The Dowry Blade

by Cherry Potts

  ‘Phelan’s dead,’ she said bluntly. Tegan gasped.

  ‘Hush,’ Brede said. ‘I’ve not done. He threw himself from the balcony of Grainne’s chamber. Maeve let him fall. There are prisoners, Killan and Ula among them. Grainne will have given Maeve orders.’

  Tegan’s face became drawn, her distress apparent even in the uncertain light of the torches.

  ‘Has she carried out those orders?’

  Brede glanced at the knot of warriors, noting who was absent.

  ‘Those set to guard are not here, but their horses are, so you can hope they’re still at their places,’ she said. Tegan closed her eyes, understanding what would push Maeve into flight. Those traitors were Maeve’s drinking companions, friends, and closer even than that.

  ‘Then she has gone.’

  Tegan pulled away from Brede’s grasp, unable to contain her anger at Maeve, nor her grief for her. She strode once more to the centre of the yard, calling for attention.

  Tegan put aside grief.

  ‘There is an army out beyond our walls,’ she said, her voice suddenly soft, but carrying for all that. ‘Lorcan’s army, brought here by Phelan, and now it seems that Maeve may have gone to tell the enemy what has befallen him and his spies. I’m going to find out what our liege lady wants us to do.’ Her words fell into a silence, broken only by the hiss of Eachan’s breath, drawn through his teeth. Tegan beckoned to Sorcha. ‘I think Grainne may need you.’

  Eachan grabbed at Tegan’s arm, furious with her.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. How could Maeve know Lorcan would be out there? If she has found him she’s probably dead.’

  ‘I hope she is,’ someone in the group of warriors muttered.

  Tegan pulled her arm free of Eachan’s grip, unheeding.

  ‘Grainne needs me,’ she said coldly.

  Eachan turned to Brede, hoping she would talk sense to Tegan, and perhaps even to Grainne, but he saw the drawn, disquieted look on her face and asked a quite different question from the one he had planned.

  ‘What ails you?’

  ‘Is Grainne going to have them all killed? Without trial?’ Brede asked faintly.

  ‘They are traitors,’ Eachan said, hushing her firmly, turning her by the arm, back into the seclusion of the stables.

  ‘Are they? I hope you’re right, Eachan, because if they are not, none of us are safe, and I have been ...’ She couldn’t finish. ‘Whatever the outcome of this battle, I’m leaving as soon as it is safe to do so. If it isn’t too late already. I have to take Neala back to Wing Clan.’

  ‘More frightened of staying with the witch than of going home finally?’ Eachan asked gently. Brede pulled sharply away from him.

  ‘Neala needs to be with her kin.’

  ‘And you don’t? Why are you so afraid to go back? You could have gone back any time in the last ten years if you’d wanted to, but only now, when there’s something that might be worth staying away for, you go back. It makes no sense.’ Eachan reached to clasp her shoulder. ‘Rumour has it that Maeve let the General fall, but it was you provided him with the chance, opening the shutters as you did.’

  Brede had been trying to dodge that memory.

  ‘You’re finally in danger of making enemies, girl. Keep your head down for a while, if Grainne will let you. See if she still loves you. We might as well all be on trial for our lives just now, thanks to Maeve.’

  ‘Don’t blame Maeve.’

  ‘I don’t, but Grainne will. I’ll keep an eye on your next-kin. Go build bridges while you’ve the chance.’ Eachan gave her a shove between the shoulder blades that set her off balance. ‘Go on, Grainne listens to you, see if you can dig us out of this, before you go.’

  Uncertainly, Brede made her way to the foot of Grainne’s stair.

  Riordan let her pass, but Brede went no further than the outer chamber. Sorcha caught sight of her and stilled her impatient walking, holding her arms out in welcome. Brede kissed her briefly, and drew away.

  ‘Why are you still out here?’ she asked.

  ‘Tegan is with her.’

  ‘I don’t hear anything.’

  Sorcha shrugged helplessly.

  ‘She won’t be shouting, with Maeve’s brother at her door.’

  ‘Does this change your plans?’

  ‘It must. Lorcan is at the gate. Any peace talks must happen at once.’

  ‘But after that?’

  Sorcha shook her head and set her mind to their more immediate preparations, and started by searching under the bed for the discarded greatsword. It gave her a moment to recover.

