Facing the door was a great desk of carved wood. And sitting behind the desk, propped up on a green velvet cushion, was none other than the werecat Carabel.
She was in her human form, which meant she appeared to Murtagh as a slim, grey-haired woman no taller than four foot. A loose white shift left her lean arms uncovered. Murtagh guessed the shift made it easy for her to change shape if she wished. Although she had the same general contours as a human, there was no doubt that Carabel wasn’t. Her cheekbones were too wide, her emerald eyes too angled, her pupils too slitted, and there were small tufts of white hair on the tips of her ears. Murtagh wasn’t sure if the tufts were because Carabel hadn’t fully transformed or if they were a normal feature of her race.
Until then, he had never actually seen a werecat, and he found himself unexpectedly hesitant.
On the desk in front of Carabel were three things: the cage with the finch he’d bought, now empty save for a few yellow feathers; a plate with cuts of cold meat; and the parchment he’d given the page, unfolded to reveal the lines of runes written within.
The sight puzzled Murtagh. If the werecat had intercepted his message to Ilenna, was she acting as Lord Relgin’s spymaster? And did that mean she had used the magician and soldiers as a ploy to force him into her clutches? Or were things as they appeared, and she really had been trying to save him from Relgin’s forces?
Murtagh forced himself to remain relaxed even as he realized his understanding of the situation was woefully inadequate. I’m going to have to step carefully. Very, very carefully.
The door shut behind him, and he was conscious of his guide taking up a position in the back corner, cudgel still in hand.
Carabel cocked her head and watched Murtagh in exactly the same way he had seen yard cats watch a bird or mouse they were stalking. He had a sense that she would happily sit in silence for the rest of the day.
Or until she got bored, and Murtagh didn’t think he wanted to deal with a bored werecat.
He motioned toward the wicker cage. “You enjoyed the bird, I take it.”
Carabel lifted one perfectly sharp eyebrow. “It was acceptable, man of the road.” She had a plummy, purring voice that oozed self-satisfied confidence. And yet, Murtagh detected a note of underlying strain. Her gaze shifted to the sleeveless brute at the back of the room. “Was there trouble on the way?”
“Close, ma’am, but none worth mentioning.”
“Good.” She smiled, revealing sharp little fangs. “You have met Bertolf, yes? He is a most excellent help. He fetches me meats and morsels and tasty mysteries such as yourself.”
Murtagh wasn’t sure if he liked being referred to as tasty. He allowed himself an expression of cultured amusement, as he would have used at court, and made a sweeping bow. A bit of theatrics never hurt, especially with cats. “My apologies, Lady Carabel, but the finch was intended for another. Or perhaps you didn’t know?”
With one long, needle-tipped nail, she pricked the center of the parchment square. “Oh yes, I knew. You sought to speak with Ilenna Erithsdaughter, did you not?”
“That’s right.” Murtagh felt glad he’d couched his message to Ilenna in deliberately vague language that, he hoped, would mean little to others.
Carabel gestured at the chair in front of the desk. “Sit, human. We have much to speak of.”
“Do we, now?” But Murtagh pulled his cloak to one side and sat. He leaned his staff against his right knee, where he could grab it in an instant. “Might I ask why you seized my letter and gift? I have broken no law and caused no trouble.”
“That is the wrong question. You should instead ask how I knew to seize your letter and gift. The page’s master is Lord Relgin’s chamberlain, and the page told him of the strange man offering coin to speak with Ilenna Erithsdaughter. No doubt the chamberlain rewarded him far in excess of your bribe.”
Murtagh winced. He should have quizzed the page more closely. “And the chamberlain then came to you. I see, but—”
“Not quite,” said Carabel. “The chamberlain went to Lord Relgin, and Lord Relgin dispatched a number of his men to apprehend you, O Tornac. Most unusual. Such court intrigues are usually beneath Relgin.”
So the soldiers had been after him. A sour taste formed in Murtagh’s mouth. It seemed like he wouldn’t be getting near Ilenna anytime soon. He put the thought aside. That wasn’t his immediate problem. “I admit, I am confused, Lady Carabel. Did Lord Relgin tell you all this? If so, why bring me here in defiance of him? And why should any of you highborn folk care about my doings? I am no one of importance.”
Carabel licked the points of her teeth. Her tongue was small and pink. “That’s not exactly true, now is it…Murtagh son of Morzan?”
A coal popped in the fireplace, startlingly loud.
Murtagh felt his eyes narrow. He gripped the staff, ready to fight. “How did you find out?”
A cruel little smile curved Carabel’s dark lips. It unsettled him to think how often they touched raw meat and blood. “The name Tornac is not unknown to us werecats, human. Besides, you smell of dragon.”
Her explanation did nothing to ease his mind. “All right,” he said. “What do you want?”
A frown pinched Carabel’s delicate features, and a dark aspect settled upon her face. “A question for you first, human. What business had you with Ilenna Erithsdaughter?”
Had. Murtagh didn’t like her use of the past tense. He affected an abashed look. “In truth, no business. It is a private matter between us. I’m sure you understand.”
Again Carabel paused. She’s uncertain, he realized. Why? He decided to take the initiative. “Is there a problem with Ilenna? Has something happened to her?”
The tufts on Carabel’s ears swayed as she shook her head. “Ilenna is unharmed. The problem lies…elsewhere. I will ask you again, Murtagh son of Morzan. What business had you with her?”
“Am I speaking to you or to Lord Relgin?”
She inspected the nails on her left hand, holding them up to the light so the tips gleamed red-gold from the flames. “Werecats answer to no one but ourselves. You speak to me and me alone.”
“And him.” Murtagh jerked a thumb back over his shoulder.
A slight purr escaped Carabel. “Bertolf is trusted.”
“Maybe by you.” Murtagh adjusted his grip on the staff. “Why should I tell you, werecat? There’s nothing you can do to stop me from leaving.”
Carabel’s slitted pupils constricted. If her tail had been present, he thought it would have twitched. “No, but you want information, human. Why else would you wish to talk with Ilenna? Oh yes, I know of her family’s activities. Great clumsy oafs they are. Not like cats. But I can promise you this: there is no way you can speak to Ilenna or her father without Lord Relgin finding out. If you don’t mind revealing yourself, then go to them. Leave now. But I think you prefer to remain hidden, you and your dragon.”
Murtagh turned his staff in his hand. What was the werecat getting at? He felt as if he were fighting a duel and he was two steps behind his opponent.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “You still haven’t given me a reason why I should share anything with you.”
Carabel’s thin shoulders rose and fell. “If it is secrets you seek, then who better to ask than a cat? Ask of me, Murtagh son of Morzan, and if I do not know, I will speak to Ilenna on your behalf.”