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“No. As long as the people who served me and my late husband suffer the consequences of their loyalty, I shall not accept your terms.”

Vasic sank back onto his throne, speaking through gritted teeth in a low voice that only she could hear. “You forget your place here, madam. I am prepared to tolerate your presence, despite your arrogance. I am prepared to overlook your whoring. I am prepared to deal graciously with you. You are in no position to bargain with me – this letter details complaints of such severity I could have you executed for the heresies you committed at Vorrahan.”

“Such are the decisions a man must take if he would be king. I wish you and your conscience joy of them, cousin.” She smiled then, certain of what she must do. “Have your men lead me to the deepest dungeon. Let the people speak my name only in whispers lest they conspire against you. Spill my blood and see how it earns you their fear. You will never earn their respect, nor their loyalty. Harm me and you will inspire nothing but contempt in the people you would call your own. Take the throne on those terms and see what accursed blessings rain down upon you.”

“Enough!” Vasic jumped to his feet. “Hames, secure the Lady Alwenna in her former quarters. Put a double guard at the door and ensure she has no means of escape. Whatever vile lies she may utter against the crown, let it be seen that I am merciful. I do not seek to silence her permanently, even though that lies entirely within my power as king of this realm. I understand the grief of a widow for her husband. I can see it has driven her wits from her to speak so; let us hope time brings a return to reason for the poor, afflicted creature. As for her lapdog of a monk, toss him in the dungeon. I’ll deal with him later.”

Alwenna twisted round in time to see two men-at-arms enclose Drew in their grip and drag him from the room. She turned her attention back to Vasic as more soldiers advanced up the room.

“As you wish, cousin. Let the people see which one of us is a stranger to reason. Continue as you are and history will be left in no doubt.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Weaver was still awake when Curtis opened the door to the dungeon and sent Drew into the chamber. Curtis nudged the former novice as he released his bonds and nodded his head towards Weaver. “You’ll know yon fella, from the tales I’ve heard.”

Drew blinked, disorientated in the dim light.

Curtis lowered his voice to a murmur. “He’ll see you right, lad.” He laid a reassuring hand on Drew’s shoulder, causing the youth to flinch. As the door closed behind Curtis a deeper darkness enfolded the prisoners until their eyes adjusted.

Drew picked his way across the chamber, stumbling as he caught his foot on something – or someone. He was breathing hard by the time he joined Weaver and hunkered down against the wall at his side. “Goddess, this place gives me the chills. How fare you, Weaver?”

“I’ve been worse, brother. What of you? I’m sorry you have to join us in our filth.”

“Brother no more. I’ve forsaken those vows. The precinct is tainted by corruption and I want none of it.” He paused, easing his wrists where the bonds had cut into his flesh on the journey there. “She knew you’d been captured. The night after you left.”

No need to ask who “she” was. “You travelled with her from Vorrahan?”

“Aye. We took a boat from the beach.”

“There are some you should know here.” Weaver indicated the wiry man sitting on his right. “This is Lyall, who served with me in The Marches, long before I joined the King’s Men.”

“I warned him no good would come of befriending a king, but he was too wooden-headed to listen.” Lyall’s voice carried the accent of the Outer Isles. “You’ll have noticed that, I daresay.”

Drew smiled. “Aye. That, and the hollow legs to keep his balance.”

Weaver snorted. “And now you’re done maligning me, young Drew, you should also know Blaine. He did some handy work with his battle axe at Vorland Pass. He has more tales to tell about that than I have.”

Blaine was tall and raw-boned; if he’d been better fed of late he’d be a huge man. He grinned, his teeth disconcertingly bright in the dim room. “If there’s free drink to be had, I have the tales to tell.”

“An honour.” The lad sounded overwhelmed.

“What news from outside, Drew? We’ve heard nothing but rumours.” Weaver wasn’t sure yet whether to trust the lad or treat him as a potential traitor.

“Father Garrad betrayed you both.” The youth’s voice shook on the last word – anger or fear? It was hard to be sure. “I overheard him speaking to Brother Irwyn – I was keeping an ear open like you said – saying Vasic’s men were on the way. We didn’t reckon on meeting them on the road. It was as if they knew where we’d be.” He gazed into the middle distance, sounding defeated. “And now it was all for nothing.”

