“You walked all the way from Woggle?” Eigaze wailed. “I did. I stole clothes from the next room and was gone. I was rained on, eaten by dogs, and chased by a mad bull. I slept in a hedge.” He sighed elaborately. ”But the pleasure of your company makes up for such trivial hardships.”
Hardgraa looked baffled. It was impossible to believe that Ylo would have deliberately put himself into the state of collapse in which he had arrived. His leg had certainly been bitten by something, and the soles of his feet had been raw. He could still barely walk. So part of his story had to be believed, and he knew that. What reason could he have for inventing the rest of it?
Hardgraa thought he knew the answer.
They moved then to the fireplace to drink coffee. The servants were dismissed, even the odiously attentive Ukka. The scene was an eerie echo of the previous evening, long ago when life had been much simpler. Dust motes glinted in beams of sunlight from high windows; ancestral portraits frowned down through the smoke-stain of decades. There was no fire this time, for the Great Hall was still warm from the day, but the same four persons gathered on the same seats.
The fifth, the newcomer, sprawled back in a soft armchair with his feet up on a stool, and regarded their shocked, worried faces with cynical unconcern. His amusement seemed designed to antagonize them all. He was openly baiting Hardgraa at every opportunity, being little more respectful to the count and countess. He had known about Shandie’s death for a month and thus had had time to adjust, but his attitude was cruelly callous.
He almost ignored Eshiala; his occasional sultry glances seemed to convey no messages, just curiosity. She was disappointed, somehow. She certainly had not wanted Ylo bursting into Yewdark playing passionate lover, but at the moment she could have used a strong, supportive friend. He had always been good at cheering her up. Now she felt that he was laughing at her.
“I was thinking about the preflecting pool,” he said before the count could start the conversation. “I forget how much you were told about it, Aunt.” His dark eyes flickered over Eshiala. He knew very well how much she had been told, but only he knew whether there had been any truth in it.
“Not much, dear.”
“Four of us got prophecies. Hardgraa, here, didn’t want to get his feet wet. We had the choice of the good or the bad, and only old Umpily had the sense to choose the bad.”
Eigaze remembered that she was supposed to pour the coffee, and spasmed into action. “Yes?”
“I think its forecasts were probably sound,” Ylo said, smirking at the centurion’s continuing scowls, “but the poor thing was limited to a single picture. If it could have talked, it would have done better. And dangers are easier to illustrate than opportunities, aren’t they?”
The count nodded, although he seemed to be barely listening. No one said anything. Again Eshiala sensed devilment lurking under those long lashes. Surely even Ylo would not drag her into this, naked among the daffodils? She did not trust him, though. She did not trust him at all.
“I think we tend to take such things too literally. No cream, thank you, Aunt. Sir Acopulo described the visions as signposts, and for once I think the old crab had a point. Umpily saw a dwarf on the Opal Throne, but as far as we know, he hasn’t seen that actual scene, not in reality. It was a symbol, a warning—a signpost. Acopulo himself was directed to Doctor Sagorn, of course, who could have identified Krasnegar for us right away.”
“I wonder what good such a device can do,” Eigaze sighed.
Ylo beamed, and again glanced momentarily at Eshiala, to see how she was taking this. “It helped me! I saw a woman. But again, you see, she was only a signpost.”
“To whose bed?”
“Centurion!” Eigaze protested.
“Away from the grave!” Ylo said dramatically. “Without the prophecy, I would have accepted the honor of Rivermead when Shandie offered it to me.”
“So?”
“So I would now be very dead! The goblins overran it. It was still burning the following dawn.”
He was saying that he no longer believed the vision of Eshiala among the daffodils? That the assignation was not preordained after all? She had never really believed in it, but she had thought he did. He might have invented the whole thing. What woman would ever be fool enough to believe Ylo?
“And what good did Shandie’s prophecy do him?” Hardgraa asked.
“None. It led him to his death. But you see, he waited too long. That’s what I realized on my stroll in from Woggle. Remember we got back to Hub a day or two later—after the pool business, I mean—and found the Impire falling apart?” Suddenly Ylo was starkly serious. “Acopulo failed to track down Sagorn. Shandie failed to track down Krasnegar. He didn’t act on the warning soon enough! If he’d gone off to talk with King Rap last summer, then things might have been different, a lot different. You can’t blame the poor old pool; it did its best.”
He sipped coffee, eyeing them all over the top of the cup.
The count had been sitting hunched forward in his chair even more than usual; now he roused himself with an effort. He seemed frail. “So what do we do now?”
Ylo raised eyebrows in astonishment. “I have no idea what you do, my lord. I know what I’m doing. I’m just passing through.”
“Going where?”
“Oh, somewhere with a warm climate.” He glanced around to judge reactions. “I’ve played my part in this. I find history-making a very stressful occupation. I’m going to give it up. Now I shall find me a beautiful rich heiress and settle down. I have a couple of candidates in mind.”
Eshiala was not a rich heiress. She was a penniless refugee, bound to a child who belonged to the Imperial government. She must either surrender to the Covin or flee, abducting the lawful impress, which was at least a capital offence. She could see no escape, no road that did not end in disaster.
But of course her decision would be made for her by the count and the centurion. Shandie had left them in charge. Hardgraa’s dislike and distrust of Ylo were palpable. “He’s still an Imperial soldier, my lord. You can give him orders. We don’t know that he’s telling the truth.”
Ionfeu nodded. “If he is, then the news will certainly reach Faintown very soon. Ylo, you will remain here at Yewdark until I give you leave to depart.”
“As you command, sir. I have no desire to walk anywhere for a while yet. Is there any coffee left, Aunt?”
“We must review our options,” Ionfeu said.
“Please!” Ylo raised a hand. “I don’t want to hear them! I don’t want to know! I don’t want to be involved. In fact, if you will excuse me, I think I’ll retire and catch up on some more rest.”
The others watched in rockbound silence as he climbed painfully to his feet. He looked them over disdainfully. “Don’t forget the other prophecy.”
“What other prophecy?” Ionfeu snarled.
“The Sisters, when I was a baby. I told you on the boat, remember? It happened as they said. My family was destroyed. Now the Impire, also. The millennium has come, and the world you know is being stood on its head! Remember that when you make your plans, my lord!”
He bowed, then turned away and hobbled toward the stair. Eshiala wondered how she could ever have thought him charming, or amusing, or attractive. Only—damn him!—handsome.
5
He had left his door ajar and a light showing. She pushed it open without a knock, closed it and leaned against it, her heart thumping as if lions pursued her. Her palms were wet with fear.
He had been reading, or pretending to read; lying on the bed, still wearing his doublet. He laid down his book and regarded her with affected surprise. His lower half was under a coverlet, and she supposed he might have stripped down to his bandages for comfort. But he was respectable, even if this meeting was not. Whatever would her mother say if she knew?
She was too frantic to care about propriety . . . “I must talk with you!” she said.
“I was afraid of that.”
“The count has gone crazy!” She realized she was shouting and lowered her voice. “And Hardgraa seems to agree with him. They’re talking of handing Maya over to the Covin!”
That awful news did not appall Ylo as she had expected. He shrugged.
“I thought they might come to that conclusion. There’s this mystic thing about the blood that some people have, the line of descent from Emine. Gods, but they have a lot of faith in fidelity, don’t they?”