“Ah, yes, the medallion,” Raven said, his face clearing. “Gurnst will direct you, in the event of my…er…demise. Or you could always ask Doran where they live.”
“Doran died in the shipwreck.”
“Aye, but you talk to dead people.”
“On occasion, but they seek me out, not the other way around.”
Like Tekla, Raine thought, recalling the sorrowful shade.
“You summoned Trudy and Kipp.”
“That was special. It’s not like I do it all the time.”
“Why not?”
“Because…because…” Raine glared at him. “Because I don’t want to, all right?”
She was not Dial-a-Spook.
“Tro, no need to freeze me, lass,” Raven said in perfect imitation of Mauric. “I meant no offense.”
“I’m going to bed now, before I lose my temper,” Raine said with all the dignity she could muster.
“Hoo, I’m thinking it’s too late for that.”
Raine closed the door in his face with a decided snap. She heard him chuckling on the other side of the door and jerked it open again. “What are you doing?”
“Standing guard.” Raven sat down on the landing and crossed his long, muscular legs in front of him. “I have first watch.”
“I promise you, I’m perfectly safe,” Raine said. “A team of dogs couldn’t find me.”
“If you insist on staying in this isolated tower, you will be guarded.”
“What about your big climb in the morning?” Raine asked, her tone honey-sweet. “Don’t you want to be well rested before you throw yourself off a cliff?”
He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “Strewth, I’ve no plans to die.”
“And the Durngesi? If you get the trivan killed, the rowan will be miffed.”
Raven opened his eyes and gazed up at her. “I have seen the rowan angry, annoyed, incensed, irate, peeved, and in a towering rage, but I have never seen him ‘miffed.’ In any event, Alden will be given an opportunity to withdraw. I’ll not force him to do anything.”
Raine slammed the door and stomped into the bedroom to undress, but Drifa wasn’t there. She wrestled with the laces of her gown for a moment and gave up, too agitated to manage the task. Wandering back into the sitting room, she spied the jewelry on the table. Good heavens, leaving a king’s ransom in jewels lying about was asking for trouble.
Hurrying over, she picked up the jewelry pouch and felt a small bulge in the fabric. She turned the sack inside out and found a hidden pocket, sewn shut.
“What have we here?” she murmured.
Taking a paring knife from the bowl of fruit on the table, she carefully sliced the stitches. There was a gold ring inside the pocket. Raine held it to the firelight. The design was simple: a clawed paw and a hand clasped in friendship. There were much finer rings in the heap of jewelry on the table, but something about the plain, gold circlet appealed to her. Raine slipped the ring on her right hand and stuffed the rest of the jewels back in the velvet pouch, along with the sapphire brooch Gertie had pinned in her hair.
She placed two fingers on her chest. “You can come back now.”
Her wizard stone reappeared, glowing with a sullen light.
“Oh, don’t be a baby,” Raine said. “It’s not as though you really went anywhere.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped over to the mantel. Opening the secret compartment, she removed Tekla’s mirror and shoved the bag of coins and the jewelry inside. There was no room for the mirror.
“You’ll have to go under the mattress, I suppose,” Raine told the mirror, “but no more eavesdropping.” The tarnished metal surface began to swirl. “Oh, no. Don’t even think about it. I am not going to—”
The mirror cleared, showing Raine the upper room of a crumbling tower. The rowan sat in a chair by the empty fireplace, his head in his hands.
“What’s this?” Raine murmured. Sinking into a chair by the fire, she gazed into the mirror. “Why so sad, m’ lord king?”
The tower door opened with a rusty creak, and Gertie stalked into the room. “What’s gotten into you, Lindar?” she demanded in her gravelly voice. “It was trodyn odd of you to leave the banquet like that.” The rowan raised his head, and Gertie hissed in alarm. “What is it?”
“Did you see her?” His voice was harsh with pain. “The woman in the fire?”
“You mean, Glory’s little sideshow? Aye, I saw her. What of it?”
