“Why, Gorne…are you jealous?”
“Not in the least. ʼTis Carr I’m thinking of.”
Hedda made a low sound of frustration. “Why did we marry, Lindar?”
“I wanted a wife and you wanted a throne.” The rowan sighed. “ʼTwas a mistake, and, for my part, I am sorry.” He picked up the parchment, signaling an end to the discussion. “Good night, Hedda.”
The mirror went black. Troubled by what she’d witnessed, Raine stared at the dull surface for a moment, then shoved the mirror back into the hole. She slid the stone back into place and returned to the bedroom. Shivering, she crawled into bed and closed the drapes once more to keep out the draft. The covers had grown cold in her absence. She curled her legs to her chest and tucked the nightgown around her feet. Why had the ghost shown her the mirror? The rowan and Hedda were trapped in a loveless marriage, but there was nothing Raine could do about that.
Her brain was still spinning with unanswered questions when Raine drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Raine opened her eyes to darkness and the steady clicking of a stonechat. Chak, chak, chak, the bird twittered, making a sound like two pebbles knocking together. Time to get up…time to get up, the bird insisted.
Raine stretched and burrowed deeper into the covers, reluctant to leave the snug bed.
Morven? The dragon sounded drowsy.
Good morning, Flame. How is Clegg?
Surprisingly satisfying, once he stopped squeaking.
Flametongue! Raine threw back the covers and sat up, heedless of the chill in the room. Please tell me you didn’t eat the rowan’s stablemaster.
Flame’s purring chuckle echoed in Raine’s head. Silly Morven. Flame is full of sheep, not Cleggs. The boy is here. Morven said she was coming to see Flame, too.
Raine smiled at the reproach in the dragon’s voice. I’ll be there as soon as I dress and have breakfast.
The dragon disconnected from her thoughts, and Raine slid the bed drapes aside. The room was cold, and her breath frosted the air. It had stopped snowing, but the wintry light through the mullioned bedroom windows was silvery and dim. Raine touched her invisible wizard stone and pointed a finger at the candles on the bedside table. They sprang to life. She leaned against the headboard, exulting in the glow. In wizard terms, summoning a flame was child’s play, but she’d done magic without wreaking havoc—something to celebrate.
Raine rose and went to the window, ignoring the cold stones beneath her bare feet. She looked out the window and forgot the chill. The snow storm had blown itself out, and the sky was the pale, merciless blue of Hedda’s eyes. Tekla’s tower was situated on a steep cliff overlooking the sea and the craggy, windswept coast, with a view for leagues in either direction. The waves threw themselves against the sharp rocks at the foot of the cliffs, sending plumes of spray into the air.
She turned from the window and found the shade of Doran standing at the foot of her bed, dripping seaweed and blood. The ghost opened his mangled mouth, and crabs scuttled out.
“Gross,” Raine said. “I keep telling you, I’ve got this, but you’ve got to give me time.”
The ghost started at a sound from the adjoining room and disappeared on a gush of briny water.
The door opened and Drifa peeked in. “Good morning. Your things have arrived from the ship. I can help you dress if you like.”
“I like.” Raine ran her fingers through her unruly curls. “I’m counting on you to do something with my hair.”
“That I will.” Drifa shivered. “It’s cold in this part of the fast. Let me get the fire started.”
She bustled about into the room, pausing when she saw the puddle on the floor.
“What in the world?” Shaking her head, Drifa fetched some rags and mopped up the water, then laid the fire and struck the kindling. When the blaze was crackling merrily, Drifa went into the sitting room and returned, carrying a large bundle tied with string.
She dropped the bundle on the floor and rummaged around inside. “Here, milady,” she said, holding out a pair of slippers. “Put these on before you catch your death.”
“Thank you,” Raine said, gratefully sliding her feet into the shoes. “The fire went out in the night.”
“If that happens again, milady, ring for me, and I’ll take care of it.” Drifa held up Raine’s boots. “I cleaned and polished your boots, but I fear they are sadly worn.”
“Yes, they are, but they’re the best I’ve got.”
“Trolach’s coming soon,” Drifa said in her cheerful way. “Perhaps someone will give you a pair of new boots.”
