The corner of her mouth rose in a wry smile. “There’s something to be said for celibacy. No nasty surprises turning up later.”
He chuckled. “There’s something to be said for a willing woman and a warm bed, also.”
“True. But it’s risky.”
He sobered and glanced through the doorway. Weverton was watching them. He was scowling.
“I don’t think your friend likes you sitting on my bed with me,” he murmured.
“My friend?” She glanced behind and then back at Keros, disbelief coloring her voice. “You are maggot-brained.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do. Come on. We’ve a long way to go.”
She stood and Keros followed her out, aware of Weverton’s brooding gaze. Keros suppressed the urge to laugh. Nicholas Weverton had his prick in a knot over Margaret Rampling. The gods were laughing.
Outside the horses were already saddled and loaded with fat packs and rolled blankets inside oilskin sheets. Weverton went to his bay and mounted, reaching out an imperious hand to Margaret. She eyed it a moment, then took his hand and leaped up behind him.
“I guess that leaves us,” Keros said without looking at Ellyn. “Front or back.”
“I’m the one who knows how to ride,” she said sardonically, and swung up on the gray. She dropped her foot out of the stirrup and Keros put his toe in and pulled himself up behind. He settled his hands on the cantle. He was reluctant to touch her. He didn’t let himself think about why.
Weverton wheeled the bay and Margaret opened the ward. This time the gate didn’t open fully, though there was room enough to squeeze through. As he closed the ward, Keros boosted it with his own majick. It shut quickly and the thing in his mind twitched and settled.
They trotted out into the alley and broke into a canter. The rain was still falling heavily, enough to cover the noise of their passing. They left the Riddles and passed through Cranford. Before long Keros felt his legs start to ache as he clamped his thighs tightly. Ellyn was right—his body remembered how to ride. He felt tears burn in his eyes as he squeezed them shut. The memories didn’t want to stop with riding, but fled to the stables and racing out along the flats and from there moved to faces and sounds. He choked on a sob, his fingers clawing into the leather.
The next turns of the glass were an agonizing journey through the memories of his childhood. Every one was drenched in the horror of that day when the Gerent’s soldiers had come, of watching them march the villagers into the sea in groups of ten, and the carnage as the spawn came wriggling and crawling out of the waves, only to be hacked to pieces. But the soldiers did not stop their dreadful project and slowly the villagers were decimated.
How many more villages had vanished the same way? How many majicars had the Gerent required before he stopped? The thoughts made Keros want to puke. But, no. He caught himself in a hard grip. No. It was an old story and old pain. It no longer belonged to him. It belonged to the middle son of Ryerdal of Etelvayn who had died some fourteen seasons ago. Keros was a different man—not really a man at all. He was spawn.
He released the memories and the unbearable pain, letting them wash away with the sheeting rain, and relaxed into the rhythm of the horse.
The spare mare was tied beneath a traveler pine. She was a red chestnut with white socks. She whinnied ringingly as they approached. They all dismounted and Weverton set about saddling her. He spoke softly and rubbed her down with a rag before unrolling her saddle from its oilskin sheet. Within a few minutes she was tacked up and ready to go. Weverton handed the reins to Keros.
“I can put a lead line on her if you need it,” he said coolly.
“I’ll manage,” Keros said.
“Where are we going?” Ellyn asked.
“South of Lake Ferradon. We’ll follow the river to the lake.”
There was nothing else to say. They mounted, Margaret behind Weverton again and Keros and Ellyn riding separately. They turned south, tracing their way around the outside of Cranford at a trot. The rain lightened and turned back into a drizzle. Weverton looked over his shoulder at Keros.
“You learned to ride quickly,” he observed. “It’s quite impressive for a man who’s never sat a horse before.”
“Perhaps I underestimated my abilities.”
“Or maybe you lied.”
Keros smiled. “That’s a possibility too.”
Margaret looked at him, her face hidden from Weverton. She grinned and winked. Keros felt himself grin back and his chest swelled. He did have a place here in Crosspointe—a home.
