His smile was bitter. ‘He might.’
‘How do you think he would respond?’
‘If he knew you were safe?’ She could see him weighing the idea and reaching a similar conclusion to her own. ‘It would change things.’
‘He wouldn’t try to save Lyse,’ she said quietly.
He didn’t deny it. ‘There is only one outcome for Donnel. His patience is worn thin.’
She thought of the men she had seen riding north along the sea cliffs, and the flag that had flown above Gorth’s head. ‘Nolan, is it possible Commander Bruer could have learned of the events afoot in Havre? Might he somehow be in touch with Donnel?’
‘Bruer could have news of Vormer’s perfidy from any fisherman along the coast, but I doubt he’d be in touch with Donnel. Regardless, his loyalty lies with you. If you wish him to act, he will.’
‘I think he is acting already. Havre’s fleet is sailing north. And Gorth sails her flagship.’
Minna’s rooster crowed a greeting to the dawn, streaks of palest pink gently brushing the sky above the hill.
‘I don’t see it,’ Nolan said. ‘Whether or not Gorth met Donnel, he can’t be in two places at once. Donnel left only five days ahead of us.’
‘Do you not find it strange that Vormer’s militia, despite combing the roads, have failed to find any sign of my father? They found us readily enough. What if, after meeting Gorth, Donnel abandoned his plan to come to Goltoy’s heel in Elion? What if, instead, he rode due west through Caledon and Westlaw. With two dozen men they could have passed themselves off as a troop of mercenaries riding at Goltoy’s bidding.’
‘It’s fanciful—’ Nolan began.
‘It’s not. Muir, think: what would Donnel do with a net spread across the south to trap him, but the bait gone from that trap?’
Muir met her eyes with the beginnings of a smile. ‘He would aim to take Goltoy by surprise.’
‘Exactly.’ Risha sat back, her own smile small and grim. ‘He would ride west.’
‘North of CaledonWater.’ Muir nodded thoughtfully. ‘In a week he could cross the plains and reach the Little El. He would be slower through Westlaw’s hills, but not much.’
‘But why?’ Nolan objected. ‘With two dozen men he couldn’t hope to take Harbin’s entourage; they’ll be too well defended and expecting an attack, from Talben if not from Donnel.’
‘Talben supported Donnel’s search for you and your mother,’ Muir said slowly. ‘They are not often in touch, but there are birds in LeMarc homed to Spire.’
‘And Talben might easily have been in touch with Bruer,’ Risha said.
Nolan blew out an explosive gust of air. ‘Sheer speculation. Even if Talben and Donnel are in league, they still haven’t the men to take Harbin.’
‘My father doesn’t mean to take Harbin,’ Risha said. ‘Donnel’s plan is to take Westlaw.’
Nolan listened, bemused, as Risha and Muir discussed her father’s likely strategy. ‘I grant you, it’s a fine plan,’ he said. ‘It might even be worth initiating, but to assume it’s already under way …’ He shook his head.
‘You’re right,’ Risha agreed. ‘Better to be sure than to rely on visions and speculation.’ She paused, but there was no gentle way to propose it. ‘I’m certain now that Talben shares the Gift. If I can get close to Ciaran—’
‘Risha, no!’
‘You can’t be serious—’
‘Hear me out.’
‘No.’ Muir stood up. ‘If you throw yourself into Goltoy’s hands, Donnel’s advantage is gone, and ours with it. I won’t allow it.’
‘Allow it?’ Risha’s chin came up.
‘He’s right,’ Nolan said. ‘The risk is too great.’
‘If we aren’t prepared to take risks, better I’d stayed in LeMarc. Or Torfell: perhaps I should return there to raise goats.’
‘Don’t be foolish.’
‘There’s no great danger. I wouldn’t need to speak to her, just get close. I could pose as a servant or petitioner. There would be any number of ways—’
‘Risha, it’s madness. Even getting into the city would be a risk.’
‘I’d only need a few minutes.’
Muir’s hands closed on the back of a chair. He had graceful hands, the fingers long and elegant. ‘And if Ciaran is in league with Vormer?’
