Alden and Raven clasped arms. Sensing the contest was about to begin, the crowd let out a roar. Alden made a grand bow to the assembly that earned him another cheer. Raven ignored the throng and looked up at Tekla’s Tower. Raine raised her hand, and he touched his forehead in acknowledgment, then motioned for Alden to go first.
Alden nodded and swung the knapsack off his shoulder. Removing a thick canvas bundle from the pack, he set it on a nearby rock and unwrapped it.
“What’s that he’s got there?” Mauric asked.
“Let me see.” Gertie shoved her bulk up to the window. “Gloves and a pair of metal stirrups, looks like.”
The gloves and stirrups were fitted with sharp hooks. Alden shoved the toes of his boots into the metal straps and tugged on the gloves.
“Oho, the Durngesi is clever,” Gertie said. “He’s wearing rock troll claws on his hands and feet.”
“That would do it,” Mauric said with a nod. “Rock troll claws are exceptionally sharp. Cut through rock like butter.”
Alden took a running start and leapt at the wall, driving the claws on his gloves and boots into the rock. The claws sank deep into the cliff face and held. Slowly, he pulled himself up the cliff. Raven watched his progress from below, shouting advice and encouragement.
Raine held her breath as Alden crept up the escarpment, teeth clenched and muscles straining from the effort. And the night before he’d made this same ascent in the dark? She shuddered, imagining the torturous climb in the moonlight, the sea wind tugging at him and the hungry rocks waiting below.
Fifty feet from the top, Alden ran into difficulty.
“That’s too bad,” Mauric said with a grunt. “He made a poor choice.”
“What do you mean?” Raine asked, her heart in her throat.
“The bluff juts out like a ship’s prow,” Mauric said, pointing to the struggling man. “See? He’s lost his footing.”
Alden pulled his upper body over the abutment of rock, but lost traction with his feet. He kicked, trying to gain purchase, his boots scrabbling against the rough rock. The stirrups on his feet came loose and bounced down the bluff to the rocks below.
“Oh, my God,” Raine said. “He’s going to fall. I can’t look.”
“Nay, Raven’s taking the Durngesi’s claws to him.”
Sure enough, Raven shimmied up the cliff like a lizard with Alden’s stirrups hanging from his belt. He moved quickly, his feet and hands sticking to the sea wall, and reached the struggling man. Slipping the stirrups back onto Alden’s boots, he guided the trivan’s feet to the rock.
The throng shouted in approval.
“He was never in any danger atall,” Raine said. “What is he, part spider?”
Gertie chuckled. “Nay, it’s his elvish blood, I expect, and I taught him to climb.”
Once he’d ensured that Alden could finish the climb unaided, Raven scampered the rest of the way up the cliff and parapet. He was greeted at the top by the elated onlookers, who cheered and pounded him on the back. Shaking free of his well-wishers, Raven leaned over the wall. Alden shook his head and made it the rest of the way on his own.
“The Durngesi,” Raven shouted, lifting Alden’s arm into the air.
Slapping one another on the back, the two men accepted beakers of ale and drank a toast to one another.
“Well, that’s that,” Gertie said, padding toward the door. “Let’s eat.”
“Lass?” Mauric held out his arm.
“What’s this, wizard fire?” Brefreton said, pausing to examine the darkened spot on the floor. “What have you been up to, girl?”
“Nothing,” Raine said, not meeting his gaze.
“You’re a poor liar,” Brefreton said. “Try not to burn down the castle. The rowan’s hospitality only extends so far.”
“Yes, Bree.”
They followed Gertie through the winding passages of the fast to the lower dining hall, a large, low-beamed room with rough tables, a flagged floor, and three fire pits down the middle for warmth.
“This was the original great hall,” Mauric told her. “Not nearly as grand, but cozier, to my way of thinking.”
“Smokier, too,” Raine murmured, coughing a little.
“That’ll be the wind blowing into the flues,” Mauric said. “Most days, it’s not so bad.”