“Nothing.” The rowan groaned and slouched in the chair. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Gods, Lindar, stop bleating,” Gertie said, going to him. “What’s got you blue-deviled, boy?”
To Raine’s shock, the rowan threw his arms around the troll and buried his face in her shaggy fur. “Ah, Gertie, for an instant, I thought it was her, and I feared my heart would burst.” He lifted his face, his expression anguished. “Then I realized it wasn’t her, and that was a thousand times worse, because seeing her, even the shadow of her, is better than nothing at all.”
“Who did you think you saw?” Taking him by the shoulders, Gertie gave him a little shake. “Stop babbling and talk to me. You’re not making sense.”
The rowan sat back with a shaky laugh. “I know I’m not. Shall I tell you my secret?”
“I don’t see why not,” Gertie said. “You’ve been crying on my shoulder since you were a mablet.”
“I…I thought the woman in the fire was Raven’s mother.”
Gertie dropped her paws and stepped back. “You did, eh? Then you can stop fratching. The woman in the fire wasn’t Raven’s mother. Her name was Trusk, and she’s dead as Xan’s toenails. Been dead a long, long time.”
“I know,” the rowan said. “The hair was the same, but the eyes…the eyes were different, and Raven’s mother was taller…” He shook his head. “But that’s not the point.”
“Very well, enlighten me.”
“I love her.”
“Trusk?”
“No, Gertie. Raven’s mother. I love her.”
Gertie made a rude noise. “Kron’s hammer, I thought you were long past the age of such nonsense. You’ve been in lust…well, I’ve lost count of the times.”
“You’re not listening.” The rowan sprang to his feet. “This isn’t lust. I love her, Gertie.”
“Calm down, boy. So, you love her. What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know who she is.” He slammed his fist into the wall. “What’s more, she’s in trouble and I can’t help her.”
“Lindar, your hand,” Gertie cried. “You’ve broken it, you damn fool.”
“It doesn’t matter. Finn’s gift, remember?” His shoulders slumped. “The bones will mend. They always do. It’s the scars on my heart that won’t heal.”
Taking him firmly by the arm, Gertie led him back to his seat by the fire.
“Sit down and stop carrying on like an actor in one of those ridiculous masques Hedda’s so fond of,” she said, pushing him into the chair. She motioned, and a fire sprang to life on the cold hearth. A flick of her claws and a steaming mug appeared. She shoved the tankard at the rowan. “Drink. It will ease the pain.”
“Do I have to?”
“Drink the damn tonic, Lindar, or, so help me, I’ll pour it down your throat.”
“Don’t do it,” Raine muttered into the mirror, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. “You’ll be sorry.”
The rowan took a reluctant swig from the mug and shuddered. “Gods, that’s foul.”
“Told you,” Raine said, shaking her head.
“All of it, Lindar.” Gertie watched him drain the cup. “Now, start at the beginning.”
“Raven’s mother and I met here, years ago, in this very tower.” He set the mug on the floor by the chair. “This is my special
place. I come here when I want to get away.”
“I know.” There was a twinkle in Gertie’s yellow eyes. “As I recall, you started a rumor that Finn’s ghost haunts this pile of rocks.”
The rowan shrugged. “It worked. No one comes near this tower, not even Hedda.”
“There’s a mercy,” Gertie said. “Go on.”
“One Holgunnatt centuries ago, I was in the tower alone, and—” He raked his uninjured hand through his hair. “She…just…appeared. Hair of flame, like the woman in the fire, and her eyes…” He shook his head at the memory. “Gold with flecks of green, like sunlight on spring leaves.”
“Gah,” Gertie said. “Don’t be mawkish. I’ll lose that chicken I just ate.”
“Tease me all you like, but she hit me like a thunder clap,” the rowan said, “and it was more than her beauty. It was as though I’d known her—as though I’d loved her my whole life. We…uh…” He gestured awkwardly. “You know.”
“Spare me the details,” Gertie said. “Humans look ridiculous when they shag. All that naked, jiggly flesh. Fur is more forgiving. And after?”
