Kirin and Lily had traveled all day, pausing only to rest the horses, eating four small sugarloaves between them as they journeyed. By the time they had reached a village called Green Herbery, they were exhausted, but Kirin felt a measure of comfort that they had put so much space between themselves and Vulpan.
He climbed down from his horse and stretched long and leisurely, groaning as he did so. “Lo save us, look over there,” he said, pointing at a structure that looked as though it had collapsed.
“Fire,” Lily breathed. “Oh, how terrible. It looks as though it was serious. I hope no one was injured.”
“I guess we’ll know soon enough,” Kirin replied. “Let’s get these horses stabled for the night,” he said, adding, “I’m sorry, Lily, but I’ll need to dip into your purse again if you can spare some money. I have only a little coin left.”
She made a dismissive sound. “Money is the least of our problems, Kirin. You can have what ever I have. I’m sure it’s enough.”
“Just like an old married couple, eh?” he said, grinning as he helped her off the animal. As she slid from the horse and twisted in his arms, their gazes met and for just that tiny moment something passed between them. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived, though, and he felt self-conscious for letting his gaze linger. “We’ll have to pretend again,” he said, clearing his throat to cover the awkwardness.
“I know,” she said. “But we’re getting the hang of it now.” Suddenly she stopped, startled. “Oh!” she exclaimed.
Kirin swung around, following her gaze, and noticed a small line of people following two men, who carried between them what looked to be a body slung in a sheet.
“Is he dead?” Lily asked.
Kirin looked at the limp arms swinging over the side of the hammock. Although he couldn’t see the man’s face, he could see blood on his front. “Yes, I’d say so. Let’s find out what’s happened.”
Lily balked. “No, thank you. You can, if you’re ghoulish enough. I’ll go see if there’s room for us at the inn. Here, you can take the horses. Let me just get my knapsack.”
Kirin watched her leave. Did she feel something for him? He’d made a promise to himself not to invade Lily’s mind again. But he had to know. He trickled a modest stream of his prying magic and entered Lily’s thoughts effortlessly; his arrival felt familiar, as did the accompanying sense of nausea. The sickness was claiming him faster, he noted; it was adjusting to his restrained use of his powers. He would not have long.
He mentally tiptoed around her thoughts, grimacing at the cacophony relating to Kilt Faris but there, right in the middle of the swirling mass of love and recrimination surrounding the outlaw, was the indecision over him. Kirin smiled. He was in her thoughts—and not for concern for his health, or gratitude for his help, not even fear over their situation. Right now he could hear Lily’s angst over her behavior just a moment or two ago. She was confused, unnerved by the way she had reacted to the look they had shared.
She liked him! Kirin nearly skipped as he walked between the horses. As she walked further from him she was admonishing herself for harboring feelings for him. The bile rose; Kirin spat. He let go of Lily, but he had already outstayed his welcome and he fell to his knees, still holding the reins, and lost what paltry food he’d eaten earlier in the day. “Never again!” he growled. “Not with Lily.” He coughed and spat again.
“Hey!” a voice yelled and Kirin looked up. “Are you all right?”
Clearly he wasn’t but Kirin raised a hand and nodded. “I’m fine, fine.”
But the man was not to be so easily dissuaded. He ran up to Kirin, reaching for the reins. “We saw you stumble and then fall. What happened? Oh,” he said, noticing the mess. “Are you sickening?”
“It’s nothing serious,” Kirin said. “A slight stomach upset. Bad milk, I think, in the previous village.” He allowed himself to be helped to his feet. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”
“No trouble,” the man said kindly. “Here, let me help you.” He took one set of reins. “Are you heading for the stables?”
Kirin nodded.
“I’ll show you where they are. That way you can get to the inn quicker. Are you alone?”
“No.” Kirin took a deep breath to steady himself. “My wife has gone ahead to see about a room.”
“She won’t have any trouble securing one—ours is a quiet village,” the man said, and held out a paw of a hand. “Deren Cannet.”
