The Dowry Blade (29 page)

‘Find Brede,’ she ordered.

Riordan saw Tegan’s haggard expression and drawn sword, and stilled his urge to question. He vanished down the stairs as though the Scavenger were after him.

Tegan leant back into the door frame, seeking the support of stone, and finding it inadequate to her need. Slowly she allowed her body to sink to the floor, the sword still in her hand. She laid it carefully down, across the threshold, and waited for Brede to come.

Chapter Thirty-One

Brede climbed the stairs to Grainne’s chamber, head tilted upward, as though expecting ambush. At the sight of Tegan’s foot lying against the top stair, she leapt up the last few steps, to find Tegan slumped in the doorway.

Tegan stirred, and held out a hand for Brede to help her up. Tegan pulled her into the chamber. Brede stumbled, almost catching her foot on the hilt of Tegan’s sword, laid across the threshold.

Tegan pushed the door shut and leant against it.

‘Grainne is dead.’

Brede stepped back, an involuntary movement, quickly checked. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been half expecting this. She went to the inner door.

Sorcha sat on the bed, cradling Grainne, stroking her hair. She didn’t look up as the door opened. She smoothed Grainne’s brow, then lifted her burden slightly and kissed her closed eyes.

Brede shuddered. She had often felt Sorcha’s lips placed against her own eyelids in that caress.

‘Sorcha,’ Brede whispered.

Sorcha raised her head.

‘You shall not have her.’

‘I don’t want her,’ Brede said. ‘I want you.’

Sorcha was silent, unmoved, unmoving. Brede stepped towards her, one slow cautious step.

‘Grainne should have her crown, she should have her guard –’ Brede tried.

‘She hated the crown.’ Sorcha’s eyes followed Brede’s slow approach suspiciously. She glanced down at Grainne, a sudden frown on her face.

‘I never thought it would be beautiful.’

‘What?’

‘It. The Scavenger. So beautiful.’ Sorcha’s gaze rose once more, but it wasn’t Brede she saw. ‘I will recognise it next time,’ she said. ‘I will be ready for it. I shall guard against it.’

‘Sorcha –’ Brede edged onto the bed, one hand reaching out to Sorcha, but not touching. ‘You can’t guard against death itself. No one can do that.’

‘I can.’ Sorcha said angrily, slapping away Brede’s hand. ‘
I
can. It won’t steal anyone from me again.’

Brede bit her lip. At least somewhere in her grief Sorcha did seem to know that Grainne was dead, but Brede didn’t know how to separate the Queen from her over vigilant guard.

‘Sorcha.’ The eyes drifted back to Brede’s face. ‘Tell me who I am.’

‘You are Brede,’ Sorcha said, content to answer without wondering why.

‘What am I?’

‘Trouble.’ Brede recoiled, despite the softness of Sorcha’s tone. ‘Trouble,’ Sorcha said again, rubbing at her eyes as though they pained her. ‘Glorious, wonderful, troublesome Brede.’

‘Why trouble?’ Brede asked.

‘You get in the way.’

‘Do I?’ Brede asked.

‘Wherever I turn, there you are, in my mind, blocking out everything else.’ She loosened her hold on Grainne, reaching her hand towards Brede, touching her face, brooding. ‘This face,’ she said. ‘Always there.’

Brede closed her own hand over Sorcha’s, bringing it to her lips, kissing her knuckles, her palm.

Slowly Sorcha’s other hand untangled from Grainne’s hair, and wavered towards Brede’s unkempt plait.

‘I never stop thinking about you,’ Sorcha said, frowning deeply.

‘Nor I you,’ Brede said, beyond surprise. Sorcha stayed silent for a long time, unmoving, her eyes almost closed. Then her eyes opened once more and she focussed on Brede as though seeing her for the first time.

‘Hold me,’ Sorcha said, staring out of nightmare at a beacon of hope.

Brede held her close, pulling her away from Grainne’s limp outstretched hand, off the bed, onto the floor, holding her tight, so tight.

‘I will never let you go, never,’ Brede whispered into Sorcha’s hair, feeling the shudders storm through her body. Sorcha sobbed incoherently, turning her face away, trying to fight her way out of the dread that still held her.

‘Never,’ Brede said again, desperately, not knowing what else to do.

Sorcha took a long shuddering breath, and then another, half choking. She leant her head back against the side of the bed, eyes tight shut. A gentler breath and she turned slightly so that she could see Brede.

‘That’s enough,’ she said abruptly. ‘You can let go now.’

Brede loosened her hold a fraction, startled at the normality of her tone.

‘I’ll never let you go,’ Brede said furiously.

‘Enough to let me breathe?’

Brede loosened her hold a little more.