They rode until darkness fell. The rain quit at the same time. They found a clearing near the river and set up camp. They collected a pile of wet wood and built a fire pit. Keros lit it with a spark of majick and soon the flames were roaring merrily. They tended the horses, rubbing them down and cleaning their hooves before giving them each a bait of grain. Margaret and Keros dug in the packs, bringing out vegetables, cheese, bread, and potatoes. Keros put the vegetables and potatoes into a pot of water and set them to boil. In the meantime, Weverton and Ellyn strung a thin line between two trees and hung the coats and cloaks to dry.
They spoke little. Keros was too tired and his body ached. Ellyn watched everyone with a sharp gaze, and Weverton brooded, staring down at his linked hands as he sat by the fire. Margaret paced circles around the clearing. After a few minutes, she wandered away into the trees, heading for the river. Keros followed her.
“Am I insane?” she asked as he came abreast of her. “To think that helping Weverton could make him a Rampling ally?”
“He is at least the enemy of your enemy,” Keros said. “That makes him your friend.”
“Still, I’ve risked a lot that isn’t mine to risk. Ellyn is a majicar and a spy from Azaire. Nicholas is—” She shook her head. “Ryland is going to slit my throat. I walked Nicholas into a safe house and I told him what you are. I told him what I am. He will not hesitate to use any of this against me—against the Crown. I am a fool.”
“Surely not. He will owe you for your help, and he does not take such debts lightly.”
“He is a pragmatic man and will not hesitate to do whatever he thinks necessary to further his goals.”
“And if I promise I will keep your secrets?”
Margaret and Keros both started, turning around. Weverton stood behind them, leaning a shoulder against a willow tree.
“I wouldn’t believe you, even if I wanted to. I may be helping you rescue your son, but I have not forgotten who you are and what you’ve done.” She shook her head. “This is pointless.”
She stalked forward, heading back to the camp. Nicholas straightened and his hand flashed out as he gripped her arm. She stopped, glaring at him.
“This isn’t settled,” he said softly.
She tipped her head. “Is that a threat?”
He shook his head. “It’s a promise. You have risked a lot—sacrificed a lot—for me and my son. I will not let it hurt you.”
She smiled and it was as bitter as lye. “That’s what sacrifice is: you suffer so someone else doesn’t have to. You can’t stop the consequences. No one can. Even if my brothers forgive me, they will never trust me again. Keros will never be a secret from you again. And you—” She grimaced and yanked away, disappearing into the trees without another word.
Keros met Weverton’s gaze. “You want her.” It wasn’t quite a question. The other man tipped his head slightly as if in agreement. “Why?”
For a moment he thought Weverton would not answer. Then, “She’s . . . remarkable.” There was a lot of meaning in that word.
“You have hundreds of women begging to climb in your bed. Pick one of them—pick all of them—just leave her alone. She’s not for you.”
Weverton laughed, a harsh bark. “You sound like a jealous lover.”
“I am her friend. Leave her alone. You’ll hurt her.”
The other man gave a slow shake of his head. “I don’t think I can; I d
on’t want to.”
“You’re a selfish bastard.”
“I am. I know what I want and I get it.” He offered no apology.
“Even knowing what it will cost her?”
“It won’t cost her anything.”
“Don’t be an ass. It already has.” Keros ran his tongue around the sharp edge of his teeth. “I don’t have any family anymore, at least not of blood. But I count Margaret as my sister. I don’t believe she’ll ever accept your advances. Your crimes against the Ramplings are too many. But if, by some bizarre circumstance, you manage to sway her, then be warned. If you use her ill, I will destroy you.” He lifted his hand and spun majick around his fingers in a lacy blue-green ball. “I’ll fry you where you stand.”
He lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew the majick from his fingers. It spun away and stuck to Weverton’s chest. For a moment nothing happened. Then tiny filaments of majick unfurled from the ball, snaking around Weverton’s body, containing him in a loose cocoon. It flared with brilliant light and he let out a sharp scream as he crumpled to the ground. The majick faded as quickly as it had flared.
