“And the ghosts,” Dunbrae muttered darkly. His eyes narrowed, changing his normally bluff expression to one of mistrust. But did he mistrust motive or something else? Dezra didn’t know.
Aline stopped mid-stride, watching her three friends, but she didn’t interrupt.
“And the ghosts,” Madoc said equably. “Of course the road around Darken Wood is heavily patrolled by Sir Radulf’s knights. All that’s left is the river for a run to the sea—impossible, I think you’ll all agree—and the moors out in the old Seeker Reaches. If anyone can get to them.”
Dez snorted. “You’re as naked to the eye on the moors as on the river. And about the only things living in all that stone and sky are outlaws, goblins, wolves and ravens. There’ll he no safe houses, no helping hands along the way.”
Madoc raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we could simply charter a dragon to ferry the lot of Haven’s refugees out over all the disaster, eh?” Dez bristled, he gestured dismissively, and said to Aline, “We have little choice—give up or find a way. Qui’thonas knows the Seeker Reaches, somewhat. We have friends there, though thinly spread. We will find a way.”
Aline paced to the north window, the one that looked out over the water. Perhaps she looked farther than the Whiterage, Dez thought. Perhaps all the way to the Seeker Reaches. After a moment she turned, her jaw set.
“Dunbrae, take some money and three good men. You know who’s on board by now. Buy enough supplies for a couple of days. Don’t be ostentatious about it.”
The dwarf snorted at the idea that he would be ostentatious about anything.
Aline chuckled. “Go out into the Reaches. Find old friends first, and be careful of making new ones.”
Dunbrae waited a beat, to see if there was more, then rose to leave. Dez watched him out of the room, envious of the dwarf who would soon be breathing the free air outside Haven. She and Dunbrae had worked together well in the short time since she’d declared for Qui’thonas. It hadn’t been hard work, or dangerous, nothing more than leaving sign in certain places—a token on a window sill, a mark on a back door that looked like the scratch a key leaves, a word to an old woman who would pass it to a girl in the market, who would take it on from there. Dez understood that these small tasks had served two purposes. They were messages delivered to the quiet forces of Qui’thonas, and they introduced her to folk who would not have trusted her otherwise. In Dunbrae’s company, she was immediately known for a friend.
Aline’s eyes grew still, her expression serious. “Madoc, go back to the Goat and take care of what you have to.”
One swift look spoke of understanding between them. Madoc had received his orders earlier.
In the corridor, past the briefly open door, Dezra heard the soft voice of a servant and the muted laughter of another. The door closed, and Aline fastened the shutters wide on all three windows. A breeze carried the scent of rain and the river.
“Dezra,” she said, still looking out.
Dez went to stand beside her. Looking where Aline did, she saw the river and the willow walk that lined its banks. Beyond, she imagined she could see the line of hedges bordering the common garden that served a little community near the river. Her heart ached, as though a hand squeezed it. The bodies of the hanged had been taken down from the apple trees after the news of Lady Mearah’s idea of swift punishment flew through the city. People had stopped talking about it, but sometimes at night, Dezra saw the dead men behind closed eyes. She saw him. Not as she had then, not as Usha had seen him, bruised and broken and ugly in his death. She saw him in candlelight. Dalan. She held the name in her heart with fierce tenderness. She saw him in memory as she had seen him that last time, his skin golden, shadows sliding purple along the planes of his chest, the muscles of his arms. She saw his flaxen hair in dawn’s light. She saw her lover, and when she did, her blood burned to revenge.
“They aren’t going to be as easy with Haven as they have been,” Aline said. They. Sir Radulf’s knights.
“Three hanged isn’t easy, Aline.”
“It isn’t, but things will get worse.”
Dez turned from the window. The breeze felt cool on her neck.
“So, I need to know,” Aline said. “How far can I trust you?”
Surprised, Dezra stood perfectly still, as though she could find motive or thought on the breeze. Aline didn’t smile to soften the moment. She kept as still as Dez.
Carefully, Dez said, “I’m not sure why you ask that.”
“I don’t doubt your word when you say you will never betray us. I don’t doubt your ability to do what is needed, fight the knights if necessary, protect the refugees I put into your care always.”
“But... ?”
“But how long will you do this, Dez?”
“Why, as long as I’m here. I told you.”
“Yes, you did. I’m wondering whether that means what it seems, or whether it means for as long as it takes to get your vengeance.”
Dezra’s eyes narrowed. “My—? I don’t understand.” But she did understand.
“Dalan Forester.”
The name burned along her nerves. Dezra didn’t flinch. She pushed away from the window.
“I don’t give my word lightly, Aline. I have accepted your secrets, and I will keep them.” That might have been the end of the matter, but Dez didn’t let it go. “Why do you trust Madoc Diviner, but you won’t trust me?”
“I trust you, or you wouldn’t be here, Dez.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Aline lifted her chin, pride and stubbornness. “Because he’s proven himself. When he could have betrayed me, he did not. After he’d seen the portrait Usha painted ...” Dez knew the story, Aline didn’t repeat it. “How could I not trust him now?”
How, indeed? Dezra thought. It was a noble story, yet—“I don’t.”
“Why?”
Dezra thought for a moment, trying to find the right words to capture so nebulous a feeling. In the end, she shook her head. “Because I don’t. In my gut, I don’t. We’ve all changed, Aline. In the years since you came to Haven, even in the weeks since the city fell. But one thing, it seems, hasn’t changed: Madoc Diviner is a man known for taking care of himself first, others if he feels like it. He isn’t the romantic rogue you and Usha seem to think he is. At the Goat he’s well known to dark knights, to thieves and worse. He exchanges favors with them. He must. News, rumor and conjecture ... these are his stock in trade. A man like that can’t be trusted.”
And there was the matter of Dunbrae—his narrowed glance, the feeling that he didn’t trust Madoc either. Dez said nothing of that. If Dunbrae did truly mistrust Madoc, she preferred to have the dwarf’s reasons from his own mouth.
Aline turned again to look out of the window. Nothing of posture or gesture gave clue to her thoughts. Over her shoulder Dezra saw the rain-washed sky winking with stars. Below, a young man went past the front of the house, head low and hurrying. If he lived near, he would make curfew. If not, he’d have some bad moments till he got to where he was going. Since the hanging, Sir Radulf’s watch had become harder than ever about the rules of curfew. Warnings had become beatings, and at least two men had gone missing.
Yet Madoc could escort Usha home after the hour of curfew and then arrange to have a beer with the knight who saw him at it.
“Dezra.” In profile, Aline’s expression showed nothing. The stars had her attention, or so it seemed. “I trust Madoc. But Qui’thonas will not work unless each one of us can trust the other. Lives are at stake. I want you in Qui’thonas. I need you. I don’t demean my faithful rescuers when I say they are not as experienced as you are. You’re a woman who knows how to fight and—most importantly—when to fight.” She turned then, and again Dezra saw the sword-woman in her eyes, bright and hard. “And I need Madoc. He will be the eyes and ears of Qui’thonas, a secret no one will know outside this group. He will look like just what the knights need him to look like in order to trust him enough to speak in his presence. He will look like no threat to the robbers and rogues that frequent the Goat. He must be this, or he is no use to us. But I won’t risk your life or anyone else’s by asking you to work with a man you can’t trust.”