“It’s only one rogue band, Lia, not an army. We’ve always had those. And the attack was on a remote border,” Pauline argued.
I walked over to the fireplace and stared at the small flame. She was right on that count. But this time it was something more. I could feel it. It was something gray and grim slithering through me. I remembered the hesitation in Walther’s voice. We’ll keep them out. We always do. But not this time.
It had been brewing all along. I just hadn’t seen it. A crucial alliance, my mother had called it. Was sacrificing a daughter the only way to achieve it? Maybe it was when so much distrust had been banked for centuries. This alliance was meant to be more than a piece of paper that could be burned. It was to be an alliance made of flesh and blood.
I looked down at the tiny white lace cap in my hands that I had planned to give to Walther and Greta. I fingered the lace, remembering the joy I had in buying it. Greta was dead. The baby was dead. Walther was a crazed man.
I tossed it into the fire, heard the hushed murmurs around me, watched the lace catch, curl, blacken, flame, become ash. As if it had never been there.
“I need to go wash up.” My legs were still caked in mud.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Pauline asked.
“No,” I answered, and quietly closed the door behind me.
On the far side of death,
Past the great divide,
Where hunger eats souls,
Their tears will increase.
—Song of Venda
CHAPTER FORTY
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
I had been standing in the meadow for two hours, throwing my knife over and over again. It was a small stump, and I rarely missed anymore. I had trampled the wild mustard down into a straight neat path from going to retrieve the knife. There were only a few stray throws when I had allowed my mind to wander.
Thunk.
Thunk.
And then the whir, the chink, the swish of it missing its mark and disappearing into the tall grass behind the stump. Walther’s words, Walther’s face, Walther’s anguish wouldn’t leave me. I tried to sort it all into something that made sense, but there was no sense, not when it came to murder. Greta wasn’t a soldier. The baby hadn’t even drawn a first breath. Savages. I went to find my knife, lost somewhere in the grass.
“Lia?”
I turned. It was Kaden. He swung down from his horse. I knew by his manner he had heard something, probably from hushed voices in the tavern.
“How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t hard.”
The meadow bordered the road leading out of town. I supposed I was in full view of anyone passing by.
“Berdi said you and Rafe went out early this morning. Before sunup.” I listened to the flatness of my voice. It sounded like it belonged to someone else.
“I don’t know where Rafe went. I had some arrangements to take care of.”
“The duties you spoke of.”