Scrivener's Tale (66 page)

‘By a hedgewitch, I think you'd call her. Her name's Tilda.'

‘When was this?'

‘At the palace,' Cassien answered.

‘He doesn't know about the killings,' Florentyna prompted. ‘Fynch, Cassien's magic caused a lot of deaths,' she confided to the older man. ‘Was it yesterday or the day before?' She looked to Cassien, but he was so unhappy to be remembering, she pressed on alone and told Fynch all that had occurred.

Afterwards, Fynch's expression was clouded. Cassien couldn't tell what his father was thinking.

‘I thought you might have known,' Cassien lifted a shoulder with a rueful expression, ‘you seem to know so much.'

‘I have my ways of observing,' Fynch replied without telling them more. ‘But I didn't know about the deaths. Poor Burrage.'

Florentyna closed her eyes briefly, and Cassien quickly leapt in. ‘I came out of my roaming trance with a sickening like I've not experienced previously. Ham immediately fetched a woman he'd met in the palace kitchens who supplies Florentyna with herb teas. We met with her in Micklesham.'

‘She organised to meet with you?'

Cassien scratched his head. ‘No. She told me she was heading north. I don't think she expected to see me again, although she did look at me in a way that suggested I should follow, maybe catch her up. The point is, she gave me a curative which helped my headache and nausea, but Tilda warned that my magic learns.'

Fynch stared at him for several long moments. ‘I can't see how. It is what it is. You control where you roam, when you roam, how you roam, if you roam and why you roam. The roaming magic is there for you to use or not. What is she suggesting it learns?'

‘I don't know. She didn't have time to explain.'

‘She did, over our supper, Cassien,' Florentyna chimed in, then shrugged an apology at him for the interruption.

He didn't seem to mind. ‘That's true.'

‘She had the perfect opportunity because we were discussing the roaming magic.'

‘You discussed it?' Fynch asked aghast, looking at Cassien in horror. ‘With a stranger?'

‘Not really a stranger, Fynch. She already knew about my skill, my roaming, my murderous ways. She was helping me.'

Florentyna was frowning, picking at invisible lint on her riding clothes. ‘Cassien, I want to say this and I'm not going to try and say it carefully. I think I'll just air my thoughts.' Both men looked at her. She swallowed. ‘I could be wrong, but I sensed something was slightly amiss with Tilda.'

‘Why do you say that?' he asked, aware that Fynch was fixing the queen with a wintry stare.

‘Just a feeling, call it womanly intuition. I thought she became curiously quiet and watchful at one point and then when I thought it likely she would travel on with us, she seemed to be in a hurry to leave us.'

‘Yes, I noticed her eagerness to depart,' he admitted slowly, then frowned. ‘I didn't feel startled or surprised, though.'

‘She cut me off a couple of times when she sensed I was going to ask a pointed question. I'm her queen, let's not forget, so what she did was unusually rude. I didn't react to her impropriety but, even so, she took the risk of offending more than once.'

‘What are you saying, majesty?' Fynch urged.

Florentyna shook her head. ‘I don't know. The fact is, I don't know Tilda at all well. She seemed very friendly — too friendly — with Cassien and with me, given that she barely knew us and that I, her sovereign, was sitting down to break bread with her. She seemed neither surprised nor cowed. It was odd, that's all. I don't enjoy provoking the reaction, but most ordinary people find it hard to speak in my presence simply out of respect for the Crown.'

‘Does everyone have to be scared, your majesty?' Cassien reasoned.

She threw him a sharp look. ‘No, not scared. But it's fair to assume that most people are going to be shocked, surprised or unnerved, if their sovereign suddenly takes supper with them. But Tilda seemed to take our presence in her stride as if …'

‘As if what?' Fynch pressed.

‘Well, as if she was expecting us. There, I've said it. It's been nagging me since we met her.'

Cassien slowly shifted his gaze to Fynch. ‘What are you thinking?'

Fynch gave him a look of uncertainty and then shrugged lightly. ‘She could be innocent. She was drawn into your life by Hamelyn and she offered help. She obviously hasn't pursued you, but she knew what your magic was, you say?' Cassien nodded. ‘So it's little wonder she was interested to see you again when you found her at Micklesham.'

