The Spell of Rosette (25 page)

An’ Lawrence ushered him into his lodge and shut the door. He waited a moment before speaking, sizing up the lad. He looked haggard and drawn, his red ringlets lank, dark circles under his eyes.

‘Rough trip?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘You look like you’ve been dragged through the underworld to get here.’

‘I think I have.’

‘What took you so long?’ An’ Lawrence crossed his arms. ‘I said get to Lividica and back before the new moon. It’s nearly full.’

‘I ran into some trouble.’ Clay sat down and started fingerpicking a soft melody while he spoke.

‘What happened?’

‘You got the message from Clawdia?’

‘Of course, weeks ago.’

‘Then you know, if it’s true, her name isn’t Rosette de Santo.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘It’s possible she’s the daughter of the Matosh family…the one they say was murdered six years ago.’

‘I realise that. How reliable was your source? It could be just gossip. Maybe she worked on the estate?’

‘The way she rides? The way she carries herself? I don’t think she was a stable-girl or kitchen hand, do you? Besides, she fits the description of the youngest daughter, Kalindi Matosh. She fits it perfectly…’

‘If so, she’s keeping quite a secret.’

‘Wouldn’t you, if your family had been murdered?’

An’ Lawrence frowned. ‘I wonder what else she’s hiding…’

Clay exhaled, making a low whistling sound. ‘Good question. Do you think she even knows Nellion Paree?’

He ignored the query. ‘Tell me what trouble detained you?’

‘I never got a good look.’

‘You were followed?’

‘I’m not sure. It felt like it.’

‘Felt like it?’

‘It was a presence more than a being. Ominous. An awareness of some kind.’ He shook his head. ‘I never saw it, but I’m sure it was tracking me. I didn’t want to lead it back to Treeon so I circled north to Morzone—where I was meant to be in the first place—and played a few nights there before coming back.’

‘Smart. And it didn’t follow?’

‘I lost it in the foothills of the Prietas. Or it lost interest in me. I don’t know which.’

‘Good work. You did well.’ An’ Lawrence reached for a coin jar on the top kitchen shelf.

‘Forget it,’ Clay said when the Sword Master started counting out gold pieces. ‘I made more than a wage on
this journey.’ He stopped playing for a moment. ‘I can’t do this any more, An’ Lawrence. I’m done.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t spy on her, lie to her. Find out things about the past I can never verify. It’s eating me up inside. It’s ruining our…our friendship.’

‘Friendship?’ he asked, the smile gone from his face.

‘It’s ruining everything.’

An’ Lawrence rubbed his jaw, looking at Clay from a different angle. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not ruining things. Your information gathering is protecting her. You can’t stop now.’

‘I can and I will.’

An’ Lawrence put the money jar away and straightened his spine.

‘If you want to quit, you’ll be banished. Have you considered that? You’ll never see her again. I can’t risk her finding out, especially now. Do you understand what that means?’

Clay levelled his eyes on the Sword Master. ‘I’ve a pretty good idea.’

‘Is that what you want?’

Clay looked at the floor and shook his head.

‘Clay.’ An’ Lawrence touched his shoulder. ‘You’ll not be banished if you keep your side of the bargain, just a little bit longer. We need you. Rosette needs you. This can turn out well, but not if you take off now.’

‘I don’t understand why.’

‘You aren’t meant to.’ An’ Lawrence grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look up. ‘This is bigger than your desires, Clay. Bigger than mine. Please. Stick with it.’

Clay nodded reluctantly.

‘Good.’ The Sword Master let go of Clay. ‘You’re still bound to me, don’t forget,’ he added.

Clay’s eyes looked past the Sword Master to the fire. ‘How could I?’ He strummed a convoluted rhythm before breaking into a lightning-fast picking pattern.

‘Fantastic new tune,’ An’ Lawrence said. ‘Not quite a ballad though, is it?’

‘Not quite.’ He finished the tune with a crescendo of chords and slipped off his stool. ‘Are we done?’ he asked. ‘I need to sleep.’

‘Yes. We can talk more tomorrow.’

Clay headed for the door. As he pulled it open, he turned back. ‘There’s one other thing, Sword Master.’

‘What’s that?’

