Free Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) by Kate Jacoby Page A

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– what would she say about the sorcery? It went against every precept she believed in. A part of her was still attached to Saint Hilary’s, a part of her soul still longed to take vows. Could he live with her hate?
    And all the while, the Guilde was getting closer to Dunlorn, ready to strike down the sorcerer’s household.
    ‘Sit down, Mother.’ He drew her to the window seat and sat beside her. ‘I know how this must seem to you, but I beg you to trust me. I keep the truth from you because it’s not safe for you to know.’
    Wasn’t this the same argument he’d used with Jenn?
    ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Mother, and I do trust you. You deserve the truth – but I won’t risk your life in that manner. I just wanted you to know that Finnlay is alive and safe. In fact, he’s probably safer now than he’s ever been before. I beg you not to ask me any more questions.’
    Margaret watched him steadily. ‘I believe that much. But it’s not enough.’
    ‘Mother, if I could tell you . . .’
    ‘You would? I doubt it,’ Margaret interrupted bitterly. ‘You were always too good at keeping things to yourself, no matter the damage it did you. But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. You’re my son.’
    And what could he say to that? He’d already destroyed her faith in him.
    Robert stood and pulled aside the drapes over the window. This part of the castle faced south and gave him no view of the approaching Guildesmen. Instead, there was just the edge of the moor and the rolling green farmland that stretched for leagues.
    ‘I don’t suppose it would do any good if I promised to tell you one day. I’m not sure I could keep my word.’
    ‘And you never break it, do you?’ Margaret replied, her tone under complete control.
    Break it? No – only in ways that no one would ever notice.
    ‘You must keep up the pretence of mourning, Mother.’
    ‘There will be no pretence.’
    Robert turned away from the window, away from his mother and all the closeness they had ever shared. ‘The Guilde will be here very soon to investigate these rumours of sorcery surrounding Finnlay’s death. Even though there’s no truth to the rumours, we must continue to pretend Finnlay is dead – for our safety as much as his. They may want to speak to you. I’ll try to stop them, but I may not have a choice.’
    ‘They will have no satisfaction from me, Robert. If nothing else, I can promise you that. I suppose we will go through a pretence of burying Finnlay? Once everything has calmed down, I will return to Saint Hilary’s for a few days.’
    Robert made it as far as the door before he paused. ‘Will you come back?’
    Margaret didn’t answer. Instead she stood and turned her back on him, held her trium and gazed out the window.
    *
    Down the stairs Robert went, trying to keep his pace even, steady, sombre. He ignored the pain, ignored the demon. He had to concentrate now.
    Only minutes outside of Dunlorn waited his most dangerous challenge yet. The Guilde. Coming for blood. It would require all his skills to get through this. Lies and deception. They were the best tools he had now, his only useful weapons.
    Daniel and the others were waiting in the winter parlour. Daniel, Harold, Sir Walter Mauny, Kem Raskell and Hal Talbot. They each looked at him with a strange mixture of sorrow and expectation. Harold frowned – as usual – but it was Daniel who came forward and spoke first.
    ‘Robert. You look exhausted. Was it a difficult journey?’
    ‘The rains didn’t help any and my own injuries slowed me down,’ Robert replied, keeping his expression carefully closed. ‘It was good of you to come.’
    Daniel nodded, ‘We wanted you to know how sorry we are about Finnlay. It was a great tragedy.’
    ‘We also wanted you to know,’ Harold added with a glance at the others, ‘that should you need any . . . help, we’ll stand by you. All of us.’
    ‘Help?’ Robert frowned. What – exactly – were they