The Dowry Blade

by Cherry Potts

  ‘I have spies.’ Her eyes glinted and Brede wasn’t sure whether to take her seriously. ‘I can ask questions with greater freedom, and in places that you could never go. I have no sisters, Brede, but I’ve lost friends. I know that it isn’t the same, but I can imagine.’

  ‘If I ask, will Grainne truly give me anything? If my sister lives, if her child lives, I want them freed. Will she do that?’

  Sorcha nodded.

  ‘Of course.’

  Brede’s head came up and her smile faded into a cold glare.

  ‘And even if they are alive and freed, I will be wanting Madoc’s head, will Grainne give me that I wonder?’

  Sorcha shook her head very slightly.

  ‘No, perhaps not that, not officially, nor with a ribbon in his hair, but she might not choose to investigate some unexplained death in a tavern brawl. You know she doesn’t value him. There might be others who’d be more – concerned – should he die.’ She cast her eyes down, then fixed them on Brede’s face. ‘I have a question. You never said until now, even when I asked you – persuasively – what you were doing here, you gave no indication.’

  ‘I did not lie.’

  ‘I know that, but so strong a reason, I should have known, I should have been able to convince you to confide in me. So it seems you are able to resist me;’ Sorcha caught a grin on Brede’s face, and laughed, ‘Yes, it is a rare occurrence, but if I ask you something now, will you tell me the whole truth, not just enough to satisfy me?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Sorcha leant her weight gently against Brede, curving an arm about her, feeling the tension in the rope of muscles beside her spine.

  ‘What keeps you here, with a sister to pull you away?’

  ‘You know the answer to that.’

  ‘No.’

  Brede grinned.

  ‘There was a woman at the horse fair, in a silly dress and silver combs.’

  Sorcha rested her hand against Brede’s back; the rope was loosening. ‘And what was it about this woman that attracted you?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it wasn’t the dress or the combs. She distracted me so far from my path I don’t know if I’ll ever find a way back.’

  ‘Not without help.’

  ‘No. And you are offering?’

  ‘Yes –’

  Brede sensed that Sorcha might say more, but the faintest sound came from the inner room, and Sorcha was on her feet and gone.

  Sound carried in these rooms, Brede noticed; she could hear Sorcha soothing Grainne’s distress. She wondered that the spell did not affect her too, but Sorcha’s song was a skein of notes and meaningless words to her. She wondered if Grainne had been conscious long, whether she had been listening.

  And Sorcha, what of her? There was a link between her and Grainne that Brede couldn’t quite fathom: thirty years shared. She thought of the way Sorcha’s mouth felt against hers, and wondered if Sorcha had ever kissed Grainne that way. She wished, and did not wish, to hold Sorcha in her arms. She wanted to be out of Grainne’s hearing.

  Sorcha leant against the door, her bare feet flinching from the cold floor.

  ‘Is she asleep?’ Brede asked.

  Sorcha shook her head. She moved across the room, gathering her blankets from the couch.

  ‘Not sleeping, nor likely to. I will have to stay close by her tonight. The sword has disturbed her. She needs me more than she needs drugs or my songs. I’m sorry.’

  Brede shrugged.

  ‘I can sleep anywhere. Nomad blood, remember?’

  The uneasy frown slipped from Sorcha’s face.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, flicking the edge of the blanket across Brede’s face in a playful feint. ‘It was just that I was hoping you’d be sleeping with me,’ Sorcha said casually, gathering the blanket back up.

  ‘You presume on very short acquaintance.’

  ‘Tell me you would have refused.’

  Brede swallowed what she wanted to say, her whole body crying out to say no.

  ‘I would have refused.’

  Sorcha raises an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

  ‘Why?’

  Brede laughed.

  ‘Because I think you’ve been short on truth again.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Grainne. Tell me she has not been your lover.’

  Sorcha grimaced. ‘A long time ago.’

  ‘And you really want to make love within her hearing?’

  ‘Ah. Now who is presuming? Some people sleep together to keep warm.’

  ‘You are an impossible flirt,’ Brede said, suddenly feeling relaxed, certain once more of the ground.

