‘And I believe you.’ She half smiles and stares down at her hands, tightly gripped in her lap. ‘I’m not blind, you know. I realise that my betrothed does not – yet – have the same strength of feeling towards me that I already have for him. But in time …’
‘Of course.’
Her eyes meet mine. ‘As the heir to the throne, my choices are limited, cousin. I have to love Siegfried. So I have to trust him. And you.’ She takes my hands in hers. ‘I like having you here. And I don’t want to think about unpleasant things. I’d rather talk about what you’re going to wear for the wedding, and where we can fly together, and when I can come to visit you in Atratys. Though I hope you’ll stay at court for a long time.’ A smile lights up her face. ‘I love Aron, but I always wanted a sister.’
I leave without mentioning Siegfried’s elixirs.
That night I have strange dreams. I’m with Odette by one of the lakes in the gardens, and there’s a man with us, but I can’t see his face clearly. Sometimes I think it’s Siegfried, and sometimes it’s Lucien. Odette keeps asking me over and over, Who do you trust, Aderyn? Who do you trust? When I wake in the morning I’m more tired than when I went to bed, but at least I’ve come to a decision. I’ve trusted Siegfried this far. And I’m never going to be the sort of Protector Lucien wants me to be unless I do this first. I scribble a note and ask Letya to take it to Siegfried.
Half an hour later he is in my sitting room, walking with me up and down across the carpet, and I show him the page I tore out of the book in the library.
‘This place that’s mentioned – it’s supposedly somewhere in Olorys. Do you know it?’
He frowns at the page. ‘I’m not sure … Where is this from?’
‘From the book my father was searching for: Tales of the Flightless of Olorys, by Gullwing Frant.’
‘Ah yes, the history project.’
‘Well …’ I fiddle with the pearl buttons on the front of my dress, ‘that wasn’t exactly true. I’m not interested in history in general. But I’m very interested in finding out who murdered my mother.’
A pause, before Siegfried asks, ‘So, these would be the hawks that you were asking about?’ His tone is serious, but not sceptical.
‘Yes. I think they were from the Flayfeather family. One of them at least was here in the city around the time my mother died. And I think they’re living somewhere in Olorys. Hiding. The story Frant collected was from fifty years ago apparently. If it’s true, then perhaps this –’ I tap the place name on the thin leaf of paper – ‘is where they came from. And perhaps they went back there.’ A sigh escapes me. ‘Maybe it’s wrong, Siegfried, but I want them to pay for what they did, if they’re alive. And if not … I still want the truth. Who told them to attack us? And why?’
Siegfried takes the page and squints at the small print. ‘Dauflore.… I don’t know. It could be a misspelling, I suppose. There’s a small town near the coast called Deaufleur. We’ll go and have a look.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. It’s too far to fly there and back in a day, but I have a manor house nearby. We can rest there and return the next day. I’d like the chance to show you some of my dominion, Aderyn.’
I twist my mother’s ring round and round on my finger. After all this time, the possibility of finally taking action against my attackers excites me. But it scares me too. Especially after what happened to Lord Hawkin.
I need to be careful.
Siegfried bends his head nearer. ‘I heard a rumour that the king is going to try a water cure next week, at the spa at Lamming, hoping it will help with his skin. He’ll be gone for a night. We’ll leave the same day and return the following morning. No one will even realise we’re missing.’ He passes the page back to me and grins. ‘It’ll be fun.’
But when Siegfried has left it isn’t any anticipation of fun that dominates my thoughts. I find myself imagining a confrontation with the two men who killed my mother, imagining what I might say to them, what I might do. Anxiety blooms in the pit of my stomach and sits there, a permanent background sensation to every waking moment for the next few days. It doesn’t matter if I’m riding, eating, trying to work or to sleep. Even while I’m flying, with Siegfried’s potion coursing through my veins, I’m still slightly aware of it.
Still, the time wears away, and the morning of the king’s departure arrives. After Letya and I run over our story again (she knows where I am going, but will try to conceal my whereabouts from Lucien or anyone who asks), I go to the sanctuary. To my surprise, Lucien is there, talking in a low voice to the Venerable Mother. There are lines of tension in his face and his bearing. Despite what he said to Turik, part of me feels sorry for him; he looks wretched. But I leave without trying to speak to him. When the time finally comes for me to take the potion, I drain the vial with relief.
It’s a long flight to Deaufleur, the longest I’ve made so far. I’m nervous, after the problems I’ve had concentrating, that the flight will be too much for me, but Siegfried is reassuring. Once I’ve transformed I’m barely aware of the time passing – of anything much, beyond the gradual warming of the air – until I’m crouched, naked, in a shallow, weed-choked lake. Siegfried unties the waterproof bundle he’s been carrying and hands me a robe.
‘Welcome to Olorys, Your Grace. Your presence lends new beauty to my dominion.’
Another stock phrase, though Siegfried delivers it well. I laugh. ‘Why, thank you, my lord.’
We walk the short distance to the town walls. As soon as the guards see Siegfried they back away and bow deeply.
‘Your lordship, we were not expecting you.’
‘We’re here to speak to the alderman.’
‘At once, my lord.’ There is a hasty exchange of glances between the guards. The older one says, ‘Adain here will take you to the alderman’s house, my lord. We are honoured by your presence.’ He nudges his colleague. ‘Gloves, boy. Quickly!’
Adain runs to the guard-house behind the gate and returns wearing gauntlets. ‘This way, my lord. And my lady.’
We follow the guard into the town. The streets are narrow, but stone-paved, lined with arched doorways. Some of the red-tiled buildings seem to be houses, some are shops. There are stalls displaying bolts of fabric, bowls of spices and dried foodstuffs, glassware. A few of the arches open into courtyard gardens. I catch glimpses of trellises smothered in deep purple flowers and small trees bearing some kind of fruit that I don’t recognise. The news of our arrival spreads quickly. Those we pass bow and edge as far away as they can. People fall silent, and mothers call their children inside.
The alderman’s house overlooks a central square with a fountain in the middle. Adain leads us up a short flight of stairs to a covered walkway that surrounds the first floor of the house, and bangs on the door. It opens and he has a hurried conversation with someone inside, which results in a woman emerging from the house. She bobs a curtsy as she wipes her floury hands on an apron.
‘I beg your pardon, Your Lordship, but His Honour isn’t here. He’s over at the Guildhall with the sheriff, seeing about a party that’s arrived from –’