‘Now that I find hard to believe,’ Minna said, stomping into the kitchen and giving Risha’s congealing porridge a disdainful sniff. ‘Someone want to tell me what all this ruckus is about?’
‘Risha is planning to walk into Elion,’ Nolan said.
She narrowed her eyes at his tone. ‘Actually, I wasn’t thinking of walking.’
Hawkers
‘Keep your head down and look busy. You might want to pull your cap a little lower.’
Fenn steered them under the spiked gate and into the marina. Bowmen were strung like beads along the city wall, each jetty crowded with officials and soldiers. Risha glanced sidelong from beneath the broad brim of her hat. There was a backlog of barges being processed. Fenn angled them into the queue, calling a greeting to one of the boatmen and exchanging coarse insults with another.
‘Thought you’d left us in peace,’ the man called.
‘Route pays too well with all the provender coming into the city. Weddings are always good for business.’
‘Royal ones especially.’
The man was waved forward a space, the barges around jostling with resigned patience as customs clerks stepped from deck to deck. It wasn’t long before one hopped onto Fenn’s foredeck to enquire after their load.
‘Fresh vegetables that’ll keep better in your sheds than in the sun,’ Fenn told him, ‘and some of the finest parasols the likes of us will ever see.’
He gave a world-weary nod and scribbled something on his slate. ‘Shed four for the fresh goods. You’ll have to shift the fripperies yourselves, I can’t juggle berths. They go through shed eight.’
‘Four and eight. Very good. Can we berth overnight? My niece is eager to catch a glimpse of the ladies of the court.’
‘Her and half the populace. You’ll have an hour to clear customs and half a day to re-provision. If you’re not gone by dusk your barge will be impounded.’
Fenn whistled. ‘That’s new.’
‘Heavy demand,’ the man said. ‘Move along.’
At the top of the steps that led up from the warehouses they were stopped by a guardsman. Fenn held out their bills of lading. Risha hid her face behind the bundles the woman had piled into her arms.
‘What’s in those?’
‘Parasols and fancies, designed to keep the sun away from delicate complexions while they watch the proceedings. You might like one for your wife. You can’t tell us where we might catch a glimpse of the young bride while we’re here?’
He ignored her question. ‘Open them up.’
As he checked the contents he squinted at Risha’s face. The bruising across her cheek had blossomed to a dull, shining purple.
‘What happened to her then?’
Fenn glanced over her shoulder. Risha ducked her head.
‘It’s a birthmark. People often take it for a bruise.’
Risha let her head fall lower still.
‘Shame,’ the soldier said. ‘She’d be pretty without it.’
Fenn favoured him with a glare. ‘She’s pretty with it.’
‘Aye,’ he said, after a pause. ‘On you go then.’ He scribbled something on their papers. ‘Show them that at the gate to Steward’s Walk. Some of the ladies like to stroll in the gardens after lunch, or so my wife tells me. She goes gawping with the rest. Don’t be late getting back here, mind. The river gate closes at dusk.’
‘That was easier than it might have been,’ Fenn said, as they strode away from the harbour.
‘Where is the palace?’
‘Beside the scholars’ halls. The scholars have been using it for the better part of fifty years. I doubt they’ll thank Goltoy for claiming
it back, even if it is just for the wedding.’
‘How will we get word to Ciaran?’
‘Nieve is our best hope, though I’d bargained on having more time. Still, it’s probably wise to be gone from the city sooner rather than later.’
Fenn’s sister gaped to find them at her door, and glanced left and right along the street as she ushered them within.
‘Trusting to luck may prove your best chance,’ she said, once they’d explained their request. ‘The guardsman you spoke to was right about the palace peahens. Lady Westlaw and her retinue walk in the gardens every day, and the city ladies flock to see them. A message would be more difficult. Goltoy’s personal bodyguard is assigned to “protecting” the women; they say no one goes in or out of the palace without his knowledge.’
‘The harbour was bristling with guardsmen,’ Fenn said.
