Honor-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book III ]

23

Padréc did not return the next day.

Nor did he return the second.

Uachi was growing restless. A man would not make much progress toward Aólane in a day—but Padréc had not been a man when he'd left Eldran's keep.

As the second day wound into the third, Uachi knew something had gone wrong, knew it in his bones. He could not wait around forever. Ealin was surely gaining on them; if they let her get too far, she might make it to the archmage before they could catch up with her. The thought of what might happen to Uarria if she came into Jaeron's grasp nearly drove Uachi mad.

The third morning, Uachi was woken early by the sound of a gentle knock at the door. He'd barely slept; he had been traveling for a while and had grown used to getting what rest he could while sleeping in strange places, but being beneath the roof of House Eldran, where even certain members of the family seemed to be at each other's throats, Uachi had been ill-at-ease.

He slid his hand beneath his pillow, taking his dagger by the hilt before getting out of bed. He'd slept in his clothes. Alert for any movement in the chamber he had been given, he made his way to the door and spoke through it. "Who is it?"

"It's Diarmán, you bloody fool, who else?" came a whisper through the door. "Were you expecting a pretty maidservant to warm your bed?"

Opening the door, Uachi scowled at Diarmán, who stood in the shadows of the hallway in a rumpled tunic. His hair was loose and unbrushed. "What are you doing here?"

"Padréc is back," Diarmán said. He sounded angry. "Or have you lost interest in his quest?"

Uachi stepped into the hallway, sheathing his dagger. Diarmán turned to lead him down the hall toward another bedchamber. The entire way was cloaked in shadows, and the house was unnaturally silent, even considering the hour.

Diarmán nudged open the door to a darkened bedchamber. Inside, a young man was sitting in a chair, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging down. Uachi waited as Diarmán lit a lamp. Then, the two of them approached Padréc, Diarmán carrying the light. He set it on the mantel of the fireplace, cursing beneath his breath. "You damned fool!"

Padréc lifted his head at last. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, stark against the pale skin of his face. "Just a scratch," he said, looking down at his arm. He was shirtless, and there was an ugly slash along his bicep. It was far more than a scratch. "I couldn't fly all the way...'swhy it took me so bloody long."

"What happened?"

But Padréc ignored Diarmán, turning to Uachi instead. "She's safe, more or less. Both of them are."

Uachi breathed a sigh of relief. He had not realized he'd been holding his breath. "Where are they? And what do you mean, 'more or less?'"

"The River Mairze. They sheltered in a stand of weeping willows near a branch of the river. There were men with them. Two of them."

"What?" The blood drained from Uachi's face.

"I think they were friendly to the woman. They seemed to be soldiers."

In that instant, Uachi recalled that two Starborn guardsmen had disappeared from the palace on the night of Ealin's flight. It had seemed obvious that they'd been involved; it should have been obvious that they might travel with her. Perhaps it meant she was an accomplice, willing or unwilling, in a grander scheme. Perhaps she was innocent, or less guilty than she'd seemed.

Padréc continued. "I was stupid—wanted a closer look at the girl, to see how she fared, and they took me for a threat." He tipped his head toward his wounded arm. "Things moved so quickly, I'm not sure how it happened. I defended myself, the woman let loose some kind of blood-weapon—"