Members of the Royal Guard and the regular army sat at scarred wooden tables eating a breakfast of porridge, brown bread, and ham. A few nobles were present, but it was early, and most of the courtiers were still in bed.
The room fell silent when Gertie entered. She looked around, the fur on her back standing on end. “Well, chuckle heads? You act as though you’ve never seen a troll before.”
Stiff legged, she made her way down the long room to the rowan’s table. The king of Finlara sat by himself at the head of the room, a bowl of half-eaten porridge in front of him. As Gertie passed, the men at the tables reached out and touched her fur.
“What’s that about?” Raine whispered to Mauric.
“It’s considered good luck to pet a troll.” Mauric raised a hand in greeting to one of the guards. “Especially Gertie. She’s the—”
“—Blessed Mother,” Raine said. “I know. Why are they staring at Bree? What’s he, the Divine Uncle?”
Mauric chuckled. “Nay, Rainey. Bree is a wizard, and this is Finlara.” He nodded to a soldier with a thick blond beard. “And not just any wizard. These men have grown up hearing tales of Brefreton.”
A servant clearing one of the tables saw Brefreton and dropped a tankard with a loud crash. Making the sign against the evil eye, he backed away.
“Ah, Finlara,” Brefreton drawled. “I’d forgotten what a wonderfully progressive country this is.”
They sat down at the king’s table next to Gertie, and a serving girl bustled up with a tray of porridge.
Gertie caught her by the elbow as she turned to leave. “Be a love and bring me a rasher of ham to go with the porridge.”
“At once, Blessed Mother.”
“This is porridge?” Brefreton poked the thick substance with a spoon. “Are you sure it’s not daub?”
The girl began to tremble. “It’s porridge, on my life. I can bring you something else, if you like.”
“Hmm,” Brefreton said, seeming to consider this. “Have you any small children in the kitchen?’
“Children? I—I,” the girl stammered.
“He’s teasing.” Raine smiled at the flustered girl. “The porridge will be fine, thank you.”
The girl nodded and scurried back to the kitchens.
“Small children, really?” Raine said under her breath. “No wonder they’re afraid of you.”
Brefreton shrugged. “Hopelessly gullible, more like.”
Raine drizzled honey on her porridge and stirred it with a spoon. She was about to take the first bite when a small, wiry man stormed up to the rowan’s table.
“What is this about my porridge, Your Majesty?” the furious man demanded, slamming a plate of ham down beside Gertie. “I will not have my cooking disparaged.”
“I didn’t insult your porridge.” The rowan jerked a thumb at Brefreton. “Take it up with the wizard.”
“Wizard?” The chef turned with a scowl. “Oh, it’s you, Archie. I might have known.”
“Della Sammon,” Brefreton said, his mouth thinning. “And the name is Archimedes, not Archie. My mother is the only one allowed to call me that, and she’s dead.”
“And me,” Gertie said. “Right, Archie?”
“Aye, but you’re different.”
The chef drew himself up. “I am called Valmer, now. What is more, my porridge is not mud you…you magician.”
“Spoon licker.” Brefreton watched the man through narrowed eyes. “Drudge. Bacon-burning sauce scorcher.”
�
�Sauce scorcher?” Valmer gasped. “I will not stand here and be insulted.”
“Then don’t,” Brefreton said. “Go fry an egg, or something, if you can manage it.”
Speechless with fury, Valmer turned and stormed out of the room.
“Thank you, Bree,” the rowan said. “You have cost me my chef.”
“Sorry,” Brefreton said without an ounce of remorse. “I can’t abide that fellow.”
Gertie speared a slice of ham with her claws. “So we noticed.”
“Don’t take that superior tone with me, Gertie,” Brefreton said. “You don’t like Valmer any more than I do.”
“Oh, I loathe the little toad,” Gertie said, chewing, “but, as I recall, you liked Valmer just fine until Lindar lured him away from your precious Balzora.”
Brefreton flushed. “Shut up, Gertie.”
“Whatever you say…Archie,” Gertie said, returning her attention to her food.