Keros knelt down, grasping Weverton’s chin and ignoring the oily shift of the thing in his mind. The other man was shaking as if with a palsy. The pain of that spell was excruciating. “Think hard. This is just a taste of what I will do to you.”
He rose and walked away, leaving Weverton lying on the ground. He met Ellyn and Margaret on the trail.
“What happened? What was that scream?”
Keros smiled, a cold, vicious smile. “Turns out Weverton is afraid of snakes. He’ll be along soon. Let’s leave him to recover his dignity in peace.”
Chapter 8
Two days later they skirted Lake Ferradon and dropped down along the foothills of the Grimstone Mountains, stopping a league outside the village of Molford. They were dragging with exhaustion and wet to the skin. The rain had continued on and off and the previous night had been miserable. Margaret had slept little, sitting up all night against a tree. Her hands were pruny with the unceasing damp and her mood was black. She was miserably sore. Though Nicholas and she had switched back and forth, each having the opportunity to sit in the saddle, she was woefully out of shape for riding and her lower half was a fiery mass of aches.
Something had happened between Keros and Nicholas, she was certain of it. When Nicholas returned to camp two nights before, he had been dusted with leaves and twigs as if he’d been lying on the ground. His face appeared sickly pale and his hands had been shaking. He’d hardly been able to hold his food. He’d said little since then, and he and Keros did not speak. Even now it made her smile with spiteful satisfaction. He deserved so much for what he’d done to her family over the years, and there was little enough she could do to pay him back. But Keros had made the effort.
She eyed the majicar. He looked more tired than she did. His shoulders slumped and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open as he sat on a log, his arms propped on his knees, his head sagging low.
“What now?” Ellyn came and sat beside Margaret.
They’d built a small fire and ate stale bread and cheese. Margaret shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly around herself. Its majickal protections were unraveling, allowing the wool to absorb the wet. Her boots were the same. She glanced at her companion.
“Carston was being held at Molford Manor, just east of Molford village. First we need to discover whether he’s still being held there. After that—” She shrugged. “We’ll figure it out once we see what we are up against.”
“How do you expect to find out whether he’s there?” Nicholas asked. He stood in the shadows outside the light of the fire. “They will be suspicious of us—four strangers on horseback.”
Margaret touched her forefingers together and pressed them to her lips. She’d been piecing together a plan for the past two days. “We have two choices. We can try to sneak into the village and learn what we need to know, but this is one of the regent’s strongholds. They will be expecting spies to come sniffing in the shadows and will be wary.”
“And the second choice?” Keros asked from across the fire.
“Nicholas and I pretend to be a wealthy couple on our way from Blakely to Tixora for a wedding. I, of course refuse to do the sensible thing and sail around through Wigan Sound because I want my horses there so everyone can know how rich I am, and I love them like children. My long-suffering husband, who is also weak-willed, gives into all my whims no matter how silly. So when there was a flood in our village and all able bodies were called out to help, I refused to wait and chance being late for the wedding. Thus we’ve set off on this adventure without a proper escort. Unfortunately, in a mudslide, we lost everything but ourselves, a precious packhorse, and our two servants. We are now in need of an inn to recuperate while we send for clothing and necessities from home. We’ll have to stay for several days at least, but we’ll pay very well. After all, we didn’t lose all our money.”
“You aren’t dressed properly,” Nicholas said. “You look like a thief, not a wealthy woman.”
“We’ll arrive after dark. I’ll be overcome by the emotions of the events and you’ll hurry me directly to our rooms. No one will see anything but my cloak. My maid, Ellyn, will purchase things for me in Molford.”
“Evelyn,” Ellyn corrected. “I’ve only been here once for a short time, but there is no sense using a name someone might recognize.”
Margaret nodded. “Good enough. It sounds enough like your real name that if one of us slipped up, we wouldn’t be in trouble.”
