Irons in the Fire (56 page)

She managed a dimpled smile and sipped her drink.

"We come and go where the work is." Nath shook his head ruefully.

"If that's what learning gets you, you can keep it," the innkeeper joked. "I'll take ignorance and being my own master. Well, enjoy your dinner."

As he walked away, Nath speared two slices of the succulent pork with his belt knife and transferred them to his plate. "We shouldn't have stopped here again. Pass the bread, please."

"We'll be leaving in the morning." As she handed the bread basket over, Failla felt the letter hidden in her bodice crackle. How could he not hear it?

Kerith dropped into the third wooden chair around their small table and helped himself to meat and vegetables. "Aremil tells me curious folk have been getting far too close to our friends travelling to the north." He looked covertly around the taproom.

Failla tore a piece of bread into fragments. "Who's curious?" she managed to ask.

"Those same folk from the south that we were warned about," Kerith said quietly. "Thankfully, there's no hint that anyone hereabouts suspects us."

Failla tried to look relieved.

Kerith hooked a slice of meat with the tip of his knife and dropped it onto her crumb-strewn plate. "You don't eat enough to keep a bird alive. Have some of this."

"Thank you." If she tried to eat it, she knew she would choke. Would these two men see that as a sign from Ostrin that she hid some guilty secret? Had that superstition travelled to Vanam and to Tormalin along with those who'd fled Lescar?

"If news does travel south, there's scant time left for those who might hear it to act." Nath looked to the scholar for reassurance.

Kerith shrugged as he chewed. "That depends who he tells. Rouse the boar or the stag even this late in the day and our friends could find their hunt cut short."

Why did Kerith insist on referring to Duke Garnot and Duke Moncan by the heraldic beasts on Carluse and Sharlac's blazons? There was no one close enough to hear them anyway.

Irritated, Failla pushed her chair back from the table. "I had better write a letter to warn my uncle." Courteous habit threatened to bring both men to their feet. "No, don't get up. People will look. Finish your meal. I have a headache. I'm going to bed. Don't wake me when you come up, I beg of you," she added hastily.

If they thought she was unwell, it was all too likely one of them would look in on her with inconvenient solicitude. As she pressed her hand to her breast, she felt the hateful pressure of the folded paper. Could she go up to her room and burn it? No. She was probably already late and the sooner she went, the sooner she'd be back. Hopefully before Nath or Kerith finished eating.

At least she didn't have far to go. Ignoring the stairs in the inn's rear hallway, she slipped out of the back door as if she sought the privies in the yard. She kept going, past the silent pigsties. The lingering scent of blood from an outhouse where the freshly killed meat hung curdled her empty stomach and she was glad she hadn't eaten.

Obedient to some long dead duke's command, the tavern claimed the largest of the plots marked out along this side of the high road while the others had been granted to craftsmen. At the front, their workshops opened to passers-by, their dwellings, vegetable gardens and chicken runs all tucked behind. A narrow alley ran between the stout stone walls marking their boundaries and the ramshackle fences defending humbler cottagers' patches from foraging animals or hungry vagabonds.

Failla hid in the shadow of a sprawling elder bush for a few moments to be certain she wasn't followed. Satisfied, she stepped over a foetid ditch and hurried into the darkness. At least the dusk quickly gave way to night's concealment now that the Autumn Equinox was so close at hand.

The alley took her to a wider road leading down from the highway to the heart of the little town. There were a few people here and there. Failla kept to the side of the marketplace rather than cutting more swiftly across. With luck anyone seeing her would think she was just slipping from one house to the next. She wasn't wearing a cloak, after all.

She wished she'd fetched a shawl from her room, though. The skies were clear and the night was growing cold. She looked up to see both moons at their waning quarter, the stars of Halcarion's Crown bright between them.

Inside a handful of days, both moons would be gone and the sun would set on the darkest night in this whole latter half of the year. No one had told her, but that must be when Captain-General Evord would lead his army down from the hills, taking advantage of the dim nights to follow. How else could they hope to reach Sharlac's borders undiscovered?

On the far side of the marketplace, the road led away beyond the houses towards a little bridge humped over the modest river. A fire-basket burned on the end of the stone balustrade to guide late travellers to the crossing. Failla couldn't see anyone tending it but someone must keep it fuelled.

Her steps slowed to a halt. Perhaps she should have left a note for Nath or Kerith. But how could she have warned them without betraying herself? If she was discovered, she would have to face the consequences. Regardless, she had better do what she must as quickly as possible.

She began walking. If she was caught, she could only hope Nath and Kerith had the sense to run as far and as fast they could. With luck they could lose themselves in the uproar once Evord's army overwhelmed Sharlac. Surely there was nothing Duke Garnot or Duke Moncan could do this late in the day? Not even if Duke Iruvain's intelligencer sent some courier bird winging back northwards once he got word from his spies.

As she passed the smouldering fire-basket and reached the crest of the bridge, she saw another brazier burning bright on the far side. The shrine to Trimon stood dark and silent beyond it. The door was on the far side, facing the open road. As she reached it, the shadows closed around her.

Between her breasts Failla felt the hilt of the dagger that she'd slid into the front of her stays in place of the wooden busk that normally stiffened the heavy cotton. Drawing it out, she hid the weapon amid the folds of her skirt as she pushed the shrine's door open. Whatever Duke Iruvain of Triolle learned of Evord's army, his intelligence master wouldn't be hearing from this spy again.

"Pelletria?"

The vile old woman liked to wait in the dark. Failla tensed, waiting for the rasp of flint and steel, narrowing her eyes against the expectation of a freshly lit candle.

Neither came. She took a step into the darkness. "Pelletria?"

