A shape sat on a stool by the fire, hunched, dark, silent. The hairs rose on the back of Briar’s neck, and she stumbled back, gasping. And then her mind recognized Odo, and she gave a surprised laugh instead.
“Odo?” she said, moving into the room. “Where are Jocelyn and Mary?”
But of course Odo did not answer her. He had not spoken in two years, since he had been taken ill on the morning after Anna’s murder, and it was unlikely he would do so now.
Briar walked toward her bed, lightly touching Odo’s shoulder as she passed. Her sisters could not have gone far, or they would not have left Odo by himself. Briar had time to collect her sword and a few of her other belongings, and be ready for them when they returned. And perhaps she had time to stand a moment, and remember all that had happened in this place, the small griefs and the larger ones, as well as the happiness she had shared ...
“My brother’s wife.”
She did not even hear him arrive, just his words ringing in the silence. So smug, so satisfied, so victorious. His voice came from behind her, in the doorway, blocking off her only escape.
Miles.
Briar froze. Her heart gave that heavy thump. She knew she was in the presence of evil, and with only Odo to protect her. Slowly, gathering all her courage about her, Briar turned to face him.
He was standing just inside the room, and his smile told her the worst. He had been waiting for her, and he was planning to enjoy this.
“Do you know, I have been watching you from across the river,” he said, as if he wanted her to hear how clever he had been. “I have been watching you and my brother. Kissing, cooing like doves. I’ve seen everything. He was playing at protecting you, playing at being a knight. But he isn’t much good at it, is he? He never was.”
“Ivo will be here soon,” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken, and to her amazement her voice hardly trembled at all.
He grinned. “I doubt that, my brother’s wife. He is caught up with important matters. He is looking for me, but as usual he is looking in all the wrong places. By the time he recognizes it is you who is missing, it will be too late, you will be gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Somewhere safe, and quiet, where we can get to know each other better.”
I won’t think of that, Briar told herself, gritting her teeth. I won’t let my imagination take me down that narrow road. He has not hurt me yet, and if I am strong and clever, then he will never hurt me.
Her eyes slid away, down to the floor, and she saw the dull curve of the hilt of her sword edging out from beneath her bed. Quickly she looked away. Odo had been staring blankly into the fire, but now Briar noticed that he had lifted his head and was staring instead at Miles.
For a moment Briar thought she read intelligence there, understanding, but it must have been a trick of the light. As she peered closer, she saw his eyes were just the same as always, that empty blue Briar had grown used to. No help there, then.
If she wanted to be saved from Miles, then it was up to herself.
“Why do you hate Ivo?” she asked him, as if she were really interested.
He smiled, but there was nothing of laughter or warmth in it. “When Ivo came into the world he made it brighter. Everyone seemed drawn to him, as if he were a lantern in a dark place. I felt myself disappearing into the shadows when he was nearby. So you see, lady, it was a matter of life or death, me or Ivo. And naturally I chose me.”
She sank down on the bed, as if her legs had suddenly given way, aware that he was watching her like a hawk a field mouse. Her heel brushed the sword hilt and carefully, praying he could not see her movements beneath the hem of her drab gown, she edged it closer.
“Why didn’t you just kill Ivo years ago, Miles? Why draw it out like this? Was he too clever for you? Aye, that must be it, he was just too clever for you—”
“Because he has to suffer,” Miles cut in, and something sparkled in his pale eyes. “I want to break him, I want him to beg and grovel and accept I am his better. Only he never does. He just keeps coming back, stronger than before.” He leaned toward her, breathing quickly, a faint flush in his lean cheeks. “Why does he do that? Why doesn’t he break?”
Briar shifted the sword closer, close enough that if she reached down she could clasp it in her hand. And once she had done that, it was up to her.
“He is better than you,” she said coldly. “That is why, Miles. He is the better man, and he always will be.”
It was a mistake.
With a growl, he stalked toward her. Too soon. Briar fumbled for her sword, snatching it up, but not fast enough. He had grabbed at her arm, twisting it, hurting it. But she would not drop her weapon, though the pain made her feel faint. They struggled together, grimly, making hardly any sound in their battle of life and death.
The sword fell from her fingers.
“Oh, I will enjoy killing you,” he whispered into her ear, and she knew it was so. Briar felt sickness building in her throat.
She tried to pull free, but he caught her hair and jerked hard. Briar spun around, slapping at him, trying to make him let go. But he laughed and began to reel her in by her hair like a fish on a line. And then Briar’s gaze moved beyond him, and widened.