Cassien nodded, relieved, and looked at Florentyna as if to say she shouldn't be so suspicious. Nothing was said for a moment while Cassien and Florentyna digested Fynch's summation.

‘And then again, she could be a spy,' Fynch offered baldly.

Tilda waited where the man called Tentrell had instructed. He was a strange one. So handsome and charming, but there was something odd about him. He looked at her with intensity, and as though he knew something that she didn't. Except she did. Her own weak magic picked up that this was no ordinary individual. She sensed power in his manner and also hidden power of the magical kind. He'd surely sensed hers … or why had he approached her?

Tilda went over their original conversation in her mind. He'd found her at a dinch-house selling her own brand of infusion which claimed therapeutic properties for people with fatigue and another remedy for those who suffered from headaches.

He'd been seated at the counter, nursing a pot of dinch. She could see the curl of steam rising gently from his pot but she also saw that he didn't drink. He watched people around him but spoke to no-one. She'd been waiting to make her delivery and had found him irresistible to observe simply because he was such a handsome man — tall and dark with matching eyes and long ebony lashes. She'd also noticed she was not the only woman who was sneaking glances at him but, while he observed his surroundings, he hadn't made eye contact with anyone. Not even her.

‘Ah, Tilda.' Loos Francham had broken into her thoughts.

‘Loos, nice to see you again. You're very busy?'

‘Always busy although it helps that the King of Cipres is coming in tomorrow. Everyone wants to catch a glimpse.'

‘Ah yes, of course.'

He had smiled. ‘Come on up here to the counter. I need to keep my eye on things.'

She'd followed Francham. He went behind his bar and she stood nearby while he gave a couple of instructions to his staff.

‘Forgive me, Tilda. Now, you've brought how much for me? I want both teas and some of your lavender infusion.'

Tilda became aware that the handsome man had shifted his gaze to their negotiations; she'd suspected it was an absent gaze but, even so, she'd hoped her cheeks did not burn. She was too old for this sort of self-consciousness!

She'd lifted the small sacks and smiled when Loos smelled them. ‘Lovely. Very fresh. I'm impressed.'

‘You should be. I'm very fussy about the flowers and herbs I use.'

He'd grinned. ‘And you won't sell me any of her majesty's brew?'

She'd waggled a finger. ‘Now, now, Loos. You know I can't. It's designed for our queen alone. Can't have the peasants drinking the regal brew,' she said, grinning archly.

‘You can't blame me for trying. Are you going up to the palace now?'

Tilda had nodded. ‘Yes, I have a delivery for the Crown. Can't have our queen running out of her preferred tea at such an important time, what with visiting royals and so on.'

Loos Francham had tapped his nose. ‘You might even get your brews noticed by the Cipreans. Then we “peasants” won't be able to afford your teas anymore.'

‘Oh, go on with you, Loos,' she'd said, giving him a friendly push.

He in turn had counted out some silver coins. ‘Thank you, Tilda. Next moon, we may increase each by one bag, if that suits.'

‘Easily done,' Tilda had said. ‘Right, I can't tarry. The palace kitchens are tetchy about who is coming and going, as you can imagine. Apparently I have to get a special clearance from an officer of the Legion just to get into the complex.'

‘How long are you staying?'

‘Oh, just overnight. I've got a couple of new infusions for the palace to try, as well as supplies of her majesty's favourite one.'

‘There's not many can say they're spending the night at the palace, Tilda,' he replied, sounding impressed.

‘It's not as grand as it sounds, my cot being next to the kitchens, Master Francham,' she'd cautioned in an affectionate tone. ‘See you next moon.'

She had walked away from the dinch-house and crossed the main square that was teeming with people and horses, dogs and carts. Pearlis was always frantic, but it seemed totally chaotic as it prepared to welcome Princess Darcelle's new husband-to-be and his entourage. She remembered how she had just been thinking how happy she was for the royal family, when someone had tapped her shoulder.

Of all the people she might have thought it could be, the handsome customer from the dinch-house would have been the last person on a list of dozens. She recalled how she'd gasped.

