“You see?” said the guard, “A cat. Now will you stop being an eejit and get a move on?”
Only when the echoes of hoofsteps could no longer be heard did they creep from their hiding place.
“That was quick thinking,” said Aedan. “Lucky that cat was there.”
“Lucky it was in a playful mood.”
When they were certain the way was clear, they walked up to a pokey house with an overhanging first floor like a protruding brow. She felt a twinge of uncertainty as Aedan knocked. Hopefully they wouldn’t wake the neighbours. He knocked again. Finally, there was a muffled tread and the door opened.
“Hetty Taggart,” he said, “looking as formidable as ever.”
“Crows peck out my eyes!” The old woman lifted her rushlight to Aedan’s face, lowering the heavy iron pan which she gripped in her other hand. “That’s not Aedan Baird before me?”
He laughed. “It is. May we come in?”
Hetty peered so closely at her when she followed Aedan inside, that Kaetha smelt the cabbage on her breath and the animal fat of the rushlight. Hetty’s unblinking, watery gaze travelled across her face.
“Not that you aren’t welcome,” said Hetty, “but what brings you here at such an hour?”
“The truth is we’re in a bit of trouble,” said Aedan.
“Bloody Bluecaps!” she muttered. “Aye, I understand. You’ll be wanting to lay low here then?”
“Thanks Hetty.”
“Don’t mention it. Not after all you did for my brother. You’d think they had better things to do than punish people for trading, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s trading connections with Hildervald they don’t like,” said Aedan. Kaetha looked at him questioningly.
“Though I hear King Alran doesn’t care about other kinds of connections with Hildervald,” said Hetty. “Still, a mistress and a bastard don’t matter much, I suppose, in the great tapestry of things.” She turned to Kaetha. “You got here no trouble?”
“We did have to hide behind the tannery barrels,” said Kaetha, “and might have been caught if not for a tabby kitten.”
“You were fortunate. That’ll be one of Mal Graineil’s most likely. He meant to drown that litter. This one must have escaped.”
“Drown them?” said Kaetha.
Hetty shrugged. “The Graineils have good mousers but more than they need. Are you hungry, lass?”
“Er—”
“Well I’ll have some oatcakes and cheese around here somewhere no doubt.” Hetty lit another rushlight and gave it to Aedan. “And ale of course. Make yourself useful Aedan, the poor lass is fading away.” She nudged him towards a cupboard. “Now sit yourself here.” She pushed Kaetha onto a stool and found them each a blanket. “I’ll sleep upstairs tonight,” she said.
“Thank you, Hetty,” said Aedan. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be asking for your hospitality.” His gaze flicked to Kaetha.
Hetty patted his arm. “As long as is needed.” The woman lumbered upstairs. Floorboards creaked and soon a steady snore sounded above them.
“Here, eat,” said Aedan, handing her a cup of ale, some oatcakes and a wedge of cheese. He sat on the floor rushes, took a sip of his drink but ate nothing. “So, how do you know Morwena?” he asked.
“She’s my mother.” Although she did not doubt this fact now, the words felt strange, like new boots that needed wearing in. Aedan’s eyes were fixed on hers. It made her uncomfortable so she looked away. He got up and walked back towards the cupboard, though he didn’t seem to be getting any food.
All at once, she realised how hungry she was, but a bite of oatcake was like a stone edging down her throat. She pulled her woollen cloak tighter around her, only realising then that she hadn’t picked up her own but one of Morwena’s. She ran a hand over the fabric covering her arm, a fine weaving of grey, blue and green, and she breathed in the scent of rosemary released from the fibres, her fingers catching on the round copper clasp which bore the image of two herons. Holding it tightly, the cold metal soon warmed against her palm.
He returned, taking a seat near her. “I didn’t know—” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know she had a child. How old are you?”
“Fifteen. And a half.”
He was quiet, looking at her intently then lowering his gaze to his boots. “I didn’t know,” he repeated.
“I want to know what happened. To Mor— to my mother.” Her throat tightened. “Is she—? Do you know for certain that she’s—?”
He nodded, his brows knit together. “I can hardly believe she’s gone. I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”
Perhaps he only thought she was dead, Kaetha told herself. Maybe she was unconscious but still alive. Gwyn might have found her, might now be nursing her with her healing herbs. “What happened?” she asked.
“You’ve been through so much tonight. You need rest. We’ll talk more in the morning.”
“But I won’t be able to rest until I know what you know. I deserve to hear it.”
He nodded but it was a few moments before he spoke again. “Your mother had been at the citadel I suppose?”
“Aye. She was waiting on the princess as she does from time to time . . . did,” she added softly. “She looked after Rhona when she was a child. But why wasn’t she there in the citadel tonight where she was meant to be?”
Aedan glanced at the top of the staircase, speaking in barely more than a whisper. “Tonight there was an attempt on Princess Rhona’s life. Your mother helped her escape.”
“What?” Kaetha shook her head as she took in what he’d said. “But who could have—?”
“I don’t know. Darkness had fallen by the time I left my friends at Orach Bay, heading to a bothy in Bris where I knew I could stay the night. I was nearing
