“I’ve heard some tales. The Fox of the Forest, some call her. Other names are not so kind.”

  Hearing the sharpening edge to her voice, I leaned closer. “It would be best if you allowed me to handle this negotiation. Lorine may be of mostly mercenary inclinations, but she does have her pride. Nor is she swayed by faith or reputation.”

  “Do I hear a command, my lord?” There was a taunt in Evadine’s eye as she arched an eyebrow at me, also a promise, one that stirred a fierce desire to go in search of a conveniently private corner of this castle. Our tryst in the forest remained a vague swirl of memory, but, like the first taste of any drug, left a growing thirst for more.

  I coughed, mastering the urge to reach for her. “Please,” I said. “Just let me talk to her without interruption and I’ll secure the Ascendant Queen her army. And when it comes time to agree the price—”

  “The price doesn’t matter,” Evadine cut in. “Promise her whatever is needed, but don’t expect me to pretend to like it. If this fox-mother of yours has any wit about her at all, she’d know it for a lie in any case.”

  Lorine Blousset, Duchess of the Shavine Marches, chose to receive her esteemed guest in a small chamber in the tower forming the join between the castle’s east and north facing walls. Despite its less than grand dimensions, the tower room was rich in furnishings and carpeted with a large bearskin rug. It was upon said rug that Evadine and I found the duchess when entering the chamber. Lorine was dressed in a modest gown of grey-blue cotton, her copper hair flailing as she wrestled with a small, giggling child. Various toys were strewn about, spinning wheels and bright painted blocks, but the child held a miniature wooden sword. He laughed as he assailed Lorine with a series of swipes. Undaunted, she chased him across the furry battleground, growling like some manner of monster, hands raised in clawlike threat.

  “Duchess Lorine,” the young captain said, boots stamping the flagstones. “I have the honour to present…”

  “Alwyn!” Lorine greeted me with a broad smile then grimaced as the boy turned to slap his wooden blade against her arm. Growling again, she scooped him into her arms and got to her feet, the boy’s excited laughter subsiding into frowning curiosity as she brought him to me. “Bryndon,” she said, holding the child out to me. “Say hello to your uncle.”

  I accepted the burden of this still frowning child with an uncertain smile, one that faltered when he tapped his wooden sword to my nose. “It’s all right,” Lorine assured me. “He only hits people he likes.”

  Looking into the boy’s serious gaze I saw the unmistakable glint of his mother’s green eyes and the reddish sheen to his mop of curls. I could see little of his father in his small features, but that, of course, didn’t mean anything. Of his two parents, I wasn’t surprised at all to find that his mother had the strongest blood.

  “Duchess,” I said, making to hand the child back but he confounded me by dropping his sword and curling up into my arms. Resting his head against my chest, he promptly closed his eyes, small thumb working its way into his mouth.

  “Best hold on to him for now,” Lorine advised. “He wails something fierce if you interrupt his naps.”

  “As you wish.” I shifted, cradling the child and turning to Evadine. “May I introduce…”

  “The Anointed Lady herself.” Lorine stepped back and sank into a deep bow. “The Risen Martyr honours my home with her presence. The Blousset family is famed for its faithfulness.” Straightening, she turned to address the young captain. “Dervan, be so good as to inform Master Dubbings we have guests. He is to prepare a feast and entertainment for tonight. Those jugglers from last week are still loitering about the place, I believe. It would be nice if they earned their board. Find suitable lodgings for Lady Evadine and Lord Alwyn, and I’m sure we can make room in the barracks for their soldiers.”

  Captain Dervan hesitated. “You wish to be alone then, my lady?” he asked, casting a pointed glance at the unguarded door.

  Lorine raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips in apparent puzzlement. “If I did not I would have made it clear, would I not?”

  “Of course.” Dervan delivered his lowest bow yet before departing the room with stiff-backed alacrity.

  “And close the bloody door!” Lorine called out when his boots echoed on the stairwell outside. “A dutiful young man but lacking many graces,” she said when the latch snicked into place.

  “He certainly doesn’t have a noble’s voice,” I observed which brought a smile to Lorine’s lips.