‘Are you safe?’

‘No, no I’m not – but I’m not dangerous.’

Brede nodded and pulled away, putting sufficient distance between them that she could see Sorcha’s face properly.

‘Am I really troublesome?’ she asked.

‘Exceedingly. It’s one of your most irritating virtues.’

‘Virtues?’

Sorcha nodded, wiping tears from her face with her sleeve.

‘Never stop being troublesome. It is a rare and wonderful gift, and I love you for it.’

She smiled, an attempt at reassurance, and struggled to her feet.

Brede blinked. Sorcha moved away, and stood over Grainne’s body.

‘Is this peace?’ she asked, folding first one limp arm and then the other across Grainne’s wasted body. ‘Is this what you wanted?’ Sorcha pulled Grainne’s robe into a semblance of order, then smoothed her hair. She sighed. ‘I failed her, with everything I had to give her, I failed her completely.’

Brede scrambled to her feet. ‘She’s gone,’ she said swiftly.

‘Yes,’ Sorcha covered her eyes, trying to blot out the sight. Brede laid a hesitant hand on her forearm.

‘I thought I’d lost you.’

Sorcha stared at Brede for a long time, before she answered. ‘Never.’

Brede could think of no answer to that. She allowed the silence to last, almost content. At last, Sorcha broke the silence.

‘What do we do now?’

Brede took her hand before turning to Tegan. Tegan shrugged miserably.

‘There’s no hope of defending the city. The defences have been undermined with great efficiency. There’s nothing to be gained from trying.’

‘What do you suggest?’ Sorcha asked.

‘You want my honest opinion?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’m a mercenary, not a politician,’ Tegan warned, ‘I think we should let free the prisoners, be exceedingly polite to them, and open the gates to Lorcan. Let him walk in. There’s nothing to be lost. Phelan planned to betray Lorcan, after all; I doubt Lorcan will rue his passing. He could only have been a threat now that Grainne is dead.’

Sorcha moved slowly across the room to the shuttered window. Dawn was beginning to filter into the dullness of the sky. She squinted through the slats.

‘You can see them now,’ she said softly, rapping her fingers against the shutter. ‘It is the sensible thing to do, there is no question. But why should he get what he wants?’ she turned abruptly from the window.

Tegan stiffened in frustration, beginning to doubt the calm reason of Sorcha’s voice.

‘What are you planning?’

Sorcha glanced at her, struggling to remember what Tegan knew, and what she did not.

‘Be careful of Lorcan. He is Phelan’s.’

‘Phelan’s?’

‘His son. According to Phelan. And according to Phelan he does not know it, but he might have guessed. Lorcan’s killed one father; he may not grieve over the other, but all the same, be careful what you say to him of Phelan.’

‘You’ll not be here?’

‘It is not safe. Lorcan is not Grainne. He – distrusts – power in others. I must leave at once.’

‘Where will you go?’ Brede asked softly, feeling the world begin to slip away from her, hardly daring to grab after it, for fear of setting a landslide in motion. Sorcha was already half way to the door.

‘With you,’ she said, puzzled.

The world righted itself again, and Brede laughed, dizzy with relief.

‘We should leave at once,’ Sorcha said.

She flung open the door, and glanced down at the sword, lying so neatly across the threshold. She had a sudden desire to kick it away.

‘There is some significance to this?’ she asked Tegan.

‘Tradition,’ Tegan said. ‘It keeps out evil spirits.’

Sorcha sighed. ‘Pick it up.’

Brede glanced from Sorcha to Tegan, doubting, but she stepped forward, and lifted the sword from the stone floor.

‘Grainne’s dead, Tegan, you can’t guard her any more, from spirits or mortals,’ Sorcha said sadly. ‘So let us see what we can do for the living?’

Tegan nodded, and took the sword from Brede’s outstretched hand.

‘I’ll get you out of here if I can,’ she agreed.

Reaching the bottom of the stair, Tegan considered the guards. Under her eyes Riordan stood straighter, wondering at their silent approach after the commotion of voices at the top of the stair. Tegan took a deep breath.

‘The Queen is dead,’ she said. ‘The next person to climb those stairs will be the new king, who is even now approaching the city. No one apart from Lorcan is to go up without my presence. If I am not with them, kill them.’

Her eyes raked Riordan’s face, then she nodded her satisfaction, and rejoined Sorcha and Brede.

‘A little excessive?’ Sorcha asked.

‘The crown is up there and I don’t know who we can trust any more.’

Sorcha raised an eyebrow. It all seemed so petty now, nothing to do with her. She clutched at Brede’s hand, hardly daring to think about the future.