“Kirin Felt,” he replied, shaking the proffered hand of friendship. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I couldn’t help noticing your small pro cession just now,” Kirin said, eager to change the subject.
“Ah, but it’s a sad thing,” Deren said, shaking his head with obvious regret. “That man died twice.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s true,” Deren confirmed, then pointed. “Over here to the stables.”
Kirin followed, intrigued. “Tell me how a man dies twice.”
“It’s too curious to credit. That man you saw being carried, he was a stranger like you. He came into our village just a day or so ago. Do you see that barn?” At Kirin’s nod, Deren continued. “That was going up in flames, as you can tell. A lad ran into that burning barn, trying to save his pet cat. And this stranger—we didn’t even know his name at the time—blow me down if he didn’t run straight in after the boy.”
Kirin’s curiosity deepened. “So what happened?”
“We’re here,” Deren said. “Hold on, I’ll finish my tale. Let’s just get these horses in. Ho, Neal, are you there?”
A brawny young man emerged from the shadows. “Deren,” he said, then nodded at Kirin.
“We need stabling for this pair,” Kirin said.
The man reached for the reins. “How long?”
Kirin shrugged. “Overnight. They’ve had a long journey today so they’ll need lots of rest and some careful handling.”
“I’ll have them fed, watered, and rubbed down and I’ll make sure they get fresh hay,” Neal said, taking both reins from the men. “We’ll take good care of your beasts.” He led them away.
“Neal’s a good boy,” Deren said, pointing over his shoulder as he led Kirin away. “His dad’s recently been taken by the shaking fever so he’s got to run the stables himself now and take care of his mam.”
“He looks young.”
“He is but he’s strong and he knows his horses. Come, I’ll walk you to the inn. There’s only one so you can’t miss it.”
“Finish the story of the dead man,” Kirin said, keen to head off any curiosity about his and Lily’s story.
“Well, he ran into the barn, as I said, and he found young Roddy, don’t ask me how. But he brought him out and then they both collapsed, horribly burned, it looked like. I thought they were both dead, to be honest. And then the barn began to collapse and we all rushed away. When I returned, he and the boy were gone.”
“So he survived?”
“It seems so. I can’t explain it to you, Master Felt. My eyes saw a badly burned man. Roddy’s mother won’t discuss it. She said another stranger appeared and took charge, taking the injured pair back to her cottage where he healed them. She’s been quite addled ever since, so she’s not making much sense. Roddy disappeared the same day, you see.”
“He was burned, survived and then he disappeared?” Kirin clarified, not able to believe this tall tale.
“He wasn’t just burned. He was crisped. His clothes were scorched, his hair was shriveled, his skin had blistered. And still he stole out of the cottage and ran away.”
“Lo’s light, I can’t credit that. Where to?”
Deren shrugged. “No one knows. The village went looking for Roddy. His mother was inconsolable. She thought she’d lost him once to the fire and then he was mysteriously and miraculously healed and then he disappeared. She’s having to be sedated. But when we were out looking for Roddy, we came across the stranger.”
They had arrived at the inn. Lily stepped out of the front door and smiled. “Hello, my love,” she said, sounding ever more practiced at it. She even kissed his cheek as he arrived and took his hand. It felt wonderful and he suddenly felt insanely guilty. “Is something wrong?” she frowned, staring deep into his face.
“Ah, Mrs. Felt, your husband wasn’t very well a moment ago. But I’ve got him safely here. He should rest.”
“Kirin?”
“Don’t fret, my sweet. It was just a headache.”
“You said it was bad milk,” Deren remarked.
“That too,” Kirin said quickly. “I’ve been feeling seedy all day, to tell the truth.” He could see that Lily didn’t believe him.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Er, well, thanks again, Deren, I hope they find young Roddy.”
Deren sighed. “Well, I hope we don’t find him dead. The man who saved his life was killed viciously—it seems he was destined to die by misadventure.”
