Cobweb Bride (37 page)

Best of all, Riquar and his men had some food with them.

Oh, the happiness that a few chunks of bread and ripe old cheese brought to the girls! All of it was completely edible, for the grain was reaped and ground to a flour and the cheese was aged well before Death’s cessation.

Percy was so hungry she had forgotten the last time she had eaten at all. One of the men-at-arms, a man with an older weathered face and kind watery eyes, brought several thick crusty baguettes of bread over to them, passing them out generously. Percy looked into his eyes, seeing a flicker of the golden flames and indigo night mingling.

“Thank you,” she said to the soldier, while tearing off a large chunk.

Across the fire, she saw the black knight, his helm removed, leaning forward to take up a drinking cup, the flames highlighting with gold and violet his dark brown hair, slightly curling. His face, with its fine chiseled lines, was austere, strong, and his bruises were fading. Without the swellings and bruises, she realized, he was more comely than anyone. Indeed, he was handsome to an exquisite degree of pain (for it hurt her strangely now, to look at him directly for more than a few instants)—and less beautiful than only
one
man she had ever seen—and
he
had been no man at all, but Death.

In that moment, Beltain glanced her way, and she saw the grey-blue depth of his gaze, stilling momentarily upon her. It was physically
tangible
—sharp somehow, and intimate.

And then he looked away.

That night, Percy slept alone in the cart with the girls and the marquis, guarding his lady, the Infanta.

The black knight slept alongside his men, in a half-seated position, with his back to a tree, his head and torso covered with a better blanket than the girls could provide.

As the fire gradually burned lower in the night, the shadows around them stood thick and undulating, with the forest at their backs, and the thoroughfare not too far away.

In the distance, the sound of timber cracking under the weight of snow, of wilderness and Duke Hoarfrost’s remote patrols, was an echo of living night.

T
hey reached Tussecan the next day, by late mid-morning. The drive was uneventful along the major road, with a few travelers and potential Cobweb Brides passing them in the opposite direction, heading north where they came from, and giving a wide berth to the knight and his men. Percy had an urge to tell them all to just turn around and go back home, because
none
of them were Death’s Cobweb Bride.

But she kept quiet, so as not to draw attention to herself or any of her fellow travelers. Nether did she want to explain to anyone else how or why she knew it.

Tussecan seemed at first to be as usual—dirty sleet-filled streets and deep ruts made by cart traffic bisecting all roadways; smoke from many chimneys rising up into the overcast sky in stacks of hazy slate.

But the knight and his small convoy, followed by the rolling cart, were met with wary stares. And the girls all noticed how few people were out on the streets, compared to the last time they were here, just three days ago.

And then the difference came to them. There was no pervasive smell of food that gave the town its warm welcoming atmosphere—no roasting meat, no wafting aroma of fresh baking bread, no pungent mulled cinnamon, cloves, and apple cider. . . .

They stopped at Ronna’s Inn, upon everyone’s insistence, and because Percy reminded them she was supposed to return the cart and Betsy here, as Grial had originally told her.

“What a shame, we’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” whispered Flor and Gloria and the other girls.

“Fancy livin’, one does gets used to it!” muttered Emilie through her stuffed nose, apparently feeling well enough to comment.

Mrs. Beck, who happened to open the door, exclaimed in amazement at the imposing sight of the mounted knight on his great war stallion, and the men-at-arms. She immediately sent a maid rushing off to get the mistress of the establishment.

“Don’t worry, he’s not going to hurt you!” said Jenna very loudly, so that the other girls held back giggles, and a few of the solders looked away with grins.

And Mrs. Beck, recollecting herself, replied with dignity. “Well! I should certainly hope not! For then, who’ll be cooking for him and his fine men?” And she bustled off too, after the maid.

Ronna Liet came out moments later, plump and warm-faced, and she curtsied deeply before the knight. “Oh, I do bid you welcome, my Lord!”

“Thank you for the hospitality, but we will not be staying,” he replied, with a polite nod.

“Is Grial here?” Percy said. “I’ve brought Betsy back, and here’s the cart, all safe and sound.”

“You have!” Ronna smiled, looking at Percy, and seeing all of them. “Oh, so good to see you again, girls! None of you’d fallen to the cutpurses or villains on the road, or turned out to be Cobweb Brides? Oh, bless you—don’t tell me any of it, I would much rather not know anything about this horrible business. . . . But, I am sorry to say, Grial is not here! She has gone back to Letheburg—why, it was on the very same day you all left—and she told me that, if you would be so kind as to drive the cart and Betsy all the way there and hand it to her at home, she’d be ever so grateful!”

“Oh!” said Percy.

“I hope that’s not too much of an inconvenience, dear?”

“Good gracious, no! That’s just—it couldn’t be
better!
” Percy grinned in wonder, her wool shawl falling back as she rubbed her temples enthusiastically with the back of her mitten.

It was exactly then that the sun shone past the clouds.
 . . . And in the sudden brightness everyone was looking at her—at her puffy reddened cheeks and nose, the wisps of her ashen hair sticking to her forehead, the bright living energy of joy in her eyes. Even the black knight’s silver-blue gaze rested on her, she noted with a sudden jolt.

“Lordy, Lord! Does that mean we get to ride in the cart all the way home?” Jenna cried suddenly.

“Yes, you goose!” Flor smiled, her thin face lighting up.

G
ood thing the black knight’s men-at-arms had sufficient coins with them. Because not only did they end up stopping for a meal at the inn, after all, but Ronna refilled the same large food basket that the girls had brought back with them, and then the Chidair soldiers bought additional foodstuff and supplies for the ride ahead.

