Chapter 331: Carrick Greythorne Left The Palace

"That it binds you to them." Astraea’s eyes were very bright. "That it is a leash, with a ceremony. That at the end of it, you will belong to three kings, and they will have the right to command you."

Morgana’s mouth was dry.

"Isn’t that what it is?"

"If it is done by force, yes. If it is done by need. If it is done by a hand that does not truly want it." Astraea tilted her head. "But if it is done freely. With your whole self. With open eyes. Then it is something else."

"What?"

"A door," said Astraea, "that opens both ways."

Morgana stared at her.

"It changes what you can hold," said the witch, softly. "That is all I will say. It makes you able to carry more than one person should. If you let it."

"Let it?"

"Yes."

"Let it do what?"

But Astraea only smiled.

It was a small smile, and sad, and ancient, and it said as plainly as any words, I have said all I will say. She lowered her hand. She turned back to the window, and the light fell on her hair like snow.

"Go and rest, Morgana," she said. "You will need it."

"That’s all?"

"For now."

"You’re impossible."

"So I have been told." The faintest note of dry amusement. "By better than you."

Morgana got to her feet.

She stood a moment, with the coat hanging around her and her heart going hard, and looked at the straight white back. She had come with a hundred questions. She was leaving with two sentences and a headache. It was ridiculous. It was infuriating.

And yet she felt something move in her, small and bright, like a seed turning over in the dark.

"Astraea."

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

The witch did not turn.

"Do not thank me," she said. "Not yet." A pause. "And Morgana."

"Yes?"

"They will let you go north."

Morgana’s breath caught.

"The road to your mother’s house is open. It has been made easy. Someone is very glad for you to walk it." Astraea’s voice was quiet. "I would walk it anyway. You must. But I would not walk it with my eyes closed."

"I know," said Morgana.

"I thought you might."

She went out.

The door shut behind her, soft and slow, and she stood in the cold grey corridor with Corin watching her carefully from three paces off.

"My lady?" he said. "Is something wrong?"

She thought about it.

"No," she said. "I don’t think so."

She started walking.

***

Carrick Greythorne left on the third day, in a coach with silver on the doors.

It was an elegant coach, black and polished, with four grey horses and a coachman in dark livery. Twenty riders formed up behind it in the great courtyard, mounted and armed and sitting very straight, with their eyes forward and their cloaks pinned. The morning was cold and bright. A thin frost lay on the cobbles, and the horses’ breath hung in the air in small white clouds.

The court had assembled to see him off.

It was what one did. A guest of the crown, however unwelcome, did not leave without ceremony. Cedric stood on the palace steps in his grey robes, with his long beard stirring in the wind and his staff planted before him. Two dozen lords and ladies had turned out in furs. A row of servants in neat grey stood along the wall with their hands folded.

The three kings stood at the top of the steps.

They wore black. Their crowns were on. Draeven stood in the middle, still as stone. Thorne was on his right, pale and watchful, with shadows pooled at his heels. Kaelen stood on his left, with his arms folded.

Morgana stood a pace behind, between them.

She wore the dark red gown. She had put her hair up herself, with Rowan hovering and fussing at her elbow, and she had made herself stand straight. It’s my floor, she told herself. She kept her hands folded in front of her and her eyes level, and tried not to think about the cold pale gaze of the man in the silver coat.

He came out last.

He walked down the long hall to the steps with a pair of men at his heels, unhurried and perfectly composed. His coat was fresh. His boots were polished. His silver hair was combed back. He wore the same pleasant, easy smile he had worn in the council hall, as though nothing had happened at all.

He stopped at the foot of the steps and bowed.

"Your Majesties," he said.

His voice was warm.

"I have so enjoyed your hospitality. I will carry the memory of it with me always." He straightened. "I trust that our differences, such as they were, have been put to rest."

"They have been noted," said Draeven.

"I am gratified."

"We will be pleased to receive you again, when you have settled your affairs."

"You are generous."

"I am accurate."

A faint smile touched Carrick’s mouth.

He bowed again, to Thorne, then to Kaelen, a precise and graceful movement. He murmured something courteous to Cedric on the steps. Then his pale grey eyes shifted, with exquisite unhurried ease, and found Morgana.

"Lady Morgana."

"My lord."

"It has been a very great pleasure." He inclined his head. It went on slightly too long, a half second longer than courtesy required. When he lifted it, his eyes were bright. "I hope we may meet again, soon."

She did not smile.

"I’m sure we will," she said.

"I look forward to it."

"So do I."

It was said very quietly, in perfectly even tones, and she saw something move behind his eyes. It might have been amusement. It might have been something colder.

He bowed once more.

He turned. He walked to the coach, and a footman held the door, and he stepped up and in without looking back. The door closed. The coachman lifted his whip. The riders closed ranks, and the whole cavalcade moved off down the long drive, hooves ringing on the stone, wheels creaking, the silver on the coach door flashing once in the cold sun.

They passed through the great gate and turned onto the road.