Tasters 4

'Father?'

He sat up in bed. 'Gilla?'

She had brought a candle; it lit her face and bright hair, edging them with gold as she stood at his bedchamber door.

'What is it? Are you sick?'

'No. Can I come in?'

'Come here.'

She set the candle on the aumbrey and scrambled up onto his bed, tucking her bare feet under her. He reached to grasp one small slender foot and found it cold as stone.

'Where are your shoes?' he asked, wrapping the coverlid round her.

'I forgot them. Father, I think I can find Janiva.'

'What? How?'

'I can scry for her.'

He drew in a long, long breath and let it slowly out. She could do that; it was an ability she shared with Janiva. Last year, when Gilla was kidnapped, the witch Julitta de Beauris had sensed that power in her and forced her to use it against her will. Later, Janiva had taught her how to manage the gift, if gift it was.

Uneasily Straccan said, 'I don't know, sweetheart.'

'I can do it.'

'Now?'

'Yes. It's easier when everything's quiet.'

He reached for his bedgown and wrapped himself in it. 'You need a bowl of water.'

'No, it works better for me with the candle. I just look at the flame.'

She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, and he watched her as she watched the flame.

'Janiva,' she whispered, 'Janiva, where are you?'

'Oh, my God,' a voice gasped. 'Oh, my dear, sweet, merciful God. No wonder you were afraid to marry.' Lucilla sat on one of the benches beside the pool.

'You saw,' Reagane whispered. 'You know.'

'I saw ...' Lucilla's hand flew to her cheek and she turned her face away from Regeane. 'Oh, God, I saw ... I don't believe what I saw.' She turned back to confront the younger woman.

Regeane rose slowly to her feet and walked along the flagstone path towards Lucilla, asking, 'Would you lend me your mantle? The air is cold and some of the servants might come out. I'm naked.'

[... ...]

'Are you going to denounce me?' Regeane asked.

'Denounce you?' Lucilla asked, her mouth snapping shut. 'For what?'

'For being a witch, a sorceress.'

Above her, the stars faded and dawn tinged the snow with blood. Surely she had not dreamed away an entire day and night? There was no time, just snow, and pain. She craned her head to keep the monastery that was her goal in sight, and forced herself onward, higher than she had ever climbed.

Blood made her sight dark. Blood ... the merchants had told her that sight played tricks with one, this high up. 'This way,' whispered a new voice, the voice of a wise child.

She turned and looked at him. Despite the cold, he wore very little - a saffron-colored cloak, almost like an antique toga, and chains of jewelled flowers.

'Who are you?' she asked, astonished that he understood her language.

'I am your friend. You can call me Rudra. Rudra Cakrin. And if you permit, I will teach you ...'