“When will they be arriving?”
“Late this evening, I expect. I will meet with him first thing in the morning, and I’m told the girl will need to rest in, so it is best if you keep yourself occupied tomorrow. Go early to the market, will you?”
Rowan nodded, smiling at the thought of a young guest.
“And tell Emily no listening at doors. Better yet, give her the day off. She can go visit with that boy of hers … Bill.”
“I’ll tell her. Oh, Father, how exciting this all is!” Rowan could barely keep herself from clapping like a child.
“Yes,” he said, his voice straining. “Yes, it is that.” And then he returned to stacking his papers, already occupied with plans for the morrow.
Rowan could hardly contain herself as she bounded up the stairs to her room. The duke conservateur coming here to Nag’s End. She could hardly believe it. Rowan felt excitement building in her chest. The queen’s brother in their house! And his ward as well! The idea of having the younger houseguest thrilled her. She had always wanted a little sister, someone to comfort and to guide. Since she was small, she had, in fact, always felt that something was missing from her life, as if she were constantly reaching for someone who wasn’t there.
After retrieving Pema’s food and water, she headed to her room to make a space for the dog up there, and then set herself up at her desk and began on her next stack of translations. She’d meant only to work for a short while, but time had a habit of slipping away from her, and when she happened to glance up again, she saw the dying of the light and realized that she had yet to speak with Tom. After putting away her papers, she took the stairs two at a time, but as she slipped on her cloak, she found her heart suddenly heavy with the task at hand. She had a suspicion that this meeting she had arranged between Tom and Fiona might mean losing Tom forever, and yet she knew she couldn’t bring herself to deny him his happiness.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Emily called as Rowan started out the door.
“Over to the inn.”
“At this hour?” Emily raised her eyebrows and tucked her chin in disapproval.
“I’ll be back soon,” Rowan said, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t stray from that path,” Emily said. She turned then, and before sauntering back to the kitchen, she added, “This close to dark, forest things’ll snatch a girl before you can say crow’s eyes.”
Jude sat on the stairs listening to the men talk. When his father had seen the elders approaching, he had closed the place down and sent the boys out on errands, but Jude did not go. Instead, he waited for Tom to leave and then settled in on the back stairs high up enough that he might be hidden in the shadows and yet still see all below. He did not consider his father a smart man, but he was a good man, and Jude distrusted the elders.
Paer Jorgen, who was the most senior of the elders, stroked his beard and looked at his fellows.
“As we told you earlier, Goi Parstle, we are concerned about the safety of your clan. We have consulted the bones, and we have conferred with the witches, and there seems to be a darkness over this house.”
“What?” Jude’s father said, taken aback. “But mine is an honest house.”
“We know this. It is why we’ve come here to speak with you this evening. We fear the impending visit from the duke. We worry for you.”
“But why me? What does the duke have to do with me?”
Paer Jorgen nodded. “Only that he is coming here to look into the deaths of those soldiers up on Beggar’s Drift, and our oracles point to something evil within our village, here, of all places, at your inn.”
“But I have committed no crime.”
Ollen Bittern cleared his throat. “You must understand, we know that none in your house is guilty of any crime, but we feel the need to warn you that every oracle we consulted seemed to refer us back to this house.”
Wilhelm’s voice shook when he spoke again. “What does Mama Lune say? Surely she must know my house is clean.”
“Not exactly,” Paer Jorgen said. “She held that you were a good man, and that it was unlikely you’d have done any wrong, and yet she sensed it too—something within these walls, something wicked. We worry that the duke may launch a formal death inquiry, and if he does, I fear we will have to tell him what our oracles have seen. Whether he accepts oracular truth or not, it is our way to let it be known—we are compelled to display the evidence.”
From the darkness of the stairs, Jude saw what his father refused to see. If the oracles said there was something base beneath their roof, then perhaps there was, but that didn’t have to mean it concerned their family. Theirs was a public place, a tavern frequented by all in the village. Perhaps there was an evil in their home, but if there was, it was a visitor to their hall, not a family member. He decided that from now on he must keep an eye on the door, and an ear to the ground.
Wilhelm Parstle swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice quavered with anger. “Are you implying that I, or one of my boys … that we murdered those soldiers?”
“Of course not. The very idea that we are looking for a man is absurd,” said Paer Jorgen, unable to keep the disdain from his voice. “I was up on that mountain. I saw those poor souls. There’s not a man alive capable of such brutality. It was the work of an animal—I’ll not hear any different.”
Ollen Bittern nodded. “We do not doubt you. We only tell you that the bones led us to your door.”
“Well.” Wilhelm sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair. “What do you suggest we do?”
“For now we do nothing. Perhaps the duke will make a quick assessment of mauling and exposure, respectively, and be on his way. This is what we hope,” said Draeden Faez. “But we are pleading with you. If you, or anyone in this house, know what it is that the oracle points to, then we beg you to speak up. All of our lives are at risk.”
Wilhelm nodded. “I will ask my boys about it, but I’m sure neither of them will know.”
Jude had heard enough. He stood, and making barely a noise, he descended from his hiding place and left through the back door, the cold night air pulsing against his lips.
Snow was falling steadily as Rowan walked over to the tavern, and the hollowness of her heart did little to protect her from the cold.
Shivering, she tried the tavern door but found it locked, which was unusual for suppertime. She peered in the window, but all was dark inside. Walking round the back, she heard someone cough and she froze. It was Jude’s cough—she would know it anywhere. Years ago she’d learned to recognize any signs that Jude might be nearby. He was a year older than she was, but she was so small that he’d always seemed much older than that to her, and while she knew he was harmless, there was something vaguely frightening to her about that sly smile he always wore when he looked off into the distance as if she weren’t there. If it had simply been that he ignored her, that would have been fine, but he didn’t ignore her—no matter what he might pretend—because he always seemed to know things about her that no one else did.
When she rounded the corner, she saw him sitting on the low stone wall at the edge of the forest. He was carving something, his hair falling over his eyes.
“The tavern’s locked,” he said without looking up. “Father’s in a meeting. He should open it again soon, I’d imagine.”
As usual, her heart stopped when she saw him. There was no denying that Jude was handsome, but she didn’t understand him, and something about him always made her nervous.