“It’s dangerous. If they suspect us, they’ll be able to sweep us up without much effort,” Keros said. “Truehelm is likely to have at least one or two master majicars here. I’m not sure how well Ellyn and I would do against them. Not only that, but you and Weverton could be recognized. You aren’t exactly unknown in Crosspointe.”
“No one will expect to see us here in these circumstances. It is simply unfathomable that the prim and proper Princess Margaret would be in Molford in such straits—and sneaking about with a man. It is inconceivable. As for Nicholas Weverton—I doubt anyone would believe that he would be here. But we’ll have to hope for the best. We’ll have to risk it if we want to rescue Carston before the regent becomes suspicious. Nicholas has been gone for three days now and I’m certain the regent has sent his ultimatum. He is no doubt waiting for a response. Who knows what he’ll do if he doesn’t get it? This is the quickest way to find out what we need to. We’ll simply have to be convincing so that no one suspects we could be who we are,” Margaret said. “I can do my part. Can you?” she asked Nicholas.
He gave a low bow. “Anything you wish, sweet wife,” he said in a nasally, obsequious voice.
She smiled, despite herself. “We should go now, tonight,” she said. “No time to waste.”
“Ah, my love, anything your heart desires,” he said. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Tell me to fetch the moon and I will get it for you!”
“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” Ellyn said.
“I am but a humble man and this fine woman is my dearest treasure. I would do anything for her,” Nicholas said in that ridiculous voice.
Ellyn shook her head and rolled her eyes. Keros only stood up. The two men exchanged a long, dark look, and then Keros put the fire out. Margaret took possession of the gray gelding, while Keros and Ellyn rode double on the chestnut mare. As his companion settled behind him, Keros’s expression pulled tight. Margaret wondered what he was thinking.
She rode beside Nicholas. They’d neared the outskirts of the town when he spoke again.
“Are you well, my sweetest darling?” he asked. “You are so quiet. You’ve not taken a chill, have you? Oh, my dear, I will never forgive myself if you are ill.”
She grinned. This was going to be fun. “Avery, I have told you over and over. I am desperately ill and unhappy. How could you have let this happen? My brother will be distraught with w
orry. We must send him word. And my things! All my beautiful things gone with the wagon and the mules. We cannot go on this way. We must send to Shevring. I will not move another inch until I have proper clothing. I will not appear at my brother’s house as a pauper!” Her voice rose shrilly.
“Now, now, my dear,” Nicholas said. “Anything you want. I’m sure Molford will have an inn. We will stay there as long as you want.”
“Molford?” She sniffed. “It will be a hovel. Oh, my nerves. It is too much. How will I survive?”
The village was a solid, well- crafted place. It was larger than Margaret expected. Many of the buildings were recently built and there were more people on the cobblestone main street than she had anticipated at this hour. They found the inn near the center of the town. It was an imposing three-story structure. The first floor was made of rock and the upper stories were half-timbered with oriel windows and a roof of cedar shakes. Yellow lights gleamed warmly from the windows and the smell of warm bread and stewed lamb drifted tantalizingly through the night. Margaret’s mouth watered and her stomach rumbled.
They pulled up in the inn yard. “Keros! Fetch the innkeeper,” Nicholas ordered and then leaped to the ground. He tied his gelding to a bush and came around to help Margaret down.
“Easy now, my precious, dearest love,” he said as she slid down into his arms and collapsed weakly against his chest. His arms held her tightly. “We shall soon be warm.”
“Do you have a secret yearning to be an actor?” she whispered.
“Just keeping us safe,” was his murmured reply.
The innkeeper came bustling out after Keros. He was a small man with a belly that sagged over his apron. His head was bald and he wore a thick beard and mustache. He goggled at the horses, hardly looking at his new guests.
“Sir, how may I help you?”
“My wife and I have had a terrible trial,” Nicholas said in his nasal voice. “We must have rooms—your best, mind you. I don’t care about the cost. We need hot baths and food and wine. Quickly, man. My wife is about to faint!” He swung Margaret up into his arms.
The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe Page 11