Utta made the sign of the Three as she stepped out of the covered passage into the long colonnade that ran along the western side of the residence gardens. The morning sun was nearly visible above the ramparts, which meant that the lull in the cannonade would end soon and the thunderous, smashing attack would begin anew. It was never entirely safe now anywhere in the castle, but in these small, temporary silences there was at least the illusion of lessened danger. Utta was happy to grasp at whatever kindly untruths she could find, since even the most obviously false hopes were in scant supply these days.
Avin Brone had set himself up in a suite of chambers beside the guard barracks. The Zorian sister walked across the open spaces as quickly as possible, trying to stay away from the taller buildings, often the first targets of the morning barrage because they were the first things that caught the light. The ruins of the Tower of Winter gave testimony to that: it had been largely destroyed less than a tennight ago and the upper half of it still lay across the buildings crushed in its fall like the corpse of some serpentine monster.
It was a sort of miracle in itself, Utta recognized, that Avin Brone was still free, let alone taking a major part in the castle’s defense. In other circumstances, it would have been interesting to note how the power ebbed and flowed in Southmarch: Berkan Hood and the castle’s other defenders had begun to realize that they were largely on their own, that Hendon Tolly was not going to step up and lead the resistance to the siege, so Brone was useful again.
She found him in the chamber he had made his meeting room, his painful leg up on a stool. Brone was attended by three or four worried-looking guardsmen—none of them old enough to be wearing armor, Utta thought disapprovingly, let alone risking their lives in defense of Hendon Tolly. But after the destruction in the farmer Kolkan’s field and the murderous fight against the Qar, perhaps as few as a thousand men remained in the castle who were even capable of lifting a weapon.
“Lord Brone,” she said. “May I have a moment?”
He looked up at her, frowning. His guards, or squires, or whatever these spotty-faced boys were supposed to be, did their best to seem perturbed by her intrusion as well. “What?”
“I’m Sister Utta, Lord Brone. Do you remember? We have met before.”
His beard was almost completely gray now, although some of that might have been the ubiquitous dust from shattered stone and plaster that filled the air these days. It took a moment before he recognized her, then his preoccupied frown turned into another kind of frown altogether.
“Yes, Sister. Forgive me, but I am grievously occupied. What can I do for you?”
“Not for me, Lord Brone. For the duchess. She asks you to come to her.”
“Merolanna? But ...” He shook his head in irritation. “I cannot walk—not well. And in case you and the duchess have not noticed, we are at war with a cruel enemy. Ask her to forgive my discourtesy, Sister, but it is not convenient just now.” He tried to turn back to the maps of the city spread on the table before him, but a residue of guilt made him look up. “Truly, it just cannot be. Not today.”
“I will tell her that, Lord Brone. She will be disappointed, of course. She said to tell you that she wishes to talk to you of a matter that you alone know about. That you alone know about.” Utta had no idea what this was supposed to mean, but the duchess had been very firm.
“Don’t let him say no,” Merolanna had told her. “He will try. Don’t let him.”
“Truly, I cannot, Sister. It is not the right time,” Brone said, but with less certainty than before. He looked flushed and weary, and certainly no one would argue that he was in the best of health himself. Utta felt bad for him, but not so bad that she did not bring up her next weapon.
“Very well, but I fear to give her this news,” she said. “She is not very strong.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “Merolanna? I have never heard that said of her before.”
“You have not seen her since we were held prisoners by the Qar. She is not the woman she was.”
“The man I sent to interview you both on your return said nothing of this.” But he looked stricken. What kind of lord constable could he have made, Utta wondered, with such a soft heart? Or was she mistaking one emotion for another?
“Come and see for yourself, Lord Brone. She is not well. Our captivity was hard on her, and she is not a young woman.” Utta did not feel too bad about applying this pressure to the count of Landsend. She only wished that she were not telling the truth.
He groaned. “I will need a sedan chair.”
She tried to be firm, although seeing the swollen sausage of his foot she was feeling a little sorry for him. “You are an important man, Count Avin. I am sure even in such days as these, one will be made available for you. Or Merolanna could send you her carriage, if a way can be cleared through the rubble.”
Merolanna had propped herself up in her bed, but she truly did not look well. The new physician had taken out several of her teeth, which had gone rotten during her captivity—Kayyin the half-fairy had offered to get her help, but the thought of one of the Qar poking in her mouth had horrified Merolanna, and she had refused. Now her cheeks were sunken, something even the thorough application of rouge could not disguise. Her hair, concealed now under a simple white linen coif, had grown quite thin as well, and the hands that clutched bedclothes to breast were bony and mottled. Only her eyes retained much of what she had been even a year ago. Her gaze was still sharp, and it fixed on Brone as he hobbled into the room.
“So you did come.” Her voice quavered just a little.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he said. “How could I refuse such a kind invitation? ‘Tell him to come, or I will drop dead on the floor and it will be on his conscience’—wasn’t that the gist of it, Sister Utta?”
Even Merolanna had to smile at that, but she quickly raised her hand to cover her ruined mouth. “As always, you exaggerate, Brone. But I am glad you’re here. We need to talk.” She turned to Utta. “Leave us now, Sister, so I can speak to Count Avin alone. We are old friends, after all.”
Utta had not known she would be sent away. She bowed her head and went out, but with more than a little anger in her heart. How much time had she and Merolanna spent together in the last year? How long had they lived with each other like maiden sisters, captives of the Qar? And had any of it been for Utta’s sake? No, but now Merolanna sent her away as though she were nothing better than a servant.
It isn’t right, she thought, stopping as she reached the door of the outer chambers where she could hear Merolanna’s maids talking quietly as they sewed, pretty young Eilis usually loudest and always quickest to laugh. What future for Eilis or any of them in this doomed castle? These were frightening times. And yet, Utta, who had experienced things few other people could even imagine, who had actually met the dark mistress of the fairies and lived, was expected to go out and sit with these young children until Merolanna was done talking to this important man, so vital to the castle’s continued survival.
Her hand was actually on the door handle when she turned and retraced her steps. Utta did not mean to spy on Merolanna—she intended only to walk back in and ask to be included, let the duchess know that after all they had been through together she expected better treatment—but what she heard through the door stopped her for a second time with her fingers on a door handle.