CHAPTER TWENTY

GABRIELLE WATCHED ANXIOUSLY as Yolenka made their case to the guard. Two days’ dusty travel had only increased her sense of urgency. They were so close...and something was wrong, something beyond being held prisoner. She had to get to the children.

Dominic, beside her, shifted impatiently and glowered as the guard peered out at him from behind the heavy gate. It was almost more than he could endure, to stand outside politely knowing that his children were somewhere inside the clay-brick enclosure. His groan, when the guard’s head abruptly withdrew and the gate thudded shut, carried to Yolenka.

“Shhh!” She frowned at him. “He gets bigger boss is all. Is stronghold here, not village market. Hard to get in. Is time now for patience.”

Poor Dom, thought Gabrielle. His patience is already worn to a frazzle. Féolan must have sensed it as well, for he eased over and laid a steadying hand on Dominic’s shoulder. Dominic blew out air and gave a curt nod.

Yolenka’s sharp look softened. “Is hard, I know. Is good look, though, that frown. Like jealous husband.” Her teasing smile lightened their mood.

“Yolenka.” Derkh had kept his eyes trained on the gate. “He’s back.”

The man who came out to inspect them looked strong as a draft horse and only slightly smaller. His head, shaved or naturally bald, gleamed golden in the slanting rays of the sun. He examined each of them carefully as Yolenka gestured, evidently talking up their various and fantastic skills. Finally she gazed up from under her eyelids at him, flashed her teeth, raised her arms above her head and began to dance.

Only a few steps, a snatch of hummed song, a couple of languid undulations, but Gabrielle saw the effect it had. The man’s interest ratcheted up immediately. More snatches of conversation, and the door was shut again.

“He ask Turga.” Yolenka smiled. “We pass his main man. Is good.”

MATTHIEU WATCHED HIS sister eat. He didn’t need his aunt Gabrielle’s skills to notice that she lacked gusto, and not just because grief and shock had taken away her appetite.

He noted how she paused before swallowing and avoided the bread crusts and the meat. He had done exactly that just last year, when he had tonsillitis. He watched for the fleeting wince as the food went down—and didn’t have to wait long.

“Maddy.”

Her eyes when she looked up to him were dull. Well, she’d been crying for a long time, so that might be why. But he didn’t like how white her face looked.

“Does your throat hurt?”

She nodded. “And my head.” She attempted a smile. “I probably just wore myself out.”

Matthieu reached over and touched her forehead gingerly. It was warm and a bit damp.

“I think you have a fever.”

Madeleine took another careful sip of soup and set the cup on the floor. Her fingers trembled against the side of the cup.

“Don’t worry, Matthieu.” She slumped back into her blanket. “I just need to sleep. I’m sure I’ll be fine by morning.”

He watched her for a long time, wishing Gabrielle were there, wishing he knew what to do. Wondering if there was anyone in the fortress who would help, and if he could even make them understand what was needed. I’ll wait until tomorrow, he thought. If Maddy’s any worse tomorrow, I’ll holler and try to make them help her.

YOLENKA WAS UNPERTURBED at being shut out for the night. Dominic, frantic for his children and unused to taking orders, was livid.

Derkh, who had said very little since Rath Turga had loomed into sight, spoke up now.

“This is what it’s like all over Greffier. You don’t enter towns at night. You don’t see important people without going through channels. This guy is a warlord—he has a lot of enemies; he has to be careful. Honestly, Dominic, I think if we get in tomorrow, we’re doing pretty well.”

“What are we supposed to do then—just sit here and mumble our tongues?” Dominic’s hand clenched again around the hilt of his sword.

“You are joking, yes?” Yolenka was already halfway inside the wagon, rummaging in the storage bins. She grunted as she hauled out Derkh’s anvil and let it thud to the ground. She unhooked the portable brazier hanging on the outside of the wagon and flipped down the horizontal wooden shutter at the back and propped it up with a board to make a little table.

She straightened and swept her eyes around the little group like a general about to address his troops.

“We are open for business.”

Gabrielle stared at her. They all did. Yolenka didn’t actually expect her to peddle remedies and charms when her niece and nephew were in who knew what straits?

Yolenka huffed and flapped her hands at them. “Is work time! You think I am not real? We do good trade tonight, or Turga will know it.”

She clambered over the propped shutter and into the wagon. Untying the canvas curtain, she addressed them once more. “I put on costume. Derkh starts up fire. Then we set up remedies on table here. You—she pointed at Féolan—start playing, let people know we are here.”

The curtain flapped shut.

DERKH HAMMERED THE last ring closed, doused it in his bucket and gave all the fittings a final check before handing the ox-yoke back to the silent farmer who stood waiting beside him. Yolenka, dazzling in her bright silks and paint, had already negotiated the price of Derkh’s repair and insisted on payment in advance.

She was tireless, everywhere at once: translating, haggling, changing money. Whenever a cluster of men appeared at their camp through the fortress gates or from the surrounding countryside, she summoned Féolan to play and mesmerized them with the sultry undulating dance that made Derkh feel as though the coals in his smith’s brazier had fanned into sudden flame deep within his own body. He hated that she did this for strangers, hated to see his own feelings mirrored in their rough faces. But she only laughed as she collected their coins and tucked them provocatively into her waist or between her breasts. She bent down to whisper in Derkh’s ear as she passed. “This is just fool playing. I save real dancing for boss-man, tomorrow.”

For me! Derkh wanted to shout. Save the real dancing for me! But he said nothing, bent his arm to his task and brought his mind back to their purpose. His feelings for Yolenka would have to wait.

Amazing, it was, how customers had appeared out of nowhere once they had set up shop. Word must have spread that day as they traveled through villages and farms, the people just waiting for them to set down. Their first visitor had slipped from within the gates of Rath Turga minutes after Féolan began to play—not the rough pirate Derkh had expected, but a worried mother with a coughing child. Gabrielle had had a steady trickle of patients ever since. Derkh hoped she wouldn’t have any serious cases—he knew how hard she would find it to turn anyone away, but they couldn’t afford to let her exhaust herself now. That thought had barely been formed when his memory protested: She exhausted herself for you, when you were an enemy soldier. Derkh snorted, impatient with his own thoughts, and turned to the leaky bucket his next customer presented. Just as well I’m a tradesman, not a judge, he thought.

And so the strange night passed, all of them busy except for Dominic, who was relegated to security and smith’s helper. The poor guy, Derkh thought, watching him pace the perimeter of their little camp yet again. He had never seen a man more in need of action.