Later that night Estella walked away from the bonfire where a sudden ah from the gathered crowd said her brother Carlos had swallowed the sword. They had done well today, in coin and in supplies and barter-the miller had sold them three bolts of the lovely woolen twill that his daughters wove and two great sacks of shelled filberts in return for a set of big metalworker's files salvaged from the ruins of Olympia, and they'd picked up enough flour, spuds and flitches of bacon and hams to last for two weeks in trade for sundries. Tomorrow they would start repairing pots and making shoes:
And speaking of the miller and his daughter, she thought with a smile. It will be good to see Delia again. I could use cheering up, and she is fun.
Delia waited behind the millrace scaffolding, where deep shadow made the night even blacker, and the fires and noise were comfortably distant; if anyone noticed she'd gone from the crowd around the wagon, they'd suspect the reason, though hopefully not the person, for she'd cheerfully flirted with half a dozen, including the undiscouraged soldier. Water gurgled by overhead, making the spring night chilly and damper than elsewhere, with a scent of wet earth and soaked wood; Estella pulled her shawl over her shoulders.
But she can get us in the mill, which has a nice comfortable pile of grain sacks, she thought with a warm glow of anticipation.
They exchanged the murmured recognition signals, as much to cater to the younger woman's sense of drama as from real need-both had been raised witches-and the ritual kiss of greeting; both were tailored to be meaningless to someone outside the hidden Coven network. When she tried for a real kiss, though:
Estella laughed ruefully at the dodge; a relationship conducted at month-long intervals just didn't have a long shelf life.
"Well, you've found someone at last," she said, taking the other by the hands and giving them a squeeze. "Alas!"
"Yes, I have: can we still be friends? You're not angry?"
"Of course we'll be friends! We always were, for years before we were lovers. And I always said I couldn't be here for more than visits, remember. We were lucky to have what we had; the memory will always be warm."
Delia grinned in the darkness. "Well, now maybe I should be angry! Aren't you sad at all? Disappointed?"
"I'm heartbroken, mi coraz n. Have they hitched you to the bailiff's son, with his pig face and little curly tail?"
Delia laughed. "As if! I'd be sobbing on your shoulder and asking for comfort if that had happened! And you, heartbroken? You've probably got a girl in every village."
"Only half a dozen," she said, with some exaggeration. "Boys in one or two," she went on, and laughed at the other's grimace. "Purist! But tell me who, then. I hope you're not being careless!"
The girl was practically dancing with delight. "You'll never guess!"
"Of course not; that's why I asked."
Delia leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Tiphaine: d'Ath!"
Estella felt her eyes go wide in shock, unseen in the darkness. She grabbed the other by the shoulders:
"She didn't hurt you?" she asked sharply, then shook her head. "No, evidently not-"
"Oh, Estella, it wasn't like that at all. I practically dragged her off!"
A soft whistle. "Dangerous! You couldn't be sure she wouldn't turn you over to the priests!"
"Well, it was a bit scary at first. She looked sort of: forbidding, you know? Beautiful, but like a sword blade would look if it walked. But I felt prettier when she looked at me, so I took a chance. She's sweet, and was so lonely-her friend who'd been with her forever died last year."
Yes, killed trying to kidnap Lady Juniper's son, Estella thought. And this one succeeded, and left some of our brothers and sisters dead behind her.
Slowly, she went on aloud: "Querida, you are taking a big risk here. Think how the soldiers are, think how all the castle people are, like rattlesnakes in a bucket. Because this woman likes to make love with you doesn't mean she loves you."
"It isn't just that. When we're alone we talk about our lives, and play games-she's teaching me chess-and laugh, and she plays the lute and we sing: "
Estella winced at an unexpected stab of jealousy, as much for the privacy and safety as anything else; it was easier to arrange your life when you had your own castle. Not that I would have one on a bet!
"Darling, she's an Associate. She has been an Associate since the Change, in the Protector's Household-"
"The consort's."
"She was still raised to kill people for a living, and take what others grow and make, by threat of death and pain. The Associates are the sword arm of the Church, and the Church burns witches. Nice is not something the Portland Protective Association are very good at; killing and taking, that is what they do. Think what might happen if you two quarreled, or you yourself changed your mind: "
"No, really, she's not like most of them! Not just to me-she's starting a spinning and weaving school for the peon women, with me and Rose and Claire to teach, and she's buying the equipment-and she spent fifty rose nobles on cloth, so people wouldn't have to wait until then to have decent clothes, and she's gotten Wielman and the bailiff and Keith the Pig under control so they're not squeezing people nearly so bad, and she keeps the soldiers in line. And hardly anyone's been whipped or put in the stocks unless they really deserved it."
That's all interesting, but it doesn't necessarily mean she's nice, just smart and foresighted, Estella thought. Let's not argue. I recognize the tone. This poor girl has fallen hard. I hope she is not hurt too badly, but such is life. We must not let it endanger the Craft: but it could work to our advantage, as well. She will hear things and see things she would not otherwise.
"And she's like an older sister to the Princess Mathilda-Mathilda's nice too-and to Rudi. I gave Rudi the pattern-"
"How?" Estella asked sharply.
Delia giggled. "In some gravy, so nobody else could see-he wouldn't have himself, if he weren't so sharp. We haven't said a word beyond that, but he knows, and it makes him feel better. His poor mother must be so worried, and he's homesick and lonely sometimes, but like I said, Tiphaine treats him like her own family.''
"That will be a relief to Lady Juniper. We can pass it on: never mind how. And if we must, we can have you pass a message to him. The risk, though! He's still not quite ten years old. That's why we don't tell children about the Craft until they're older than that, and able to keep secrets."
"Not with Rudi. He's a wonderful kid, so brave! And smart too. He's teaching me my letters, well, how to read them better, and he tells lovely stories about how the Mackenzies live. And you can see the Lord and Lady walk with him, all the time, not just at the special times."
She hesitated. "Can we have an Esbat while your family are here? Since Mom died"-her voice caught for a moment-"we haven't had a High Priestess, and nobody else knows all the things she did, not here or in the other villages. She was teaching me, but I hadn't learned nearly as much as I need. Dad was so sorry we couldn't have a passing rite for her. We couldn't find her books, either."
"Good!" Estella said. "If you can't find them, the Hounds of God can't either."
Delia nodded, completely serious for the first time in their meeting. Excellent, Estella thought. She may be eighteen and infatuated to giddiness, but she knows that is a matter of life and death. Aloud, the tinerant went on.
"I'll talk to my parents, and see what we can do. But first you must tell me all about Rudi; where he's kept, and what he does each day. Leave nothing out." She sensed a hesitation. "This is for the Old Religion, and for the Queen of Witches."
"Welclass="underline" OK. I don't suppose it can hurt."
Near Cherry Grove, Tualatin Valley, Oregon
April 10th, 2008/Change Year 10
Astrid tapped him on the sleeve. There, the gesture said.
Alleyne could see it too, the faint shimmering blink of a campfire ahead, wavering through half a mile of forest and brush and a gathering ground-mist that muffled the strong, musty scent of rotting leaves and fir needles and cones. He stroked the soft blond stubble on his chin-shaving while moving fast and secretly through the woods wasn't very practical-and compared the lie of the land about him to the map in his head, then nodded.