Saraid stood immobile, clutching her wretched doll, eyes round.
“What are you staring at?”
The child took a step back.
“It’s all right,” Breda said, realizing there was an element in this new plan that she had not fully thought out. “Come here, Saraid. Come closer. Nice sweetmeats.”
The child backed farther, until she was pressed hard against the outer wall.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Breda tried to put honey in her voice, but it wasn’t coming out right. She saw the terror in the big brown eyes. “Come on, poppet. Come here.”
Saraid crouched, backed, wriggled out through the hole in the wall. She did not flee like the other one, but stood just beyond. Breda could hear her sniffing.
“All right, then!” Breda called through the tiny aperture. “Go, if you want. Go and look for your little friend. I’m sure he’s out there somewhere; you’ll find him just down the hill.”
Saraid began to wail. Gods, it was loud! How was it tiny children had such big voices?
“Hold your tongue!” Breda hissed. “I mean it! You make a noise, you say one single word about this, and your mother will never, ever come back! Do you understand me, Saraid? Don’t tell anyone. If you want to see your mama again, stop that noise right now!”
The crying subsided to a woeful sniveling; the child was still visible through the chink, a swathe of pink skirt, a pair of small feet in kidskin boots.
“Go on, now! Find your little friend! And don’t forget, no telling or else.”
The boots moved, running, running away. All was silent, save for the thudding of Breda’s heart, the thrill of her blood coursing, the gasp of her breathing. She’d done it. She’d done it so neatly she could hardly believe her own cleverness.
She did not look into the well. What was there might be unsightly. She slipped through the door then fastened the chain anew, rotating it so the closure lay inside the shadowy chamber. She made sure nobody was around before making her way not to her own quarters but up to the general garden. There she found a bench under a wild rose heavy with buds, and sat down where nobody was likely to see her. Farther up, Dovran was pacing up and down at the margin between this garden and the smaller one; through the screening fronds of a rosemary bush she could watch him unseen. She unwrapped the sweetmeats and selected one. Then she let her imagination run free.
16
IT WAS AN odd sort of day. Faolan decided early that, if he let his thoughts linger too much on Eile and on what was to come, the time would pass unbearably slowly. Better to try to establish some rapport with this keyed-up boy and do what he was best at: performing the mission Bridei had entrusted to him.
Perhaps it was the knowledge that today was a last chance; perhaps it was all in the way Faolan asked his carefully chosen questions. At any rate, by the time they reached the open ground near the shore where the unfortunate hunt had taken place, the boy had revealed that the item they were looking for was a small, sharp thing, a pin or knife.
“Something that was used to goad the mare,” Uric mumbled. “I thought I saw a flash of metal at the time. I went to the stables to check, after we came home, but the horse was covered with scratches; there are bushes and rocks all over that area she crossed. There was no way of picking out a single injury.” He had not yet said whom it was he suspected, and Faolan had not asked.
“Mm-hm,” Faolan said, thinking the theory, though tenuous, was not far-fetched.
They tethered their mounts beneath a shady tree. Ban stood by Faolan, awaiting instructions. Uric had brought a piece of red cloth, perhaps a lady’s scarf, as a scent for the dog. He held it for Ban to sniff.
“You’re in charge,” Faolan said to Uric. “I gather you’ve already searched the area quite thoroughly, but not with dogs. Where do we start?”
“Up here first, where we were gathered with our birds. Then down in that direction, toward the water. That’s where the mare went, and the king and Dovran after her.”
No mention of Breda by name. That alerted Faolan to a possible reason why the boys had kept this so quiet. One did not accuse a royal personage of ill-doing without good proof. “It’s been raining,” he said. “And it’s a long time since this happened.”
“I heard Ban has… uncanny abilities,” said Uric. “I’m hoping that’s true. Otherwise I’d have asked for one of the king’s hunting dogs.”
“All we can do is put him to the test.” Faolan gazed down the tree-scattered slope to the marshlands by the shore, and across the broad expanse of undulating ground studded with clumps of vegetation and great stones. It was a big area to search in one day.
