Embers (22 page)

"And you were not on the winning side?" Cunan's voice still mocked but she could hear the edge that it took when dislike, that strange self-dislike, crept through him.

She wondered whether the poised wolf beside her could sense it. Whether Duda could.

"Aye. It was not me who was on the winning side. It was Goadel."

Oh, they could sense it. They knew, her wolf and his running companion. Hunters so fell could always sense the kill.

She looked at Duda's rags. She thought of the desperation that lay hidden in the heart of a fugitive. She had had her own experience of that. She wondered whether the gnarled hand concealed in fraying wool was curved round a knife hilt with the same force as Cunan's.

Cunan looked at no one. "Disputes of a personal nature—"

"Are exactly what you were discussing, were they not? Is that not what you said?"

She glanced at the bright gold eyes. They held nothing but enquiry, and the unspoken challenge that had sent Cunan's hand to the knife hilt.

But he knew everything, her ruthless hunter. He knew all that had been said between her and her brother because he understood their language. Cunan was oblivious to that.

She had the power to explain it to her half brother. Kin loyalty.

She kept her eyes on the knife. Cunan's knuckles were white.

"That does not concern—"

"Yes, it does. You and I share the same concern, if you remember—to see that your sister is safe, that she reaches Bamburgh, and King Nechtan's ambassador."

The look Cunan gave held defiance. It also held secrets. She knew that with childhood's knowledge. She had grown up with power plays and secrets.

"There is nothing to discuss with you, Northumbrian. Some aspects of our family's interests are not shared. Just as some loyalties and some duties are not."

The wolf rearranged each lethal sinew, gathered for the next strike, the one that would come with the rending of teeth and heavy, tearing claws.

"Which duty would that be? The one that charges a man to protect those of his kindred who need it? The one that demands thought and a conscience?"

"What would you know about thought?" demanded Cunan. "You acted without it."

"No. I thought."

The strike caught her utterly off balance. But it was not a hunter's strike, or it was one so rash it had exposed far more vulnerability than it should. The reckless, gold-bright eyes had become transparent.

She could not believe what he had said, or even that he had said it. What he had done when he had abducted her from Hun had been the mad impulse of a moment for him, no more and no less.

Her eyes sought that bright gold transparency in desperation, to read what was truly there. He was not looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Cunan and she realized the battle was not over. It had just reached a new level she did not understand. Brand did not turn to her, but she knew he was utterly aware of her.

The sudden change brought its own confusion in Cunan's lean face, an instant when he believed those briefly spoken words. And then the belief was snuffed out by an effort of will.

"
Thought
. It is easy enough to confuse thoughts with…certain sudden impulses. But thoughts take into account the future. That truth applies to us all, from common men to kings."

"Aye." The gold gaze never left her half brother's face and she knew the transparency of it, the directness were a risk that had been calculated to a hair's breadth.

"Kings should always look to the future. That is their first duty." The words came steadily, no hesitation, as though he had worked out exactly what Cunan would say and why. It was like watching a death struggle from the outside and yet being involved in it intimately, with the same risk of being annihilated.

"And the duty to think should be the same for those who would try to make or unmake their king."

"That is one thing you may be sure of," spat Cunan.

The gold eyes flickered, as though the breach in her brother's defences, still invisible to her, had been found and the risk, however great, would be pursued to the end.

"I am glad you are thinking. No one can calculate how long Cenred will hold the throne of Northumbria. But what anyone capable of thought can calculate is that the late King Osred's brother will not have enough strength to hold such a throne either. Goadel's support will not be enough to make the difference. Neither would a temporary intervention from King Nechtan of the Picts be, even if that was truly his will."

Did she see Cunan flinch at that, or did she just imagine it?

"The only way anyone will hold the throne at Bamburgh is not through deeds of battle, but through something that takes thought and quite a different sort of courage—finding an alliance and a compromise and holding it"

Cunan's mouth worked. It was as though he had expected endless swordplay and had been hit with a thrusting spear. He swallowed air. The thin discontented lips twisted.

"You mean a compromise as long as your kindred comes out best, with you in a king-making role."

"No. I do not care for king-making. What I care for is the consequences. I care for what is mine and I care for Bernicia. A man like Goadel cares only for himself and what he can gain, not for his country, nor even for an alliance to benefit Pictland. Only a fool would trust him. I believe you would be the last to say King Nechtan of the Picts was a fool. You should have a proper care for what is yours."

He did not even see the effect of the death blow be-cause he was no longer looking at Cunan, his opponent. He was looking at her. The bright gold eyes were naked. Deliberately so. At what cost to do that before his enemy and before the woman who had betrayed his trust, she could not tell. You could see all that he felt, all that he believed, the incalculable depth of what he had called single-mindedness and probably should better be called courage.

His gaze caught hers, held it, changed. But lost none of its truth.

Truth did not allow mercy. She had seen that look before without recognizing it. Memory filled her ears with the clear sound of running water, his touch shivered across her skin, giving her new life. She had been so foolish, so reckless, even though she had known she would have to pay. She could read what filled her lover's eyes now, beside the pity he felt for her.

It was valediction.

That was how you bid farewell.

"Can you not sleep?"

Rags flapped at her, appearing like a ghost's trappings in the starlight.

"Duda, I wish you would not do that."

"I wish you would sleep. Then I could."

"Why do you not? Or are you obliged to follow me in case I make a bolt for Pictland in the dark?"

"Aye." There was nothing you could do with Duda. Northern English directness, subtle as an axe blow. Or a spear's thrust. She tried not to think of the two skilled hunters circling Cunan. Or of what Cunan might do. Playing deadly games with kingdoms' futures. And hers.

