“I think that Harvestide commerce will be affected regardless of where you put the jars,” Jusson said over Serlo’s indignant exclamations. “Whether for good or ill remains to be seen. However, I don’t think that they should stay here unguarded, either in the shadow of the church portico, or out in the openness of the square.”
Both the King’s Own and the Watch gave the king very unhappy looks.
A faint smile passed across Jusson’s face. “We will take them with us to my residence, where an eye can be kept on them more readily.”
Now all the king’s guests gave him unhappy looks.
Jusson’s smile widened for a moment, then was gone. “In the meantime, there is nothing we can do until the morrow. Let’s go home.”
“I have no home, Your Majesty,” Dyfrig said. Though the rectory had been untouched, there had been another brief but intense discussion on the doyen continuing to occupy it. That one Dyfrig lost.
“But I do,” Jusson said. Moving me aside and taking Dyfrig’s arm himself, he steered the doyen away from the jars. “And there is a room with a bed for you. You will not stay alone this night, Your Reverence.”
I fell in behind the king, eyeing the air sphere still at Dyfrig’s shoulder. A stab of jealousy churned through me, but recalling how Jusson and Laurel seemed to wander at will through my mind, I clamped down on that hard. Instead, I turned my thoughts to how we were going to get the doyen to the king’s house. I doubted if Dyfrig could ride and though we could’ve walked while leading the horses, all of us were moving as though our boots had lead soles. However, Chadde showed that she was a forward thinker for at that moment watchmen drove up with a couple of carriages. The doyen and the injured men were gently loaded into one, while the jars of ashes and the contents of the sacristy were placed in the other. The rest of us mounted our horses, forming a guard around the two carriages.
“Let’s go home,” Jusson said again.
Rising up in my stirrups to make sure I had everyone’s attention, I lifted my hand. But before I could give the signal, I heard the footsteps of several people running down one of the streets leading into the square. I gave a sigh and dropped back down into my saddle.
“Pox rot it,” Jusson said, tired. “What now?”
“Hell if I know, sire,” I said. I reached for my sword, everyone else around me doing the same, while the townsfolk shifted to face this new threat with obvious reluctance, their own weapons being readied—only to relax with obvious relief as Thadro and several of the King’s Own, including Arlis, stumbled into the square.
“Thadro!” Jusson swung down from his horse and hurried to his Lord Commander. “What happened to you?”
“Your Majesty,” Thadro said. He came to a weary halt in front of the king. “We were lost.”
“That sounds familiar,” Jeff murmured.
So it did. Very familiar, with loud echoes of when another group of men was lost while on a routine patrol. However, while the Mountain Patrol’s stumbling about last spring was caused by my burgeoning talent, this time whatever had happened to the Lord Commander had nothing to do with me. I hoped.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“It was like we were caught a maze, sire,” Thadro said as he received a cup of tea from Cais. “Even though we’d just gone across the square to the morgue, we couldn’t find our way back to the church. So we tried for the house, and became even more lost.”
We were once more in Jusson’s study—the king sitting at his desk, the Lord Commander seated in one of the trio of guest chairs still in front. I’d tried to take Thadro’s place at the king’s back, but Jusson waved me to the one of the other guest chairs, with Jeff taking his place at my back. The rest sat wherever they could, with Cais overseeing the shifting of additional chairs from other rooms. The study was packed with aristos, guards, town officials and leading citizens. Moving among them were servants, dispensing tea and whatever food they were able to liberate from the king’s kitchen. Arlis sat with the other lost royal guards at the end of the room, a half-eaten plate of food on his knee. Though his last meal had to have been dinner the night before last, he showed no desire to finish his food. His face was drawn and tired, his eyes fixed on some distant point. And though the sun hadn’t yet risen—or maybe because it hadn’t risen—nobody showed any desire to seek their beds. Apparently no one wanted to be alone in the dark. Or lost wandering the streets of Freston.
Or both.
“That sounds familiar,” Ranulf said from where he sat to the side of me, unknowingly echoing Jeff. “Getting lost right in plain sight of where you want to go.”
As my stomach had become empty again, I was making what food came my way disappear as quickly and politely as possible. At the Marcher Lord’s words, though, I swallowed and turned to scowl at him. However, my scowl became a frown of concern when I saw Ranulf’s face. There were the usual lines of strain, but what snagged my attention was how his dark eyes glowed red in the candlelight, as if something feral was looking out from them.
And next to him Beollan was shining bright, like the glaciers of the Upper Reaches at noon on a clear day, with hints of purple, a tinge of green, a delicate flash of pink.
“So it does,” Jusson said, his voice mild. “Very familiar.”
Hearing Jusson’s words, I set aside glowing red eyes and shades of ice. “It’s not me, Your Majesty,” I began.
Jusson’s voice remained mild. “I’m aware of that, cousin—” He broke off, leaning forward in his chair as Laurel Faena returned from tending to the injured. “How are they?”
“They are resting, honored king,” Laurel said, coming to where I sat. “Both should recover, though it’ll probably take a while with Lord Gerold. He started to bleed again, but we managed to stop it.” He sighed and ran a paw over his head, rattling his beads as he looked at me. “However, I suppose it could’ve been worse. Much worse.”
So it could’ve been. My hand crept to where the quarrel had struck me. As soon as we returned to the king’s residence, Laurel had me lift what remained of my tabard and hauberk to examine my side. But even with the light from a branch of candles, only a scratch could be seen where the quarrel tip had poked through the chainmail links. Certainly nothing to induce the screaming agony I’d felt.
Laurel dropped his paw and turned to Doyen Dyfrig, sitting silently on the other side of me, staring off into space. Dyfrig had refused to go to the promised bed, even though the tremors wracking his body had grown worse. The doyen’s knuckles were white as he gripped his Staff of Office, the bells trembling in a faint jangle while the air sphere hovered anxiously by his head. The Faena dug into his carrypouch and drew out leaves, and the scent of mint filled the air.
“These will ease your symptoms, honored elder.”
Having also missed several meals, Thadro had taken advantage of the king’s distraction by shoveling more mouthfuls in. However, he stopped midchew to stare at the leaves lying across the truth rune on Laurel’s middle pad. Recognition flashed across his face, and his eyes narrowed as he considered the doyen.
Dyfrig roused himself. “What are they?” he asked, his voice weak with pain and exhaustion.
“Mentha,” Laurel said.
“Mentha?” Chadde asked, frowning. “I remember hearing something about Lord Rabbit having to take that when he became a full mage.”
So I had.
“I heard the same,” Beollan said. “How Rabbit refused to take it and almost died.”
That was true too. Not knowing then of the king’s intention of welcoming me into the royal fold, I was terrified of being banished back to the Border and to my old master Kareste’s tender mercies by those intolerant of all things fae. I hid what I was, denying anything to do with my talent—including the mentha when my crisis was upon me. All I accomplished, though, was to make myself very sick.