At supper that same evening, David Pentrev sits with John Yovvan at a plain dining table, in a storage area, a private corner of the kitchens.
“Are we doing the right thing here, John?” He warms his hands on his cup and shuffles in his chair to benefit from the fur wrap around his shoulders.
“I don’t know, your grace. I really don’t know.” John takes a deep breath. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I’ve discussed it with Marshal Percey and with Charles Bracken and I can see their points of view. I understand it’s unlikely to be those from the temple who’ve been causing our issues, but some of these folk have been here their whole lives.”
David nods and swirls the mulled wine in his cup. “I never wanted this job. I never wanted this responsibility, you know, John.”
“I know. I remember how you protested when your father insisted that you take lessons along with your brother.” John smiles. “I recall you saying that you’d never need to know these things because you’d no intention of ever being the prince.”
David smiles. “Happier days, John. I just keep hoping they can make Llewellyn well again, then I can go back to my old life.”
The door to their small enclave bursts open and Elena comes rushing in.
“Here you are! No wonder nobody could find you. What are you doing?”
He looks up at his wife. “Hiding?”
She laughs and moves over to him, standing behind his chair and resting her hands on his shoulders. Leaning down, she kisses him on the head.
“From me?” She asks.
He reaches up crossing his arm over his chest and placing his hand on one of hers. “Never from you, my love. We were just discussing this nasty business with throwing the traders out, evicting people from their homes. Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”
She begins to massage his shoulders.
“I’m no expert in these matters, dear David. You and the captain know far more about it than I. From what I’ve seen and heard of this plot, it seems better to me that a few innocents should suffer so we can dig out this nest of adders that have laid him low.”
“You really think so?” His eyes sad as he looks up at her.
“Your dear brother lies insensible in his apartment. Our sweet sister, Bronwyn, lives by his bedside alternately crying and praying. It tears my heart, my love, to see her like that. If it was you lying on that bed, I’d be inconsolable. I’d want the conspirators caught and a cure found as soon as possible. We can do no less for your dear brother.”
“Well put, Lady Elena.” The captain says, holding his cup of mulled wine between his hands. “I thank you for helping me see things differently.”
“As do I, my sweet.”
David leans back and enjoys her tender ministrations.
Chapter 13
“You are certain Melissa is dead?” Phineas asks.
His informant yawns and stretches within the wooden bower before answering.
“Yes. I’m sorry, my lord, I’m still suffering the effects of transformation. It feels good to be back in my own skin.” He wriggles his shoulder blades, his back muscles rippling and shimmering as he does so. “I saw her fallen body being carried away and it was too late to do anything. The spirit had left her.”
“And you’re certain it was no accident?” Phineas looks thoughtful.
“We’re certain. I can’t be sure of whom the assailant was because the two who think they saw him couldn’t give me an adequate description.”
“Pooks, perchance?” He smiles.
“Yes, they were.” The informant shakes his head. “They’re adequate for most tasks, my lord, but detailed intelligence gathering is beyond them.”
Phineas nods sadly. “That’s true, but they are loyal servants and most of them do love to be around humans.”
He stands and walks to the archway.
“We’ve lost one of our own and the Queen will have to be informed. I don’t relish that task. We’ll meet with Lord Froud first. These other matters must be discussed before the council are told.”
“Dear goodness they’ve made a mess of him.” Gwen rushes over to help them bring Piper to a cot in the back room. “What did they do, dance on him like they were crushing grapes?”
“I’ll be fine, Gwen. Just give me a few hours. I’ll be fine.” He grunts as they lower him to the bed.
“You’ll lie there, shut up and rest. We’ll decide what to do next. You’re going to be in no fit state for anything for at least two or three days.”
He tries to protest and rise from the bed but is gently pushed back down by Lightning.
“Settle down Piper. Gwen’s right, you’re not going anywhere. If I have to get Filippo to sit on you to keep you there, then I will.”
“That wouldn’t work for very long.” Piper coughs. “Since the Moon’s waning, he’ll be shorter than me in a couple of days.” He coughs again, trying to laugh.
“A couple of days is all we need to get your mending started.” Gwen says. “I could just as easily tie you to the bed, if you’d prefer?” She raises an eyebrow.
He groans, shaking his head. “I’ll be good, promise.”
“Drink this.” Gwen holds a cup to his lips.
He takes a sip letting it roll around his mouth. “That’s good, what’s in it?”
“Nothing that’ll hurt you, now drink the whole thing.”
She and lightning support his shoulders as he empties the cup and then lower him back to the soft bed. It’s only a matter of a minute before his eyes droop and close, and he falls into a deep sleep.
“Now,” says Gwen, “it’s time we tried to work out what’s going on here.”
Standing at the edge of the forest, Lord Froud gazes out over the fields and agriculture of the humans, towards the town.
A light wind pushes against the thorny hedgerows. Flocks of sheep are nibbling at the grass exposed by the melting snow. He watches smoke rising from the human dwellings and remembers a time when this was all one huge forest, before they arrived.
