“We’ll wait for you in the bailey,” Zigana Imre said, glancing at Brida over her shoulder. The two women shared a ride toward Castle Banat on Zigana’s mare Gitta with Brida riding pillion. She’d started her journey on foot in the late afternoon once she managed to escape Norinn’s hawkish scrutiny to return to her house. Once again she sneaked out through her back garden, only to go in the opposite direction of the cave where she spent her nights in Ahtin’s company.
Zigana had crossed paths with her not far from the base of the castle bluff, riding Gitta back to the village. A widow, like Brida, Zigana had lost her husband on the same ship as Brida lost hers. Their casual acquaintance had become friendship, strengthened by the bonds of common tragedy. Brida had readily accepted the other woman’s offer of a ride to the castle, and Zigana didn’t question why Brida walked there instead of having her brother take her in his wagon.
The trip up the bluff road to the castle took a quarter of the time it would have taken her had she walked the entire way. She stared toward the Gray from her lofty seat atop Gitta, searching for a hint of pearlescent skin catching the last of the day’s light or the flick of a tail rising above the waves. She prayed she’d see neither one, sick with a nameless dread that had plagued her since seeing Ospodine in the market earlier.
The sun set a little earlier each evening as autumn arced toward winter, and the red blaze of its descent turned the Gray bloody along its horizon. No different than any other fall afternoon, yet the sight now heightened her alarm along with her determination to confront Ospodine and demand he tell her exactly what he wanted from her. She carried the bone flute with her this time, willing to play any tune he demanded.
She no longer worried that Edonin would respond. The merwoman’s expression had spoken more clearly than words what she thought of Brida’s information, and Brida wondered what terrible connection Ospodine, an outlander in Ancilar, had with Edonin to inspire such horror, such anguish.
Some of the guards in the bailey were local men from Ancilar, and they hailed both women as Gitta trotted toward one of the hay racks set along one side of the stables. Brida shook the wrinkles from her skirt and recited in her mind what she’d say to the steward to convince him she was worthy of a few moments of Lord Frantisek’s time. Luck, for once, played in her favor.
“The flute player from Ancilar,” a familiar voice said from the other side of Gitta’s big frame. Brida glanced across the horse’s back to find his lordship gazing at her, a curious light in his solemn eyes. That gaze shifted, deepened, just as his voice did, when it landed on Zigana standing at Gitta’s shoulder. “And Zigana. What brings you here? A visit with Jolen?”
Zigana avoided his gaze. “A favor for Brida. She’s come to Banat to speak with you. I brought her so she wouldn’t have to walk.”
Undercurrents heavy enough to drown in flowed between his lordship and the woman who was his wife’s bastard sister. Any other time Brida might have squirmed inwardly at the moment’s awkwardness and made her excuses to find something else to do. However, she hadn’t come to Castle Banat on a whim, and she needed Lord Frantisek’s attention.
“My lord,” she said, interrupting the silent exchange between the two. His eyes shifted from their heavy regard of Zigana to focus on her. Zigana snatched up Gitta’s reins and led her to the farthest hay rack, out of earshot.
“Mistress Gazi, how may I be of service?”
Brida’s eyebrows lifted. He did remember her name, and his courtly manner toward her eased her fretfulness a little. “My lord, I know Syr Ospodine is still your guest. I must speak with him about an important matter as soon as possible.”
She tried very hard not to reveal her distaste for the man in front of his host, but she needn’t have worried. Judging by the lift of Lord Frantisek’s upper lip, he shared the sentiment.
“He is indeed, Mistress Gazi. It has been long and long, and I count the hours until he tires of my hospitality. But he isn’t here at the moment. You may find him walking along Madigan’s Teeth. There’s a path that winds down the bluff where the slope isn’t so steep. You can reach it from the east side of the demesne. I can have one of my guards show you the way.” He motioned one of the soldiers over, a man Brida recognized as the son of Ancilar’s miller.
Brida glanced down at her shoes and inwardly sighed. She wasn’t wearing the right footwear to go hiking along Madigan’s Teeth, especially as it grew dark. The jagged landscape on that side of the bluff was a favored place for catching crabs and harvesting a type of mollusk that clung to the rock with holdfasts stronger than ship rigging. They also made the rock face slimy. Going barefoot was a fool’s choice that guaranteed feet sliced to bloody ribbons by the sharp edges of the mollusk shells.
There was nothing for it. She’d pray they’d meet on the path as he returned, and if they didn’t, then she’d have to be extra careful navigating the Teeth and dealing with Ospodine.
The miller’s son, a lad named Endel, saluted his lordship then offered Brida a smile. “Welcome to the castle, Mistress Gazi.”
“Escort the mistress to the Madigan path.” Lord Frantisek eyed Brida. “He can go with you if you wish.” A brief scowl flickered across his face. “It might be wise I think.”
She almost refused, afraid too many might learn of the merfolk’s existence in the waters or see Ahtin swimming in the waves. She discarded the idea. There were risks in everything, and after her last encounter alone on the beach with Ospodine, she welcomed the presence of a companion for this one. Besides, many a trick of the moonlight played on the Gray, and people imagined seeing things that weren’t there.
She accepted the offer, then thanked Zigana for the ride, assuring her she need not wait for Brida’s return.
“Brida.” Zigana touched her arm. A shadow of memory passed across her face. “Gitta killed one obluda. Only one. Be careful.”
Brida patted the other woman’s hand to reassure her. If Zigana only knew how often of late Brida had visited the shore at night… Fortunately, the only sounds arising from the Gray had been those she heard all her life or Ahtin whistling her name in welcome.
With the darkness fast descending, Endel handed Brida a lamp and carried one himself to light their way down the path. The dirt road snaked down the slope between scrubby bushes that shivered in the wind. Madigan’s Teeth lay ahead, rising sharply from the base of the bluff like fangs in a dragon’s mouth, spaced with narrow gullies hollowed out by the eternal tide. Shallow stair treads of more stone jutted into the water, their surfaces adorned with clusters of mussels.
The Gray heaved toward the shore here, hurling breakers against the rocks with battering force as if protesting their intrusion into the water. Foamy remnants left by the dying flow of waves burst and bubbled in the spaces between the mussel shells or oozed back toward their source in a serpentine wash. The sea didn’t just sing, it thundered.
A black silhouette stood just out of reach of the surf’s swash, its long tunic flapping in the wind like a gull’s wings. Brida recognized the narrow profile and slim frame. Ospodine.
“Stay here, keep watch” Brida instructed Endel. She didn’t need him overhearing this conversation.
“But mistress.” Endel tugged on her sleeve. “His lordship said—”
“For you to accompany me, and you have.” She held her lamp higher so that he could see her smile. “You can see me quite clearly from here, and you’re close enough to come to my aid should I need it.”
He eyed her, then the place where Ospodine stood. “If you’re sure,” he conceded reluctantly.
She admired his commitment and his bravery. “I’m sure.”