  ‘We don’t need that, do we?’ Brede protested, at the thought of the blade. She had come to hate that weapon.

  ‘Grainne will need it,’ Sorcha said, suddenly wanting to smash the sword and Grainne with it.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘As a symbol of her sole rule – to remind Lorcan that his bid to use Phelan failed.’ Sorcha straightened from her search. ‘Perhaps to behead her traitors, I don’t know – where is it?’

  ‘In the stable.’

  Sorcha sighed.

  ‘Why did she choose Maeve?’ Brede asked.

  ‘Revenge. She wanted Phelan alive, Maeve failed her. Be grateful she didn’t choose you.’

  ‘Has she some other revenge planned for me?’

  Sorcha gazed at Brede. So soon after her rage at Grainne that question chilled her. She couldn’t shrug the uneasiness away.

  Brede walked to the inner door, shamelessly pressing her ear against it.

  ‘I still can’t hear anything. Nothing at all.’ She caught Sorcha’s look, lifted the latch and pushed hard on the door.

  ‘How is it with the Queen?’ Sorcha asked, trying to steady her voice.

  ‘She sleeps,’ Tegan said quietly.

  Sorcha could think of only one way Grainne could sleep now.

  ‘What are you thinking, Tegan? Would you let her slip into death so quietly? Why did you say nothing sooner?’

  Tegan’s impassivity slipped from her face, and pain and exhaustion and grief were there, like bruising.

  ‘I’d willingly let her sleep, and yes, let her die, if that’s what she wants,’ she said defiantly, but she could not meet Sorcha’s enraged, wide-eyed anguish. Sorcha pushed her aside, flinging herself down at the bedside.

  Sorcha took her friend’s hand in hers, lacing her fingers between Grainne’s. Not dead yet.

  ‘Go guard the door, Tegan,’ she said, as kindly as she could bear to be. ‘This is my work to do now.’

  Tegan withdrew reluctantly.

  For a moment Brede thought she might follow Sorcha into Grainne’s room, might in some way assist. She caught the intense concentration on Sorcha’s half-turned face, and found no place for her.

  ‘So –’ she turned away without finishing the thought.

  Sorcha gazed at Grainne’s face, seeing that her spirit was far withdrawn from reality. It would be so easy to let her slip away now, peacefully, as Grainne must wish to go. Sorcha let the Queen’s limp hand fall, and checked the herbs that she had left, so conveniently within reach. If Grainne truly wished to die, the dose she had taken would free her, but if she did not wish it, she could fight the numbing of her thoughts, the slowing of her heart – perhaps it was even an accident. Sorcha hesitated to discover Grainne’s choice, but, despite Tegan’s challenge, to leave without trying to revive her was beyond her.

  Sorcha considered, weighing her resources against her friendship. She decided, despite her own mind-numbing exhaustion, to be gentle – to use her own strength rather than Grainne’s. Sorcha lay beside the Queen, her hands entwined with Grainne’s. What she planned was dangerous; she didn’t want to slip out of consciousness and fall. She chose her song with care, winding gently into Grainne’s mind, smoke from a dying fire.

  Grainne had slipped a long way out of herself, needing a great distance to find her peace. Sorcha stirred her gently, igniting the embers of her consciousness. She found a ta
int of death there, Grainne’s long illness, and now this flirtation with the Scavenger. Sorcha felt Grainne’s awareness of her, the half protest and then – clawed despair – pulling them together into the abyss.

  Sorcha tried to draw back to the surface of her wakeful mind, but she couldn’t bring Grainne with her. Grainne clung to Sorcha within their shared consciousness, holding her back, pulling her deeper into the darkness. Sorcha stared down into the dark, trying to assess the depth. The darkness was velvet soft, uncertain – nothing to hold onto, nothing to take a bearing from. Sorcha tried to work out how far Grainne had sunk, how far Grainne had dragged her – and suddenly she was struggling against the gentle silence, not to save Grainne, but to save herself – aware that her body couldn’t support that effort for long. She fought to free herself of Grainne, panicked into a silent screaming, lashing out with all of her power to free herself of the suffocating nightmare that was Grainne’s death. And still Grainne clung to her.

