Текст книги "The Kiss of Deception"

Автор книги: Mary E. Pearson

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

He looked down for a moment and then smiled.

“What?” I demanded. “Tell me!”

His eyes glistened. “Greta is … I’m going to be a father.”

I looked at him, unable to speak. I had never seen my brother quite so happy, not even on his wedding day, when he nervously tugged at his coat and Bryn had to keep jabbing him to stop. He glowed the way an expectant mother would. Walther, a father. And what a remarkable one he would be.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked.

I burst into joyous laughter and hugged him, asking him question after question. Yes, Greta was doing just fine. The baby was expected in December. He didn’t care, boy or girl, maybe they’d get lucky and have both. Yes, he was so happy, so in love, so ready to begin a family with Greta. Right now they were stopping over in Luiseveque, which was how he was able to come to Terravin. They were on their way to Greta’s parents’ manor in the south, where she would stay on while he left to fulfill his last patrol. Then before the baby was born, they would return to Civica, and then, and then, and then …

I worked to hide the unexpected sadness growing in me as it dawned that none of the events he mentioned would include me. Because of my new life in hiding, I might never know my first niece or nephew, though if I had been dispatched to the outer reaches of Dalbreck, my chances would have been no better of ever seeing this child.

I stared at my brother, his nose slightly crooked, his eyes set deep, his cheeks dimpled with joy, twenty-three and more man than boy now, broad strong shoulders for holding a child, already becoming a father right before my eyes. I looked at his happiness, and mine returned. That was how it had always been. Walther always cheered me when no one else could.

He talked on, and I hardly noticed the forest darkening around us until he jumped up. “We both need to go. Will you be all right on your own?”

“I nearly sliced you in two when I first got here,” I said, patting my sheathed knife.

“Keeping up your practice?”

“Not a bit, I’m afraid.”

I stooped to pick up the blanket, but he stopped me, grabbing my arm gently and shaking his head. “It’s not right that you had to practice in private, Lia. When I’m king, things will be different.”

“You plan on seizing the throne soon?” I teased.

He smiled. “The time will come. But promise me in the meantime to keep up your practice.”

I nodded. “I promise.”

“Hurry, then, before it gets dark.”

We gathered up the blanket and basket, and he kissed my cheek. “You’re happy with your new life here?”

“I could only be happier if you, Bryn, and Regan were here with me.”

“Patience, Lia. We’ll figure out something. Here, take this,” he said, shoving the basket into my hands. “A little morsel in the bottom to tide you over. I’ll stop in again before I leave on patrol. Stay safe until then.”

I nodded, mulling over the realization that he had so many responsibilities now—husband, father, soldier—and ultimately heir to the throne. He shouldn’t have to fit worries of me in there too, but I was glad he did. “Give Greta my love and glad tidings.”

“I will.” He turned to leave, but I blurted out another question, unable to let him go.

“Walther, when was it that you knew you loved Greta?”

The look that always descended on him when he spoke of Greta, settled over him like a silken cloud. He sighed. “I knew the minute I laid eyes on her.”

My face must have betrayed my disappointment. He reached out and pinched my chin. “I know the arranged marriage planted seeds of doubt for you, but someone will come along, someone worthy of you. And you’ll know it the minute you meet him.”

Again, it wasn’t the answer I hoped for, but I nodded and then thought of Pauline and her worries. “Walther, I promise this is my last question, but have you any news of Mikael?”

“Mikael?”

“He’s in the Guard. He was on patrol. A young blond fellow. He should have been back by now.”

I watched him search his memory shaking his head. “I don’t know any—”

I added more scattered details that Pauline had given me about him, including a silly red cravat that he sometimes wore when off duty. Walther’s gaze shot up at me. “Mikael. Of course. I know who he is.” His brows drew together in a rare menacing way, darkening his whole face. “You aren’t involved with him, are you?”

“No, of course not, but—”

“Good. Steer clear of his sort. His platoon’s been back for two weeks. Last I saw of him, he was at the pub, fuller than a tick, with a maid on each knee. That scoundrel’s got a sugared tongue and a swooning girl in every town from here to Civica—and he’s known to brag about it.”

I gaped at him, unable to speak.

He grimaced. “Oh, good gods, if it’s not you, it’s Pauline. She had eyes for him?”

I nodded.