‘The soldiers are worse. The town is swollen with them. It’s been a cause of friction, which has only made them clamp down harder. It’s as if there are two cities, one layered over the other. On the top everything is bright and bubbling over with celebration, while underneath there are tensions on the streets and ugliness behind closed doors. Rumours seep out of the palace, despite Goltoy’s efforts.’
‘What sort of rumours?’
Nieve held up a finger to mark off each one. ‘Harbin and Goltoy aren’t seeing eye to eye; the young Lady Havre is mortally ill; Lady Westlaw disapproves the match, or wants it for her grandson, or has threatened to abandon the proceedings as folly — the story changes every day. The one rumour I do believe relates to the dungeons: Goltoy is said to have re-commissioned them. They’ve been serving as a wine cellar for the last thirty years, but now flow with blood rather than beverage, and have no shortage of occupants.’
Risha shook her head to rid it of the image. ‘What of Lady Havre?’ she asked.
‘Ah, well, she’s said not to have left her bed in the four days since they arrived. Some attribute that to her pining for a lost love, others to the rigours of the journey. More likely it’s part of Goltoy’s plan to thwart any attempt to spirit her away. Having brought things this far he’s not likely to take any risks. The town has been on edge waiting for Lord Donnel’s arrival.’
‘Is there any news of him?’ Fenn asked.
Nieve shook her head. ‘Nor of Ciaran’s brother. Both were invited, according to the palace criers — official and otherwise — who also report that Lord Goltoy takes it as a slight that his offer of an amnesty has been spurned.’
Risha snorted.
Nieve stood up. ‘You should go. That pass might get you through the gate, but it will make no impression on the throng within. Goltoy has let it be known that there will be new appointments to the court after the marriage, and every young woman in Elion, near enough, is eager to see and be seen.’
Steward’s Walk lay within the wall of the scholars’ compound and, as Nieve had warned, proved thickly crowded with sight-seers. Fenn made no bones about pushing their way to the front. Most of the young ladies were too apprehensive of disordering their artfully arrayed persons to risk a physical fracas, but the verbal abuse they delivered was quite startling in its immodesty.
With a place by the railings secured, Risha stared at the ornate spires of the old palace, her ears closed to the snide or pitying comments directed against her worn clothing and battered face.
They had not long to wait before a troop of dandies and sturdy matrons issued forth to parade through the carefully manicured gardens. Risha jolted in shock when she recognised Vormer’s wife Lenora in their midst. Dropping to her knees, she pretended to sort through their wares.
‘Trouble?’ Fenn muttered, bending to select a parasol.
Risha glanced up and saw Verony. ‘Havrean councillors’ wives.’
Fenn opened the shade in front of Risha’s face, twirling it this way and that for the ladies to admire. None cast them a glance.
Sweat beaded on Risha’s neck as the minutes trickled past.
There was a flurry at the door and an answering ripple through the crowd. A tall, beak-nosed matron stepped into the sunlight, directing a disparaging stare toward the onlookers before she turned to harangue her retinue.
‘Who’s that?’ Risha asked.
A young woman at her left cast her a patronising look. ‘Lady Westlaw of course.’
‘Lord Goltoy’s wife?’
‘His mother.’ The girl moved a little away.
Risha stared at the old woman. Her own grandmother would have been a similar age, had she not been murdered during Goltoy’s first bid for power. Had they known one another? Had this woman approved his plan to claim dominance over all the royal houses of Elgard?
Fenn nudged her. Ciaran had emerged from the palace and joined the women strolling behind Lady Westlaw. She looked as composed as ever, her hair elaborately coiffed, hands demurely clasped at her waist. Her eyes never strayed from Lady Westlaw’s rigid back. She would pass by without even realising they were here. Risha fumbled with the parasols and several dropped to the ground.
‘Stop that, Iza!’ Fenn called loudly. ‘Let the ladies see.’
Ciaran’s step faltered, her head turning toward them. Her eyes scoured the faces that lined the railing. Risha stared straight back into the sea-green eyes.
If she had read the woman wrong, if Ciaran was in league with Vormer, they would have no means of escape. Straining matrons and preening young women hemmed them tightly, and the gate behind would be barred long before they could reach it.