“The next morning when I woke, she was gone,” the rowan said. “I looked for her everywhere, but she’d vanished without a trace. What’s more, she’d left without telling me her name.”
“Kron’s balls, Lindar, did it ever occur to you that your mystery woman could have been a witch, or worse?”
“I wouldn’t have cared if she were a demon from skelf. I loved her. Gods help me, I still do.” He raised a shaking hand to his brow. “I almost went mad, searching for her, but it was like looking for a ghost. The next Holgunnatt I waited for her here, but she didn’t come. Not then, or the next, or the next. I told myself to forget her, that she wasn’t coming back, but it was like a fever. Every Holgunnatt I waited, for decades, to no avail. Then, a hundred years to the night after we first met…”
He paused, as though remembering.
“Yes?” Gertie said.
“She appeared,” the rowan said, “and it was as if we’d never been apart. That night, at least, I had enough sense to ask her name, but she couldn’t tell me.”
“What do you mean, she couldn’t tell you?” Gertie scowled. “Is she a mute?”
“No, she’s under a curse.”
“What kind of curse?”
The rowan shook his head. “I don’t know, other than it binds her tongue. She can’t divulge anything, even the slightest detail, that might break the curse. That much she was able to tell me. The next morning, she was gone, and the waiting started again.”
“A hundred-year curse, eh?” Gertie said. “Sounds more and more like one of Hedda’s dramas.”
“Don’t jest, Gertie,” the rowan said. “You’ve no notion what it’s like, waiting for the one night in a century you can feel alive. Worrying every moment in between that the person you love is out there, somewhere, in trouble and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”
Gertie walked to a window and looked out. “I know what it is to want something and be denied. It’s dreadful.”
“It is. I lived for our time together. Then, you sent word about Raven.” He gave her a searching look. “You found him outside your door?”
“Aye, he came to me as a babe, a wee, squirming thing,” Gertie said, turning back to him. “Hairless and puny as a starved kitten, but, then, that’s the way with human young. Ugly little scrubs.”
“You should have sent word to me at once, instead of waiting eight years.”
“I grew fond of him.” Gertie lifted her burly shoulders. “How was I to know you’d claim him? Many a fine lord denies his bastards, and you’re a king.”
“You should know me better than that,” the rowan said. “How could I blame an innocent babe for his birth? Besides, I know what it’s like to grow up without a father. In any event, I knew the moment I clapped eyes on Raven that he was my son. Our son, damn her. He has his mother’s eyes, and she abandoned him. Why would she do that?”
“If the woman is truly cursed, who knows what her life has been?” Gertie said. “No doubt she did what she thought was best for the child. I know there’s precious little I wouldn’t do for my cub.” She tilted her misshapen head. “What did she have to say for herself the next time you met?”
“That’s just it.” The rowan gazed bleakly into the fire. “I haven’t seen her since the night Raven was conceived. The next hundredth eve, I waited for her, but she didn’t come. Nay, nor the hundred years after that. I got drunk and stayed drunk for a year.”
“Aye, if memory serves, you were soused the day you married Hedda.” The troll’s tone was sour. “I carried you into the hall myself and dumped you at Hedda’s feet. That was the beginning of Hedda’s dislike of me, I think. She blamed me for your condition.”
The rowan laughed bitterly. “I only married Hedda to get back at Gwen.”
“Who?”
He flushed. “It’s the name I gave her. I had to call her something. It’s short for Gwendagjorne. It means—”
“Fair one,” Gertie snapped. “I do speak Trolk, you know. Gods, Lindar. You sound a lovesick fool.”
“I know.” He sighed. “ʼTwas Gwen I meant to hurt by marrying, but Hedda ended up paying the price.”
Gertie bared her teeth. “Spare me your lamentations for your shrew of a wife.”
“She is to be pitied, trapped in a loveless marriage.”
“You gave her a son,” Gertie pointed out. “Kron knows I can’t stand Hedda, but Carr is a fine young man.”
The rowan regarded her steadily.
“Lindar?” The troll raised her long ears. “Why are you looking at me so oddly?”
“I have not lain with Hedda. Ever.”