“Perhaps,” Raine murmured.
“Would you like to breakfast in the lower hall with the rest of the court, or would you prefer to have tea and scones in the sitting room?”
“Tea and pastry in the sitting room, please,” Raine said, not yet ready to face a room full of staring strangers.
“I’ll ring for a tray as soon as you’re dressed.” Drifa began to remove Raine’s things from the bundle. “What would you like to wear today, milady?”
“My breeches and tunic.”
“Milady?”
“No?” Raine sighed. “I suppose the queen wouldn’t like it.”
“No, milady. She certainly would not.”
“Something warm then,” Raine said. “After I eat, I’m going to the stables to see about Flame.”
“Is that wise, milady?” Drifa shivered. “Ain’t you afeared the beastie will eat you or burn you to a crisp?”
“Flame would never hurt me. We’re friends.”
Drifa looked unconvinced. “As you say, milady. All the same, I’d feel better if you take the roark with you. Happen he’ll insist, seeing as he spent the night outside your door.”
“He what?”
“Stepped over him this morning when I come in. Had his sword at the ready, and everything.” Drifa turned pink. “He’s every bit as handsome as they say, and then some. That dark hair…and those eyes. Oh, my.”
Raine strode out of the bedroom and jerked open the tower door. Raven stood on the landing, his sword sheathed, and one shoulder propped negligently against the wall. His greenish gold eyes were bleary, and he was unshaven. He looked half wild, dangerous, and thoroughly attractive.
“Raven,” Raine said. “Drifa says you slept on the landing.”
“Slept is an exaggeration. Dozed, more like.” His gaze moved over her, taking in her sleep-tousled hair and the voluminous nightgown with the ribbons at the throat. “My, aren’t you delectable.”
Raine blushed, her hand going to her tangled hair. “Don’t be absurd. You could fit two of me in this gown.”
“Two Raines?” Raven shuddered. “Alarming.”
“Ha ha,” said Raine.
“Milady?” Drifa murmured at Raine’s back. “Your robe?”
“What?”
Raine turned to find Drifa regarding her with a mulish expression.
“Your robe, milady,” Drifa said. “You’ll want to put it on.”
“Oh, very well.” Raine allowed the maid to help her shrug into the robe. “Come in, Raven. Please.”
“Thank you.” Raven strolled into the sitting room. “Your things were brought up from the ship last night, but you were already abed.”
“Yes, I retired early. What of you? I thought you were staying in town?”
“That was before we were attacked.”
Drifa gave a timid little cough. “Pardon, milady, but will the roark be breakfasting with you?”
“I don’t know.” Raine gave Raven a questioning look. “Would you care to have breakfast with me?”
“Depends on what you’re having,” Raven said in his deep voice.
“Tea and scones.”
“Bird food,” he pronounced, turning to the flustered maid. �
�Have the kitchen send up a platter of ham and eggs, a rasher of bacon, and bread and butter.”
“Porridge and a meat pie for me,” Gertie said, prowling through the door. “And ale, if you please.”
Drifa made a strangled sound and fell to her knees, pressing her forehead to the floor. “Hail, Glogathgorag, Blessed Mother of Finlara.”
“Oh, for Kron’s—get up, gal, and fetch me something to eat.” Gertie pulled the maid to her feet. “I’m hungry as a rock bear with a litter of cubs.”
“Yes, Blessed Mother. I’ll see to it at once,” Drifa stammered, and hurried from the chamber.
“Blessed Mother?” Raine asked, grinning at the troll.
“Gah, people have been bowing and scraping to me since I arrived,” Gertie said with a growl of annoyance. “Passel of skint-noses, the lot of ʼem.”
“That’s unkind, Mor,” Raven said. “ʼTis been many a year since last you visited the Citadel, and you’ve been missed.”
“Gog scat,” said Gertie.
“I thought you were going hunting with the rowan this morning?” said Raine.
“We did.” Gertie flexed her claws. “Gorne took down a stag and I killed a wild boar. There’ll be fresh venison and roasted pig at the banquet tonight. I’m seeing to the preparations myself.” She poked Raven in the chest with a claw. “And if that Valdarian gravy-scorch who fancies himself a cook don’t like it, he can suck my hind teat.”