There was a commotion as Raven and Alden entered the hall. The Durngesi had donned his tunic and belt, and Raven wore a linen shirt beneath a long leather hauberk. The diners clapped and cheered and banged their mugs against the tables.
Alden swept them a bow. “I thank you, good folks, for the warm welcome.”
He and Raven made their way to the rowan’s table, enduring a good deal of back slapping along the way as they wove through the crowded room.
Raven greeted his father, then strode up to Raine with a grin. “As you can see, I survived.”
“Yes, it was silly of me to worry,” Raine said.
“Perhaps, but I found your concern to my liking.”
“Please, son, don’t palaver,” Gertie said. “I’m trying to eat.”
“Forgive me, Mor,” Raven said, his gaze on Raine. “Gurnst has given me directions to Doran’s family. I will take you to them today, if you like.”
“Yes, please.” Raine was anxious to deliver the medallion and rid herself of Doran’s ghost. “I’d like that very much.”
Alden, who’d stopped to exchange quips with several of the guards, sauntered up. “Greetings, all, and well met.”
“Where’s Seratha?” Mauric asked.
“She confessed a certain curiosity about the Wailing Tree,” Alden said. “She set out for the city gardens but a moment ago.” He looked around. “But where is the fair Gloriana this lovely morn? The sun shines more dimly in her absence.”
“Somewhere contemplating her navel, no doubt,” Gertie said. “Sit down and eat, Alden. You, too, Raven. You’re making me bilious.”
They complied, and were soon enjoying a breakfast of ham, porridge, and ale.
The rowan waited until Alden had finished his meal, then said, “I would know your business, here, Trivan.”
“As I told you last night, Your Majesty, my business is with Glory.” Alden went still. “Ah, and here she is now.”
Raine followed his gaze and saw Glory enter the hall. The seer stood quietly in the doorway for a moment before gliding to an empty table on the far side of the room. As always, Glory seemed to hold herself apart, even in a crowded space. With a twinge of guilt, Raine recalled that she owed the elf an apology.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Alden said, “but I would speak with my siren.”
“His siren.” Gertie made a noise in the back of her throat. “Flowery guff. Those two are up to something, I’ll wager my claws.”
Raine turned to watch Alden cross the room to Glory’s table. The seer stiffened at his approach, then motioned with obvious reluctance for him to sit down.
“I find it curious, as well,” the rowan said. “What business has a seer of Shadow Mount with the Durngesi trivan?”
Raven pushed his bowl away. “Mayhap ʼtis something to do with the dream Glory bartered.”
Gertie stared at him. “You’re raving, boy. Glory never sold a dream in her life.”
“Forgive me, Mor, if I misspoke,” Raven said. “When Glory found me in Esmalla, she was distraught and in pain.”
“In pain?” Gertie scowled. “What happened?”
Raven’s jaw tightened. “Zared blinded her when she refused to share a vision with him.”
“He what?” Gertie lunged to her feet with a savage growl. “I’ll braid his guts around his ears, the villain.”
“No, you won’t.” The note of deadly calm in Raven’s voice sent a chill through Raine. “Zared is mine.”
Gertie sat back down. “You’re going to Shadow Mount?”
“Aye,” Raven said. “I have a few questions for the High Seer.”
“Not without me,” Gertie said.
He shrugged. “As you like, Mor, but, don’t expect satisfaction. In my experience, dead men don’t talk.”
Gertie considered him for a moment, then her ugly face creased in a grin. “You healed her, didn’t you?”
The rowan sat up. “What’s this?”
“Your son is a healer.” There was pride in Gertie’s voice. “A dytugg helbredden.”
Raven flushed. “Mor, must we do this here?”
“People are going to find out, son,” she said. “Your crew will talk.”
“You’ve talent?” The rowan was staring at Raven. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Raven shifted in his chair. “Finlars and magic, you know.”
“I’ve never known a fellow to be so closemouthed.” The rowan slammed his hand onto the table. “So, that’s how you brought your men through every fight unscathed when you were captain of the guard. You were healing their hurts.”
“Sometimes,” Raven admitted, “but my men were well trained.”
