was it a song?
As Banna Mora stared, she heard another noise: water. A gurgle, growing louder but still only like the murmur of a slow stream.
Then Rowan leaned back. Water appeared like a black, rippling mirror of the sky, rising to the edge of the well. Mora’s lips parted in surprise. The water halted, the surface dancing calmly there, licking at the ends of Rowan’s hair and the tips of his fingers.
Connley dipped his hand into the water, and brought it, dripping, to his mouth.
“I hope this will clarify my prophecies,” Rowan murmured.
“You still argue with the stars?”
“Everyone does who converses with them—their voice is a growing babble.”
Though Mora was certain she’d made no sound, Rowan’s head snapped toward her. Connley followed his gaze.
“Banna Mora,” Rowan said tenderly. He beckoned for her. “Come taste the rootwater of Innis Lear.”
She stared at the black eye of water pressing up from the well. It pulsed, and though she’d never admit it to any but herself, she’d have sworn it was the same rhythm as her heartbeat.
“No,” she said, and backed away, eyes stuck to that water until her reaching hand found the corner of the threshold and she stepped out through the narrow opening, into the meadow again. Her heel caught on loose earth and grass scratched at her boots.
Mora breathed a gasping, deep breath, then went determinedly back to her bed.
HOTSPUR
Lionis, autumn
SHE KNOCKED ON the door of the prince’s chambers.
Hal’s chambers.
Nerves danced in Hotspur’s stomach, making her bounce on her toes. Usually anxiety and anticipation mingled in her blood to better settle it, readying her for battle. But this was no enemy she prepared to face, and there was no way to win.
The door opened, and one of Hal’s footmen greeted her with a bright smile. Hotspur entered and asked softly if she might be left alone with Prince Hal. Perio bowed, slipped out, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Hal’s people knew she loved nothing better than to be alone with Hotspur.
The narrow arched door to the bedroom was held open by an iron poker that streaked ash across the marble floor.
“Come in!” Hal replied, voice echoing from the dim depths of the bedroom.
Hotspur remained in the study, holding on to the hilt of her sheathed sword. She was dressed for travel in thick wool pants, orange gambeson, and both her sword belt and tooled Perseria belt with pouches for keys and money and loops for her gauntlets. Over it all she had her brand-new green-and-black leather coat, embossed across the back with a united crest of both Perseria and Mercia. It had arrived yesterday with Vindomata’s letter, and Hotspur had finally put it on just before coming here.
After a fraught moment trying not to pace or call out again, Hotspur’s waiting ended. Hal appeared, laughing and shaking her head. “I’ll come to you then, great heart.” She ducked through the passage, still smiling, and Hotspur caught her breath.
Hal wore a new dress.
The skirt was split and only as long as her midcalves, and loosely laced around her torso, clearly so she might still fight in it, kick high or mount a horse, and run without the detrimental effects of a stiff bodice. But still, it was a dress. The brown-ribbon collar dipped low to reveal the elegant line of her collarbone, enough that Hotspur could step forward and put her lips to the high, soft mound of her breasts.
“I know!” Hal declared, spreading her arms. Her hair was half pinned up in gentle twists, the rest braided into a knot at her nape. Tiny glass beads decorated the black strands. “I’ve been working with a few women to design it, because I’m so tired of changing when I have to go from dinner to the field.”
Hotspur allowed a fond smile, but before she could speak, Hal yawned. The prince walked backward to collapse in the chair by the cold hearth. “I’ll have you one made,” she said, voice still muffled as she put her wrist in front of her mouth and yawned again.
“You’re still sleeping badly.” Hotspur wanted to kneel at Hal’s side, press her cheek to Hal’s thigh, and stroke the long line of her shin until the prince fell asleep. Roll her into bed, embrace her from behind, and murmur silly songs to chase nightmares away. It gnawed at her that Hal still dreamed of Rovassos’s last moments, still dreamed of sudden violence and the deaths of her loved ones. And Hotspur was about to make it