“Killed?” Kirin frowned. “I hadn’t realized. I thought he’d died from his injuries. That’s terrible.”
“And very strange. We found him in an isolated part of the forest fringe when we were searching for Roddy. I can’t imagine what he was doing there alone or who might have murdered him. Ah, I’ve remembered his name. Roddy’s mother told us it’s Clovis.”
“Clovis!” Kirin exclaimed, grabbing at his sleeve. When the man looked instantly alarmed, Kirin let him go. “Forgive me. I…er, well, I know a Clovis. How old would this man be?”
Deren shrugged. “Search me. Come and have a look for yourself. Your friend hasn’t gone missing, has he?”
“Show me,” Kirin said, glancing at Lily’s worried face. “Wait here,” he suggested, knowing a corpse was the last thing she wanted to see.
She nodded, clearly grateful. “I’ll be upstairs.”
Kirin followed Deren once again, this time grimly. His heart, which had been light such a short time ago, was now heavy with fear.
Deren led him to the church. “We’ve put him here until we can decide what’s best to do.”
A small group of people had gathered around the body. A woman was being consoled. Kirin’s hopes flared. She didn’t look like Reuth. This woman was slight of build, definitely shorter and her hair wasn’t as dark as Reuth’s had been. Reuth’s hair by now would surely be peppered with gray. But when the woman began wailing about Roddy, Kirin’s hopes were dashed. She must be the mother of the missing child.
Deren shouldered through the small group of people clustered around the body, laid out in front of the small altar. As they parted Kirin caught sight of the dead man’s face and felt something give inside. Dear, unmistakeable Clovis. Older, paunchier, and covered with blood, but definitely his friend and fellow Vested. He choked back the sound of grief that he knew was about to erupt from his throat.
“Is this him?” Deren asked, seemingly insensitive to Kirin’s despair.
“Unbelievably, it is,” he groaned, bending down on one knee to take his old friend’s lifeless hand, trying not to look at the wound, focusing on his friend’s kind face. “I haven’t seen him for anni,” he admitted, all the regret of the past decade coming home to roost in his heavy heart. “Who found him?” Tears ran helplessly down his cheeks, not just for Clovis but for himself, for Lily, for their seemingly relentless struggle on behalf of a cause he constantly questioned.
“I did,” a man replied. “There wasn’t much to see, just the remains of a deserted fire. We didn’t linger. Jory helped me carry him down to the others, who were searching below the ridge we found him on.”
“He’s been stabbed,” a woman commented, although Kirin did not need that information to understand how Clovis had died.
Faris wiped at his mouth and nose but knew the blood was dried. Without water, the telltale stain would remain. He had been careless. Vulpan was eyeing the bloodstain like a man famished.
“What has occurred here, Pastor Jeves? Please, have a seat,” Vulpan said, casting an eye over paperwork on his desk.
Kilt could see the man was feigning only casual interest in him. The fire in his eyes was sparkling with fascination. “A nosebleed, I’m afraid,” Kilt said, ignoring the offer of a seat but making a polite gesture of decline.
“Do you get them often?”
“No.”
“Really? So what prompted this one, do you imagine?”
“Truly, Master Vulpan I have no idea,” Kilt replied, allowing himself to sound fractionally testy. “I really must—”
“Actually, Pastor, you really can’t insist on anything.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kilt asked evenly, feeling all his internal alarm bells ringing.
As if he could read his mind, Vulpan reached over and plucked a small handbell from his desk. Ringing it twice, he said, “A moment, Pastor Jeves.”
Kilt blinked in surprise as the door opened and a scarred man entered the room, two imperial soldiers remaining outside.
“This is Shorgan,” Vulpan introduced. “He is our Wikken.”
Kilt froze, then tried to cover his fear. But he wasn’t sure he had been successful. His gaze was riveted on the raised, purple network of scars that traversed the newcomer’s face.
“I can see that his presence disturbs you, Pastor Jeves.”