‘I didn't mean to startle you,' he'd begun in a voice that she would compare to the warm, spicy tones of the cannoda honey of this region — dark, mysterious and mellow. All of that had struck her in the moment he'd spoken and had beamed her a bright, heart-fluttering smile. ‘My name is Layne Tentrell,' he'd said. ‘I'm a merchant, not from around here.'

She'd shrugged, too taken aback to speak immediately.

‘Most people are visitors at the moment,' she'd finally said, sounding stuck for words. ‘I am.'

‘Yes, I overheard, I'm sorry. I was at the dinch-house bar,' he'd said gesturing over his shoulder.

‘I remember you,' she'd admitted and wished she hadn't, because it had prompted a knowing smile. That smile was different to the one he'd given her moments before, and it was in that moment that she'd first sensed that she was in the presence of magic.

She'd frowned.

‘Is something wrong?'

‘No, not at all. You know that saying about someone walking over your grave?'

He'd shaken his head, but she'd thought at the time that he'd not told the truth.

‘Oh, well, it was like that. Hard to explain.' She'd chuckled, embarrassed.

‘Tilda, isn't it?'

She'd nodded, not trusting herself to say anything as she felt she was making enough of a fool of herself already.

‘I couldn't help overhearing that you make deliveries into the palace.'

She'd baulked at this. ‘Well, Loos Francham should not have said what he had so freely. It's not secret, Master Tentrell, but it's also not something I promote. Her majesty is a modest person, from what I can tell. She probably wouldn't like it if I traded off her name or her choice of brew.'

‘You know her?'

‘I've met her a couple of times. I doubt she'd remember me, although yes, she spoke directly to me when she first tasted my infusions.'

‘That must feel very rewarding, to know that the Crown approves of your products.'

She'd nodded. ‘It is.'

‘May I be frank with you, Tilda?'

Tilda remembered that she'd not known how to answer that question. She had not been sure she wanted to and nodded dumbly instead.

‘Will you walk a little way with me? Just over toward that park.'

‘I'm due at the palace in —'

‘This will only take a moment of your time,' he'd pressed and had smiled so disarmingly that she'd melted.

When he'd told her what he wanted she had been confused.

‘I'm spying?'

‘No, no, no, Tilda. Not at all. I am meeting Master Burrage, the queen's chamberlain, shortly to discuss security around the royals during this busy time.'

She'd frowned. Not understanding. ‘I thought you were a merch—'

‘A merchant, yes. I am, or at least that's my cover. I'm actually working on behalf of Master Burrage clandestinely. You see, Queen Florentyna refuses to be surrounded by men-at-arms. She has enough of that in her daily life but Master Burrage has intensified security because of …' He'd shaken his head, looking perplexed.

‘Because of what?'

‘Tilda …' he'd begun again, and sighed. ‘Forgive me, but I believe you may have a magical sense about you?'

She'd given a small sound of surprise. ‘How do you know?'

He'd looked smug. ‘I can tell. Perhaps because I have some wits of my own that I don't promote. They can be useful. Master Burrage knows of them and contacted me. He wants to add an element of security against any sort of magical attack against the Crown.'

She remembered how she'd looked at Tentrell aghast. ‘Why would there be one?'

‘Oh, it wouldn't be the first time,' he'd replied loftily. This tone didn't suit the man she was looking at. There was definitely something slightly amiss about him, but he'd admitted to having ‘wits' as he called them and she appreciated his honesty. It was probably this aspect of him that her weak magical sense had locked onto.

‘My magic is meaningless in that sense, Master Tentrell. I brew teas. I imbue them with healing — some might call me a hedgewitch. Nothing more.'

‘Even so, Tilda, I wonder if you'll help me to keep the royals safe. I need other people, even those with weak skills who can, nevertheless, sense “otherness”.'

She'd smiled. ‘I've never heard a sentient talked about in that way, Master Tentrell.'

‘Call me Layne. I prefer it,' he'd said and the charm was back. ‘Master Burrage has charged me to find people like you and pay them handsomely, but so far everyone I have found — and there are four others — can only watch from the outside. You and I can get into the palace perfectly legitimately without raising any eyebrows or alarms.'