  “Isn’t he just so observant, my lady?” she enquired of Evadine. “Always the way with Alwyn. Sees it all, even when you don’t want him to.”

  “My captain has many gifts,” Evadine returned. “And I thank the Seraphile for each and every one.”

  “Yes.” Lorine’s humour faded, her scrutiny lingering on Evadine before slipping back to me. I caught the glimmer of understanding in her eyes as they tracked over my face, rich in recently acquired bruises. “I’m sure he’s been very useful to you. What was it this time?” She raised a hand, touching her fingertips to the graze on my chin, a trophy from the beating delivered by an enraged Arnabus. “Heretics or traitors? I must confess, my lady, I never expected to encounter a woman who could accrue more enemies than myself, although most of mine have long since departed this world.”

  “Heretics and traitors both,” I said, keen to limit this conversation to the most pressing concerns. “And the reason for our visit.”

  “Ahh. War again so soon, is it?” Lorine sighed and turned away, moving to a dressing table atop which an array of small glass bottles had been set. There was a score or more, all varying in colour and size. She plucked one from the collection and held it up to the light streaming through the room’s only window. The glass had a faintly pinkish tinge that cast an interesting abstract shadow on the rough hewn wall. “Perfumes are my only real vice these days,” Lorine said, removing the bottle’s small crystal stopper and wafting it about. I caught the aroma from several feet away, a pleasing melange of floral notes with a faint tang of citrus.

  “This one comes from beyond the southern sea,” Lorine continued, her tone and bearing becoming markedly less amenable as she spoke on. Also, her attention was now mostly directed at Evadine. “I’m reliably informed that its varied ingredients must be caravanned across many miles of desert, having been harvested from distant lands unknown to our most worldly scholars. When the last round of slaughter raged, I found it near impossible to increase my collection, or purchase enough grain to prevent the poorest of my churls starving, since all the hands that would have reaped the harvest had been dragged off to battle. By my reckoning at least one in ten didn’t make the return journey from our famous victory at the Vale. And you know, Alwyn, I was ever a dab hand with numbers.”

  She paused, sharing a moment of silent regard with Evadine. “But then,” Lorine added, smiling once again as she returned the stopper to the bottle, “that’s the way with war. Always bad for commerce, unless your trade is in weapons. Mine is not.”

  “I am sure,” I began, choosing my words with considerable care, “my Lady Duchess knows that when war comes to your door the option of not answering the knock is rarely indulged. I would never presume to tell a duchess her business, being but a lowly scribe, albeit with a lordly title, but you must be aware that while war can bring interruptions to trade, it also brings opportunity. I recall a man of my prior acquaintance once saying that war is the wolf, and wise are the crows that grow fat on its prey.”

  Something dark flickered across Lorine’s features before she looked away, setting the perfume bottle down. I had known employing one of Deckin’s favourite sayings would have an effect, but hadn’t expected anger. There was little doubt in my mind that her love for the fallen Outlaw King hadn’t faded, or her grief. Lorine continued to stand in wordless regard of her collection for long enough to try Evadine’s patience.

  “In truth, we come here with the gravest news, my lady,” she said, forgetting my enjoinder to leave the talking to me. “Luminant Durehl Vearist lies dead at the hands of one of his own clerics. A vile, wretched heretic named Arnabus who seeks to exert dominance over the Covenant of Martyrs. This creature also saw fit to abduct and torture the man who stands before you now, a soul I know we both cherish. As Alwyn’s oldest friend and a true daughter of the Covenant, would you not wish to aid us in crushing this heresy and bringing the criminal Arnabus to justice?”

  “Daughter of the Covenant, eh?” Lorine let out a faint laugh. “I am daughter to a man and woman who cut throats and poisoned folk for coin, and be assured they enjoyed their work, given they were so good at it. If either of them made it through the Divine Portals I would confess myself astonished. As for Alwyn and our long-standing friendship—” a wry but fond smile played over her lips as she spared me a short glance “—that, I’ll grant you, warrants further consideration.”

