“I must hope,” he said softly.
But inwardly, he felt a sudden fire. Sir Chenzo had just described Princess Anne and her maid, Austra.
He tried to look disappointed, and thought he succeeded.
After the meal, one of the countess’ servants led him to what he reckoned would be a bedchamber, but he was wrong. The room he was shown to was decorated all in tile, with frescoes of leaping dolphins, eels, and octopi. Set into the floor was a huge tub, already full of steaming water.
The servant stood by, expectantly, as Neil stared at it, knowing how good it would feel.
Knowing also how vulnerable he would be. The room had only one entrance. “I am not in need of a bath,” he said finally.
Clearly puzzled, the servant nodded and led him to a bedchamber. It was as lavish as the rest of the house, but it had a window, and the door could be barred.
The drop from the window was not a long one. He was considering this when a faint sound caused him to whirl about.
The countess was standing there in his chambers. He could not see how she had entered.
“First you refuse the hospitality of a warm bath, and now it looks as if you will refuse my bed, as well,” she said.
“Countess—”
“Hush. Your suspicions are well advised. Sir Chenzo plans to take you into his custody this very night.”
He set his mouth grimly. “Then I must leave at once.”
“Rest a moment. Sir Chenzo is of no danger to you at this instant. This is my house.”
When she said it, all frivolity dropped from her, and for a moment Neil felt a tingle of fear—not of something substantial, but of her very presence. It was as if he stood alone in the dark of the moon.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“I am the countess Orchaevia,” she said.
“You are something else.”
A wan smile flitted across her face. “Not all of the sisters of Cer died in the razing of the coven. One lives yet.”
He nodded in understanding. “Do you know what happened?” he asked.
“Knights came by dark, mostly Hanzish. They sought a girl, just as you do. The same girl, yes?”
“I believe so,” Neil replied.
“Yes. She is important. More important than you could possibly know.”
“I know only that my duty is to find her and keep her safe. It is all I need to know.”
“I can see that. I watched you lie, and saw how it hurt you. You are not skilled at falsehood.”
“I have not practiced it,” he said.
“She lives, she and her maid. I believe two friends of mine, swordsmen who know the country, yet accompany them. My servants tell me they went north, probably to the port of z’Espino. I advise you to seek them there. I also advise you to leave tonight, and alone.”
“Sir Chenzo. Is he a villain?”
“Not as such, though he may serve them. He was not involved in the murders at the coven. But mark this well, Sir Neil—someone in the Church was. Someone of importance. The knights that were here were saint-marked, and some were of a very special sort, a sort that the world has not seen in ages.”
“What sort is that?”
“In one of my wine cellars there is a man whose head has been smitten off. He is still alive. He is not conscious, he cannot speak or see or feel, but his body continues to twitch.” She shrugged. “I think Sir Chenzo knows nothing of this, but his superiors might. He was told to watch for someone like you. Your lies, as I said, are quite unconvincing.”
“And Sir Quinte?”
“I don’t know if he has any part in this, but it would be foolish to chance it.”
“He has been a help to me. I do not know the language here. I was lost when he found me.”
“Perhaps you were. Perhaps he merely convinced you that you were. I have a servant I will send with you. He is utterly trustworthy, and will act as your guide and interpreter. He will provision you, as well.”
Then she smiled. “Go. You may leave by the front door. You will be neither seen nor hindered.”
“What of you?”
“Do not fear for me. I can settle any trouble that may arise from your leaving.”
Neil regarded her for a moment longer, then nodded.
As the countess had promised, he encountered no one in the halls or manse other than her own servants, who only bowed or nodded politely, always in silence.
Outside, in the courtyard, Hurricane was waiting, along with a smallish black mare and a brown gelding strapped with provisions. Near them stood a boy in brown breeches and white chemise with long black waistcoat and a broad-brimmed hat.
“If you please, sir,” the boy said. His language was slightly accented king’s tongue. His tone seemed ironic.
“Thank you—”
“You may call me Vaseto.” He nodded at the horses. “All is ready. Shall we leave?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good.” He swung onto his mount. “If you will follow me.”
The land was pale gold where the moon kissed it, but where she did not, the shadows were strange. Some were spread like dark rust, others like bronze blackened in flame or the green of rotted copper. It was as if a giant had wrought the world of metal and then left it too long to the weather. Even the stars looked like steel, and Vaseto—when his face came into view from beneath his brim—was red gold etched in deep relief.
Neil had never known such a night. He wished he could appreciate it, but the many-colored shadows seemed to bristle with deadly quills, and nocturnal sounds parted around them, leaving space to hear something else—something following them. “Do you hear that?” he asked Vaseto.
“It is nothing,” the boy replied. “It’s not your friends the knights, that’s for sure. They would each be as noisy as you.” He smiled thinly. “But you have good ears.”
A few hours later they stopped at an abandoned house hidden by a copse of willows and took turns sleeping. Neil glumly stood guard, watching the shadows shift as the moon went down, now and then seeing one move in a way it shouldn’t.
Dogs bayed in the distance, as if mourning the moonset. A little after daybreak, they resumed their journey northward, Neil with weary eyes, his companion seeming cheerful and rested. Vaseto was a small, dark lad with large brown eyes and hair cropped in a bowl just above his ears. He rode as if born to the saddle, and his mount—though small—was spirited.
Midday they crossed a small river and passed a town on a hilltop. Three large towers stood up from the jumble of roofs, and fields spread to the road and beyond. Houses and inns became more frequent, until the road was nearly bounded by them; then they thinned again. Woodlands crept around the trail, sometimes forming dark, fragrant tunnels of cedar and bay.
“How far is z’Espino?” Neil asked restlessly.
“Ten chenperichi. We should reach it tomorrow.”
“What did the countess tell you?”
“You’re looking for two girls, one with red hair and another with golden. They might be with Cazio and z’Acatto.”
“Who are Cazio and z’Acatto?” Neil asked.
“Former guests of the countess,” Vaseto answered.
“Why would they be with these girls?”
“Cazio was courting one of them. The night the coven burned, Cazio and z’Acatto vanished, as well. I found some sign of their trail.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” Vaseto answered. “I did.”
“And you think they were together?”
Vaseto rolled his eyes. “Three sets of tracks, two small, one large, all pursued by mounted men. They met at some ruins where a third man joined them—z’Acatto, by the torn sole of his boot. They fought the horsemen, and won after a fashion. All four left together.”
Neil regarded Vaseto for a few moments, considered the authoritative ring of his voice.
“You’re older than I thought,” he said.
“Probably,” Vaseto replied.
“And you’re not a boy.”
Vaseto gave him a small smirk. “I wondered if you would ever work that out,” she said. “They must make you thick, up north. Not that men down here are generally any smarter.”