Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4) (22 page)

At last, she reached her destination. She climbed the five steps to the servant’s door and eased it open, hoping to find that her map was correct. Except the little door opened only an inch before something stopped it. Bloody hell. The bitch had put a wardrobe or something in front of it. Feanna would have to enter through the regular door instead. At least there wouldn’t be a guard outside this door all day and night.

She crept back to the last corridor opening. The patrolling guard had been by only a minute or two earlier. There was time. She eased it open and checked the hallway in both directions. Satisfied that it was clear, she stepped out of the passage and closed the door quietly behind her, and then tiptoed to the corner where the next corridor intersected. She checked both directions, and then continued around to the left and stopped at the second door.

Footsteps approached.

Feanna turned the knob and slipped into the room, quickly yet quietly shutting the door. She pressed her ear to it, listening for any sign she’d been spotted.

The footsteps grew closer.

The candle flickered with the beat of her excitement. Would any of its light leak out around the edges of the door, giving her away? She blew it out. No one was supposed to be in this room.

The footsteps slowed near the door. Feanna held her breath and waited. The guard paused briefly, perhaps pressing her ear against the door on the other side, and then continued on.

Feanna let out her breath quietly. The prospect of being caught was downright thrilling, but it would be terribly inconvenient.

With the danger passed, she turned her attention to the room’s furnishings, eager to find a personal item to suit her purposes. Where she expected to find one wide bed, there were two narrow ones abutting the north wall, and the sleeping form of a young girl in each.

This wasn’t Daia’s room. Whose was it? Jilly’s and Tansa’s? No, these girls had dark hair, and they looked too tall. Then it struck her. One was Iriel, the other the wretched Keturah.

Feanna felt a rush of heat come into her face and neck, down her arms, down to her toes. This was the bastard girl who threatened her prince’s reign. What marvelous fortune had led her here instead of her planned destination? She had no intention of wasting this perfect opportunity. But which was which? Light streaming in the window from the quarter moon was dim, and she’d had to extinguish her candle. Though she’d never actually laid eyes on Keturah Kinshield before, judging from Eriska’s description, she looked like her father, Rogan. Iriel, too, had brown hair, which in this darkness wouldn’t be a telling feature. The girls were the same age, so she couldn’t tell them apart by size. She looked from one bed to the other. The only way to tell which was Keturah was to have a closer look.

She crept to the nearest bed first. The blankets were pulled up to the child’s neck, and she was on her left side, facing the wall. Feanna leaned over to get a better look, but too much hair flowing over her face made identification uncertain. Perhaps the other girl would be easier to identify.

Her foot kicked a toy as she crossed the room. She sucked in her breath and paused, cursing silently. Damned child. If they couldn’t put their toys away when they were finished with them, perhaps they should learn to do without. Neither child stirred.

When she approached the other bed, the girl turned over onto her back, revealing the face. The brow was heavy, the eyes deeply set, and the jaw was squared. Even relaxed in sleep, the face was clearly Rogan’s bastard.

Feanna set the candle and map on the bed beside the girl and looked around. A rag doll shared her bed, an ugly thing with a flat, round head. She picked it up and looked into its staring button eyes. A smile crept over her face.
Sweet dreams, little bastard.

She pressed the doll’s head over Keturah’s face, not hard enough to awaken the wretch, but firmly enough to stop her breathing. At first, the girl made a hiccupping sound, and then her hands pushed lazily at the doll over her face.

“Mama?” Iriel was sitting up in bed. “I’m over here.”

Damn her.
Feanna pulled the doll away. Keturah’s eyes were still closed, but her brow was wrinkled. Her mouth dropped open, and she took in a deep breath. Her hands relaxed. Feanna tucked the doll under the child’s arm, nestled against her chest, before rising. She took her map and candle and turned to Iriel.

“Darling,” she whispered, going to her daughter’s bed. “I didn’t realize you were sharing a room. I’ve missed you so.” She sat on the edge of the bed and embraced the girl.

“I’ve missed you, too. They won’t let us see you. Are you feeling better now?”

“Oh, yes. Much better. I needed to check in on you to make sure you’re all right. Are you getting enough to eat?” The role of doting mother felt like an old pair of shoes that had become molded to her feet over time, but the words came out sounding flat.

“Yeh, but we miss you at the table. You must have grand stories to tell about Ambryce.”

“Oh, I do, my sweet. I’ll be well enough to join you soon, and then you’ll hear all about them. Iriel, you mustn’t tell anyone I’ve come to see you tonight, all right?”

“How come?” the girl asked.

“Because your papa gave orders for me to stay in my rooms until he returns. I had to see you, and so I broke the rules. If you tell anyone, I’ll get into big trouble, and Papa will be very angry with me.”

“Awright,” she said. “I won’t tell.”

“Viragon Sisters always keep their promises. If you swear it, I’ll be able to rest assured this is our secret.”

Iriel smiled. “I swear it, Mama. I won’t tell nobody you came to see me.”

“Good girl.” She embraced the child once more and kissed her forehead. “I’ve always loved you the most. Now, go back to sleep, love.” She settled back against the pillow, and Feanna pulled the blanket up over her and smoothed it over her arms.

“G’night, Mama.”

“Goodnight, love.” She stood and cast one longing glance at Keturah before she slipped into the corridor and made her way back to the safety of her own rooms.

