Lord Hatch sprang to his feet. “To the Riders!”
Next to him, a massive woman with straw-colored hair stood and raised her glass. “To the saviors of Arle!”
The Hall resounded with the echoes of the townspeople as they called out their own toasts, drinking to the health of the Riders, the Free Regiments, the Daireds and their dragons, the Brysneys, the king and queen consort and long-absent prince, and whomever else they could think of. Lord Hatch caught sight of us over the rim of his glass. “Ah! Excellent timing,” he cried. “Come in, my friends, come in. We’ve laid places for you.”
The Great Hall of Hatch House was a circular stone room with vaulted ceilings and heavy rafters. More than a hundred men and women clustered around long tables, some still cheering and toasting, some drinking in silence, and some intent on nothing but the food. There were few fine clothes to be found among them. The longer I looked, the more rags, patched elbows, lean cheeks, and cinched belts I picked out. Shame pricked at me like thorns. My family had never been destitute, but even a few weeks at House Pendragon had made my past life in Hart’s Run seem pauperish by comparison. Yet here were people who seized upon Lord Hatch’s generosity with famished hands, not for remembrance and camaraderie, but for survival. Wrinkles suddenly felt very trivial.
A hush seized the room as we crossed the Hall. Some guests stood to get a better look. A few of the thinnest faces glanced up, shrugged, and returned to their meals, but the rest began to murmur among themselves as Lord Hatch led us to the high table.
“My wife, Viola,” he said, and took the hand of the blond woman. “Viola, the Daireds.”
Up close, Lady Hatch gave the impression of someone who wrestled trolls for the fun of it, and probably won. “Lord Alastair! Lady Aliza! Welcome, welcome to Hatch House,” she boomed. “Come, sit!”
I took the seat to her right. Alastair followed Lord Hatch to the opposite side of the table.
“Now, niceties. Let me see,” Lady Hatch said to me. “What brings you so far north? Anything interesting?”
I paused in my attempt to fill my plate with every hot dish in reach, tamping down my disappointment. Lady Hatch had already finished her meal and seemed eager for the conversation I was in no mood to give. With one eye to the roast venison haunch in front of me, I plastered on a smile and answered. “We’re traveling to Lake Meera, Your Ladyship.”
“So late in the year?”
“My husband took a contract with Lord Selwyn.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Niall Selwyn? Lord Sentinel of the Lake?”
“Aye.” I managed a slice of venison. “Do you know him?”
“Only by reputation. William and I were with the townsfolk on the western wall, you see, but I heard Selwyn and his people fought well. His Rangers took the plain north of the city back from a troop of trolls and a pack of direwolves.”
I looked at her in surprise. The stupor of exhaustion and an empty stomach lifted, replaced with hunger of a different kind. Curiosity had me in its claws again. “Lord Selwyn was here?”
“Indeed he was. Rode south at the head of the Lake Meera Rangers when word of the muster spread.” She poured me a glass of mead. It was strong stuff, all burning sweetness down the back of my throat. “When the Worm moved on, Selwyn and his people stayed behind to fight the creatures that didn’t follow it. Brave man. I can’t imagine why he’d need a Rider in Lake Meera.” She stroked her considerable chin. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did he hire your husband and his dragon?”
“His letter said they’ve been finding dead Idar around the lakes. Someone’s been killing them and cutting out their heartstones, and now a local girl has gone missing.”
Lady Hatch frowned. “Murdered Idar, stolen heartstones, and a vanished human girl, and a Tekari is the first thing he suspects?”
“What else would it be?” I asked.
“Eh, fair point,” she said, not realizing the question had not been rhetorical. “But about the girl. Is he certain she didn’t get herself smuggled out on one of the lake ships? I hear there’s good trade . . .” She stopped suddenly. “But never mind. One hears so many rumors about those northern folk. Whatever is plaguing them, I’m sure you and your husband will set all things to rights.”
Her pause was telling. I heard, or imagined I heard, a great deal in it: curiosity, puzzlement, even a touch of suspicion, but she brushed it away with a smile that looked almost genuine. Almost. I made a note to ask Alastair what he knew of smuggling in the northern lakes.
