Donnel's Promise Read online

  ‘Sergeant Kahlen? I think he’s coming round.’

  Two strides brought him to her side. He dropped to one knee. ‘Webb, toss me a flask.’

  Without ceremony he upended it above the downed guardsman’s face. Croft’s eyes opened wide, the pupils large and staring, and he let out a low, strangled groan.

  ‘You all right, Croft?’ Kahlen asked. The man turned his head slowly, eyes unfocused. ‘Pull it together, man.’

  He tried to lift an arm but seemed to forget the action before it was completed. Risha wiped his face dry with the cuff of her jacket. ‘Croft?’

  His eyes latched onto hers and he blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his vision.

  ‘Ma?’

  There was a snort of laughter from one of the guardsmen. ‘His ma’s the size of a cow’s rear end, and almost as pretty. Take no heed of him, my lady, his wits are addled.’

  Risha nodded. There were six of them now, plus Croft. Nolan and another guardsman were still missing. She counted the horses. ‘Captain Nolan gave chase on horseback.’ It wasn’t quite a question, though as a statement it sounded more than a little uncertain.

  ‘Him and Lark,’ Kahlen agreed. ‘Webb, see if you can get Croft upright. We won’t want to be hanging about here.’ He looked at Risha. ‘You might want to give him some space. Knock on the head can make your guts a bit unsteady.’

  Abruptly Risha recalled a cobbled square in Caledon, blood and bile splashing the stones around her knees. Webb hefted Croft’s shoulders up and propped him, incoherently protesting, against a tree. His eyeballs rolled in a flash of white as his head tilted against the trunk.

  ‘Give him a drink,’ Kahlen advised.

  Croft swallowed, coughed, and leant forward, one hand clutching his torso, an imaginatively detailed curse spilling from his lips.

  ‘Watch your mouth,’ Kahlen barked. ‘Your pardon, my lady. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.’

  ‘That’s one of the more specific curses I’ve yet heard,’ she said wryly. Kahlen looked almost shocked. ‘Do you think you should send someone after Captain Nolan, Sergeant?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet. He’ll be back. And Croft’s not going anywhere for a while by the look of things.’

  Risha stood up. Kahlen shadowed her to Mica’s side, his eyes roving the trees. ‘I don’t know how they managed to take us unaware. That horse came out of nowhere.’

  She ran a soothing hand down Mica’s neck and he dropped his nose to lip her shoulder. She scratched behind his ears. Suddenly he tossed his head, ears pricked, the other horses on the picket doing the same. Kahlen murmured a low command and two guardsmen melted into the forest, the others notching arrows. Hooves beat a muffled rhythm as riders approached through the trees.

  When Nolan’s big bay gelding appeared Risha expelled her breath in a rush of relief. Kahlen strode forward as his captain swung from his horse, eyes scouring the clearing before settling on Risha.

  ‘Any luck?’ Kahlen asked.

  ‘We lost them in a ravine across the ridge.’ He knelt before the still groggy guardsman. ‘Are you up to riding, Croft?’

  Despite the man’s determined nod it was quickly clear, when Webb hoisted him to his feet, that he couldn’t stand unsupported. Nolan hissed air between teeth and tongue.

  ‘We could maybe double him as far as the nearest farmstead, then one of us stay with him while the rest escort Lady Arishara back to Havre,’ Kahlen suggested.

  ‘No.’

  At her interjection, both men turned.

  ‘We’re closer to Crenton than Havre. Croft will be helped sooner if we go on.’

  ‘Lady, it can hardly have escaped your notice that we were just attacked—’

  ‘If it was an attack, it was a poor one. More likely they planned to divert rather than harm us. Why else would they charge through the camp?’

  Nolan pointedly studied the gash scored into the trunk where she’d stood.

  ‘Several feet too high. Captain Nolan, our only chance of finding out why someone wanted to stop us lies in going on.’

  ‘Why would anyone object to you visiting a hospice?’

  ‘Why indeed? One would think there was something to hide.’

  ‘My lady.’ He hesitated. ‘You do know that Crenton is a hospice for, well, for those who have lost their wits?’

  She met his gaze levelly. ‘So I’ve been told.’