  ‘Yes, it is too warm to share blankets for any other reason. However, I hope you will understand me if I tell you that I’m going to share Grainne’s blankets tonight, because she is cold – cold to her soul.’

  Brede blinked, the teasing had vanished again, replaced with the weight of all of Grainne’s pain and fear. Sorcha was visibly trembling with the effort it had already cost her to cope with Grainne’s poisoned frame.

  ‘I understand you,’ Brede said, quietly, lapsing into her native tongue. ‘You’d best go to her.’

  Sorcha lit more candles, and spread the extra blankets over Grainne’s bed. She finished undressing, and climbed in beside her friend.

  ‘You did hear, I suppose?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Grainne said. ‘It won’t be easy.’

  ‘That is the least of our problems,’ Sorcha said tersely, feeling raw to that suggestion.

  ‘Ah, but it is one with a solution. I want you to be happy, my sorcerer.’

  ‘I’ve not told you this before, Grainne, Lady, most worthy liege; I can’t stand it when you call me sorcerer.’

  ‘Well then, that is something I can put right. If you are going to spit liege at me, I will call you Songspinner.’

  ‘You will not. Sound travels, remember?’

  Grainne nodded.

  ‘Brede has made that point adequately.’ she dropped her voice to the merest breath. ‘Hold me,’ she said. ‘I am so cold.’

  Sorcha edged closer, encircling Grainne’s trembling body with her arms; knowing that her very touch brought pain, but that even the pain was better than the fear which had roused Grainne despite drug and spell, to stare into the darkness watching for the Scavenger to come claim her soul.

  Brede listened to the murmur of voices from the next room, and watched the fingers of light across the ceiling, from the many candles that Sorcha had lit, trying to drive the shadows from Grainne’s night. For a long time she turned over Sorcha’s few words about Grainne. Her thoughts stuck on those thirty years. She drifted into sleep at last, Sorcha’s changing face before her eyes, first the unremarkable face she offered the world, and then the fierce brightness of the face she turned to Brede, and to Grainne.

  Brede woke to the sound of ash being scraped from the fire. She glanced round for Sorcha and realised who was clearing the fire in the adjoining room. No wonder she was constantly tired.

  Brede shrugged into her clothes, and joined Sorcha over the embers of the fire. She took the shovel from her, and finished cleaning the fireplace. Sorcha folded herself into a chair, pulling her knees up to her chin, in exhausted acceptance of Brede’s presence.

  Brede glanced at Grainne’s unmoving form.

  ‘Do you cook her food too?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I go to the common kitchen, and I take food from the common pot. The Queen eats what we all eat.’

  ‘When did she sleep?’

  ‘Not above two hours ago,’ Sorcha responded, ‘but she’ll not sleep long.’

  ‘Can you rest?’

  Sorcha grimaced.

  ‘I could try.’

  She dragged herself out of the chair and wavered through to Brede’s rumpled couch, asleep before she had completely laid herself down. Brede pulled the blankets from beneath her, and tossed them carelessly over her huddled body. She gazed down at Sorcha, wondering how Grainne had inspi
red such devotion.

  Brede returned to the inner room, and laid more wood on the fire, one piece at a time, slowly, careful of making noise. Before she had finished the task, she was aware of Grainne’s wakeful stirring. She went to the end of the bed, wondering what, if anything, she could do for Grainne.

  The Queen’s wandering gaze lit on the shadowy figure at the end of her bed.

  ‘Where is Sorcha?’ she asked.

  ‘Asleep,’ Brede said quietly. Grainne nodded.

  ‘That is good. Come and sit beside me, Ahern’s daughter.’

  Brede hesitated at this unexpected command, and Grainne beckoned her forward. There was nowhere to sit but the edge of the bed. Brede placed herself cautiously, so as not to jolt Grainne’s frailty.

  ‘So,’ Grainne hesitated, finding words to fit the strangeness of the occasion, ‘we hear each other too well, Plains woman.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You and Sorcha deserve some quiet time together. I promise you shall have your time, when I can spare Sorcha.’

  Brede didn’t respond.

  ‘Talk to me, daughter of Wing Clan. It seems you have thoughts to share.’ Grainne suggested.

