Something soft brushed against her face. She smelt hay. The cat’s tabby coat was lit by strips of pale light which shone through chinks in a barn door. The here and now crashed into her consciousness, driving away all memory of the dream, leaving behind only a twist of anger, though she couldn’t be sure what it was about.
“Kaetha?” said Aedan. “Are you awake?”
Pushing herself up, she saw that he was getting the horses ready. Outside, she heard the squeak of a wheelbarrow, muffled chatter and a grating laugh. It was time they left.
“My cloak—” She looked around but couldn’t see it. No – how could I have lost it?
“Hmm?”
“And the clasp? Where are they?” She rummaged feverishly in the hay where she had slept but there was nothing but a brown, rough woven blanket. “How could I?” she said, digging her nails into her palms, feeling like she wanted to punch herself. Had the clasp come undone? Did it now lie, soaked in mud, trampled on the road? Had she been too tired last night to notice? What would Morwena think? “Gwyn would be ashamed of me!”
“Calm yourself,” said Aedan, wrapping the cloak around her.
She clung onto the fabric, shocked out of her anger. “Where did you—?”
“I put it over those rakes to dry.” He fastened it for her with the heron clasp. “You were sound asleep when I swapped it for that blanket.” He continued saddling the horses. “No piece of cloth or metal, however precious, is worth getting angry at yourself over. They’re just things.”
“There all I have that were hers.”
He didn’t meet her eye. “You were hers,” he said softly.
Riding across moorland again, Kaetha spied a pile of rocks ahead.
“That cairn marks the border,” said Aedan. We’ll be out of Roinmor and into Spreidale.”
It came as a relief to Kaetha to leave the royal clanland behind them, even though she knew they were not safe yet.
“So, you think Princess Rhona will be alright?” asked Kaetha after she’d managed to coax Lossie into fording the River Deur at Cattleford.
“I hope so.”
“Will she come back?”
“The assassination attempt proved it’s unsafe for her here. With a little luck, she’ll have left these shores and be far away by now.”
“Who would want for her to be killed?”
“She’s heir to the throne. People with power, or the prospect of power, are always in danger of someone trying to snatch it away from them. There are more pirates on land than you’ll find at sea.”
“But who could be behind it?”
“Someone who might wish to be heir to the throne instead of her. Or someone who wants to control the person they helped to that position. Who knows? The king has a half Tyrrosian nephew and more distant relations amongst his Dalrathan nobles . . . .” They were both quiet for a time, thinking.
“Whoever tried to have her killed wanted her out of the way before her betrothal ceremony,” said Kaetha, breaking the silence. “Rhona’s suitor, the Shamlakahn prince was due to arrive any day.
Aedan’s eyebrows rose. “If the ceremony had taken place, she would have had powerful allies in Shamlakah. As it is . . .” his words trailed off and he shrugged.
“She’s not even safe in the citadel with her father, the king.” Kaetha gazed out across the hills. “I wonder if she’s scared. Going far away from the world she knows.”
Aedan shot her a sidelong glance. “Seems to me, she’s strong. She’ll face the struggles ahead and come through them, I’m sure of it.”
They rode into the bustling town of Gort and stabled the horses at an inn called The Hog and Puddock. Kaetha carried the cat in one arm as she walked up to the bar. Chatter, laughter and drunken song filled the room. At the bar, a lass with hair tucked under a white headscarf, was drying tankards. Kaetha went over to her whilst Aedan searched for space at one of the long tables.
“Can we—” said Kaetha, pushing past people to get the front of the bar. “Excuse me,” she said raising her voice. The barmaid looked up. “Can we have two dinners and two ales?”
“It’s beef and neep stew,” the barmaid said.
“That’s fine.”
The young woman stared at her as she got the drinks. “You sound like you’re from Ciadrath. And the good end at that. Am I right?”
Kaetha was suddenly aware of how close people were around her. “I’m from Highbroch,” she lied. “A day west of the city.”
“But do you bring news of the goings on at the citadel?” There was hunger in her eyes as she leant towards Kaetha.
“What do you mean?”
“So you haven’t heard?” A satisfied smile flickered across the barmaid’s face. Aedan rejoined her and, when she caught his eye, his smile faded. What were people saying? Had Princess Rhona been discovered? She braced herself for the barmaid’s words, dreading to hear what might have happened to her, but she wasn’t prepared for what she heard next.
“The king is dead.”
SEVEN
Behind a Name
Alran was the only king Kaetha had known and she’d expected him to rule for many more years. She’d hoped he would get to the bottom of the plot against Rhona and kill whoever was responsible, thus allowing Rhona to return. Lines troubled Aedan’s
