Darling,
Not to be dramatic, but when you read this, I will begone.
I know you are trying, and that my disappearance will be anadmittance to something I am not responsible for. Be cross, because youshould be. But know there is not a book in the world I will miss as muchas your smile.
I have also written to Nabeel, so you can burn this if youlike.
Perhaps in another world, we will laugh about this one day. Fornow, I simply did not wish for you to have to make a choice that wouldcause you pain.
So, Dearest, I have made it for you.
Anonymous letter penned to Her Majesty Aldreda Arden-Draca, 713 A.S.
FORTY-SEVEN
Half drowned from the rain and the climb, they finally clambered into the washed-out streets of the small, sloped town of Glan Ystwyth.
Hunkered in Eascild’s shadow, Glan Ystwyth was far enough from her walls and small enough to have grown without comment, but still large enough to have several inns for the comers and goers not tying up in Eascild’s walled harbour. There were signs of travel everywhere, emptied carts, hurriedly stored wagons. The back streets were blessedly deserted, but the six of them waited out of sight of the inn Osian had suggested, brushing as much sand from their wet clothes as possible. Then it was time.
With more people came improvisation, but it should work. Hopefully.
Meilyr, Pedr and Haydn sneaked around the small inn, into the alleyway behind. Celyn, Faina and Deryn went to secure rooms.
Celyn had, of course, protested separating from Meilyr, but Meilyr was the most likely person to be recognised, and Pedr and Haydn the most injured. Besides, one young man and his two sisters made a better cover story than anything else they could spin.
The three of them waited, hoods pulled low, crouched in a merciful clutch of bushes. After what felt like bells, the low creak of a window above made them all jump.
It was Celyn. Catching sight of them, he looked both ways and waved them up.
Time for a little more blood.
They moved to the wall. Meilyr half expected it not to work, but as he opened his hand and scraped his dirtied palm across yet more climbers, they took up the call and stiffened, thickened, grew.
Thankfully, Celyn and the others were only one floor up. Celyn suspended himself out to haul in Pedr, then – a small, hushed argument, which Meilyr won – Haydn went and, finally, Celyn’s hands were on Meilyr’s arms and shoulders, heaving him in. Down to the now-dirtied floorboards of the inn room.
He let himself crumple, still held by his brother, the roar of his blood so rough it would be a blessing if he passed out. The world was not so kind, but they had all made it, collapsed around the small room, knackered.
‘We had to get two rooms,’ Faina said, ‘attached. I had to use most of the coin – I’ll pay you back.’
Meilyr made a noise of dismissal and let Celyn prop him up beneath the window. ‘Not a worry. I split it between us in case we got separated, I do not need it back.’
Osian had given him a small mountain of coin: golds and silvers, Khaim-wrought but also comforting Cyngaleg-made. Princes did not carry money, but he had procured it, somehow.
Osian.
Meilyr had been trying so hard, and failing wretchedly, not to think about him. Wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and stop.
But he had helped them get this far. They needed him to push just a little further.
‘We have to keep our voices down.’ He rose, with Celyn’s assistance. ‘Be prepared to hide if there is a knock.’
‘Is anyone intending to sleep ever again?’ Faina sank into a chair.
Haydn had propped Pedr near the bed and leaned heavily on the wall. ‘I might sleep for a year.’
‘We should dry our clothes,’ Meilyr said. They were all dripping. ‘Get warm, prepare for the journey.’
Tired, easy agreement.