Chapter Two
“If you don’t intend to take the road,” Elfrede said carefully, the pop and hiss of the fire lighting up his voice— “just how do you intend to go?”
“Through the woods,” Avvin said, gazing into the flames.
“Through which woods?” Brigit gasped.
“The woods,” Avvin said, lifting her eyebrows delicately.
“The ones between here and Hume?” Brigit asked, as if she hoped there might be some other.
“Yes,” Avvin said, turning a smile on her. “I’ve always had a little hankering to see those woods.”
“The ones between here and your father’s place,” Elfrede said weakly.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” the Lady went on sweetly. “We’ll be starting a little late in the year, and it takes three times as long to go around by the road as it would if you went straight through.”
“If you could go straight through,” Brigit said, her eyes wide. “Avvin. You’re serious, aren’t you? You want us to sneak you out of here against your guardian’s wishes. Against our wishes. Just the way it always was—Avvin comes up with the ideas and we live with the consequences? Well, this time, it means possible death and dismemberment —and I’m not even talking about Roger. You think there isn’t a reason for those woods to have been forbidden?”
“I’ve always wanted to find out why,” Avvin murmured.
“Oh, well,” Brigit said, slumping back into her chair.
“Look at the two of you,” Avvin laughed. “Don’t worry—I’ve got it all figured out. Buck up, you sad things. You used to love camping-—”
Brigit muttered something under her breath.
“You don’t hear Thomas complaining do you? And he’s the only one with any real reason to.” Avvin folded her hands in her lap.
Brigit sent a pointed glare towards the bed, but Thomas was no longer sitting up. “Thomas,” Brigit reminded her, “is a fool.”
“Thanks so very much,” they heard Thomas say, his voice muffled by the covers.
“We will assume she was speaking pragmatically,” Elfrede sighed, straightening his back. Avvin beamed at him. He blinked back at her.
“The question is,” he said, “are you—indeed— serious? Away from the light and the fire, and all that’s familiar, to enter a forest that, from the time your own parents were children, has been strictly forbidden to decent folk. Avvin, it could be full of bandits—or worse. We have no guide. No idea how to get through it. And all of this so that you can go and visit a regent who would just as soon you dropped dead before your wedding so he could be Lord of Hume in Roger’s place. . .”
She nodded.
He sighed, painfully. “Just tell me, girl,” he said. “Why?”
“For the adventure, Elfrede.” She was sober now. She met his eyes and spoke plainly. “We’re all grown up now. Soon enough we’ll be old—totally wound around with duties and expediencies. I want just one more adventure. As if we were still young and wild. As if there were no marriage, no practicalities, no duties. Before we’re set in stone.”
“Irresponsible,” Brigit muttered.
“Just so,” Avvin said. “Just so. And understand this: I’m serious about Roger. He’s gotten so heavy minded—no romance, no fun—no imagination. The fact that he could actually cause Thomas hurt—and not even so much as send for word about him after—it just shows how far along the road we’ve come.” She stared into the fire, her eyes narrowed. “And even if we die in those woods—which I don’t suppose we will—but even if we did—” she threw her hands out, “at least we’d be going out in the midst of life, instead of drifting into death all along the way.”
“Yes. That would be a comfort,” Brigit murmured.
“Just like old times,” Avvin cajoled. “All of us together—”
“Without Roger,” Brigit pointed out.
“Like before all this Lord and Lady business started—”
Elfrede blinked into the fire, not pleased, but not as untouched as Brigit. “And how do you expect us to live?” he asked her.
“As bandits,” Avvin said, eyes laughing.
“I’m trying to address the practical aspects of the first few days,” he said mildly.
“You’re taking her seriously.” Brigit stared at him.
“Aren’t you?” he asked.
“How could I?”
“Oh, Gid,” Avvin said. “You used to have more imagination than anybody, the tales you told.”
“When we were children,” Brigit said.
“When the gardens outside this wall were all there was to the world for us,” Avvin agreed. “But you’ve gone scullery, my girl. You should see how obvious it is in your face.”
“You really have,” a faint voice said, coming from the bed.
“And you’d better mind it, too,” Brigit snarled that way. “I think you’re all mad as march hares.”
“Then you be in charge of our little traveling scullery,” Avvin told her, “because you know what to pack and how to keep it. And this is how we’ll go—Elfrede, you change into traveling gear, and get us up a few weapons, and some string, and fishhooks, and a flint, and that sort of thing. It may be rough in that wood, who knows? But I doubt it—there’s more tale than truth to those old stories, to my mind. Anyway—Giddy, you go as a boy.”