“A lovely image,” Raven said. “Are you bickering with the rowan’s cook, already?”
“Me, bickering? You know me, son. I’m the troll of equanimity.”
“Aye, you’re famous for your sweet temper,” Raven said with a straight face. “Try not to provoke the rowan’s chef, Mor. He prides himself on setting a fine table.”
“Pah, that turnip squeeze can do as he likes, so long as he leaves my boar alone.” Gertie rubbed her paws together. “I’m going to stuff it with apples and cheese and baste it in butter and white wine.” She surveyed the chamber. “Why in Kron’s name did Hedda put you in this drafty old heap?”
“I like it,” Raine said. “It’s quiet and the view is beautiful.”
“It’s cold as Glonoff’s heart,” Gertie said. “Finn had the tower built on the cliffs, so Tekla would have a view of the sea. Selkies prefer a cooler clime, so these apartments aren’t heated like the rest of the fast.”
“Tekla?” Raine asked.
“One of Finn’s wives.” Padding to the windows, Gertie looked out, her thick shoulders hunched. “His seventeenth, as I remember…or mayhap she was the sixteenth. ʼTwas a long time ago. No one’s stayed in Tekla’s Tower since she threw herself into the sea, poor thing.”
Raine gasped. “Why?”
“Tekla was a selkie.” Gertie’s shaggy fur glowed in the morning light. “Finn caught her in a net one day, while fishing. She took one look at him and shed her seal skin. Finn was smitten, too. He brought her home and wed her. She was a lovely thing, graceful and slender as a reed. Sweet natured too, and affectionate. When the moons were right, she would dance along the battlements. Her hair was long and pale, silvery green. There’s a likeness of her in the portrait hall, if you’re curious.”
“I am,” Raine said, thinking of the melancholy ghost who’d called on her the night before. “But why was Tekla so unhappy? Did Finn not love her?”
“To the contrary, Finn loved her to distraction, and all was bliss, for a time,” Gertie said. “But, as the years passed, she began to pine for the sea. It’s the way with selkies—the whisper of the ocean is a constant, aching pull. To make matters worse, her kinfolk would frolic on the rocks at the foot of the tower, just there.” Gertie pointed a claw at something out the window. “Tekla would sit at this window for days on end, watching. She stopped eating and sleeping and began to waste away. Finn begged her to return to the sea, for a time, at least, but she refused. She was terrified if she left, for so much as a night, Finn would replace her. She was consumed by jealousy, you see.”
“Did she have reason to be?” Raine asked.
“No.” Gertie turned and glowered at her. “Finn had his faults, but he was faithful, but nothing could convince Tekla of his devotion. She was consumed with the notion that Finn loved another. One day, while Finn and I were on the battlements below the tower, she opened the window and called his name.” The troll faltered, and Raine saw horror and regret in her eyes. “She smiled and stepped off the ledge. The sound he made when she fell…” Gertie made a low whimpering sound deep in her throat. “It’s something I’ll never forget. She hit the rocks and the waves took her. A few days later, her body was recovered down the coast by some fishermen.”
“How sad,” Raine murmured, certain now that Tekla was her ghostly visitor. “But Finn eventually remarried. He had twenty-three wives.”
“Eventually,” Gertie said with a nod, “but Tekla’s death hurt him deeply. He blamed himself, though ʼtwas not his fault. Tekla’s mind was disordered, though I know not the cause. Mayhap being separated from the sea drove her mad. A selkie is a creature of the wet.”
“How tragic,” Raine said, remembering the ghost’s melancholy expression and sad eyes. “Did they have children?”
“Yes,” Gertie said. “Two boys and a girl. Tekla lives on in their offspring. Luanna, Mauric’s sister, has Tekla’s pale locks.”
“Mauric is related to Tekla?”
“Distantly. Tekla lived a long time ago.”
“Captain Braxx’s water horses,” Raine cried. “Mauric was in the river for days. Anyone else would have died from hypothermia, but he—”
“Hypo what?” Raven said.
