‘Tell Mother I’ve gone hunting,’ he continued. ‘I do sometimes ride alone towards the mountains so it’s plausible. I’ll have to leave the city through that route anyway to avoid attention and circle the perimeter. It’ll slow me down, but it’s the only option …’
As he spoke, his words fast and urgent, Cressyda wondered if he knew yet that he was in love with Alinore.
Surely it was obvious.
She had realized it herself recently, but part of her thought that she had probably always known it to be true. Ottone adored Alinore. Maybe it had started as the love of friendship, but over the winters it had developed into something else. It was evident from the way he spoke about her, the way he admired her, the very way that he said her name.
It was equally clear to Cressyda that Alinore reciprocated his feelings, but whether or not her friend would admit to such a thing, Cressyda was not sure. Such tenderness could too easily be mistaken for weakness. Sometimes Cressyda had contemplated asking Alinore outright. But she had worried that it would be perceived as just another irritation – another accusation between them. Cressyda knew her friend well enough to understand that if Alinore was ever going to confess to being in love, she needed to admit it to herself first.
‘Go after her,’ said Cressyda. ‘If she’s going to listen to anyone, she’ll listen to you.’
Ottone’s cheeks flushed pink; then his features became taut again. ‘I’ll be as fast as I can, but I won’t be back until tomorrow. I’ll miss Samsel arriving tonight. You’ll have to cover for me.’
‘Oh …’ Unease rose in Cressyda’s chest and she placed a hand over her throat.
Ottone paused. ‘You’re worried?’
She blinked and shook herself. ‘It’s just a day,’ she said, though she could still hear fear tinging her words. ‘Samsel will be busy greeting everyone and preparing for the Maiden Sacrifice tomorrow. He won’t have time to notice me.’
She almost believed her own words, but apprehension still lingered, a knot of worry wedged beneath her ribs. Then the urgecame, sharp and sudden, to confess it all. To finally speak the truth that had weighed heavily for so many winters:I have the Sight. I am one of the Mountain folk and Samsel knows it.What a relief it would be to say it aloud, to finally share the burden with her brother. It teetered on the edge of her lips.
But Ottone was already striding towards the door, intent on leaving without delay.
The moment slipped away.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she called, her voice firmer than she felt. ‘Just find Alinore.’
At the threshold, Ottone hesitated, glancing back. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said.
Cressyda nodded.
The truth would have to wait.
Maylie
SHE STOOD INthe doorway of the workshop. The broad expanse of her husband’s back faced her, bent over a table, hammer in hand. There were swirls of silver in Chrisanie’s light brown hair and the skin above the tattered edge of his collar was loose and slightly puckered. Once it had been smooth and tanned, but seasons had slipped by and they had both changed.
Chrisanie raised his arm, the muscles in his shoulder flexing as he brought the hammer down with athwack, striking a nail into a wooden frame. After three more strokes he stood back, panting.
‘The boys are asleep,’ she said.
He jumped at her voice. ‘Oh, ’tis you, May.’ He wiped one hand across his damp brow. ‘I came out after dinner to finish up. I must’ve lost track of time.’
‘’Tis no matter.’
She stepped into the workshop and closed the door. Harie and Rozowie were tucked into their beds and it was unlikely that Mayliewould be overheard except perhaps by the hens, but she took the precaution all the same.
‘I need to speak to you,’ she said. ‘’Tis important.’
If Chrisanie thought her visit unusual, he did not show it. He gestured to a bench. After a pause, he asked, ‘What did you want to say?’
Maylie opened her mouth, but then closed it again. She had been planning how she would explain it all day, preparing for this moment, but now that she was here, the words seemed to have disappeared.
She looked at the tools hung on the far wall instead. A bundle of posieous – mountain breath – had been tucked behind the handle of a saw. These days intricate carving sometimes gave Chrisanie headaches and Maylie supplied him with mountain breath to chew while he worked. There were only three sprigs left. He needed more.
‘Do you think Gredie’s all right?’ she asked. ‘He’s never spent a night away from home before.’
‘He’ll be fine. ’Tis good for him to have a little freedom and Bosiccie’s family will see that he’s safe. No need to worry about that.’
