Sign of the Knife, page 36
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CHAPTER 41
We rode into Murdle Wood—a place so thick with trees that it created its own twilight in the afternoon.
I felt as if I’d been dreaming of having a father and woke to find out it wasn’t a dream at all, only to have the dream snatched away before I could reach out and touch it. It made my mind spin and I kept having to pull myself back to the present.
“I know a man, Morag, who can help us get into the city unnoticed. His cottage is just ahead,” Joren said.
We rode a little deeper into the wood. A small cottage came into view.
“Hello! Hello, Morag!” Joren called, “Are you home?”
A young boy ran from between the trees.
“He’s in the city, Morag is!” the boy called out. He stopped with surprise when he saw us. His eyes opened wide and he disappeared between the trees. We dismounted and followed him into a small clearing.
A woman stood in front of a tiny moss-covered cottage surrounded by children and chickens. She wore a forest green skirt 404
and tunic that were of all one piece and a white apron. Her hair was wrapped in lighter green cloth.
The boy stood beside her with his feet apart in a protective way. He looked about ten years old.
A thin girl with fair uncovered hair stared at us with a child on her hip. The child waved a carrot by its greens, nearly hitting her older sister on the head.
“Are yeh from the city?” the woman was asking in a husky voice.
“We wish to speak to Morag,” Joren said. “Will he be back soon?”
“Well, we should be asking you the same question,” said the woman. “He went into the city two days ago, didn’t he? And he’s not been back since. What have yeh done with him, ey?”
“I’ve done nothing with him, madam.”
The woman turned to the girl. “Take them inside, Enya.”
The girl gathered the children with small waves of her hand and little clucking sounds like a mother hen, the carrot-waving child dangling from her hip as she moved across the yard.
Most of the children went quietly, shock of strangers surprising any contrariness out of them, but the boy who had run to meet us stood still, arms crossed in front of his chest, feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Remove to the house, Jesper. Off with yeh now.” But Jesper didn’t move. “I mean it now. I can take care of meself just fine at the moment. Go watch over the young ones and close the cottage so we can talk to ourselves.”
Jesper moved to the door with young boy strides and pulled it closed behind him.
“Have yeh come to tell me he’s died then?” the woman asked as soon as the door was shut. Her voice was low, but she met Joren’s gaze.
Joren looked surprised. “Why would Morag be dead?”
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She put a hand to her chest. “Did yeh not come to bring me the news?”
“I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to kill Morag?”
But the woman took on new wariness. “Yeh come from the city—I sees yehr fine garments—most like from the palace. And we knows of the killin what’s been happenen with Domhnall, don we? So why is yeh here if not with the news?”
Joren said, “We only need some help. I’m very sorry to hear if Morag might have gotten into some kind of danger.”
The woman snorted. “Some kind eh danger, yeh speaks!
Don’t the whole land be about some kind eh danger.” She narrowed her eyes. “A friend of Morag’s? Tell me yehr name, then.”
Joren bowed his head. “My name is Joren, madam, Crown Prince of Gilan.”
Her eyes flew open as she grabbed her apron and covered her face. A sound somewhere between a squawk and a sob came from her and she fell to both knees in the dirt, the chickens flapping away. When she lowered the apron, her eyes were wet.
“Do yeh speak of a truth?” she asked. “Are yeh the prince, hisself?”
“Yes, madam. And I—“
She leaped from the ground and ran to him.
Kelt’s hand moved to his sword.
“We have been prayin for yeh,” she said as she reached up to put her hands on either side of his cheeks. “Beggin the gods yeh’d make it to home of one piece! And yeh did, we see. Yeh did!”
“Yes. Thank you, madam. But I’m in need of some help.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I see you have a son.”
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The woman stared at Joren and nodded slowly. “He can help yeh. He can help yeh.” She turned on her heel and moved to the cottage more quickly than I’d have thought she could.
She returned with Jesper.
The bravado of moments earlier was gone, and he stared at Joren with his mouth slightly open until his mother whispered something. Then he fell to his knees in the dirt.
“Your name is Jesper?” Joren asked as he put out his hand to raise the boy.
“Ay,” the boy said quietly. “It is.”
“I had hoped your father could enter Lydelia with a load of wood, stay till evening, and open the east city gate tonight after sunset to let us in.”
“My father spoked of yeh,” Jasper said with a smile that slipped a bit. “Said yehr quick of learnin, like meself.” He nodded.
“Ay. I can help yeh, yehr highness.”
A moment later Jesper’s thin form disappeared between the trees pulling a hand-wagon of wood toward the city gate.
We tethered our horses behind the cottage where the children insisted on brushing them down for us. Their mother, who said she was called Gansi, was preparing a large kettle of soup over a fire behind the house.
I tried to help, but Gansi would have none of it. So I sat at the edge of the clearing and struggled to untangle my emotions and accept that we were waiting until nightfall to enter the city.
Spring breezes brushed my skin and woodsy smells reminded me of home, Catriona and Mama.
