Voices near the mouth of the tunnel that led out of the cave rose, and someone shouted.
“A Ghost Talker received a message!” A boy came running, cheeks flushed and eyes shining.
A woman followed the boy. She slid her light hair over her shoulders with slim hands. Her eyes shifted from left to right, like a camera lens slowly collecting images, as everyone gathered around to stare. Vera pounded over and the two looked like creatures from different dimensions. One ethereal and graceful, the other brazen and bright.
“What did you hear then?” Vera put her hands on the woman’s shoulders, bracing her, maybe to give her courage to speak. But Bran would’ve bet a handful of good money the Ghost Talker didn’t need outside support. Her movements had a confidence to them that reminded Bran of Aini, though she looked nothing like her.
“A girl spoke to me. A spirit. She had a message from our Seer.”
Bran fell back a step and the rebels quieted. No one said a word. The larger candles popped and hissed along the walls. The smaller ones, held in hands, lit shocked faces and wary eyes. Was it true?
Vera dropped her grip from the Ghost Talker’s shoulders. “But she is gone. Maybe this was before she died?”
The Ghost Talker shook her head. “No. The ghost said our Seer is not dead. That the spirit somehow healed her. With…” The woman cocked her head and pursed her lips, thinking, “Energy. Psychic energy is what I believe she meant.”
Neve’s mouth popped open and she grasped Myles up in a hug. He still looked doubtful as did most of the crowd.
Hawes stepped forward and handed her candle to a short man. “So she didn’t meet the Seer in the afterlife or something? Aini truly is alive?”
“That’s what the spirit told me.”
“Any other information?” Vera asked before whispering something in Rob’s ear. The man nodded, then ran off towards the back of the cave. He disappeared down one of the many tunnels.
“She said there is to be a presentation,” the Ghost Talker said. “The earl will show the Heir to the crowds. Mid-morning today.”
Everyone began talking at once. Vera clapped three times and the place quieted.
“The spirit was a strong one,” the Ghost Talker said. “Not many could hold a message and come this far, I don’t think. There was the shadow of a sixth-senser’s cage around her. She told me she’d been a Threader in her day and was executed beneath Parliament in one of the Head of Security’s secret cells. I don’t know how long ago that was. She didn’t share anything further before fading from my…senses.”
“She was visible?” a voice asked from the back.
“Aye. Strong, as I said.”
Bran found himself beside the woman. It was as if she’d pulled him there with a fishing line. “What is your name, if I may ask?”
Her luminous eyes dialed in on his face. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t frown either, so Bran figured she was all right having a blether with him. “Viola Campbell.”
That name. He knew it somehow…
The woman tilted her head. “Yes. I am the Heir’s illegitimate sister. Now, stop making that face. You look like your head is about to explode.”
Bran found himself and cleared his throat. Thane’s sister. Born of a woman Nathair had fooled into bed on the Isle of Skye. Senga had spoken of the girl at dinner one night when Bran was headed out for a shoot with Thane on Inveraray grounds.
“I won’t pretend I don’t know about her, Nathair,” Senga had said that day, years ago. “Bring her here. I won’t hold what you did against the child.”
But Nathair had denied the affair every day since the rumor arose and Thane had never met this half-sister as far as Bran knew.
Now, Bran locked his gaze on Viola. “Your father’s wife, Senga, wanted to welcome you into her home. When you were a bairn. I overheard her say it myself.”
Viola’s eyes widened. For the first time, she seemed less than the very definition of confidence. “Senga. How kind of her.” From most people, that phrase would’ve sounded too sweet, and would’ve reeked of sarcasm, but from Viola’s lips it rang true. She met Bran’s gaze and he felt suddenly very warm. “Thank you, Bran.” She took his fingers in hers. Her skin was silk. “I’ve heard you’re kind, too.” Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek like he was some kind of knight headed to battle. “I find that an amazing thing. Kindness. You get little thanks for it most of the time and it is far more unwieldy than many believe.” She left before he could say a word.
“This changes everything.” Myles ambled up and crossed his arms, watching Viola go.
