  Brett peered out from behind the pile of boulders. His father stood by their mother’s grave, his head bowed. Brett wondered if he was actually talking to her. His heart sank – it looked as if his father was not after all engaged on some mysterious business. He felt a twinge of guilt for eavesdropping on a private moment, but it was not long-lived as he heard the footfalls of someone approaching along the path from the settlement. Hastily he checked over his shoulder to be sure his hiding place was secure, and breathed a sigh of relief. One of the elders was making his way along the path, leaning on a wooden staff to keep the weight off an ageing hip.

  The grizzled beard marked him out as old Brennan. Brett’s father raised his head and turned away from the grave.

  “Ah, Brennan, I should have known you’d be the first.” Smiling, he walked over to meet Brennan on the path, and accompany him to the area where various stones had been set out as rudimentary seats. Marten helped him settle on a boulder, but remained standing himself, pacing restlessly. There was no sign of anyone else on the path. Were they waiting for more?

  “Jenna said she would join us if she could, but Virrin’s time is close and she’s far from well.”

  “I’m sorry, I did not know. May the Hunter and the Goddess together protect her.”

  “Your good wishes are welcome, Marten, but your apology is unnecessary.”

  “No, I should have known. I’ve been away too long. I’ve returned to find my children grown into full men I scarce recognise. And all for what, Brennan? Was it worth it?”

  Brennan tilted his head. “The lady queen is safe,
is she not? You hold an important card, however the gods deal the next hands.”

  “But Brennan, was it worth it?” Marten turned about again, moving closer to the boulder where Brett crouched in hiding. “I took her into such a nest of vipers at the summer palace. I could not have lived with myself had I left her there. And even at the end I was fool enough to believe Tresilian might be persuaded to honour his word. No, I will admit to you things there went from bad to worse so swiftly I was caught badly unprepared. I count myself fortunate to have escaped with my life.”

  “You know there are many who will say it is what you deserve for treating with the landbound.”

  “But they still have all the advantages, Brennan. We cannot fight them by traditional means, so we must persuade them by other methods.”

  “Again, there are those who will say we need neither fight nor persuade them, but simply carry on as we have been.”

  “What, have they talked you round to their way of thinking in my absence?”

  Brennan laughed. “I’m not such an old relic, Marten, as well you know. If we do not embrace change, the freemerchant ways will be as nothing in another generation. We will be swept away like sand from the rock face here, leaving no trace but the dust of our passing.”

  Marten paused in his pacing to and fro. “Some would say that would be better than changing.”

  “I never shall. And nor will you. Plenty agree change is necessary.”

  “And have any agreed to have their children taught to wield an edged weapon?”

  The old man shook his head. “You might have led them by example there.”

  “Rina wasn’t keen. I would have taken the boys to Highkell to be fostered there a while, but… she wasn’t keen on that, either. I confess as things worked out it is as well they were safe here. My friend, it’s such a mess.”

  “Rina will come round eventually. She always does – her bark’s worse than her bite.”

  “Not this time. She thinks a broken queen is a poor gift to bring her after such a long absence. I cannot help but see her side of things.”

  Brett had never heard his father sound defeated before. He was used to hearing laughter, larger-than-life plans and ambition to match. But he had a bit more insight into what his parents had been talking over in the night – and the tense time before his father had left the year before. There had been much talk about travelling to Highkell and seeing how the landbound lived there. He’d been bitterly disappointed when the time came for the caravan to depart and he and Malcolm were not part of it. Hearing that may have been Rina’s doing… No, he didn’t want to dwell on that.

  His father and Brennan continued to speak in low voices, but a slight breeze picked up, sending sand across the ground and making just enough noise to prevent him hearing what they were saying.

  Not long after that the two men made their way back up the slope towards the settlement together. Brett remained behind his boulder, brooding over what he had heard. If things had been different, he might have been at Highkell now. He might have been caught in the collapse of the tower. Or he might have been squire to some knight by now, and safe away from all that. So many ‘might have beens’. Instead, here he was, hiding behind a boulder at Scarrow’s Deep in order to get some hint of what was really going on. Almost sixteen years old and still treated like a child. He’d done everything that was required of him, proved himself responsible in every way he’d been given the opportunity, yet… Surely he was old enough to be told something of the adults’ concerns? And how would he prove himself worthy if he was never given the opportunity?

  Maybe it was for him to make his own opportunity.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lord Convenor Etrus of the Outer Isles gestured to the serving boys to bring him more wine.

  “And for our esteemed guest.”

  His esteemed guest tilted his head politely. “You are too kind, Lord Convenor.”

  Both men were still the safe side of drunk, after several courses of food, several hours of drinking and a few meagre minutes spent discussing the real object of the dignitary’s visit.

