Free The Misbegotten King by Anne Kelleher Bush Page A

anything like that.”
    “You don’t know…” she echoed. She gazed at Vere,at the Muten dress he wore, the gray cloak held at his throat by an iron clasp of Muten make, at the faded Muten tattoos which
     swirled upon his thin cheeks. “You don’t know.”
    With a motion so fast he didn’t have time to flinch, she was on him, her dagger held to his throat. He stumbled back, taken
     completely by surprise, as she twisted her hands in the fabric of his tunic. She felt his body go limp beneath her as she
     pressed the edge of the weapon beneath his chin, the pain in her upper arm and shoulder entirely forgotten.
    “Kill me if you wish, M’Callaster.” His eyes were steady and dark in the shadowed light. “But I swear I had nothing to do
     with the ambush.”
    For a moment she hesitated, tightening her grip in the fabric of his tunic. She felt his body relax beneath her, and he moved
     only slightly, tilting his chin up in a gesture of submission. With a sigh, she let go and moved back, sheathing the dagger
     as she did so. “I’m sorry,” she spoke over her shoulder. “I know there’s a traitor—even if Brand refuses to believe me—and
     now—”
    “I assure you that attack had nothing to do with either Atland or the traitor.” Vere rose to his feet, brushing debris off
     his clothes. “It is as well that Roderic has called this Convening—Atland’s sons had better give up this nonsense of rebellion,
     or there will be nothing for them to fight over.”
    “What do you mean?” Deirdre gathered her cloak around her, thankful that the heavy wool stayed dry despite the steady drip
     of the rain beneath the thick branches.
    “Come, M’Callaster—with some luck, I can get us to Ithan. We may be able to travel more quickly—now.” Hepaused, and his face was grim. “We have a few hours of daylight left. I know a place not far from here where we can spend
     the night.”
    “Tell me what the ambush means to you,” she said as she hastened after him.
    Vere paused and looked around, squinting through the trees. “This way. And not now. The forest may hide more secrets… and
     sharper ears than you might imagine may be listening.”
    Deirdre glanced over her shoulder. Nothing moved but the steady drip of the rain. A breeze made the leaves shiver on the branches.
     The forest was still. “Lead on.”
    Through the still and silent afternoon he led her, easing under branches, over underbrush, treading as carefully as a lycat
     in his boots of smooth leather. She followed as quietly as she could, cursing more than once the life she had spent in the
     saddle. As the light began to fade, Vere emerged into a clearing. “Here,” he said, his voice low. “See there—we can shelter
     there for the night.”
    Over his shoulder, Deirdre saw the shell of an abandoned building. She looked down and abruptly realized they had been following
     the remains of an old road, heavy with undergrowth, the black surface nearly obscured by the forest around it, but the ghost
     of which had been sufficient for Vere to follow. A wind whined through the branches, and abruptly she shivered.
    “There will be dry wood inside,” Vere said, as if he had noticed her shudder. “Come, M’Callaster.”
    Silently he led her through the falling dark, into the crumbling shell of the building. With a dubious eye, she surveyed the
     crumbling mortar and stone blocks. Such sights were common all over Meriga. Vere fumbled in acorner and emerged carrying what looked like a clear-faced, shiny cylinder. He pressed a button on its side and abruptly light
     flooded the space. Deirdre jumped. “What’s that?”
    “Cold fire torch,” he said shortly, as though he didn’t want to be questioned further. “You should understand, M’Callaster,
     that there are things here you may not understand. It would be better if you kept your questions to a minimum… I would prefer
     not to lie.”
    “Why would you lie?”
    “There are things here I am