“It really does,” Bran said. “I’m afraid to hope. What if she’s wrong? What if that ghost was sent here by a Ghost Talker working for Nathair or the king?”
“Can they do that?”
“Get a ghost to lie? Why not?”
Vera was waving her arms to get everyone’s attention in the back of the cave where Rob had been. “Viola’s news about the presentation has been confirmed. The Heir is set to speak to all of Edinburgh, televised to all of Scotland, in one hour. Aside from a lorry with hidden guns and grenades, we will send three groups to the city, all armed with altered sweets because that’s about the only thing they might get through with the kingsmen on high alert. It’s still a mighty risk, but one we think we should take because we need to weigh the scales a bit more in our favor.”
“A bit more. Understatement like wow.” Myles whistled low. “They have the queen, the king, and all those important chess pieces I can’t remember, as far as I can see. We are bound to lose this game. You know they’ll be using Aini to get Thane to do what they want, right?”
“Aye. And Vera and the elders know this.”
“One unit will infiltrate the crowd near the stage they’re building in Mercat Cross,” Vera said. “A second to surround the area for intel. A third will drive a lorry as close as they can to the center of the action. The back will be filled. Pray on everything you hold dear that the weapons team makes it close enough for us to grab and go. They have our Heir. They have our Seer. We will go in quietly, see what is happening, and decide what to do from there. If you see a blue flag raised, hung, held up anywhere—head for High Street where we’ll either have the lorry or we’ll have some sign as to where to go for your weapons. If you see nothing there, find the nearest rubbish bin. We’ll do our best to slip some guns here and there when we can. Risk it all, rebels. This is it. This is what we’ve been waiting for. But be mindful of the signal flag. If our Heir and Seer are in immediate danger, we must move carefully, strategically. We will communicate via our cloaked phones and talkies. Keep them on silent, but watch them. We must be a cool-headed singular unit in this, rebels.”
“Never in my life…” Neve joined them. “Vera preaching about keeping calm.” Her eyes glittered with the hope Bran feared to feel. “Our girl is alive. I can’t stop smiling.” She held her cheeks. “We’ll have to be careful. They’ll probably have her on stage too, won’t they?”
Vera jogged over, checked her phone, then looked up. “Our one inside man says he hasn’t seen Aini anywhere. But that tailors have been to Thane’s room. And one held a crown.”
Bran shivered, remembering that night on Moot Hill when the ghostly sword appeared in Thane’s hand. “He is going along with it for now, aye?” He lightly punched his own palm, thinking. “If we come to Nathair and say we know about Aini’s death—wait, hear me out—pretend we think she’s dead, we can act as though Nathair’s plan against King John is our only hope.”
“If Aini is too injured to command the ghost kings, Nathair is our only hope.” Myles set his chin on Neve’s head.
Vera chewed a nail, then huffed. “Aye. You’re right. Stay with me. All of you. We’ll go with the group closest to the stage. It’s cold as a witch’s left breast out there, so we can bundle up to hide our faces well enough. I hate the risk, but we have to do it.”
“You’ve changed a bit, Vera,” Neve said. “I thought you were r
isk forged to create a woman.”
“I’ve come to love you idiots. The cause is only good if the best of us survive the war. You know?”
Bran was the first to recover as Vera trotted away on business again. “Well, life will never stop surprising me.”
“What’s next?” Myles tried for a smile, but they were all still shaken. “Me beating you in a fight?”
“Don’t get carried away, colonial.”
Chapter 9
A Crown of Beaten Gold
The small fireplace in Thane’s fine prison flickered with warmth and light—two things he definitely wasn’t feeling right now. In a high-backed, green velvet chair, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. His hands had been freed at dawn, but his thoughts were tied into strategic knots.
If he made another escape, they would punish Aini. If he managed to get her out, great, but that left the problem with the French queen’s kin, Lady Darnwell, and her confusion concerning who she was supporting. If they yanked her around too much, she might very well report those guns and supplies as stolen and garner some reward from King John. That would benefit her husband, an English nobleman who struggled to make ends meet in a court he didn’t really fit into.
