Chapter Two
Marko paced restlessly around Traquill's room. Twenty paces by fifteen by twelve. Forty seven paces and he was back where he started, looking down at Traquill's sleeping form. The wizard was looking better, Marko thought, snoring lightly and muttering from time to time in his sleep. At least it looked like sleep, and that was a whole lot better than he'd looked a couple of hours ago.
One, two, three…Marko started walking again, trying to keep his restless, impatient nature under control. He should be with Erik. Erik needed him, he just knew it. Blackpool was here, up to the gods only knew what, and then there was that guy Deerborne. Nobody knew just what that guy was up to, but one thing was for sure: it wasn't any good. Cassandra had been in twice, bringing him food and ale, but even that hadn't helped. His place was at Erik's side. Uncle Trae would wake up, or he wouldn't. There wasn't anything Marko could do about that. Sure, whoever had done this to him might try again, but more and more Marko was convinced that they wouldn't be using any kind of attack that he could defend against. They needed another wizard, and those were in kind of short supply.
The thunder had been rumbling for several minutes now, and it was starting to get on his nerves. It felt like the skies were waiting, impatient, for the fun to start. The animals in the castle were all uneasy, calling to each other for comfort and digging in before the thing finally hit. As if on cue, lightning crashed across the sky. Thunder followed almost immediately, loud enough to nearly deafen him, and was followed an instant later by a blinding flash of light. When he could see again Traquill was waving one gnarled hand in front of his face as if batting at fireflies. Marko ran to his uncle's side.
"Uncle Trae! You're awake!"
"'Course I'm awake!" Frowning, Traquill batted one last time at something Marko couldn't see before turning his head to face the young man. He looked a decade older than he had a day ago, but seemed as sharp as ever. "Who could sleep through all this noise?" The wizard gestured impatiently and Marko helped him into a sitting position. "Much better," Traquill sighed. He seemed to be about to say something, then paused, one long finger resting against the side of his nose. He sneezed once, explosively, then tilted his head confidingly toward Marko.
"Got any salt?"
###
Things weren't going very well. Erik pushed his sweat-matted hair out of his eyes with his off forearm, his gaze never leaving the creature in front of him. They were both bloodied now, blood trickling down Erik's belly from the deep claw marks where the beast had tried to rip his heart out. At least that's what it had seemed like, and after battling the thing for what felt like hours Erik was willing to credit it with a lot more intelligence than any dog he'd ever met. The two beasts were now working in tandem, hemming in both escape routes while wearing Dirk and him down slowly but surely. From behind him Erik could hear Dirk's deep gasps for breath as the man fought off another onslaught from his wolf-like opponent.
These were clearly not natural beasts, and Erik was beginning to think that they'd never find out what would destroy them. Some supernatural creatures couldn't be killed at all, merely sent back to whatever hell-hole spawned them. And since they didn't have a wizard handy, that would be bad. Really bad. He blocked another blow and slid his sword beneath the creature's defenses. It was a good hit, and Erik allowed himself a moment of pleasure as his blade bit deep. His pleasure quickly turned to alarm as the beast launched itself at him, drawing the blade deeper within itself as it struggled to reach his unprotected flesh. He felt the tell-tale grate of bone on steel and bit back an oath. Sure enough, when he tried to withdraw his sword, it refused to budge. The blade was well and truly stuck.
Behind him, Dirk didn't bother to hold back his curse as his blade bit stone instead of flesh. A second later hot liquid spattered against the back of Erik's neck. Even Dirk's incredible stamina was beginning to fade, it seemed. It wouldn't be much longer before the creatures simply wore them down enough to strike a killing blow. The creature on Erik's blade seemed to be laughing at him as it slashed at his face, struggling to impale itself deeply enough to reach him. At least it would be a quick death…
"Not today," Erik spat through gritted teeth. Gathering all of his remaining strength, Greystone gave up pulling and pushed, shoving the heavy creature up and away from him. The beast staggered backward on its hind legs, howling in protest. His muscles vibrating like a lute string, Erik took a step forward. Then another. "I have really, really, had…enough…of…you!" With each word he forced the creature back until it was pressed against the far wall, the tip of his blade scraping against the stone at its back. He tightened his grip, preparing to twist the blade. A scrabbling sound caught his attention, and he looked down for a brief second.
The beast's paws had been scraping helplessly across the rug and tile as he forced it backward, but now they found purchase. With knees than bent backward like a dog's, not forward like a mans, the animal easily brought its hind paws up against the wall. Muscles bunched, and then suddenly the animal was thrusting forward, its muzzle aimed directly for Erik's throat.
Stupid, stupid, he had time to think, as sharp teeth brushed over the skin of his neck. The jaws widened… And then the creature was gone. Blinking, Erik looked stupidly down at his bare blade and then slowly upward to the figure now standing in front of him.
"You always have all the fun." It was Marko, a grin on his broad features. "I get to see to the horses, and you get to play with the dogs." The beast, thrown halfway down the corridor, had recovered, and now launched itself at them again. With a grunt of effort Marko caught it and sent it tumbling back down the hall. "Uncle Trae says hi."
"That's nice. How's he doing, anyway?" Erik's eyes never left the creature, which was slowly getting back to its feet a hundred paces away.
"He's doing okay. Looks like he needs a vacation. He said to give you this." Marko handed Erik a small silk bag whose contents shifted under his fingers.
"This is the best he could do? We're having a little trouble here, Marko."
"Yeah, I noticed. You're gonna want to have some of those stitched. He said that the salt will act like a--well, that it will,--he said it'll really slow them down," Marko finished. "I think you're supposed to throw it at them."
Opening the bag, Erik poured some of the white grains into the palm of his hand. It sure looked like salt. Doubtfully, he closed his palm over a handful of the grains and stuffed the bag into his belt. Marko handed him back his sword just as the creature finally regained its footing. Shaking its head, it howled and launched itself at them. Erik counted to two and threw the salt.
The effect was extraordinary. As the first grains of salt came down the creature began to slow, and as it ran through the falling salt it immediately lost its uncanny agility, stumbling on the torn carpeting to land in an awkward heap at his feet. It snapped blindly at him, and Erik took a quick step back to avoid the still-formidable teeth.
"Nasty thing," Marko commented.
"You don't know the half of it." Taking a deep breath to steady his aim, Erik lifted his sword up and brought it down sharply. The blade bit cleanly through the creature's neck. It snapped at him one last time and then went limp. Almost immediately the body began to fade like last night's bad dream. Erik closed his eyes briefly in relief.
"A little help, here?" Dirk's breath was coming in rough gasps as he was forced inexorably backward. The creature he was fighting looked badly injured, but showed no more sign of slowing than its partner had. "What are you two waiting for?"
