Donnel's Promise Read online

One or two sets of eyes dropped hastily to the table.

  ‘You will discover that I am not.’ She glanced at Feron. He gave a barely perceptible nod. ‘I do not intend to interfere, gentlemen, but I do intend to learn. Please proceed.’

  With a good deal of awkwardness, Athan continued the meeting. Risha listened intently as harbour management, river trade, infrastructure in the northwest of the duchy and a proposed system of stormwater drains for the castle were debated. If the topics discussed had been hastily edited, she had no way of knowing. As it was, there was no reason why Athan should not have wanted her present. If, indeed, it had been Athan’s suggestion.

  Her eyes shifted to Vormer. His face had a faintly reptilian cast, the lazy eyelids, the thin-lipped mouth. As if he felt her gaze, he swung his head to look at her. Recalling her vision of his hands gloved in blood, she looked away.

  ‘Convenor, might I have a word?’ They had arisen to depart, the meeting officially at an end.

  Athan’s lips tightened. ‘Of course.’

  She could feel the eyes that followed them as he led her to his study.

  ‘My apologies if I caused you embarrassment, Convenor; it was not my intention. But I am afraid I fail to understand why you would have chosen to exclude me.’

  He spread his hands. ‘It simply did not occur to me that such discussions would interest you, my lady. In future I shall inform you, of course, but—’

  ‘Thank you, Convenor Athan. That will allow me to decide for myself whether I need attend all such meetings. For the moment, learning as much as possible about the governance of Havre appears a sensible course.’

  She could see him battling his annoyance.

  ‘I do not intend interfering for the sake of it, Convenor,’ she said more gently. ‘But perhaps you might do me the courtesy of supposing that any contributions I do make might be worthy of a hearing.’

  He said nothing, but bowed his head stiffly.

  ‘Then that is settled.’ She smiled. ‘And I do find myself with a small favour to ask.’

  His reaction was wary. ‘Of course, Lady Arishara.’

  ‘While I appreciate the effort you’ve put into making me welcome, I’m afraid that parlour games have never been my strong suit. Do you think I will cause offence if I do not attend all the events Verony has scheduled?’

  ‘I … will speak with her.’

  She didn’t blame him his hesitance. With a bright smile she made to leave, but turned at the door. ‘One more thing.’

  He looked pained.

  ‘My father, Lord Donnel, spoke of a woman who was much loved by my mother. I had hoped I might speak with her.’

  ‘Your mother had many friends.’

  ‘The one he mentioned was her nurse, Nannet. I believe my mother called her Nonno.’ Athan’s face shifted a fraction. ‘Is she still alive, do you know?’

  ‘Alive, yes, but … her mind is unsound. Talking would only distress you both.’

  ‘In what way unsound? Do you mean forgetful with old age?’

  ‘Fanciful rather than forgetful. Her reality is not quite as ours, Lady Arishara.’

  Risha had seen it happen. In Torfell there had been an old man who had ended his days babbling nonsense. But Nonno? From Risha’s earliest memories, Nonno had been a presence in her mind. It had been she who, after Pelon’s death, had set the idea of travelling south in Risha’s head, or so it had seemed. But there had been no messages from Nonno since Westlaw’s siege, two years ago this autumn. ‘I have seen how such fancies can affect older people,’ she said slowly, ‘but there are sometimes lucid periods.’

  ‘At first, perhaps, but …’ Athan shrugged. ‘Nannet always insisted you were alive, which has happily proved not to be the fancy most assumed.’ His smile was tight. ‘But some years ago her imaginings became quite wild: she would have had us believe that you were being murdered by brigands one day and drowned the next; she proclaimed you imprisoned, then hunted, then lost in the marsh. She would disrupt Council meetings — it was too much. We had her put away.’

  Guilt swelled in Risha’s chest: easy to identify her turbulent journey from Torfell to LeMarc in that summary. Nonno had told them the truth and they had responded by locking her up.

  ‘Please, do not misunderstand me,’ Athan added. ‘The Council honours the woman’s role as your mother’s nurse and she is well cared for, I assure you. You need not concern yourself further.’

