She rode slowly, her mouth a hard, thin line. She was in no great hurry to reach her destination. As saddening as it had been saying goodbye to Conall, her next meeting promised to be even less pleasant.
One thought in particular kept running around and around her head: He knew her name!
* * *
Bees were already buzzing drowsily between the flowers growing in tightly-packed beds around the walls of the cottage when Raven rode up.
All was quiet as she dismounted. Perhaps recalling their previous visit, Meara wandered towards a patch of long grass she’d worked on previously and buried her face among the green and gold stalks once more. Raven left the animal there and approached the door of the cottage. It was closed, but opened at her touch.
Inside there were no obvious signs of life. It was tidy, but a thin layer of dust lay over everything, suggesting it had not been inhabited in some days. Aside from furniture, too, it was empty. All books had gone from the shelves, the table in one corner that had once held all the tools of the herbalists’ craft was now bare and all the sprigs of drying leaves and flowers had been plucked from the rafters. If Raven did not know otherwise, she might have said the cottage had been abandoned long ago.
There seemed little point in searching the place; Bronwen had obviously taken great care in removing everything relating to her personally, and anything she’d been unable to carry had probably been either burned or buried.
Raven was turning to leave, when a flash of something white above the fireplace caught her eye. She went to it and found a folded slip of paper upon the mantelpiece. With no great surprise, Raven saw her own name written in a neat hand upon the front.
She took the paper, unfolded it and began reading. Bronwen had been at pains to insist upon her innocence, claiming she had done nothing wrong other than take a commission as those of her profession were wont to do, neither asking nor being told what the fruits of her labours would be used for. But through the lines of self-serving excuses, Raven saw the truth of what she had already surmised during her journey from the beacon tower. She spoke of being approached by a client – it seemed she never knew his name, but from her description it was clear it had indeed been Zhao – to mix some potions using ingredients supplied by them, and was rewarded handsomely with gold for doing so. When she realised, or more likely simply strongly suspected, what had happened she’d fled in search of a new life and a fresh start elsewhere. Don’t look for me, I beg you, the text pleaded. You have my word I will never be involved with anything like this again.
Raven scrunched the letter into a ball and tossed it into the hearth. It was a futile gesture as no fire was lit, but she felt better for doing so nonetheless. She glanced at the herbalist’s table. I saw it, she thought, though I didn’t know it at the time. A tiny blue petal, that could have come from only one source. Another clue staring her in the face and missed entirely. Perhaps it would have made no difference to events if she’d seen through Zhao that night in the players’ camp and then returned to the herbalist to get the truth from her. But how many had been burned alive in those days before she’d been able to reveal the plot to the duke? The deaths of those women would be forever on her conscience.
She stalked from the cottage and back out into the sunshine. It took some effort to drag Meara free of the grass, with the animal looking appalled that her lunch was ended prematurely, and clambered back into the saddle.
Once there, she sat a while deep in thought. She protests her innocence, and yet she was the one who told me to seek out Aggy. But was that because it was part of Zhao’s scheme, or because she was panicking and needed time to flee? There was no need to have written the letter for Raven to find, which suggested a desire to explain her actions and assuage at least some of her guilt. Or is it just more misdirection?
Puzzled by the lack of instruction from her rider, Meara pawed restlessly at the ground with one hoof. “We could go after her,” Raven said at last. The horse’s ears swivelled towards the sound. “She may have left some trace. We could ask at the nearest towns whether anyone has seen her.” Meara snorted her disapproval. “Perhaps you’re right.” Raven sighed. Whether Bronwen was guilty of conspiring with Zhao or was, in her own way, another of his victims was, when all was said and done, immaterial. The duke, her employer, was satisfied with the outcome, the mastermind of the plot lay dead and she’d been paid for her trouble.
More importantly, he was still out there somewhere. The green-eyed man. Her brush with the Dreamer’s Kiss had brought her past rushing back to the surface. Perhaps, in some roundabout way, she should be grateful to Zhao for that. If you spent enough time on the road, you could forget what had led you there to begin with. I’ll find him, she thought. I’ll find them both.
Raven nudged her feet to Meara’s flanks and flicked at the reins. The animal lumbered forward grudgingly and Raven steered it back towards the road. In time it would lead to another town, she knew, and other jobs. And perhaps someone there would have seen the green-eyed man.
And, if one of the people in that town also happened to know of a young herbalist recently arrived in the area... perhaps one with a curious habit of glancing anxiously over her shoulder as if fearing pursuit then, well, no doubt she could find the time to pay an old friend a visit.
But that could wait. For now all that mattered was the beckoning call of the road stretched out before her. The ghost of a smile upon her lips, Raven answered it.
The End
Also by Alan Ratcliffe:
DAWN OF THE
DREAMSMITH
Book one of
The Raven’s Tale
An epic fantasy trilogy begins.
Available now for Kindle.
Also by Alan Ratcliffe:
SHADOWS OF THE
DREAMSPIRE
Book two of
The Raven’s Tale
An epic fantasy trilogy continues.
Available now for Kindle.
Raven's Edge Page 23