Blood in the Water (18 page)

“He’s only a boy,” Failla protested. “What could a groom possibly know?”

Gruit looked troubled. “He knows who he’s been carrying letters for even if he doesn’t know what they say.”

Failla blanched. But surely if Tadira knew Vrist had been carrying word from the castle, she’d have hanged him for all to see. “Perhaps he’s hiding.” She could only cling to that hope.

“It turns out that Duchess Tadira has known since For-Autumn that certain guildsmen have been plotting against Duke Garnot.” Kerith cleared his throat and gazed out of the window. “It seems Duke Iruvain of Triolle discovered their conspiracy and sent word to prove his good faith as Carluse’s friend. One of the guildsmen has already been hanged. Master Settan, the brewer.”

Perhaps now they’d believe her. Failla had told them Master Hamare’s spy had already known about the guildsmen’s plots. She had only confirmed what that vile old woman had said. She’d only done that because Pelletria had threatened to betray her and Anilt alike to Duke Garnot. Even then, and she’d sworn it on Anilt’s life, even then she’d only told lies to the crone.

But Master Gruit and his friends had still feared she was lying, so they’d sent her away from Abray. None of them trusted her now, except Tathrin. Because he knew just what Duke Garnot and his duchess were capable of.

Kerith couldn’t look at her now. He might well be ashamed of himself, Failla thought fiercely. Whatever anyone else’s doubts, Kerith knew the truth. He had used his Artifice to wrench it from her, deaf to her pleas, her tears. He had violated her memories, her fears and desires, more thoroughly than any rape could abuse her body. He could at least have argued her case. But he’d all but ignored her ever since that appalling night.

Agitated, Gruit paced in front of the fire. “If Master Ernout thinks he’s under suspicion, he must leave by the same route as his messenger.”

“He won’t.” Failla was certain.

Twisting his scholar’s ring around his finger, Kerith glanced at her. “Would Duchess Tadira truly have Saedrin’s priest hanged?”

“Yes.” She held his gaze. He must surely understand Tadira’s ruthlessness. He had felt her terror lest the duke and duchess learn of Anilt’s birth. Bastard children were merely game pieces like little wooden birds. If their loss could serve Carluse, they would be discarded without remorse. Garnot’s bastard son Veblen had died for his father’s quarrels with Sharlac. Failla had seen the duke’s base-born daughters married to mercenary captains merely to save the dukedom’s silver. That was the fate Pelletria promised Anilt, if Failla didn’t let her read the guildsmen’s letters.

She was surprised to see Kerith growing pale. Even more, to recognise the pain and fear in his eyes. Somehow he was reliving her memories, all the agonies she’d suffered, all she’d risked for the sake of her child. He knew why she’d hazarded her life and Anilt’s, Aunt Derou’s perilous herbs bringing her to childbed half a season early. Because Duke Garnot had recalled her, just when she’d allowed herself to believe Duchess Tadira had contrived to make her exile permanent. There’d have been no concealing the pregnancy she’d been unable to end when it might still have been safe to do so.

Very well. That should convince him of Carluse’s rulers’ utter ruthlessness. Failla let no hint of forgiveness soften her gaze. Serve him right if he couldn’t forgive himself.

Anilt stirred beside her. Failla saw her little girl had fallen asleep, her black curly head on her cushion. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Whatever Kerith’s offences, she had more immediate concerns, more important debts to repay. If Captain-General Evord let his men loose on Carluse, the sloping streets would run with blood. The blood of her kinsmen.

“Is there any news of my cousin Lathi?”

Lathi, who’d taken Anilt from her, still wet with birth blood, who’d nursed her at the same breast as her own recent child. Lathi, whom Anilt had looked for when her nurse had said Mama was waiting. As far as anyone had known, Lathi was the little girl’s mother. Only she, Failla and their Aunt Derou knew different. Aunt Derou, who was trapped inside Carluse Town, along with Serafia and her little boy Kip, left fatherless by Duke Garnot’s wars.