Illsabet stood a few paces away and looked at me. She was wearing a simple skirt embroidered with butterflies. Her hair was loose and she fiddled with her hairbrush in her hands.
After several moments she sat beside me, and I stiffened.
She watched the children play and said nothing as she wove her hair into a long, dark braid. When she finished, she tucked a small white channery blossom into the top of the braid.
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“You look lovely,” I said quietly.
She still didn’t look at me, but she said, “Thank you for apologizing.”
“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
She drew her finger through the hair at the end of her braid.
“I don’t think you meant to kill my pa. Or any of those people.”
“Never. It was an accident,” I whispered, barely able to find breath to talk about it. “Maybe I did something wrong. They weren’t supposed to go off then. I think Domhnall may have been trying to kill me and my sister and Joren all at once. I would give anything to go back and change everything.”
“You become more of a princess every day.”
I closed my eyes and winced at the title I didn’t deserve. I needed to change the subject. “Whose eye are you trying to catch with that beautiful skirt and the channery blossom? Do you have a man in Lydelia?”
“I’ve never been here before.”
“You’re trying to catch someone’s eye. Please tell me it’s not Orn.”
Her cheeks flushed and for the first time, she looked at me.
“Will you promise not to tell?”
I scoffed. “You have no reason to trust me.”
“Yes, I do. You had that knife all the while we were traveling. And you never once hurt anyone with it. And you saved us all at that inn, when you didn’t have to. Running in there could have killed you. I’m sorry I slapped you.” I swallowed as she looked down at her hands. A smile hinted at crossing her face as she whispered. “It’s Varik.”
“Varik?” How had I not seen this? “You’re sweet on him?
Does he know?”
“We’ve spoken several times. He has a bit of land on the north side of Lydelia. His father and sisters want him to come back to the farm after his service. We can live on his farm together.”
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“You are going to live on a farm?” I looked at her hands.
“Tell me truthfully. These fingers have never milked a cow.”
“Yes, they have!” She lifted her hands up. “It’s been several years, but believe me, I’ve milked more cows than you could flap a fish at.”
“And then you just gave it up?”
“I started sewing. And my hands worked better without calluses from milking. Embroidery. It’s why I’m going to Lydelia.
To embroider dresses and kerchiefs. I can sew from Varik’s farm and sell my embroidery in the capitol on market days.”
It was so much like Mama. I stared at her, wondering how I’d traveled with her for weeks and never once asked why she was going to Lydelia. Was I that absorbed in myself that I never thought to ask why she was traveling to another kingdom? “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t believe I never asked.”
“You had other things on your mind.”
“And Varik proposed marriage?” I thought he’d never left my side.
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Not in as many words. But we’ve talked about it.”
“The clothes in your bag. The embroidery on your skirts.
You did that?”
She nodded.
I stared at her skirt. “You should sew for the palace, Illsabet. Not for market day.”
Illsabet just looked at me for so long I felt uncomfortable.
“You’re like a different person,” she said. “When I first met you, I was a bit afraid of you, with your angry looks and stealing knives.”
She touched one of my braids. “But not anymore. You’ll make a wonderful queen.”
I backed away. “I’m not a princess.”
Enya, the older girl, hurried past us, her cheeks flushed with the work of keeping babies from the fire and helping her mother chop vegetables for the soup. When she saw us watching 409
her, she smiled as she handed her mother the herbs she’d been crushing.
“Your skirt is nice,” Illsabet said. “Different.”
“I made it meself.” She nodded. “Of rough.”
“Rough?” I looked at Illsabet who looked as confused as I was. “What’s rough?”
Enya pulled us to our feet and led us to a large cedar tree beside the cottage. She ran her hand over the shaggy bark. “This be rough,” she said.
“You made your skirt of tree bark?” I looked at the skirt again. The cloth was smooth and tightly woven, and the red flowers were made of smaller bits of fabric sewn over the brown. I couldn’t believe it was made of bark.
Illsabet fingered Enya’s skirt. “Amazing.”
Joren motioned for me to come talk to him and I left Illsabet and Enya to meet him at the edge of the clearing.
“I want you to stay out of the fighting when we reach the palace,” he said when we’d walked further from the group.
I looked around the clearing at his few guards. “Really.
You have so many men on your side you can spare an able-bodied fighter? You know I can fight. I’m pretty good with a sword and deadly with a knife.”
“Domhnall will be expecting you, looking for you, and… if you should die—” He looked away. “I don’t want—I mean, it wouldn’t be good for the kingdom. Right now. For you to die.”
“You don’t understand. I need to fight. Anyway, half the men with us want to see me beheaded. If they don’t do it before the battle, someone else will after. Domhnall is here, Joren. This is what I came for!”
“I’m not so certain, Avylen. I’m not sure you’re going to be executed. But what better way to have you killed than in the middle of a battle when they can claim it was an accident? One of my own men could kill you.”
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I was silent until he looked directly at me. The bright blue of his eyes still startled me sometimes. “I’m not going to die in battle. Remember the prophecy? Domhnall the dragon will be defeated when we fight together. Not when I sit in the gardens weaving daisy chains while you’re off saving the kingdom.” He started to protest, but I held up my hand. “You can’t stop me. I will fight.”