Kilt inhaled carefully, calming himself. This was dangerous but he’d faced dangerous situations before. “Aren’t you going to introduce the soldiers as well?” he asked.
Vulpan smiled at him. “Ah, a clergyman with a sense of humor. Very good. But are you really a clergyman?”
“What a preposterous question!”
Vulpan shrugged. “I think you lie.”
“I don’t know how to assure you, or even answer such a claim.”
“Well, moving on to the matter at hand, our revered Wikken—”
“He’s not your Wikken, Master Vulpan. Wikkens are of the Steppes. You, unless I’m mistaken, are not.”
“I work for the emperor,” the Wikken replied as though that answered any query.
“Many do. Most do not claim to be Steppes people.” Kilt was playing for time, his mind racing for a way out of this dilemma.
Vulpan shook his head, appearing irritated by Kilt’s argument. “Your objections are irrelevant,” Vulpan dismissed.
“You have no right to keep me here,” Kilt blustered, deliberately sounding deeply offended.
Vulpan took a slow breath, and straightened his coat. “Shorgan assures me you are Vested. He knew it when you first spoke outside.” Kilt swallowed. Vulpan gave an expression that suggested he was forcing himself to remain polite. “You possess powers that cannot be rationally explained.”
“What of it?” Kilt said, allowing his annoyance and frustration to come through loudly now. “I insist on being on my way.”
Vulpan clearly had not expected the admission. “You admit to being Vested?”
“I never denied it,” Kilt replied, taking them all in with a single glance as if he was surprised anyone had thought differently. The soldiers looked very large and unmoved by the conversation. He might well be able to fight off Vulpan and his ugly companion but the guards would smash him to a pulp. And he noted that the door had been left open so they could be easily called. “What actually is the problem here?” he demanded.
“I…” Vulpan hesitated. “There is no problem,” he finally admitted.
“Good. Then call off your dogs at the door, Master Vulpan. I am a man of Lo and I don’t take kindly to being threatened with violence, or being held captive, or being intimidated by your Wikken. That was your intention, wasn’t it?”
Vulpan gave a gesture of dismissal and the soldiers disappeared. It was a small win, but even so Kilt’s hopes soared. “I came here seeking details of my sister. Do you have any?”
“Only that she is mildly Vested with healing powers and is now officially in our records. She left the same day with her husband.”
The word husband cut deep inside Kilt; the suggestion of Lily’s being Vested rankled even deeper. Surely he would have known if she’d had more than the ability to simply wield her herbals with such stunning effect. “Where were they headed, sir?”
“Back to Brighthelm was my understanding.”
“Thank you. I will take your leave.”
“Not so fast, Pastor Jeves.”
Kilt turned back to the man. “I really must catch up with her.”
“Of course. First, though, we would like to keep a record of you as well. You are Vested, after all. You could have saved us a lot of time if you’d simply told us as much.”
“You never asked.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you hide your power because it is so strong,” a gravelly voice piped up. It was Shorgan, talking in perfect Set.
Kilt swung around; the man’s face was scary but his voice was worse. Deep and unaccustomed to being used, it rasped in a manner that Kilt was sure could scare children.
“I wouldn’t call it strong, sir.”
“I would. I can smell it on you. You hide it well, though.”
Kilt tried for a smile, lacing it with feigned self-consciousness. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t use my magic. I have no use for it. I’m a clergyman, guiding folk in the path of Lo. I have never considered it strong, in fact—”
“When did you last use it?” Shorgan asked.
Kilt was taken aback. “Well, I…I honestly can’t remember.”
“That long ago?”
“So long ago I really couldn’t tell you,” Kilt said firmly.
“Could you give us a demonstration of your skill? What is it you do?” Vulpan inquired.
“Demonstration?” Kilt stammered. He hated himself in that moment. More than three decades of practice and discipline had just been undone.
Vulpan’s head shifted. He regarded Kilt with a dark stare. “Was that a stutter I just heard, Pastor Jeves?”
