UNMARKED

41: The Calm Before the Storm

Twelve Hells, Caval had thought he had been keeping all sorts of information secure. And yet someone had cracked the code - on the notes he'd been keeping on her at least. What had he been doing? Studying her like some sort of caged animal? Despite this, Blayre felt almost... calm. As though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she could now breathe freely. She hoped. The grim look that Rory had as he sat before her was not exactly heartening.

"So, if he doesn't trust him. What then?" Blayre asked.

"It seems to me," Rory said, standing from his chair and pacing again, like a great lion, "That he will throw at you, whichever young wizard has his favor." His eyes were like stormclouds now - billowing and gray and threatening to unleash a tempest upon the world.

"And how do you feel about that?" Blayre asked neutrally, pretending that she wasn't gutted every time she thought about someone forcing her into something - especially something as archaic as an arranged marriage.

Rory's eyes flickered then, like lightning flashing, and his voice was like thunder as he said, "You know damn well how I feel about that, Blayre." He clenched and unclenched his fists, and then added quietly, "You were the one who left, not I."

Blayre's heart squeezed and she turned her head away, but his fingers grasped her chin and he forced her to look into his storm-ridden gaze. "Why?" He asked softly.

"I told you," Blayre said uncomfortably, "Your life is one of constant attention. One of masks and pretenses. That isn't the kind of life I want." She shook her head. "Maybe in a different world..." She swallowed and glanced away.

He looked as if he was about to say something that she didn't want to hear, when a knock sounded at the door and it opened without further preamble to reveal her father. Lord Darach strode in and closed the door behind him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. Blayre, darling, I'm very glad to see you awake." With that brief hello, he turned to Rory "My informants spotted the artifact-thief."

Blayre raised an eyebrow, "The what? Who?"

"The mage who stole the dragon egg." Rory explained briefly before turning back to her father.

Annoyed that they were for the most part ignoring her, she slowly slid from the bed and went to the old wooden wardrobe where she pulled out a drawer to find a pair of old shoes that she had once worn. Luckily her feet had not grown since she'd last spent enough time here to have left behind clothing to wear. Blayre stalled, pretending to rummage through the drawer, waiting for her father to give up the one piece of information she needed to find Bartley.

And when he did, she put on her old pair of boots, announced that she was heading down to the kitchen for a bite to eat since apparently no one had thought to feed her. Once in the kitchen she gathered enough rations from the room to last her a day or two, and then stalked out into the darkness of the night.

The stableyard was quiet, except for the occasional stomp of a horse's hoof, or the low huffing sound. A breeze lifted the loose strands of her hair, as she moved, wraith-like, into the stable, despite sore muscles, and joints stiff from lack of use.

Blayre knew that Dove was here, along with the saddlebags that had been left behind at the mountain checkpoint. When had that been? She had no perception of how many days had passed since then. She could feel the charm that Caval had placed in her packs to keep everything dry by repelling the water, and that charm led her through the tranquil horsebarn, straight to Dove's stall.

Blayre soothed the mare with clucking noises, as she retrieved Dove's tack and prepped her for a ride. Quiet footsteps broke the silence, and stopped in front of the stall door. Blayre only froze momentarily, then continued with her ministrations as Sheila cleared her throat.