  She clapped her hands together, causing the child in my arms to whimper in annoyance before his mother took him back. “But that can wait,” Lorine said, carrying a now restless Bryndon to the door with a brisk step. “I must see to your welcoming feast and this lordling needs his midday feed.”

  “Time is against us…” Evadine began but Lorine had already hauled the door wide and exited the room.

  “Delay your war for but one night, my lady,” Lorine’s voice echoed in response as she descended the tower steps. “I’m sure your soldiers will thank you for it.”

  The jugglers provided an amusing evening’s entertainment, albeit through accident rather than intention. They consisted of a trio I assumed to be mother, father and son, and it was the latter who provided most of the merriment. His parents tossed their various balls and batons about with a lithe grace and skill that told of a lifetime’s practice while the equally trim and athletic son clearly needed a few more years seasoning. Several times he dropped the batons hurled his way by his father, much to the hilarity of the audience of Covenant soldiery and local notables. On one occasion the lad took a leather ball full in the face when his mother cast it at him while balanced atop her husband’s shoulders. Still, this clumsy youth reacted well to his own mistakes, responding to the jeers of the crowd with florid bows and grins that showed only affable good humour rather than the glowers of embarrassment frequently exhibited by his parents.

  Evadine and I had been afforded the honour of sitting with Lorine at the long table. It was positioned atop a raised dais to provide the best view of the entertainment while also emphasising the duchess’s status. The Anointed Lady enjoyed pride of place at Lorine’s right while I sat to her left, eating but little of the many courses conveyed by a continual procession of servants. I found the peacock the most tasty, the unfamiliar meat rich and gamey, enhanced by a honey and rosemary glaze. However, the lingering effects of my captivity in the bowels of the Dire Keep made my appetite small, as did the tension instilled by Evadine’s rigidly inexpressive demeanour throughout.

  “You could have come to me, you know,” Lorine commented after I related a carefully edited account of what had happened at the keep. “If the object was merely to discover what might be occurring at that old haunted ruin. I have my own… discreet resources.”

  “The value of a secret erodes with every ear that hears it,” I replied. “Besides, I wasn’t sure how Shilva Sahken would have reacted if I were to make free with intelligence meant only for me.”

  “Shilva.” Lorine gave a rueful chuckle. “A woman I respected almost as much as I detested, and I detested her a great deal.”

  “Deckin always trusted her.”

  Once again her face darkened at mention of her departed lover, but this time she consented to offer a reply. “We both know he trusted a good many more people than he should have.” She started a little as one of the juggler’s batons landed on our table, shattering a crystal goblet and spattering us both with wine. Silence descended quickly, save for a few chuckles from the Covenant soldiers, these fading amid the abruptly thickened air. The clumsy youth stood in the centre of the feasting chamber, frozen in the act of catching an invisible baton. The lad’s winning smile from moments before had a twitchy curve to it now, his parents flanking him in blank-faced trepidation.

  “You missed,” Lorine said, picking up the baton and tossing it back to the young juggler. Laughter erupted with the loudness that arises from relief, making me wonder if the Duchess of the Shavine Marches was always so lenient with cloddish hirelings.

  “I think you’ve entertained us long enough for one night,” Lorine went on, clapping her hands. “Master Dubbings, my guests require music!”

  The juggling trio bowed and departed with a wise measure of haste while Dubbings, the grey-haired, stiff-backed master of ducal household business, clicked fingers and waved his arms about to summon a mandolin-bearing minstrel to the floor.

  “You’ll have to forgive the lack of choral accompaniment, my lady,” Lorine said, inclining her head to Evadine. “Quintrell plays with an exquisite hand but even he admits his voice is somewhat frog-like.” She turned to the waiting minstrel. “‘The Mists Over the Water’, if you would, Master Quintrell.”

  A few bars from the mandolin proved Lorine no liar. This man played with a deft but commanding touch, the notes pure and resonating with all the heart-tugging tragedy required of this particular song. As the melancholic tune filled the chamber my attention wandered to Ayin, for she always did love music. She sat at the end of the long table and those who didn’t know her would have seen a winsome maid staring at the minstrel in mixed fascination and sadness. I saw small beads glimmer in her eyes, the music stirring her to a pitch of emotion that couldn’t be roused by the sight of violent death. When the last few notes of the ‘Mists Over the Water’ faded away to loud applause, Ayin didn’t clap, merely lowering her head, eyes closed and slim shoulders betraying a restrained shudder.