"I say we leave him for the dogs," Marko said, a small glint in his eyes. "Not like he hasn't done the same to us."
Erik pretended to think about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Tempting, but we're here under truce. I guess selling tickets while this thing tears him to be bits would probably be breaking the truce." Erik spilled more of the suddenly precious salt out onto his hand.
"Yeah, you're probably right," Marko said with a heavy sigh.
A minute later the second beast was vanishing back to wherever it had come from. Dirk was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. A scalp wound had coated half his face with blood, and the chain mail he habitually wore had been ripped to shreds, leaving beneath it a series of gashes that had sliced his shirt and portions of his chest to ribbons.
"Took you long enough," he said.
"Some guys just don't know how to say 'thank you,'" Marko said to no one in particular. Erik finished cleaning off his blade and sheathed it, giving his vassal a tired grin.
"Not that I'm not grateful, but it did take you long enough to get here. And were are the guards? I can't believe they couldn't hear this."
"They're a little busy," Marko explained. "I saw a couple more outside like these things. I grabbed one of the guards on my way in, told him to go get some salt."
"We'd better make sure they've got it taken care of," Erik said. His arms and legs felt like lead, but there was no way he was going to leave his men to deal with one of these things alone. He spared a glance for Blackpool, who was now cleaning his own sword, his brow knitted in thought. "You sure these aren't some of yours?"
Marko chuckled. "Maybe Vector just forgot to tell him about them. Like with Vulcar."
Dirk ignored Marko completely. "I certainly didn't summon them." He paused. "And I don't think Vector did." Dirk must be really shook to admit that he didn't have complete control over his 'lizard,' Erik thought with surprise. "If we want answers, I suggest we look to the men camped outside our gates," Blackpool continued. "I understand Princess Ariel has already had an encounter with one of them."
How does he do that, Erik wondered. Erik would have sworn that no one, outside the immediate family, knew about Ariel's adventure with the man calling himself Roland Deerborne. "Let's make sure that we've got this situation under control, first," Erik replied. "Then we can worry about finding the soldiers. If one of them summoned these things, he can't be too far away. We'll find him." Erik made that a promise.
###
Tessa was drowning in terror. The sensations that had first assailed her when the riders had passed them on the road had returned, growing until they threatened to overwhelm her sanity and choke the life from her body. She felt soiled, stained beyond any cleansing. There was something horribly wrong in the very air she breathed, and the only thing that was keeping her from screaming was the tightness of her chest.
In front of her Justin fought something from a nightmare. It sounded like an animal, perhaps a large dog or wolf, but smelled of sulfur and worse things and moved impossibly fast. It reeked of the evil that pervaded the air, and it attacked Justin mercilessly, forcing the prince back again and again. Tessa was painfully aware of the gaping wound in his shoulder, could almost feel his life's blood draining away with every movement. Thunder and lightning roared almost continually overhead. It was as if the whole world had gone mad.
"What are you still doing here? Get out of here!" Justin's voice held raw desperation. Whatever it was that had attacked them was winning. Tessa tried to move, to scream. To do anything. But the fear was overwhelming. Her back to the garden wall, she could only stand and shake, praying that whatever evil this was wouldn't turn its face in her direction.
A tearing sound like a knife through wet cloth brought her sharply back to reality. Something bumped heavily into her, and she bit back a scream that turned into a sob of relief. It was Justin. "Did you kill it? Justin, what's happening?"
"Get out of here." His voice was a husky whisper, reminding her horribly of Martha's wet, hacking cough. He was leaning heavily against her, and now began to slowly slide to the ground. She grasped his arms, desperately trying to keep him upright, but he was much too heavy for her. Justin crumpled to the ground and all she could do was support his head and shoulders against her own trembling body. Her arms wrapped protectively around him and were instantly coated in a warm, wet liquid. Oh, merciful gods. Please, don't let him die.
The beast was directly in front of them. Tessa could feel its hot, fetid breath on her face. Power seemed to flow across her skin like thousands of wasps, each one coated in a thin layer of slime. Its foul tongue caressed her cheek, and then she did cry out. A second later the beast did the same and was backing unsteadily away from them. But why?
"Get away from her." Justin's voice was no more than a whisper, and she could feel the prince shaking with effort. He'd been carrying a knife in one boot, she remembered. The day after they'd met he'd used it to cut some fruit from a tree as they passed by. At the time it had seemed a pointless royal affectation. Now that short blade was all that stood between them and death. "Tessa, run!"
"You're telling the blind girl to run for help?" Somehow his own bravery had given her courage, as well. "I'm not leaving you behind. I'll help you up, and we'll both go."
"I don't think so." There was a quiet finality to his words that nearly stopped her heart. "You…go on without me. I'll catch up later."
"Liar." Her fear was overwhelmed by a sudden spear of grief so intense it was painful. This thing, this creature, had taken the life of a man she had come to like very much. It stood in front of them, waiting for him to finish his dying so it could have her as well. This evil, stinking, cowardly creature…. Tears of rage as well and pain flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. This thing was no part of the natural order. Even Martha's illness, terrible as it was, was part of the way of things. This monster was not. It was an abomination. The wolf-beast gave a snarl like a low laugh and took a step forward, sniffing avidly at the blood which soaked the ground all around them. It had been created to deal death, and it was eager to be about its mission.
"No," Tessa whispered. Her ice-cold hand found Justin's, and she held it tightly. Thunder and lightning raced across the sky overhead, loud enough that it seemed to pound inside her head as well as out, and then the sky was weeping tears of its own. Something was building inside her, screaming to be let out. This wasn't fair. It wasn't right. As the creature shifted, preparing to strike, suddenly it was just too much. Tessa threw back her head and screamed.
The skies themselves seemed to scream in reply. Heat and a light so bright she could feel it on her skin crashed around them, followed instantly by a clap of thunder that shook the ground like an earthquake. In the split second before the thunder deafened her Tessa heard the beast cry out in agony. Then the thunder came, and the smothering sensation of evil disappeared. Instantly, as if it had never been. The thunder and lightning began to fade away as well, and suddenly they were doused in a heavy, punishing rain.
"Justin?" She shook him gently. "Justin, can you hear me?" His chest rose and fell weakly beneath her arms. "Justin?"
"Hey. It's raining." She had to lean close to hear his words. "I…I like the rain. I-" He took a breath as if to continue, then slowly let it out, his body settling back against her. Numb, Tessa waited for his next breath.
And waited.
