“Apologies, my lord,” she said. “They have had little entertainment of late. We have been on the road all day.”
“May I ask where you are going?” asked Patrick.
“Headed to the Temple at Cindercott. Haven’t you heard the news from Mirthwater?”
My heart beat faster, but I tried to keep my face neutral. “Heard what?” A thought occurred to me. “Is the king dead?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But he might as well be. From what we’ve been told, the Temple and some high lord or other are both trying to claim the throne. Apparently, there was an attack on a band of Followers? The Temple is going to retaliate, they’re saying.”
“Oh,” I said faintly.
“I heard that the lord’s men slaughtered them all, but I don’t know for certain. Anyway, if the Followers aren’t safe, then no one is. We knew it would happen eventually.” She seemed more resigned than frightened. “Our Margrave told us a civil war is brewing. He is a good man, loyal to the faith, and wanted his smallfolk to get out in time. We’re going to seek sanctuary at the Temple in Cindercott.”
“And you’ll be safe there?”
She exhaled a long breath, blowing a strand of damp hair from her face. “Safer than most places, I suppose. Our liege lord will allow us all into the keep, and its walls are thick. The Temple will not turn us away.”
No, the more grateful converts, the better, I thought. How better to inspire loyalty than to provide sanctuary?
“We fell behind the others,” she was saying. “Mari has not been well, and it is hard for her to walk this long without resting.” She kissed the top of the little girl’s head.
“And they just left you behind?” I said.
The woman shook her head. “They did not mean to, my lady. We sat to rest awhile, and I’m afraid we fell asleep. Then the rain started.”
“Would the girls like to pet Fane?” Patrick smiled at them, at his most charming. “She is a good mare and fond of children.”
Fane submitted to having her velvety nose rubbed and exclaimed over. The girls were fascinated with Baldbeak as well, petting him cautiously on his head and back and exclaiming at his softness. He half closed his eyes and crooned a little undertheir touch, his expression foolishly contented, which made me laugh.
The rain stopped after a while, and we were able to venture out from our cramped shelter and gather enough dryish kindling to make a fire. Patrick had a tinderbox, and built a little platform of stone to keep the wood from the ground, and soon the flames burned merrily enough. Gisane had a little food, and combined with what Patrick had in the saddlebags, we were able to cobble together a decent meal for the five of us. Six, if you included Baldbeak, who received any scraps and pieces of gristle with enthusiasm. The stew was watery, but good. I sat on a damp log, wrapping my cloak tightly around myself, and Patrick perched beside me, infuriatingly graceful even as he juggled his bowl and a large cup of ale.
“Enjoying being the traveling magician again?” I asked.
“It is simpler,” he said.
He started up with his tricks again after dinner, making things appear and disappear for the little girls, and even making a stick appear to hover between his hands. They clapped with glee, urging him on to more and more theatrics. Gisane looked on indulgently, smiling at her daughters’ joy.
As the girls tired, and Gisane settled them down in their blankets, Patrick leaned back against a tree trunk, his long fingers loosely clasped around his ale cup. He glanced at me, a little sheepishly.
“I’m out of practice,” he said.
“Nonsense. You were excellent.” I tipped my head back to look at the sky. The clouds had cleared after the rain, and the stars were bright and plentiful, like grains of sugar spilled from a Plaguenight sack. A few strands of Hair curled softly about my face, as if stroking it. In the firelight, out of the corner of my eye, I could just see the gleam of red that lay dormant beneath the black dye.
Patrick turned his head to look at me, his expression obscured by the shifting pattern of firelight. After watchingme for a moment, he asked, “What did you think of me, when I was simply a traveling magician? When we met by the river.”
I dropped my gaze to where my hands lay relaxed in my lap. The scar on my ring finger caught the firelight. “That is an odd question.”
“Is it?” I could feel him looking at me for a while longer, and then he dropped his gaze. “I sometimes wonder if it would be a happier life.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. The idea of Patrick—calculating, clever Patrick—living such a simple life should have been absurd. But watching him entertain two frightened children with sleight of hand and soft words—it didn’t seem entirely impossible.
“I think you would have to abandon your fine manners and clothes,” I said with the ghost of a smile. “A market magician doesn’t wear velvet cloaks lined with fur.”
“They would only add to my air of mystery.”
“Oh you have that in spades, all right.”
“And I have my charm to fall back on.”