Lady Hatch raised her glass again. “Lady Aliza, I wish you both the best of luck, and—gracious me! I didn’t expect to see you tonight, Margrey,” she said as a stout blond girl with a baby on her hip approached the table and dipped into a curtsy.
“Ma’am.”
Lady Hatch laid a hand on my arm. “Margrey, I’m sure you know who this is.”
“Oh, aye. Milady Daired,” the girl said, and then she stuck her chin in Alastair’s direction. “Them Riders got us out of harm’s way when that monster came through.” The baby on her hip made a gurgling sound and stuck a finger in its nose. “And we just wanted to say . . . um, thank you, milady.”
She curtsied again and backed away before I could make the requisite, albeit awkward and thoroughly confused, you’re welcome. I looked at Lady Hatch. She smiled at my bewilderment and leaned close. “The townsfolk who couldn’t fight sheltered here during the battle. Those two were some of the last to make it inside. Your husband and his dragon saved them from a pair of valkyries.”
“Why on earth is she thanking me?”
“Because of the Daireds present you’re the least daunting.”
I looked down the table to where Alastair sat talking to Lord Hatch, blind to the small crowd of admirers gathering at a safe distance around him. The space seemed an unconscious thing, the natural drifting of the flock around the protective yet intimidating presence of the sheepdog. I cleared my throat. “I’m glad they’re all right.”
“As am I, my lady. As are we all.”
Music drifted through the hall as the bard strummed the first few notes of a harvest hymn to Janna. The music seemed to be a signal; the crowd around Alastair thinned as the townsfolk gave up on the idea of speaking to Lord Daired and returned to the celebration.
“But the battle is over,” Lady Hatch said, brightening. “It’s our duty to look to the future, eh? Now tell me, have you ever visited Lake Meera before?”
I shook my head, mouth full.
“It’s a curious place, the land around the lakes. You can’t live between the Old Wilds and the Northern Wastes for generations without being changed by them, and Lake Meera . . .” She wagged a conspiratorial finger. “Well, you know what they say.”
“Not really,” I answered honestly.
“Truly? I thought everyone knew. Let me see, how does it go? ‘Take heed, all ye who’d walk her shore: the lake gives much, and takes much more.’ Or something like that,” she said. “I hear that the merfolk who live there are a fascinating people. Not to be trusted, of course, but then few Idar are.”
I thought of the trolls and centaurs I’d seen fighting at the side of the Worm. The Indifferent, they called themselves, but their indifference was a double-edged sword, and too often used against us. I wondered whose side Selwyn’s murdered Idar had taken in the War of the Worm. “Has Hatch Ford had trouble with Idar since the Worm died?”
“Not . . . Idar. No.”
An invitation hung on her hesitation. “Other creatures?”
“In a manner of speaking. Right foul carrion birds, if you ask me, but of course those we’ve had—”
Lord Hatch’s head jerked toward us and Lady Hatch stopped short. He wore a pleasant smile as he nodded to something Alastair was saying, but there was a warning in the look he shot his wife.
“No trouble,” she added quickly. “Ah, listen to me rambling. We’re rebuilding, Lady Aliza, just like everyone else. Slowly but surely.” She patted my hand. “I hope
you visit again someday when our city is whole.”
“I hope so too. But what did you mean, the—?”
“How long do you plan to stay in Hatch Ford, Lord Alastair?” Lady Hatch asked above the clatter of the banquet, the singing guests, and my question.
“Just long enough to resupply,” Alastair replied. “We’ll need stores before heading north.”
“North? Not east to Selkie’s Keep?” She looked surprised. “Surely you don’t mean to cross the Widdermere.”
“It’s the fastest way to Lake Meera.”
“Quite true, and what are the Old Wilds to a Daired and his dragon?” Lord Hatch said jovially. He clapped Alastair on the back. “Best of luck to you all, my lord. I look forward to hearing about your adventures when you return. In the meantime, consider our city at your disposal. Whatever you need from the market tomorrow is on the credit of Hatch House. No, no argument! I insist. It really is the least we can do.”
