The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [49]
Niffa considered for a moment.
“Well, even so,” Niffa said at last, “would this Lord Havoc fox creature be a—troubling us if that whoring slut of a Raena hadn’t brought him here?”
“You truly hate her, don’t you?”
Niffa paused on the edge of a retort. She could see that Dallandra was studying her face as she waited for a reply.
“I do,” Niffa said. “And truly, you do touch upon a riddle. At first, before my man died, I knew not why I did hate her so. From the day she came to Cerr Cawnen, and I did see her walking toward the gates, I did feel—well, it be so strange—but I did feel she’d be the ruination of us all, that some great evil walked in with her.”
“Oh, did you now? Jahdo’s told me that when you have these feelings, you’re usually right.”
“It’s happened.” Niffa shrugged and looked away. “Over the years I did learn to keep my mouth closed tight when the omens did beat against my lips. It did trouble everyone around us.”
“No doubt. Say naught about that omen to anyone until I get there.”
“You do plan on coming to Cerr Cawnen?”
“I do indeed, in the spring when we—Rhodry and I—bring your Jahdo home. Raena is somewhat of an enemy of mine, after all. I’d rather like a few words with her, not that she’ll enjoy hearing them.”
For a moment the dream threatened to waver and dissolve in a flood of sheer relief, but Niffa focused her mind on Dallandra’s face, thought of nothing but that image, and slowly the dream grew strong and clear again.
“Very good,” Dallandra said, smiling. “For a moment I thought I’d lost you.”
“I did think I were about to go, truly. But it gladdens my heart, hearing that you be coming to Cerr Cawnen.”
“I’m glad you trust me.”
“Well, I do, though I know not why. Mayhap it’s because you do hate Raena too.”
“Hate her I don’t. She’s but a tool in the hands of lying spirits.”
“What about the councilman? Be it that he worship this fox spirit too?”
“I have no idea. Now listen carefully. It’s not Raena that murdered your man. It was Lord Havoc.”
The surprise hit like a blow and flung Niffa out of the dream. She woke to a room silver with dawn and knew that she’d not be falling asleep again, not this late in a winter’s day. Her body ached, too; for a moment, she wondered if she’d somehow hurt herself by waking so fast. Then she recognized a familiar pain. Her monthly bleeding had finally begun. She sat up in bed and stared at her cold little room.
“I did want Demet’s child,” she whispered. “I did want his child so very much. Ah ye gods!”
She twisted round and grabbed the pillow, then lay down to sob into it until she ached too badly to weep the more.
“Master!” Old Korla came shuffling into the great room. “The Spirit Talker, she be at our door.”
“Then let her in, for the gods’ sake!” Verrarc said. “Did you think I’d be turning her away or suchlike?”
Korla set her mouth in a tight line, shrugged, and shuffled back down the corridor. Verrarc rose from his little table by the hearth. He’d been puzzling over his dweomer scroll again, and he rolled it up to hide its subject matter. With Korla following, Werda came striding in, draped in her white cloak.
“This be an honor indeed.” Verrarc bowed to her. “Do come sit by my fire.”
“I’ll not be staying but a moment,” Werda said. “I be here to tell you but one thing. If you wish to marry your woman, I’ll perform the proper rite.”
“My thanks!” Verrarc was stammering, and he felt tears rising behind his eyes. “My humble thanks! I—”
“Some of the good women of this town did come to argue with me,” Werda went on. “Pay your thanks to them, not me. I did listen to them with care, and with care did I think the matter through. I do suggest, Councilman, that you put as much care into your choice of a wife. Think on this for seven nights. Then, if you still wish to marry Raena, daughter of Marga, come to me at the temple, and I’ll cast the omens to find a propitious phase of