Mouse stayed by her elbow, willing to fetch and carry, nervous as a young mother over a child. Leta found him a bit annoying but forced herself to speak soothingly even though she knew he would not understand.
“All will be well; all will be well,” she repeated. “The night will pass. Morning will come. The Chronicler will escape. He is even now well on his way, far beyond their reach.” Nothing she said had anything to do with the wounded lord beneath her ministering hand. But Mouse did not know, so what was the harm? “All will be well; all will be well,” she whispered like a song.
“What is going on here?”
Lady Mintha’s voice shot like an arrow through Leta’s fragile senses. She turned and glared at the lady and said, “Peace!” Then she gulped. She had scarcely dared to speak two words in Mintha’s presence before tonight, never dreamed of using so sharp a tone! What an upside-down existence life had become.
Mintha’s face reddened with anger. She swept into the room, stopping short when she saw her son. Then she screamed. Mouse, on the other side of the bed, crouched into a ball, pressing his hands to his ears.
But Leta stood up, took four steps across the room, grabbed the lady by the shoulders, and gave her a hard shake. “Quiet! Do you want the earls to hear?”
Mintha’s mouth clamped shut. Eyes round with fury, she turned her gaze from Leta down to her son. “What have you done to him?” she demanded in a tight whisper.
“Nothing. Don’t be a fool,” Leta growled, letting her go and returning to her work. She was cleaning away blood that had dried in Alistair’s ginger hair. “His servant”—she nodded to Mouse—“brought me here to tend him.”
“It’s that dwarf,” said Mintha.
“What?”
“That dwarf. That little blight of a wretch my daft brother claims as his son!”
A hot rush flooded Leta’s body from head to heart. “Remember, Earl Ferox is dead,” she said quietly.
“What does it matter? Dead or not, he’s done enough to ruin the name of Gaheris!”
Leta pressed her lips together, afraid what she might say. Mintha sank onto the bed, clutching Alistair’s hand. “Lights Above!” she swore, dropping it quickly. “He burns!”
“He has a fever.”
“Come so suddenly? How did he get that wound?”
“I don’t know,” said Leta.
“It’s that dwarf, I tell you,” Lady Mintha snarled. “He must have come on him in a dark passage! Seeking to put an end to the true heir and steal the mastery!”
“The Chronicler would never do that,” Leta whispered. She stared down at the dreadful gash in Alistair’s shoulder, shuddering. “He wouldn’t.”
“Who else, then?” Mintha wrung her hands and paced across the room. Standing at the window, she cursed violently. “Dawn is coming.”
Leta looked up. Sure enough, the sky outside was beginning to pale. At last, an end to this dreadful night! But what cruel fate would day bring?
Mintha, breathing hard, drew herself together. The house was full of all the earls of the North Country, a bloodthirsty crew ready to tear one another apart if they thought it might serve their own ends. Not one of them was sorry to see Earl Ferox, more powerful by far than any three of them, meet his end. They would not hesitate to stand against his chosen heir if opportunity arose.
But Alistair was no longer secure in his inheritance. As long as the son lived, who could say how much support the nephew could hope to have from the earls? And if they knew he lay helpless in his own rooms upstairs, what treachery might they invent even as they enjoyed the hospitality of Gaheris?
Mintha trembled like a rabbit that has discovered its own burrow to be a trap. But she was no coward.
“I’ll be dragon-kissed before I let the earls know of this,” she said, and her voice was like the old earl’s come to life once more. Leta startled at the tone. “The funeral is in a few hours. As soon as the sun touches the weathervane, Ferox will be interred with his forefathers. We can invent some excuse to put off the ceremony of succession. My son is grieving the loss of his uncle, after all. Does not wish to be disturbed, the dignity due the dead, some such nonsense.”
“What are you talking about?” Leta said. “Surely you don’t think you can keep Alistair’s condition a secret?”