A Turn of Light (23 page)

Marrowdell was both.

The sun burnished the dirt to red gold, framed by towering trees that should have been maple or oak, but somehow weren’t. Jenn stood with her hand on the gatepost, staring down the road. The nearest trees tilted their tops the same direction. Leaves shuddered loose but didn’t reach the ground. They hung in the air, as if surprised by the wrong season, then drifted back to their branches.

A nut fell to the road and bounced. A squirrel chattered in triumph.

“We don’t cut the old trees,” Kydd informed him quietly.

Bannan nodded in mute appreciation.

Not finding what she sought, Jenn sighed and glanced back at them. The trees stood straight again, simply trees. “We’re too late,” she said. “They could be anywhere.” She gestured at the ragged wall to the side of the road. The slashes Bannan had noted met the ground as narrow ravines. He could see up the nearest. It was floored with rubble, choked by thick dark vegetation, and rose at an angle that would vex a goat.

Scourge would love it. Especially if there were rabbits.

“Jenn.” Kydd laid a tender hand on her arm. “Please. Tell us what’s going on.”

“Horst’s gone after Roche,” she said miserably. “With his—with his bow.”

The same hand gripped tight and pulled her to face him, not gently. Bannan took an involuntary step, then stopped. He didn’t know enough to interfere.

“What did Roche do?”

Had he not heard such terrible surmise in a voice before, too many times? There were few innocents left in the border marches; those on both sides had been guilty of slaking more than bloodlust. Feeling sick, he looked closely at Jenn.

“What did he do?!” Kydd roared.

“Not what you fear,” he interjected, relieved. It was there, the truth, written in her face. Misery and worry, yes. Nothing worse. Nothing . . . shattered. The other man’s eyes shot to his and he replied, “I’m sure,” to their unspoken demand.

Misery, worry, and now indignation. Jenn tugged free. “If you’d let me speak,” she protested, “I’d tell you.”

“Please,” Kydd said tightly.

“Roche wanted to take me from Marrowdell.” She glanced at Bannan. “On your horse.”

Which Scourge would love more than rabbits. He grinned, remembering the many harmless stable hands the four-footed menace had laid flat. A would-be horse thief? “I hope your friend bounces,” he said without sympathy.

The beekeeper remained tense. “When you left me, Roche followed you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. He found me in the mill. Accused me of—” her cheeks flamed. “He made me angry, so I said I’d leave Marrowdell with him. To get rid of him, not because I ever would!” She waited for Kydd to nod. “Roche went to get the horse and I came home. He can’t catch Scourge. I thought,” this with some asperity, “he’d spend the rest of the day tromping through the brush.”

She trusted Scourge to ignore a harmless fool. She might be right at that, Bannan decided cheerfully. Though he’d lead the fool on a chase he’d never forget.

“But Horst found out.” Kydd stared over Jenn’s head at the empty road. “He’s gone after him.”

“The man’s grim,” Bannan observed, still amused. “He’s hardly going to kill the lad for being smitten.” His smile faded at the dread on Jenn’s face. It was real.

Kydd looked equally shaken. “We’d better find him first.”

Jenn wasn’t sure which was worse, the way Kydd covertly studied her as they walked, as if Roche’s botched kiss had left drool on her face, or how, unlike Bannan, he’d immediately believed Horst capable of murder.

No, she was sure.

Kydd knew what Horst was. He knew about Melusine and Horst’s promise. Of course he did. He’d been there. Wainn and Devins, Peggs and Hettie, the twins—all had been children, Roche barely more. But Kydd? At sixteen, he’d have been included in the hunt for her missing mother, been told the truth, been part of the secret. How could she have thought otherwise?

Because, Jenn told herself, everyone had lied to her. Not in words, but their lack.

All at once, it didn’t feel like summer anymore. The road was cold underfoot. Long, thin shadows pinned the old trees to the dirt. She’d always looked forward to fall, with its blaze of colors, and loved its nippy air. She’d watch for the tinkers’ wagons from the oak’s branch, shout when she saw them coming. The hum and clatter of the millwheel would be music on nights aglitter with frost and stars.

This wasn’t the same. This change was small and mean and troublesome, like the first deluge of spring, when larders were almost empty and even Davi’s draft horses mired in the half-frozen mud.

Bannan whistled between his teeth, short and soft. “For Scourge,” he explained. “Better safe than not.”

“Horst would never loose an arrow unless sure,” Kydd said.

“They’ve history.” Bannan didn’t elaborate.

Another worry, then. When he was sure, Horst never missed. Jenn walked faster.

Horst and one other. Of those who’d gone to him to learn the bow, Roche had taken it most to heart. The “
whisss
-thunk” of arrow tip into wood had gone on for years, leaving scars on the windowless side of the Morrill home. He no longer missed the straw targets; this winter, he was to join Horst in his hunt.

She was still angry at Roche. She’d love to push him in the commons pond with Satin and Filigree and Himself—after hugging him with relief. Which might confuse him.

No hug.

As for Horst . . . Roche was the closest thing to a son he had. How could he turn on him like this? Why?

They reached the path to the trout pool with no sign of horse or men. Bannan whistled again, this time with a small frown.

They’d be missed shortly, if not already. Just as well Kydd had come along. She cringed to think anyone else might believe the same as Roche, that she’d—that she’d try to convince Bannan to take her with him.

Though he wasn’t leaving, according to Wainn. Bannan claimed to be a settler. Be that as it may, she thought. Surely there were better choices than here.

“You must be sorry you took our road,” Jenn said abruptly.

Bannan had been focused on the brush to either side. He blinked at her, then gave a slow smile. “It’s been interesting. And not your fault,” this with emphasis. “I blame Scourge.”

