pass.”
Gabrielle had nodded agreement. She had not revealed her intention to undertake the journey herself.
She would go, though. The only question was how.
N OW G ABRIELLE LEANED over the north wall of the tower and found the silvery gleam of the Avine River. Pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders, she stared at the northern horizon, just a guessed-at shape of denser black against the night sky. Would Elf eyes see the contours of the land clearly, she wondered, even in the dark? Danaïs and Féolan had once pointed out a goshawk that was no more than a black speck in the sky. Gabrielle had thought they were pretending, teasing her, until they had proved their skill. Standing against the far wall of her clinic, each had read aloud from a heavy, leather-bound herbal that she held open against her chest. At that distance, all she could see was a meaningless blur on the page.
Gabrielle imagined the journey upriver, through the farthest reaches of La Maronne to the edge of the Krylians. She thought of the Greffaires, preparing for war, unseen behind the curtain of the mountains. And she thought of Féolan and his people, hidden away in the forests and valleys of the Maronnais highlands. Did they too prepare for war?
I N THE WARMTH of her chamber, Gabrielle lit a fire in the tiny stove, wrapped a blanket over her nightgown and sat herself on the thick patterned rug before the fire. There was no point in trying to sleep yet, not with her mind so full of questions.
A sudden wail from Sylvain drifted down the hall, followed by the muffled voices of his parents. Having Dominic’s family here had saved her, she thought. Justine and her baby, the two children, had provided the best possible distraction from her own disquiet. Madeleine and Matthieu blew through the castle like a couple of charming whirlwinds, full of life and laughter and endless demands. And Justine had always been a good friend.
But oh, she missed Tristan. He alone of her family, unimpressed by her grave demeanor and strange power, brought out her playfulness and sense of humor. She missed his teasing as much as she missed his warm heart. He had stayed to dinner tonight, shoveling in an astonishing amount of food. “Don’t they feed you at the barracks?” she had demanded.
“They feed us lots, but they don’t feed us well. Not like this,” he had explained. “I need to dig deep while I can.”
“Careful you don’t throw up like I did,” cautioned Matthieu.
“Never you fear, my lad. I can hold my grub with the best of them,” boasted Tristan, grinning through a mouthful of pheasant. He reached past his older brother and tickled Matthieu in the ribs, then had to tickle Madeleine under the table just to be fair. The two children squirmed and giggled. It would be a long time, perhaps, before they would share such a light-hearted family meal again.
And she missed Féolan, still. His memory was sharp as a shard of glass. Gabrielle went to the carved box and pulled out the tiny necklace her mother had given her. “You were wearing it when I found you,” Solange had explained. “I tried to save the shawl too, but the mice got into the trunk where it was stored.”
The necklace was silver, the finest work she had ever seen. Tiny oval links led to a polished green stone, small as a droplet, embedded in a delicate silver setting. Gabrielle held it now in the palm of her hand. It made her feel strange to feel it on her skin, to think it had once circled her own neck. Sometimes when she held it she imagined things—snatches of song, voices, a woman’s eyes—and would then put it away hurriedly, ashamed of the weakness that made her draw memories out of her own wishful thinking.
CHAPTER 15
T HE garrison was more heavily guarded now that the invasion was imminent, for conscripts were not the only ones who might lose their nerve and desert. Féolan, reasoning the best way to slip past a sentry was to
be
the sentry, had volunteered for duty but
Gabrielle had nodded agreement. She had not revealed her intention to undertake the journey herself.
She would go, though. The only question was how.
N OW G ABRIELLE LEANED over the north wall of the tower and found the silvery gleam of the Avine River. Pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders, she stared at the northern horizon, just a guessed-at shape of denser black against the night sky. Would Elf eyes see the contours of the land clearly, she wondered, even in the dark? Danaïs and Féolan had once pointed out a goshawk that was no more than a black speck in the sky. Gabrielle had thought they were pretending, teasing her, until they had proved their skill. Standing against the far wall of her clinic, each had read aloud from a heavy, leather-bound herbal that she held open against her chest. At that distance, all she could see was a meaningless blur on the page.
Gabrielle imagined the journey upriver, through the farthest reaches of La Maronne to the edge of the Krylians. She thought of the Greffaires, preparing for war, unseen behind the curtain of the mountains. And she thought of Féolan and his people, hidden away in the forests and valleys of the Maronnais highlands. Did they too prepare for war?
I N THE WARMTH of her chamber, Gabrielle lit a fire in the tiny stove, wrapped a blanket over her nightgown and sat herself on the thick patterned rug before the fire. There was no point in trying to sleep yet, not with her mind so full of questions.
A sudden wail from Sylvain drifted down the hall, followed by the muffled voices of his parents. Having Dominic’s family here had saved her, she thought. Justine and her baby, the two children, had provided the best possible distraction from her own disquiet. Madeleine and Matthieu blew through the castle like a couple of charming whirlwinds, full of life and laughter and endless demands. And Justine had always been a good friend.
But oh, she missed Tristan. He alone of her family, unimpressed by her grave demeanor and strange power, brought out her playfulness and sense of humor. She missed his teasing as much as she missed his warm heart. He had stayed to dinner tonight, shoveling in an astonishing amount of food. “Don’t they feed you at the barracks?” she had demanded.
“They feed us lots, but they don’t feed us well. Not like this,” he had explained. “I need to dig deep while I can.”
“Careful you don’t throw up like I did,” cautioned Matthieu.
“Never you fear, my lad. I can hold my grub with the best of them,” boasted Tristan, grinning through a mouthful of pheasant. He reached past his older brother and tickled Matthieu in the ribs, then had to tickle Madeleine under the table just to be fair. The two children squirmed and giggled. It would be a long time, perhaps, before they would share such a light-hearted family meal again.
And she missed Féolan, still. His memory was sharp as a shard of glass. Gabrielle went to the carved box and pulled out the tiny necklace her mother had given her. “You were wearing it when I found you,” Solange had explained. “I tried to save the shawl too, but the mice got into the trunk where it was stored.”
The necklace was silver, the finest work she had ever seen. Tiny oval links led to a polished green stone, small as a droplet, embedded in a delicate silver setting. Gabrielle held it now in the palm of her hand. It made her feel strange to feel it on her skin, to think it had once circled her own neck. Sometimes when she held it she imagined things—snatches of song, voices, a woman’s eyes—and would then put it away hurriedly, ashamed of the weakness that made her draw memories out of her own wishful thinking.
CHAPTER 15
T HE garrison was more heavily guarded now that the invasion was imminent, for conscripts were not the only ones who might lose their nerve and desert. Féolan, reasoning the best way to slip past a sentry was to
be
the sentry, had volunteered for duty but
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