It's not fair, her exhausted mind protested. It wasn't supposed to end like this. Her arms tightened around him and the awareness that sometimes showed her what ailed Martha and others in their small band flared to life. The beast had nearly disemboweled him, tearing across skin and muscle from his ribcage down and across to the opposite hip. There wasn't much damage to the organs beneath, but the blood loss and shock had been devastating. Worse was the damage done to his shoulder. It had been dislocated and most of the muscle ripped away, the large artery that fed his left arm completely severed. Frightening amounts of blood had soaked through his vest and tunic, and more of it had soaked into the ground around them.
But none of it mortal, in and of itself. The combined damage had been simply more than his body could cope with. Even now his body fought to live, his heart struggling to send the small creatures that could clot his wounds like the smallest of corks out to where they were needed. But his breathing had already ceased, and she knew his heart would soon stop as well. If only she had bandages, some way to stop the bleeding and give him back some of the strength that he had lost defending her.
"Please don't die," she whispered. "I was just starting to grow a little fond of you, you know. And you haven't seen my Evana. How can you possibly miss that?" The rain beat down on them, washing away the last of the creature's stench and cleansing them. The same grief and anger that had filled her to bursting before was rising again, and this time she didn't fight against it, or scream it out uselessly at the heavens. Not knowing why or how, Tessa thrust that energy at Justin, thinking desperately of how simple it would be to mend his wounds. To give him life, where the creature that attacked them had given only pain and death. Please, please, she prayed to whatever gods were listening. Please let this work. Please!
If the gods were listening, they gave no sign. After a while the energy that had flooded her simply faded away. Justin lay still in her arms. The rain, too, began to fade away, as if it, too, had tried and failed. Tessa dropped her head to her chest and wept.
###
The last of the beasts Traquill had called Hell Hounds died, howling and fighting to the very end, in the middle of the dance floor in Tronin's Great Hall. Erik lowered his sword and took an unsteady step back as the beast faded away to nothingness. Around him other men (and the rebellious daughter of Baron Hartsfall, Marjorie) were doing the same. The Hounds had steadfastly ignored the attacks of the hundreds of soldiers and knights in attendance at the Tournament, forcing Erik and a handful of the younger royalty from the other houses to fight off the attacks of nearly a dozen of the creatures. Now that the assault seemed to be over they were beginning to look around at each other in stunned amazement. Nothing like this had ever happened in all the years of the Tournament. The truce had been broken, the royal families attacked. But by whom?
"It's never pretty, is it?" Erik's father had appeared, and lay a compassionate hand on his son's shoulder.
"No, sir." Erik sighed heavily. "How many did we lose?"
"I've asked the Captain of the Guard to do a discrete check. I think some of the families are still in shock. Many of them have never seen combat in their entire lives, much less lost a loved one to one." If there was criticism in his voice, Erik couldn't hear it.
"How is King Tronin? I saw what happened to Morgan." Erik rubbed his eyes, trying to blot out the sight. Morgan had been more politician than warrior, but not a bad guy for all that.
"About like you'd expect. He's half mad with grief." The hand on Erik's shoulder squeezed lightly. "I can only thank the gods that I don't have to share it. You did well, Erik."
"I was lucky," Erik admitted. "And if Marko hadn't shown up with that salt when he did-"
"I did better than I realized when I set him as your vassal," Richard replied soberly. "I understand he was hurt in the battle as well?"
Erik nodded. "Yeah, he took a claw wound to the back. Cassandra's patching him up now." He frowned. "You know, I think he's the only one not of royal blood who was attacked. That's kind of strange, isn't it?"
"It is. I'll mention it to Traquill. Perhaps he'll be able to make sense of all this."
"Sire?" It was the Captain of the Guard. Richard released Erik's shoulder and in the blink of an eye was no longer Richard, concerned father, but King. I'll never be half the king he is, Erik thought regretfully. But then, who could be? Richard nodded.
"Let's have your report, Carter."
"All of the beasts have been vanquished, sire. I've sent patrols through the entire castle and the surrounding land, with no sign of any more of the foul things. My men also tell me that the riders in black outside the gates have left. Trail sign suggests that they left not an hour ago."
"Right about when the first attack began," Erik added with a frown.
"That was our thought, as well. I've taken the liberty of posting scouts in the surrounding hills. If those riders attempt to return, we'll know about it."
"That's good. I want you to send an armed patrol out at first light. I want to know where those men went, and I want prisoners. Be certain your men understand that. They may be tempted employ a little rough justice once they've found them, understandably so, but we need answers far more than revenge."
"Aye, sir."
"How badly were we hurt?" Both Erik and his father steeled themselves for the news.
"Badly, sire. My men and I escaped almost unscathed," he looked down for a moment in shame, "but we lost five men of the royal houses. Morgan Tronin, Assad Baaldorf," Erik bit back an exclamation. Assad was Ariel's cousin. They had played together as children. "…Rhys Hartsfall, Jonas Montgomery, and Robin Stormhold. The younger Stormhold boy Will is badly injured, and not expected to survive the night. I understand that the Wizard Traquill is with him now."
"If anyone can save him, Traquill will. How many others were injured?" Richard asked.
"I have counted fifteen, seven of them quite badly. At least one, Peter Mayhew, will be crippled for life." Carter looked grim. "Whoever did this planned it well. Not a single house remains unscathed. My men are making inquiries, but so far there has been no word of anyone taking credit for the attack." His eyes moved meaningfully over to a group of northern barons, their heads together in quiet conversation. "Though of course many have formed an opinion."
"It sounds like something Blackpool might pull, all right, but his people have been hit as hard as ours," King Richard replied.
"Judging from Dirk's reaction, I'd say he was as surprised as we were," Erik added. "Not that that means much. Dirk doesn't have what you would call a united front."
"We'll know soon enough," Richard said firmly. "Anything else?"
"Just one thing, sire." The Captain of the Guard looked uncomfortable. "Of the major houses, only two men remain unaccounted for. One is Geoffrey Blackpool. I understand their own people have launched a search for him. The other is your son Justin, sire. He went out with our patrols, but no one has seen him since. I've sent two men out to…" he hesitated, averting his eyes from King Greystone. "To search some of the places he is more likely to be found."
Richard Greystone frowned. "No, I can't believe Justin would have just wandered off with things this serious. Something must have happened. Erik, I want you to get Marko and go out there. Find him as quickly as you can, and then I want the three of you back here. As soon as things settle down a little more we're going to have to convene a meeting, and I'll need you with me, Erik."
Erik nodded obediently, but privately he agreed with the Captain. They'd find Justin with a pretty girl and a bottle of wine. Still, it was pretty weird that he hadn't shown up after the attacks began. You'd have to be deaf to have missed the howling, even with the storm that had come and gone so quickly. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he promised.
His father nodded. "But be careful. I have a feeling we're not out of danger yet."
