Part 39 (1/2)
”Finian?” she said thickly.
He was still crouched before her, watching her face and waiting. His forearms leaned against the edge of the bench, his palms lightly grasping her hips. One thumb stroked slowly, probably without him even realizing.
”Thank you for not letting my father die alone.”
”Ye're welcome, la.s.s.”
And that released the tears. She leaned forward until her forehead touched his, trying to make the hard bones of him steady her spinning head. Dimly, she heard the door open, then a set of footsteps draw to a halt, but Finian did not move away. His touch helped, but it didn't shut down the waterfall of emotions. And with the cascade of tears came images from her mother's book. They flashed and tumbled through her mind.
As the fragments spun through her thoughts, rotating into position and sinking into her memory, she realized something wasn't right. Or rather, wasn't complete.
She pushed back from Finian. ”Let me see that manual.”
He handed it over. She flipped through it, to the end. Then back a few pages, then slowly again, forward to the end.
”What is it?” Finian asked, a note of urgency in his voice tamped down but still audible. ”What is wrong?”
She looked up. ”This is missing pages.”
”How do ye know?”
She held it out. ”See, here. 'Tis torn.”
He ran his thick thumb over the faint, worn edge of a softly torn page.
”How much would that matter?” the king asked from the doorway.
She got to her feet and walked over. She flipped to the end and held the manual open between them. ”See these numbers? And this grouping of words and symbols? They are ingredients.”
The king looked at her, then Finian. ”I thought you said you knew nothing of dyeing.”
She heard Finian get to his feet. She gave a small shrug. ”'Tis true. I've no notion how I know such a thing. I simply...know.”
”'Tis in the blood, legend says.”
Senna sighed deeply. ”I am terribly tired of legends and things of the past. I do not know how I know these things. I simply do. And I can a.s.sure you the instructions on this page end too abruptly. There are more pages, and they are missing. And the computare computare for this”-she pointed to the s.h.i.+mmering tunic on the bench-”are on those missing pages.” for this”-she pointed to the s.h.i.+mmering tunic on the bench-”are on those missing pages.”
Finian drew a sharp breath. The king looked at him, then the fur on the sleeves of the king's robe brushed against her arm as he turned to Finian.
”Anyone could have them,” the king said. He started out the door, although Finian did not move. ”But it must be someone Red knew well. a.s.semble a small group of experienced men, Finian, men who know how to keep their heads down and their ears open. We have another contact who might have heard-”
”I know where they are,” Senna said in a clear voice. She felt like a bell ringing Prime. ”I know where the missing pages are.”
The king turned back in shock.
”Where?” Finian asked in a terrible, hollow voice.
”Rardove Keep.”
Finian closed his eyes. Senna stared at the wall.
The king said simply, ”We have to get them back.”
Chapter 50.
It was quiet in the chamber for a long time. Then, as if invisible words had formed in the air and drifted into Finian's ears alone, he turned and pinned the king in his sights.
”Nay.”
The O'Fail didn't s.h.i.+ft his gaze away from Senna. Finian stepped directly into his line of sight. ”No.”
The king looked at him then.
”She's not going back there,” Finian said curtly.
”She will buy us time.”
”She has been used by too many people to buy off too many things.”
”You don't see it, do you?” The O'Fail said, the level tone of his words underscoring their seriousness. ”First Scotland, then Ireland will fall to Edward, deeper and further, until they will never get out, not for a thousand years. If the Saxon king can get his men into any castle he wishes, unseen? If he can create small explosions in the bedchambers of any n.o.bleman who opposes him?” The king's words slowed. ”Edward cannot be given such power as the Wishmes, Finian. He must be stopped.”
”So be it. I'll kill him.”
The O'Fail gave a bark of laughter. ”If they have the recipe, you'd have to kill every king to come after as well, son. And in any event, you couldn't get within a league of Longshanks, not with you being the one who stole his dye-witch. You'll be killed on sight.”
Senna lifted her head and the king glanced over. She looked away, picked up a piece of straw, and began knotting it, little knots up its length. The moon was rising higher. The rounded edge of it slid into view through the narrow window.
”Ye will not be sending her back,” Finian repeated flatly.
The king studied Senna's profile. ”No,” he agreed slowly, looking back to Finian. ”'Tisn't the sort of thing you do to to a soul. They've to choose it themselves.” a soul. They've to choose it themselves.”
”Good.” Finian stared at the king hard, his words slowing to the pace of the dripping water in the cistern. ”We are in agreement. She stays.”
The king lifted his eyebrows. ”I'll not send her anywhere.”
Finian nodded and turned. ”Ye're not to worry, la.s.s. Ye're not going back.”
”Of course I'm not,” she said agreeably.
He paused. ”'Tis too dangerous.”
”Of course it is.”
His eyes narrowed.