Maybe if Thane went along with Nathair until he had control of the country and had driven King John out of Scotland for good, Thane could then have Nathair, Jack, and the rest of them thrown into very dark, very permanent prison cells. That way, he’d keep Aini safe and retain the support of the French.
But would the rebel forces come around? If only he could speak to the Dionadair and the converted Campbells about the complicated situation. He could explain that Aini was alive, but he would pretend she wasn’t to achieve their ultimate goal—John and Nathair ousted from Scotland’s government and Aini safe and secure in her role as Seer and Thane’s right hand. But how would he ever get the chance to lay all of that out for Vera, Bran, Myles, Neve, and the rest? If they came up against Nathair in the middle of a battle with John, it would ruin any chance of Thane’s strategy working to the right end. Aini would be killed along with countless rebels and they’d lose Lady Darnwell’s support.
The fire snapped. Thane sat back in his chair. Fight this or embrace it? He had to make the right move or Aini was dead, he was dead, the rebellion was dead.
The other thing banging around in his head was last night’s Dream. He rubbed his temples, trying to chase the lingering headache away. The images were so bizarre. He couldn’t really make any sense of them.
He’d seen Myles with his bald head leaning close to Neve, Vera, and Bran. In the Dream, water streamed around their ankles. Green and stinking water with a filmy, oily surface. The liquid gathered into the shape of a hand three different times during the Dream, grabbing for Vera but never quite reaching her. The Dream spun out of focus, then cleared. As one unit, the group—Bran, Vera, and Neve—spun outward. A mass of strangers had their backs to the group and the people were walking away, slowly sinking into the manky water as they left. The green water rose and rose. Then Myles shouted something Thane couldn’t hear and Vera, Neve, and Bran threw a bunch of pink squares at the sinking men and woman and children.
And there had been another half to the headache-inducing Dream. This one even worse. Aini had stood across from him, holding a black shape that changed in size and form every few seconds. Even the memory of the absolute darkness of that…thing turned Thane’s stomach. Undo, Aini had said, in the Dream. Or repeat, she’d said, then pointed to a line of consecutive hills. On each hill, a man, a woman, and a child pushed a jagged rock up toward a raised Saltire flag. The flag of the rebels. Their hands were red with blood and sweat poured down their faces and soaked their clothing.
Thane squeezed his eyes, trying to figure it out. If he’d been forced to guess about the first half of the Dream, he’d say the pink squares were vision-inducing gum. But why in the world would that save people from drowning? It made no sense at all.
The second part of the Dream seemed clear enough. Aini’s darkness was death. If they didn’t use death in the fight to come, all of Scotland was doomed to live through this revolution again and again. There could be no mercy when all was said and done.
Staring into the fire, Thane tried to forget the nauseating Dream for now. He had bigger things to worry about.
A man in a chef’s apron walked in with a tray and set it on the table beside Thane’s chair. “Breakfast for you, Heir. Just ring the bell if you need anything further.” His knuckles were scarred and a gun hung beside his apron’s ties. Here was one heck of a chef. Thane gritted his teeth.
The door closed and Thane stared at the meal. Steaming tatties and a herbed breast of chicken. A glass of whisky. A bronze bell. He picked it up and rang it.
The chef returned. “Yes? How may I be of assistance?”
“If I’m going to go along with this, I need to see that Aini is fed and cared for and I need promise of her release once we are finished with our war.”
“That isn’t my business, Heir, but I can say they said you are not to make demands beyond your own meals and messages sent to Earl Nathair.”
Thane stood. “Then tell Nathair what I said.”
“You already tried that demand, with all due respect, Heir. It was denied and will be again and again. You are not to make demands. You must simply embrace your fate and follow the plan your father has set. I can tell you that your Seer is alive. She is injured, but will improve as your behavior allows.” The chef who wasn’t really a chef dipped his head and left, locking the door.