Kilt cleared his throat and smiled sardonically, using the moment to regain control of himself. “Just a childhood affliction I thought I’d conquered.”
“But it comes out in times of anxiety?”
“Not really. Just now and then when I don’t concentrate.”
“Interesting. Nosebleeds and stutters.”
“Master Vulpan, I’m not going to give demonstrations. I told you, I don’t use my magic. You want a sample of my blood, presumably. Shall we get on with it?”
“Shorgan?” Vulpan asked.
“He’s lying. He’s very strong in his magic. He used it recently. I think you’ll find that would account for the nose-bleed.”
“What?” Kilt said, turning on his heel and roaring at the Wikken, who regarded him placidly. “I demand to speak to someone who can grant me an audience with the emperor. This is ridiculous.”
“I can organize that,” Vulpan said. “General Stracker, the emperor’s most trusted confidant and brother, will be here shortly. You’re most welcome to discuss an audience with him. Until then, you’ll remain here.”
“I’m a prisoner?” Kilt asked.
“I prefer the word guest,” Vulpan replied and smiled. Kilt could hear the Wikken chuckling behind him. “I will, of course, still require a sample of your blood to taste.”
“Why don’t you lick it off my face?” Kilt said, feeling angry and incredibly helpless.
“Oh, I prefer it fresh and running. Hold out your hand, please, Pastor Jeves.”
To Lily he looked like a broken man. He’d arrived in their room ashen, slump-shouldered and unable to talk. She noticed his eyes were watering.
“It was your Clovis?” She couldn’t believe it.
“He…” Kirin sounded choked. She moved around the bed, watching him swallow hard to regain control of his composure. “He’d been stabbed in the throat. Murdered and left to die alone in the woodland beyond the village.”
“Oh, Kirin.” Lily covered her mouth with a hand. His sorrow was threatening to make her weep now. “I’m so sorry,” she managed to say. Her heart broke for him. He was so alone, desperately in need of comfort and affection.
Lily took a deep breath and put her arms around Kirin. She felt his initial shock and then he seemed to melt around her body. She knew he cried, and she wept too, stroking his back and hair, until his softly given tears subsided. They stood like that for a long time. It felt warm and secure and comfortable, and Lily hated herself for beginning to appreciate how well their bodies fitted together.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled from somewhere at her shoulder, his face buried in her hair.
She pulled back softly. “What ever for?” They were close enough that she would only need to lean forward slightly to touch her lips to his.
He seemed to search her eyes. “For compromising you like this.”
Lily felt an inward tug of guilt. “Are you always this careful and responsible, Kirin?”
He shook his head. “Only around you.”
She frowned. “Why?” He still wasn’t looking her in the eye, she noticed. “Am I that hard to look upon?”
Now his eyes flashed up; his expression was disbelieving. “The opposite.”
“Why do I make you feel so awkward, then? Why are you always so careful around me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, pulling away, but she held him fast. She could almost see Kilt sneering over Kirin’s shoulder, saying to her: this is your fault. You created this scenario. Kilt was like that: so tough, always demanding so much of those around him. She could accept that he ensured everyone took responsibility for their own actions and that made each of his men exceptionally careful—as he was—but sometimes she despaired for him to show some sensitivity. Kirin seemed so helpless at this moment and just her touch, she could tell, was giving him great solace.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, her hesitation embarrassing him.
“Kirin—”
“I can’t do this, Lily. I thought I could but I’m going to fail spectacularly and do something one of us will regret.”
“What do you mean?”
She could see him looking at her as though she were dense. Perhaps she was…or perhaps she just needed to hear a man express his feelings of affection, feelings she had prompted.
He stepped back, away from her touch. “Thank you for the embrace. It helps, it really does. But it has its own set of complications and I think it’s better if we—”
“I needed to do something. You looked so broken. We’re friends. Can’t friends offer comfort?”
“What did you have in mind?” She was sure it was meant as a jest, a response to lighten the suddenly awkward atmosphere that had settled around them.
