Heart's Blood

his head while we argued; now he gave a token growl and settled again. By his side the ghost child lay with eyes wide open, staring into the dark.

chapter eleven

After the careful watch that had been kept over me since the fire, the plan that had seen one friend after another come up to sit with me, now Anluan had left me alone save for the child and the hound. He had completely flouted his own rules. I was alone to sleep; alone to dream of Cillian and of demons. And then I must wait out a day, two days, an endless time until the so-called arrangements had been made for me. I had become a piece of baggage to be dispatched.

It would be easy to give way to sorrow. I could wrap myself up in the blanket, howl my anguish, dream of what might have been. I could cling to every last moment I had at Whistling Tor, I could stay until the bitter end so I might drink in every last glimpse of the man I loved.That way lay madness. I would not go down that path a second time.

I would not wait for anyone’s arrangements. Anluan wanted me to go. I would go, then. There was no guard on duty. The household was quiet. I would pack up my things and head off down the hill. At least that way I would not have to say goodbye to all my friends and have what was left of my heart shredded into little pieces.

I did not weep. As Fianchu slept on and the ghost child lay preternaturally still, watching me between slitted lids, I slipped Anluan’s cloak off my shoulders and hung it neatly on a peg. I changed into the gown I had worn the day I first came to Whistling Tor. I folded the skirt made from the garments of Lioch and Emer and laid it on the foot of the bed. I rolled up Mella’s gray belt and set it on top. I’d have to keep the boots. There was no knowing how far I might need to walk. I packed my spare shift, my nightrobe, my second gown, my small personal items.A cold calm had come over me. Somewhere underneath it a wild creature raged, a hair-tearing, screaming banshee of a woman, but I would not release her until I was gone from here.

No sign of Mother’s embroidered kerchief, though I knew it had been in the oak chest with a sprig of dried lavender between its folds. I looked for it under my pillow, under the pallet, amidst the bedding, on the shelf, but it was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at the ghost child, wondering if she had squirreled the pretty item away somewhere, but her narrowed eyes told me nothing save that she knew I was leaving her. I tucked Roise down the side of my bag. Emer’s russet gown joined the pile on the bed.

My writing box stood next to the tray of untouched food. Anluan must have brought it up from the library. Already planning my departure. Before those visions in the mirror or after? I would not think of that. I lifted the box to fasten the strap more securely. It felt unusually heavy. I slipped off the strap and opened the lid.

A small bag of kidskin lay on top of my carefully stowed materials. When I picked it up there was a jingling, metallic sound that made Fianchu prick up his ears. I carried the bag over to the lamp, loosened the drawstring, peered inside. Silver pieces. My earnings for a summer’s expert scribing. Enough to get me across country and support me while I found Maraid. Enough to ensure I need not sleep under haystacks and in the shelter of bridges; enough to stop men from thinking me easy prey as I traveled. Now, at last, tears stung my eyes: tears of humiliation. I wanted to scatter Anluan’s silver on the floor. I wanted to trample it under my feet. Common sense told me I must take it. The turbulent season at Whistling Tor had not driven out the memory of my flight from Market Cross. I never wanted to be that frightened, helpless woman again.

The bag was packed.The box was fastened tight.The silver was hidden away in my pouch. I sat on the pallet listening to the night sounds from outside: an owl calling, another replying, a whisper of leaves, and perhaps a muttering voice from the courtyard as Rioghan made his nightly rounds, not going over the details of his old betrayal now, but planning ahead, devising ways to make the host into a workable fighting force. How could I slip away unseen if he was there? How could I get out without Fianchu raising the alarm? Doubts crowded into my mind, and with them came the pain. You’re like a beating heart . . . a glowing lamp . . . Why had his wretched mirror of might-have-been shown us together, as if that were one of his fondest dreams, if he’d already decided to send me away?

Don’t forget me.

I started. The mirror; the odd little mirror I had brought down from the north tower. I had heard its voice as if it had spoken aloud, though Fianchu had not stirred. I moved to the wall, peering into the tarnished surface, but all I saw was my shadowy reflection: a woman with red eyes and pasty skin, her dark hair rumpled, her brows creased in a frown.

Take me.You’ll need me.

I unhooked the mirror, lifted it down, opened the bag again.There was just enough room to slip it in.As I did so, I saw that there was another item I had forgotten: the little book I had made, with the translations of Irial’s sad marginal notes scribed in neat half-uncial. It lay on the shelf beside the lamp. I couldn’t take it away. It belonged at Whistling Tor; it was part of the sorry record of Anluan’s family and the curse that lay over them. I set the little notebook beside the lamp, its covers closed.

How long should I wait? I must be well away before Magnus or Olcan or Anluan himself realized I was gone and came after me wanting to impose arrangements on me. If I had to go, I would do it by myself. But I must not go too soon or I might come to grief in the dark before I reached the invisible boundary that marked the end of the Tor. I must wait until the pre-dawn light made it possible to go without a lantern. Any artificial light would be spotted quickly by Rioghan or by one of the sentries on the wall. Suddenly, waiting seemed the hardest thing in the world to do.

In my mind I wrote Anluan a letter along the lines of the sample I had made for him on my first day at Whistling Tor. I love you. I’m proud of what you’re doing. But you’ve hurt me. I don’t understand. That would be honest. Or I could write, In less than a turning of the moon it will be time to gather heart’s blood. But I will not be here. Goodbye, Anluan. We both lost the wager.

I had not expected to get away without some challenges. First was the ghost child, who never slept. She had lain quite still watching my preparations, but when I finally judged the light was good enough and made for the door, my bag over my shoulder, my writing box under my arm, she was suddenly there by my side, clinging to my skirt, shadowy eyes turned on me.

“I come with you.”

Fianchu woke at the tiny sound, lifting his head.

“Hush,” I whispered. “You must stay here; you can’t come with me.”

“I come!” Louder this time. The dog, still slow from sleep, began to get up.

I put down the box, took off the bag, dipped my hand down inside. I pulled out Roise. “I have to go away for a while,” I murmured, crouching beside the little girl.“I need you to stay here and look after her. Can you do that for