“Then so much the better that she’s free of him now and here with you. He’s nothing but trouble. Make sure she stays away from him.”

“Are you certain, Walther? Mikael?”

“He boasts about his conquests and the broken hearts he’s left behind as if they’re medals pinned on his chest. I’m certain.”

He said his hurried good-byes with a mindful eye to the growing darkness, but I left mostly in a daze, hardly remembering the steps that brought me back to the cottage.

She’s free of him now.

No, not now. Not ever.

What would I tell her? It would be easier if Mikael were dead.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

KADEN

So.

Our princess has a lover.

When I followed her into the forest, I thought I was finally going to get what I needed—time alone with her. But the farther she went, the more curious I became. Where could she possibly be going? My mind conjured a lot of possibilities but never conceived of the one that took me by surprise.

I watched her fly into his arms, kissing him, holding him like she’d never let go. The young man was obviously just as happy to see her. They disappeared into the ruins, still tangled in each other’s arms. What happened from there wasn’t hard for me to imagine.

All along, that was what drove her.

A lover.

That was why she ran from the marriage. I didn’t know why I should feel sick. Maybe it was the way she had looked into my eyes this morning. The way she lingered. The blush on her cheeks. It did something to me. Something I liked. Something that made me think maybe things could still be different. I thought about it all day as I rode to Luiseveque to leave a message. And then all the way back again, even though I tried to banish her from my thoughts. Maybe things could be different. Evidently not.

It felt like I had been punched in the gut—a feeling I wasn’t accustomed to. I usually guarded myself well in that regard. Wounds in the field were one thing, but these kind, they were sheer stupidity. I may have had the air knocked out of me, but Rafe looked like he had been trampled. Stupid sot.

When I turned to leave, he was standing just a dozen feet away, not even trying to hide his presence. He had seen it all. Apparently the smitten jackass had followed us. He didn’t speak when I saw him. I suspected he couldn’t.

I brushed past him. “It seems she’s true to her word. She isn’t the innocent sort, is she?”

He didn’t reply. A reply would have been redundant. His face already said it. Maybe now he’d be on his way once and for all.

Always on the wind.

I hear them coming.

Tell me again, Ama, about the storm.

There is no time for a story, child.

Please, Ama.

Her eyes are hollow.

There is no supper tonight.

A story is all I have to fill her.

It was a storm, that’s all I remember.

A storm that wouldn’t end.

A great storm, she prompts.

I sigh, Yes, and pull her to my lap.

Once upon a time, child,

Long, long ago,

Seven stars were flung from the sky.

One to shake the mountains,

One to churn the seas,

One to choke the air,

And four to test the hearts of men.

A thousand knives of light,

Grew to an explosive rolling cloud,

Like a hungry monster.

Only a little princess found grace,

A princess just like you …

A storm that made the ways of old meaningless.

A sharp knife, a careful aim, an iron will, and a listening heart,

Those were the only things that mattered.

And moving on. Always moving on.

Come, child, it is time to go.

The scavengers, I hear them rustling in the hills.

–The Last Testaments of Gaudrel

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There were so many things I had wanted to say to Pauline today. So many things that seemed important at the time. I was going to lecture her for spreading stories about my fear of rabbits. Tease her for her undying resourcefulness even when sick. Tell her about Rafe bringing the baskets and my time in the canyon with him. I wanted to ask her what she thought it meant and talk about all the details of our lives, just as we always did at the end of the day when we were back in our room.

Now here I was alone in the dark, unable to face her, scratching a donkey behind his ears, whispering to him, “What should I do? What should I do?”

I had arrived terribly late to the dining room, bursting into the kitchen. Berdi was steaming as much as her kettle of stew. I had intended to tell her why I was late, but all I could utter was “I have news of Mikael” before my throat sealed shut. Berdi’s steam vanished, and she nodded, handing me a plate, and from there, the evening went by rote, a reprieve from the inevitable. I was so busy, there wasn’t time for further explanations. I smiled, I welcomed, I delivered, I cleaned. But my spicy words were few. Once I was caught at the watering station, staring at nothing at all, while the mug I was filling spilled over with cider. Pauline touched my elbow and asked if I was all right. “Just tired,” I answered. “I had a lot of sun today.” She tried to apologize for not helping with the berries, but I cut her short to go deliver the cider.