  ‘Better we return to Havreport. Perhaps on another occasion—’

  ‘If there is nothing to be learned at Crenton, why would someone try to deter us?’

  He snorted. ‘No wonder Athan finds you infuriating. My lady, it’s possible you’re expecting too much. I’d heard that your mother’s nurse was far gone before they sent her away.’

  ‘Yes. She quite disrupted their meetings, telling them all manner of things: that I was near murdered, then hunted, then lost in Lacstone Marsh.’ She watched him steadily, willing him to understand. ‘Doubtless she tried to tell them, as well, that LeMarc was under siege, but by then they’d locked her away.’

  ‘But surely you—’ His face shifted as he processed the information. ‘I don’t quite …’

  ‘Nor do I, Captain, but I should like to. Very much. And to that end perhaps we should keep this incident to ourselves.’

  With a sigh he turned to survey his men. ‘Webb, wait with Croft. Lark, ride to the nearest farm for a wagon then get Croft back to Contlaw and wait for us there.’ He turned back to her. ‘If we’re going to do this, Lady, we do it at speed, leaving no time for a second attempt at persuading us from our course.’

  Nannet wept. She was frail, her skin speckled by age, bare scalp showing through the wispy strands of her hair.

  ‘Nonno.’ Risha sank onto the edge of the narrow bed. Her throat clogged as she picked up the woman’s hand. The knuckles were swollen and twisted. ‘It’s good to see you, Nonno,’ she whispered.

  The old woman made a small mewing sound as she raised her palm to Risha’s cheek.

  ‘She speaks very little,’ the hospice marister said.

  Risha glanced at the woman. She was a careworn sixty, tall and slightly stooped. ‘She is very thin, Marister.’

  The woman made an impatient sound. ‘We cannot force her to eat, Lady Arishara. She is much withdrawn into her own mind.’

  Risha studied Nannet’s face. ‘Are you here with us, Nonno?’ she asked gently. The old woman’s hands gripped Risha’s arms as if afraid she might disappear. ‘Could a meal be prepared now, Marister? Perhaps she needs assistance.’

  ‘Nannet is one of many patients,’ the woman said stiffly. ‘They are all treated equally.’

  ‘And all as thin?’

  ‘We do our best.’ The woman’s thin lips had almost disappeared. ‘Havre’s Council has repeatedly declined my requests for additional support. We live largely upon the charity of our neighbours.’

  ‘When I return to Havreport I will ensure it is reviewed,’ Risha said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time alone with Nannet.’

  Nolan hesitated a moment then ushered the marister towards the door.

  Risha waited till they were gone. ‘Are they looking after you, Nonno? Are you happy here?’

  The woman only gazed at her. Risha sat back, frustrated. The room they were in was spartan but tidy. There was nothing individual, nothing to tell her about the woman, both stranger and friend, who resided within it.

  ‘Do you remember Cattra, Nonno?’

  The old woman’s lips trembled and she began to rock. My little cat.

  Risha almost laughed in relief. She had not heard Nonno’s voice in her mind since the siege; she had even wondered, at times, whether the woman had died.

  ‘Oh, I’ve missed you so much!’ She hugged the old woman’s shoulders. ‘You were my best friend.’ An imaginary friend, according to Pelon, though that hadn’t stopped him from banning the game of exchanged thought pictures that Risha, no more than five or six, had reluctantly described.
‘I’m sorry I closed you out. Pelon—’

  Hush. Nonno’s familiar comfort burst like sunlight in her mind.

  ‘Nonno, can you teach me how to mindspeak? Properly I mean. Timon and I have never managed it again. He has no other experience of it. He—’

  Disapproval slapped in her mind as the old woman’s body stiffened.

  ‘Nonno, please. I have no one else to ask.’

  The woman closed her eyes. If the silence had not felt so disapproving, Risha might have thought her asleep.

  Someone tapped on the door. Nolan hovered behind the serving girl who carried a scantily set tray into the tiny room. ‘Marister Hela said you was wanting food, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Risha eyed the bowl of watery soup. ‘Will you eat something, Nonno?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘She don’t eat much, that one. Sometimes we can force a little soup in ’er, but she don’t want it. Wants to die, I’d say. Sometimes they get like that: just had enough.’

