look. ‘You can just call her Hallvor,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid that she ain’t got any language but Merron and Garmain.’
‘Freeman Garron would be happy to translate for you,’ suggested Wynter. ‘But as luck has it, I speak tolerable Garmain. I can just as easily translate if you . . .’
‘Thank you kindly, Protector Lady, but I can speak Garmain very well. I shall be glad to effect my own communications.’ Mary curtsied to Hallvor. The healer nodded gravely, and they shook hands. The lady introduced herself in Garmain.
‘It is my pleasure to meet you,’ replied Hallvor. ‘I am certain that your people have provided you with excellent shelter and care, but the Lady Iseult seems to think you might appreciate my aid, and so without meaning any insult to your protectors, I place my skills at your service.’
Hallvor’s flawless Garmain astounded Wynter. Until now, she had never understood a word the healer had spoken. She was ashamed to admit it, but hearing Hallvor’s familiar, smoke-husky voice communicating with such grace and skill elevated the healer in her eyes. It felt as though Wynter was seeing Hallvor properly for the very first time. She listened in wide-eyed silence as the healer introduced Mary to the other Merron. They all seemed to have similarly fluent if pleasantly accented Garmain. Sólmundr rose to his feet, his usual broken drawl transformed into a hoarse courtliness very reminiscent of Wynter’s father’s voice. Watching the warrior grin his gap-toothed grin and shake the lady’s hand, Wynter found it deeply moving, and inexpressibly sad, to realise that all along she could have had the chance to truly understand these people, if only she had opened her mouth to Sól all that time ago, and discovered this shared language.
Wari and Úlfnaor returned from tending the horses. The Lady Mary curtsied low to the kindly smiling Aoire, and without any further ceremony, she was included in the Merron breakfast.
Hallvor unfolded the lady’s chair and, with a significant glance at Wynter, plopped it down beside Razi. He looked up, registered Mary’s presence with a shock, and went to leap to his feet. Mary waved him down.
‘Sit, sit,’ she said, getting herself settled. Once seated she leaned forward, as if to examine Razi more closely. ‘How are you?’ she asked softly, gazing into his face.
Her concern seemed to undo him a little, and Razi winced and shook his head. Oh don’t, his expression said, please.
Mary nodded in understanding. She thought for a moment. ‘I heard once,’ she said, ‘that you were studying to be a physician?’
Razi nodded tiredly.
‘How interesting,’ said Mary. ‘I assume you know of Padua? It is my favourite city, you know. My family lived there for three years when I was a child.’
Razi’s face opened in surprise. Mary smiled, and soon they were involved in a soft discussion that made Wynter’s heart ache with gratitude and fondness. Her eyes met Hallvor’s. The healer winked in maternal conspiracy and turned back to her work.
‘Lass.’ Christopher plucked at her sleeve and gestured her away from the fire. ‘Talk to me.’
They rounded the corner and came to a halt in the passage between the Midland tent and the large army supply tent beside it. The camp was fully awake now, men scurrying about, the air heavy with camp-fire smoke and dust. The sun was bright but brittle, and the shadows between the tents were cold. Wynter shivered, hugging her elbows and peering out at the soldiers coming and going on the main thoroughfare. Christopher handed her a warm sorrel-cake and she ate it absently.
‘Have some tea,’ he said.
She shook her head, sucking the bitter grit of the cake from her teeth and gazing up the hill to Alberon’s tent. ‘I need to go talk to the Prince,’ she said. ‘Now is a good time, while Razi is distracted.’
‘What are you going to talk to him about?’
Christopher’s tone of voice made her glance at him. His narrow face was hard and wary.
‘I want to find out about my father’s machines,’ she said. ‘I want to understand Albi’s plans for them.’
‘Razi told you his plans for them. He told you that they won’t work.’
Wynter held Christopher’s eye. There was a moment of silence between them.
‘I want to make up my own mind about that,’ she said.
Christopher shook his head in sad disbelief. ‘Surely you ain’t going to side against our lad?’
‘Christopher.’ She put her hand on his forearm, but at the look on her face he twisted his arm and pulled