Cenwulf dropped wearily onto the couch and pressed his fingertips against his burning eyes.
All day long the wind had howled, whipping the heads off the meager stalks of grain, ripping the limp and yellow leaves from the bean plants, stripping a layer of dust from the earth and whirling it up to choke and blind the men and the animals.
“Gentlemen!” Leofric beamed as he stomped into his hall. “The only more welcome surprise just now would be a good rain! You haven’t waited long, I hope?”
“If we have, Leila has so distracted us with her beauty that we did not see the time pass,” Sigefrith said gallantly.
“Good morning, Sigefrith,” Cenwulf said as the King was announced. “We certainly are unaccustomed to seeing you so early.” He glanced at the window and saw that the horizon was still tinged with pink.
“I couldn’t lie in bed any longer. But I knew you would be awake.”
Sigefrith left her at the gate, and the guard witnessed nothing more than a King bowing low to kiss his fair cousin’s hand—which he held in both of his own.
Eadgith was grateful for this, for as she climbed the stairs to enter the house, she thought she saw her mother’s head dart away from the window of her bedroom.
Until they had passed the castle, there was silence on both sides.
Eadgith was thankful that she had an excuse for not speaking. If he had tasked her with finding her seven flowers again in order to give it to her, then she was grateful indeed.
Eadgith looked up from the moonlit patch of wildflowers and saw the light of a firebrand come bobbing up the hill. She ducked behind a bush, but she could not speak to warn Britamund.
“What are you doing up here, Princess?” the King called once he had grown near. “Where’s Eadgith?”
Before Iylaine could speak, Vash had lifted a finger to his lips to warn her to silence. The other hand he held out to her, and she took it and followed him into a fern-filled hollow behind a stand of pines.
“We must be careful,” he whispered once they were hidden. “Tonight the men too can see me.”
The sun descended in a blaze of gold and scarlet that was very like a fire, and all the people watched it, their eager faces lit with gold and scarlet. They were waiting for it to disappear, for as soon as it did, the King would touch his flaming brand to the pile of wood and light their Midsummer bonfire.
There would be fewer fires than usual this year—only those that were authorized by the King or the Duchess or the Earl—for the hills and meadows were as dry as tinder, and there had already been a few small fires that had, fortunately, not yet ignited the forests.
“Your Majesty is looking well,” Egelric said with a grin and a bow.
“And you are looking tired as a dogface. Sit down, Egelric,” Sigefrith said, rubbing his hands together in delight. “I have just the thing for you.”
“Gunnie, are you sleeping?” Alwy whispered.
Gunnilda mumbled something incomprehensible.
“You carry your own truth inside of you. You are the messenger, and the message.”
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