  Risha studied the girl. She couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven. ‘Does she ever speak?’

  ‘Used ter. About her daughter. But she was awful confused. Hasn’t said nothin’ in a year now.’

  ‘Is it you, who cares for her?’

  The girl blushed. ‘Oh no. I work in the kitchen. I help feed ’em all sometimes, but I don’t do nothin’ else.’

  ‘But they’re treated well? With kindness?’ Risha asked.

  The girl’s answer seemed genuine enough. ‘I should say so. Marister Hela’s kind to everyone. Right fierce, she is, about respectin’ ’em. Says we could all end up the same way.’ An involuntary shudder rippled through her slight shoulders.

  ‘Marister Hela is quite right.’ Risha turned back to Nonno.

  ‘You must be ’er granddaughter,’ the girl said. ‘She used ter talk about you. Said you lived in the mountains, up north somewhere. I guessed that’s why you didn’t visit.’

  Risha cleared her throat. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s why.’

  ‘She’ll be pleased ter see you now then. I think there’s more goes on inside than we know, half the time.’ The girl cocked her head. ‘Well, not all of ’em, but with this one, there is. I’ll fetch the tray later.’ She bobbed a little curtsey and was gone.

  Nolan lingered in the doorway. ‘Is all well, my lady?’

  Risha nodded bleakly.

  My lady. The voice crooned in an approving singsong.

  Risha stared into the wrinkled face. Nonno?

  Soothing warmth wrapped around her as the old woman began to hum and rock. The tune was a lullaby she’d sung in Risha’s mind years ago, to soothe away her childhood hurts. Tears welled in Risha’s eyes.

  With the song’s end Nonno reverted once more to silence.

  Nolan cleared his throat. ‘We’ve a long ride ahead of us.’

  Nonno?

  No reply. ‘Nonno, I have to leave soon.’

  The woman gave no sign of having heard either physical or mental voice. Risha sighed, her eyes drifting around the small room.

  ‘My lady?’

  She squeezed Nonno’s fingers. ‘I’ll come again,’ she promised. ‘Or you could come home, back to the castle in Havre.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘All right, Captain.’ She stood up.

  My kitten.

  Risha stilled. Will you help me, Nonno?

  Their eyes met, the old woman’s rheumy and vague. The effortlessness of their mental communication was in stark contrast to the exhausting exercises she and Timon had tried. Yet when she had reached for both of them it had been as easy as this. You made it possible, didn’t you? It was more a realisation than a question. I need you, Nonno. I need to learn.

  For a moment she thought the woman would speak, but her grip on Risha’s fingers faded, her gaze drifting into the middle distance, somewhere beyond the walls of the room.

  Risha sighed. As she leant to kiss the old woman’s cheek, Nonno’s bony hand touched her hair. Ask Ciaran.

  Ciaran? Why?

  But Nonno had resumed rocking, her fingers plucking at the coverlet as if she was unaware of their presence; as if, once again, she was lost in the tangled folds of her mind.

  Proofs and promises

  Risha sat back in her chair, clenching her toes inside her soft shoes to disperse her annoyance lest it show in her face. ‘All I am suggesting, gentlemen, is that we divert a small proportion of funds from building works to hospices. Both are important, are they not? But the new jetty at Whitelaw could wait six months while our old and infirm cannot.’

  It was the first concrete proposal she’d made. Whether the councillors’ disapproval was due to that or to an inbuilt resistance to change, she couldn’t tell.

  Athan spoke. ‘The new jetty will allow speedier unloading. It represents a saving of time and—’

  ‘Money. Yes. But not a better quality of life where it is needed. Having undertaken to provide care for our most needy, must we be mean with our support?’

  Several councillors looked uncomfortable. Risha pressed her point. ‘Perhaps we can find a way to achieve both goals. The outbound goods tax was not increased with the inbound — perhaps there is room for adjustment there?’

  Which would affect the burghers’ private pockets, and as such they would be loath to agree. Still, the debate proved useful in showing her where her councillors’ hearts lay.