Gruit answered, visibly pleased to have some good news. “She and all her children are on their way here.” His face creased with some concern. “Her husband insists he stay to defend their farm. Who knows what marauders might come their way?”

“True enough.” And Failla was as responsible as the rest of them for letting marauders loose in Carluse. “You will see them safely provided for, when they arrive?”

“Of course.” Gruit looked surprised she had to ask.

“Let Lathi look after Anilt.” She caressed her daughter’s head, hiding her anguish. “While I go to Carluse.”

“What?”

Gruit’s shock was only outdone by Kerith’s.

Failla looked at the white-haired merchant. “I can get inside Carluse Town. The people know me and I know who I can trust.”

“But they think you’re dead,” he protested.

“I can convince the guildsmen to defy Tadira. She’s only one woman. They fear her, but only because of Duke Garnot’s power. If I convince them he’s beaten, that’s as good as a key to the gates.” She forced a smile. “Her Grace has already done half the work for us by hanging Sergeant Banel and Master Settan.”

“The captain-general will never agree,” Kerith snapped.

“Let’s ask him and see,” Failla shot back.

Gruit looked troubled. “He might think of some less hazardous way to use Failla’s familiarity with the castle and its servants.”

“You’ll abandon Anilt a second time?” Kerith challenged her.

“This has nothing to do with you, whatever you may think you know of me.” Fury at his presumption saved Failla from the urge to weep at the thought of doing just that. “All you need to do is tell Jettin to tell Evord what I’m offering. You swore to use your Artifice without fear or favour, didn’t you?”

Kerith reddened with anger to equal her own. “Do you question my word?”

“Enough, please.” Gruit hurried to stand between them, his hands beseeching. “Kerith, no one doubts you. Failla, yes, we will make your offer to the captain-general. But I cannot imagine he’ll let you place yourself in such peril.”

Failla brushed a curl from Anilt’s soft cheek. “When we have his decision, we will all abide by it.”

Kerith couldn’t have seen so deeply into her mind after all if he thought she would ever risk losing Anilt again. She wouldn’t have made this offer if she didn’t think she could get in and out of Carluse Town uncaptured. Uncle Ernout and all his allies would protect her. She would come back, and if Anilt would be happiest in Lathi’s care while she was away, that was how it must be.

She had the rest of her life to win back her daughter’s love. But Failla didn’t think she’d be able to live with herself, if one day she had to tell Anilt she’d shrunk from doing all she could to save the rest of their family.

Uncle Ernout held more than her secrets safe inside his shrine. He still had the gold she had hoarded, as she sold as many of Garnot’s gifts and gowns as she could without risking suspicion. Once she had borne Anilt, she had lived for the day she could flee the castle and reclaim her daughter from Lathi. That gold was to have carried them far away to a place where nobody knew them. It wasn’t too late to put that coin to good use.

If she couldn’t take up a sword to help win this war, a woman always had other more subtle weapons to use.

Chapter Thirteen

Litasse

Triolle Castle,

6th of Aft-Autumn

“I didn’t send for you.” Iruvain didn’t look up from the map spread across the table.

“My lord husband, I was wondering if you’ve any news from Sharlac.”

Outside, Litasse noted, the man-at-arms who’d opened the door to the audience chamber drew it close without the latch quite catching.

“No,” Iruvain said dismissively.

So, as Litasse had suspected, he hadn’t made good on his promise to send Lord Roreth north.

“Is there news from Carluse?” she asked diffidently. “The castle is rife with rumour. Some say that Duke Garnot has crushed these exiles in Carluse’s forests. Others claim he’s been defeated himself. Or are these mercenaries truly nowhere near Carluse but plundering Ashgil instead?”

“Your only concern should be silencing such gossip.” Iruvain was still scowling at the map.

“The best counter to hearsay is truth.” Litasse itched to read the ciphered parchments piled up beside the chart. Even more beguiling, she could see the translucent slips of paper brought by courier doves.

“Your devotion to truth rings hollow.” Iruvain finally looked up, his eyes shadowed.