“It’s what happens when a person loses body heat and their temperature drops too low,” Raine explained, “but Mauric’s part selkie, so the cold doesn’t bother him.”
“Oh, it bothers him,” Raven said. “You heard him griping about the snow.”
“He may not like it,” Gertie said, “but he can take it, thanks to Tekla.” She lifted her head as the door opened and Drifa came in with a line of servants carrying trays laden with food. “At last. I was ready to gnaw my own leg.”
“Good grief,” Raine said, gaping at the shameless bounty. “That’s enough food to feed an army.”
“Finlars enjoy eating.” Raven glanced at Gertie. “As do trolls.”
Drifa directed her helpers to a heavy oak sideboard against one wall, where they laid out platters of fragrant meats, several piping hot meat pies, a plate of scones, a tureen of steaming porridge, a large dish of poached eggs, and a basket of dried fruit, bread, butter, and honey. While the food was being laid out, a young man set the table by the fire with wooden plates, mugs, a pitcher of ale, and cutlery on the table.
“If you please,” Drifa said, bobbing them a curtsy. “Breakfast is served.”
Gertie’s nose twitched. “Do I smell sausage?”
“Yes, Blessed Mother.”
“Rabbit or pork?”
“Rabbit, Blessed Mother.”
“Excellent.” Gertie waggled her brows at Raine. “I’m partial to rabbit, right, pet? Thank you…er…” She glowered at the maid. “What the devil’s your name, gal?”
“D-Drifa, Blessed Mother.”
“You’re a good girl, Drifa, I don’t care what Raine says about you.” Ignoring Raine’s sputtered protests, Gertie sat down, the chair groaning beneath her weight, and poured herself a mug of ale. She took a long swig and burped. “Ah, nothing beats good Finlaran ale.” Wiping the foam off her snout with the back of her paw, she motioned to Drifa. “Bring on the grub, gal.”
Raine ate a buttered scone, washed down with hot tea, a poached egg, and some bacon. Gertie and Raven packed away an astonishing amount of food. Gertie was on her third helping of meat pie when Mauric strolled in.
“What’s this, lass?” he said, giving Raine the once-over. “The
sun is well up and you’re still in your nightie.”
Raine looked down at her robe. “Why, I do believe you’re right. Thank you, Mauric. I might have gone undressed all day if you hadn’t happened along.”
“Strewth, Rainey, you’ve been around Raven too long,” Mauric said. “Tongue like a viper.”
“Is there any particular reason you’ve graced us with your presence?” Raven leaned back in his chair. “Or is it your aim to make a general nuisance of yourself?”
“There, you see?” Mauric said. “Perfect example.” He broke off a piece of crust from Gertie’s pie and popped it in his mouth. “I looked for you in the hall this morning, Gert. The rowan was full of tales of your hunt. Said you took down a huge boar, singlehanded.” Widening his stance, he made a squeezing motion with his hands. “Lifted the beast and strangled the life out of it. The Clasp of Doom, he called it.”
“Twaddle,” Gertie said. “ʼTwas little more than a suckling pig.” Mauric reached for another bit of pastry, and she slapped his hand away. “Don’t you know better than to come between a troll and her food, boy? You want to lose an arm, stick your fingers in my plate again.”
Mauric chuckled and threw himself into an armchair by the fire. “What news of the attack, Raven? Did you get anything out of that varlet you whacked on the head?”
“Yes and no,” Raven said. “They were after Raine. The man confirmed that much before he died.”
Raine stared at him in horror. “You killed him?”
“No, but someone did.” Raven’s eyes were hard. “Someone who wanted to make sure he stayed silent.”
“How?” Raine asked. “Who?”
“The man’s windpipe was crushed.” Gertie made a punching motion with one huge paw. “Gorne told me about it this morning during our hunt. The fellow came to his senses, but before he could be properly questioned, the guards arrived with two more of the knaves. Gorne and Raven bound the man to a chair and left him in a locked room, while they stepped out to speak to the scoundrels. They found the man dead when they came back. Right, son?”
Raven nodded. “The door was still locked.”
A Muddle of Magic Page 15