  Athan, meeting her eye, drew the discussion to a close and called for a vote. Despite arguing against her proposal he voted for it, tipping several waverers and thereby securing additional funds for the duchy’s hospices. She should have felt satisfied, but instead ended the meeting less sure of her allies than ever.

  Timon was prosaic. ‘Best you take your successes where you can,’ he told her.

  ‘But why didn’t he simply support my proposal at the outset?’

  ‘Athan will argue as he believes during debate, then vote as he judges best for the duchy. He sees his role as one of managing conflicting desires.’

  Though she could accept such a distinction, she still felt at odds with the process. ‘I can’t imagine my father tolerating such a cumbersome system. Every decision is so drawn out.’

  ‘The structure is modelled on the Sitting — as it was established, rather than as it currently functions, which is with Goltoy holding the balance of power and determining all decisions.’

  Distracted, she turned. ‘Goltoy controls the Sitting even without Fratton’s support?’

  ‘With Quilec as his puppet he has Caledon’s vote as well as Westlaw’s. Donnel could wield the deciding vote if he did not choose to boycott the Sitting.’

  It was as near as Timon had ever come to a criticism of her father. Setting the information aside to consider later, Risha changed the subject. ‘Timon, what does court gossip have to say about Athan’s marriage?’

  Timon’s eyebrows danced. ‘Verony would be the one to answer that. Why do you ask?’

  She shrugged. ‘It seems an unlikely match, somehow.’

  ‘Court alliances often are.’

  She had no wish to think about court alliances. Cantrel had once jested about her own future marriage, and that had been enough. ‘Can I trust Ciaran, do you think?’

  ‘In the first instance, yes. But if you’re asking whether she would keep a confidence from her husband: marriage being a strange thing, I wouldn’t rely on it.’

  ‘It’s not that. It’s more a favour, quite a large one.’

  He looked intrigued. ‘Her response will rely on both the nature of the request and on what Athan thinks. But you risk little in asking.’

  When Risha found the woman and laid out her request a frown settled around Ciaran’s eyes. ‘Lady Arishara, I am flattered that you should request my company, but I fear you overestimate my enthusiasm for the saddle.’

  ‘But you grew up in the northern marches: surely you ride?’

  The older woman reluctantly agreed. Risha hurried on. ‘As my nearest
relative after my father, I should like to get to know you. Your brother, too — perhaps we might visit him? I regret that he left the city before I chanced to meet with him again.’

  Ciaran was already shaking her head. ‘It would not be safe for you to travel so far north, my lady. Talben lives just south of our border with Westlaw.’

  ‘Does Goltoy make trouble?’

  ‘Not directly. There are skirmishes, which he claims are brought about by “unruly troublemakers” on both sides of the border. My brother says it is not so — though according to some he is one of the troublemakers. Most assuredly he is unruly.’ A smile flickered across her mouth. ‘Have you spoken with my husband about your proposed journey, Lady Arishara?’

  ‘Not yet. I wanted to discuss it with you first. None of the councillors seem much inclined to travel, but I should like to see Havre and assess the mood of its people.’

  The woman hesitated briefly before answering. ‘It is true that the business interests of our councillors keep them largely in the capital, but it would be a mistake to assume they are not kept well informed. The Council has seen Havre through difficult times.’

  ‘I meant no criticism.’

  ‘No?’ Ciaran paused. ‘Your grandmother relied on a council of advisors, arguing them essential to good governance. Havre has always been thus.’ She twitched the embroidery that lay in her lap. ‘I realise it is different in LeMarc.’

  There was a beat of silence. ‘Do you suggest my father is not a good leader?’

  ‘Not at all, my lady. But his style of governance is not Havre’s. Donnel is an autocrat, used to getting his own way. He was always so. It was your grandparents’ chief objection to the match.’

  Risha felt winded by the abrupt swing in the conversation’s direction.

  Ciaran touched Risha’s hand with her fingertips. ‘Don’t take my words the wrong way. Your mother loved Donnel, and for good reason. He can be extremely charming, and he adored her.’ She waved a hand as if to push the conversation aside. ‘I have spoken out of turn: I am sorry. You have only recently come to know him, which makes any criticism all the harder to hear. I meant only that, like each of us, he is not without fault.’