Forty-Five
Chase heard the horse approaching, and he headed outside to meet Abraham. He had to see for himself if the man had really stolen the crown prince's child.
Abraham slid down from his horse, then fell to his knees in the snow. His arms were empty.
"So you are not as much of a fool as I thought," Chase said. He took the horse's bridle, intending to take the animal to the stable.
Abraham seized his cloak. "I am a fool. Such a fool. The princess is his only hope. Isaak's only hope. When I am gone, you must take the boy to her and tell her. The king is dead. And the princess...the princess...the seer was right about the boy. She cannot be wrong about the princess. She is Isaak's only hope."
Chase shook himself free. "Go inside, and warm yourself before the fire. I will see to the horse, and you should see to your son."
He took the animal inside the tiny barn that passed for a stable, and removed the saddle and bridle before brushing the mare down. No matter how hard Abraham tried to hide his ill-health, Chase knew him too well for that. Abraham was dying, and the sickness had taken his mind already. His body would be next. Thank the heavens Maja had not lived to see the man she loved go mad.
When the horse was properly cared for, Chase returned to the cottage. Abraham sat on the chair by the fire, holding out his bare hands to the flames to warm them. His fingers were perpetually blue these days.
"Oh, Maja," Chase heard Abraham say.
Chase turned away, giving Abraham the privacy to mourn.
Isaak's wet nurse, Ida, slept in the loft above, but Isaak's cradle was here where it was warm. The boy was the very image of his brother Heber's children, even sucking his thumb like Aran, the eldest, had. "Come and see, Abraham. Doesn't he look like Aran?" Chase asked, beckoning.
But Abraham did not answer.
Chase turned to see what had distracted his brother in law, only to find his chair was empty. A pair of dark shoes lay on the floor, full of gold coins that spilled out in a puddle on the flagstones. A pile of coins sat on the chair, too, topped by a pair of familiar golden brown, fur lined gloves. Of Abraham, there was no sign.