“But—” Gertie gasped. “Carr’s not your son? But he has the mark.”
“Clever of Hedda to bed one of Finn’s descendants, was it not?”
“And easily done,” Gertie said. “Half of Finlara is descended from Finn.” She cocked her head, her eyes agleam with curiosity and speculation. “And, all these years, you never…”
“Not once, Gertie,” he said. “Hedda made it look as though I’d lain with her, and her deceit and trickery left me cold. I married her to keep the peace and to hurt Gwen, but I’ve not lain with Hedda.”
Gertie whistled. “Well. No wonder she’s cranky.”
“Hedda has warmed her sheets with plenty of other men. Malryn, I am told, is her latest paramour.”
“Malryn of House Korek?” Gertie said. “Wasn’t one of the Koreks hanged for trading with the Torgs?”
“Aye, Ulfin Korek, Malryn’s grandfather,” the rowan said, “and I fear Malryn is cut from the same cloth. His son, Aedfin, is Carr’s age, and no better. I expelled Aedfin from the guard for beating his horse to death.” His jaw tightened. “I cannot abide a man who’s cruel to animals. There’s a younger one…Mallus…Malfus…” He shook his head. “I forget. The boy’s a bully, or so the servants tell me.”
“Does Carr know he’s not your son?”
He gave her a fierce look. “Carr is my son. I love him like my own. ʼTisn’t his fault that Hedda and I don’t suit.”
Gertie clasped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Gorne Lindar. I hope you find your Gwen.”
“I’ll find her,” he said. “What’s more, I’ll break that damn curse. I’ve agents scouring every bookseller and library from here to Tamir. If the answer is in a scroll or manuscript, I’ll unearth it.”
“Oho, so that’s the reason for your sudden studious turn.”
He flushed. “Not sudden, Gertie. I’ve had my nose in a book these past seventy-five years and more. If you visited more often, you’d know that. The Citadel now boasts one of the finest libraries in Tandara.”
“Reading is a fine thing, Lindar—Kron knows, it’s high time you focused your energy
on something besides hunting and wenching—but if you want to find this Gwen gal, why not ask Glory?”
The rowan stared at her. “The elvish seer? What in Tro’s name has she to do with it?”
“You mean, you don’t know? Glory is Raven’s aunt.”
The rowan sprang to his feet. “Raven’s aunt?”
Gertie looked bewildered. “I thought you knew.”
“Gertie, I never laid eyes on Glory until yesterday.”
“Really?” She wrinkled her snout. “Makes sense, now I think on it. Glory’s been holed up in Shadow Mount these thousand years, or more.”
“Aye, and you and I have seen precious little of one another the past few centuries,” the rowan said with a grunt.
“I was thinking of the boy,” Gertie said. “Hard enough for the poor cub to fit in without me hanging about.”
The strain around the rowan’s eyes and mouth eased. “Some boy. Your cub is nigh unto three hundred years old.”
“You live to be as old as I am, that’s young.”
“I knew Raven was part elf, of course,” the rowan said, pacing up and down. “I ventured into Amedlar once, hoping the elven king could tell me something about Raven’s mother.”
“Let me guess,” Gertie said in a dry voice. “Glenduil was less than accommodating?”
“No help, atall. He disavowed all knowledge of Raven or his mother.”
“He would,” Gertie said. “Raven is a half-blood, and, thus, tainted.” Her black lips curled. “The elves take pride in the purity of their race.”
“Glenduil was most unwelcoming,” the rowan agreed. “He had me marched from the forest at arrow-point. Threatened to kill me should I return.”
“That’s Glenduil,” Gertie said with a grunt. “A right merry old elf, and genial to a fault.”
The rowan laughed, but quickly sobered. “How did you learn that Glory is Raven’s aunt?”
Gertie blinked. “Dunno. It was in the note left with him, perhaps?”
“What of Glory? She accepted the connection?”
“Aye, though she but visited Raven once or twice that I know of. The seers seldom leave Shadow Mount, you see. What about Raven? Did he not mention her?”
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