  Brede tilted her head, questioningly.

  ‘You have Sorcha firmly influenced,’ Grainne persisted. ‘What can you persuade me to?’ Grainne reached out and touched the braided hair Brede had tied about her wrist. ‘Sorcha hasn’t cut her hair before. A passing remark from you, and a lifetime’s growth was on the fire.’

  ‘She did that for you, not me.’

  ‘Yes, she told me. And that is what she believes.’ Grainne shifted herself slightly towards sitting, trying to make the movement look easy.

  ‘Before Aeron died, when I did not expect to rule, I did what I liked. And what I liked included Sorcha.’ Grainne smiled, in easy reminiscence, an infectious smile. ‘I was not always as you see me, Brede. I had a youth – a happy, misspent, wild youth. A lifetime ago; but now, Sorcha takes your suggestions. The question is: should she trust you?’

  ‘I do not believe that she does. What is it that you and she are afraid of?’

  Grainne shrugged slightly.

  ‘Sorcha has her own secrets. She’ll tell you or not as she pleases, it is not for me to tell.’ Grainne tugged gently on the hair bracelet. ‘I need to be sure of you. I know what you think of my choice, I certainly know what Phelan thinks of it. I also know why you accepted my offer. You believe I would have you killed if you refused.’

  ‘Would you not?’

  ‘Who would I ask to carry out that order? I can’t trust many people.’

  ‘Maeve.’

  Grainne laughed.

  ‘Yes, for that task, I think I might trust Maeve.’ Grainne peered hard at Brede, trying to see her expression in the half-light.

  ‘If you want to go, you may.’

  Brede’s eyes locked with Grainne’s, startled.

  ‘But if you go it must be now, before we grow dependent upon you. Take your horse, and go back to Wing Clan, tell them who was responsible for the last Gather. Tell them what really happened. Tell them we want an end to this.’

  Brede waited to see if Grainne would regret those words. They gazed wordlessly at each other for several seconds.

  ‘Why now? Why not five years ago? Why not nine? When did it become important to you that Wing Clan forget their injury at your hand?’

  ‘Ailbhe is dead, that changes everything. Lorcan is a child; his army will be weak. Now is our chance to force them to a peace.’

  ‘And this is your greatest need, Grainne?’ Brede asked quietly. ‘The Clans back under your control?’

  ‘No. I want the Clans at peace, with me and with my heir. There is no point in continuing the war. I want peace.’

  ‘What about the rest? The Clans are not the only alienated peoples to have taken up arms against you.’

  ‘They’ll come to terms if I am not fighting Lorcan, they are taking advantage of the fact that we can’t fight so many enemies at once. The Clans are different. They have better cause to fight.’

  ‘And what of the one who is poisoning you? Will that one be satisfied with Lorcan as liege? Will you live long enough to bring this about?’

  ‘I must.’

  ‘So what is of most use to you, Grainne; my presence as guard, or my absence as emissary? I can’t do both.’

  ‘Which do you want to do?’ Grainne asked, curious despite herself.

  Brede sighed, and walked to the shuttered window, peering through the slats at the faint tinge of dawn.

  ‘If I’d wanted to go back to the Clans I’d have done so before now.’

  ‘And what keeps you here, when the threat of a knife between the ribs is not part of your decision?’ Brede’s hand slipped on the window ledge, hearing an echo of Sorcha’s words.

  ‘Sorcha, potentially. Is that why you want me gone?’

  Grainne looked away, considering whether she would really risk her own safety rather than see Sorcha with another woman. At last she smiled.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, waiting for Brede to respond.

  ‘Is that knife back?’

  Grainne had to think about that too.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, what is this war about? What was so important that it lasted thirteen years, only to be dropped now?’

  Grainne considered Brede’s sudden change of direction. She supposed that Brede was refusing to see her as anything but the Queen. And being Queen, she pulled her thoughts together and tried to explain.

  ‘Ailbhe always wanted the power for himself, he was never content to be Aeron’s consort.’

  ‘So you think he killed Aeron. And she was your – sister? Cousin?’

  ‘Niece.’