Kaden came alone to the dining room. I was relieved that Rafe hadn’t come. I was troubled enough without having to navigate his dark moods. Still, I found myself looking at the tavern door each time it opened, thinking he had to eat sooner or later. I tried to smile and offer my standard greetings to everyone, but when I brought Kaden his meal, he stopped me before I rushed off.

“Your fire seems dampened tonight, Lia.”

“I’m sorry. I might be a bit distracted. Did I forget something you wanted?”

“Your service is fine. What has you bothered?”

I paused, touched that he perceived my rattled state. “It’s only a little throbbing in my head. It will be fine.”

His eyes remained fixed on me, apparently unconvinced. I sighed and conceded. “I’m afraid I received some disheartening news today from my brother.”

His brows rose as if this news greatly surprised him. “Your brother is here?”

I smiled. Walther. I’d forgotten how happy I had been to see him. “He was here for a brief visit this evening. I was overjoyed to see him, but unfortunately we had to part on some difficult news.”

“A tall fellow? Riding a tobiano? I think I may have passed him on the highway today.”

I was surprised that Walther would take the main highway from Luiseveque and not stick to the back trails. “Yes, that was him,” I answered.

Kaden nodded and sat back in his chair as if he was already satisfied with his meal, though he hadn’t yet touched a bite. “I can see the resemblance, now that you’ve told me. The dark hair, the cheekbones…”

He had observed much in such a short passing on the road, but then again, he had already proven himself observant when he noted my lack of fire in a bustling tavern.

He leaned forward. “Is there anything I can do?”

His voice was warm and slow and reminded me of the gentle rumble of a distant summer storm—so inviting at a distance. And those eyes again, the ones that made me feel naked, like he saw beneath my skin. I knew I couldn’t sit down and tell him my worries, but his steadfast gaze made me want to.

“Nothing,” I whispered. He reached out and squeezed my hand. More silent seconds ticked between us. “I need to be about my duties, Kaden.”

Glancing across the room, I saw Berdi watching from the kitchen door and wondered what she must think, then wondered who else saw—and, really, was it anything I should feel guilty about? Wasn’t it good to know someone was worried about me when others were seeking to put a rope about my neck? I was grateful for his kindness, but I pulled my hand from his.

“Thank you,” I whispered, afraid my voice might crack, and I hurried away.

When our evening work was done, I left Pauline gaping at the kitchen door as I rushed out by myself, claiming I needed fresh air and was going for a walk. But I didn’t walk. I got only as far as Otto’s stall. It was dark and deserted, and my worries would be safe with him. I balanced on the top rail of the stall, hugging a post with one hand and scratching his ears with the other. He didn’t question my late-night attentions. He accepted them gratefully, which made my chest pull tighter. I struggled to choke back sobs. What should I do?

The truth would kill her.

I heard a rustle, the hollow thump of metal. I froze, looking into the darkness.

“Who’s there?”

There was no answer.

And then more noise, seemingly from a different direction. I reeled, confused, jumped from the rail and called out again. “Who’s there?”

In a slash of moonlight, Pauline’s pale face appeared.

“It’s me. We need to talk.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

RAFE

It wasn’t my intention to witness what I did. If I could have moved quietly away I would have, but I was trapped. It seemed that in one day I had witnessed far more by chance than by intention.

I had gone to a pub in town for my evening meal, not wanting to encounter the princess again. I had had enough for one day. Enough of her royal conniving antics altogether. I’d already told myself she was an imperious pain. Better for me that she was. It was easier to keep my distance that way. But as I drank my third cider and barely touched my food, I found I was still trying to sort through what happened, and with each sip, I damned her again.

Only this morning when I had seen her in the canyon, I was tongue-tied. She’d looked just like any other girl out gathering berries. Her hair braided back, loose strands brushing her neck, her cheeks flushed with heat. No pretense. No royal airs. No secrets that I didn’t already know. Words had sprung through my mind trying to describe her, but none seemed quite right. I had sat like a witless fool on the back of my horse, just staring. And then she invited me to stay. As we walked, I knew I was going down a dangerous path, but that didn’t stop me. At first I kept all my words in check, carefully doled out, but then in an uncanny way, she pulled them from me anyway. It all seemed very easy and innocent. Until it wasn’t. I should have known.