Sensing the other approaching, he turns to meet him.
“We have things to discuss.” Phineas says. “It would be better done back in our own realm.”
The Fae Lord nods. “I’ve received reports from our spies. I’ll come back with you now.” He gazes out once more, his eyes unfocused. “I was just taking a few moments to remember.”
Phineas looked beyond him to the devastation and mess caused by the humans and their farms. “Their lives are brutal, short and meaningless which seems to be reflected in their actions.”
Lord Froud nods. “A fair appraisal, my friend.”
They turn and walk together back into the forest, fading among the tree trunks until they’re lost from view.
The four gather round a table in the tavern, finishing their meals.
Wildcat sits spearing the last few chunks of meat with a pointed dagger and popping them into her mouth chewing happily, a blissful expression upon her face, her soft gloves lying on the table by her dish.
Lightning looks over at the Filippo’s half full plate.
“Are you going to finish that?”
He laughs and pushes the platter towards her. “Help yourself, my lady.”
Grinning, she pulls the plate across to her side of the table, devouring what’s left with gusto.
Gwen sips from a crystal glass full of clear water and waits for them to finish, her thoughts far away.
A few heartbeats later, Lightning pushes her plate back and burps loudly. “That hit the spot.” She’s grinning again.
“I really don’t know where you put it all.” Filippo laughs. “There’s nothing to you, and yet you eat two or three times as much as I do.”
Gwen yawns and smiles, returning her focus to the others.
“Each one of you pays in a different way for your abilities and it would be quite rude to keep pointing them out all the time, wouldn’t it, short-master?”
“Cavolo!” Filippo, replies. “Cr
uel, but funny as ever, Gwen.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you getting ideas above your station, would I? Now, if we’re all feeling rested and our bellies full, we need to get down to business.”
She puts her glass on the table. “I know we can’t get much information from our Piper this evening, but I’m sure he’ll be fit to talk tomorrow. What did he say on his way back?” Gwen asks.
“Just as you’ve already heard, he walked into a trap.” Filippo replies.
“Who does he think set it?”
“Originally, he thought that it was the Lady Bronwyn, but when he saw how distraught she became when he was captured, he said it couldn’t have been her. She visited him in the dungeon too.”
He swallows a mouthful of ale. “It wasn’t the castle guards that took him, but ones from the temple.”
Lightning leans in. “It had to be someone with contacts in the temple, to get the knights to come out and set the trap in the first place.”
“Also,” Wildcat adds, “it must’ve been someone who knew where the meeting was to take place.”
“I’ve spoken to a friend of ours at the castle. In fact, it was she who informed me that our Piper was languishing in their dungeon. She carried his message for him and has assured me that no one intercepted it. She handed it to the Lady Elena to carry in to Bronwyn.”
“Do you think perhaps Elena opened it?” Lightning asks.
“I don’t know, but it’s possible that she was privy to its contents when Bronwyn opened it, if she didn’t open it herself.”
Gwen thinks for a moment. “Surely, if the Lady Elena knew what was happening, she’d have told her husband and it would have been the castle guards that sprang the trap?”
“I’d agree with that.” Filippo says. “Perhaps one of the healers heard them discussing it and passed word along to them?”
“Whoever informed them, the fact remains it was the temple that captured and beat him, not the prince. They were a little overzealous about something that shouldn’t concern them.” Lightning grabs a piece of bread from the middle of the table and chews on it.
“That’s what puzzles me too.” Gwen taps her fingers together. “Someone has invented this plot against the temple, using bits of the evidence presented. They’ve blamed the Piper for instigating it, all the while trying to make it look like he’s had help from outside Gwynedd.”
She consults notes she has made, her fingertips stained by charcoal. “More specifically, like he’s had help from those who don’t follow this One God religion.”
“As far as I can see, only the temple can benefit from that.” Lightning reaches for more bread.
“Are we certain it is a false plot? After all, four men are dead and the prince is incapacitated. I still don’t understand why they didn’t just kill him.” Filippo wipes his mouth.
“I think, because his death would have brought troops from the King, and the temple wouldn’t be part of the investigations as they are now.” Gwen says. “Four dead bodyguards, on the other hand, don’t interest kings.”
“So how do we prove they had a hand in this?” He asks.
A huge grin spreads over the face of the Wildcat as she spreads her fingers wide and wiggles them. “We go, and we take a look in their little monk-y closets, and see what we find.”
“We may be long-lived, but we don’t reproduce as quickly as the humans. We can’t afford to have our numbers thinned further.” Lord Froud observes.
“I’m well aware of that, Lord Protector.”
The Queen’s skin shows her annoyance, a pattern of flickering red and purple light shoots down her arms to her fingertips.
“You know we can’t interfere unless they attack us directly.”
“Does killing one of our children not count as an attack, My Queen?”
“Only if it’s directed at us. Humans kill each other all the time. I sometimes think they do it for sport. They didn’t know she was fae when they killed her. You know the laws. We can’t act directly unless they do so.”
“Have we become so weak?” A dark figure asks.
