another word, and she watched in useless rage as he followed his brother out into the dark.
‘Cad a rinne tú? ’
Christopher’s incredulous whisper scratched the surface of a dream, so that one minute Wynter was gazing into her father’s face – impossibly young and streaming with rain, as he screamed, ‘Stop them! For Christ’s sake, Rory! Stop them!’ – and then she was struggling awake, her hands clutching the empty blanket where Christopher should have been.
She lifted herself onto her elbow, looking all about her.
Christopher was at the door of the tent, a black shadow dimly outlined against the faint glow of the dying camp fire. Someone was with him, just a dark shape at first, until he spoke and Wynter recognised Sólmundr’s distinctive throaty rasp. The warrior murmured something low in Merron, and Christopher exclaimed in shock.
Sól clapped a hand to his friend’s mouth. ‘Shhhhhhh, a luch,’ he said. ‘Shhhh.’
Wynter made out Christopher’s nod, and Sólmundr carefully removed his hand from his mouth. She peered around the tent; it was empty but for her. Razi must not yet have returned. She reached for her tunic.
After Razi had left, the women had discreetly retired to the Merron quarters, leaving Christopher and her alone. Wynter had thought nothing of it, and she had simply stalked into her tent and lain down, taut as a bowstring, her head filled with anger. But then Christopher had lain down beside her, put his arms around her and pulled her gently to him, and she had instantly come undone. Before she knew it, she had been sobbing into his chest, great shuddering lungfuls of breath, long gasping sighs; too grief-stricken to stop, too overcome to speak.
‘It ain’t what Lorcan was, lass,’ he had murmured. ‘It ain’t what he was. You know that. He were a lovely man.’ She had shaken her head, bawling silently against the fabric of his shirt. ‘Maybe it was the King that done it,’ he said. ‘Maybe it was the King’s da. You ain’t ever to know, lass, because the King ain’t ever likely to tell you, is he?’ She had clung tighter, drawing him in, wanting him close, and he had stroked her hair. ‘Lorcan was never anything but good to you,’ he whispered, rocking her gently. ‘Ain’t that all you need to know? He was never anything but good to you.’
She had tumbled into sleep like that, weeping inconsolably, with Christopher holding her close. Now her nose and eyes burned with the aftermath of it, and the bed was cold because Christopher had left her to go whisper at the door. She pushed back the covers and dragged her cloak around her, shivering at the intrusion of night air. Good Christ, it was damnably cold.
‘Chris,’ she whispered, jerking on her boots and getting to her feet. ‘What in God’s name are you two doing?’ Christopher didn’t answer, and she went to the door, suddenly nervous. The small space in front of the Merron tents was empty. Christopher was gone.
THE MERRON WAY
ÚLFNAOR’S HOUNDS had run to the end of their chains and were peering up the alley between the tents, their postures curious. Wynter ran past them, strapping her sword in place, and came to a halt in the shadows, peeping out into the moon-washed thoroughfare. The camp was utterly silent and empty of life, but Wynter knew that there would be patrols, and the guards around Alberon’s tent would see any movement on the road if they were looking that way at the time. A shadow caught her eye, a fleeting impression of movement at the far edge of the road. She saw Boro outlined briefly against the moonlit side of a tent. He took a corner and trotted from view.
Oh, curse you, she thought. You fools. She glanced anxiously at the royal tent, then ran across the too-bright road. Crouching low as if that might save her from detection, she hurried along the narrow belt of shadow beneath the awnings on the other side and turned into the alley after Boro and the two infuriating men he was no doubt accompanying.
Alberon had certainly fulfilled his promise to quarter the Wolves far from Razi’s tent. In fact, as Wynter trailed the two men through the seemingly interminable rat’s nest of the camp, she found herself wondering if he had quartered the damn creatures on the moon. She moved as quickly as she could, all the time praying that she did not trip on one of the many guy-ropes or