Daughters Of The Storm (58 page)

Then the door to the bower swung open, and Ivy gasped. Where the outside had been dark and spotted with lichen, the inside was clean and lime-washed, with smooth wooden floorboards and a thick red rug. The walls were hung with gleaming objects: gold-hilted swords, golden trays and cups, everything bejewelled in garnet and amber, richly coloured tapestries and elaborate silverwork candlesticks and lanterns. A large, oak dresser was swamped under several bolts of cloth — blue and gold-shot, and deep red and amber.

‘These are for you,' Elgith said grudgingly. ‘I am a seamstress by trade, though now I am in Guthmer's service. This afternoon I will measure you and make you some new dresses. Guthmer says you like dresses.'

‘I do. And shoes.'

‘I can take you to the shoemaker tomorrow.'

Ivy had opened the door of the dresser, and found inside a box full of new things: a bone comb decorated with garnet, a bronze mirror, gold brooches joined with a long string of coloured glass beads, a necklace of jet and amber.

‘These things are all for you. A welcome present from Guthmer,' Elgith said, flatly.

Ivy was already unpinning her dress and repinning it with the new brooches. ‘They're beautiful.' Then she turned and saw the bed. Low and wide, covered with thick blankets and sheepskins.
Her heart fell. This was where she would be sleeping with Guthmer. Giving up her body to Guthmer. She tried not to shudder. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. She glanced back at the bolts of cloth.

‘Come,' Elgith said, ‘Guthmer is waiting for you.'

They left the bower behind and crossed the small distance to the hall. The sea breeze was gusting hard now, setting the flags on the gables fluttering madly. Then they were inside again, in the dim firelit hall. Three servants were setting up the tables under Guthmer's direction. When he heard the door close behind them, he looked up and smiled.

Ivy tried. She really tried not to see the age in his face. But even in the low light, she saw the grey hair, the deep lines, the jowls. As he reached his hand for hers, she almost recoiled at the knotty veins in his hands. She'd thought him younger than her father, but perhaps she was wrong. Ivy took a deep breath and forced her fingers into his. He pulled them to his lips and kissed them. She applied a smile.

‘Guthmer,' she said, with a short nod.

‘Ivy, I am so delighted to have you here. We are setting up a grand feast tonight, in honour of your arrival.'

A little warmth bloomed under her ribs. ‘A grand feast? In my honour?'

‘Yes. You will bring sunshine and beauty and youth to Sæcaster.' His eyes turned to Elgith, and something like regret clouded them. ‘You may go,' he said.

‘As you wish, my lord,' Elgith replied.

‘Yes, you may go,' Ivy said, and waited for a ‘my lady' from Elgith, but none was forthcoming. Instead, Elgith pulled away and let herself out of the hall.

Ivy turned to Guthmer with a raised eyebrow, expecting him to notice Elgith's slight. Echoes in the hall, wind battering the
shutters, salty air sliding in through the cracks ... but no response from Guthmer. He merely looked at her quizzically.

Finally, Ivy said, ‘She's been very rude to me. You ought to put her out of service.'

To her surprise, Guthmer waved away her comment. ‘You'll want her around. She's a fine seamstress and she will be a good friend to you.'

‘I hardly think —'

‘Ivy,' he said, in a voice more forceful than she had expected. ‘Elgith has been a faithful companion to me for many years. I am not putting her out of service.'

And Ivy knew that, of course, Elgith had been sharing his bed. No wonder she hated Ivy.

‘It matters little if Elgith didn't welcome you warmly enough,' he said, the tenderness returning to his voice. ‘Tonight the whole town will welcome you. May I hold you, my dear?'

She hesitated, not sure for a moment what he meant. Then she said, ‘Of course,' and opened her arms and closed her eyes. Best to get it over with.

He gathered her against him. He smelled of stale sweat and seaweed. His fingers stroked her hair gently, then fell to her back and moved slowly around to the sides of her breasts. She could feel the stiffening of his cock through his tunic and her body tensed.

‘Don't be afraid,' he murmured, ‘I know you are new to the world of love. I will be gentle with you.'

A sob rose in her throat. The cage snapped shut.

The four walls of the bedroom grew closer together every hour. Bluebell stood, paced, leaned, while Yldra sat very still, her hands flat on the blanket over Æthlric's chest, wordless. It was the third day. Æthlric lay as though dead, just as he had before Bluebell had left to find Yldra. Outside, the sun shone brightly. Bees and butterflies dazzled in the air. Inside the dim room, the air was humid and stale.

‘Can you tell me anything?' Bluebell asked.

Yldra smiled serenely. ‘You should get out. You aren't any use to me. In fact, your pacing is very distracting.'

Bluebell planted her feet firmly on the floor, arms folded. ‘I'm not going anywhere.'

‘That dog of yours will need exercising.'

‘I'll send Willow out with her.'

Yldra raised an eyebrow. ‘She's an odd one.'

‘Willow? She's just young.'

‘No, there's something closed off about her. Something cold and hard beneath the warm skin.'

Bluebell considered this description. It did seem to fit.

Yldra resumed her silent work and Bluebell watched her for a while. She had expected instant results, one way or another, from
Yldra. A declaration that Æthlric couldn't be cured, or an immediate improvement. Not this endless ... nothing. Bluebell didn't like the barb of doubt in her heart. Yldra had no love for Æthlric. What if she was making it worse? Leading them on? What if she had made the elf-shot in the first place?

So she stayed close when she could, and continued to live in doubt and fear. Only when Æthlric's eyes were open and seeing again would Bluebell release her breath.

‘You're pacing again,' Yldra said.

Bluebell realised she was right. She leaned against the windowsill. The shutter was open a few inches, letting in a warm beam of sunlight on Bluebell's back. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘I'll tell you something,' Yldra said. ‘This elf-shot was not administered by an undermagician.'