###
Marko was coming down the stairs as Erik left the Great Hall, Cassandra on his arm. The handmaiden looked worried and flustered, and acutely embarrassed when she looked up to see Erik's eyes on her. A flush quickly flooding her pale cheeks, she bobbed a quick curtsey and excused herself, explaining that Princess Ariel was waiting for news of the battle.
"She's…nice," Erik said as the handmaiden scurried away. While nowhere near as pretty as her mistress, the handmaiden did have a certain charm that certainly hadn't been lost on his vassal.
"Yeah, she really is. I guess it's hard work, looking after Ariel." He sighed. "Cassandra takes her job very seriously."
"Well, we'll have to see about getting her some time off. Maybe next month you two could head up to Michael's. Get away from all of this for a few days."
"That would be good," Marko agreed. They had started walking toward the courtyard, and he frowned. "Why do I get the feeling that we're not going to get your wounds looked at?" He looked meaningfully at the rough bandages one of the serving girls had managed to put on the worst of Erik's wounds before the last of the fighting began. "You said if I go, you go, remember?"
"I will, I promise," Erik said with a laugh. "But my father wants us to find out what happened to Justin first. He went out on patrol before the Hounds attacked, and he's never shown up."
"Probably fell into a wine barrel and can't get out," Marko grumbled. "I mean, no disrespect, and I like your brother well enough, Erik, but sometimes it's hard to remember that the two of you are related at all."
"Well, we are. And you're too hard on him, Marko. Justin's been there for us lots of times."
"And he's disappeared on us lots of times, too," Marko reminded him. At Erik's look of admonition he added defensively, "And I couldn't help but notice that you don't seem too worried."
"Yeah, well…" Erik shrugged. "He probably went off with that minstrel girl he's been talking about and got too…distracted…to hear the Hounds. Justin wouldn't have let us down on purpose." Not the most ringing of praise, Erik knew, but Marko deserved his honest opinion. "Come on. We'll start over at Michael's. If he's been there your brother will remember."
###
The rain had stopped, and with it the last of her tears. Tessa felt drained, as if some giant had come along and squeezed the life from her like a juicy piece of fruit. Her knees and ankles ached from kneeling in the same position for so long, and her arms felt like lead from holding so tightly. Focusing on her physical complaints put off thinking about the unthinkable, and for that alone she was grateful. A gentle breeze blew against her cheeks, drying her tears and the last of the rain. She could hear voices carrying over the garden walls and knew that she wouldn't be able to deny what had happened for much longer.
Talmor was right, she thought bleakly. We should never have come. I should never have let myself become involved with a royal. Nothing good has ever come from it. Ever. Her chest hitched painfully. Perhaps she wasn't done with her tears yet, after all. But I always thought that it would be I who paid the price. A single tear trickled down her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Taking a deep breath, she loosened her grip on Justin, absently smoothing the rumbled material of his tunic. Not that it mattered, anymore.
Out of nowhere someone grabbed her hand. She tried to scream, but all that emerged was a tiny squeak. Who--?
"Hey," a familiar voice asked sleepily. "What did I miss?"
"I-I-Justin, is that really you?" It sounded like his voice, and now her reeling mind was confirming that it certainly felt like his hand holding hers.
"Well, who else were you expecting?" Praise all the gods, she'd know that playful tone anywhere. "Guy takes a nap for just a few minutes, and you forget all about…?" His voice trailed off uncertainly. "Did I just miss something?" He pulled away from her and sat up, bewilderment in his voice. "I remember fighting that crazy dog-thing, and…losing?" He twisted to face her, taking her hands again. "And you've been crying. What the hell happened, Tess?"
"I'm not sure," she began uncertainly. Joy at his survival mixed uneasily with deeply ingrained caution, and she had no idea how to safely explain what had happened. "You fell against me, and then the storm came. I think lightning must have hit the wolf-thing…" She trailed off. Justin deserved the truth, but years of denying her gifts made speaking almost impossible. "It doesn't matter now. The important thing is that you're all right!" She didn't have to fake the relief in her voice, at least. Justin released her hands and she heard him patting at his clothes.
"I remember getting hit a couple of times. Boy, that thing had some fierce teeth on it." Tessa reached out and touched his shoulder. The material was still in shreds, but beneath it his skin was smooth and unmarred. She sighed in relief even while she desperately sought for some reasonable explanation that didn't involved her own forbidden talents. She was still thinking when his hand came down gently over hers, holding her hand against his bare skin.
"Why didn't you tell me, Tessa?" There was gentle understanding in his voice, and she sighed gratefully. He knew. "I know some folks aren't too fond of witches, but you oughtta know me better than that." Justin was getting to his feet, one hand still linked with hers. Tessa let him help her to her own feet, speechless. As she rose the world seemed to spin crazily around her and she shook her head, trying to clear it.
"A witch?" She laughed uncertainly. "Oh, no! Justin, I'm not a witch! I don't know anything about magic, or witchcraft. I can't even read, much less read a spellbook." Witches and wizards were to be avoided even more so than royalty, or so Talmor had always said. And Justin thought--?
"Well, somebody did a bang-up job of healing me, and I sure don't see anybody else hanging around. I was hurt real bad, I remember that much. I remember I…died." The customary good humor faded from his voice, and he sounded uncertain.
"Oh, you were never dead. If you were, there would have been nothing I could have done," she reassured him quickly. Tessa came up short, appalled. "I mean, I--" She felt a blush crawl up her cheeks at her confusion grew. Every word out of her mouth seemed to be another knot in her own noose. Justin's skin felt comfortingly cool as he cupped her face in his hands.
"Well, if you're not a witch, then what are you? Besides the prettiest minstrel I've ever seen," he added gently. The tenderness in his voice alarmed her far more than accusation would have.
"I'm nothing, no one. Just a minstrel. A minstrel with a small gift. Nothing more than that, Justin, I swear it!" Her exhausted body was trembling all over, ready for flight.
"From where I'm standing, that's no small gift," Justin said dryly. He was stroking her hair now, the way another man might gentle a spooked horse. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. It seemed very important that she make him understand.
"I've never done anything like this before. Never! Once, when I was twelve, our horse broke his leg. He was screaming…and, and, when the miller's daughter fell into the well, I could feel her pain. She was so frightened...But it's gotten so much stronger..." she was babbling and helpless to stop.
"Shhhhhh." He drew her close, his warm, blessedly living body a comforting presence against her own. "It's okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you."
"But they will." Her arms were around him now, clinging to him as if to keep from drowning. "Talmor warned me about what they would do. If the men who started the wars found me--oh, Justin, you mustn't tell them!" She pulled her face away from his shoulder, wishing desperately she could see what he was thinking. For an agonizingly long time he said nothing, just held her, stroking her hair with one hand. She could hear the voices outside growing closer. If he told them what she had done… She shuddered.
