Irons in the Fire (49 page)

Lathi eased the latch and opened the door to the loft over the stable.

Failla heard a sleepy protest and her heart leaped. It couldn't be helped if the children woke of their own accord.

"Hush, hush," Lathi soothed and the murmur subsided.

Now all Failla could hear was peaceful breathing. She swallowed fresh tears.

"You wanted to see her." Lathi moved aside.

Hesitating on the threshold, Failla looked at the four little girls in the rumpled bed, their brothers curled up like puppies on a pallet beneath the low window.

"Which one is she?" Failla thought her heart would break. All were so alike in their creased chemises, dark hair strewn across the lumpy bolster.

For a long moment, Lathi didn't answer. She cleared her throat. "If you don't recognise your own daughter, I'm not going to tell you."

"Lathi!" Failla choked on a sob.

"No." Lathi forced her out of the room, shutting the door. "You gave her to me to raise as my own. We all agreed that was safest." She pushed Failla towards the stairs.

Failla couldn't speak for silent weeping, stumbling on the edge of her cloak and nearly falling.

Lathi followed her down to the kitchen with the merciless truth. "As far as anyone knows, they're sisters, not cousins. If no one knows different, not even you, no one can betray her to Duke Garnot. You don't think they'd use her against you, against Uncle Ernout? What life would she have if Duke Garnot and his bitch of a wife took her from us? What happens to her if Wynald's bastards catch up with you? Once they've beaten the truth of whatever it is you're doing out of you? They'll come here and burn the roof over our heads. You know they will." For all her hard words, firelight shone on tears trickling down Lathi's face. "I'm sorry, Failla, you have to go. I'm grateful for the warning, but you have to go. Please!"

"I'm going." Failla tried to wipe her tears away. They wouldn't be stemmed.

"How far must you ride?" Lathi asked with belated solicitude.

"If you don't know, you can't betray me," Failla said harshly.

Fleeing into the yard, an aching realisation prompted fresh, uncontrollable tears. She didn't even know her daughter's name.

As the farmhouse door bolted behind her, she hurried to the stable, untied her horse's reins and dragged the bemused beast to the mounting block. Pausing only to scrape more tears from her face with her cloak's harsh wool, she set off, hands and heels more brutal than the innocent animal deserved.

By the time she was approaching the inn, her tears were exhausted. She locked the night's sorrow in that same remote corner of her heart where the memory of giving up her baby girl lived. She hadn't even let the infant suckle. Lathi had said that was best, if she were to carry the fewest marks of motherhood on her body.

The fire-baskets on either side of the archway still burned bright. Failla pulled up her hood to hide her wretched face. The courtyard was quiet, the clock striking eight chimes on its muted bell. A sleepy youth emerged at the sound of her horse's hooves and Failla handed him her reins without a word.

What must she do now? Beyond washing her face and hoping her eyes weren't too red and swollen in the morning. As she drew her cloak around her, she felt the letters in her pocket. She could make sure they were all read and answered before morning. There was no way she could sleep, after all.

She hurried up the stairs as quietly as her boots allowed. Opening her bedroom door, she was startled to see the candle was alight.

"Come in."

Failla looked nonplussed at the old woman sitting on her untouched bed. Nath's writing case was open on the floor before her and she was leafing through the newly copied maps.

"Robbing us?" Failla gasped. "I'll have you turned out on the road for this!"

"Ah, now there's your first mistake." The old woman looked up with a pleasant smile. "I'm no servant here, no more than that lad's your brother."

"What?" Failla stared at her.

"Duke Garnot's doxy had no brothers, nor sisters neither. She'd never have had to trade her virtue for his bed if she had. So, where have you been?" The old woman put down the maps. "Not sneaking away to some lover, that's for certain. You made your bargain and you stuck honestly by it. Whatever Duchess Tadira might say, you're no whore. You're hard to follow, though, I'll give you that."

Failla noticed an unfamiliar cloak on the floor and fresh dirt on the old woman's boots. She clenched her fists and took a pace into the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Raise your hand to me and you'll be sorry, my girl." The old woman drew a thin-bladed knife from a scabbard hidden among her skirts. She shook her head with a chuckle. "Don't worry. I don't work for Duke Garnot of Carluse, or his duchess. I shan't give you up to either of them. Not if you tell me why you fled Garnot's protection. Not pregnant again, I see." She nodded at Failla's slender waist. "Not like the year before last. My compliments, my lady, on managing to keep such a thing secret."

"What do you know about that?" Failla wondered if she could cross the room fast enough to turn the old woman's knife against her without being too badly cut herself. This vile hag might be bold but Failla was certain she was stronger. But what then? How could she explain away a bloody murder? Could she commit such a crime? She quailed inwardly at the thought.

"I don't know as much as I'd like," the old woman admitted, "nor as much as I could have discovered, given time. My master has me searching out more urgent secrets now."

"Your master?"

"Master Hamare." The woman looked at Failla. "Who will want to know what's in those letters you're carrying. So hand them over, there's a good girl. You can have them back when I've read them and your friend need be none the wiser."

It took Failla a moment to recognise the name. "Duke Iruvain's intelligencer? You expect me to betray Carluse to Triolle?"

"Whatever you're doing, it's not for Carluse, or at least not for Duke Garnot." The old woman tucked her knife away. "I'm not your enemy, you silly girl. It's all one to Triolle if Duke Garnot finds his militia's no more a defence than some worm-eaten pikestaff thanks to your guildmasters and their plotting." She looked down at the maps. "So tell me, why are you and that Tormalin-born lad tracing out every highway and byway running through Carluse and Sharlac? What were you doing in Vanam? I know there's more to this than disaffected priests and craftsmen hatching some scheme. Don't try telling me different," she warned.

