CHAPTER FIVE

At the Foot of the FarReach Mountains

W hat do you think it is, Maxel?”

Ravenna sat down by him as he sprawled on his sleeping roll by the fire, the Weeper lying just before him, one of his hands resting lightly on it.

Maximilian gave a slight shrug. “I am not sure.” He trusted Ravenna, but he did not wish to speak to her of Elcho Falling. Not yet.

“Aha, an evasive answer.”

He smiled a little, and Ravenna took the opportunity to put a hand on his shoulder and lean over for a closer look. “May I touch it, Maxel?”

He was very conscious of her touch and wondered what to make of it. “Yes, of course.”

The pressure of her hand lifted as she moved it to the Weeper, gently stroking it several times.

“What did you feel?” said Maximilian.

“Nothing save cool metal. What do you feel from it, Maxel?”

How to answer that?

“Contentment, mostly.”

“Really?” she said. “How strange. I feel a slight irritation from it, as if it does not like me.”

She leaned back from him then, watching him carefully. “I had imagined this wait would chafe at you.”

“It does. Still…”

“Still?”

“Still, I would prefer this woman Salome to be among my party, and not haunting my back. She does not sound like a woman to cross.” He sighed. “But I wish we could move. I spend these idle hours wondering about Ishbel, wondering if she is well, wondering where she is…”

“Maxel, what can I do to help?”

Maximilian felt a rush of affection for Ravenna. He took her hand, and kissed it softly.

“Thank you for asking, Ravenna. Tell me, if you will, that I am not in the habit of ruining everyone’s lives.”

“You have not in the least ruined my life,” she said, very softly, “and I am sure everyone here would say the same. None of us were forced to join you. All of us would lose our right arms rather than lose you.”

He gripped her hand tightly, then let it go. “I worry so much about Ishbel—this man who has taken her…why? Is he taking care of her, and the child? What if—”

“Maxel, stop. I have not met Ishbel but she sounds like a strong woman.”

“She is lost, and very afraid.”

“As you are lost, and very afraid.”

Maximilian gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Maxel…would you like me to stay with you tonight?”

For a moment Maximilian did not quite understand what she was saying. Where would she go other than staying in this miserable campsite?

Then the meaning of her words hit home, and, gods help him, he reddened.

She gave a soft laugh, then briefly touched his cheek with one finger. “I do hope, Maxel, that Ishbel is as true to you as you are to her. I do hope she deserves you.”

“You should have offered when you rescued me from beyond the hanging wall, Ravenna. I would have accepted gladly then.”

“Ah,” she said, “but then I was young and foolish, and the Lord of Dreams filled my vision. I have come to regret that decision very greatly, Maximilian Persimius.”

And with that she rose, and joined her mother sitting at a fire shared with Serge and Doyle.

Venetia had watched the exchange between her daughter and Maximilian from the moment Ravenna had sat down with him. She’d seen the hand on the shoulder, the hair left to brush casually against his face, the brief swell of breast against her robe as Ravenna adjusted her position now and again.

It disturbed Venetia, although she could not for the moment pinpoint why. No marsh woman was particularly monogamous, and they were not renowned for respecting it in others.

But Maximilian…there was trouble there, Venetia could sense it.

Still, when Ravenna rejoined her, Venetia said nothing, and the two women spent a companionable hour combing out each other’s hair.

Her silence was something, much later, that Venetia would come to regret.