Ciaran left the other women and walked briskly towards them, lifting her skirt as she skipped over the corner of a flowered bed.
‘That’s a pretty parasol,’ Ciaran addressed Fenn. ‘And a pretty name. I had a daughter who shared it.’
‘The lass is named after her,’ Fenn said. ‘Curtsy, Iza.’
Risha dropped to her knee and stared through the railing. Ciaran’s foot was beyond her reach. A hand stretched down and closed on the handle of the opened parasol. Risha slid her fingers to meet it.
Are you mad? Ciaran’s mind did not match her calm exterior. What are you doing here? If you are taken, all is lost!
How is Lyse?
Well enough. Risha, you must go! ‘The parasol is pretty but not a colour I care for. May I see another?’ she said.
Risha fumbled to unfurl a second from their small collection. When she passed it to Ciaran and their fingers again touched, the woman’s thoughts had calmed a little. ‘I prefer that one.’ Did you warn Donnel?
I’ve tried. I can’t be sure my messages have reached him.
He must not come. Goltoy plans treachery—
‘Mistress Ciaran.’ Lady Westlaw had paused in her walk and was staring haughtily towards them.
Ciaran lowered the parasol, turning her back on the crowd. The movement brought her skirt against the fence. ‘These parasols are pretty, are they not? I think I will buy one. The sun is so hot.’
‘Please, have it as a gift, my lady,’ Fenn said. ‘To celebrate this momentous occasion.’
Risha’s fingers found Ciaran’s ankle beneath the hem of her skirt. Vormer—
I am doing my best to keep Lyse away from him.
There are rumours in the city that Lyse is ill or—
She is fine. Please Risha, you must go!
‘It is not to my taste.’ By inference, Lady Westlaw threw Ciaran’s discrimination into question. ‘Join us, please.’ It was an order rather a request. ‘I do not wish to linger.’
They had begun to attract the attention of the first group of ladies, who had reached the far end of the garden and were circling back.
Verony and Lenora must recognise her.
They haven’t seen her, and won’t. She’ll be veiled at the wedding. She moved aside and Risha stood.
‘Allow me to make you a gift of two, my lady,’ Fenn said, thrusting another parasol through the fence. ‘This one might suit you best, and prove doubly useful.’
Ciaran touched Fen
n’s hand. ‘You are very kind.’
Risha had one further question. She clasped Ciaran’s fingers. Sometimes I think I feel Talben in my mind.
A sense of shock filled her.
Can you and he mindspeak? Do you know where he is?
Ciaran looked flustered. It is as with you and I. It was different when your mother was alive. The three of us— She glanced over her shoulder. The first group of women were drawing closer. There is no time. Go. Go!
She stepped away and the link between them was gone. Twirling the open parasol above her head, the other swinging by its strap from her wrist, Ciaran walked briskly back to join Lady Westlaw.
Fenn gathered their remaining stores and pushed away from the railing. The women around them surged forward.
‘Are they for sale? I’ll buy one.’
‘And I. How much?’
A third voice urged caution. ‘Lady Westlaw disapproves.’
‘Lady Westlaw is old and her complexion already ruined. And I’ve heard it whispered that Mistress Ciaran is favoured by Convenor-Regent Vormer. Who’s to say she won’t be the next Lady Havre? The green for me; it will match my dress for tomorrow.’
The parasols were rapidly claimed, Fenn pocketing coins as she pressed towards the gate. ‘I have only these few with me, but if you come to the market this afternoon you can all have your pick. Ladies, please!’
Two young women had begun to tussle over the last parasol. Those that blossomed overhead clearly marked their location for the three guardsmen pushing their way through the crowd.
‘Better yet, I’ll fetch more and be back in a matter of minutes: ten, or perhaps fifteen.’
‘Have you a red one, with flowers?’
‘Every colour under the rainbow. Let us through.’
Fenn took a grip on Risha’s arm and forged a path through the skirts and pouting faces. Risha kept her head down. They were halfway to the gate when a broad hand closed on her shoulder. ‘You there: you the ones selling them parabrellas?’
Fenn turned open hands towards the guardsman.
Donnel's Promise Page 22