Failla thought fast. "The guildmasters are recalling all the apprentices they've sent away these past years."

"Why?" The old woman frowned.

Failla feigned reluctance before answering. "To defend Carluse against Sharlac."

"Sharlac?" Now the old woman was genuinely puzzled. "Duke Moncan's barely set foot outside his castle since his son was killed."

"That doesn't mean he's not plotting," Failla spat with all the loathing she felt for Sharlac and his dead heir. "What better cover for the Jackal's schemes than having everyone think he's crippled by grief? You don't think I'm doing this for Carluse? I'm doing it for Lord Veblen!"

Failla saw mention of Duke Garnot's baseborn son instantly catch the old woman's attention.

"The doxy and the bastard? That's long been one of Duchess Tadira's tales."

"He was my friend," Failla said tightly. Why was the truth harder to tell than lies?

"Nothing more?" The old woman raised her thin brows.

"Nothing more." Failla kept her face impassive as she searched her recollections for whatever half-truths and misdirection she might use to make these lies more convincing.

"The letters," the old woman demanded. "Let's see what they say."

Turning to reach inside her cloak, happy to hide her face lest she betray some relief, Failla threw the letters, sealed and unsealed, at her tormenter.

The old woman let them fall to the floor and across the bed without comment. Picking up the nearest, she slit it open with her knife and leaned close to the candle to read it.

Failla could only thank Saedrin that Uncle Ernout had been so adamant that the guildmasters' plotting and the Vanam conspiracy remain separate. Only the fact that war was to come from the north had been shared among his people. None of these letters could betray the full truth of the assault. All the same, she stood, tense and fearful, until the vile old woman had finished reading every letter.

"This glover wastes a good deal of ink saying nothing much to the point." She looked up, dissatisfied. "So where is this map-maker you're travelling with? What took him off in the middle of the night? Don't tell me he has some lover or bastard child tucked away. He's not laid a finger on another woman since he wed, that one."

"He went to meet someone bringing news from Vanam." Failla let her shoulders sag, defeated.

"What news?" the old woman demanded.

"How should I know?" Failla protested.

"You'll see me again soon." The old woman stood up. "You can tell me then."

"No," Failla objected. "It'll do you no good to dog my footsteps. If I'm seen associating with strangers, I'll be cut out of everything."

If she was being followed, she had no hope of retrieving her gold from Uncle Ernout or stealing her daughter away from her cousin Lathi.

"Then don't be seen." The old woman was implacable. "You've had plenty of practice at that. When we next meet, I want to know everything you and your people think you know about Sharlac's plans."

"No." Failla shook her head, pressing herself back against the door. She couldn't do it. She couldn't betray everyone like this. "I won't help you."

"No?" The old woman queried. "When your daughter's safety depends on it?"

Failla's blood ran cold. "My daughter?"

"I know that much, even if I don't know where you've stowed her." The old woman shrugged. "Not yet anyway. Of course, if I'm busy sending word to Master Hamare about these schemes of your Guilds and Jackal Moncan's deceits, I'll hardly have time to go searching for the precious mite, will I?"

How hard could it be to strangle someone? Nath would help dispose of the body, surely? He'd have to, once she explained how the duke had sent someone to exact his revenge upon her. Failla felt her fists clench once again.

"You won't find her at all if I kill you here and now."

"Do that and my master will just send someone else to dog your footsteps." The old woman was unconcerned. "Someone far less sympathetic to your plight, you can be sure of that. I've left letters to be sent to my master if I turn up dead, or even if I don't turn up at all. They'll tell him everything I've learned so far. As it stands, Master Hamare knows nothing of your child. Kill me and he will. She'll be a new piece thrown right into the middle of this game board. Help me, and no one else need know she was ever born."

"This is your price?" Failla set her jaw. "For your silence?"

"It is." The thin blade shone in the old woman's hand. "So stand aside and I'll bid you goodnight before your so-called brother comes back."

Failla moved away from the door. What else could she do?

"Who are you?" she burst out.

"You can call me Pelletria, dear." Coming close, the old woman patted her hand reassuringly. "You've known me for years, haven't you, back at Duke Garnot's castle? That's what you'll be saying if I come a-visiting when that so-called brother of yours is around. Oh, and don't think of running, dear. You won't lose me a second time, so all you'll do is lead me straight to your little girl. If you run without her, well, I'll just have to take her under my wing when I do find her, to keep her safe. And we'll still find you. Master Hamare has eyes and ears in every town and city between the Ocean and the Great Forest. Now, you make sure you get some sleep, my dear, or there'll be no roses in your pretty cheeks come the morning."

The old woman left, smiling kindly.

Failla stood, silent, motionless, for a long moment. Slowly, she restored all the copies of the maps to Nath's writing case. Finally she began gathering up the opened letters. She had to see them answered before he came back.

Sitting on the bed, clutching the papers, she desperately tried to weave a tissue of lies that might hide these latest secrets come to torment her. What falsehoods could she tell this woman Pelletria, to pass on to Master Hamare? How much truth would she have to use to salt the deceit to make it palatable? How much was she prepared to trade for her daughter's safety, even if the child was already lost to her?

Chapter Thirty-One

Tathrin

The Pipe and Chime Tavern, in the Dukedom of Carluse,

26
^th
of For-Autumn

"There they are." Sorgrad stepped out of the gate recess in the high stone wall that flanked the highway.

"They've taken their own sweet time about it." Gren was sitting aloft, eating apples plucked from the orchard within. "Still, a chance to flirt with a pretty girl's always worth waiting for."

From what Tathrin had seen, Gren flirted with any maid old enough to wed and any matron still young enough to have her own teeth.