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Four miles outside the little market town, he found the lane between a field of barley and a fenced pasture. One of the fenceposts near the corner was starting to come loose, and he set it upright again, wedging it into place with some stones from the ditch.
The lane wound up a low hill past a cherry tree and a hedge of honeysuckle. There had been rain in the night, and little pools still lingered in the ditches, while orange and yellow lilies were starting to open. After the hedge and a huge spreading oak, he saw the goat pen and the shed and finally the little cottage. It looked newly painted—light green with yellow trim on the shutters and the little porch in front.
A bright, high voice carried out to him, singing a Kenedalic ballad called the “Lay of the Maid of Glen Taran.” For a few moments, standing by the well, he had to stop and steady himself. How long had it been since he had heard that voice in waking life, rather than in his dreams?
A slim woman stepped barefoot onto the porch, still singing as she started tying up her long blonde hair with an embroidered headcloth. Then she spotted him by the well. He waved. Her voice faltered and her arms fell to her side. The headcloth fluttered to the ground.
She jumped off the porch and ran to him. Ten feet away, she pulled up short, taking him in with wide gray eyes, as if she were afraid he was some kind of trick. Then, apparently deciding he was real, she started to cry and hurried the rest of the way to kiss him.
“Oh, William, you’re home,” Gwen sighed, nestling her head against his chest. “You’re finally home.”
“Yes. Home at last.” He kissed the top of her head.
A straw-haired boy poked his head out the front door. He was young, but so much taller than William remembered.
“Robby, come here,” said Gwen. “It’s your father.”
The boy approached more cautiously than his mother had. William worried the boy might not remember him at all. Or perhaps his famously grim face might frighten the poor child. William braced himself for that disappointment. But when Robby reached his parents, he threw his arms around William, too.
William patted his son on the head and cleared his throat a few times. “So, um...the crops are looking good.”
“Oh, never mind that,” said Gwen, wiping her eyes and laughing. “How long can you stay? Word in town is that Leornian is about to fall. I suppose you’ll have to get back for that.”
“I’m not going back,” he said in a low voice.
She seemed confused, but she was determined to be happy, now that he was here, so they all went inside and had lunch together. Robby got some sweets his father had picked up in a city on the way, plus a little carved horse. Gwen got a bottle of wine, which she shared with William after Robby had gone out to play with his new toy. They took the wine to her bedroom and locked the door, just in case.
Later, when they were curled up together and finishing the last of the wine, Gwen asked him, “Are you really not going back? Ever?”
“Not while Broderick is king, no.”
She gave him a rather penetrating look. “If that’s how you feel, then I support you. But how does that affect our relationship with...your friends.” She waved a hand around, taking in the bedroom, the house, and the farm.
William had never been quite sure how much Gwen knew about what he did for Broderick, or how much she had guessed about the arrangement he had made to pass information to the Immani. He told her everything now.
He told her about the missions during the Loshadnarodski War, including the one with Robert. He told her about helping Broderick line up votes for the Gemot. He told her about the terrible night when Broderick had demanded he kill little King Edwin—the night when Broderick had finally gone too far for William. He explained that the “friends” who had arranged this house were Immani spies.
“That much I did work out for myself,” she chuckled. “I couldn’t help noticing when we left Formacaster three years ago that we rode in an Immani diplomatic carriage. I just assumed we were part of some deal between the emperor and Broderick.”
Then he went on and explained everything he had done at the siege, and how he had passed on information about the Gramiren war plan, while Broderick had gotten increasingly paranoid and bloodthirsty. Finally, he told how Broderick had caught him and ordered him to kill himself. And how he had escaped with the help of Intira, the Immani spy.
When he finished, she kissed him very hard and said, “If that’s the sort of man Broderick Gramiren is, then I’m glad you don’t work for him anymore. Maybe we should go to the Empire, and you could work for them. Or if the Sigors escape, we could help them, instead. I don’t like the idea of Robby growing up and serving King Broderick.”
“There’s Broderick’s son,” William pointed out. “He’s a good man. When he takes over, I might be willing to serve him. But not his father. Never again.”
They dressed and went out on the porch, where they watched Robby playing with his toy horse. The goats were watching him, too, with studious interest. In the distance, one of the cows was scratching herself against a fencepost. A pair of barn swallows—bright blue and white in the Sigor colors—swooped back and forth across the farmyard, chasing flies and mosquitoes.
“So, in the meantime, what do we do?” asked Gwen. “The Immani found us this farm, but that was on condition you spied for them. What are they going to do, now that you can’t give them information anymore?”
“How attached are you to this particular farm?” William asked.
“It’s nice, I suppose. I love the trees and the view of the village from the top of the lane. On the other hand, there are ants in the kitchen, and the roof needs replaced. Why?”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather live somewhere no one can find us—not Broderick, not the Immani.”
Gwen was silent for a minute, thinking and watching their son. “We have two cows and the goats,” she finally said. “And I’ve gotten pretty good at cheesemaking. As long as we find someplace with a good pasture and a shed for the cheese, it doesn’t matter where we are.”
“Good. Then let’s start packing and leave in the morning.”
“In the morning?” She frowned. “Wouldn’t it be better to leave at night, if we want to do it in secret? If you can help me with the wagon and the goats, we can be ready to leave right after sunset.”
William kissed her. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”