A Wilderness of Glass - Grace Draven Page 0,35
the castle, Mistress Gazi.”
“Escort the mistress to the Madigan path.” Lord Frantisek eyed Brida. “He can go with you if you wish.” A brief scowl flickered across his face. “It might be wise I think.”
She almost refused, afraid too many might learn of the merfolk’s existence in the waters or see Ahtin swimming in the waves. She discarded the idea. There were risks in everything, and after her last encounter alone on the beach with Ospodine, she welcomed the presence of a companion for this one. Besides, many a trick of the moonlight played on the Gray, and people imagined seeing things that weren’t there.
She accepted the offer, then thanked Zigana for the ride, assuring her she need not wait for Brida’s return.
“Brida.” Zigana touched her arm. A shadow of memory passed across her face. “Gitta killed one obluda. Only one. Be careful.”
Brida patted the other woman’s hand to reassure her. If Zigana only knew how often of late Brida had visited the shore at night… Fortunately, the only sounds arising from the Gray had been those she heard all her life or Ahtin whistling her name in welcome.
With the darkness fast descending, Endel handed Brida a lamp and carried one himself to light their way down the path. The dirt road snaked down the slope between scrubby bushes that shivered in the wind. Madigan’s Teeth lay ahead, rising sharply from the base of the bluff like fangs in a dragon’s mouth, spaced with narrow gullies hollowed out by the eternal tide. Shallow stair treads of more stone jutted into the water, their surfaces adorned with clusters of mussels.
The Gray heaved toward the shore here, hurling breakers against the rocks with battering force as if protesting their intrusion into the water. Foamy remnants left by the dying flow of waves burst and bubbled in the spaces between the mussel shells or oozed back toward their source in a serpentine wash. The sea didn’t just sing, it thundered.
A black silhouette stood just out of reach of the surf’s swash, its long tunic flapping in the wind like a gull’s wings. Brida recognized the narrow profile and slim frame. Ospodine.
“Stay here, keep watch” Brida instructed Endel. She didn’t need him overhearing this conversation.
“But mistress.” Endel tugged on her sleeve. “His lordship said—”
“For you to accompany me, and you have.” She held her lamp higher so that he could see her smile. “You can see me quite clearly from here, and you’re close enough to come to my aid should I need it.”
He eyed her, then the place where Ospodine stood. “If you’re sure,” he conceded reluctantly.
She admired his commitment and his bravery. “I’m sure.”
Ospodine turned his head a fraction and dipped his chin even less in acknowledgement of her presence. “I wondered if you might join me.”
“Don’t be coy, syr. You knew I would.” She set the lamp down. “I’ll not play this game of yours. You know I’ve some knowledge of the merfolk and their language, and I know you’ve been spying on me. Why?”
His smug demeanor took on a more contemptuous quality. Brida was reminded of their confrontation on the beach when he’d touched her elbow before yanking his hand back as if discovering she had fleas. “I think your knowledge of the sea people goes beyond understanding a few clicks and whistles, wouldn’t you say?”
She refused to respond to his baiting. The idea that he might have observed her making love with Ahtin in the cave sent a surge of bile into her throat. She held it back by virtue of silent outrage. “Why?” she repeated.
Disappointed by her flat response, he gave up baiting her. “Because you’re a means to an end.” He pointed to her skirt pocket. “You brought the flute you used at the castle this time, didn’t you?”
How had he known she carried it with her?
As he seemed in the mood to answer her questions, she pulled the flute from her pocket to show him. In the darkness, it seemed to glow softly in her palm, bleached ivory with a touch of magic humming through its striations. “How did you know?”
Ospodine didn’t try to snatch the flute from her as he had at Castle Banat, content to stare at it with the same avid expression he’d worn then. “The flute’s value to you is that your father made it, yes?” He continued when she simply stared at him. “It’s far more than the clumsy desecration from a land dweller’s carving knife.”
Brida clenched her jaw to stop