Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (59 page)

‘This is not yours yet.’ She met his gaze and held it until he unclenched his hands and let go. ‘When the others have pledged their allegiance, then it will be yours by right, but not yet.’

His lips twisted sulkily, but he nodded. Good. Pride was always a bitter drink to swallow, but when his victory came, it would be more than sweet enough to take the taste away. Sweet enough for both of them.

‘I will meet the chiefs in an hour,’ he said.

Ytha smiled. ‘Then I shall leave you to your bath.’

Inclining her head, she made her way to the tent door, the spear cradled across her body on her arm like an infant.

At the threshold his voice arrested her. ‘The girl. Teia.’

She half-turned. ‘What of her?’

‘You promised me she would give me an heir.’

Ytha studied his face. The black hair and beard were so like his father’s, but the truculent jut of the jaw, that was all his own. Was it just the desire for a son that troubled him? No, he’d filled more than enough ripe young wombs with his seed since. Then was it the girl herself? The way he’d ignored his daughter, she’d never thought him capable of forming a lasting bond.

‘You must let go of her, Drwyn.’

Dark eyes burned. ‘And let go of what she carries, too?’

‘She was never part of our plans, and neither was her child. She’s of no concern to us now. Let the winter have her.’

His jaw worked, still chewing on resentment. ‘What if she bears a son? My son?’

‘If she bears a son. If she survives the snow. A lot of ifs.’

He looked away. ‘Nevertheless.’

‘Once you are raised Chief of Chiefs, what can she do that we should be concerned over?’ Ytha firmed her tone, reaching for the outer curtain. ‘She does not matter, Drwyn. Even if she is still alive, she does not matter. Remember that.’

Closing the door behind him, Gair looked around the stuffy storeroom. Shelves lined the walls, neatly ordered by the door and below the windows, but the rest overstuffed and thick with the dust of years. Yet more books were piled on the square table in the centre of the room or stacked on the floor around it, leaving barely enough room to walk on either side.

So many texts remained unsorted, but after all the hours he’d spent turning those crackling pages, leafing through unbound sheets, the less likely it seemed that they’d contain some clue to the starseed’s location. It was the oddest collection of books he’d ever seen: tales for children mixed with medical texts and philosophical treatises, maps centuries out of date, stores and requisitions lists for quartermasters long since gone to dust. He and Alderan had found no relevant histories or personal journals, and not a single document bearing the Suvaeon’s seal.

What a dust-choked, frustrating and strangely poignant waste of time.

Still, he owed it to Alderan to at least try, even if the weight of his given word hung around his neck like a horse-collar. He eyed the crowded shelves again. If there truly was anything to be found in all that . . . wreckage of lives.

With a sigh, he returned to the pile of books he had been sorting when Resa came to find him that morning. Better to travel hopefully than to arrive, as the saying went. Then he realised exactly where that saying came from and almost laughed. Proverbs, chapter eighteen, verse twenty-one. There was so much scripture in his head, but no faith in his heart to make it any more meaningful than an old saw.

By the time the sky in the high windows had purpled into dusk and the bell rang for Vespers, Gair’s side was throbbing. He shifted in his seat, fingering the bandage through his shirt. Alderan had not returned from whatever mysterious errand he’d been about since leaving the infirmary, so he’d been working alone – and fruitlessly – all afternoon. Two more shelves were now sorted, though he could only tell because he knew where he’d started.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d eaten nothing since a fruit pastry at breakfast. He was thirsty, too; his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. He looked down at his dust-darkened hands and grimaced. Before he did anything else, he needed a wash.

After he’d cleaned up in his room, he went back downstairs into the guest hall common room. It had been swept and dusted since he and Alderan had arrived, the hearth laid with wood and kindling, the scuttle filled. On the table, plates had been set for a meal, with covered dishes that proved to contain baked chicken in a sticky glaze and some kind of cold cooked grain mixed with chopped vegetables. Another bowl held plump fresh dates.

Gair filled a plate and sat down to eat. No more than five minutes after the chimes that signified the end of evening service, the door swung open with enough force to rebound off the wall. He looked up, expecting Alderan, but the formidable figure that strode in was definitely not him.

The Superior was not tall, especially compared to Gair, but in terms of sheer presence she towered. She had the kind of comfortably rounded country-born handsomeness that belonged in a farmhouse kitchen with its sleeves rolled up. Dressed in a stout black habit with her starched white wimple shining like snow atop a mountain of anger, she bore down on him across the common room in much the same manner as an avenging angel.

‘The guest hall was closed for a reason,’ she barked. Pale-blue eyes snapped sparks. ‘The city is too dangerous for us to allow strangers within these walls.’

Standing up, Gair bowed formally.

‘Good evening, Superior. Sisters,’ he added, with another bow for the nuns scuttling in after her. Sofi was there, looking chastened, along with Resa and Avis, dressed in a clean habit but with a swollen purpling lip.

‘What is your business here?’ the Superior demanded. ‘Sister Sofi has told me what she knows, but I sometimes wonder whether her head is stuffed with forcemeat instead of brains, so I would hear you for myself. Well? Speak up, boy – my time is short.’

Before he could even begin to explain, she marched up to him and seized his left hand, peering at the brand on his palm. Her lips compressed into a hard line.

‘A witchmark. So that at least is true.’ Several of the sisters blessed themselves anxiously as the Superior looked him up and down. ‘Are you also a Knight of the Suvaeon Order?’