‘If she really is Kalindi Matosh, she didn’t learn the sword from big brothers.’

He raised his brow. ‘Why not?’

‘Because she didn’t have any.’

Sitting on the top step of her porch, Rosette tossed her boots into the box by the door. She let out a soft groan as she rubbed her feet, peeling off her socks. She lifted her leather bodice over her head and added it to the wash. Her arms ached. Her legs throbbed and her bare belly was caked with rivulets of grime and sweat.

Drayco crinkled his black nose at her, sniffing.

‘That bad?’ she asked.

Worse!

‘I’ll bathe soon.’

Why not now?

‘Clothes first.’

She wanted nothing more than to soak away the aches and pains of the day, but her chores called and there would be no scrimping. There was something else on her mind that kept her feeling giddy, even with the exhaustion.

A smile lifted dirt smudges on her face as she filled a basin from the wooden rain barrel. Her skills were
improving rapidly. That fact delighted her. After so much time spent in the mundane arts of ritual spellcasting, the sword training offered a sense of satisfaction—something new for her at Treeon. She was getting good, dangerously good.

She felt certain her progress had pleased the Sword Master too. She could see it in his stance, his gaze, and especially in the diminishing number of times he’d shaken his head or stormed out of the training ring muttering under his breath. Yes, An’ Lawrence was impressed, finally. But what else? She felt a struggle going on inside him that she didn’t understand. What did he hide?

Her admiration for him had not diminished in the last few weeks of training. It was not wearing off with familiarity, nor was it being set aside for more immediate things like defending herself from his blade. Sometimes getting to know a person made them seem more ordinary. It could dim the spark, or even extinguish it altogether, but this wasn’t the case with An’ Lawrence. If anything, her respect for him had heightened. Nell had said he was the best and she was right.

Still, she wondered what it was the man kept so tightly hidden. It felt like a barricade, shored up whenever she got too close.

Rosette brushed her cheek with her shoulder as she scrubbed the clothes. Her skin was itchy and damp in the fresh autumn night, but soon she would be in the baths, then sleep until dawn. Tomorrow would start the final week of preparation. She and An’ Lawrence would exchange practice staffs and swords for live blades. The thud of wood would turn to the clash of steel on steel. She shivered. How would her boosts of energy conduct through such a medium? Like lightning, she suspected.

Now to the pools?
Drayco lifted his paw to her thigh as she leaned against the porch railing, wringing out the laundry.

Rosette turned to her friend. ‘Sorry, my lovely. I was lost in thought.’

And?
he prompted her.

‘And I just wanted to know if you had any information regarding our travels? You seem pretty cosy with Scylla these days. Has she said anything?’

She says many things. Sometimes she never stops talking. It’s like a stream of information and I am just a stone in the way of her dancing mind.

‘I see,’ Rosette chuckled. ‘And in these streams of dancing thought, is there anything about where we’re going?’

Not really. We hunt together, talking all the time, but who knows what the journey will bring? She won’t speak of it.

‘Aren’t you the least bit curious about this trip?’

I’m more curious about her.

‘Well I want to know where we’re going.’

The meeting with the High Priestess should prove instructional.

‘Pardon?’

The meeting. We’ll learn more then.

‘What meeting?’

Didn’t you know?
Drayco yawned.
There’s an audience with La Makee at the end of the week.

‘And when was I going to be told about it, I wonder?’ Rosette turned her back to the railing and squatted down eye to eye with her familiar. She cupped his face in her hands. ‘What other secrets do you have that I should hear about?’

Drayco stared at her, unblinking. His rough pink tongue came out and licked her nose. Rosette rocked back, squeaking with laughter.

‘Just answer the question,’ she persevered, once her voice was under control.

I only know that you are to go with the Sword Master to the temple chamber of the High Priestess in a few days, and as the Moon wanes in the sign of Ceres we set off.

Rosette tousled the temple cat’s head. ‘That’s it?’

Drayco neither blinked nor answered.

‘All right then. Thank you.’

Time will tell.

‘Yes, my lovely. Time will tell.’

Now you will bathe?
Drayco asked with a twitch of his whiskers.

‘Why are you so anxious for me to get to the pools, furry one?’