Weaver leaned forward, so his voice might not be overheard by the room at large. “Not so. By escaping you’ve discredited Garrad.”

“We were called before Vasic. He questioned the Lady Alwenna about our escape, but he already knew everything. He had a letter from Father Garrad. I saw his signature, I’d know it anywhere.” Drew fell silent for a moment. “Garrad claimed we set fire to the stables, but it wasn’t us. Two of the brethren had taken a candle into the stables with them. But that’s by the by. He accused Alwenna of stealing horses – that was my doing. One was yours – it’s here at Highkell now, in Vasic’s stables.”

“It can’t be helped now, lad.”

“That’s not the worst of it. Garrad has accused the lady of base conduct – with you, and with me. He claims she caused me to forsake my vows. And he made much of the fact you shared the same roof at the precinct.”

Weaver cursed inwardly. “And no doubt it’ll suit Vasic to accept Father Garrad’s version of events?”

“Aye, he seemed well pleased with what was written in that letter. Lies, all of it. Except for the horses,” he added, scrupulously honest.

Weaver rested his head back against the wall. There was nothing he could do about any of it. “If I ever win free of this place I’ll find Garrad and make him pay for every word of it.”

Blaine laughed, deep and low. “You’ve changed your tune, Weaver. As I recall you were sick of kicking your heels at court while the king bedded his spoilt new wife.”

Weaver shrugged, glad for the poor light at that moment. “I misjudged her. She’s not the spoilt child I once thought.”

“Really? High praise from you.” Blaine hesitated. “And the witchery?”

“She has it, sure enough, though I don’t know the half of it.”

“Old Gwydion told me…’ Drew hesitated.

“Well?” Weaver prompted.

“He told me he’d seen none with such power as she has. He meant to spend time teaching her… but he became too ill. He’d chosen me to receive his legacy, if the Lady Alwenna had not reached Vorrahan in time. After that day in the cavern I was thankful it wasn’t me.”

“You knew what he was about to do?” Weaver failed to make the question sound casual.

“Not that day, no. I swear it.” Drew shifted nervously. “He spoke so often of the need to prepare for it.”

“And you can still set store by that crazy old man’s ramblings?”

“I see now Father Garrad did much to discredit Gwydion during his time at Vorrahan – he was subtle, with his cheery manner. And it must have been easy, for Gwydion was always uneasy in company. He knew so much of everyone’s thoughts, you see…”

Did that mean Alwenna could do the same? Weaver didn’t ask that question. If she’d been able to read his thoughts all this time he was better not knowing.

CHAPTER FORTY

Alwenna soaked in the tub of warm water in her chamber. This was the one luxury of Highkell she’d truly missed. Set before a roaring fire and filled almost to the brim, it was a far cry from the shallow tub provided at Vorrahan by servants always pressed for time. The water eased her aches and pains, soothing wrists rubbed raw by the dirty leather straps she’d been bound with, dissolving away the grime from the journey until nothing remained but her anger against Vasic. That anger still burned, but slowly now, contained despite her frustration at having travelled full circle at such great cost.

She’d learned much at Vorrahan – things far beyond Vasic’s comprehension. Unfortunately, her own understanding of them as yet might not greatly outstrip her cousin’s. But she sensed this confrontation with Vasic had been bound to come. Perhaps it was better now, while Tresilian’s child still remained hidden within her womb. Safe, where none would think to seek – not yet, while she did not show. The sickness was passing, just as Wynne had predicted. Poor Wynne. Gone, as was Tresilian. Vasic had to be brought to account. She shivered. The water in the tub had cooled as she was lost in thought.

Alwenna stood up and stepped out of the tub. Still shivering, she dried herself quickly and threw on the shift a silent servant girl had left ready. Alwenna huddled beneath the bedcovers until the girl had cleared away the bathtub. As soon as the door closed behind the servant Alwenna hurried across the chamber to lock the door, only to discover she had no key. She opened the door and called after the girl.

“Where is the key to this door? There should be one.”

The girl looked round, startled, then shook her head. “I don’t know, my lady. I haven’t seen one. Will that be all, my lady?”