  “Going somewhere, my lord?” Lorine asked as I rose from my chair.

  “You provided us with fine entertainment this night, Duchess,” I said. “It’s only proper that I return the favour.”

  I knew better than to touch a hand to Ayin’s shoulder, instead securing her attention with a faint rap of my knuckles to the table. “Plays well, doesn’t he?” I asked, nodding to the minstrel who had begun strumming a lively tune.

  “He overstressed the final note of the first verse,” Ayin said, smooth brow creasing as she worked the heel of her hand into her eyes. “Otherwise, not bad, I s’pose.”

  “Duchess Lorine tells me he’s a poor singer. It would seem a shame for the feast to pass without at least one song, don’t you think?”

  Ayin’s eyes widened in alarm, shifting to survey the chamber and the many people at feast. “I… can’t,” she said.

  “You’ve sung in front of folk before,” I pointed out. “Hardly a night goes by in camp when you’re not singing something.”

  “That’s different.” She lowered her head again, squirming a little as I thought how strange it was that she should be frightened of anything, not least the prospect of doing what she did best in front of an audience.

  I leaned a little closer, speaking softly. “Your captain requires a distraction, and you will provide it, soldier.”

  A resentful scowl added another crease to her forehead causing me to take note of the meat fork sitting close to her hand. However, Ayin was ever a dutiful soul and, clenching her fists, got to her feet, chair scraping loudly on the wooden boards.

  “My Lady Duchess,” I said, voice raised as Ayin made her way from platform to floor. “It is my pleasure to present Trooper Ayin of the Covenant Company. She has consented to provide us with a song of her own creation.”

  “This little bird is a soldier?” Lorine asked, pursing her lips as she afforded Ayin a modicum of scrutiny.

  “Yes she is,” Evadine stated with glacial precision. “As fine and loyal a soldier as I have ever known.” Her tone softened as she gave Ayin a warm smile. “With perhaps the purest voice in all Albermaine.”

  “Quite a boast.” Lorine shrugged and raised her goblet to Ayin. “As you will, little bird. Quintrell is at your disposal.”

  Ayin bobbed her head in a jerky approximation of a bow and turned to the minstrel, speaking in hushed tones. At first, he regarded her with amused indulgence, but I saw his interest pique when she began to hum a tune. Even quiet and wordless, Ayin’s voice had a power to command notice, especially from those steeped in music. Within a few moments, Quintrell began to reproduce her tune with his mandolin, the soft, lilting melody I recognised as the opening bars of “Who Will Sing for Me?”, Ayin’s eulogy for those lost on the Sacrifice March.

  Clasping her hands together, she moved to the centre of the floor, allowing the mandolin to play for a short while before she began to sing. “Who will sing for me, my dear? Who will sing for me? When the field is cleared and the harvest done, Who will sing for me?”

  The words and the tune were simple, easily picked up and unchallenging to even the coarsest voice, but when carried by Ayin it became something else, something far more complex that couldn’t fail to find purchase on the heart. All other sound in the chamber fell away, eyes and ears rapt by the slender young woman with a voice that reached effortlessly to the lofty beams above.

  “I toiled all day with scythe and plough, Who will sing for me? With ne’re a coin for the seed I sow, Who will sing for me?”

  I moved to Lorine’s side, finding her as snared by Ayin as all others. She only consented to look my way when I touched her arm. I said nothing, merely inclining my head at a side door towards the rear of the chamber, one I knew led to a stretch of broad battlement known as the Duke’s Perch. Lorine gave a rueful arch of her brows and got to her feet. It said much for the command of Ayin’s voice that only a few of the Shavine nobles at the top table rose to mark their duchess’s departure with a bow.

  “That girl is quite remarkable,” Lorine said, leading me through the door as the guard stationed there hastened to drag it open. “Where did you find her?”