Nevertheless, Xymund had made one thing very clear. None of the prisoners was to know that I was a Daughter of the Blood. If anyone learned that fact, he said that he would chain me in my room for the duration of the war.
Even I could see the sense in that.
I walked through the city, dodging animals and people, carts and wagons. It was very crowded on the streets. People of all shapes and sizes were moving about their business before the markets closed for the night and the Watch was about. At one intersection a cart had lost its wheel, its cargo spilled onto the street. Men were shouting at one another, trying to clear the way. I turned down one of the side streets, trying to avoid the mess. Here, the buildings were built tight to one another and leaned out over the streets, blocking the light. I was glad to turn back onto one of the wide main streets and get on my way.
As I went, I could sense a difference. There seemed to be a feeling of suppressed panic in the air. Men stood at corners, talking softly in clusters. The bargaining had a frantic sense to it. I wondered if there had been some news of the Cat. I took another detour of sorts, moving down an alley to come out in the spice markets. I paused before entering the flow of traffic, looking for colorful flags on poles and spotted Kalisa’s cart, tucked in the entrance of another alley.
Bent half double with age, her back humped up, her fingers crooked and swollen, Kalisa was one of the few shorter than I was. Normally, she also had the brightest smile and the best cheese in the city. But there was no smile for me today.
“Lara.” Whatever else, her eyes and mind were still sharp. “Don’t you have an escort? It’s not safe, child.” She tipped her head and looked me over.
“Kalisa, I’ve never had any trouble—”
“Aye, were times what they were, I’d agree. Not now.” She scowled at me, even as her hands pulled out a small wheel of hard cheese. “Rumor has it that our king has hired mercenaries to guard his carcass, heathen foreigners who wander the streets terrorizing women.”
I set my jug and basket down between my feet. “The same rumor that says that the Firelanders are blue, red, and black, and belch fire from their mouths?”
She handed me a slice of her sharpest cheese, and a thin cracker, which I took eagerly. The taste flooded my mouth, making me aware of my hunger. It had been long since breakfast, and it tasted wonderful. Kalisa tilted her head to be able to look into my eyes. “Have you not heard?” Her face as serious as I had ever seen.
“Heard what?”
“The army has pulled back within the city walls. King’s command. Did you not hear the horns?” She cut another slice. “Heard tell that the Lord Marshall is having fits.”
The cracker and cheese was suddenly dry in my mouth. “Pulled back? But…”
Her white head shook as she handed me another piece of cheese. “Child, you need to look up from your work once in a while, eh?”
“The last I heard, things were going well.” I swallowed hard. “At the very gates?”
“Everyone’s frantic. Stripped my cart almost bare, they did. And the Watch is doubled tonight. You best be getting home.” Kalisa nudged me. “Aye and look there.”
I looked to where her gnarled finger, held low behind the cart, pointed into the crowd. I looked up to see Lord Durst riding by, with his son and heir, Degnan. They wore their usual haughty, sullen expressions.
No fear that they would recognize me in the press, but then my odd ways were an open secret. Xymund usually said something when one of the nobility came for a visit. What were they doing here?
Kalisa had no doubts. “Cowards fled their lands for this safety. Left all behind, so I hear.”
I scowled at her. “Such talk could get you beaten, old woman.”
She snorted. “Everyone’s saying that Xymund’s not the warrior your father was, and rightly so if rumor is true, that he’s a bast—” I frowned at her and she broke off her words. “Never mind. I’ve enough cheese to fill my cart tomorrow, but after that I’ve none to sell.” She shook her head at my questioning look. “
Anser and Mya have fled with the herds, and I’ve no milk to work. Talk is that with those heathens outside, the harvest is thin and food will be scarce. They say that some merchants are already raising their prices.”
I crammed the rest of the cheese into my mouth and dug for my pouch.
Kalisa waved me off. “Never you mind, child. My thanks for that jar of joint cream you gave me. It works well.” She held up her hands and flexed them.
I smiled, pleased to see that she had more movement in her fingers. “I will bring you another jar, Kalisa. I promise.”
“I’d rather you stayed safe in that castle. Off with you now. That grandson of mine will be along to get me home soon enough.” She started to pack up her cart as I continued on, lost in my thoughts.
Lord Marshall Warren had seemed very confident of his ability to hold the warlord’s men at bay. I had no mind for tactics and troop movements, but Father had thought Warren an excellent general and had every faith in him. Something must have gone wrong. That explained the mood of the city, with the enemy at the very gates. I picked up my pace.
Before I knew it, the castle walls were before me, comfort-ing symbols of strength. The gate guards called a greeting, well used to my routine at this point. Once through the gate, I turned down toward the path that led into the overgrowth.
Xymund’s mother had been a great one for flowers and plants. She’d spent many hours directing the gardeners in their work, creating elaborate pleasure gardens. That may be why the rumors had started, that Xymund was a bastard, a result of an affair that his mother had. It didn’t help that she’d come from a distant kingdom to marry our father, since my people have a deep distrust of all things foreign. Father had thought the potential alliance was worth facing their intolerance, but from the stories I’d heard, it had not been easy on him or the Queen.
Of course my father denied the rumors, acknowledged Xymund as his son and heir, and swore that he was the spitting image of his grandfather, but the story never died. Older Xyians were quick to point out that Xymund and his father looked nothing alike, a fact that stuck Xymund like a knife. Even after he was acknowledged as heir, even after ascending the throne, it was a scab that he seemed to pick at constantly.
