Lorna Freeman - Borderlands 02 by The King's Own

Author:The King's Own
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-06-04T18:21:12+00:00

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Chapter Twenty-four

Doyen Dyfrig’s study was like King Jusson’s in its simpleness: it had plain wooden furniture and the same white plaster walls that were in the church. But Dyfrig’s scarred pieces would not have made it through the royal back door, and Cais probably would’ve suffered the torments of the damned before allowing Jusson’s study to reach the level of chaos that the doyen’s had achieved. Scrolls, books, parchments and papers were jumbled together with dried herbs and flowers, small smooth stones, ceremonial bowls and a mouse skull, all of which was crammed onto shelves, scattered on a couple of tables and formed into shaggy piles on Dyfrig’s desk. On one wall hung a detailed map of the valley and surrounding mountains. Another wall had a row of windows that overlooked rooftops, catching at the edge of one window frame the rising moon, while on the opposite end were the flames from the charnel house, blazing against the night sky.

Gwynedd sat on one of the wood guest chairs that had been hastily cleared off, a cup of Laurel’s tea in her hand. Wyln and I had escorted her and the members of her troupe to the bier where Rodolfo lay, her expression calm as Laurel lifted the motley cape. After staring down for a long moment at her brother’s face, she’d turned away, her dark eyes blindly drifting over the crowd in the church while several of the players started weeping, their arms going around each other seeking comfort. Wyln and I had hung back to give Gwynedd as much privacy as possible in a room full of people, but before either of us could respond to her silent grief, Dyfrig was by her side. With a few softly spoken words, he led her away from the bier, the noisy sobs of the troupe and the eyes of the avidly curious, taking her to a side door that connected to the rectory. Jusson, Chadde, Wyln, Laurel, I, Jeff and the royal guards formed a wedge behind them as they went upstairs to the study. As did Ranulf and Beollan. The two Marcher Lords had moved swiftly to accompany us, walking into the study with us as a matter of course. To my surprise, Jusson said nothing, merely lifting a brow as they arranged themselves against the windowsills. The rest of us sat in borrowed chairs wrestled into the room by the Own. I ended up next to Gwynedd, holding my own cup of tea, Jeff standing at my back. Wondering if Laurel had a never-ending supply of the stuff, I took a sip, not bothering to shudder at the bitterness. It filled my very empty stomach and calmed the reawakened tremors in my arms and legs.

“When was the last time you saw your brother, Mistress Gwynedd?” Chadde asked, her voice gentle. She’d moved her chair next to Dyfrig’s desk and sat facing the player.

I could see the liquid in Gwynedd’s cup tremble as her hand shook. “Yesterday,” she said, “when he and Rosea had come back from chasing after Lord Rabbit.

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