  He was not going to tell her. And she would not give the Council reason to trouble Nonno again. She forced a smile. ‘It matters not. There are surely others who knew my mother well. Your wife among them, I believe?’

  ‘She would be most happy to speak with you on the subject. I will remind her.’

  Timon was waiting in her small parlour, elegantly sprawled in one of the plumply upholstered chairs.

  ‘That was a farce.’ She flopped opposite him. ‘I now have more information about the castle’s system of drainage than I hope ever to require. However, I think we may assume I’ll be invited to future meetings — official ones at least. I’m not yet sure that I shan’t regret it. I assume you sent the message?’

  His lip twitched. ‘How did Vormer react?’

  ‘He said very little. They appear competent as a body, though not all contribute equally.’

  ‘It’s not an unworkable system,’ he agreed, ‘depending on new appointments.’

  ‘Which are made how?’

  ‘At Athan’s and Vormer’s discretion.’

  She frowned. ‘And now, I think, at mine. How would you like to be a councillor, Timon?’

  He jerked. ‘No! I … it’s not feasible.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shook his head.

  Risha studied him for a moment, then let her eyes wander around the small receiving room that adjoined her sleeping chamber. Lyse sat just beyond the doorway — observing proprieties, she had said, as if Risha and Timon were strangers rather than friends well accustomed to one another’s company. She felt a pang of longing for LeMarc’s informality.

  Muted light seeped through the long window and brought out the grain in the wood of the writing table and the bright, startling blue of Timon’s eyes. ‘Timon, how exactly are we related?’

  He blinked.

  ‘When we met in LeMarc you called yourself my kinsman. No one has ever said exactly how it’s so.’

  He looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s a distant relationship. I used the term loosely.’

  ‘And advised me against using it here, I recall. But—’

  ‘Your great-grandmother was my grandmother’s aunt. Apparently.’

  ‘Then our grandparents were cousins. Which means we—’

  ‘There is something of a tradition of illegitimacy on my side of the family. It taints perceptions a little.’

  Risha waved this away. ‘It hardly signifies.’

  ‘I can assure you, it does. And did.’ The raw bitterness in his voice made her pause.

  ‘Timon—’

  ‘Don’t.’ He held up a hand, then dropped it with a slight shrug of apology. ‘My mother’s volubility regarding her claimed connections didn’t serve to increase my popularity with my peers.’

  Risha thought back to her own lonely childhood, and to the cruelty of children towards outsiders. She made a sympathetic sound in her throat. ‘You had your mother at least.’

  ‘My mother.’ He ran a thumb down the arm of the chair as if the pattern of the fabric intrigued him. ‘My mother rather held it against me that I had the temerity to be born male. A girl of the royal line might at least have been pushed forward, given your notable absence, whereas a boy — especially a good-for-nothing, ungrateful, bone-idle, bone-headed scullion — could not. It didn’t stop her boasting,’ he added bleakly.

  She stared at him. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He shook his head. ‘As soon as I was old enough I sought refuge elsewhere.’

  ‘With Donnel?’

  ‘She once claimed that my father was one of h
is guardsmen. She probably made that up, too.’ He shrugged. ‘I had nowhere else to go.’

  ‘But my father took you in?’

  ‘I earned my place.’ He smiled belatedly, as if to take the sting from his tone.

  ‘Whoever your father was, your mother must be of the royal line, else why would your eyes be identical to those of my grandmother?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Which might also explain how it was that you heard me when I called for help across an ocean.’ The mental link had been tenuous, and had left her with a skull-splitting ache in her head, but it had saved them, ultimately, from being overrun by Westlaw’s army.

  He looked down, his hands tensing in his lap. ‘That might be believable if we could repeat it.’

  Risha sat back. She had no energy to continue those experiments. But there had been three minds in the mental bridge that had carried her plea for help. She pictured the look on Athan’s face when she’d mentioned Nannet. ‘Timon, who would you say I can best trust among the councillors?’

  ‘Feron, but only because you charmed him that winter after the siege.’

  She nodded. She’d known Feron would prove an ally in the thicket of councillors, and knew as well that he couldn’t help her with this. ‘Who else?’