She'd kill the old woman and drag her body into the woods. It would doubtless be found inside the next day or so but it would take a while longer for word to spread. Whatever letters Pelletria had written betraying Failla couldn't reach Triolle before a handful of days had passed.

Long enough for her to give Nath and Kerith the slip. Then she would ride to Lathi's farm and claim her daughter. As long as she could reach Uncle Ernout and secure her gold before the fighting reached Carluse, they could both be lost for good in the confusion of this new war.

But where was Pelletria?

She heard a footfall outside. Darting to the far side of the door, Failla pressed herself against the wooden wall. A shadow crossed the faint moonlight falling where the door stood open. She heard the chink of metal on metal. A lantern's glow slipping between the hinges drew a golden line down her gown. The old woman was late. Failla clutched her dagger, ready to strike.

Whoever was outside shoved the door hard, knocking her off her feet. She fell against the stone plinth in the centre of the dark shrine. Shocked into a cry of pain as the unyielding edge bruised her ribs, she lost hold of her dagger.

"Failla?" Nath stood in the doorway, lantern held high. "Are you alone?"

He walked quickly around the shrine, shedding light into every nook. The lantern struck a gleam from the glazed and painted pottery of the funeral urns. There was no one else there. The statue of the god stood alone on his plinth.

On the dusty floor at Trimon's feet, Failla drew up her knees and buried her face in her skirts.

"There's no sign of anyone else." Kerith appeared at the door.

"What are you doing here?" As Nath moved his light, the dagger blade glinted. "With a knife that you stole from me?" His voice rose angrily as he bent to retrieve it.

"I need to warn my uncle." Failla tried for a tremulous smile, thinking with desperate haste. "You know I send him letters through the shrines."

"You usually ask one of us to escort you." Kerith's face was rigid.

"Since when do you leave letters that could be the death of your uncle for anyone to find?" Tucking the naked dagger through his belt, Nath reached towards the statue.

Failla was horrified to see him pluck a folded sheet of paper from the carved wooden strings of Trimon's harp.

"What's that?"

Kerith was blocking the door. If she did get past him, where would she run?

The paper wasn't even sealed. Nath lifted his lantern to read the brief message aloud.

"
F, you've lied to me. I told you what would happen if you did. P.
"

"Who've you lied to, besides us?" Screwing the paper up, he threw it angrily at her.

Failla barely heard him, numb with horror. Pelletria knew she'd been lying. Duke Iruvain of Triolle would know about her daughter. How long before he told Duke Garnot? How long before Duke Garnot sent his mercenaries to ransack every house where she had kin, to beat answers out of anyone who might have helped conceal such a secret?

She scrambled blindly to her feet and tried to force a way past Kerith.

He pushed her back into the shrine, kicking the door shut behind him. "Who's that note from?"

"You don't understand." Frantic tears ran down her face.

"You can stop your weeping." Nath set his lantern down on Trimon's plinth. "It won't fool either of us."

"You don't--"

Failla gasped as Nath ran rough hands over her. He felt the hidden letter and pulled her bodice laces awry to get it.

"
Trimon's shrine by the bridge after dusk, P."
He shook her by the shoulder with unexpected violence. "In the same handwriting."

"I saw the maid give you that at the inn." Kerith leaned on the door, implacable as the carved statue.

The disillusion in their eyes made Failla feel sick. She shoved Nath's hand away and straightened her clothing, trembling. "We agreed I wasn't going to share my uncle's secrets with you."

"This has nothing to do with your uncle," Nath said with ominous conviction.

"This isn't the first time you've slipped away this past turn of the moons," Kerith added. "Don't think we haven't noticed."

"Tell us the truth!" Nath stepped closer, raising a hand.

"I've been beaten by better men than you," she spat with futile rage.

"Enough!" Kerith stepped forward.

Failla saw her chance and snatched the naked dagger from Nath's belt. She stepped back, holding it tight, the hilt against her breastbone. "I don't want to hurt either of you but you have to let me go."

"I don't think so," Kerith said quietly.

She gasped as searing pain shot through her head. The knife fell from her nerveless hands to clatter against the stone plinth.

"Catch her!"

She heard Kerith's alarm dimly through the dizziness overwhelming her.

"What have you done?"

Nath's voice was fainter still.

The last of the lantern light faded and she was floating away on a tide of anguish.

Kerith's voice was all around her in the darkness. "I'm sorry, Failla, but we have to know what you have been doing. If you don't resist, this will go more easily for you."

If you relax, it doesn't hurt as much.

Bemused recollection echoed down the years. That's what Lathi's sister had said, when she'd told Failla how she'd given up her virginity to the master of the house where she worked. For the sake of the new gown that the other girls had envied. Only the merchant's wife had found out and Anise had been dismissed. Gossip had blackened her character from one end of Carluse Town to the other.

"What are you doing?" Far away, Nath was shouting at Kerith.

Failla was still falling helplessly through a maelstrom of memory.

What was so shameful about Anise's choice? Any girl holding out for marriage was still trading her body for a man's money and protection. Exchanging vows before a priest didn't stop a man tiring of his bargain and taking to the high road, never to be seen again. Her father had abandoned her and her mother both. Only the generosity of relatives had saved them from destitution. That same charity alone kept her cousin Serafia from starving, her and her little boy Kip, after her beloved Elpin had been dragged off to fight for the duke and never came home.

Her mother always told her how grateful they must be. Failla hated the burden of such gratitude. She never wanted to know the grief that hollowed Serafia's heart. She'd been determined never to fall in love, never to make herself so vulnerable. Only later had she realised her mistake.

"Failla, what have you been doing this past season?" Kerith's stern voice cut through her swirling confusion.