She shook her head, feeling trapped. She wanted to say that she had little in her head but stupidity, but instead she stared at him, saying nothing.
Kirin smiled gently. Had he pried? Had he listened in on her thoughts, she suddenly wondered? I’ll kill him. In that blink of startling revelation, Kirin pulled her to him; suddenly he was kissing her. It wasn’t gentle but it wasn’t aggressive either and there was nothing unpracticed about it, and yet she knew he had acted entirely spontaneously. And, Lo save her, she returned his passion helplessly.
Kirin deepened the kiss, his arms tightening around her, and Lily came to her senses. She broke the embrace, pulling away from Kirin, horror ghosting across her face. He stared at her and she could see only pain in his expression.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the chamber. She didn’t stop him, couldn’t stop him. Her mind had already fled to another bedroom in another inn where another man embraced her and talked of marriage and a future. She hated herself.
Kirin stormed from the bedroom, his body tingling. He’d kissed Lily and this time there was nothing feigned about it. It was wrong and it was doomed but it had been delicious. Her mouth had been soft and welcoming; she had responded, he wasn’t imagining it.
He was angry too, though. And it was a good idea to get out of that room. Lily had hardly discouraged him and while he had made the move to kiss her—which he had known even was ill-advised—she had made the move to show him affection. He wasn’t a monk. Having to look upon lovely Lily and live alongside Lily and pretend to be married to Lily—well, it was bound to happen, he growled privately as he stomped from the inn, ignoring the innkeeper’s puzzled look.
None of this mattered! Not him, not Lily, not Kilt Faris’s feelings. All that mattered was that Clovis was dead. Stabbed, abandoned…murdered. Why? That’s what mattered. Who had killed him and for what reason? What had Clovis stumbled into or upon?
He found Deren in the bakery, where he had said he would be for the rest of the day. He was covered in flour, pushing loaves into the clay oven. “I need to see where he died,” Kirin said, before Deren could even open his mouth.
Deren looked around. “I can’t leave the bakery. These are loaves for to night’s meals in the inn.”
“Is there anyone else who could show me?” Kirin appealed.
Deren regarded him for a moment before sighing and nodding. “I’ll ask young Tod to take you. Roddy’s his friend. He was helping to look for him.”
“Thank you.”
“Wait here,” Deren said and disappeared out the back.
Kirin strolled to the doorway and looked across the street. The barn would have to be rebuilt. To its left he saw the Widow Kenyan’s cottage that Deren had pointed out earlier. He frowned, cocking his head to one side. The cottage’s roof looked scorched, too, and next to it the trees looked damaged. What had occurred?
Deren returned. “Tod says he’ll take you for a couple of trents.”
Kirin nodded. “It’s the least I can pay,” he agreed. “Have you noticed that the Widow Kenyan’s cottage is scorched?”
Deren was back to banging out hot loaves. “Yes. It was damaged in the fire.”
“How? Nothing else around the barn is damaged. Why and how would the fire choose that cottage?”
The baker shrugged. “I don’t really know. Haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, look at it.”
Deren stopped to look out the window. “The trees are damaged too,” he observed.
“I know. So they caught fire and they somehow ignited the cottage roof? That doesn’t make sense. The barn is too far away.”
“Embers, perhaps?” the man said, sounding increasingly less interested.
“But…oh, it doesn’t matter,” Kirin said as a child ran in through the door. “You must be Tod.”
“Got my trents?”
“I do,” Kirin said seriously, reaching into his pocket and fishing out one of the last of his coins. He flipped it to Tod, who caught and pocketed the coin with dexterity.
“Come on then, sir. I have to be back to bring the cows in or me da will whip me.”
“Lead the way,” Kirin said, looking over his shoulder and nodding a farewell. “If my wife’s looking for me, let her know where I am, will you?”
The man nodded but frowned as if to say why didn’t you? Without looking back, Kirin left Green Herbery and the memory of kissing Lily behind.