  ‘Not Vormer.’

  She shuddered agreement.

  ‘Willart, possibly. Thatton, definitely not. Ortun — too early to say. Morrel …’ Timon listed the councillors on his fingers until he finally ran to a stop.

  ‘What about outside the Council? Talben?’

  ‘Possibly. You and he share a great-grandmother — legitimately.’ His smile was sharp-edged. ‘His is one of the few families of royal blood to survive Goltoy’s massacre.’

  She sat forward. ‘Then … Ciaran has a claim to the throne?’

  ‘Not down the direct line, but I have wondered whether that’s why Athan married her. The connection legitimises his rule.’

  ‘But for me.’

  He regarded her steadily. ‘But for you,’ he agreed.

  Tangled minds

  Nolan trotted amenably by Risha’s side. It was the first time they’d ridden more than an hour or two beyond the castle, and Risha felt the freedom of it in the easy swing of her shoulders.

  Discovering the location of Cattra’s nurse had proven simple for Lyse. Among the castle staff there were still many who harboured resentment over the Council’s peremptory action of putting the old woman away.

  The low hills to either side of the road undulated gently, emerald bright with their eager spears of wheat and corn. ‘Where would this road lead if we continued to follow it?’ Risha asked.

  ‘Elion. It crosses the El at Whitelaw. The road and river comprise one of the main trade routes in Havre.’

  Fenn, the riverwoman who had aided her journey south three summers ago, had planned to take her as far as Whitelaw. They’d never reached it. Risha blinked as a memory of her first meeting with Muir drifted up in her mind.

  She twisted in her saddle to look behind, and pulled up abruptly.

  ‘My lady?’

  Risha’s eyes were wide. The road behind ran straight as an arrow, the castle towers rising proudly above, their orange-tiled roofs catching the sun. It was the view of the city she’d seen in her mind, that Nonno had shown her; the city she’d set out to find when she’d left the tiny mountain village of her childhood.

  ‘Lady?’

  Risha shook her head to clear it, her throat tight with emotion. ‘I’m sorry. I was remembering something.’ She was suddenly conscious of the guardsmen drawn up behind them. Mica sidled beneath her and she leant to pat his neck. She could feel Nolan watching her. ‘Are we far from our turning, Captain?’

  His horse sidestepped and he pulled it up, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Is something troubling you, my lady?’

  ‘Not at all.’ She stared at the road ahead. ‘I … might we stretch ourselves a little? To that rise, perhaps.’

  Without further warning she kicked Mica to a gallop. As if he had caught her restless tension the horse responded with a burst of power. Risha leant low along his neck, narrowing her eyes against the wind, the paved road flashing past beneath the gelding’s pounding hooves. She was halfway to the rise before Nolan caught her. She flicked a glance sideways and urged Mica on. The gelding surged ahead, legs and neck stretching out, breath sounding in measured drafts as they pulled into the lead. Glancing back she saw the guardsmen strung out behind them.

  At the rise she eased back to a high-stepping trot, shaking her head at Nolan’s stubborn frown.

  ‘That feels better.’ She pushed hair from her face. ‘I owe you thanks, Captain, for lending me this horse. He’s a fine beast.’

  A grudging smile tugged at his mouth. ‘You ride quite a race, my lady. Even if you do cheat.’

  She gazed at him, all innocence. ‘You’re surely not a sore loser, Captain Nolan? I gave you fair warning.’

  He shook his head, saying nothing. Ahead, a town came into view, the dwellings dwarfed by grain silos. At a crossroads on the outskirts Nolan steered the troop west. ‘Contlaw,’ Nolan said, tilting his head. ‘My mother grew up in a place just like it. Her father was a grain merchant.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘Captain in the city guards. My grandparents didn’t approve.’ He smiled, reminding Risha of Lyse’s long-ago assertion regarding his looks.

  The countryside became more rugged after they turned west, the road twisting through hills that bore fat sheep rather than crops. Small, whippy trees grew by the roadside but the higher slopes were bare, the sun’s heat falling sharp across their exposed flanks.