The only thing they had been told was, they were going to be traveling considerably far south, and the knight had likely divulged the details only to Riquar.

His plan was, as far as Percy could tell, to accompany the Infanta back to the Silver Court, and in the meantime the girls could hitch a ride in the cart as they drove past their various homes along the way.

Since Percy had decided on her own that she was making the same distant journey, it was understood that the men could certainly use the cart and her driving as a discreet means of conveyance of the
undead
Royal in their care.

Thus, they set out again shortly, some time past noon, with Percy driving Betsy with a much steadier hand now that she had had a chance to sit indoors and warm up with a hot meal of fresh baked goods and porridge. Everyone else had perked up too, at least somewhat, and Emilie had an extra warm blanket around her.

Vlau, the strange, dark haired marquis, now rode in the cart, at the Infanta’s side. As they made their way through streets and the outskirts of town, he had acquired a habit of blocking anyone’s view of her rather pitiful body by leaning frequently between her and any onlookers, as though he were a living shield.

“What’s with him?” some of the Chidair men discussed among themselves, Percy could hear. But she did not have a chance to hear their suppositions, because such talk was hushed.

Soon they were outside of Tussecan, on a far more familiar road west toward Oarclaven. The overcast afternoon continued, growing late, and at some point small flurries came down, snow sprinkling their cloaks and making the horses sneeze, and the wind started up again. The thoroughfare wound with austere shrubbery on both sides, past snow-covered fields, with bushes in sharp slate-grey and black contrast against snow, and very few travelers heading in either direction.

Percy drove steadily, watching the tall riders ahead of her and Betsy, watching the black knight’s straight, powerful back, with its somewhat stained blue Chidair surcoat over ebony armor. He did not look back even once for many miles, although his men periodically moved up to glance curiously at the occupants of the cart, the girls with their multicolored kerchiefs, hats, and shawls—at which point Vlau Fiomarre would again lean in with an intense dark look, blocking their sight of the Infanta.

In another hour, they were entering the familiar village of Oarclaven.

A
lann Ayren was lying abed as usual, in his slow apathy, when they heard noise outside, and a solid knock on the door.

Niobea barely lifted her drawn face, without moving from her kneeling position in the corner, before the holy icon. She had been spending most of her days there, between chores, and sleeping. Praying, praying, lips moving silently, eyes shut tight, fingers on the rosary.
 . . .

But no matter how much she prayed, how loudly the sacred words flowed and resounded in her mind, she could not escape the death rattle
sound
coming eternally from the narrow bed on the other side of the room. . . .

“Patty, get the door.”

“Who could it be, at this late dinner hour?”

Their youngest daughter, pale and weary, and no longer as fresh-looking as it seemed she had been only a week ago, rose up from her almost invisible place at table, letting go of a bowl with a clumsy sudden clatter.

She opened the door, letting in blue afternoon twilight, and a gust of bitter cold.

“
Percy!
Oh My Lord, Percy, you’re back!”

Niobea stopped praying, as though the holy book slammed shut in her mind.

Their bed creaked, and Alann was sitting up just as suddenly. . . .

P
ercy Ayren stood at the door of her father’s house. She had stepped up onto the porch and took several deep breaths before knocking.

Behind her on the street, the black knight and his men-at-arms had come to a stop. They surrounded the cart, which was now empty of several of the girls—Gloria Libbin had been dropped off in front of her father’s smithy, and Flor Murel left them at the bakery. Lastly, Jenna Doneil crawled out of the cart, and gave a great big hug to Percy, hanging on her neck for several long seconds, and sniffling into her shawl, before running out to her own home, just a few houses over.

And now here they were, at
her home
.

Percy knocked, hearing her heart hammering in her temples, hearing the soft clanging of metal armor of the men behind her on the street, Betsy’s snorts, the sound of neighbors across the road opening shutters to stare. And a few moments later, her younger sister Patty opened the door.

“Percy!” she had cried, and then she was pulling her inside, saying something, that Percy could barely hear. . . .

Because there was the
sound
—her grandmother’s death rattle, filling the house with its dark rhythmic agony, just as it had, days ago.

Inside it was warm, in contrast with the chill outdoors, and darker than usual, with no light but the rust-orange glow of the hearth. Her mother was up, and almost staggering upright, with a lost expression on her face, a mixture of shock, disbelief. She had been praying, Percy realized, seeing her mother in a new light, and experiencing sudden pity. How dark it was in their house, all brown and soot-covered filthy wooden planks.
 . . .

And then several heartbeats later, her father was at her side, and he took her in a bone-cracking embrace, hugging her and pressing his lips to her forehead while muttering her name. “My daughter, Persephone! I didn’t think I’d see you ever again, oh my child!
My child!
”

And then Patty, who had looked out on the porch, was back, saying there were all these strange, armed men out there, and horses, and a great big knight, no less.
 . . . Then, Belle came rushing in through the front door, behind Patty—she’d been out in the back doing something near the barn—her beautiful face also thinner and older than Percy remembered it to be.

“Percy! You are back, daughter!” Niobea finally found her tongue. She approached her slowly, then put her hands around her shoulders, pressing them on both sides, and then drew her fingers along the woolen shawl—the precious one she’d given to Percy. She felt its prickling texture, running her fingers lightly on the wool, back and forth, then adjusting a few wisps of hair on Percy’s forehead.

“Pa . . . Ma . . . I’m back, yes,” Percy spoke breathlessly. “I am so glad to see you! And—and I am well, and
alive!
You know, I’ve been all the way to the Northern Forest, and Death refused to take me . . . so here I am again.”

“You’re back home.
 . . . Good!” said Alann. “I am glad that foolery is over; it is all no good, just as I thought. You are safe, child!”