That meant that her pursuers already knew who she was. The secret he was sworn to protect was no longer a secret at all.
If that was so, the only things that remained secret were his identity and what his mission was. He had to preserve his anonymity; if Anne was still alive, he might be her only hope. He could not allow himself to be waylaid.
And so, saying a silent prayer to Saint Freinte, Neil lied.
“I see that I must trust you with my secret,” he sighed. “My name is Etein MeqMerlem, from the isle of Andevoi. There is a young lady whom I love, but her parents disapproved of our affections. They sent her to a coven to keep us apart. I know not which coven, but for three years now I have searched for her, from Hansa to Safnia, thus far without success.”
“Now I have come here, and you tell me of this terrible thing.” He sat straighter in his saddle. “I know nothing of these murders, but I must know if she was here. If she lives, I will find her. If she is dead, then I will avenge her. I pray that you will help me in my quest.”
“I knew it!” Sir Quinte said. “I knew your quest was for the sake of love.”
Sir Chenzo studied Neil with one eyebrow upraised. “What was the lady’s name?” he asked.
“Muerven de Selrete,” he replied. Then, anxiously, “Please, was she here?”
The knight shrugged. “The records of the coven were burned along with everything else. I’m sorry, but there is no way of knowing.”
“Yet the bodies—”
“Long buried, and—you’ll forgive me—mostly unrecognizable, in any case.”
“I know that she lives,” Neil said. “I feel it in my heart. Can you at least tell me the direction the largest group of searchers went in?”
Sir Chenzo shook his head. “I am sorry, Sir Etein, I have my own vows and duties. But please, accompany us to the place where we are guested. Take ease for the night. Perhaps you will remember something there that will be of use to us.”
“I’m afraid I must decline,” Neil replied. “I must renew my search immediately, especially now.”
“Please,” Sir Chenzo said. “I insist.”
The look in his eye made it clear to Neil that he was not merely being polite.
They rode from fields of yellowing grass and purple thistle into vast vineyards and finally up to a rambling white-walled estate roofed in red tile. By the time they reached the mansion, the sun had set, and only a faint glow remained in the west.
Servants in plum doublets and yellow hose took their horses, and they passed through a gate and into a large inner courtyard. A few servants in the same livery were sweeping it as they entered, and a page led them through another door and into a hall lit brightly by candles and hearth. A few people were gathered around a long table. The most notable of these was a woman of middle years and large girth, who rose from the head of the table as they entered.
“Portate az me ech’ospi, casnar Chenzo?” she said in a pleasant, jovial voice.
“Oex,” he answered, and then he proceeded to make some explanation in Vitellian.
The woman nodded, made various hand gestures, and then looked pointedly at Neil.
“Pan tio nomes, me dello?” she asked.
“I am sorry, my lady,” Neil said, “I do not understand you.”
The woman shot a mock-angry look at Sir Chenzo. “You’ve allowed me to be rude to a guest,” she told him in the king’s tongue. “You should have told me right away that he doesn’t understand our tongue.”
She turned back to Neil. “I only asked your name, my dello,” she said.
“Lady, my name is Etein MeqMerlem, and I am at your service.”
“I am the countess Orchaevia, and this is my house you’ve been brought to.” She smiled again. “My. So many guests.”
“I regret the lack of notice,” Sir Chenzo rushed to say, “but we met them just now, near the ruins of the coven. My order will of course reimburse—”
“Nonsense,” the woman said. “Do not become vulgar, Sir Chenzo. The countess Orchaevia does not need to be plied with Church silver to persuade her to host travelers.” Her gaze settled on Neil. “Especially such a handsome young dello as this.” Then she smiled at Sir Quinte. “Or one with the reputation of Sir Quinte.”
Sir Quinte bowed. “Countess Orchaevia, the pleasure is mine. I had a mind to pay you a call, being in the region, even before these gentlemen escorted us here.”
Neil bowed, too. He was reminded of the Duchess Elyoner of Loiyes, though physically there was no resemblance. The duchess was dainty, almost a child in size. Yet the countess Orchaevia had something of her flirting manner.
She set as lavish a table, as well. Fruit came out first, and a dark sweet wine, followed by an earthy yellow soup Neil did not recognize, roasted hare, tender flanks of kid stuffed with parsley, roasted pork with sour green sauce, and pasties filled with wild mushrooms. Next came partridge and capon served with dumplings of ground meat shaped and gilded so as to resemble eggs, then a pie of unlaid eggs and cheese and quail glazed with red honey and garlic.
By the time the fish course arrived, Neil was nearly too full to eat any more, but he persevered, not wishing to insult his host.
“Sir Etein is in search of his true love, Countess,” Sir Quinte said as he plucked out the eyeball of a trout and popped it into his mouth.
“How delicious,” the countess said. “I am an authority on true love. Do you have someone specific in mind, Sir Etein, or is the girl still unknown to you?”
“She—” Neil began, but Sir Quinte interrupted him.
“We believe she was in the coven,” Sir Quinte explained.
“Oh,” the countess said, her face falling. “So many girls, so young. What a horrible thing. And just after the Fiussanal, too. They had just been here, you know.”
“Here?” Neil asked.
“Oh, indeed. The sisters of the coven are—were—my neighbors. I held a feast for the girls each Fiussanal. It was that very night—”
“The night of the purple moon?” Neil blurted before he could think better. Again he saw poor Elseny, her throat cut ear to ear. He felt Fastia in his arms, her heartbeat no stronger than a bird’s. He saw again the greffyn and the Briar King.
He realized that everyone at the table was watching him.
“Yes,” the countess said, “the night of the purple moon.” Her eyebrows descended, and she shook her head. “I hope you are mistaken, Sir Etein. I hope your love was not one of the girls in the coven.”
“Is it possible—if they were here—that they did not all return?”
“I do not think so,” Orchaevia said softly. “The sisters were quite strict about such things, and the attack came hours after the party had ended.”
“Bless the saints that their attackers did not come here,” Sir Quinte said, quaffing from a cup of dry red wine.
“Yes,” Orchaevia said. “Thank the saints, indeed. What was your lady’s name, Sir Etein? If she was here, I might have met her.”
“Muerven de Selrete,” he replied.
“Of course they did not go by their given names in the coven,” Orchaevia said. “Can you describe her?”
Neil closed his eyes, still remembering Fastia. “Her arms are whiter than thistledown,” he said. “Her hair as black as a raven’s wing. Her eyes were darker yet, like orbs cut from the night sky.” His voice shook as he said it.
“That does not help me much,” the countess said. “You describe your love better than her appearance.”
“I must find her,” Neil said earnestly.
Sir Chenzo shook his head. “We’ve had a few reports of two girls who were seen fleeing with two men. One had hair like copper, the other like gold. Neither sounds like your lady, Sir Etein.”
As he said this, he glanced rather casually at Neil, but something in that glance was searching, watching for him to react.