They covered the higher part before the sun was at its midpoint. Ban worked busily but unearthed nothing beyond a scrap of cloth and a broken buckle with no sharp edges. Uric wasn’t saying much. Faolan observed the pallor, the tension in the young shoulders, the grim eyes. “This must have been difficult for you,” he said quietly.
“I need to prove this before our stepmother packs us off home,” the young man said. “If Bedo and I are right, there’s a person at court who’s not just dangerous but completely mad. Someone who has no idea about right and wrong; someone who doesn’t understand what it means to kill. We can’t walk away and leave things like that.”
For a little Faolan made no comment. Then he said, “If that might be true, perhaps you should have come right out with your suspicions to the king.”
“Bedo did say something to Father, and I think Father spoke to King Bridei, but all we had was a theory. I suppose it did sound mad. They didn’t take us seriously. There’s still no proof. And there are powerful folk involved, folk the king won’t be wanting to offend.”
“You’ve started to worry me, Uric. I think we’d better head down the hill toward the water. We need to be sure we’ve covered the whole area before dusk. Earlier, if we can manage that. I have my own pressing reasons for wanting to get back.”
“We have to find it,” Uric muttered as they set off again with Ban trotting ahead, alert and purposeful.
“Uric,” Faolan said, “even if we don’t, you should voice your suspicions to Bridei. He must know that, as Talorgen’s sons, you and your brother are unlikely to be given to wild suspicions and ill-founded theories.”
“You forget,” the young man said flatly. “We’re also our mother’s sons. They kept it quiet, but Bedo and I aren’t stupid. We know she was banished because she plotted to murder Bridei.”
“As the king’s protector, I am aware of that.” And of more; I know the intended assassin was your eldest brother, Gartnait, and that he died not in a heroic attempt to save Bridei’s life but through an eldritch intervention by the Good Folk. Bridei had been able to conceal that cruelest element of Dreseida’s plot from Talorgen’s family. Ferada had been the only one of them who had come close to the full truth. Best that these young men never knew. They had more than enough to deal with. “I’m certain that makes no difference to the king’s opinion of you. It would not affect his response, should you explain your suspicions to him. Bridei never judges a man on who his parents were or on what lies in his past. He looks at a man’s true merits and at what is possible for the future.”
“Was it like that for you?” The question was tentative; Faolan was well known at court as a man of whom one did not ask personal questions.
“If it had not been so, I would not now be in his employ and under his patronage,” Faolan said. “If you wished to confide in him, he would listen without prejudice. Consider it, at least.”
They walked on. Ban seemed tireless, moving here and there behind rocks, under bushes, through deep furrows and over small rises. The sun moved across the sky. A flock of geese passed over, honking calls and responses among themselves; down on the wetlands ducks floated and dived and long-legged waders foraged. The buzzing of crickets made a counterpoint to the peeping and chirping of smaller birds in the grassland around the two men and the dog.
Ban
was working hard. Once or twice he went off in a rush, raising the men’s hopes, then returned with nothing. Time passed, and Faolan found it increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts from Eile and what loomed tonight. If he had been the kind of man who gave credence to gods or spirits, he would have prayed: Let me get it right. Let this be the right time for her. Let me not lose the two of them over this. But he knew it was up to him and to Eile, and to whether they might be strong enough, together, to overcome the shadows of the past. If he failed to carry out Eile’s mission perfectly, would she give him a second chance? Was their friendship sufficient to allow him that, or would the damage wrought by initial failure be too devastating to mend? By tomorrow, he thought, I will know if I have a future. For it had become quite clear to him that, without her by his side, the future dwindled to a pointless nothingness. He could no longer form a picture of it at all.
“Faolan?” Uric was holding his voice quiet, but the intensity of the tone alerted Faolan instantly. The dog was off, sniffing hard, ears pricked, his gait one of purposeful pursuit. The two men followed, striding fast, then running as the small, white form bobbed ahead of them through the long grass. After a time Ban halted, pawing at something, then raised his head to look at the approaching men as if to say, Come on, then.