"Yeah, I guess I understand," he said at last, his breath warm against her cheek. "Seems to me you could do a lot of good with a gift like that, but …well, Traquill told me once that healing and hurting are two sides of the same coin. And I can think of somebody who'd just love to try that other side." His voice tightened with uncharacteristic anger. "And I ain't gonna let that happen." He kissed her forehead and the anger was gone. "What I don't get is how you learned to do it in the first place."
"I don't know," she said tiredly. Now that she knew he would keep her secret the tension had drained out of her like a sieve, leaving her more exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life. "I've always been able to…do things. For as long as I can remember." Vaguely, she could remember a woman's laughter as a very small girl with pale blond hair made the fall leaves dance. "I wish someone had taught me. Then I'd know how to do things…" she yawned, "properly. But all they ever said was that I shouldn't ever, ever..." She snuggled closer. It would be wonderful to just stand here, wrapped in his arms, forever. She was so very tired…
"I'd say you did pretty good." He lifted her chin until their faces were just inches apart. "And I still haven't said 'thank you'." Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she wasn't tired at all. With one hand she reached up and brushed her hand through his thick hair, then traced a finger lightly across his strong jaw.
"You don't have to."
"Yeah, I think I do." He leaned in closer and she lifted her head willingly. As their lips met she thought blurrily, I was wrong. This is how I want to spend forever.
###
Michael had been closing up his makeshift tavern when they arrived. Overturned tables and a long rent in one of the tent walls suggested that the popular watering hole had not avoided the attention of the Hell Hounds. A scullery lad was sponging red stains from the sliced canvas, his eyes following Erik and Marko with fascination as they entered. As they approached the long wooden plank that served as the tavern's bar top a buxom redhead with a tray filled with empty mugs passed them, a saucy wiggle to her walk despite the late hour. When Michael spotted them he looked up and smiled in welcome.
"Marko! Prince Greystone!" The jovial barkeep easily lifted the keg he'd been cleaning off of the bar and quickly ran a towel over the area, gesturing for the men to take a seat. "I didn't expect to see either of you tonight," his voice dropped, "not with what's happened."
"Believe me," Erik said with a tired smile, "if we could've spent the night here instead, we'd have done it." He was about to refuse the bartender's offer when he saw that it was chaffa, not ale, that Michael had set on the bar in front of them. The hot, sweet drink would keep them awake and alert, Erik knew. Raising his glass in thanks, he took a quick sip.
"Looks like you had a little fun yourself. Everyone okay?" Marko hefted his own mug and drained half of it at a drought.
"We got lucky. One of those things came in here, and went right after Stephen Montgomery. You should have seen Margaret," he said with a smile of pride and exasperation. "Half a dozen grown men with weapons aren't making a dent in the beast, and in sails Margaret. She starts throwing everything in the bar that wasn't nailed down at it, screaming like a harpy the entire time."
"And one of the things she threw just happened to be a salt shaker," Marko guessed.
"Right in one. After that we took the thing down without too much trouble. But how did you know about the salt?"
"Uncle Traquill. He woke up just in the nick of time, like always." Marko finished his chaffa and sighed appreciatively. "Man, that hits the spot."
The two brothers seemed ready to have a leisurely chat. Erik took another quick swallow and set down his mug, touching Michael's arm to get his attention. "Michael, did you see Justin in here tonight?"
The barkeep frowned. "Well, now that you mention it, sire, I haven't. 'Course, I've been pretty busy back here. Lucille!"
At his bellow the redheaded tavern wench sauntered back out. She was Lucille Winslow, a favorite of all of Michael's male patrons. Her blouse was low cut and was scandalously form-fitting, giving even the most casual observer a clear view of her ample endowments. She smiled easily at both of the men and sat down on an empty stool, crossing her legs to reveal shapely ankles and lower calves.
"What can I get for you gentlemen?" Even her voice was alluring.
"They're looking for Justin. Has he been in tonight?" Michael's voice suggested that it was no time for her usual flirtatious behavior.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I remember seeing him in her earlier today. He barely even said hello." Justin was one of her favorites, and the woman was clearly unhappy with the slight. "He was talking to that white-haired slip of a singer." The emphasis on the last word made it clear what the girl's profession really was. "They had a fight. He left not long after, and he hasn't been back." She sniffed. "His taste is slipping, if you ask me."
"Don't listen to her," Margaret advised. The other barmaid was a more muted version of her redheaded sister, both in temperament and complexion. She was standing over her sister's shoulder, a bucket held casually in one arm. Privately, Erik thought she was by far the prettier of the two. "Lucille's just jealous. Justin didn't even notice that she was in the room." Margaret's eyes sparkled with amusement. "He didn't have eyes for anyone but that minstrel girl. And they didn't have a fight." She glared at her sister. "Just a…a spat, I guess you'd say. I thought it was sort of cute. They left when her set was over."
"And that was this afternoon?" At her nod Erik frowned. "And I saw him at dinner. You're sure he hasn't been back since then?"
"I'm sure. Is he in trouble?" The concern in Margaret's voice was unfeigned, and even Lucille looked worried. Justin's easy manner was popular with the common folk, Erik knew. His brother was able to mingle with their subjects and the common foot soldier far more easily than he himself was. It was a gift that could have been put to good use, had Justin ever been so inclined.
"That's what I'm trying to find out," Erik replied. "Do you know where I can find the girl?" From the sound of things Justin was once again in hot pursuit. If he hadn't brought her here, then they were probably back at whatever campsite the minstrels had set up. Both of the women shook their heads.
"She's with old Talmor Greddick," Michael offered. "The last time I saw him he was driving a wagon with red and green stripes. You might try the rear northern courtyard. I think that's where most of the musicians have set up camp."
"We'll do that." Erik finished his chaffa and stood up, his tired muscles protesting. It had been a long night, and it was a long way from over. "Come on, Marko. We'd better go find him or will miss the meeting for sure."
Marko pushed himself to his feet with a groan of effort. "Man, either the days are getting longer or I'm getting older."
Erik clapped him companionably on the shoulder. "You know, I think it's both. Come on. Let's go find him." He lowered his voice as they waved to Michael and the Winslow sisters and began to head across the courtyard.
"I'm gonna kill him."
"Can I help?"
###
They hadn't gotten very far when Marko stopped dead in his tracks. "Huh. That's weird."
"What?" Erik had kept moving, and turned in surprise to see his vassal half a dozen paces back, staring intently at the ground. "Did you find something?"
