“How did you do that?” Dak asked, voice low.
“Do what?” Luc got to his feet, his gaze on the assassin, but at Dak's silence, he lifted his head, found all three were staring at him.
“I didn't even realize she was in the tent until you were cutting her hand.” Dak shook his head.
“The way you grabbed your sword . . .” Rev swallowed. “I've never seen you move like that.”
Luc frowned. “What are you talking about?”
But long after they'd taken the body away and he'd made a bed for himself in Dak's tent, he wondered.
He undressed, took Ava's handkerchief from his waistband and laid it on his pillow, as he'd done every night since he'd left her. When he lay down, he rubbed at the arrow wound on his chest.
A wound that was no longer there.
Chapter 11
Ava reached for the missive Velda held out to her, the document impressively beribboned, with beautiful beaded tassels.
“Another demand, I expect.” Velda folded her arms and stood over her as Ava delicately loosened the knot and then unfurled the parchment.
Ava read it, then looked up. “It is.”
Velda didn't say I told you so, although she had indeed told Ava so.
Her polite letter to the Grimwalt court, letting them know the circumstances of her parents' deaths, including who was responsible, and her own escape, had not been the end of the matter.
Increasingly demanding letters for her to appear began arriving, some now no more than a few days apart.
Ava set the letter down and took up her sewing.
“It's looking good,” Velda said, eyeing it with a professional's attention.
“It will have to be.” Ava tied off the last stitch and laid the man’s shirt out.
It was, even if she said so herself, magnificent.
She had hand stitched it from the softest cotton, and then used blues and greens to embroider feathers over it.
Because Herron reminded her of a strutting, vain bird.
There was not a single black stitch in the work. She wanted to give him no reason to hesitate to put it on.
“Why did my mother tell me only black silk worked?” She tilted her head as she looked up at Velda.
“Your grandmother never understood why she clung to that. Yes, your grandmother preferred to work black silk, it was her signature, and perhaps your mother confused preferred with had to.” Velda shrugged. “Your grandmother never worked pieces like this, though. Secret pieces for the unsuspecting. When she worked an item, it was deliberately. Made to order, or as a gift. Whoever wore what she had made did so as a statement. And unless they said what working your grandmother had used, no one knew what protection they had. But people knew there was some magic involved.”
“Would she have approved of this?” Ava asked. She didn’t just mean the shirt. She meant the deceit of it.
“I don't know. I think she would have.” Velda leaned against the table. “She loved your mother and you, and she would have wanted justice. But also, these are such complex workings, nothing your grandmother ever considered. She would be proud of your skill.”
“They are complex. Let's hope not so complex they don't work at all.” Ava folded the feather shirt, wrapped it in its own paper and then boxed it up.
“How many is that, then?” Velda waved at the parcels.
“Ten in all. Not much, but they take a long time.” Ava hoped ten was enough. There was a flower one, a wave one, an arrow one . . . all different. All unique. Rare enough Herron would covet one of his own.
“Tomas's friend should be here tomorrow to smuggle them over the border.” Velda straightened.
“Good. I have written instructions for him.” Ava showed Velda the rolled parchment. “The feather one can only be sold to the Herald. It has to be held back until a request comes from the palace.”
“I’ll make sure he knows.”
“And your friends at the border are sure Herron is on his way to Fernwell?”
Velda nodded. “Word is the Jutan have retreated for the winter and Herron is going to Fernwell to report on the skirmish to the queen himself.” She shifted suddenly, a hand going to her mouth. “I forgot. The court messenger is waiting for a reply.”
Ava grabbed the parchment from the Grimwalt court, picked up an ink pen and scrawled her answer across the bottom. She rolled it back up, wound the ribbon around it, and held it out to Velda. Her grandmother's housekeeper had been a second grandmother to her even when her real grandmother had been alive. It had been a balm to her soul to have her company these last three weeks.
Just before Velda took it, though, she changed her mind.
“No. I'll hand it over. Explain how things are. This aggravation has to stop.” Ava walked out into the hall and saw the messenger standing by the fire.
Summer had only just ended, but the weather was cooler than usual.
“Sir.” She came to stand beside him, and passed him the missive.
“Finished with your reply already?” He flicked a glance at her, and a bell began a warning toll in her head.
It wasn't that he was being rude. There were no social barriers in Grimwalt and she didn't care for the pomp and ceremony of her father's Kassia—she rather preferred the refreshing equality of her mother’s country. There was something else here, though. Some nervous energy.
“It was a short reply.” Ava smiled at him, hoping none of her concern showed. “Please tell the speaker of the court that I cannot come all the way to Taunen. It would take too long, and I have pressing business.”
“It would take two weeks, at most,” the messenger said.
The bell toll became louder.
This was not the court messenger she was speaking to, she was sure of that.
Perhaps it was the son of one of the court leaders. Or even of the speaker himself.
“Two weeks is time I do not have.” She inclined her head and backed away. “Please send my regards to the court.”
“Lady . . .” The messenger's call was sharp, and Ava turned, face composed, to stare at him.
“My apologies. It is just not the news the speaker had hoped to hear.”
“I understand. I have been dealt a number of disappointments myself over the last few years. I'm sorry to have been the cause of one for him, but that is out of my control.” She inclined her head again and walked away.
He was on her by her second step, hand over her mouth to stop her screaming.
She fought him, using every trick Carila had taught her, but suddenly, he was not alone. He held her arms at her side while another man tightened a gag over her mouth, all while they dragged her from the hall.
By the time they had reached the door, her arms were pinned to her sides and only her feet were free.
“Ava!” Velda screamed her name from the door to her sewing room, and then ran at both men, grabbing a candlestick from a mantel as she sprinted across the hall.
She hit the messenger hard with it. He had no chance against her because his hands were full, trying to stop Ava getting free from his grasp.
The second man, the stranger, tried to grab Velda's arms, but she screamed again, the sound loud enough that even Ava wished she could cover her ears.