The next people to enter this cushioned hell were tailors. A woman and a man with arms full of clothing and a large sewing basket adorned with the symbol of a tailor—three needles crossed.
“If you’ve finished breakfast, Heir, please stand here and spread your arms out. We have your basic measurements, but we want to be sure you have the best fit we can manage.”
Thane stood and did as he was told, his brain running over what he could do.
How to save Aini.
What steps to take to save this rebellion.
How to get a message to the rebels.
The woman ran a tape measure along his shoulders being careful with his bandaged cut. She made an appreciative noise, then lifted up a deep green frock coat with antique bronze buttons. The man took note of the width of Thane’s waist, then organized a plain shirt, an old-style Campbell kilt, sturdy woolen socks, and a new pair of dark brown, bucket-top boots on and beside the bed.
And on the side table, a crown of beaten gold shone dully. Thane swallowed.
The woman clasped her hands. “Please dress behind that screen, then we’ll check you for fit.”
“Oh.” The man raised a finger. “We were supposed to tell you some news too. What was it?”
“About the street vendor.”
“Aye. A vendor tried to send information about you to a band of brigands, but thankfully, she was stopped at the city limits by Campbell kingsmen.”
A weight descended onto Thane’s shoulders. He already knew the rebels hadn’t received his message, but it was salt in the wound that these two here thought they were doing him a favor sharing this information with him.
“I do hope you’ll improve the Campbell kingsmen’s behavior,” the male tailor whispered. “Though I am of the upper middle class and have no problems with the laws, I do think they are getting a bit full of themselves.”
“They took my auntie with no proof at all.” The female tailor covered her mouth with shaking fingers. “I don’t know why I said that out loud. Please forgive me. Please don’t tell Earl Nathair. I’m sure they’ll do justice for her. Forget I said anything.”
“Don’t be afraid.” Thane eyed the clothing. “You can say anything you like to me. Just so long as you don’t share my response with any of the earl’s men. Especially his new ones.”
The tailors traded confused looks. “But you are the Heir. They are your men now, are they not?”
They most definitely were not. Not when they had Aini. He was at every one of those men’s mercy.
“Aye. Of course.” But an idea sparked inside him. “During this…presentation and speech I’m meant to do today, could you do me a favor?”
“Maybe…” The woman chewed her lip.
The rebels needed a message from him. They had to know Aini was alive and that Nathair held her. He had to warn them about the Dream even if he wasn’t sure what it meant. They would surely come to the presentation. They’d come in all quiet. Some of them at least. He couldn’t know who they would send for sure, but somehow he knew Myles and Bran would come. His best mates would come to see him. And Myles would be the easiest to spot for these two tailors.
“I won’t say a thing about your breach in lawful behavior just now if you’ll find a man in the crowd for me during the speech.”
“I don’t know if we can do that, Heir.” The man tilted his head, still listening.
“There will be a man with very, very short hair. Almost bald. He has a colonial accent.”
“Why in God’s name is he bald? That is very out of fashion.” The man tsked.
“Find him please. Quietly. This must be kept secret. It’s for a back-up plan. Just in case Earl Nathair’s plan doesn’t work. In case the people of Edinburgh don’t respond the way he needs them to. Find the colonial.” Thane went to the table and picked up a pen and paper. He’d use the number code again. He tapped the pen against his bottom lip. “You have to be sure you can deliver this without being caught. This must remain secret. Do this for me and I’ll look into freeing your auntie.” He began writing numbers on the paper with the tailors looking over his shoulder.
“Oooo. It’s a code, then?” The tailor grinned, the fear in her features dissolving like sugar in boiling water.
“Aye.”
He had to warn the rebels about Nathair’s insane plan to poison the water in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Inverness. Surely Nathair wouldn’t really go through with it. That could go so wrong, hurting his own men and backfiring on his own reputation. But it was best to warn the rebels anyway. Oh. Wait. He wouldn’t risk injuring his men or any of the Scottish nobles. He’d taint the poorest area of the cities, thinking them worthless. Thane eyes shuttered closed. He’d never understand the man that was his father.
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