"Probably nothing." Marko knelt and stared intently at the cobblestones. "Can you hand me that torch?" The nearest torch was at the entrance to what looked like some sort of garden. The wrought iron gates were open, and as Erik stepped up to free the torch from its holder his boots crunched on soil. Someone--more than one someone, by the look of it--had tracked dirt out of the garden and onto the cobblestones. Holding the light low to the ground he could see that the dirt had tracked far out into the courtyard. It was this that had drawn Marko's attention. Careful not to disturb the dirt, Erik carried the torch back to where his vassal knelt.
"What is it?"
"Thanks." Marko took the torch and carefully held it out on front of him. Boot prints stood out against the light clearly. "Yeah, I thought so. See, here?" Marko pointed to a smudged print that lay against the edge of the soil. "This isn't a boot print. Looks sorta like an animal, but not quite. And, see? Here's another. Looks like there's blood in this one. I saw a few drops of blood back there," Marko waved behind him, where the dirt petered out among the cobblestones. "That's what got my attention in the first place."
"Looks kind of like a big dog," Erik agreed.
"Kind of, but not quite. First time I've ever seen this print was earlier tonight. When Morgan Tronin was killed." Erik nodded. The hallway had been splashed with blood, and they'd all been forced to track through it as they fought the Hell Hound that had killed Tronin. Typical of his animal-loving vassal, Marko had seen the tracks of the supernatural animal amidst all the blood and gore, marked them, and remembered them hours later in a dark courtyard.
"Good job, Marko." They both looked up in the direction of the tracks. They headed directly into the garden. And Erik couldn't help but notice that you'd have to pass by here if you were headed toward the rear courtyard. His stomach tightened. Hand on his sword, Erik started walking toward the garden, Marko beside him. Sure enough, the Hound tracks continued, tracking over all of the sets of boot prints that led inside. Whoever had been in there when the Hound entered hadn't come out.
###
The garden was cool and fragrant, and under most circumstances probably welcoming. Now every branch seemed to reach out for them, all sharp thorns and entangling vines. The air smelled of blood and lightning. Erik's straining ears caught muffled sounds of movement. He signaled to Marko, who nodded before melting into the bushes. Waiting a count of three, Erik stepped quietly around the bend in the path. Sure enough, something was there, standing back against the far wall, almost invisible in the dim light. It was a man shape. It was…
"Justin," Erik said with a sigh. As his brother turned around to face him, Erik saw with a mixture of relief and disgust that he was, indeed, with a woman. It was the minstrel girl Lucille had been so jealous of, her pale skin now turning bright red with embarrassment. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Hey, Erik." Justin's voice was elaborately casual, but he made no attempt to introduce his latest conquest, instead pulling his long cloak down over his shoulders and grinning amiably. "What's goin' on?"
"Not much. Just the usual. Magical attacks, people dying, stuff like that." Despite the presence of an outsider Erik let some of his disgust show in his voice. "You notice any of that?"
"Yeah, now that ya mention it. Nasty looking things, ain't they? One of 'em showed up here, interrupted a perfectly nice little party." Now he put his arm around his companion, drawing her out to stand beside him. She clung to him as if for support, her long hair hiding her face from view. "I took care of it. You figure out who did it yet?"
"Not yet. We're supposed to meet back at the Great Hall as soon as we can," Erik replied. Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The girl was part of it. Pale, slender, and above all quiet, she wasn't Justin's usual type at all. Her brightly-colored if rather tattered minstrel's dress was coated with what looked like mud, and more of it coated what he could see of Justin's clothes. Not a foot from where he was standing was a large, blackened circle in the dirt. The smell of lightning was stronger here, as was the odor of fresh blood.
"Sounds good to me. I'll just walk Tessa here back to her camp, and I'll be right there. Looks like we've got a lot of plottin' to do." Justin's voice was too casual.
"Justin, what really happened here?"
"I told you. One of those big, nasty wolf things came in here. I took care of it." He saw Erik's eyes drift toward the scorched earth. "Yeah, I had a little help. Lightning turned it into one crispy critter before I had a chance to have any fun at all. Now, you mind? I thought you said we had places to be. And Tessa here is just about dead on her feet." The girl did look tired, Erik thought, or perhaps ill. She steadfastly refused to meet his eyes, and there just seemed to be something…odd…about her. There's something odd about this whole thing. If this was a lover's tryst, I'll eat Southwind.
"Yeah, why don't you do that?" Whatever had happened here would have to wait. Their father was expecting him. When Justin made no move to go past them, Erik nodded to Marko, who had appeared out of nowhere to stand beside him. Without a word they turned and left the garden. Time to get back to business.
###
Ariel Baaldorf was an old hand at eavesdropping. Ever since Mother had miscarried when Ariel was five, Daddy had taken great pains to see that his darling only child was protected from anything that might hurt either her health or her spirit. Sometimes that wasn't so bad. It had kept her from having to spend hours and hours hunched over boring history books (and books about the war; in the last hundred years or so they were pretty much the same thing) for one thing, and had kept her supplied with everything that she could ask for. But sometimes it was very annoying, like when she wanted to hear gossip and news of what was happening beyond the walls of Castle Baaldorf. So, eavesdropping. She was pretty sure her mother knew about her nighttime forays, but then Mother understood how important it was to be well informed. Men made such a fuss over their wars and tournaments, but everyone knew that it was really the social and political games people played in castles like this one that made history.
Not that fighting wasn't exciting, sometimes. From her vantage point in an alcove on the second floor, Ariel could see servants scuttling around, trying to clean up the mess from the fight that had taken place in the Great Hall a couple of hours ago. She had missed that, having gone up to change and freshen after dinner, but had gotten to her spying spot in time to see the men being brought in from all over the castle grounds. Being injured in combat sounded pretty romantic, but she had been shocked to see that it was really kind of messy and very noisy. Who would have thought that grown men could make such a fuss over a little scratch? The screams and groans had been enough to turn her stomach.
That was all over with, thank all the gods. The last of the injured men had been seen to by healers, two of them by the old Wizard Traquill himself. He gave her the creeps tonight, though she couldn't have said exactly why. Something about her shopping expedition this afternoon, probably. Already it seemed like something she'd read in a book somewhere, but Traquill and everyone else was treating her like the time she'd caught Trailman's Fever and almost died. That was silly. She was fine. She'd never been in any real danger. Daddy wouldn't have let that happen. She sighed and propped her head up on her intertwined hands, elbows resting on the alcove railing. If something exciting didn't happen soon, she was going to go to bed.
The servants were still cleaning up blood from the injured men--those tablecloths would have to be thrown away, no doubt about it--when the main doors to the Hall opened with a bang, startling her out of her semi-doze. Down below a servant dropped a full tray of dessert dishes, and somebody screamed. Several of the knights drew their swords. Ariel leaned forward in anticipation.