She had not quite appreciated the scope of Cunan's plans. Brand had, all the time. He had seen so much more than her. And yet not as much. He had not seen the effect when the death blow fell. She had. Cunan had looked lost. Utterly. Afraid.

"Well, why does it not just happen, then?" she hissed though the dark, even though she scarce knew what she was asking. They were in Bernicia, now. Tomorrow they would be in striking distance of Bamburgh. One more day and it would all be over. One way or another.

"It will. You had best make sure you are not in a position to regret it when it does. What are you planning?"

"Me? Nothing! It is everyone else who is planning."

"Aye. Must say I am keen to get myself into a position where I can stick a knife through Goadel."

"Goadel? What makes you think Goadel will be here?"

"What makes you think it? Cold, are you? You are shivering."

Alina dragged the thick warmth of her cloak closer round her with impatient fingers. Duda twitched rags.

"I suppose you want to avenge your losses, too."

"Aye. There is my dead family to think about, and then Goadel's man made a right mess of my jerkin. I do not allow that."

"Your
jerkin
?"

"Aye." She could see the fierce gleam of his eyes through the mass of unkempt hair and beard.

…Duda's leather jerkin…a gift. He told me it was fail proof…

Duda was not talking about the damage done to leather. She took a large steadying breath. It was not enough for the measure of her fears and her loss and her confusion. She took a stab at Northumbrian directness.

"I would not see such damage happen again. You…you know I would have gone to him then."

"Aye. Well."

"Ask Eadric to show you his scratch marks."

"Must be awkward for you, though, all these brothers."

She fixed her gaze on the stars. "All I have to do is get to Bamburgh and then it is over."

"Is that how you see it?"

"It will be over for me." She could not see anything, really, not even the stars she knew were there. She used her own axe blow of directness. "It will be over for Brand as well. It is already. What happened with us was a mistake, a wrong impulse, even if it had…the right intentions."

"One thing I have learned over the years about Brand, he is not as good at being impulsive as he likes to believe he is."

I thought.

"What?"

"Do you know what else he and I have in common? No parents. But at least I know what happened to mine. He does not Never will. Could have been bad food that made them scream in agony until they died. Could have been poison. No way to tell."

"I—" Her voice choked. She did not know it had been like that. She had no idea. He had never said—

"Difficult age, twelve winters. Not a boy, not a man."

"Is that how old he was when they died?" All the things they did not know about each other. All the things there had never been time to say. All the things, known and perilously unknown, that divided them—

"Makes it difficult to believe things can be permanent when something like that happens. Much better to take things as they come, especially if you are an
Atheling
."

That is how I did survive it: by the moment. How does one survive anything?

An Atheling. Throne-worthy and under threat for the rest of his life. Hated by King Osred the vicious, related to the royal house of Cenred. Poison. Twelve years old and no parents. Not even angry and unhappy ones.

"Thought you were permanent, though."

"Did he…did he think that?"

She had not understood. Had not been able to believe that. Still could not.

…
nothing is permanent
… And the bitterness in his voice, the terrible acceptance. Her heart felt as though it would break inside her.

What if it had been true all the time? What if he had felt as she had? What if… what if it had just been she who had not been able to believe?

She had killed more than she had known when she had left him.

But it could change nothing. She could not stay with him.

"Aye. He thought that. Bit of a problem was it?"

She thought of loss and flight and exile and cruelty.

"Yes. Something of a problem."

"Still is?"

She thought of Goadel's malice. King Cenred's precarious hold on the throne. The malice of the two rival kingdoms of Pictland and Northumbria.

"Yes."

"Pity. But just be sure, tomorrow, you make the right decision."

There was only one decision to be made, right for whom she did not know.

"I will not go with you."

"Oh, you will. Did you think I would leave it to your choice?" The intensity in the harsh face chilled her bones.

"You are mad to ask it."

"No. You are the one who is mad, Alina."

But she doubted that. The mid-morning light showed her the keen eyes fixed on hers. They blazed with an intensity that frightened her soul.

"You must be mad for letting that Northumbrian anywhere near you, for crawling after his every footstep like a dog. Or like a bitch in heat."

She took a step backwards, even though he was her brother, even though he was her own flesh and blood.

"Cunan, did you not hear what he said? It will not work. Goadel is not enough. What you are planning will fail."

"What
he
said. Would you believe him over your own brother?" He was walking towards her, his feet cracking twigs in half, tearing the first turning of the autumn leaves.

"I believe what makes sense." Her back jarred against the thick trunk of an oak tree. She glanced round but there was no one, nothing on the edge of the woodland that could help her. He was between her and the camp.

"What makes sense for whom? Do you forget who you are, Alina? Do you even know? Is it true what they say? Is that why you always hated my father? Hated me?"

She did not know what he was talking about. The light in his eyes was something she had not seen before. Where was Duda, her guard dog? Anyone?

Brand.

"Cunan, listen to me. I do not hate my father, or you. I would not cause you harm—"

"Then do as I say."

She saw it, or she thought she did: the faintest movement caught out of the corner of her eye. Duda. Must be. But Cunan was so very close.

"Then let me think. Give me a moment."

"If you were as loyal to your family as you say, you would not even need a moment."

It was a shadow, moving. She must not look at it. Must not let Cunan realize— But perhaps her gaze flickered towards the shadow because Cunan's tightly sprung body tensed. The feral eyes widened.

"You are right," she lied, her eyes holding his, knowing she was betraying him but that she could not do otherwise. "I will come with you."

The shadow on the edge of her vision blurred, took another shape. Cunan's face vanished. The struggle was brief and without the slightest mercy. She could not watch it.

"Do not kill him!"

Her gaze skittered over the crumpled figure pinned under Brand's weight.

"Don't." The word was torn out of her throat.