Lashjuk felt Haiga tap her on the arm. Looking, she saw him toss his head, eyebrows arched. It was a silent suggestion to step back and let Eobum speak with the so-called Great Folk. She didn’t know how she felt about the idea, but gave a soft nod and joined him.
They stepped some ten feet back to where Maksu sat astride their horse. He looked bored and mildly annoyed. Rather than making her unhappy, this not-quite surly version of her youngest boy was a step back toward the Maksu of old, before the murders of his father and sister. There was, she would swear to it, a glint in his eyes that spoke of the bright, intuitive child he had been until recently.
The horse was contentedly cropping grass. She ran a hand along its neck, running her fingers through its black mane, removing bits of forest greens and browns from its silky length.
Haiga grinned at her over the beast’s lowered head.
She was struck suddenly by the miserable thought that Maklo and Haiga were about the same age. Had they met, they almost certainly would have liked one another.
“I’m not,” she said. The thought had come to her that she was courting melancholy. At first, she assumed Haiga had said something, but the look on his face was mild confusion.
“All right, Og…”
“Nothing. Thinking aloud.” She did her best to give him a gentle smile, but found her heart wasn’t in it. Her heart? No, it was her head that wouldn’t commit to the smile.
She tried to collect herself mentally. After a moment, however, her eyes fell back to Haiga’s grey face, and the thought returned. Had Maklo only lived, she would have met Haiga… and she’d have found him fair. Lashjuk was certain of it, which only made the thought more painful.
Once more, the idea that she was courting melancholy returned to her, as if Haiga had spoken it aloud in gentle derision. She glared at Haiga, then looked away. It hadn’t been anything he’d said. Hells, he’d said nothing at all.
“Watch him?” She nodded back toward the tree line.
“Bruu, Og,” he said, smiling.
She looked up at Maksu, taking the blue boy’s dim hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. Usually, this resulted in a smile or an embarrassed recovery of the hand she’d stolen. Neither happened this time. He simply accepted it. Searching his face, she found he looked mildly annoyed. He even exhaled through his nostrils in a dramatic fashion.
She shrugged, releasing the hand, and heading off to see to nature’s call, or at least she hoped it looked that way. In truth, she wanted time out from under the eyes of all of these people, new and old alike.
She did her best to blend into the shadows of firs and rocks and tried to think.
She fancied she’d heard something—a voice far and wee, perhaps. It was drowned out by the raised voices of the old man and his not-child.
“No, father, please! I need him!”
“You’ve broken faith, Alojz. Don’t you see that? After all the years and time we’ve spent together—all the training and care I’ve taken to ensure you grew and prospered—and this? This is how you repay me?!” The old man’s voice was a study in disappointed rage.
“Ebistian,” Eobum began. “I care nothing for your secrets—nothing for the designs you have on the throne.”
“He only cares about Edmund, Father. He has Edmund’s ear—his trust!”
She saw the old man look down his aquiline nose, first at Eobum, then Alojz. Finally, he sighed in a discontented way. When he spoke, however, he sounded as if he were instructing a beloved cur who’d made a mess indoors.
“Alojz, my Alojz…”
She saw the blond lord lean forward as if he were, indeed, a dog seeking his master’s praise. “Yes, Father?”
“I fear you’ve left me little choice.” Indulgence—accepting, begrudging, yet devoted—Ebistian had, it seemed, decided to give in to his overzealous son’s desires … whatever they truly were.
“Father … I am sorry, but surely you see that—”
He was cut off by the old man’s next words. They were alien to Lashjuk’s ears, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the deep, reverberant razor-tone that conveyed them. It was as if a spike were being driven through her forehead—each word a hammer blow.
“Hol koaik kaek jhoaz zet eliil nuth wolth!”
As he finished, she found she was utterly numb, as if she slept and were only dreaming. She saw the ground rise to meet her but felt no impact, and heard the heavy thud as she landed as if it were far away, above the surface of the deep water she seemed suspended beneath.
She was too confused and slow of thought to be afraid. Lashjuk waited. She knew no other action to take. Thinking—deciding on any course of action seemed so very… so… very…