“You’re very kind,” I said to Lady Hatch as Alastair made another attempt to dissuade her husband, “but we couldn’t—Your Ladyship? Is everything all right?”
Lady Hatch was staring at Alastair. Her throat moved up and down and she shook her head as if trying to discourage an intrepid fly. “So sorry. It’s nothing. Never mind. It . . . actually, no, it’s not nothing. That heartstone your husband wears,” she said, nodding to the sliver of green peeping out from his high collar. “I’ve never seen that color before. Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift,” I said. Daughter of blood and fire and wrath . . . “From Charis Brysney.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes and she sank back in her chair. “The heartstone of the Greater Lindworm,” she murmured. “Then it is true. We’ve heard such whispers, such stories already, I didn’t dare believe them.” With sudden earnestness she turned to me and clasped my hands. “Listen to me, please. Arle has never seen the like of that gem, and doubtless will never see it again. I can only guess what it means to you both, but please promise me something, my lady.”
“What?”
“When you and your husband venture out tomorrow, make sure he keeps it well concealed.”
Chapter 8
Where Vultures Gather
Later that night as we prepared for bed I told Alastair about Lady Hatch’s warning. His reaction wasn’t what I expected. “If someone wants to take this, they’re welcome to try.” He fished the Worm’s heartstone out from its chain around his neck and held it up. “When Akarra’s finished with them, I might even be merciful.”
“Oh?”
The eiderdown let out a little whoosh as he sank onto it. “I may allow them to keep their head. Khera, of all places in Arle, Hatch Ford is probably the least dangerous place to be right now. The City Watch is on hourly patrols, Lord Hatch said there’s a company of the Free Regiments still camped east of the city, and Akarra’s just outside the gates. Stop worrying.”
He might as well have asked a direwolf to take up embroidery, but for both our sakes I did my best to put it out of my mind. There were plenty other mysteries on hand to keep me occupied. “Lady Hatch said that people tell stories about Lake Meera.”
He made a vague sound, feigning interest.
“She said the merfolk aren’t to be trusted.”
“Merfolk rarely are.”
“Do you think we’ll see many?”
He sighed. The scent of mead lingered on his breath, honey-sweet and sleepy. “Honestly, Aliza, it still amazes me.”
“What?”
“That after Odei made you he had enough inquisitiveness left over for other creatures.” That earned a gentle smack from a pillow, and he laughed. “There are worse faults. No, I haven’t the faintest idea if we’ll see the Lake Meera schools and I have no intention of losing sleep over it.” He snatched the pillow from my hands and eased it under his head. “Neither should you.”
I blew out the bedside lamp and curled up beside him. The Worm’s heartstone peeped through the open collar of his nightshirt, glinting in the light of the dying fire. There was no reason to worry, I told myself. None whatsoever . . .
Only hovering on the edge of sleep, soothed by the sound of his breathing and the crackle of embers, did my brain make sense of what was truly troubling me. “Right foul carrion birds,” Lady Hatch had said. “In a manner of speaking.”
I almost sat up in bed. A very specific manner of speaking. I didn’t need to be a Daired to know the Eth word for vulture. All Arleans did. Vesh.
For the first time since we’d left House Pendragon I slept soundly and, much to my amusement and his consternation, so did Alastair. The rising sun failed to rouse him, and I couldn’t resist a smirk when I nudged him awake at half past nine. He grumbled something about learning from you before drifting off again with a snore. It was fully eleven by the time we hauled ourselves out of bed and headed outside to let Akarra know what had become of us.
She lay basking in the sun on the ridge east of Hatch House. “By the looks on your faces and the lack of luggage I gather we don’t plan on continuing today,” she said.
“No,” Alastair said, shielding his eyes against the glare. “First thing in the morning.”
“Whatever happened to not wanting to fly in a blizzard?”