  Bleaklow, seated further down the table watched in fascination. The Lord Convenor Etrus, of course, was a well-built – if not outright bulky – man and his frame could absorb prodigious amounts of alcohol. But the dignitary from Vasic’s court was best described as skinny, tall with it, to be fair, but he hardly seemed to have the bulk to absorb the half of what he’d put away that day. Bleaklow watched in admiration as the pair of them danced in delicate conversation around the issue at hand. His admiration for his liege lord increased – even though he had not thought such a thing possible in peace time – with every carefully-calculated sentence. And given the matter foremost in both the men’s minds, he could only admire his lord’s forbearance the more. No one looking on could guess at the weighty matters preying on his mind at present.

  Bleaklow could only admire the sheer stubbornness of the two engaged in diplomatic wrangling over the table, as they negotiated peace terms in the most roundabout of ways. Long may that peace last: it was imperative that these talks with King Vasic’s representative went well. Vasic had a reputation for being too easily offended and since his reach had extended to include Highkell and all of Highground around it, it behoved Lord Etrus to keep on his good side. Even if it meant offering up his beloved daughter as marriage material.

  “I look forward to meeting your daughter, my lord. It is a great disappointment that she is unable to join us this evening, for her looks are already spoken of with great favour in Lynesreach.”

  “We are as disappointed as you, Sir Kaith. It is unfortunate she should become indisposed.”

  “It is often the way after a large gathering such as your nephew’s recent wedding. People meeting from all corners of the land, after all, bring new illnesses in their wake.”

  Did Kaith know? Bleaklow listened intently as his lord calmly deflected the gambit.

  “Indeed. We can travel so far, so fast, yet we cannot outstrip contagion. Would you care for more wine, Sir Kaith?”

  Sir Kaith accepted graciously. Bleaklow began to suspect he was pouring half of it down his sleeve, but could see no evidence of it. There was even less evidence of Kaith having consumed all that wine in the first place. Was he one of those who drank so much he never sobered up? A strange choice on Vasic’s part to handle such delicate business, if that were the case, for all the man had polished manners and breeding.

  “Will I have the opportunity to speak to your daughter tomorrow, perhaps? I heard many compliments on her good looks from the wedding guests who had already returned to the mainland. She was quite the topic of conversation, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  Goddess, he knew. He must know. Or why hint so bluntly? Bleaklow held his breath as Etrus considered his answer.

  “She favours her mother for looks – except, as I’m sure you would agree had you been able to meet her – she exceeds her mother’s beauty at that age.”

  “I await our introduction even more eagerly than ever. It is a great shame her illness prevents her travelling to court on this occasion.”

  “A great shame,” Etrus replied smoothly. “Fortunately the portrait artist has almost finished her likeness and you will be able to take that to King Vasic, so he may judge for himself whether or not reports of her good looks have been exaggerated.”

  Kaith bowed and nodded, and pursued the matter no further, but there had been some sharpness about his eyes that led Bleaklow to suspect he knew rather more about the Lady Drelena than he chose to admit. He would require careful watching for the remainder of his stay at the palace. Bleaklow had already caught him poking around a wing of the palace where he had no business being. Lost, he had claimed.

  Shortly after that Kaith claimed tiredness and withdrew from the feasting hall. Bleaklow watched him make his way down the length of the room, his steps perfectly measured and even. Consummate courtier and consummate drinker. Bleaklow nodded to a manserv
ant who waited near the door. The manservant indicated acknowledgment with the slightest tilt of his head and followed Kaith out, keeping a discreet distance. The fellow wouldn’t be poking his diplomatic nose anywhere it wasn’t wanted tonight, that much was sure.

  Bleaklow was taken aback to hear himself addressed in a low voice by the Lord Convenor. “I beg your pardon, sire?”

  “I take it you have no further news for me?” Etrus turned piercing brown eyes upon him – startlingly like his daughter’s. He was staring at Bleaklow as intently as she had stared the night of her cousin’s wedding, when he’d come to his senses after exceeding the bounds of propriety.

  Bleaklow blinked and lowered his eyes. “I fear not, sire. I continue to make discreet enquiries, but can find no word of her whereabouts.”

  “Then be more forthright, Bleaklow. This charade has gone on long enough. We need to find her now.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tad couldn’t find his sister in any of the usual places. He’d even tried the infirmary, in case she’d been released from her seclusion and not thought to tell him. It was when he’d given up and was crossing the quadrangle on his way back to the kitchen wing that he caught sight of her, on the far side of the cloister, hurrying in the opposite direction.

  “Hey, wait!” He turned and ran across the yard. He would have called out her name, but their old names had been set aside when they joined the order, a symbol of their rebirth in purer, chaste forms. In truth, he was no longer sure what hers had even been. He had sometimes wondered if she’d even had one. She had all the memories of their childhood home before the order, and she’d never mentioned their old names at all. As for himself, he was well enough suited with Tad. She’d often spoken about the name she might take upon becoming blessed by the Goddess; most of her choices had been long and complicated until she’d settled on the name Ilsa. He’d not bothered to point out to her that in the end it wouldn’t be her choice at all, but a name would be bestowed upon her by the order.