“Yes, that’s all.” The girl wasn’t one of the previous staff at Highkell. She seemed to be hard-working, but went about her duties with little joy. Vasic would have surrounded himself with people who were beholden to him, so Alwenna was disinclined to trust any of the servants. As she closed the door once more, she realised that line of thought raised interesting questions about the steward, Hames, who’d been a minor clerk during Tresilian’s reign. Had he been Vasic’s man all that time?

Before Alwenna climbed back into her bed she tied the door latch down with a belt, and slid a chair against it for good measure. She went over to snuff the candle that stood on the wooden kist next to the door, and noticed the wall-hanging above it: a small hunting scene she’d worked herself. How many hours had she spent bent over that? Tresilian’s father had still been alive then and had pronounced it an accomplished piece. She ran a hand over the stitching, her fingertips tracing the irregularities where she’d unpicked a detail so often that the canvas had stretched, or finished a figure clumsily. How long since she’d completed it? Two years, or three? It might as well have been a lifetime ago.

She returned to the warmth of her covers, hoping she was too tired to be disturbed by the clamouring voices that had been Gwydion’s gift, but here in her old chamber she could no more stop the past crowding about her than she could give up breathing.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Alwenna didn’t hear Vasic enter the room, so absorbed was she in the scene she was stitching. The design was taken from a painting in the great hall: a colourful array of beasts frolicked among the trees around the edge of the scene, while in the centre would be a group of hunters, hawks on their wrists and wolfhounds trotting at their heels. Vanishing into the forest were several deer, while clouds moved across a darkening sky. She’d originally planned a daylight scene, but as she worked she’d altered things so the hunters were riding home at nightfall, tired by their endeavours.

She was seated by the window with her back to the door to catch the best of the daylight, which was in short supply. Mist cloaked the forests and hills about Highkell and rain fell from an unremittingly grey sky. Soon she would have to stop working on the fine detail, as the light was fading.

Alwenna lifted her head as she heard a hushed exhalation, then hands were clamped over her eyes, pulling her head back as a voice whispered in her ear.

“Guess who?”

“Ow, that hurts. Let go.” She tugged at the hands and by chance rather than by design her needle stabbed into the joker’s flesh.

One hand was snatched away and its owner swore. She twisted round, to find Vasic standing there.

“It was only a joke, there was no need for that.” He glared at her.

She shrugged. “It wasn’t funny.”

“I heard you turned Tresilian down again.”

“What business is it of yours if I did?”

“Dear cousin, I have a lively interest in your matrimonial plans. And we’re long overdue a heart-to-heart about such things. You and I could make a fair fist of the job, you know.”

“That would be funnier if it wasn’t so ridiculous.” She returned to her needlework. The needle was stained with Vasic’s blood.

“Don’t turn your back on me when I’m talking to you.”

“If you don’t like it then don’t sneak up behind me when you want to talk to me.”

“Tresilian’s too soft with you by far.” He wound his hand in her hair, then tugged her head back, tracing her throat with the fingertips of his free hand. “Since you don’t want him, maybe you’ll find me more to your taste.”

“Have you gone mad? No.” She jabbed at him with her elbow.

“By the Goddess, it’s time you learned some manners, Alwenna.” He tugged her head further back and with his other hand he began worrying at the lacing of her kirtle, a workaday gown she was wearing so she could dress without assistance. “First I’ll show you why ladies of your station should wear back-lacing garments.”

“No, get off–”

Vasic covered her mouth with his own, smothering her shouts. His breath was sharp with wine. Alwenna twisted away from him and her chair toppled, crashing them both on the floor with a splintering of wood. She tried to scramble away from Vasic but he threw his weight on top of her, dragging at her skirts.

She screamed out then. “No, stop!”

Footsteps hastened across the antechamber outside her small workroom and the door burst open.

Wynne’s voice thundered across the room, echoing from the vaulted ceiling. “Stop that at once!” Vasic was dragged bodily off her, the hand entangled in her hair yanking at her scalp, making her yelp. Alwenna clambered away backwards as Wynne dumped Vasic on the ground at her feet. “You will leave now, young man. Your father will hear of this.”

Fists clenched, Vasic sprang to his feet and advanced towards Wynne. “This is none of your business, you old hag. Get out of here now, and I won’t mention your insubordination.”