  Late in the morning they crossed into a valley boasting a stand of tall, stately trees, their shade a welcome relief.

  ‘There’s a campsite off the road where we can rest the horses and light a fire if you’d care for some refreshment, my lady.’

  ‘Have we far to travel?’ After the open hillside the light was muted, the smell of the woods rich and dark.

  ‘A few hours, perhaps less.’

  Nolan led them to a rough clearing containing a central charred ring of stones. The lunch the kitchens had supplied was a feast compared to the travel rations Risha was used to. As she ate she studied the trees. Their bark was a reddish brown, thick and deeply scored. Some of the trunks were so large it would take three men to encircle their solid girths. Between them fallen needles lay in a carpet decades deep.

  Risha rested her palm against one of the towering trunks. The bark was surprisingly giving beneath her hand. ‘I’ve never seen such trees.’

  ‘These are saplings,’ Nolan said. ‘The real giants lie further north along the coast.’

  ‘Really?’

  As she turned he lunged forward, his shoulder driving into her chest, the air crushed from her lungs as they thumped to the forest floor. Someone shouted so close she couldn’t make sense of the sound. Something heavy crashed through the trees. Risha’s mouth opened in soundless alarm as a horse flew above her.

  Nolan’s weight was suddenly gone and she lay stranded, her shocked lungs struggling to pull air back into her body. Her eyes latched onto the tree immediately above. Its dark bark was scored with a ragged groove. She twisted her head to look behind, but there was only the empty parade of trunks.

  Risha began to push herself up and someone hissed from her right. She turned her head. A guardsman — she couldn’t think of his name; she could barely think at all — motioned with spread palm for her to stay down. As she opened her mouth he shook his head. Risha rolled onto her belly. Her mind sorted through the jumble of images, belatedly concluding they’d been attacked.

  The quiet was uncanny. She scanned the trees: there was no sign of life. Where was Nolan?

  With a cautious glance at the guardsman she wriggled around until she could see the horses. They were stamping and uneasy. Mica’s head was raised as he snuffed the air.

  The man’s name returned to her. ‘K
ahlen?’

  The guardsman turned his head to show he’d heard though his eyes didn’t leave the trees. Her heart was skipping erratically. She stared around the clearing. Three more guardsmen were poised, arrows notched, within the circle of trees. Another lay on the ground near the hearth. Risha crawled to his side, anxiously scanning his face. There was no visible wound. He might have been asleep or — she laid her hand against his neck. His pulse beat a steady rhythm beneath her fingertips.

  Where were the others? She began to wonder whether she’d lost consciousness; the images that jumped about in her brain seemed disjointed.

  Kahlen had shuffled back towards her. ‘What’s happening?’ Risha hissed.

  ‘Not sure. There were at least two. Captain’s gone after them.’ He glanced towards the injured man. ‘How’s Croft?’

  ‘Unconscious. I can’t see anything wrong.’

  ‘Horse hit him.’ The guardsman sounded almost apologetic. ‘One of them charged straight through the camp. Might have been an accident — bolting horse.’

  Kahlen’s reply was sceptical. ‘Aye, and he just happened to be holding a notched arrow at the time.’ He jerked his chin towards the fresh-grooved trunk.

  ‘How’s he doing?’ the guardsman asked.

  Risha turned back to the injured man. It was possible he had internal injuries, or that he’d hit his head when he was knocked down. She felt his skull gently, searching for swellings or blood. ‘I can’t find anything wrong.’

  ‘He was trying to pull the rider down. Damn fool.’

  Something cracked in the trees and the men’s attention turned abruptly to the dark trunks that surrounded them. ‘Cap?’ Kahlen’s voice was low.

  No answer. Risha rested a palm on the injured man’s chest, feeling the lift and fall of his breath. He made a sudden gurgling sound, one arm flying out, and she jumped. ‘Croft?’

  He subsided into stillness. She shook his shoulder lightly. ‘Croft.’

  A whistle came from the trees. Kahlen answered it. There was a noticeable easing of tension as two guardsmen appeared.

  Croft mumbled, his arm twitching again. Risha pushed aside the hair that had fallen across his face. His eyelids fluttered.