Up on the cliff, when there was nowhere else to go, when our words seemed to matter less, and our proximity mattered more, when I couldn’t force my gaze away from her to save my life, my mind raced with one possibility and one possibility only. I stepped closer. There was a moment. A long breath-holding moment, but then with a few venomous words from her—a terrible mistake, the marks of grunting barbarians—I was slammed with the truth.

She was not just any seventeen-year-old girl, and I wasn’t any young man helping her pick berries. Our worlds were not similar at all. I had been deluding myself. She had one goal. I had another. She practically spat her condemning words out, and I felt venom surge through me too. I remembered how different we both were, and no distant walk could change that.

The more I drank, the foggier my anger became but then flashes of her clandestine rendezvous in the forest would surface to sharpen it again. What had pushed me to follow Kaden? As I watered my horse, I saw him slip down the path toward her cottage and soon I was on his heels. What did I expect? Not what I saw. It explained everything. She has a lover. I knew I had been entertaining a dangerous fantasy.

After four ciders, I paid my bill and returned to the inn. It was late, and I didn’t think I’d run into anyone. I made a last trip to the privy after unsaddling my horse and was headed for the loft when she appeared, coming down the path hell-bent, her cap clutched in her fist like a weapon, and her hair flying behind her. I stepped into a shadowed corner by the stalls waiting for her to pass, but she didn’t. She stopped only feet from me, climbing onto the rail where the jackass was stabled.

It was obvious she was distraught. More than distraught. Fearful. I had come to think she wasn’t afraid of anything. I watched, her lips half-parted, her breathing uneven, as she whispered to the donkey, caressing his ears, raking her fingers through his mane, whispering words so strained and low I couldn’t hear them, even though with just a few steps, I could have reached out and touched her.

I looked at her face, gently illuminated by the distant light of the tavern. Even with her brows pulled low and an anguished crease between them, she was beautiful. It was a strange thing to think at the moment. I had deliberately avoided the thought each time I had looked at her before. I couldn’t afford such thoughts, but now the word came, unbidden, unrelenting.

I saw more than I was sure she wanted anyone to see. She cried. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and she angrily wiped them away, but then whatever grieved her made the tears inconsequential, and they flowed freely.

I wanted to step out of the darkness, ask her what was wrong, but quickly suppressed that impulse and questioned my own sanity—or maybe sobriety. She was not to be trusted, flirting with me one moment, meeting a lover the next. I had to remind myself that I didn’t care what her troubles were. I needed to leave. I tried to slide away unnoticed, but the ciders at the pub were strong, and I wasn’t feeling surest of foot. My boot knocked an unseen pail.

“Who’s there?” she called out. I thought the deception was over and was about to make myself known when the other girl approached, covering my presence.

“It’s me,” she said. “We need to talk.”

I was frozen in their world, their worries, their words. I was trapped, and all I could do was listen.

CHAPTER TWENTY

He came out of nowhere. One moment not there, the next there, scooping Pauline into his arms. “I’ll take her to the cottage,” he said, almost as a question. I nodded, and he left with me trailing just behind him. Pauline was limp in his arms, moaning, inconsolable.

Just before we reached the cottage, I raced ahead, flinging open the door, turning up the light of the lantern, and he carried her inside.

I pointed to the bed, and he gently laid her on the mattress. She curled into a tight ball facing the wall. I brushed the tangled mop of hair from her face and touched her cheek.

“Pauline, what can I do?” What had I already done?

She moaned between sobs, and the only words that were understandable were go away, please go away.

I stared at her, unable to move. I couldn’t leave her. I watched her trembling and reached for a blanket, gingerly tucking it around her, stroking her forehead, wishing to take her pain away. I leaned close and whispered, “I’ll stay with you, Pauline. Through everything. I promise.”

Again, her only discernible words were go away, leave me alone, each one a stab in my chest. I heard the scuff of Rafe’s boots on the floor and realized he was still in the room. He inclined his head toward the door, suggesting that we step outside. I turned the lantern down and followed him, numb, quietly easing the door shut behind us. I leaned back against it, needing its support. What had I said? How had I said it? Did I just blurt the words out cruelly? Still, what else could I have done? I had to tell her something sooner or later. I tried to retrace every word.

“Lia,” Rafe whispered, lifting my chin to look at him, reminding me of his presence, “are you all right?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t want to tell her—” I looked at him, uncertain of what he had heard. “Were you there? Did you hear?”