He had been up all night, Litasse realised. He’d worn that maroon doublet with the purple-slashed sleeves when they’d dined together last evening.

“My lord.” She tried for humility. “Your people are afraid. Ashgil is mere days’ march from our borders. Perhaps if your people saw you strengthening Triolle’s defences with proven warriors—”

“I will not spend coin recruiting mercenaries.” Iruvain thumped the table with his fist. “I wonder at you advising such profligacy when you’ve so often lamented Triolle’s poverty. Or do you want me to invite Marlier’s spies right into our counsels?”

Litasse tried not to show her fear. “My lord, there are mercenary companies in Relshaz owing no allegiance to Duke Ferdain—”

“Tend to your own duties, my lady wife! I will manage my responsibilities as I see fit!”

As the duke shouted angrily, the man-at-arms in the hallway threw open the door, one hand on his sword hilt.

Iruvain turned his wrath on the hapless man. “What do you want?”

“Your Grace—”

“My lord husband, I will leave you to your correspondence.” Litasse hurried out past the man-at-arms, her gold brocade skirts rustling.

“Get out!” Iruvain bellowed at the gaping man.

As the door closed, Litasse heard a muffled thud against the wall. Iruvain had presumably thrown something in a typically useless gesture. She hurried away.

The audience chamber was on the lowest level of the castle’s mightiest tower, reserved for the duke’s apartments. Litasse went out into the open bailey, her hands modestly clasped at her waist, so no one could see them trembling.

She had no option. Only the open battlements offered a route between the ten towers rising from the massive grey curtain wall. Even that lofty route offered no shelter. All Triolle’s dukes and their households must endure whatever weather Dastennin decreed if they wanted to cross from one apartment to another. All for the sake of their boast that any attacker must fight a separate battle to claim each one of the castle’s turrets.

With no high ground for Triolle’s dukes to build on, even with a deep ditch on one side and the stream dammed to make a mere on the other, determined attackers would soon surround their castle. The best they could do was present sheer walls to the outside world, pierced only by arrow slits so each tower’s defenders could kill anyone attempting to scale its neighbour.

Litasse shivered, then assured herself no one could read anything into that. The skies remained clear but each day grew cooler. Had her mother and sisters found shelter somewhere warm? Autumn came sooner to the high wolds of Sharlac than to this dismal bog of a dukedom. Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffed. Hamare would have discovered her family’s fate by now.

“Your Grace.” Pelletria approached, walking with the stiffness she feigned around the castle. “I have your shawl.”

“Let’s see how the roses are faring.” Litasse smiled for the benefit of three scullions hurrying past. They hastily doffed their caps. So she still commanded some respect.

She was doing her very best not to give Iruvain cause to doubt her or to prompt any more tittle-tattle. With Pelletria in constant attendance, she was never alone with any man but him. Since Duke Orlin and their other Parnilesse guests had departed, she’d only worn her most decorous gowns, her jewellery as modest as any dowager’s.

Did the various servants busy around the bailey even care? She watched a maid with an armful of linen hurrying to the laundry in the White Tower’s basement. Swordsmen in Triolle’s green and yellow livery leaned against the gatehouse, swapping jokes. Several guildsmen from Triolle Town waited, irresolute in their finest mantles. They must have come to ask Iruvain about the threat looming in Carluse.

“Do you suppose they’ll be reassured to see me tending Duchess Casatia’s garden?” she wondered under her breath. “Do you suppose Iruvain’s temper might improve if he goes out and kills a few deer?”

Discreet amusement lit Pelletria’s faded eyes as she draped the embroidered shawl around Litasse’s shoulders. “Is he very out of sorts?”

“I think he’s scared,” Litasse said thoughtfully. “He’s had a double handful of letters. See if you can get hold of some before they end up in the fire. Be careful.”

“I’ve been careful since before you were born,” Pelletria reminded her.

“There are courier dove despatches too.” Litasse forced herself not to look up at the Messenger Tower. Its turret held the courier bird lofts and Master Hamare’s rooms were a few floors below.