“No. We have not become weak, Lord Ether.” She turns to glare at him. “And take that stupid glamour off in my presence, you’re not impressing anyone here.”
Further flashes of dark light flicker across her whole body.
The shroud fades from Ether to reveal his pale skin and violet eyes. “As you command, my queen, but surely we can act against those who have harmed one of our own? We cannot let this go unchallenged.”
“For once, I am inclined to agree with Ether.” Lord Froud states. “We cannot let this act go unpunished, although it is hardly grounds for all out war, which my learned friend here would enjoy.”
“I resent that, Froud. I do not seek enjoyment, I simply seek justice. That is my task, and is required by my position in this court.”
“My lords!”
The Queen claps her hands and instantly all are silenced.
“We have agents among the humans, I suggest we contact those and have them investigate for us.” She holds up her hand to again silence both men. “Yes, you may also send in your own spies but there is to be No. Direct. Contact.”
The pauses between the last three words leave them in no doubt that her mind is made up.
“Miss de Vreece, I would like a word with you before you leave.” Gwen signals to Wildcat from her place behind the bar and points to her office.
Wildcat’s face drops. She hates lectures. She hates advice. She hates people interfering in her fun, if she’s honest about it. She just wants to get on and do things, not hang around listening to someone tell her about ‘being sensible’, ‘being careful’, or ‘controlling herself’.
She walks over to the office, her gloves held in her hand, dressed ready for the night’s observations. Her thin, oiled leathers almost completely silent. Entering the room she sees Gwen waiting for her with two steaming cups of hot coffee, and a jug of cream.
She’s only ever seen the drink in the Middle East, outside the Tavern, perhaps that’s where She gets it?
“Can I just have the cream?” She sits in the chair by the desk, dropping her gloves on its polished mahogany surface.
“No. You can have the coffee with cream. I want you sharp tonight. I want no mistakes. And most of all…”
“Yes, yes, I know — don’t kill anyone, because it makes puppies sad.”
Gwen frowns at her. “I’m serious here. We can’t afford to stir things up more than they are already. You’re going there to gather information and nothing else.”
“Sometimes I just knock them out, or tie them up, or chase them away.” Wildcat pouts.
“Unfortunately, from my point of view, not nearly often enough.” Gwen lifts the coffee pot. “Tell me, when did you stop keeping a tally of the body count?”
Wildcat shuffles in her chair and actually manages to look a little embarrassed. “Well, there have been quite a few. But they all deserved it.”
“I’m sure some of them did, but your idea of what constitutes an action worthy of death seems to differ to that of the law — any law…”
Gwen pours cream into both of their cups allowing it to swirl and form a pattern on top of the steaming black beverage.
Wildcat leans forward picks up her drink and slurps it off the top before it can sink into the coffee then smiles at Gwen.
“I will be on my best behaviour, I promise.”
The other woman leans back nursing her coffee in her hands. The expression on her face reminds Wildcat of the way people look at a child who’s completely exasperating them.
She smiles at Gwen, then winks.
Only half of the waning moon remains in the sky.
Seven days have passed since the attack on the prince and the stirrings in the town are being felt at all levels. Wildcat moves swiftly over the roofs of the buildings near the temple, watching out for the guards and trying to judge any patterns that they might have.
This is what
she loves. On the prowl. Hunting, seeking and playing with her prey.
She moves backwards into the shadows by a chimney stack above the bakery and relaxes, extending her arms slightly as her mind moves elsewhere.
The cats. Nobody thinks about the cats.
It is night. All across the town those who keep felines in residence, to fight the population of vermin that would otherwise enter their food stores, have no idea what the animals are doing. The cats are out hunting, which means they see everything happening around them, and they hear the clumsy approach of humans in the dark.
This is her gift.
She turns her mind to every cat in the town and a map forms, showing movements and sounds in a flickering pattern.
In less than a minute she has a glittering image of everyone still awake at this hour. She’s glad to see there are no holes in her net, unlike the night of the fire. Cats won’t stay to watch a fire, which is how she knew where to run to save the family.
Now she must plan. She compares her network of light and movement and sound to the layout of the town before her and particularly the temple and its grounds. No one will be able to surprise her.
A few minutes later, identifying weaknesses in the patrols, Wildcat begins to move.
She leaps from the baker’s roof and lands softly on a large branch projecting from a tree by the side of the temple court. Seconds later she runs to the trunk and sets off along another branch which will bring her out over the compound, above the guards. The pattern of light and sound that indicates the positions of the humans is still vivid before her eyes. She overlays it on the real world and watches the paths of those she seeks to avoid.
She stills her movement.
Two guards below her march the length of the gallery by the side of the square. She counts heartbeats to time how long she’ll have to make her dash from the end of the branch into the courtyard and along the side of the archways. It’s going to be tight, but she can do it.
She’s studied the roughly drawn map of the temple which Lindy provided. She’s not sure exactly where the offices within the temple are that she seeks, but there’s a general area closed to visitors.
The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan) Page 19