He nodded. “You had no choice but to tell her the truth.”

The truth.

I had told her Mikael was dead. But wasn’t that the lesser of two evils? He wasn’t coming for her. He was never coming. If I had told her the truth, all the dreams she held dear would be gone. They would all be illusions, false at their very roots. She’d know she had been played for a fool. She’d have nothing left to hold on to, only bitterness to harden her heart. This way, couldn’t she at least have tender memories of him to warm her? Which truth was more cruel? His deception and betrayal, or his death?

“I should go,” Rafe whispered. I glanced back at him. He was so close I could smell the cider on his breath, could feel his pulse, the gallop of his thoughts, every nerve in me raw, the night itself closing in on me.

I grabbed his arm. “No,” I said. “Please. Don’t go yet.”

He looked at where my hand grasped his arm, and then slowly back at me. His lips parted, his eyes warmed, but then slowly, something else filled them, something cold and rigid, and he pulled away. “It’s late.”

“Of course,” I said, dropping my hand to my side, holding it there awkwardly like it didn’t belong to me. “I only wanted to thank you before you left. If you hadn’t happened along, I don’t know what I would have done.”

His only response was a nod and then he disappeared down the trail.

I spent the night sitting in the corner chair staring at Pauline. I tried not to disturb her. For an hour, she stared at the wall, then guttural sobs racked her chest, then mewing cries like those of an injured kitten escaped from her lips, and finally soft gentle moans of Mikael, Mikael, Mikael filled the room, as if he were there and she was talking to him. If I tried to comfort her, she pushed me away, so I sat offering water when I could, offering prayers, offering and offering, but nothing I did took away her pain.

Just this morning I’d been afraid that I might never meet the young man who loved her so. Now I feared if I ever did meet him I would cut out his heart with a dull knife and feed it to the gulls.

Finally, in the early morning hours, she slept, but I still stared. I remembered my ride past the graveyard with Pauline this morning. I had known. Fear had seized me. Something was wrong. Something was hopelessly and irretrievably wrong. My flesh had crawled. Warning breezes. A candle. A prayer. A hope.

An icy whisper.

A cold clawed hand on my neck.

I hadn’t understood what it had meant, but I had known.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next several days went by in a flurry of emotion and chores. Endless chores, which I was happy to take on. The morning after the news, Pauline woke up, washed her face, fished three coins from her meager savings of tips, and left for the Sacrista. She was there all day, and when she returned, she was wearing a white silk scarf draped over her head, the mourning symbol reserved for widows.

While she was gone, I told Berdi and Gwyneth that Mikael was dead. Gwyneth hadn’t even known he existed, and neither had heard Pauline’s heartfelt stories about him, so they couldn’t quite grasp how she had been affected—until she returned from the Sacrista. Her skin matched the color of the white silk that cascaded down around her face, a pale ghost except for her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She looked more like a gaunt ghoul returned from the graveyard than the sweet young maid she had been only the day before.

What worried us more than her appearance was her refusal to talk. She accepted Berdi’s and Gwyneth’s concerns and comforts stoically enough, but shook away more than that, spending most of the days on her knees, offering one holy remembrance after another for Mikael, lighting one candle after another, feverish in lighting his way into the next world.

Berdi noted that at least she was eating—not much—but enough for basic sustenance. I knew why. That was for Mikael too, and what they still shared. If I had told Pauline the truth about him, would she have cared enough to even touch her food?

We all agreed we would help her through this, each of us taking on a portion of Pauline’s workload, and we gave her the space she asked for and the time to observe the mourning due a widow. We knew she wasn’t a true widow, but who else was to know? We wouldn’t tell. I was hurt at being shut out, but I had never lost the love of my life, and that was what Mikael had been to her.

With the festival little more than two weeks away, there was more work to be done than usual, and without Pauline to help, we worked from dawn until the last meal was served in the evening. I thought of the days back at the citadelle when I’d lie awake, unable to sleep, musing about one thing or another, usually an injustice perpetrated by someone with more power than I—and that included just about everyone. I didn’t have that problem now. I slept deep and hard, and if the cottage had caught fire, I would have burned right along with it.