This remark inspired a spirited discussion of the good old days, with Gertie throwing in the occasional humorous tidbit about Finn and rowans who’d preceded Gorne Lindar. Raine listened absently, her gaze on Glory and the Durngesi trivan. Gertie was right. They made an odd pair.
Raine jumped to her feet. “Thank you for the lovely breakfast, Your Majesty.”
“Hold on, gal, what’s the hurry?” Gertie asked.
“Raven’s promised to take me into the city.” Raine gave the troll a bright smile. “I need to fetch my cloak.”
“Don’t be dim, gal,” Gertie said. “You can’t go wandering off alone. The attack at the gate, remember?”
“I’ll escort you,” Raven said, starting to rise.
Gertie pushed Raven back into his seat. “Not so fast, my boy. You and I aren’t done. I’d like to hear more about this incident with Zared.”
“Yes, and I have questions for you as well,” said the rowan.
“I’ll take Raine to her apartments.” Mauric got to his feet. “Shall we meet in the entrance hall, cuz?”
“Yes,” Raven said. “Thank you.”
Raine executed a graceless curtsy and left the hall with Mauric, her thoughts on Tekla’s mirror. What were Glory and the trivan discussing so intently?
Raine was itching to find out.
Chapter 17
A Sudden Exit
“Is aught amiss, lass?” Mauric asked Raine as they approached her tower door. “You seem anxious.”
“Me? Heavens, no, I’m fine.” Raine waved at a young woman coming toward them down the hall. “Look, there’s your sister.”
Tyra was dressed in a plain brown gown and sturdy boots. “Raine,” she said, striding up to them with loose-jointed grace. “I went to your apartments and found you gone.”
“We’ve been breakfasting with the rowan,” Raine said. “Mauric offered to escort me back to my tower.” She made a face. “I’m not allowed to go anywhere alone.”
“Because of the attack.” Tyra’s expression darkened. “I heard. Those traitors should be gutted. I’d happily wield the knife.”
“Tro, you’re in a ferocious mood this morning,” Mauric said. “What got your blood
up?”
“I’m bored. It makes me cranky.”
“And you came to take your ill temper out on me?” Raine teased.
Tyra blushed. “No, I’m saving my grumpies for Lulu. What are you two about?”
“Headed into the city, though not to the same place,” Mauric said. “I’m going to the park to see the Wailing Tree, and Raine is to take care of something in town with Raven.”
“Oh.” Tyra looked crestfallen.
“You’re welcome to come with us,” Raine said. “Raven won’t mind.”
Tyra’s face brightened. “Really? I’d like that. Luanna can’t stop prating about the Lady Glory’s ballad.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “It’s soooo romantic,” she quipped in imitation of her sister. “Sometimes, my sister makes me want to gack.”
Raine laughed. “Then, you must come with us. Let me pop upstairs, first, and get my cloak.”
“I should let my mother know that I’m going out.” Tyra hesitated. “Do you mind terribly waiting for me?”
“Not at all.”
That will give me time to look in the mirror, Raine thought, secretly relieved. Her desire to look in the mirror had gone from urge to compulsion.
Tyra hurried off and Mauric and Raine climbed the tower stairs. Drifa had not returned, and Mauric strolled through the empty apartments.
“Not an assassin to be found.” He dropped into a chair and stretched out his long legs. “I’ll wait here, then, as there are no dastards to slay.”
Raine left him lounging by the fire and hurried into the bedroom. Hands trembling with excitement, she snatched the mirror from under the mattress and sat down by the fire.
“Show me Alden and Glory,” she whispered, keenly aware of Mauric in the next room.
The mirror cleared at once, as though sensing her eagerness. The Durngesi seeker lounged in a chair at Glory’s table.
“I have done what you asked, fair one, and now we will discuss compensation,” he was saying when the mirror shimmered into focus.
Glory regarded him with chilly hauteur. “I beg your pardon?”
“Once I complete the task, the client pays,” Alden said. “That is the customary arrangement.”
“I’m not paying you a garro,” Glory said. “You lost it.”
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