“They say the next Earl of Gaheris will be made king of all the North Country,” Alistair said, and his voice was as cold as the night air. “But if I am that earl, how can this be? I know I will never be king.”
He laughed, a bitter sound. “My mother is convinced I will be. As are my uncle and Earl Lebuin of Aiven and all the most powerful men of our land. They believe when they look at me that they see their future ruler. They’re wrong. All of them.”
He bowed his head into his hands, running white fingers through his red hair, which was dark under moonlight. Mouse pulled back, at a loss for what to do. What could possibly have upset this young man so badly? “Are you unwell?” he asked without hope of being understood.
“I’ll never be king,” Alistair whispered, “because I’m going to die. I know it. I’ve seen my death every night for the last three years. Can you imagine what that means, Mouse?”
Suddenly, pale eyes turned upon Mouse, who drew back, frightened by the power of that gaze. “Every night,” said Alistair, “three years running, I see the same vision. I see the child lost and wandering in a dark place on the brink of a great chasm. I call out to him, telling him to save Gaheris, but I don’t know what from! And then I am torn apart by a shadow with a red mouth.”
The young lord’s voice had dropped to a tremulous whisper. The sound of it was enough to freeze Mouse’s heart even without understanding. But it also, strangely enough, made him want to reach out, to touch Alistair’s bowed head, to speak some word of comfort, to offer some kindness in the face of such distress.
The moment passed. Alistair straightened and the fading moonlight illuminated his mouth, twisting it into an unnatural shape. “It’s grin or perish, Mouse,” he said. “It’s smile or go mad. So I’ll smile. Even when my uncle breathes his last breath, I’ll smile, and they’ll set the shield of Gaheris in my hand and talk of a crown and a throne. And I’ll smile, because I know they’re all fools.”
Mouse shook his head, his eyes round and frightened. “I don’t understand a word you are saying, sir,” he said at last, his voice a little breathless. “I wish I could help you. But I can’t even help myself, and I don’t know what you are saying.”
It was more than he could stand. The shivering boy turned heel and ran, unable to remain in the presence of that strange, tall lord. He ran along the wall, past the sentry once more, down the stairs.
Alistair watched Mouse’s slight form as it flitted across the inner courtyard and on to the kitchen doors. He remained awhile on the wall and waited for the coming dawn.
Forty couriers rode out in all, twenty to the earls themselves, twenty more to the smaller baronies and lowland keeps of the North Country.
From her chamber windows, Leta watched them ride. The swiftness of their going made her own imprisonment more painful by far, but she kept her tears at bay and her face firmly turned from the questioning stares of her servants and waiting women.
“Your father will be here soon,” her head lady said. “He’ll come to pay last respects and to honor your future husband when they place the shield of Gaheris in his hand.”
Leta made no reply.
For some days now, she had avoided the library. She was afraid somehow, knowing what she knew, or at least what she guessed. Her practical side whispered to her, Stay out of it. It’s not your business. Only trouble will come if you meddle.
It was a strong argument, and her heart was not brave at the moment. “Our woman’s lot,” she whispered to herself.
But the memory of the Chronicler’s face and what she had seen there haunted her. Even when she sat at table, listening to Lady Mintha’s voice going over her head, watching her husband-to-be as he sat hollow eyed and unspeaking, she thought of the Chronicler. Lady Mintha’s talk was all of preparations to receive the earls of the North Country within Gaheris. Alistair, when he spoke at all, remarked on the unusual coldness of that autumn.
And Leta wondered: Do they know?
Snow fell upon Gaheris Castle, and the river, reduced to a channel with ice lining its edges and swirling in frozen chunks along the dark eddies. Nevertheless, the ferry from Aiven made its slow way to the banks below Gaheris. Leta, wrapped up in furs and fleeces, went down to the shore along with Lady Mintha and Alistair to greet Earl Aiven.
Her father, whom she had not seen in nearly a year, scarcely looked her way. He bowed over Mintha’s hand and addressed himself to Alistair, saying, “I came as soon as I could.”
“You are welcome to my uncle’s home during these sad times,” said Alistair. His face was paler than usual, and his blue eyes were dark with lack of sleep. But he spoke with the cool confidence of a lord, and Leta could see that her father was favorably impressed by him.
Lord Aiven glanced her way at last. “You’re looking well, girl,” he said, and that was all. He offered his arm to Lady Mintha, and they made their way up from the river to Gaheris, Alistair leading the way, and Leta trailing far behind.