He’d said that before, at the mill. She’d taken it as a joke, the way the others had. Maybe it wasn’t. She’d heard Scourge speak.

Did Bannan?

“Why would he want to come this way?”

“I don’t know.” The warm amber deep in his eyes intensified as he remembered. A pause and shrug. “There’s no accounting for the creature. First he dumps me on the road, completely uncalled for, and runs off. Then he comes prancing to my aid as if he’d never left. I suppose I’ll forgive him. After all,” his smile widened, “he heard your call for help.”

Had he not . . . “I owe him apples,” she said lightly. “A great many apples.”

“Please save them for your sister’s pies. Having been a hero, he’ll be insufferable for days as it is. What is it?”

Kydd had stopped. “I fear we’ve passed them.” He shaded his eyes to frown at the forest.

Bannan knelt, one finger tracing something in the dirt, his eyes flicking here and there. “We’d need Tir to read this.” He rose, dusting his hand on a pant leg. “Luckily, Scourge is nosy, especially about trouble. If he’s not here, they aren’t. They must be ahead.”

Ahead was where the crags closed in and folded the road between them. Jenn could see where the road bent to hide itself within smaller twisted trees. The river, to their right, had already plunged deep into its gorge.

Ahead was where both road and river left Marrowdell.

It didn’t matter if the road past the bend was the same; it didn’t matter that she hadn’t actually promised her father or Wyll not to leave. If she went that far, she’d have left Marrowdell too.

Jenn gave herself a mental shake. A few steps along a road. She wasn’t leaving. Well, she would, and soon, but this wasn’t when.

“Let’s go as far as the Northward Road,” Kydd proposed. “If we don’t find them by then, we’ll head back for horses.”

The junction wasn’t far, Jenn told herself. Everyone said the Northward Road was closer to the village than Night’s Edge and she could walk to her meadow from home faster than Peggs could boil potatoes.

It wasn’t far.

But her heart thudded in her chest.

For the first time since leaving Vorkoun and the guard, Bannan found himself retracing his steps. In his defense, they were Scourge’s steps and he was doing it for good reason. For a reason anyway.

For a woman.

A remarkable woman. Which was a good reason, he argued, wishing he couldn’t so easily picture Tir’s reaction. Instead, he kept his eye on their surroundings. The woman in question walked beside him in tense silence, no doubt worried about what might be ahead.

Besotted idiots ruled by their pants or mothers, his sister had called the eager young men who’d flocked around when she was presented at Vorkoun’s court. Several to their faces. Lila had a low opinion of them—and of him too, when the occasion called for it—but would never suggest they be dealt violence for their misplaced ardor. A dunk in a cold fountain, yes.

He didn’t know the people or the place, Bannan reminded himself. From what he’d seen of Marrowdell, eligible maids could be in short supply.

There couldn’t be another with Jenn Nalynn’s radiant smile, anywhere.

Not something he should think. Not while they were trying to save the current besotted idiot. Maybe not ever.

What he should think about was risk. Nothing to be done about Horst except hope he was sane and wouldn’t shoot at them. Kydd and Jenn seemed to feel safe; somehow Bannan didn’t find that reassuring. He caught up to Kydd. “I don’t suppose you brought more than a dull dinner knife.”

“I’ve this.” Kydd deftly freed a paintbrush from his shirt.

Had that been a sliver of brown hide between the trees to his left? Bannan relaxed. “With such deadly blades at hand,” he suggested, “no wonder everyone took Tir’s entrance so calmly.”

Kydd tucked away his brush. “Laugh if you like, Bannan. We’ve no need to arm ourselves. You’ll see. Horst patrols because that’s his nature, not because it’s needful. I suspect if any bandits arrived in Marrowdell, we’d feed them supper. The valley’s a safe haven.”

Definitely brown hide. Scourge. Having shown himself to Bannan, the horse faded into shadow again.

“No place is safe.” Distracted, Bannan spoke more harshly than he intended.

Jenn glanced his way. “Why do you say that?”

“Our friend was a soldier,” the beekeeper told her. He gave Bannan a measuring look. “Easterner, by your accent. Mellynne heritage by the first name, Lower Rhoth by the last. You came from the marches.” A conclusion, not a guess. “You’re a border guard. You and your companion.”

“Were,” Bannan corrected. “We’re at peace now. Have you heard?”

“News does find us.” A faint smile. “Dusty and worn by the time it does, mind you, but sufficient. The world doesn’t care about Marrowdell; we happily return the favor. News like that, though, has wings. When Anten was in Endshere, it was all the talk at the inn. The price of the prince’s new train.”

“Vorkoun.” Bannan couldn’t keep the anger from the word. He didn’t try. “I hope it was worth it.”

“As do we,” with unexpected grimness. “I do not diminish your loss or theirs,” Kydd continued before the truthseer could take offense, “but Vorkoun—in plain speaking, Eldad and Rhoth’s long-sought access to Ansnor’s mines—was far from the first coin spent.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come, truthseer. Surely even in Vorkoun you’d have heard the names.” Something flickered in the beekeeper’s eyes. “They’re familiar to us. Or did you think it coincidence those most in favor of Ordo’s truce, from either house, own what we once had?”

“The Fair Lease?” Bannan’s eyebrows rose. “You’re telling me the prince planned this from the moment he assumed the throne?”

“Or before. He plays the fool, our prince, but behind it all has moved pieces across the board like a master. The irony?” Almost lightly. “Ordo tossed us from Avyo and indebted himself to his chosen barons for nothing. He’d feared our influence. That we’d side with Mellynne and oppose closer relations with Eldad, but—” a shrug, “—we’re Rhothan. Most, I’m sure, would have taken his side.”