The Lost Heiress

4

It is impossible for the agent to be overcunning, or have too little conscience.

Rule of the Watch

BRAYLWIN POURED half a flaskful of Rocallion’s best wine into a glass and sipped it, licking every drop from his lips. As Carys came in, his hand hovered over the dish of spiced chicken, picking out a succulent piece.

“Well?”

She went over to the fire and stared down angrily into the flames, leaning her forehead on the chimney-piece. “You’re scum, Braylwin. Odious, stinking scum.”

He smiled an oily smile. “Ah, poor Carys. How hard she takes it! And not even to have any reward at the end of it—because all that will be mine. Anyway, it was your idea.” He spat a bone elegantly to one side and mopped his lips. “Tell Uncle all about it.”

“Galen’s gone. And the boy.”

“You got them past the guard?”

“Only too easily.”

“And they had no idea I knew about them? None at all, Carys?”

She twisted, glaring at him. “Not from me. But Galen’s . . . Well, he’s got ways of knowing. I can’t be sure.”

“Mmm. Well, it will have to do. Because if I thought you were playing your little tricks on me, sweetie, your uncle would be annoyed. Very annoyed.”

She hated him. At that moment, staring down at his sleek skullcap, she longed to put a crossbow bolt through him, and was shocked at herself. Gripping her fists, she kept her voice calm. “I told them about the Interrex—all the information we had. I’m not sure it’ll work. He won’t know where to look any more than you.”

“He won’t. But keepers have ways of finding things out. It’s said they talk to trees.” He giggled.

“As a matter of fact,” she said savagely, “they do.”

The small, sharp eyes fixed on her. “Ah, I’d forgotten you know all about them. One day, Carys, I’ll find out exactly what did go on in Tasceron.” He scratched his cheek and selected another piece of meat. She watched him, cold with fury, his fur-trimmed coat and the tiny black skullcap he wore to keep warm. “They’ll find the Interrex for us. What keeper could resist it?” He licked his thumb. “And as you say, it saves us doing any of the work. We get them, and the child, and a nice fat sack of gold. Or at least I do. Probably promotion too.”

“What about me?”

He wagged a greasy finger at her. “You get away with your life, sweetheart. And Uncle doesn’t tell about that business at Carner’s Haven.”

She turned back to the fire, knowing he was smirking behind her. “Galen is worth ten of you,” she snarled.

“He is, is he? That remark is enough to get you two years patrolling ice. Or worse. If you play games with the Watch, Carys, you pay the price.” She heard him clink his glass thoughtfully. “Does it hurt so much to betray them—the keeper, the boy, the cat-creature? Perhaps it does. Long ago I might have felt the same.”

“I doubt it.”

He glanced over. “High and mighty. But underneath, you and I are just the same, Carys.”

Suddenly her disgust was too much. She turned and stalked past him, slamming the door, pushing two of Rocallion’s house-girls aside. Upstairs, in the small room she’d taken for herself, she flung the crossbow down and herself after it, onto the bed.

How could she have brought herself to this? Been so stupid?

Rolling over, she stared up at the ceiling, thinking back to Carner’s Haven.

It had been the first time she’d seen the Watch take children, and it had shaken her. The patrol had ridden down to the village early, Braylwin on his new green-painted horse, but somehow the villagers had had warning. The place was in total confusion. All the children under ten were in hiding, the men yelling threats and the women screeching with anger and fear. “Search the place!” he’d roared, and she’d been the one to go into the barn in the last field and see the little girl wriggling halfway out of the straw.

Thumping the mattress, Carys got up and went to the window, tugging it open. Leaf-dust drifted against her lips.

Carefully she remembered that moment. The girl had been about four or five, crying, her face contorted with terror. The mother had burst out of hiding between them.

“For God’s sake,” she’d breathed. “Let her go! Let us go!”

It was only then Carys had realized the crossbow had been loaded and aimed; she’d lowered it abruptly, astonished.

Why had she let them escape? Even now she wasn’t sure. Was it that the little girl with the brown hair might have been herself, all those years ago? Had she cried when the Watch took her? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember her mother or father, her village, anything before the grim stone rooms and snowy courtyards of Watchtower 547, Marn Mountain. Maybe that was why she’d lifted the baby and pushed her hurriedly through a gap in the back wall to the mother outside. Thinking about it made her feel uneasy, even now. Galen would have been pleased. Why did it matter what Galen thought?

She looked up unhappily for the moons, but they were lost behind cloud; pale strange edges and nebulous glimmers. It would have been all right, but when she had turned around Braylwin had been standing inside the barn door, looking at her. He’d seen enough; she’d known instantly that he would use it against her. All he’d said was, “Oh, sweetheart!” in that mock-surprised, stupid way he had. But he’d seen.

All he had to do was report it.

Things were tricky enough already. They’d certainly have her in for questioning, and she knew too much. The House of Trees, the Order’s safe house in Tasceron, that Galen was the Crow, they’d get all that out of her—she dared not let them question her. Moodily she stared at the windowsill and cursed Galen to the Pit for letting her remember it all. Braylwin had her in his power, and how he loved it. Carys do this, Carys do that, all the worst work, the wretched endless reports. She was sick of it.

And then he had found the awen-beads.

His fat hand had picked them delicately from around the candles and she’d recognized them with a cold stab of dread. She knew Braylwin would tear the house apart to find a keeper. It had been her plan to let Raffi and Galen go and urge them to find the Interrex—the only thing she could think of on the spot.

But Braylwin had liked it. It was clever, and meant no work for him. He was lazy. That was one weakness she could use.

Perhaps she should have told Galen. Warned him. Or maybe not. He had to find this child in any case, and when he did . . . Well, she’d worry about that when it happened. At least they were free.

Out in the cold night Agramon loomed suddenly from behind a cloud, outlining the dusty buildings and the fields beyond, their hedgerows dark and spiny, the trees branching against pale sky.

It had been good to see them both again. Raffi looked a bit taller. Where were they now, she wondered, out in that leaf-littered land? Where would they go?

For a brief, bitter second she wished she was with them, that she was walking down the muddy lanes away from here, away from the Watch, laughing with Raffi. Then, fiercely, she banged the window shut and turned her back on it.

Braylwin was going to the Tower of Song.

And she was going with him.