Oh, pooh! It wasn't more of those Hound-things, just Prince Dirk Blackpool. He looked very angry (He always looked angry. It was probably something in his diet.) and was surrounded by six of his own soldiers. He was carrying someone in his arms, and strode into the Hall like he owned it, heading directly for one of the freshly-cleaned banquet tables. He set the man, who looked vaguely familiar, down on the table and the clean white cloth began to turn red immediately. Men! she thought with disgust. He couldn't have chosen one of the tables that was already messy?
"Bring your healer!" Prince Dirk's voice carried easily up to the second floor, and Ariel jumped. So did several of the people down below, and two of the servants dropped what they were doing and immediately ran from the hall. From what she'd heard of Blackpool's temper, Ariel hoped for their sakes that they were running for the Tronin healer. If not, they'd better just keep running. Blackpool's soldiers fanned around him and the injured man, while everyone else shuffled around nervously. And who could blame them? Everyone knew that the Blackpools couldn't be trusted.
"Where is that bloody healer?" Blackpool shouted, and Ariel jumped again. Why was he so upset? From what she had heard, the Blackpools cared for nothing and no one but power. Why was he so worried about a soldier? They could always get more. Down below, the man in question groaned and rolled his head to the side, his hands clutching at his belly. Ariel bit back a gasp of surprise. It was Geoffrey Blackpool!
"Oh, darn it," Ariel whispered to herself. Geoffrey was a Blackpool, and Dirk's younger brother, but...cautiously she stood up and peeked down the hallway. It was very late, and everyone who wasn't involved in the cleanup had gone back to their rooms to sleep or to get ready for the meeting Daddy said would be held as soon as the hall was clean. Taking off her slippers (they were darling but the hard soles made a lot of noise on tile floors like these), Ariel padded down the hall and down the stairs to the first landing. With every available torch on the main floor lit the landing was cast into shadow, and she settled down unnoticed on the carpeted landing. She had a much better view from here.
Geoffrey was very pale and quiet, unlike some of the others who'd been in here tonight. His face was slick with sweat, and his head moved restlessly from side to side while he waited for the healer to arrive. Despite herself, Ariel hoped that the younger Blackpool would be okay. Geoffrey might be one of the bad guys, but he was also the only one to bother to find out what she really wanted for her birthday last year. That whole thing hadn't worked out too well, but at least he had tried. And he never laughed at her, never rolled his eyes in exasperation when she said something stupid. He was nice to her.
"You there!" For a terrible moment Ariel thought that Dirk Blackpool was talking to her. Then she saw the solder standing at the foot of the stairs and let out a silent sigh of relief. The man--one of Blackpool's--stepped forward and saluted. "Find the Wizard Vector. Tell him that his services are required here immediately."
"N-no." Geoffrey's voice was so low she had to strain to hear it. "Not Vector."
"He has spells that can heal you," Dirk replied firmly.
"W-would you want him laying hands on you?" came Geoffrey's weak reply. "I think I'd rather take my chances with Tronin's healer." He started to say something more, then coughed. It was a wet, nasty sound, and Ariel felt her stomach do a slow roll. No, there was nothing romantic about fighting. When she looked back the healer was hurrying toward them. He was a tired-looking old man in gray robes that were now stained red in places. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Blackpool, then swallowed nervously.
"Wait are you waiting for?" Dirk snarled. "Are you honestly that afraid of a wounded man?"
"I doubt it's Geoffrey he's wary of." It was Erik's father, Richard Greystone. He had taken off the wonderful robes he'd been wearing at dinner, and looked kind of plain in his dark gray trousers and white tunic. He wasn't even wearing his crown! Nonetheless, all of the guards--even Blackpool's--came to respectful attention. "Are we going to have more trouble tonight, Dirk?" The question was polite enough, but Ariel could hear the warning beneath the nice words.
"I think we've all had enough for one night." Dirk's voice was still kind of arrogant, but he seemed to be calming down. "But if my brother dies because your healers withheld their aid..." he trailed off menacingly.
"They won't." King Greystone gestured and the healer stepped forward immediately. "Now, why don't you have your men stand down? We're all still bound under the Tournament truce."
"Pity not everyone seems to think so. Very well." Blackpool gestured to his men, who put away their swords and stepped back. Around the room other men did the same, and Ariel was abruptly aware of how tense everyone had gotten. Now people began to talk again in low voices as they went back to preparing the room for the meeting. King Greystone gave Prince Blackpool a brief nod, then turned his attention to a rapidly approaching soldier. The healer looked down at Geoffrey and frowned as a much younger man, clearly his assistant, arrived.
"You'd better hold him, Prince Blackpool. Stomach wounds..."
"I'm well aware of what stomach wounds are like," Dirk cut in. He leaned over and gripped Geoffrey's shoulders. "Do what you have to do." He sounded very grim, and suddenly Ariel wasn't so sure coming down here had been such a good idea.
Without another word the healer picked up a towel and gestured to his assistant. The young man--who was kind of cute, in a bookish sort of way--took hold of Geoffrey's wrists and lifted his hands from his body, revealing a long, deep gasp across his stomach. Wiping away some of the blood (and there was an awful lot of it), the healer probed into the wound with one long finger. Geoffrey screamed.
Suddenly delicate little bells were ringing in her ears and the room swam alarmingly around her. Ariel's stomach gave another flip-flop, this time filling her mouth with saliva. She felt horrible. Why did they have to have wars, anyway? Geoffrey's cry cut off as abruptly as it had started and she opened her eyes.
"He's passed out," the healer was reassuring Dirk, who looked suspicious, furious, and worried all at the same time. "That's the best thing for him, right now." He had finished his examination, and now pulled out a needle and thread.
"Will he survive?" It was crazy--this was a Blackpool, after all--but Ariel could have sworn that Dirk looked more worried for his brother than mad at anyone. Maybe it was a trick of the light.
"We'll see." The healer hadn't looked up from his work, and there was a long silence. Ariel kept her gaze firmly on Geoffrey's face, not really wanting to see what the healer was doing. "There doesn't appear to be much internal damage, but we won't know for certain for at least a day," he said at last. "I've seen men with belly wounds like this fill with blood from wounds we couldn't see. We'll take him to the infirmary. It's warm and quiet there. I've stitch the wounds closed. Now we'll just have to hope for the best."
"If he dies--" Dirk began.
The old man lifted his head to stare directly into the Prince's eyes, his face growing cloudy with anger. "I am a healer." He said it like it said everything that needed to be said. Maybe it did. Then he relented. "You are welcome to put a guard on the door, Prince Blackpool, if that will ease your mind. Just see that your men don't interfere with our work." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "The gods know we have enough of it, tonight." He gestured, and two servants appeared with a wooden table with handles on it. Without a word they shifted Geoffrey gently onto it and then took him away, two of the Katerian soldiers trailing behind. Prince Blackpool stood there a moment longer, then whirled around abruptly and headed for the northern barons, a grim expression on his face.
