Chapter 20
Elain was beginning to question her decision to hole up in the brothel loft, resounding as it was with the sounds of everyone else’s pleasure. Miserable, she rolled over and covered her head with the blankets. They were against her too, though; weeks had passed since they’d slept here, yet the wool smelled like Gwen.
A creak from the ladder sparked a weak hope in her chest until she realized the screeches were too loud, the intruder too heavy to be Gwen.
“Lancea.”
“Go away.”
Palahmed didn’t answer, but judging by further creaks, he take himself away either.
Throwing the blanket off, she scowled at him. “Aren’t you meant to be catching up with Safir?”
“I have done.” He climbed the rest of the way into the loft, then sat on the boards next to the mattress. “You look pitiful.”
“Then pity me and leave me be.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t leave me be, so no. Consider the favor returned. I want to tell you something. Are you sober?
“Depends. Is it horrible?”
He acknowledged that with a small smile. “It’s about Isolde.”
Elain groaned. “This is not the moment, Palahmed.”
But the stubborn arse didn’t move. Wasn’t going to be put off as easily as the blanket, evidently. She pulled it back and began to pluck at its threads with vicious jerks.
“When you found me here, I was heartbroken.”
She yanked a loose end, but it only crimped the weave, refusing to break.
“I told you Isolde broke my heart, but that wasn’t true.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Her brother did.”
Elain stopped picking at the blanket and looked at him.
He met her eyes briefly before looking down at his hands. “We met at his father’s harvest feast. He was hosting Lord Mark, as Isolde was betrothed to him. They conducted a strange sort of pantomime for the evenings’ entertainments. Each night, one or two men in attendance would vie for Isolde’s attention, attempt to lure her from her betrothal. These men would do their best and then Lord Mark would present himself as the better choice. It was all in fun and most likely a final test of Mark—Isolde’s father is fond of her. So I played along, made the required fool of myself. But it wasn’t Isolde I was trying to impress.”
“What happened?”
“My aim was true; her brother noticed. I made him smile, and then I succeeded in making him laugh. Then I intrigued him into a dark corner and made him smile again. It was a very good fortnight.” His features softened, his gaze seeing something she couldn’t. Then his expression clouded over. “You asked me why I have two swords.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. I had one made for him. Waited until the final evening to present it, in private. I waited, and waited some more. Eager. Stupidly so. When he didn’t show, I returned to the hall. Just in time to see him announce his own betrothal.”
“I’m sorry.”
He straightened and looked at her. “It hurt, yes. But it wasn’t a mortal wound. I’m more than a bit embarrassed by how I carried on afterward. By how you found me. Because what I had invested in him wasn’t half what you feel for your Gwen.”
She looked away from his intent stare. “She’s not my Gwen. She’s made that clear.”
“Nonsense. But Gwenhwyfar is a strong woman. She wants someone equally as strong.”
“Did someone tell you what happened?”
His eyes flickered. “Lucky guess.”
Was he lying? Gods, it had probably spread around the entire hall. The latest tragedy told over the evening fire for the prurient enjoyment of everyone in attendance. How mortifying.
Not that it mattered. “I’m not as strong as she is.”
“More nonsense. You left the only home you knew and made a life for yourself. Besides, strength is a quality we can develop. One we must develop. Strength and resilience.”
Resilient was the last thing she was just now. She didn’t even dare to breathe too deeply, lest her ribs prove as brittle as they felt.
“I need to tell you something else,” Palahmed said softly.
What were the chances she could command the beams overhead to collapse and end this misery? She tried, glaring at them, but they held. “Go on, then.”
His dark eyes caught hers. “We didn’t meet by accident.”
Echoes of her words to Bedwyr the previous autumn rang in her mind. A tendril of dread unfurled in her middle. “You don’t mean—”
“Your father sent me.”
She stared at him. “Why would he do that? Wait—he knew where I’d gone?”
Palahmed shrugged. “You had one other blood relation besides him. You were young and frightened. He guessed, correctly, that you would try family first. I didn’t confirm where you’d gone or how you called yourself, only that I’d found you.”
But Palahmed hadn’t found her—she had stumbled upon him one day, resting in the shade of a tree by the river…
…A stretch of the river she’d frequented because it was quiet and the flow of the water soothing to a troubled heart.
Of course he’d found her. He’d followed her enough to suss it was a favorite spot and then made her believe she’d discovered him.
“Why send you? To convince me to come back?” She racked her mind for the earliest conversations she’d had with this man, but couldn’t recall any such efforts on his part.
“No,” he said. “He knew you wouldn’t. He knew your strength, even if you didn’t. My task was to continue your training, in any manner I could.”
“The hired swordsman.”
He spread his hands, as if to say, At your service.
“Why?”
“To ensure you’d be able to defend yourself if need be. To give you the best chance possible in the world.”
She shook her head. “He told me he wouldn’t support me.”
“What did he say, precisely? No, don’t answer right away. Think. What words did he use?”
She looked away to the slope of the roof and thought back to that afternoon. How she’d only gotten up the nerve to enter his chambers late in the day, and only did so then because the prospect of spending the night with that churning belly was too much. When she’d told him she wanted to begin living who she was, who she truly was, he’d balked, disbelieving, and dismissed her with a warning not to speak of it again.
But she had done so, the next day and the next, and they’d argued, until finally he’d said—
“He said no woman would ever rule his lands.”
When Palahmed didn’t respond, she looked back to find him watching her. “Just so.”
“Just so? How is that good?”
“Don’t you see? He didn’t deny your womanhood. Didn’t deny who you are.”
“But he said I’d never rule as his heir—”
“Did he?”
Didn’t he?
“I’m not trying to change your memories of what happened, Elain. I’m only saying that by the time he sent me, Ban had accepted who you were. He only thought his people wouldn’t follow a woman.”
And that was what he’d said. But the words he’d chosen… She’d inferred that he wouldn’t personally allow it.
Did this mean that, if she went to him now… “I don’t know what to do.”
“I think you do.”
Because he was her friend and infuriating in his quest to keep her honest. “What if we’re wrong?” She looked at him, unable to admit how another rejection might break her.
“I don’t believe we are. I’ll go with you, but I think you should learn for yourself what your father meant those years ago.” He looked around the space. “What else are you going to do? Mope about?”
“You should talk.”
But he was right, damn him. She had to do it, needed to do it. And not to win back Gwen.
She needed to mend her heart if she was ever to be able to offer it to her at all.