“A drunk pig,” Gilleis said, shrugging skinny shoulders. “There’s worse. Adney can’t do much more than box my ears, and he misses that easy enough, as you saw. You’re lucky you came here while his lot’s got the run of the place—seeing as you’re unlucky enough to come here at all. Or stupid enough, but you don’t look that.”
“It was… I could find no other work,” Sophia said. They picked their way across the courtyard toward the outbuildings, headed toward one where she could see smoke rising from the roof. “You’re a smith?”
“Apprentice.” Sharp black eyes took in Sophia’s stained dress and plain shawl. “Might you know anything about the work? Don’t be scared to say no. We won’t turn you out tonight, and I’m mortal sick of sweeping.”
“I know fires, and the bellows a bit. And a little about metal, though I’ve not done any proper ironwork. And Icansweep.”
“That’s a sight better than I’d thought you might say. Besides, I meant what I said to Adney, and Harry’s last apprentice took a Scottish arrow through the eye, from what we heard. Poor boy.” She spoke with genuine pity, but didn’t go on either to lament or to curse the Scots, for which Sophia, wincing inwardly, was grateful. “So he took me on, his father and mine being all but kin. And we’ve work enough for another pair of hands. Here…Harry!”
She called to a man who stood by the forge, and he raised his head to look at them with slow, unhurried curiosity. Sophia saw that he was middle-aged and towheaded, tall and muscled as befit his profession, with a full beard neatly trimmed short.
“Christ’s blood, Gilleis, and who’s this?” He swore genially and didn’t step out of the smithy but rather beckoned them in.
Once she’d crossed the threshold, Sophia felt better. The feelings of wrongness didn’t lift, but it was as though a wall went up between her and them—thin enough that she knew what was on the other side, but a barrier nonetheless. She stopped short, blinking.
“Come along,” said Gilleis. “He’s not as bad as he looks.”
“No…not at all,” Sophia said, smiling an apology. “I only felt faint for a minute. It’s been a long day.”
It was a weak excuse, but she’d use what she could. It both heartened her and shamed her to see the concern on both faces. She didn’t want to deceive good people—but oh, it made her glad to have anyone well-meaning at hand.
“She’s looking for work,” Gilleis explained, pushing a stool in Sophia’s direction with one foot. “She says she’s used to fire and metal, some, and she can sweep. Adney was drooling down her neck, and I thought—”
“I know well enough what you thought,” Harry said and sighed. “The time will come, and soon, when you’ll have to watch your tongue around the guards.”
“Iknow. But it’s only Adney.”
“For now.” He turned his attention to Sophia. “Sweeping will be a start. You can show me your other skills in time…if you think that’s wise.”
“What do you mean, sir?” she asked, wondering if he’d already thought of alchemy.
Harry regarded her gravely. “What’s your name, mistress?”
When she’d set out, she’d planned to go byMeg—a common-enough name, and one with no connections to her real identity. Standing in the smith’s yard, however, she felt, as strongly as she’d felt her way in dreams, that she should speak the truth. “Sophia,” she said.
“Well, Sophia. I can give you a place by the fire and food for as long as you want, and I can keep you safe as long as you keep sensible. Come tomorrow, I can also give you food to be journeying on with. And that would likely be the wiser course. A few days from now, this castle will be…”
“No place for a woman alone?” Sophia filled in when he hesitated.
“No place for almost anyone, if they can help it.”
Thirty-two
Cathal spent most of the first two days in a tree.
He could have wished for a better season. The evergreens were the only trees that would hide his presence, and it was difficult to go very far up them without breaking the branches. He settled for a point about halfway up that offered a keen lookout for anyone coming. There he sat, or lay with his face pressed to the branch, and waited.
He’d passed more interesting days. In his youth, he’d learned stillness, and at least how patience could serve a man on a hunt or a battlefield, and he was glad of both. Cathal watched the flight of birds: the owls that were now waking up from their winter sleep, the smaller birds that were beginning to arrive back, and the grouse that simply sought warmth in one location or another. He noted squirrels, when they’d woken up, and once saw a deer at the very outskirts of the clearing, though he wasn’t surprised when it moved no closer. They were as nervy as horses about smell, even when he was in human form.
When the first night fell and he could be certain that nobody would see him, he killed one of the grouse—caught it quickly, broke its neck, and risked a very small fire to roast it, then buried the remnants with the ashes. As a dragon, he could have eaten it raw and whole, but he judged that course of action riskier than the fire.
He woke on the second day with a crick in his neck and bark in his hair, and it started to rain midway through the afternoon. Sheltered by the branches, and thinking the weather would keep most men inside, woodcutter and hunter alike, he broke a small branch from higher up the tree and began idly to carve it. Cathal had no object in mind, either of use or of decoration, and yet it came as no surprise when the lines of the branch turned into a gowned human figure beneath his knife, and the face took on Sophia’s expression of delighted curiosity.
Wondering about her whereabouts, or her safety, was useless. He found that he could stop himself from doing so. It took slightly more effort than had been necessary when he waited for reports back from scouts, but he had practice. He didn’t expect other reactions.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but Cathal missed her.
He heard her voice in his head, commenting on or questioning everything that happened, be it the flight of an owl, the sunset, or the way pine felt beneath his knife. More than that, he found himself explaining such things, putting them into words as if she was there and he would interest her by so doing, making a gift of his observations and knowing that she’d appreciate them.