Ariel stifled another yawn. It was dreadfully late, and if she didn't get some sleep soon she would look absolutely hideous by morning. Maybe just a small nap, she thought drowsily. No one was around, and she made it back to her hideaway on the second floor without incident. There was a padded bench in the alcove, and with any luck she could catch a nice long nap before everyone stopped fooling around and got down to business. Her eyelids began to droop as soon as she settled onto the bench, and she had just enough time to hope that the awful things she'd seen tonight wouldn't follow her into her dreams before sleep took her.
###
"We should never have come here!"
The voice was Talmor's, and the intensity of it drew Tessa up toward the surface of waking. She was much too tired to fully awaken, but she dimly realized that the old man was as agitated as she could ever remember hearing him. Unable to awaken fully, Tessa lay on her narrow bed just below the surface of it, like a diver enjoying the cool water before coming up to breathe in the hot summer air. The voices washed over her in cool waves, bringing with them vague, half-formed memories of returning to their wagon not long before.
She'd been mostly asleep even then, awake enough to enjoy being carried like a small child across the huge courtyard but not enough to realize how staggeringly inappropriate it was. It had taken Talmor's stammering protest when they arrived to do that. Justin had brushed off the old minstrel's protests, walking past him to gently deposit her in her own bed. That had sent a sudden rush of heat through her veins despite her exhaustion, a heat not unlike the one that had gripped her when he'd kissed her not long before. Apparently he'd felt it as well, for he bent to kiss her in a less than brotherly fashion before murmuring that he would see her again tomorrow. Then Talmor had been in the wagon, politely but urgently begging Justin for news of what had happened. She had still been trying to puzzle out the unexpected intensity of her emotions (and, to be perfectly honest, of her desire) when their voices had faded and she slipped deep into sleep.
Now the voices were intruding again. It was interesting to listen to them, really. Sort of like listening to a play about someone else.
"—never have agreed to come. We knew the risks involved." Talmor made a sound of disgust. "But I let myself be swayed by my desire to show off that cursed Evana's Ballad! May all the gods curse me for a fool."
"We both know that's not the main reason you agreed to come," came Martha's voice, full of gentle understanding, out of the waves. "You were worried about me, the both of you." She coughed, as if to emphasize the point. "Too worried. I'll be right as rain, with a little rest."
"Will you?" The pain in Talmor's voice made Tessa shift uncomfortably on her straw pallet.
"Better than I will if something happens to Tess—or any of us!—because we attracted the wrong sort of attention. Like tonight." She sighed. "We were so much safer on the road. And I'd come to like working the small villages. So much more grateful, they are. But we can't keep her locked away forever, Talmor."
"I know." Now it was Talmor's turn to sigh. When he continued his voice was almost plaintive. "But why couldn't she have just found some herdsman's son and settled with him? I can almost hear the gods laughing at us. For eleven years we do exactly as the old woman asked. We keep her away from the cities, away from royalty and the wizards that surround them. We keep her safe." His voice roughened. "And the very moment we break our agreement everything goes to hell." He started to tune his lute. The lute needed no tuning, a sure sign that he was puzzling over some decision.
"We should leave at first light," he said finally. "I've no liking for going against the wishes of royalty, but that young buck Justin will forget her the moment we're safely away, make no mistake about it." He spat through his teeth. "There's a bull in heat. I was surprised he brought her back here, half-asleep or no."
"Now you're being unfair," Martha chided. "That one may be a regular playboy, but he does care for Tessa. I've seen it in his eyes. And I think he's got more honor than you give him credit for."
"You sound like you're matchmaking," Talmor grumbled, and Martha laughed.
"Oh no! He's a fine-looking lad, but our Tess deserves better than to be some charming royal's passing fancy." The clear affection in her tone made Tessa smile sleepily before the meaning of the words registered. Then she frowned, turning to bury her face in the pillow. Martha was right about Justin, of course, but oh, how she enjoyed his attentions. Resolutely she pushed herself deeper toward sleep, where young minstrel girls really did win the hearts of handsome young princes. I wonder what I'd look like in that crown Gregory made? she thought sleepily. Too bad I'll never have a chance to find out, now.
"Perhaps you're right. And if that were all that it was, I'd be inclined to let us stay," Talmor resumed. "But something happened tonight. I could see it in the prince's eyes." That pulled Tessa back from her dreams. Had Justin betrayed her after all?
"He said there was some sort of fight," Martha remembered. "Not that uncommon at a gathering like this one."
"You didn't see him up close. He'd been fighting, all right, but that was no barroom brawl. His clothing was torn near to shreds, and I don't think those were wine stains on his tunic. And he looked more like a man that's been dancing on a crumbling cliff's edge than one who's been out enjoying the attentions of a pretty minstrel girl."
"He certainly didn't seem injured when he showed up here," Martha replied. "You think Tessa must have--?"
"I don't see what else it could have been." He struck a chord hard enough to make one of the lute strings snap. "Blast it. Why couldn't she have been just another minstrel girl?"
"She has no choice in the matter, you know that." Martha's voice held the gentle reproof she used only when the two of them were alone. "No more than any of us. And would you truly wish such a gift away, if you could? She could do so much good…"
"Until whatever has sought her all these years caught up with her. You remember what the old woman said. It will bring attention down on her—down on all of us—that we can scarcely afford. Mayhap it already has."
"I don't think Prince Justin will speak of it. That young prince isn't the only one with a gift for persuasion, you know." She laughed. "I'd bet on a minstrel's tongue over a royal's, any time."
"Perhaps." Talmor said soberly. "But I've been hearing loose talk since we arrived. Those riders who passed us on the trail. Some of the soldiers say they're here searching for someone. A woman. And you remember how Tessa took a fright when they first passed." He paused, and Tessa could almost see her foster-father shaking his head. "I have a bad feeling about this. Whoever those men are, they're powerful enough to set an entire castle on its ear. If all that attention should turn toward us…" Tessa shuddered.
"We'll leave at first light," Martha replied, a tightness to her voice that had nothing to do with her illness. "I'll ask Merrick Vinneti to cover our dance turns tomorrow. And Juliana will be more than happy to…" Now they were discussing the practical details of returning to the road, and Tessa felt her finger's grip on wakefulness begin to slip. I wish we could stay, she thought sleepily. What I wouldn't give for just one more, one more… Then there was nothing but the sweet peacefulness of dreams.
End of Part Two