Someone might be waiting for you there.

‘Clay’s back?’

He might be.

‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

Drayco lashed his tail for a moment then leapt down the steps.
I hunt.

I bathe,
she replied, tossing the rest of the laundry over the railing without bothering to wring it. She grabbed a clean robe, slipped on her sheepskin boots and headed for the pools at a run.

Clay didn’t hear Rosette. He was submerged, sitting on the bottom step, holding his breath. When he popped up with a gasp, she stood above him and opened her robe.

‘You look like you’ve been to war,’ he said, taking in her bruises.

‘So do you.’ She dropped her robe and descended the steps until the water was up to her breasts. ‘Where have you been and when did you last sleep?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He pushed his wet hair back from his face. ‘It’s been a long…year.’

‘Yeah. For me too.’

They kissed briefly and Clay smiled at her.

He sat behind her, scrubbing her shoulders and arms, leaning her towards him until she floated on her back. He washed her hair.

‘You’re very quiet,’ Rosette said with her eyes closed.

He roughed her scalp and rinsed her hair, untangling it with his fingers as he did so.

‘Clay? Are you there?’

He let her go and swam to the outcropping at the far end of the pool.

Rosette followed him. ‘What’s going on?’

Clay watched her approach, gliding through the water without making a ripple. He’d been determined not to feel anything different, not to show any of his concerns. Not to suspect. ‘I’m tired, is all.’

‘You don’t usually act this strange when you haven’t had enough sleep.’ She trod water in front of him. ‘What is it? Did you have your way with a local lass in Morzone? You know that doesn’t worry me.’

‘I didn’t…in Morzone, and it’s not that.’

Rosette sat next to him on the submerged ledge, her shoulders just above the waterline. ‘Come back to my place. I’ve fresh bread and spice tea. We can talk.’

Clay nodded. ‘Sounds nice.’

‘Nice?’

He wet her lips with his finger before kissing her, slow and deep. ‘Sounds grand.’

‘That’s better.’

He held her hand as they headed back to the cottage, wondering who she really was and thinking he may never know.

The chamber was vacant, the High Priestess nowhere in sight. La Makee’s dragon-bone chair sat empty, with only a dent in the deep green cushion suggesting recent
occupancy. Rosette breathed in the air. It was filled with the scent of chrysanthemum, white peony and a hint of cloves. She wondered if someone was ill.

Rosette felt her skin prickle as two of the priesthood emerged from a side archway, their pale grey robes brushing the floor, rustling as they crossed the antechamber.

‘Follow me,’ the priestess said.

‘And they can come too,’ the other smiled, nodding towards Drayco and Scylla who were side by side with their companions.

‘As if that was ever in question,’ Rosette murmured to An’ Lawrence under her breath.

He frowned and motioned for her to be silent. Apparently this was neither the time nor the place for whimsy. Rosette shrugged. She was certain that the High Priestess had a sense of humour; she had read too many of her books, and sat in on too many of her discourses, to think otherwise. If anything, La Makee was not uptight. Why the stilted formality?

‘Just behave yourself,’ he whispered through clenched teeth.

‘Don’t squash the girl, Rowan. Her wit may be all you’ll have left in the end.’ La Makee’s voice was rich and deep.

What ‘end’ is she talking about?
Rosette sent the question directly to the Sword Master’s mind.

It’s a metaphor, I’m sure. Just be respectful, please.

The High Priestess met them with a warm smile, her hand reaching up to the Sword Master’s shoulder. Entwining images, tattooed in deepest black, wound their way intricately over her wrists and down each long, slender finger. An’ Lawrence moved to kneel but was stopped short.

‘Give me your affection, not devotion!’ La Makee responded, presenting her lips for An’ Lawrence to kiss.

‘Better!’ She turned to Rosette. ‘You, however, may start with devotion. I want to be able to recall you at my feet, at least this once.’

The words baffled Rosette, but she dropped gracefully to one knee anyway. As she raised her head to look into the emerald eyes of the High Priestess, La Makee took her hands and was lifted back to her feet. Rosette stood smiling. The woman was even more inspiring close up than she was in the lecture halls.

‘Not so obstinate as you imply,’ La Makee commented, taking in Rosette’s measure.