Free Crystal Rose by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

were absent that day, and they’re a stubborn lot.” He leaned forward in
his chair, gray eyes on Taminy. “They wait, Lady. They wait for a Sign. From
you. You’ve disappeared from sight, their Cyne is dead and his heir has vacated
the capitol. As you say, they were willing to pledge to you at first flush, but
now they waver. I speak to them of you, but I can only offer them words.”
    Taminy nodded. “You wish to carry away some direct message
from me. Some . . . token.”
    “Aye. Exactly that.”
    “When you leave, I’ll have something to send to each House.
Will you deliver these tokens, sir?”
    Iobert bowed his head, submissively, making his nephew
twitch.
    “Chill hell take me if I don’t, Lady. I’ll see that the
tokens are delivered.”
    “Will that be dangerous to you and yours, sir?” Taminy
asked, and seemed genuinely concerned. “I think of Daimhin Feich. He must
surely suspect where your loyalties lie.”
    Saefren’s ears pricked up at this. It was the first time
he’d heard the Golden Wicke indicate there might be minds she couldn’t fathom.
He caught his uncle’s eye, but the older Claeg gave no indication that he was
thinking similar thoughts.
    “He may suspect all he wants,” Iobert said, “but he won’t
press me, because he doesn’t want to make an enemy of the Claeg. Feich would
like to believe Colfre’s death and your flight has changed everything up—that
it’s his game we play.”
    “He may be more right than we’re ready to admit,” observed
Saefren, trying to rein in his uncle’s unbridled enthusiasm.
    “I prefer to think,” said Iobert, slanting a fierce scowl at
him, “that things are at least even. Our greatest enemy is, as the Ren Catahn
so aptly puts it, the fickleness of the animal. That may also be our greatest
asset.”
    “We’ve had reports from friends in Creiddylad,” Taminy said,
“that things there are . . . tense.”
    Saefren Claeg grimaced. “An understatement. The place is a
powder barrel, needing only a spark to set it off. I’ve no guess as to how many
Taminists there are to Covenanters in the city—it’s not something you can get a
man to discuss with you on the street—but your burn-brows are under cover.”
    Iobert Claeg glowered. “Saefren Claeg, your brattish tongue
is going to damn you. Speak with respect of the Lady’s Osraed.”
    “Sorry, Uncle,” said Saefren, and was not the least bit
contrite.
    Taminy smiled at him, surprising him to the core. Could she
not sense his doubt, his skepticism?
    She said, “If you’ve no objection, sirs, I’ve a special
favor to ask of you.”
    “Ask, Lady,” said Iobert before his nephew could pass
comment, “and consider it done.”
    “I’ve special ‘tokens’ to send to Nairne and Creiddylad.
With winter coming our only way of communicating with the believers in those
places will be the aidan—the Gift. I need to send two of my waljan to be with
them. Iseabal-a-Nairnecirke must go to Nairne and Aine-mac-Lorimer to
Creiddylad. Are you willing to take them?”
    Iobert Claeg bowed to her in acquiescence for the second
time that day, but his nephew wasn’t willing to be so accommodating.
    “Women? You want us to take on a couple of women in such harsh weather?”
    “Cailin, actually,” said Catahn, returning to his seat
beside Taminy. “But older girls; seventeen or eighteen. Healthy, hardy . . . and
exceptional.”
    “And not afraid of inclement weather,” added Taminy.
    Saefren fancied his glower was almost as intimidating as his
uncle’s. He gave Taminy the full force of it. “The trip down the mountain is
vicious. Cold, biting winds, chilling mists, rain. They’ll be expected to sleep
on freezing ground—”
    “They know,” said the Golden Wicke. “They had to come up the mountain to get here.”
    Of course they had. Saefren could have kicked himself for
his over-reaction. Now his uncle was scowling at him and the Osmaer woman was
grinning at him and Catahn’s