‘A novice only,’ Gair said, ‘and an excommunicate, as you see.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘And you dared ask for sanctuary within these walls? When you know Church precincts are forbidden to you?’

‘I asked only for shelter from a storm.’

‘The storm has been over for three days, yet you are still here.’ Drawing herself up to her full height, she folded her hands inside her scapular, the golden Oak on her breast gleaming. ‘You must leave immediately.’

‘But Superior,’ Sofi put in, ‘guest-right has been given. We cannot withdraw it without good cause.’

‘One of our order coming home beaten and bloody is cause enough for me,’ the Superior said tartly. ‘Very well. One more night, since Sister Avis tells me you were injured in her defence, but after that, I do not expect to see you again. We have spent many years taking care to avoid bringing the Cult’s attention down on us, and up until the start of this year we were successful. After what happened to Sister Resa the last thing we needed was to provoke them, and you, young man, have done precisely that. It is dangerous enough for us here in El Maqqam, outside the enclave as we are, without this as well. Good day to you.’

With a curt nod, she swung on her heel and marched out of the room, the other sisters clustering after her. Resa lingered and snagged Sofi’s sleeve to halt her as she passed. When the others had gone, they came over to the table.

‘I feel as if I was just trampled by a runaway horse,’ Gair said as he sat down. Resa hid a smile behind her hand.

Sofi gave him an apologetic gesture that was halfway between a nod and a shrug. ‘Our Superior is . . . forceful. But she is a good woman, and cares deeply for our safety. That is why she is so concerned about allowing strangers inside the Daughterhouse.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. You took a hurt to save Resa and Avis today and we should show more gratitude for that.’

‘Don’t worry about it, Sister.’

He pushed some food around his plate but the honey-glazed chicken reminded him too much of a picnic on the beach that he’d never taken, and now never could. Any enthusiasm to eat died with the memory and he dropped the fork.

‘What did she mean, about the enclave?’

‘There has been trouble in the city of late. Blood spilled, property destroyed.’ Sofi looked uncomfortable, fingers fretting at a frayed cuff. ‘The northern merchants claimed Cult hotheads were to blame and pressed the governor to take action, but all he did was order a wall built around their enclave and set a curfew on them. For their protection, the decree said.’

For their protection? The governor had as good as penned the northern folk like cattle for slaughter.

‘When was this?’ Gair asked.

‘Early last year. It stopped the house-burnings and the outright violence, but many shopkeepers have lost trade – businesses owned by northerners, merchants with whom they traded. Even the ones who traded with us.’ She shrugged. ‘You know how it goes, I’m sure. People are afraid.’

‘Can’t you go into the enclave?’ It was a prison in all but name, but at least it would be safer. For a time, anyway.

The nun shook her head. ‘We cannot purchase property here, even if we had the means. No one would sell to us for fear of reprisal. Besides, the city governor has forbidden us from consecrating any land.’

‘Then you should leave, before things get any worse.’ Before the noose closed around them completely. ‘How many of you are there?’

‘Thirty-four.’

He couldn’t defend that many, not without using the Song and that would draw even more of the wrong kind of attention to the Tamasians – and probably terrify them half to death into the bargain. They were already scared of an excommunicate; what would they make of a witch?

Gair glanced at Resa but her face revealed nothing. She had to have realised what he’d tried to do for her in the chapel, but she didn’t appear to have told anyone. She was skilled at communicating her meaning with hand gestures and pantomime; he was sure she would have told Sofi, at least, who appeared to have a bond with her.

‘Would the governor not spare some men from the city guard?’

Sofi spread her hands. ‘We asked. He is too fearful of unrest taking hold in the city to lend us a single man.’

Perfect. The governor did just enough to be seen to be doing something, but not enough that either faction could point a finger of blame when the whole city exploded into violence – as it surely would, and soon.

‘You know I will offer my sword, if it helps.’

‘I know.’ Sofi said it a little stiffly, and didn’t meet his eye. She still didn’t trust him, not entirely. ‘If we had soldiers to aid us we could leave here tomorrow and sail back to Syfria, but we haven’t, and that’s that. We must put our faith in the Goddess to steer us through these troubled times.’

Faith was a powerful thing, but faith alone wouldn’t stop an angry mob. It hadn’t shielded Avis today, and it certainly hadn’t protected Resa. Her soul, maybe, but not her body.

Sweet saints, they needed help. Perhaps he and Alderan . . .? Gair dismissed that thought unfinished. The old man wouldn’t abandon his search for the starseed; he’d made that quite clear.

So it’s down to me
.

Sofi touched his arm, as if guessing at his thoughts. ‘This is not your responsibility, Gair. All will be well, you’ll see.’

‘I’m not sure even your faith will be enough to guarantee that, Sister.’

He pushed his plate away and fingered his side when it twinged. Today there had been five. Tomorrow there might be fifty, or five hundred, turning El Maqqam into a charnel house again. He thought of the little Oak on the chapel altar, made from thick black nails, and shivered at the sudden chill in his soul.

36

TRAPPED

Gair sat in the guest hall, cleaning his borrowed
qatan
by glim-light. He’d scoured the guard and fuller thoroughly – blood salts would start rust if left staining the blade for too long – and dressed the edge with a stone, although it hardly needed it. Even after hard use, Gimraeli steel remained sharp.