In spite of the increased workload, I still saw Rafe and Kaden often. In fact, at every turn, one of them seemed to be there, offering assistance with a wash basket or helping me unload supplies from Otto. Gwyneth teased on the sly about their convenient attentions, but it never went farther than being helpful. Mostly. One day I heard Kaden roaring with a vengeance. When I ran from cleaning the rooms to see what was wrong, he was emerging from the barn, holding his shoulder and sending up a string of hot curses at Rafe’s horse. It had nipped him on the front of his shoulder and blood was seeping through his shirt.

I led him to the steps of the tavern and pushed on his good shoulder to make him sit, trying to calm him. I undid the first button of his shirt and pulled it aside to look at the wound. The horse had barely broken the skin, but an ugly palm-sized bruise was already swelling and turning blue. I ran to the icehouse and returned with several chips wrapped in cloth and held it to the wound.

“I’ll get some bandages and salve,” I said.

He insisted it wasn’t necessary, but I insisted louder and he relented. I knew where Berdi kept the supplies, and when I returned, he watched every move I made. He said nothing as I applied the ointment with my fingers, but I felt his muscles tense at my touch as I gently pressed the bandage in place with my hand. I placed the pack of ice chips back on top, and he reached up, holding my palm against his shoulder with his own, as if he was holding on to something more than just my hand.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked.

I laughed. “Apply a bandage? A simple kindness needn’t be learned, and I grew up with older brothers, so there were always bandages being applied to one of us or another.”

His fingers squeezed around mine, and he stared at me, I thought searching for some sort of thank-you, but then I knew it was more than that. Something deep and tender and private lurked in his dusky eyes. He finally released my hand and looked away, a tinge of pink at his temples. With his gaze still averted, he whispered a simple “thank you.”

His reaction was puzzling, but the color faded as quickly as it had come, and he pulled his shirt back over his shoulder as if it hadn’t happened.

“You’re a kind soul, Kaden,” I said. “I’m sure it will heal quickly.”

When I was halfway through the door to return the unused supplies, I turned and asked, “What language was that? The curses? I didn’t recognize it.”

His mouth hung half open, and his expression was blank. “Only nonsense words my grandmother taught me,” he said. “Meant to spare a coin of penance.”

It hadn’t sounded like nonsense to. It had sounded like angry real words said in the heat of the moment. “I need to learn some of those words. You must teach me one day so I can spare my coins too.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in a stiff smile, and he nodded. “One day I will.”

With the days growing warmer, I appreciated Rafe’s and Kaden’s help even more, but it made me wonder why they had no work of their own to attend to. They were young and able, and while they both had very nice steeds and tack, they didn’t seem wealthy, yet they paid Berdi cheerfully for the loft, board, and stabling of their horses. Neither one ever seemed to run short of coin. Could an out of work farmhand and an idle trader have that much money saved?

I would have questioned their lack of direction more, but most of Terravin was full of summer visitors who were only biding their time until the festival, including the other guests at the inn, many journeying in from lonely hamlets, isolated farms, and apparently in Rafe’s case, regions with no names. Rafe did say that his lack of work as a farmhand was temporary. Maybe his employer was only taking a break for the festival which also gave him free time.

Not that either he or Kaden was lazy. They were both always eager to pitch in, Kaden fixing the wheel on Berdi’s wagon without any prompting, and Rafe proving himself as an experienced farmhand, clearing the trenches in Berdi’s vegetable garden and repairing its sticky sluice gate. Gwyneth and I both watched with more than a little interest as he swung the hoe and lifted heavy rocks to reinforce the channel.

Perhaps, like other festivalgoers, they appreciated this chance for a break from the usual drudgery and routine of their lives. The festival was both sacred obligation and welcome respite in the middle of summer. The town was decorated with colorful flags and ribbons, and doorways were draped with long garlands of pine sprigs in anticipation of the celebrations that would commemorate the deliverance. The Days of Debauchery, my brothers called it, noting that their friends observed in greatest earnest the drinking portion of the festivities.

The festival lasted for six days. The first day was for holy rites, fasting, and prayer, the second for food, games, and dancing. Each of the remaining four days were given to prayer and acts to honor the four gods who had gifted Morrighan and delivered the Remnant.

As members of the royal court, our family had always kept strict festival schedules set by the Timekeeper, observing all the sacraments, the fast, the feasts and dancing, all given just and proper time. But I was no longer a member of any court. This year I could set my own schedule and attend the events I chose. I wondered which portion of the festivities Kaden and Rafe would most indulge in.