  The song died on Sorcha’s lips, as she stared into the face of the Scavenger. No nightmare this, but cold reality – Sorcha hadn’t expected the harbinger of death to be beautiful, it was a heart-stopping shock. Just for a moment she stopped struggling. The Scavenger untangled Grainne’s limbs from Sorcha’s with slow patience, determined to make her give Grainne up. Sorcha forgot to fight, forgot to think, forgot to breathe. Grainne’s limp arms draped about the Scavenger in a travesty of an embrace, as it collected her to its breast, gently, lover-like – and still the Scavenger’s eyes held Sorcha’s.

  Tegan sat with her back against the door to Grainne’s chamber, with her drawn sword across her knees, and hoped for the song that pulled against Grainne to end; yet when the song finally drifted into silence, she waited, unwilling to discover the result of Sorcha’s efforts. When she still heard nothing, no movement from beyond the closed door, she knew she could wait no longer.

  Grainne lay motionless and blank-eyed, one hand trailing over the edge of the bed, almost touching the floor. Sorcha sat beside the Queen, her hands clenched into Grainne’s hair, rocking in silent grief. Tegan looked at the Queen, who lay, so clearly dead, in the room she should have been guarding. Were it not for Sorcha, and the almost silent gasps of despair that racked her, Tegan could feel relief at the sight. Quietly she pulled the door shut, and walked the few yards to the outer door where Riordan stood guard.

  ‘Find Brede,’ she ordered.

  Riordan saw Tegan’s haggard expression and drawn sword, and stilled his urge to question. He vanished down the stairs as though the Scavenger were after him.

  Tegan leant back into the door frame, seeking the support of stone, and finding it inadequate to her need. Slowly she allowed her body to sink to the floor, the sword still in her hand. She laid it carefully down, across the threshold, and waited for Brede to come.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Brede climbed the stairs to Grainne’s chamber, head tilted upward, as though expecting ambush. At the sight of Tegan’s foot lying against the top stair, she leapt up the last few steps, to find Tegan slumped in the doorway.

  Tegan stirred, and held out a hand for Brede to help her up. Tegan pulled her into the chamber. Brede stumbled, almost catching her foot on the hilt of Tegan’s sword, laid across the threshold.

  Tegan pushed the door shut and leant against it.

  ‘Grainne is dead.’

  Brede stepped back, an involuntary movement, quickly checked. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been half expecting this. She went to the inner door.

  Sorcha sat on the bed, cradling Grainne, stroking her hair. She didn’t look up as the door opened. She smoothed Grainne’s brow, then lifted her burden slightly and kissed her closed eyes.

  Brede shuddered. She had often felt Sorcha’s lips placed against her own eyelids in that caress.

  ‘Sorcha,’ Brede whispered.

  Sorcha raised her head.

  ‘You shall not have her.’

  ‘I don’t want her,’ Brede said. ‘I want you.’

  Sorcha was silent, unmoved, unmoving. Brede stepped towards her, one slow cautious step.

  ‘Grainne should have her crown, she should have her guard –’ Brede tried.

  ‘She hated the crown.’ Sorcha’s eyes followed Brede’s slow approach suspiciously. She glanced down at Grainne, a sudden frown on her face.

  ‘I never thought it would be beautiful.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It. The Scavenger. So beautiful.’ Sorcha’s gaze rose once more, but it wasn’t Brede she saw. ‘I will recognise it next time,’ she said. ‘I will be ready for it. I shall guard against it.’

  ‘Sorcha –’ Brede edged onto the bed, one hand reaching out to Sorcha, but not touching. ‘You can’t guard against death itself. No one can do that.’

  ‘I can.’ Sorcha said angrily, slapping away Brede’s hand. ‘I can. It won’t steal anyone from me again.’

  Brede bit her lip. At least somewhere in her grief Sorcha did seem to know that Grainne was dead, but Brede didn’t know how to separate the Queen from her over vigilant guard.

  ‘Sorcha.’ The eyes drifted back to Brede’s face. ‘Tell me who I am.’

  ‘You are Brede,’ Sorcha said, content to answer without wondering why.

  ‘What am I?’

  ‘Trouble.’ Brede recoiled, despite the softness of Sorcha’s tone. ‘Trouble,’ Sorcha said again, rubbing at her eyes as though they pained her. ‘Glorious, wonderful, troublesome Brede.’