Chapter 28

Cirang lay face down on the cold, hard stone of the executioner’s dais, running her fingers over the grooves designed to carry blood to the buckets below and imagining her own blood being freed, along with her spirit and her guilt. Though she would’ve been grateful to die, her death belonged to King Gavin, and she’d already taken enough from him. She wouldn’t take that from him too. The debt she owed him would be paid or she would die trying.

Daia was sitting on the ground with her back against the gaolhouse and her chin on her chest. She was right to hate Cirang after the years Cirang had spent hurling taunts and insults and setting traps designed to get her kicked out of the Viragon Sisterhood. Though she wasn’t the same Cirang Daia had known, she understood why Daia couldn’t let go of her hatred, and that made Cirang sad. It was no way to live each day.

The Nilmarions believed that certain thoughts and emotions were destructive to the soul, and they were conditioned from birth to avoid them through redirection. Sithral Tyr had been a full-grown man the first time he ever felt angry enough to hurt another person, and Cirang believed with her entire being that that occasion had marked his descent into darkness. She watched Daia breathing the deepness of sleep and wished she could unburden her. King Gavin valued Daia greatly, and to imagine her going through what Tyr had broke Cirang’s heart, not only for Daia’s sake, but for the king’s.

A tear dribbled off the bridge of her nose and into the groove in the rock. She watched it make its way towards the edge and stop. If she could pay her debt in tears, she’d have been free by now.

Free. She snorted, chastising herself for the ludicrous thought. She would never be free. King Gavin would execute her as he’d promised, and rightly so. Yes, he was a merciful man, but he owed her a death, and he’d promised to give it to her once she helped him fix what she’d done. What could Cirang do? She had no magic power. She had no conduit thing like Daia. All she had were arms and legs to carry his bags.

And the talent for carving.

She propped herself upon her elbows, her thoughts whirling about. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Tyr had carved charms that his people believed were imbued with power from the gods. Maybe she could carve something that would be helpful to Gavin. First, she would have to convince him to give her a knife. Daia believed that she would try to off herself, but King Gavin knew better. He knew she was sincere, that she would do anything he asked of her without question or delay. Killing herself would only pass her debt on, through death and into her next life.

She turned and lay on her back, staring up at the star-speckled black sky, wishing he would come back so she could relax. It was Daia’s job to worry about him, but she was asleep. How could she sleep while the king was in the-gods-only-knew where? What was happening to him?

Footsteps approached. She sat up to peer into the darkness. “Daia,” she said softly. “Someone’s coming.”

Daia stood quickly, as if she hadn’t been asleep at all, and put a hand on her sword. They were on the Lordover Ambryce’s property, but Cirang understood the defense impulse that years of living as a Viragon Sister trained into a battler.

“Why are you two still here?” It was King Gavin, safe and unharmed.

Relief flooded her, and she exhaled it out.

“Where else would we be?” Daia asked. “Did you get what you needed?”

“I did. Let’s get some sleep, and we can get started in the morning.”

Although the idea of sleeping in the Lordover’s guesthouse made Gavin visibly uncomfortable, he agreed it would spare them the precious time of having to go to the Princess inn, only to return in the morning to get Hennah. He slept in the smaller bedchamber, while Daia took the one that Feanna had used to seduce Adro. Cirang slept in the foyer. She didn’t mind. With Gavin back home, safe, she sank easily into a deep slumber on the settee and didn’t awaken, not even to turn over, until Daia poked her with a booted foot the next morning.

One of the lordover’s servants came to invite them to break their fast. Cirang’s stomach rumbled, but Gavin dashed her hopes by declining. His eyes looked bright for the first time since she’d first dangled Crigoth Sevae’s journal in front of his nose. Cirang stuffed her feet into her boots and hurried to catch up to him and Daia as they strode across the dewy grass towards the gaol.

“Where are we going?” Daia asked. Cirang was glad she asked these things because she felt awkward speaking out of turn to ask herself.

“Back to Tern. I need one o’my summoning runes,” he said. “We’ll take Hennah with us so I can do the procedure on her afore I try it on Feanna.”

“Gavin, wait,” Daia said, halting. “Don’t be angry.” She dug into her knapsack and pulled out a smooth, gray river rock.

He gaped at her. “How did you get this?”

“I’m sorry. I’d forgotten I had it with me.”

“How the hell did you get this?” he shouted, snatching the stone from her hand. “It was locked in my chest.”

Gavin Kinshield was a large man, one of the biggest Cirang had ever met, and with his heavy brow pressed low over the deep-brown eyes boring into Daia from above, Cirang mouthed a silent prayer of thanks to the gods that she wasn’t the subject of his wrath. She might have pissed herself. Daia, on the other hand, didn’t shrink at all under his angry gaze. She calmly explained that when he’d gone to talk to King Arek about the Well of the Damned, she’d waited for him in the downstairs library.

“At first, I paced a bit as I always do when you go through the vortex, and I tripped over the edge of the rug. My hand accidentally bumped your chest and knocked the gargoyle off.”

“How could it fall off?” he asked. “I put it back when I took the rings and the rune of the past. It should’ve stayed there until I took it off again.”

“I know,” she said. “I was as surprised as you are. Do you remember when you first gave Feanna your warrant tag?” He nodded, and she went on. “She brought her children to Tern because she said she couldn’t feel you anymore, and she became worried.”