“You are your father’s daughter.” He sighed. “Please stay out of the thick of it.”
“I can’t promise anything. But Joren, I’ll need Ordalf.”
He sighed again and walked away.
The soup was ready, and we gathered around the pot as Gansi handed us mismatched bowls and cups steaming with fresh carrots and onions and something I couldn’t identify until Joren told me it was eggs dropped into the soup.
Her own children hung back and watched us eat.
I smiled at a little girl with yellow curls peeking from beneath her kerchief and she smiled back before ducking behind Enya’s skirt.
I sat beside Joren as we ate and asked again for Ordalf.
He stood and took his bowl of soup to go talk to Gansi.
We didn’t have another moment alone together.
When night fell, we thanked Gansi, Enya and the children—who had emerged from their shyness to impress us with their talents for hopping on one leg and throwing stones at marks on trees.
We left our supply carts with Gansi, mounted our horses, and Joren led us toward the gate in the city wall where we hoped young Jesper would be waiting.
The walls were made of grey stone and were over three men high. Trees had been cut back a good twenty paces from the wall, like country folk not allowed to press too near the royal 411
family. A path was beaten down where guards walked as they patrolled the city.
I wondered if my father’s guards had been loyal to him, if they were killed, or in prison. Some people in Lydelia were surely keen to impress Domhnall, willing to patrol the walls and city for his protection, watching for us to arrive.
Darkness shifted and bits of moonlight speckled our path. I saw a rounded doorway through the wall sheltering a heavy-looking wooden door.
“Jesper will open the gate himself,” Joren whispered.
“We’ll wait for him here.”
Everyone tried not to attract attention. In the quiet night, our shifting feet and breathing seemed oddly loud.
I put my hand on Joren’s sleeve. “I could fight a lot better if I had Ordalf,” I whispered.
Kelt shifted closer to us and shook his head, motioning me to be quiet.
“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it after the fire while you were sleeping. I’m here to kill Domhnall.” I turned to Kelt who glared at me for speaking. “You know I had the knife all night after the fire, while you both slept, and I never used it. I can’t fight without a weapon.”
“No,” Kelt said. “Out of the question.”
I looked at Joren, but he turned away.
My hands hung empty at my sides.
Time slowed and the moon seemed permanently fixed in her place in the sky.
There was a scrambling sound on the other side of the gate.
The iron latch moved, and we all took in our breaths.
A burly man—not slim little Jesper—stepped through the gate and looked into the tree shadows and moonlight. He was huge and I thought he had an odd beard until I realized he had many chins.
He bent to pick up a stone and turned back to the gate.
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I tried to see Joren’s expression without moving, but it was too dark.
The man put the stone in the gate’s doorway to keep it from shutting all the way, then pulled a dagger from his belt and stepped toward us into the shadows.
Joren drew his sword slowly, without a sound.
“Jesper sent me,” the man said in a whisper.
Joren looked at Kelt, then back to the man. “What’s the word?”
“Mira blossom,” the man responded.
Joren stepped forward, sword in hand, but no one else followed.
“Your Highness,” the man said when Joren stepped into the moonlight.
“Where is Jesper?” Joren held his sword at the ready.
“He was recognized as Morag’s son as he made his rounds, Your Highness, and taken prisoner.”
“A boy taken prisoner? Why?”
“Morag spoke out in your favor against Domhnall, spoke out in the market square. He’s as loyal as they come, but he leans toward action more than thinkin, and I’m afraid he’s goin teh pay the full price for this, if he’s not already.”
“The boy?”
“He was pullin that wagon of wood right through market where his pa was taken, an’ Domhnall’s men, they asked who he was, an some old woman, she told em. Told em he was Morag’s boy. Hauled im off kickin and fightin, they did. But before they caught im, he’d whispered teh me an a few others bout yehr plans for t’night.” The man nodded his head. Sweat on his brow shone in the moonlight.
“Did the guards hear him? Did they get our information?”
“We can’t be certain, but I don think so, yer highness. That boy is clever, and the rest of us, we keep our mouths shut like oysters.” He nodded again.
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“Where are Domhnall’s night guards for this gate?”
“A bit of a muddy job that was.” The man shifted uneasily.
“Old Elwin, the shoemaker, had a bit of poison handy. Timnus oil it was—didn’t ask him why—just minded our own lives and thanked him for it. And those guards, fond of wine they are. So Elwin got Eitri to bring em a gift of wine.” He shook his head and his chins wobbled. “None too clever, they aren’t. Thinkin we’d want to bring em gifts, after what they’ve done.” He shuddered.
“We disposed of ‘em behind Elwin’s shop. Sent Elwin to stay to my place now, so’s he can claim he knows nothin bout the whole affair.”
“All right.” Joren took in a breath and nodded toward the city. “For Gilan and Aloysia.” He motioned for us to follow him.
The noise we made—all fifty or so of us moving as quietly as we could—sounded like thunder to my ears.