  Brede nodded. ‘Reason enough for war.’

  ‘More complicated than that. When she died with no daughter, I was her heir. Ailbhe and his kin would’ve had me hand-fast with him, so that he could keep the throne. I could not, when I suspected him of a hand in her death. And he wouldn’t have been satisfied to be my consort either. I’ve no doubt I’d have died before I could’ve had a daughter.’

  ‘So there was no way for Ailbhe to gain by Aeron’s death?’

  ‘Of course there was, but not once I refused him. He misjudged my resolve, my loyalty. But once I am gone, a male relative who is blood of her blood can succeed.’

  Brede watched Grainne thoughtfully, wanting to say You’ve really flown in the face of the wind, haven’t you?

  Grainne turned restlessly away from Brede’s gaze.

  ‘So,’ she said softly, ‘I was forced to be the ruler I never wanted to be, to stand between Ailbhe and his ambition. And I did it, for the country, for Aeron’s memory, out of duty. And I thought I was right to do so. And now someone I trust is trying to poison me. When I find out who that trusted someone is...’

  Brede shook her head. ‘And then what?’ she asked.

  Grainne had not looked beyond her final proof, her justice, if she could have it.

  ‘Then Ailbhe will have lost.’

  ‘He is already dead,’ Brede reminded her gently.

  Grainne rubbed her temples. ‘At the hand of my Aeron’s son. I can’t believe she spawned him. I must make peace of some sort with that viper. If I do not, the war could last forever.’

  ‘Is it still within your control to end this?’ Brede asked.

  Grainne sighed, bemused by her memories, and her anger and resentment at fourteen years of her life wasted and ruined.

  ‘Barely in my control, but it is my responsibility. The second that I allowed that circle of metal to touch my brow, it became my war, my fault. Perhaps even before, when Aeron died, it became my task.’

  ‘There was no war then,’ Brede protested.

  ‘You think not? No battles perhaps, but war, yes. You have handled that sword; can you tell me that you do not understand the way you can be drawn into the scheme of things, until you can no longer find a way out, until your own needs and wants mean noth
ing? Haven’t you heard Sorcha? There has always been a war; I didn’t choose this, it chose me, but it is mine for all that. Even when I don’t wear that crown, I can feel it pressing against my head, burning into me.’

  Brede took a breath to interrupt, and hesitated. Grainne’s eyes focussed on her for the first time in a while. She was trembling with effort, beads of sweat on her brow. Brede laid a steadying hand on Grainne’s wrist. Grainne considered the hand resting against her skin, and recovered herself. She had forgotten that this was an ill-educated Plains woman, not Sorcha, to whom she spoke.

  ‘Take your rest,’ Grainne whispered. ‘I shall sleep again for a while. No one shall disturb us yet.’

  Brede returned to her couch, where Sorcha lay, tangled in her blankets. Patiently, she unravelled the coverings from Sorcha’s sleep heavy limbs, and worked her way under the covers beside her. The bed was far too narrow for them both, but somehow she managed to get reasonably comfortable, and would have been almost content were it not for the thought of the freedom that she had allowed to slip away from her once more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eachan was aware that it looked strange, to have the master of the Queen’s horse going from gate to gate, garth to garth, asking after horses of Plains breeding. It helped nothing that he did not know what he was looking for, beyond a woman a little older than Brede, a child, gender unknown, aged around nine; and a particular breeder’s mark. Nonetheless, he judged it safer that he go than Brede. The owners of the private stables would be curious about him, but they would as like as not set the town guard onto Brede.

  So, when Eachan walked in at Doran’s gate his mind was on horses, and his own dignity, so he did not at first recognise the man standing in the shade of the long porch running the length of the building. He had no reason to recognise the woman, and it wasn’t the owners of the house he particularly wished to speak to, so he turned his blind eye to them, looking for a servant. Even so, as he waited for the child to find the stable mistress, there was something about the way the man held himself that impinged. He stepped into another shady corner and watched as Killan detached himself with many backward glances for the woman on the porch. Doran’s wife, or his daughter, Eachan supposed, but it was too far away to tell which. He wondered if Killan had spotted him.