Faolan let Uric get there first. The boy crouched to touch, then pick up what Ban had found. His eyes were fierce with some dark emotion: vindication?
“Look,” he said, holding the little item out on his palm.
It was a long, jeweled pin, ornate, silver, the decoration a twining tangle of limbs and tail and strange snout, a red stone for the eye. The creature on it was recognizable as the sea beast, one of the ancient kin tokens of the Light Isles. The ornament was the kind of thing a lady would use to skewer her plaits atop her head, so they’d sit high and elegant. Or to keep them out of the way while she was riding.
“You recognize this?” Faolan asked.
Uric shook his head. “I couldn’t swear I’ve seen a particular person wearing it. But there are others who would know. I can ask.” His voice held a dangerous edge; it was clear he had scented vengeance.
Faolan crouched down to give Ban a congratulatory scratch behind the ears. “You should take this to Bridei now,” he said. “The nature of this jewel narrows its possible ownership considerably. I’m assuming Lady Ana did not take part in the hunt?”
“She was not there; nor was her betrothed.”
They began to walk back up to the horses. Faolan was unsettled by the look on Uric’s face, though he understood it well.
“I know the temptation,” he told the young man mildly. “You have the clue, you’ve worked for it and suffered for it, and now you’re all afire to rush in and make the kill—so to speak—all by yourself. I advise caution. If my guess is correct, you face very powerful opponents here. A clever man, a devious man, would have no difficulty in standing up before the king and making a mockery of your evidence. The presence of this item in the field where the hunt took place does not in itself equate to foul play. Folk drop things all the time.”
“I know what I heard,” Uric said. “Others heard it, too, but they chose to disregard it. And I saw. Half saw.”
“Tell me.”
“A flash of something metallic in a certain person’s hand; at the same time, the scream. Then the horse rearing up and…”
“I see. You must tell Bridei about this, Uric. You should do so as soon as we get back to White Hill.”
“Not before I talk to Bedo. We agreed to do this together. He needs to know what I found. This is more his quest than mine. That girl, Cella: my brother liked her. He really liked her.”
“I understand brotherly loyalty, but you should talk to Bedo straightaway. If you prefer, I will accompany you when you speak to Bridei. My instincts tell me this is no fanciful overreaction to the sudden loss of a friend.”
After a little, Uric said, “Thank you. I didn’t expect you to be so helpful. Or to believe me.”
“All in a day’s work,” said Faolan lightly, realizing the sun was descending into the west and that, remarkably, the difficult day would soon be over. How had Eile filled in the long time of waiting? He supposed running around after two small children consumed a lot of energy and left little time for dreaming. He imagined her in the garden, sitting cross-legged on the grass in her blue gown; he thought of her up on the walkway, clutching the hands of her small charges to keep them safe, perhaps looking out over the wall toward this very part of the shore, her hair streaming in the wind. He pictured her back in her chamber, brushing Saraid’s long brown locks, telling her daughter that he would be back again tonight and would be sure to sing the next installment of Sorry’s adventures. He tried not to think too far beyond that.
They were very quiet riding home. Uric had stowed the silver pin in the pouch at his waist, well wrapped in the red cloth. Ban kept pace, a steady, short-legged warrior. Pines stretched long dark shadows across their way, like warnings of change. Faolan shivered. He had been afraid of tonight, possessed by an uncomfortable mixture of hope and dread. Now, he thought of the chamber with the green blanket as sanctuary; he imagined her arms as home. It would be all right. It must be.
By the time they reached the approach to White Hill, along a thickly wooded way where undergrowth fringed the path and the tree-clad hillside ahead loomed dark against the sky, daylight was fading. Shadows hung around the bushes and the canopy of trees was full of the evening cries of birds, harsh and unsettling.
Faolan was not sure what it was that made him halt, a little sound, a glimpse of something not quite right. “Uric!” he called quietly. “Wait!” He dismounted and walked back a few paces, Ban at his heels.
“What is it?” Uric called.
“Wait there; no need to get down.”
