Chapter Forty-One #2
There was a bustle down the hall, at her Papa’s room. She could hear Aramal’s voice and took a step in that direction.
“See to yourself,” Rosalind said. “I’ll check on him. Get the blood off your hands.”
Halithe nodded numbly, going to the bathing chamber and doing just that, scrubbing hard. The water was cold at first, but Halithe stuck her hands in anyway, watching the water run red. Her heart was pounding, and while her hands moved in obedience, she shook inside.
Her bracelet clinked at the stone of the basin, and she paused, staring at it. It was still active.
Forterran’s mother, the Mage Ila, could maintain a portal in her sleep. So that must mean…she took a breath. He lived. She’d bought him time.
She closed her eyes and steeled herself with that thought. The healer would see to him and he would be fine.
She started to braid her hair, catching it in her hands as she headed to her room. She pulled her bags from under the bed and started packing.
A knock, and Rosalind entered, her arms filled with Ritathan’s silk robes. “Rye is still breathing,” she said. “They’ve settled him in his room. Here, put this on.”
“It’s too long,” Halithe protested even as she shed her tunic.
“We’ll belt it up,” Rosalind said. “I brought some black gloves to hide your hands.”
“Why?” Halithe asked.
“He’ll most like take you direct to the Palace,” Rosalind said. “They don’t know what you’ve been doing or what you have learned. Showing up as a farm child will serve you ill. Showing up as an apprentice? They will hesitate. Use that to whatever advantage you can.”
Halithe nodded and started to pull on the silks. She checked to make sure her keepsake was safe in her breastband before pulling on the robes. Touching it made her pause for a moment. Caris. She would see Caris again.
Flushed with guilt, Halithe kept dressing.
“With any luck, you caused enough ruckus that your father will want to send you away to one of his country estates. Out of sight, out of the minds of the Court gossips,” Rosalind said.
“If not, be wary. The Court has always been a viper’s pit of treachery.
It won’t be any better under Satia.” She stopped, considering, then continued.
“At the Palace, seek out Kenda, the Master Butcher, if you get the chance. Don’t mention my name but tell her that you have seen some old tapestries recently, with horses and tents. You can trust her.”
Halithe nodded. She was draped in Ritathan’s robes, inhaling the faint scent of incense that lingered in the cloth.
After giving Halithe the black gloves, Rosalind helped her with a belt, adjusting the fabric so she wouldn’t trip.
Halithe pulled the gloves on over her work-roughened hands, taking short breaths.
“Here,” Rosalind handed her a pair of dark slippers. “Change into these at your first chance. Don’t let them rush you; ladies of the Court always demand a bit of time to arrange themselves properly. Don’t wear those boots into the Palace if you can help it.”
“I am not sure I can do this,” Halithe whispered, suddenly flooded with doubts.
“That I can go back to that life.” What had seemed so easy down in the courtyard now felt impossible.
She would have to confront the King, the Queen, her father, the Court, all staring, all whispering, all condemning.
Pressure bloomed in her chest, numbing her being.
Rosalind studied her, her expression grave. “You can,” she said. You will.” She took the slippers and thrust them into Halithe’s pack. “You must,” Rosalind said simply, and the truth of that took Halithe’s breath.
Aramal appeared in the doorway, a silk bag in hand.
He looked terrible, his face drawn, his eyes red. “Leeda,” he said, and she lurched into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. “Da, oh Da,” she whispered.
Rosalind left, closing the door behind her.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I don’t care what oaths you have sworn. We can get you away from here, to Athelbryght, and keep you safe.”
For a moment, she let herself believe that he was right, that she could stay and be safe, that he could make everything right.
But no.
That wasn’t true.
New strength flooded into her, a determination that replaced—no—drove back her fear.
“No,” she said. Her words were muffled against his shoulder, so she lifted her head. “No, Da. This will give him time. When he recovers—” his gaze flickered to the door, his doubt and fear clear.
“Papa will recover,” Halithe repeated firmly. “When he does, he will come for me. Or I might get word to the Mage Guild, and they can interfere on my behalf.” She pulled back. “Either way, this will keep you all safe.”
Aramal didn’t look reassured, but he nodded his acceptance and handed her a black silk bag that clinked faintly. “His chains,” he said. “And that Ring.” He lowered his voice. “I have the key safe.”
Halithe nodded, clutching the bag with both hands. The weight of it helped firm her decision.
Aramal put his hands on her shoulders. “This isn’t goodbye and it is not forever. We will find a way to get you back.” He shook her gently. “Don’t let them kill your spirit, child.”
“I won’t,” Halithe whispered. She threw herself into his arms again and clung for just a moment longer. Then she forced herself to let go, step back, pick up her pack, and head for the door, blinking back tears.
In the courtyard the horses were roped together, the dead slung over their saddles like so many sacks of grain. Ussin held the lead rope, standing by his horse. Another horse stood there, waiting for her.
Jerrold was using a bucket to splash water over the stones, washing the blood away.
It was clear to Halithe as she crossed the courtyard that Orval and Ussin had been talking. The Lord High Baron was not happy with whatever he had heard, but his expression smoothed as she approached.
She paused the correct distance away and curtseyed. “Lord High Baron, thank you for—” she choked on the word “everything.” Instead, she cleared her throat, and finished with, “for your hospitality.”
Orval smiled. “I look forward to your return to our Hearth,” he said simply. “And I thank you for this resolution.”
“The chains? The Ring?” Ussin asked.
Halithe handed him the bag. Ussin opened it, spilling the silver chains and golden Ring into his hand. The chains had gone dull, but the blue stone of the Ring caught the light and gleamed.
Ussin grunted. “Come, girl,” he said, stuffing the items back in the bag. “That portal will open at sunset. We might have to wait for them, but they won’t wait for us a moment more than they need.”
Halithe gave another curtsey to the Lord High Baron. “Please give my regards to the Lady High Baroness,” she said.
Orval limped forward and opened his arms. She stepped into his hug, returning it with fervor.
“You are of our Hearth, Leeda,” Orval said softly. “Come home to us when you can.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered back, then with a long breath, she released him and turned toward her horse.
Roth was there, holding the reins, his face grim, but his eyes warm and approving. “Have a care,” he said softly as he secured her pack to the saddle, “how you wield that sword of yours.”
“I will,” she said as she mounted.
Rasfel and the other crossbow men were also mounting their horses. “They’ll see you to the portal,” Jerrold said.
“Not necessary,” Ussin said.
“We think it is,” Rassfel grinned. “Let it not be said the Black Hills stints on courtesy.”
Ussin mounted his horse. “Breed’em hard in the Black Hills.” he said to Jerrold.
“We protect our own,” Jerrold said. “That includes our Lord High Baron.”
“Understood,” Ussin huffed. “I will make sure that is known. Lord High Baron,” he nodded to Orval, then headed out, leading the pack horses.
Halithe urged her horse to follow. The escort fell in behind her.
She forced herself not to look back as they trotted off. Not to take a long last look at what had become her home. But she did look at her wrist, where her bracelet glowed softly.
It was enough.
It had to be.