Neala was asleep in the hayloft, one of the many stable cats draped about her shoulders. Eachan sat beside her, listening to the deep rumble of contentment from the cat, and feeling the transient nature of the quietness. As he waited for the peace to be broken he cleaned a sword. Hearing footsteps below, Eachan slid forward to the edge of the loft and peered down.

‘You won’t need that,’ Tegan said, as her eyes caught the glint of metal.

‘Ah,’ Eachan climbed down to face her; ‘she’s gone?’

Tegan nodded, and stretched trying to get the tensions out of her back.

‘Poor lass,’ Eachan said. He eyed Sorcha. ‘You’ll be taking off away from here then? Surprised you’ve not gone already. Not got one of those disappearing tricks tucked away handy?’

Sorcha shrugged.

‘Can’t carry three that way,’ she said cautiously, not sure how much Eachan really knew.

‘You’ll be wanting your horse then, and a Plains saddle perhaps?’ Eachan glanced the length of the stable to where Macsen was tethered. Brede hauled her own Plains saddle from its resting place and carried it to Guida, talking to the horse in a soft murmur as she did so. Tegan thought hard.

‘Use the north gate,’ she said, handing Sorcha a pass, ‘and wait until you’ve heard the trumpets sound. I plan to give Lorcan plenty to think about, get away while he’s busy.’

‘I will,’ Sorcha said.

Tegan nodded, considering. She slapped her gloves against the wall with nervous energy.

‘Were I you, I’d not come back,’ she said, ‘and don’t let anyone who knows you see you leave.’

Sorcha scarcely nodded, silent and withdrawn, now that there was the semblance of a plan.

Tegan smiled wanly, wanting to be gone. She glanced at Brede, involved in bridling her horse. She flicked her gloves against the wall again thoughtfully, then walked out of the stables at a brisk speed, before she said something she would regret.

Sorcha climbed to the hayloft and shook Neala awake.

‘Come, we’re leaving.’

Neala struggled out of her nest dislodging the reluctant cat and followed Sorcha down the ladder.

‘Ready?’ Brede asked as Eachan led Macsen into the yard.

Neala nodded and mounted Guida in a fluid movement that brought a smile to Brede’s lips. Sorcha was on Macsen’s back almost as swiftly. Brede looked for Tegan.

‘She’s gone off in a sulk,’ Eachan said.

Brede frowned, and pulled at the straps that held the saddle pack in place. She glared closely at the pack and discovered a lack in it. She glanced about, trying to think what it was that was missing. Eachan offered her the sword. Brede raised an eyebrow.

‘She can’t use it now,’ Eachan said softly, anxious not to draw Sorcha’s attention to their transaction. He wasn’t quite sure what prompted him to put the Dowry blade back into the hands of the Plains woman and in so doing, place it out of Lorcan’s grasp.

Brede thrust the sword beneath the straps of her pack, making it secure.

‘Tell Tegan –’ she said, then stopped, struggling with the weight of all the words that would be necessary.

‘Don’t worry, Tegan knows,’ Eachan said gently. He cleared his throat suddenly and scowled at her. ‘Get the horizon behind you, girl. Rumour has it that Lorcan doesn’t care for Plains folk, nor witches.’

Brede pulled herself up behind Neala. She glanced down at Eachan.

‘Be strong,’ she said, finding nothing more original to encompass what she wanted to say.

‘Stay safe,’ Eachan responded, suddenly anxious for the danger he had put in her way. He turned away swiftly.

Brede set her heels to Guida’s flanks, and followed Sorcha’s impatient lead out of the stable yard, and across the barracks forecourt, at speed, hoping that Tegan was keeping her warriors busy, and they wouldn’t be seen.

Maeve’s heart sank at the sound of trumpets. She wrapped her reins another turn about her hand, in readiness. But the trumpets continued to sound, not in defiance as she first imagined, but in valediction. The white stallion next to her stirred uneasily. The boy on its back pulled on his reins, unnecessarily brutal. Maeve glanced at him, recognising that fierce control for fear.

‘What are the trumpets for?’ Lorcan asked.

‘Grainne,’ Maeve said softly. Lorcan’s breath caught into a surprised laugh.

‘Dead?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Fate smiles.’ His eyes rose to the walls of the city, eager for some sign. The trumpets continued their grieving, and the gates remain closed.

‘What’s keeping them?’ The King asked, as the tone of the trumpet changed, becoming a welcoming fanfare and the gates swung open.

Maeve kept her head down passing under the gateway. She had thrown away her honour for nothing.

Lorcan had not been within these walls since his early childhood, and for a second his confidence failed him and he wasn’t sure which direction to take. He glanced at Maeve’s grim expression, and found himself amused. With greater assurance, he turned his horse to follow the broad street to the tower.