Page 64

“I came, as your subject, to ask for help,” I said. “I beg you, don’t make me leave without it. You’re capable of mercy—I myself am proof of it.”

“Yes, and you’re not hungry anymore, are you?” he said lightly.

“I didn’t come for myself. I came for everyone else.”

“That certainly isn’t how it looked.”

But before I could respond, a man in velvet robes swept up, pulling the baron aside and speaking in hushed tones. I hung back, hoping not to be noticed. The man’s eyes shifted to me anyway, and as they did, his expression darkened.

“Why, my lord—” he began.

Baron Joachim cut him off with a flick of his hand. “She amuses me,” he said.

The man visibly shuddered. More conversation followed, too low for me to hear. And then the velvet-robed man glided toward me, smelling of wine and incense. “I have encouraged my lord to find a more suitable whore,” he whispered as he passed.

I froze where I stood.How dare he, that vile, oily—

“Come now,” the baron said, returning to my side. “Don’t mind Lord Ashling.”

“That’s easy for you to say. He bows to you and spits on me.”

“As he believes he should. But no matter, I will show you something that will make you forget your wounded dignity.”

He thrust open a heavy wooden door, and when we passed through it, we were in the muted gray light of the outer bailey,where two wagons, heavily laden with supplies, stood waiting. The baron walked up to one of the mules resting in its harness and gave its neck a gentle slap. “See?” he said.

I didn’t understand at first what he meant.

“Are you being stupid on purpose? Lead the way to your village,” he said. He gestured to the two drivers. “They will follow. Surely you can manage this?”

Without answering I ran to the nearest wagon and peered inside. There were wheels of cheese, crocks of butter, sacks of barley. Hay for our livestock. Smoked fish and goose eggs packed in straw. Toward the back of the wagon was a wooden chest held closed by leather straps.

“What’s in there?” I whispered.

“Medicine,” he said. “Salt. Spices.”

I held on to the wagon to steady myself as relief and gratitude flooded my body.

We would live!

CHAPTER 62

I ran all the way to my village without stopping, five miles’ journey as if it were an inch. By the time I arrived at the lopsided, abandoned huts that marked the village edge, I was sweating and breathless. Lungs aching, I flung myself down the narrow lane to our cottage.

Relief flooded through me when I saw the smoke from our fire curling up through the thatched roof. Conn had made good on his promise: he’d kept himself and our mother alive.

“Mother! Conn!” I shouted. “I’ve come back! With supply carts! Meet me at the church!”

My brother came stumbling out, barefoot and blinking his eyes against the weak sunlight. “Hurry,” I cried, blowing him a kiss as I went on down the lane, pounding on Zenna’s door first, and then on Ryia’s and the weaver’s. “Come out,” I shouted. “Follow me!”

None of the doors opened. “Hello?” I called.

Where was everyone?

Finally I saw Zenna’s skeletal face peering out from the dark interior of her cottage. Her rheumy old eye slowly focused on me, and her expression brightened ever so slightly. “Blackbird,” she rasped. “Do you have a song for me?”

“I have something better,” I said. “Food.”

She clucked her tongue. “Don’t tease an old woman.”