‘It will lift morale among the men.’ Taking her hand he kissed her palm, then rose and moved towards the door. At the doorway he paused and spoke without looking back. ‘I have left something for you – in my study. It is wrapped in velvet.’
And then he was gone.
Within minutes Pudri appeared, bearing a tray which he laid down beside her. There were three honey-cakes and a goblet of apple-juice. ‘The Lord looks very magnificent today,’ said the little man, and Rowena saw that his expression was sorrowful.
‘What is wrong, Pudri?’
‘I don’t like battles,’ he told her. ‘So much blood and pain. But it is even worse when the reasons for battle have long been overtaken by events. Men will die today for no reason. Their lives will be snuffed out like midnight candles. And for why? And will it end here? No. When Gorben is strong enough he will lead a vengeance invasion against the people of Naashan. Futile and stupid!’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it is because I am a eunuch that I do not understand such matters.’
‘You understand them very well,’ she said. ‘Tell me, was I a good seeress?’
‘Ah, you must not ask me this, my lady. That was yesterday, and it has flown away into the past.’
‘Did the Lord Michanek ask you to withhold my past from me?’
He nodded glumly. ‘It was for love that he asked this of me. Your Talent almost killed you and he did not wish for you to suffer again. Anyway, your bath is prepared. It is hot and steaming, and I managed to find some rose oil for the water.’
An hour later Rowena was walking through the garden when she saw that the window to Michanek’s study was open. This was unusual, for there were many papers here and the summer breezes would often scatter them around the room. Moving inside, she opened the door and pulled shut the small window. Then she saw the package on the oak desk. It was small and, as Michanek had said, was wrapped in purple velvet.
Slowly she unwrapped the velvet to find a small, unadorned wooden box with a hinged lid, which she opened. Within lay a brooch which was simply, even crudely, made of soft copper strands surrounding a moonstone. Her mouth was suddenly dry. A part of her mind told her the brooch was new to her, but a tiny warning bell was ringing in the deep recesses of her soul. This is mine!
Her right hand dropped slowly towards the brooch, then stopped, the fingers hovering just above the moonstone. Rowena drew back, then sat down. She heard Pudri enter the room.
‘You were wearing that when I first saw you,’ he said gently. She nodded, but did not answer. The little Ventrian approached and handed her a letter, sealed with red wax. ‘The Lord asked me to give you this when you had seen his . . . gift.’
Rowena broke the seal and opened the letter. It was written in Michanek’s bold, clear script.
Greetings, Beloved.
I am skilled with the sword, and yet, at this moment, I would sell my soul to be as skilful with words. A long time ago, as you lay dying, I paid three sorcerers to seal your Talents deep within you. In doing so they closed also the doorways of memory.
The brooch was, they told me, made for you as a gift of love. It is the key to your past, and a gift for your future. Of all the pain I have known, there is no suffering greater than the knowledge that your future will be without me. Yet I have loved you, and would not change a single day. And if, by some miracle, I was allowed to return to the past and court you once more, I would do so in the same way, in ful knowledge of the same outcome.
You are the light in my life and the love of my heart.
Farewell, Pahtai. May your paths be made easy, and your soul know many joys.
The letter fell from her hands, floating to the floor. Pudri stepped forward swiftly and placed his slender arm around her shoulders. ‘Take the brooch, my lady!’