“Pardon me?” Brigit said.
“Hose and doublet, please.”
“That‘ll be cute,” came from the bed.
“And a cap over the hair, and a short sword,” Avvin went on, unmindful of the outrage on Brigit’s face, “and you’ll have to leave those keys.”
Brigit’s mouth fell open. “My keys?” she said, her hand going to the wad she wore at her waist. “This is the whole household. I’m not going to leave them.”
“You’re leaving the household,” Avvin pointed out.
“I won’t do it,” Brigit said, and by her face, meant it.
“You’ll be sorry if you don’t,” Avvin told her. “They’re heavy, and they’re loud.”
“I won’t do it,” Brigit maintained.
“All right then,” Avvin said, waiving the argument away. “But you’ll have to bundle them so they don’t jingle. Stick them in with the bread and the cheese and whatever else you’ll need. Oh, stop. It’s not like I’m asking you to cut your hair, for heaven’s sake.”
“And how are you going?” Brigit demanded.
Avvin looked surprised. “As myself,” she said, as if it were only obvious.
“So, you’re going to travel in brocades and watered silks?” Brigit folded her arms.
“How else?” Avvin asked. “I just got a new pair of Italian traveling boots, my girl, and I don’t intend to let them go to waste.”
“Oh, of course,” Brigit said, steaming. “But why don’t you go as the boy, Lady, dear? You‘re the one who’s so proud of her arms training. You could carry a sword and know what to do with it—”
“You’ll know what to do with it,” Avvin serenely assured her.
“You were always nearly as good as Roger,” Brigit pointed out.
Avvin rolled her eyes. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “Anyway, I’d never make a convincing man” She laughed. “As though a doublet on me would actually disguise anything important.” An indignant huff came from Brigit. Avvin smiled and smoothed her skirts. “I really will be more useful as a girl—you’ll see.”
“With a dagger stuck in your garters, I suppose,” the voice came weakly from the bed.
“Just so,” Avvin said, sounding satisfied. “How are you doing, Thomas?”
“I’m dying,” he said.
“Well, then,” Avvin said, beaming at them all. “There it is. You,” she said, smiling at the steward, “will be Elfrede. You,” to the glowering Bridgit, “will be Giddy. And Thomas will be Tommy or Thomas or—no,” she said, catching Brigit’s look, “you may not call him that. And I—” Her cheeks went bright and flushed, and she shifted a shy look into the fire. “I’d really like it if you would call me Vinny, the way you used to.”
Brigit moaned.
“No, I really would. And there’s one more thing. Wouldn’t you feel better,” she asked, turning earnestly to Elfrede, “if we had just one more man along? A soldier?”
He blinked in surprise and then found himself nodding. “But where could we get one?” he asked her.
“We’re going to have to be careful about how we leave. Even if we take the postern gate, there’s going to be a guard—”
“Especially if we take the postern gate,” said Brigit—or, will-she, nill-she, Giddy.
“John Ethel∂orn is down there tonight,” Elfrede said.
Now Avvin turned an entirely different look into the fire, one eyebrow arched delicately. “Really,” she said, sounding not at all unpleased. “Then don’t you think we should be impressing him into our company? Because he’d have to give us away, otherwise.”
“Yes, I think he would,” Elfrede agreed. A tiny, joyful flame had come up inside him—an old feeling: terrifyingly spring-like.
“Then it’s settled. One hour from now, when it’s darkest and most exciting . . . be back here with all your gear, ready to go. And I promise you,” she said, this time directly to Giddy, “should anyone trip us up—”
But Giddy stuck her nose in the air.
“All right, then,” Avvin said, rubbing her lovely hands together. “Get going.”
Thomas startled when she touched him, for all as gentle as she’d done it. He blinked at her through his swollen eyes. “It’s insane,” he croaked. “What you’re doing.”
She smiled. “I know it,” she said. She ran her fingers lightly through his hair, frowning to herself. “You haven’t been happy for years, my little friend,” she said, finally, softly. “I don’t want you to die in this place.”
He closed his eyes.
“Why they ever made you a clown . . . .” She shook her head and then leaned over and kissed him carefully on the forehead. “Thomas, my friend,” she whispered. “Sleep while you can. This little walk will be hardest on you.”
He opened his eyes and squinted up at her.
She only smiled at him and patted him back to sleep.