Bluebell stood straight, ready to pace again, then checked herself. ‘No? How can you tell?'

‘It's been rather poorly done. It's undermagic, yes, but bought undermagic. Probably from a traveller or a pedlar. I'm almost certain that the person who did this to your father didn't mean to.'

Bluebell's gut clenched. ‘What do you mean? This was an accident?' The idea that there would be nobody to eat steel over this caused her physical pain. She needed to spill enough blood to wash the nightmare of the past long weeks away.

‘No, not really an accident. But I don't think it was an actual assassination attempt. I think it was a little curse that has had unexpectedly large consequences.'

‘Who did it?'

‘I don't know yet. But I will soon. As the magic leaves him, I will know everything.'

‘So ... even if he dies ...'

‘You have revenge on your mind, I take it?'

‘Yes.'

Yldra said nothing.

‘You will tell me when you know?'

‘You are ruled by the Horse God. I expect I will tell you, and I expect we might both regret it. But you should consider your actions carefully.'

Bluebell shrugged. She'd had weeks to consider her actions. Her father was the king; somebody had tried to kill him. There was nothing else to be done but avenge him. Blood could only be paid in blood.

Yldra returned to her silent vigil. Bluebell turned to put her hands on the windowsill, leaning her head on the shutter. ‘Fuck,' she sighed, closing her eyes. A rustle in the gorse bush below the window made her eyes fly open. She pushed the shutter aside and peered out, only to see Willow disappearing hurriedly around the corner of the house.

‘Hey!' Bluebell called. When Willow didn't return, she strode out of the room and flung open the front door of the farmhouse. ‘Willow!' she called again, rounding the corner of the house and finding Willow sitting there, hands in her lap, her back against the wall of the house. Her lips were moving silently.

Bluebell approached, and Willow looked up defiantly. Dandelion seeds flew past on the wind, one of them tangling itself in Willow's hair.

‘What?' Willow said.

‘Were you hanging around the window of Father's bedroom?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘I want to know what's happening with him.'

‘You only have to ask. I keep nothing from anybody.'

‘I want to be near him while he's sick.'

‘You're welcome to come in while Yldra works.'

‘I don't like Yldra. She's ...'

‘She's your aunt. She's family.'

Willow nodded. Bluebell looked down and realised Willow was holding a silver triangle on a chain between her fingers. Rage boiled up inside her.

‘What's that?' she demanded.

Willow's fingers shook, even if her voice was bold. ‘You know what it is, and so you know what I am.'

‘For fuck's sake, Willow. You're the daughter of a heathen king. Maava's not going to want you in his flock.'

Willow's face grew red and she struggled for words. ‘Don't say that. Don't ever say that!'

‘So what were you doing? Praying for Father's soul?'

Willow clamped her mouth tightly and nodded.

‘Because he's sick, or because Yldra is an undermagician?'

‘Both.'

What on earth had Uncle Robert been doing with these two girls? Letting one of them chase men and the other chase Maava? When Æthlric was better, her first priority was to get them out of Fengyrd and back into service to their family.

‘You're young,' Bluebell said gruffly. ‘You'll grow out of this nonsense.'

‘I won't. My soul belongs to Maava.'

‘I thought you might have the strength for arms, but I see I'll have to marry you off, too. A heathen husband might put you straight.'

Willow's eyes flashed steely silver, and Bluebell wondered if she had gone too far, and if she had taken too much pleasure in the threat.

‘Go on, get out of my sight for a while. I can't deal with this now,' she said, kicking the wall. She leaned over and snatched the chain from her sister's fingers. ‘And give me that. We'll talk about this when Father is recovered.'

Willow clambered to her feet. ‘Give it back.'

‘No.' Bluebell held the chain above her head, out of Willow's reach. ‘Go on. Take Thrymm for a run. Don't come back until supper time. I don't want to look at you for a while.'

Willow met her eyes angrily and Bluebell was put in mind of Yldra's description of her. Something cold and hard beneath the skin. They stood like that a moment, cold towards each other in the spring sunshine. But then Willow dropped her head and slinked off towards the house. ‘Come, girl,' she said to Thrymm, who was scratching flea bites in the dust by the door.

Bluebell watched as Willow disappeared out the front gate, and she remembered the warning she'd received from the Horse God.
Beware your sister.
Her gut stirred with bad feelings. She never thought she'd find herself feeling so much doubt about her own family.

When the sun set behind grey clouds and the first showers of rain came down, Rose began to pace. Heath had been gone when she woke, and Willow had told her that Bluebell claimed he'd gone to Stonemantel for the day. If that was so, then he should have been back hours ago. Heath was her only comfort in a cold world and she relied upon him heavily, even if it was only to see him and not touch him. She had already made enough excuses to go out the front door and search the gate and the road beyond for signs of him. Now, she dropped excuse-making and stood with her shoulder in the threshold, gazing openly outside.

‘It grows cold, sister, close the door,' grumbled Bluebell. She sat by the fireplace, eating deer stew, her long legs stretched out in front of her.

‘Does it not trouble you that Heath isn't back yet?'

Bluebell kept eating, wordlessly.

‘If it was one of us, you'd be worried.'

‘Heath can look after himself.'

‘But what if he's been attacked by raiders? Or thieves? If he was on his way to town, then he would have had coin to steal.'

‘What makes you think he's gone to town?' Bluebell still hadn't looked up. Willow, who sat across from her, pretended not to notice their conversation. She concentrated very hard on mending the rip in her skirt. Rose prickled with suspicion.

‘Where else would he have gone?'

Bluebell silently finished her meal and took the bowl to the kitchen bench. Rose watched her back, trembling.