“Probably not,” she admitted. “Rhodri should never have sworn to put another’s life before hers. And the crime Devyn returns to is his own, not his father’s. Of course, he has to survive first.”
“He will.” He had to.
We sat in silence for a while as Bronwyn ate some breakfast.
“What was that?” she finally asked, looking over at me.
“What?”
“Yesterday. What were you doing at the gates? Marcus was most insistent that you be left alone. You were out there most of the day. What were you doing?”
“I was waiting for Devyn.”
One brow quirked upwards. “I have some magic in my blood and I could tell you were doing more than just waiting. What were you doing?”
I checked that Rhodri remained undisturbed, but his sleep was heavy and he hadn’t stirred.
“I wanted to see him for myself.”
“You projected? Your abilities are certainly varied for a latent.” Her eyes narrowed. “ Neither have you shown too much concern about what happened between Marcus and me at the inn. You’re lying about your relationship… but why?”
I could see the wheels turning in her mind.
“Fidelma assured us all that you had little ability, but that was another lie, wasn’t it? And… that you weren’t the one he sought. Is that another lie too?” she pressed.
Put on the spot, I hesitated, unable to lie to her face.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” she breathed. Her eyes lit. “He did find you.”
“No, no. I…” Caesar wept, I was bad at this. Devyn trusted Bronwyn. Would he have kept this from her if he were well?
I shrugged helplessly and was instantly caught in her fierce, jubilant embrace.
“We must tell Rhodri.”
“Shhh, we can’t. I promised Devyn. He says it’s best to keep this to ourselves until we are safe.”
Bronwyn’s eyes clouded as she looked over at her broken uncle. Her shoulders dropped. “He’s right.”
We couldn’t move Devyn’s father, but after a while I fetched Marcus down to check on him again, to be sure that despite appearances he truly was recovering. We took turns sitting with him as the long morning unwound into the afternoon. And then, as the wintry sun began its early descent, dimming what poor light made its way into the dark hall, something changed in the atmosphere… or perhaps there was a change in the noise outside, where what few people were left were going about their business at the end of the day. And then I knew.
They were here.
Part Three The Sea Is In Our Souls
Then doth the spirit-flame
With sword-like lightning rend its mortal frame;
The wings of that which pants to follow fast
Shake their clay-bars, as with a prison’d blast,—
The sea is in our souls!
— The Spirit’s Return, Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Chapter Seventeen
I half ran, half stumbled to the castle walls and scrambled up the stairs. The group were still too distant to recognise as they broke from the trees.
I ran along the wall to the guards, who had closed the gate and refused to open it until they were certain of the identity of the group, no matter how I threatened or pleaded with them. I eventually left the gate as it was and went back inside to enlist aid.
Lord Rhodri remained at his fireside vigil, Bronwyn frowning at me not to disturb him as I raced across the hall.
“They’re here.”
She followed me back outside and, after squinting at the approaching riders, concurred and commanded the guards to open the gates. We both ran out to meet them.
We arrived out of breath. Well, I was out of breath.
I scanned the grim-faced men. The warriors were in front, and we fell back to let them pass until the druid and Gideon arrived.
The warriors all looked tired and dusty from the road, Madoc solemn as he met Bronwyn’s eyes and the unasked question contained within. The cart was gone and Devyn rode in front of Gideon, but his head hung low on his chest and it was clear that Gideon’s hold was the only thing keeping him on that horse.
“Devyn.” I reached up to catch the hand hanging limply by his side. His skin was cold and clammy; I took his hand tight in mine and there wasn’t so much as a flicker of response.
Gideon barely looked down as he kneed his stead to keep moving into the courtyard.
Two warriors came to help Devyn down, laying him out on the uneven cobbles. He looked worse than when I had seen him last. In the week since we had parted, the flesh had melted from his bones. He had always had sharp cheekbones, but deep hollows now lay underneath, and dark circles ringed his eyes.
I didn’t know what to do. Bronwyn was busy thrusting her cloak under his head while Madoc checked him over before instructing the waiting warriors to take him to his rooms. I trailed behind uselessly.
Madoc’s rooms were a world away from the sterile environment of St Bart’s Hospital. They laid him down again, this time on a cot in the corner behind one of the druid’s overcrowded benches. Devyn’s breath was laboured, a dreadful catch sounding in his chest as he drew each breath. Madoc had him quickly stripped down, revealing the crawling blackness creeping under his skin and all across his torso. The druid unwrapped the bandage to reveal the small stab wound, which was now an angry, putrefying mess. A sickly sweet smell cloyed the air.
I reeled back and knocked against the shelves behind me. Madoc, reminded of our presence in the room, shooed us out despite our protests. In moments we were on the outside of the tower door.
I curled my arms around me. Devyn looked like he was on the edge of death, and this was after Madoc had treated him on the road. My throat felt like it was closing in on itself. He had to make it.
