Dreamer's Pool: A Blackthorn & Grim Novel by Juliet Marillier

Author:Juliet Marillier [Marillier, Juliet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

22

ORAN

“My lord?”

Aedan was at the door of my small council chamber, where I had been attempting to sort out a pile of neglected correspondence. I had no scribe at Winterfalls; up until now there had been no need for one. As the mistress of the house, Flidais should have been dealing with most of these letters—congratulations from distant family connections, invitations to hand-fastings or other celebrations, suggestions that she and I might visit one or another chieftain’s household. At present, her headaches prevented this. If she was not better soon, I would need to seek assistance elsewhere. I hardly liked to ask Donagan to do it. “What is it, Aedan?”

“My lord, the wise woman, Blackthorn, is here, with that fellow Grim and a young woman from the village.”

“Can’t you deal with them?” Seeing the look on the face of my loyal steward, I set down my pen and stood up, realizing as I did so how long I had been sitting hunched over the letters; my back and shoulders ached. “I’m sorry, Aedan. I know you would not have disturbed me without good cause. What do they want?”

“The wise woman says it’s urgent, my lord, and she’s asked to see you in person. Something about Branoc the baker and a missing girl. And a murder at Silverlake.”

“A murder! Very well, I’ll see them now. Bring them in here, will you? And call Donagan for me.” Accusations of unlawful killing would be best heard before a witness, and Donagan was the most reliable witness I could think of. “And make sure there’s a man-at-arms out in the hallway, please.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Donagan arrived just as the three of them were being ushered in, and suddenly my council chamber—not, in fact, used for formal councils, but for writing, thinking and occasionally meeting with visitors—was quite full. That was very much down to Grim, who seemed to take up the space of at least three ordinary men. Blackthorn, a woman with oddly cropped hair of a startling red, had an intensity about her like that of a wild creature caged. I had never encountered a person with such blazing eyes or such a tightly held body. She was thin as a lath and not especially tall, with a tooth missing and a face that wore its years hard. But from the moment she walked in she filled the place with her presence. Between the two of them was the girl Aedan had mentioned. I recognized her as the young sister of Fraoch the smith, but I could not recall her name. She looked as if she had been crying.

“Sit down, please.” I motioned to the bench opposite me, but none of them sat. “You are Mistress Blackthorn, I presume. Grim I have already met. And . . .”

“Emer,” Blackthorn said. “She helps me in my work sometimes. My lord.” There was a criticism in her tone; she expected the prince of Dalriada to know his people’s names. I did, mostly.

“Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn. I understand there’s been some trouble at Silverlake.

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