“We’ve made good time so far. We would’ve needed to stop for supplies before starting for the Old Wilds anyway, and Hatch Ford is better than some of those godsforsaken little villages on the edge of the Marshes.”
“Yes, of course.” She looked at him sidelong through half-closed eyelids. “Nothing to do with Lord Hatch’s excellent cellar.”
Alastair folded his arms and made a show of scanning the landscape.
Akarra laughed. “No shame in it, khela. His mead nearly leveled Ruthven last time and he’s twice your size. But if it makes you feel better, I could use a rest too.” She yawned. “When you see William again, thank him for the mutton. It was delicious.”
“Are you staying close today?” I asked.
“I might go hunting this afternoon. Proper hunting. Penned sheep may fill my stomachs, but they’re not much fun.” She sniffed the wind. “There’s a herd of red deer nearby. I think I may pay them a visit. You?”
“I’d like to speak to the magistrate before we get supplies,” Alastair said. “I want to see how the repairs are going.”
“Ah, yes. Let me know what he says.”
We left Akarra to her basking and took the road that wound from Hatch House to the river. Unlike Shepherd’s Vale and Claykeep, the wall around the eastern half of Hatch Ford was little more than an earthen berm topped with quickthorn. The streets too were wider, with shops and houses rising only one or two stories above the ground. Or they were in the living half of the city. The main road passed by the Ford. I slowed as we approached the docks, at once horrified and mesmerized by the sight. The western half of Hatch Ford spread like a rotting corpse on the opposite bank. Crossbeams jutted from the rubble like cracked and broken bones, and mud and water washed across the cobblestones like blood. The dark shapes of scavengers moved among the rubble.
Alastair touched my elbow. “The magistrate’s house is this way.”
I turned away from the ruin, peering down the street toward the bustle and dust cloud that spelled marketplace in universal letters. “Why don’t you visit him and I’ll get what we need from the market?” He looked doubtful, so I added, with my sweetest smile, “Something about Hatch Ford being the least dangerous place in Arle suddenly springs to mind, dearest.”
He grunted. “I suppose I earned that.”
“Aye, you did. I’ll be fine.”
“You have your dagger?”
I raised the folds of my shawl to show the sheath at my hip, which seemed to ease his mind. We parted at the corner. With Lady Hatch’s warning echoing in my ears when I woke, I’d pinned my heartstone brooch beneath my dress, safe from prying eyes. It wasn’t the heartstone of the Greater Lindworm, but lamia heartstones were rare enough to warrant unw
anted attention, and with the mystery of the slain Idar still looming over us, I felt better keeping it hidden. This too was the first time since we’d left House Pendragon that neither riding clothes nor Alastair’s, well, everything, could give away my identity, and I looked forward to the anonymity. Besides, there was something else I needed at the market, something I’d just as well he not know about. His teasing would be the end of me.
The vendors of Hatch Ford were quieter than their cousins in Claykeep. A pall hung over the main square of the city, as if the stones themselves were holding their breath, waiting for some sign that laughter and chatter were safe again. Stall after stall stood vacant, and the ones that weren’t offered a meager spread. The haunches of badly salted beef hanging from the butcher’s stall were lean and withered, and my nose stung with the smell, just a day or so short of spoilage. A handful of wrinkled apples sat at the bottom of a basket in front of the greengrocer, who looked as despondent as his wares. A fly circled the basket twice before buzzing away to find refuse better worth its time. At the baker’s stall I bought all the bardsbread he had, hoping twelve of the hard, flat loaves would be enough to carry us across the Widdermere. The baker stuffed the bread into a sack and muttered an apology for the quality. I paid him six copper trills and asked him to point me to the best place to find beggar’s balm.
The stall he directed me to wasn’t well stocked, but it had what I needed. The woman behind the table gave me a sympathetic look as she brought out the stalks of beggar’s balm, their whitish leaves dried and pressed flat. “Always keep some of this on hand nowadays,” she said. “Some of the people hereabouts are glad of something to soothe their stomachs after seeing what they seen.” I offered her three half-trills, but she waved the money away. “My gift, dear. You look as though you may need it.”
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