The Crown of Dalemark (The Dalemark Quartet 4)

“Thanks,” said Kialan. “I’d promised Ynen. And you’re riding with this Noreth Onesdaughter?”

“Down to Kernsburgh,” said Mitt. “I suppose.”

“I’ll join you there,” said Kialan. “With Ynen. Wait for us if we’re not there first. It’s going to take a bit of planning.” He swung Mitt round again, and they strolled back down the steps. “So where did you make landfall?” he asked loudly, for the benefit of the hearthmen across the courtyard.

“Holy Isles,” said Mitt. “And right weird they were.”

“I’ve heard they are,” Kialan agreed. “Where then?”

“Blown north again to Aberath,” Mitt said. “We never saw the coast till then. We’d no idea we’d come that far.”

“Amazing,” said Kialan. “Well, thanks for telling me.” He let go of Mitt’s arm.

“You’re welcome,” Mitt said, backing away. “Tell Moril I’ll be with Navis when he wants us.”

“Right,” said Kialan, strolling back toward the others. Brid waved and called out something happy to both of them.

Mitt could not face happy scenes. He went the other way, back up the steps with long, busy strides, pretending he had something important to do. His mind was all over the place. He needed to be alone to think. But there were people everywhere, in happy, chatting groups. Back and forth went Mitt, looking as busy as he knew how, through gardens, under arches, across a wide paved court, into buildings again. And always there were people. Until at last he came out into a gravel court where there was a small separate building, a funny domed place that looked older than all the rest. Nobody seemed to be about here. Mitt went cautiously in through its arched doorway. Inside, it seemed to be a stone summerhouse with a stone table up some steps at one end. Mitt sat on one of the stone benches that curved round the walls, between bundles of twisted greenstone pillars, and gave himself thankfully up to thought.

So Ynen was in Hannart, then, right under Keril’s eye. It made sense. Even Navis would hardly try to get Ynen out of there. But Kialan could. Who would have thought it? Mistrustfully Mitt tried to tell himself that Kialan had not meant a word of what he seemed to mean. He was just acting for his father, getting Mitt to betray himself. “And I did—didn’t I just!” Mitt said aloud. But as the words echoed round the domed room, he knew that Kialan had been entirely straight with him. Kialan was all right. The bitter, disillusioned feeling that made Mitt not want to trust anyone was about Hildy, not Kialan. He knew very well how Kialan came to think so differently from his father. Mitt had only to recall that glimpse he had had, of Kialan shuffling through Holand, a prisoner of Navis’s father, to know it. Over a year ago it had been now, but Mitt remembered it as fresh as if it were yesterday. No doubt Kialan remembered even better. Kialan knew all about how it felt to be in the power of a

n earl.

All the same, Kialan had no call to say Hildy was like Earl Hadd. Mitt decided he hated Kialan for that—all the more because he suspected Kialan might be right.

“Damned earls and their families!” Mitt said out loud, clenching both hands on the edge of the stone seat. His eyes glared ahead at the stone table and the lopsided metal cup on it. Hildy and Kialan between them had mixed his mind up properly.

His eyes suddenly told him what they were seeing. That stone table was an altar. There was an image in a niche above it of an old man lifting up a mountain. The One. That meant that the lopsided cup had to be the one Noreth wanted—the Adon’s cup.

Mitt clutched the stone bench even harder. It was the perfect opportunity. All he had to do was walk over, pick the thing up, and stuff it down the front of his jacket. Noreth would rejoice. And with the school swarming with people, if somebody did notice the cup was gone and raise a shout, how were they to know which of the crowd had taken it? If Mitt took it and went now, through the valley and up to the green road, he could be gone before anyone could do anything. So why was he sitting here like an idiot, clinging to a stone seat until his fingers hurt?

Because it was stealing. Because he had made that promise to Alk. Because he had spoken words to Old Ammet and to Libby Beer—who had been around yesterday and today, perhaps to remind Mitt of those words. Mitt grinned, a bent, unfunny smile. Funny the way it was never enough to swear and promise just the once. You seemed to have to rethink and repromise every time the subject came up. Mitt’s smile narrowed away. This time he would be stealing from the One, and even sane, level Alk was cautious with the One. On the other hand, Noreth was the One’s own daughter, and the One wanted her to have the cup. And now, after Hildy and Kialan had mixed Mitt’s mind up, he felt like doing something bad. It would be a waste not to, really.

Mitt unclenched his fists from the bench and stood up. He listened. All the voices and footsteps he could hear were off in the distance. What he could see of the gravel court through the doorway was empty. So. Get it over with.

Mitt took three long strides to the altar. There he flinched and froze. He could have sworn a shadow, like an old man with a long nose, had swung through the room as he took the third step. As if someone had flitted across the doorway. But he stood and he waited and he listened and no feet crunched on the gravel outside. The new view he had of the court from here was empty. He stretched out a cautious hand and grasped the cup round its wide, uneven stem.

The domed room filled with crackling blue light.

Mitt leaped back. One arm was over his face and watering eyes. The other hand was fizzing, prickling, and stinging, and he shook it frantically. The light was gone by then. Mitt blinked away tears and dazzle, panting. No wonder no one bothered to guard this cup. The thing looked after itself. He looked round nervously, hoping that no one had been near enough to see the One’s chapel suddenly fill with light.

Somebody must have been. There were shouts outside, loud and desperate, from somebody young.

14

Maewen had had enough of Hildy by then. Navis was being far too patient with her. “Now look, my dear,” he was saying, as they wandered through the garden by the gate, “it really is vital that you come away with us today. If you remain here, you’re playing into Earl Keril’s hands. He’s using you as a hostage for my behavior—not to speak of Mitt’s.”

“Let’s not speak of Mitt,” said Hildy.

“All right, we’ll speak of you, then,” Navis agreed. “Everyone else goes away from here today, isn’t that right? Surely you would prefer not to be left all alone in this place all summer.”

The fierce little frown grew between Hildy’s brows. “Why are you bothering now? I was alone here for nearly two weeks at spring recess—at least, Biffa was here, too, but it was nearly alone—and I didn’t mind.”

“Things have changed since then,” Navis said patiently.

“What things?” said Hildy.

“Politics. I know now that you were sent to this place as part of a plan,” Navis explained. “The plans I’ve made to counter the earls’ move could make it very dangerous for you. Keril knows you are here. He has only to take you away. Anyway, the only safe thing for you to do is to be with me for the next three months. I—”