  ‘Why trouble?’ Brede asked.

  ‘You get in the way.’

  ‘Do I?’ Brede asked.

  ‘Wherever I turn, there you are, in my mind, blocking out everything else.’ She loosened her hold on Grainne, reaching her hand towards Brede, touching her face, brooding. ‘This face,’ she said. ‘Always there.’

  Brede closed her own hand over Sorcha’s, bringing it to her lips, kissing her knuckles, her palm.

  Slowly Sorcha’s other hand untangled from Grainne’s hair, and wavered towards Brede’s unkempt plait.

  ‘I never stop thinking about you,’ Sorcha said, frowning deeply.

  ‘Nor I you,’ Brede said, beyond surprise. Sorcha stayed silent for a long time, unmoving, her eyes almost closed. Then her eyes opened once more and she focussed on Brede as though seeing her for the first time.

  ‘Hold me,’ Sorcha said, staring out of nightmare at a beacon of hope.

  Brede held her close, pulling her away from Grainne’s limp outstretched hand, off the bed, onto the floor, holding her tight, so tight.

  ‘I will never let you go, never,’ Brede whispered into Sorcha’s hair, feeling the shudders storm through her body. Sorcha sobbed incoherently, turning her face away, trying to fight her way out of the dread that still held her.

  ‘Never,’ Brede said again, desperately, not knowing what else to do.

  Sorcha took a long shuddering breath, and then another, half choking. She leant her head back against the side of the bed, eyes tight shut. A gentler breath and she turned slightly so that she could see Brede.

  ‘That’s enough,’ she said abruptly. ‘You can let go now.’

  Brede loosened her hold a fraction, startled at the normality of her tone.

  ‘I’ll never let you go,’ Brede said furiously.

  ‘Enough to let me breathe?’

  Brede loosened her hold a little more.

  ‘Are you safe?’

  ‘No, no I’m not – but I’m not dangerous.’

  Brede nodded and pulled away, putting sufficient distance between them that she could see Sorcha’s face properly.

  ‘Am I really troublesome?’ she asked.

  ‘Exceedingly. It’s one of your most irritating virtues.’

  ‘Virtues?’

  Sorcha nodded, wiping tears from her face with her sleeve.

  ‘Never stop being troublesome. It is a rare and wonderful gift, and I love you for it.’

  She smiled, an attempt at reassurance, and struggled to her feet.
/>   Brede blinked. Sorcha moved away, and stood over Grainne’s body.

  ‘Is this peace?’ she asked, folding first one limp arm and then the other across Grainne’s wasted body. ‘Is this what you wanted?’ Sorcha pulled Grainne’s robe into a semblance of order, then smoothed her hair. She sighed. ‘I failed her, with everything I had to give her, I failed her completely.’

  Brede scrambled to her feet. ‘She’s gone,’ she said swiftly.

  ‘Yes,’ Sorcha covered her eyes, trying to blot out the sight. Brede laid a hesitant hand on her forearm.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  Sorcha stared at Brede for a long time, before she answered. ‘Never.’

  Brede could think of no answer to that. She allowed the silence to last, almost content. At last, Sorcha broke the silence.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  Brede took her hand before turning to Tegan. Tegan shrugged miserably.

  ‘There’s no hope of defending the city. The defences have been undermined with great efficiency. There’s nothing to be gained from trying.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ Sorcha asked.

  ‘You want my honest opinion?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m a mercenary, not a politician,’ Tegan warned, ‘I think we should let free the prisoners, be exceedingly polite to them, and open the gates to Lorcan. Let him walk in. There’s nothing to be lost. Phelan planned to betray Lorcan, after all; I doubt Lorcan will rue his passing. He could only have been a threat now that Grainne is dead.’

  Sorcha moved slowly across the room to the shuttered window. Dawn was beginning to filter into the dullness of the sky. She squinted through the slats.

  ‘You can see them now,’ she said softly, rapping her fingers against the shutter. ‘It is the sensible thing to do, there is no question. But why should he get what he wants?’ she turned abruptly from the window.

  Tegan stiffened in frustration, beginning to doubt the calm reason of Sorcha’s voice.

  ‘What are you planning?’

  Sorcha glanced at her, struggling to remember what Tegan knew, and what she did not.