her eyes.”
Father and daughter chomped in silence as the image of the witch was absorbed. “And I’ll tell you another thing!” Redrought continued, pointing at his daughter with a turnip. “She was beautiful. Hair as black as polished jet and eyes like the sea under a stormy sky!”
Thirrin looked at her father in astonishment. She’d never heard anything even vaguely poetic cross his lips before, and yet here he was describing White Annis as though he were a praise singer.
He blushed and cleared his throat. “Of course, she got a little ragged toward the end of her life. Witches always do, but her Power never faded.”
“And yet this great healer couldn’t save herself,” Thirrin said.
Redrought shrugged. “It was her time. Witches always know and leave life with dignity.”
Thirrin beckoned to the servant, and he poured her a goblet of wine — three parts water, as was right for her age.
“Her son lives in her cave now.”
“Yes, Oskan, I know. He’s treating the injured stable hand.”
“Will he have inherited his mother’s Power?”
Redrought shrugged. “Who knows? Warlocks, male witches, are rare. Men are usually wizards, more mathematics than magic. But they’re not beyond drawing down lightning when they need it or making stones walk if it’ll serve their purpose.”
“He’s a healer,” Thirrin said, as though this confirmed his supernatural powers.
“Well, yes,” Redrought agreed. “So perhaps he has the rest of his mother’s gifts, but who can say? It’s not certain.”
“Has the surgeon brought the stable hand back to the city yet?” Thirrin asked.
Redrought shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask Grimswald. GRIMSWALD!”
“Yes, My Lord?” The little man stepped out of the shadows behind the King’s chair.
“Oh, there you are. Has the surgeon —”
“No, My Lord. He thought it best to leave him for a day or two to rest.”
“When will he go to collect him?” Thirrin asked, knowing that Grimswald would have every detail of the surgeon’s plans.
“Tomorrow, I believe, My Lady.”
“Good. I’ll go with him. My horse needs the exercise.”
Redrought looked at his daughter narrowly. Her horse was more likely to need a rest than exercise. But then he mentally shrugged; let her have her friend if she wanted. She was approaching the marrying age for a royal daughter, but she was already far too clever to let anything get in the way of any advantage to the House of Lindenshield that could be sealed by marriage.
“What about his father?” Thirrin asked, interrupting Redrought’s thoughts.
“Whose father? The surgeon’s?”
“No! Oskan’s. Who was he?”
The King shrugged. “No one knows for sure.” He almost added that not even White Annis was certain but decided such talk was unsuitable for his daughter’s ears. “There are plenty of rumors, of course: wood sprites, spirits, even vampires. But he was probably just a human traveler who … um, just … you know, happened to be passing.”
“She wasn’t married, then?” Thirrin asked.
“No. Witches choose who they want for as long as they want. There’s rarely anything formal about their arrangements.”
“So, Oskan’s father could have been anyone or anything?”
“Yes. But a wood sprite is the gossips’ favorite at the moment,” Redrought answered, adding: “Mind you, he’s pale enough to have Vampire blood somewhere in his veins — so to speak! But who knows?”
Thirrin nodded. Her new friend was certainly an interesting mystery.
Thirrin’s horse was saddled and waiting in the courtyard, its breath pluming on the crisp sharp air of early morning. The weather was perfect for riding: A sharp frost had scattered a brilliant crystal sheen of white over the rooftops of the houses, as though in anticipation of the coming snows of winter, and the early morning sounds of awakening households echoed with the purity of chiming bells on the cold air.
She’d allowed the surgeon an hour’s head start so that she could gallop to catch up, and as she and her escort of two cavalry troopers trotted down through the winding roads of the city, their horses blew and fidgeted in anticipation of the run. Once through the gates, the riders kicked their mounts and took off across the rich agricultural plain that fed the capital. Within minutes they’d reached the eaves of the forest and the Great Road, which sliced through the trees on its journey to the northern provinces.
They caught up with the surgeon and his assistant just as they were about to turn off the road into the tangled network of forest tracks, and reined back to a walk. Thirrin’s face glowed with the tingling cold and, not wanting the horses to get chilled, she urged