Something; a hint of color where so bright a shade did not belong. Yes, there it was, a vivid blue, down under a bush by the track, a blue he had seen before not long ago. He crouched, peering in. From under the prickly branches of a thorn, a pair of black, unwinking eyes stared back at him. The blue was a little gown, with a strip of delicate embroidered ribbon for a sash. It was Sorry.
Faolan’s heart seemed to flip over. Wrong; all wrong. Not here, so far beyond the safe walls of the king’s stronghold, and almost dark. What had happened? He reached in to take the doll by its limp cloth arm and draw it out. He listened. Only the cries of the birds, the rustle of the foliage.
“Uric!” he called. “Get down and come here!” Then, keeping his voice soft, “Saraid? Eile? Are you there?” No reply. “Call out, Saraid! It’s Faolan. Where are you?” It was evident the doll had not been dropped by accident or cast aside, but placed there by loving hands, its pose one of watchfulness. Waiting. Waiting for what? His heart was a fierce drum. In his head, one awful possibility after another played itself out.
“What is it?” Uric was beside him.
“Saraid’s doll. Here, in the bushes. They wouldn’t have been outside the walls. The child wouldn’t leave this behind. It’s like another self.”
“Maybe they went out walking. Maybe she just dropped it.” Uric was trying to be helpful.
“Eile was looking after the king’s son. They wouldn’t come out. Saraid! Saraid, make a sound so we can find you!” Gods, what a choice; stay here and search as it grew ever darker, or ride for the fortress and risk leaving the child on her own in the woods at night. Eile would never, ever have left her daughter alone out here.
“I heard something,” Uric whispered. “Listen.”
There it was; not a sob, exactly, but breathing, the stifled, desperate breathing of a terrified child.
“Saraid?” Faolan was on his feet, moving through the undergrowth, going carefully despite his fear, for the child was only three; a crashing, dramatic rescue would only frighten her further. “Where are you, Squirrel?”
It was Ban who found her, running ahead, then announcing success with a single sharp bark. By the time Faolan rea
ched the spot, a little hollow at the foot of an oak, Saraid had her arms around the dog and her face pressed against his hairy coat.
Faolan crouched by her, Uric a pace behind him. “Saraid? It’s all right, Squirrel, we’ve come to take you home.” He reached to touch the bunched-up figure and felt her flinch. Her whole body was quivering with tension. “Saraid, look at me. It’s Faolan. I’ve got Sorry here; she found me. Look up, sweetheart. That’s it. See, it’s me and my friend Uric.” She looked like a little pale ghost, eyes hollow, cheeks wet with tears. She made not a sound. “Here’s Sorry. She was worried about you.” Saraid reached for the doll. Ban turned his head to lick her face. A moment later she was in Faolan’s arms, clinging as if she would never let go. Silent sobs racked her body.
He stood up, holding her. “Saraid,” he said quietly, “where’s Eile? Where’s Mama? Is she here in the woods?”
There was no reply; the little face was pressed against his shoulder, the hands clutching his shirt. Sorry was wedged between his body and hers.
“Faolan,” murmured Uric, “it will be dark soon. She’s too scared to talk.”
It was plainly true. Faolan carried the child to his horse and got Uric to help him mount with Saraid in front of him. She wanted to keep holding on; to bury herself in him. Uric surprised him by talking to her quietly and calmly, explaining she needed to sit up like a proper horsewoman, and that Faolan would hold on to her and make sure she did not fall. She, in her turn, must hold on to Sorry. That way they would all be safe.
“Want me to go ahead and find out what’s happened?” the young man asked diffidently.
“No, stay with me. We’ll go as quickly as we can. And if you believe in gods, pray that this is not as bad as it seems.”
THEY CAME IN through the gates, after the usual challenge from the men on duty. As soon as they rode into the lower courtyard it was apparent something was afoot. Men were assembling, collecting torches, heading off in every direction within the walls. Garth was issuing orders. At the sight of Faolan with Saraid mute and still before him in the saddle, the big bodyguard froze, staring, then hastened over to lift the child down.