‘My thanks, my lord. What a pretty thought.’
As they walked, Sevinna found herself tongue-tied; all she could do was ask him questions about his life at court, but the questions had to be carefully phrased, as it would be most discourteous if he thought she were prying into his financial worth or standing. Fortunately, Timryc had no difficulty at all keeping a conversation going, especially when the subject was himself. Sevinna was amazed at how often he could mention the times the King had spoken to him or the Queen had thanked him for some favour.
Getting back to the privacy of the women’s quarters was like finding refuge from a storm. Sevinna sank gratefully into a chair and wondered if she could feign a headache to get out of sitting next to Timryc at dinner. Babryan sat down next to her and gave Wbridda a scowl.
‘Go change that dress! You’ve got blood all over your sleeve.’
‘We had a good hunt,’ Wbridda said. ‘Two sparrows and a crow.’
‘Ugh! I don’t care. Or wait! Did you get some of the crow’s feathers?’
With a grin, Wbridda pulled three black tail feathers out of her kirtle and held them up.
‘Those are ever so useful for charms, Sevvi,’ Babryan explained. ‘If you don’t want Lord Timryc, we’ll work one tonight on him.’
‘Oh splendid! Because I don’t.’
The girls waited till late that night to make the charm. Wbridda brought one of the black feathers, Babryan, a candle-end, and Sevinna, a bone stylus. They crouched down close to the hearth, and Babryan laid the candle-end down a little distance from the flames.
‘We’ll let the wax soften.’
‘All right,’ Sevinna said. ‘Now here, though, this won’t make his lordship sick or anything, will it?’
‘Oh, of course not,’ Wbridda chimed in. ‘It’s awfully hard to make someone sick or have them die or suchlike. You’ve got to have bits of their fingernails or hair, and you’ve got to have special herb-oil, and you’ve got to work the charms nine times at midnight and do all sorts of stuff.’
‘All right, then. He’s only an awful bore. I don’t want to cause him any harm. Do you know anyone who’s ever worked this charm before?’
‘Oh, lots of people,’ Babryan said. ‘Lady Davylla’s sisters, and then their friends. I don’t know anyone who’s ever worked the death curse, though. Oooh! That would be awful. You’d have to really hate someone.’
‘I bet Lady Davylla’s Wise Woman could do it, though,’ Wbridda said. ‘Or one of her friends.’
‘There’s some round Lughcarn, too,’ Babryan added. ‘We’ve got a little silver chain Lady Davylla’s Wise Woman gave us, you see. If we show it to one of the Wise Women here, they’ll know that we’re their friends.’
‘Have you talked to any of them?’ Sevinna said.
‘Not yet, because it’s so hard to get away from Mam. Now that you’re here, we’ll have to think of a way to do it. We can pretend to hunt with falcons or suchlike. It’ll be ever so exciting.’
‘Let’s do it soon,’ Sevinna said. ‘Look, the wax is getting really soft.’
Babryan picked up the warm candle-end and kneaded it into the shape of a heart. When it was cool, Sevinna scratched Timryc’s mark onto the surface, then handed it to Wbridda, who stuck the shaft of the feather into the wax. While Sevinna held the heart over the fire, the other two began to chant Aranrhodda’s name. She threw the heart into the hottest part of the fire and watched as the feather singed and flared.
‘Let his regard for her melt, melt, melt,’ Babryan chanted.
For a moment the heart held steady, then began to twist and run. The wax flared with a plume of black smoke. Sevinna was suddenly frightened: it seemed that a face looked out of the flames, a pair of eyes, dark and grim, looking her straight in the face and marking her presence.
‘Aranrhodda, Aranrhodda, Aranrhodda!’ Babryan was whispering the chant over and over. ‘Let his heart melt, melt, melt.’
The face disappeared; there was only the fire and the flaring wax along a log. Sevinna felt herself shuddering as if she knelt by a winter window instead of a roaring fire.
Black thatch covered the inn roof, the inn yard stank from a dirty stable, and the innkeep kept picking at a boil on his face, but the place was the only one in Lughcarn that would take in silver daggers. All the time they were sweeping out stalls and tending their horses, Rhodry grumbled, but Jill ignored him. He grumbled about the food, too, and she had to admit that fried turnips flecked with mutton weren’t her favourite dinner, but when he insisted on wiping the rim of the tankard with the hem of his shirt before he drank from it, she’d had enough.
‘Oh, stop it! I suppose you think we should be sleeping in the gwerbret’s broch!’
‘Don’t pour vinegar in my wounds. I have stayed in the dun, and it’s the memory that aches my heart now.’
‘Huh. Do you think his grace would remember you?’
‘Most like. Ah by the black ass of the Lord of Hell, I hope our paths don’t cross. The last thing I want is for his grace to see me now, a lousy silver dagger.’
‘If you’ve really got lice, I’d better go through your hair tonight.’
‘Just a way of speaking! You don’t need to make light of my shame.’
‘Oh now here, my love.’ Jill laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. ‘It’s just hard for me to remember how shamed you feel, because to me you’re the most wonderful man in all Deverry.’
Mollified, Rhodry returned the smile. Jill went back to thinking about plans in peace. Having the local gwerbret remember Rhodry would be useful if he’d only agree to face him. On the other hand, if Lady Mallona had found a refuge somewhere near Lughcarn, it might be better if they kept as quiet and anonymous as possible. If the priestesses of the Moon were right, some very high-bom women, who doubtless had connections at the gwerbretal court, were amusing themselves by pretending to follow the Old Lore. The Holy Ladies considered such pastimes dangerous.
‘Ye gods,’ Rhodry groaned. ‘Mallona could be anywhere.’
‘Just that, but maybe we can find some kind of a trail. I’ve got an idea, you see.’
Since it was market day, Jill and Rhodry walked round the town to look the place over. Lughcarn was a big city for that time, close to twelve thousand people, cobbled street after street lined with round houses, always topped with dirty-grey thatch. They passed the foundries, long half-open sheds and fenced yards where deep pits gaped to smelt the ore, and sticks and chunks of black charcoal lay piled in covered sheds. At the centre of town Rhodry pointed out the gwerbret’s dun. Behind the smooth stone walls rose the tops of the broch and the half-brochs like a thick cluster of spears. Jill counted seven towers in all, each with slate roofs. Here and there in a favoured window a piece of glass caught the light and gleamed.
As they lingered, admiring, the iron-bound gates swung open, and a riding party came out on matched bay palfreys, three young lasses in linen riding dresses, draped gracefully over their side-saddles. Behind them came a falconer and an escort of five riders from the gwerbret’s warband. Rhodry grabbed Jill’s arm and pulled her into a deep doorway behind them.
‘Those are the gwerbret’s daughters. Doubtless Babryan would remember me, and I don’t want her to see me.’
‘Why? Did you break her heart or suchlike?’
‘Naught of the sort! The last time I saw her she was a child with her hair back in a braid. I just don’t want to have to face her.’
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