The Heir of Night by Helen Lowe Page A

tied to the main gate while a major battle was being fought inside the keep itself. She shrugged, turning away from the faces around the table and holding out her hands to the flames, which danced rose and orange in the grate.
    “They are beautiful, are they not?” The voice that spoke was low, but very clear, and Nhairin looked around into Rowan Birchmoon’s face. The Winter woman’s expression was calm as a winter’s morning, but Nhairin noticed that she still carried her bow over one shoulder. A hound stood in her shadow, gazing at Nhairin with dark, warning eyes.
    Nhairin shrugged again, a little sourly, because she had not noticed either the woman or the hound come in. “Very beautiful,” she said mechanically, although inwardly she did not think it mattered whether the flames were beautiful or not. Her own voice sounded harsh as a crow’s and seemed to distract those around the table.
    The Earl looked up, but his gaze went straight to Rowan Birchmoon, its dark austerity softening into something close to warmth. “How is your beast?” he asked.
    Rowan Birchmoon shook her head. “She may live, if the gods are kind.”
    “Ay.” His voice was somber. “It has been a night for the Silent God. We must trust that the day will belong to Meraun, the Healer.” His dark gaze thrust past her. “Nhairin,” he said, a recognition but also a question, as if wondering why she alone had nothing to report.
    Now, thought Nhairin, would be the time for me to speak up, deliver Korriya’s message. She began to marshal her words, but before she could speak there was a sudden clamorfrom the hall outside. A moment later the doors swung wide to admit Asantir, her helm tucked under one arm and blood staining the rough wadding on her shoulder. Haimyr the Golden slipped through in her wake as the Earl’s dark, measuring gaze swung to meet his Honor Captain. “At last!” the Earl said.
    The chamberlain leaned forward. “Ay, your report is vital, Captain. There’s so much we need to know. Is the keep yet secure? And the Heir—has she been found?”
    “The New Keep,” Asantir said, speaking to the Earl, “is secure. The invaders were cleared from the Heir’s quarter by dawn and we’ve now been right through the Temple precinct and the surrounding areas as well. Only a handful of the attackers survived to flee into the Old Keep, but what reinforcements they may have there, I cannot say.” She made to shrug, then stopped as fresh blood seeped through the wadded bandage. “We have secured every portal between the two keeps, but our losses have been heavy. There are just no troops to spare for the Old Keep yet.” She paused, her eyes steady as they met the Earl’s. “You received my dispatch regarding Commander Gerenth’s death?’
    The Earl nodded. “I did. And I endorse your decision to take command of the keep garrison.” His fingers rapped on the tabletop. “We have much to thank you for, it seems, not least that you had the Honor Guard out on special maneuvers last night.”
    Nhairin’s brows rose, for she had not known this, but Asantir shook her head as though disclaiming any special merit. “It helped, my lord, that we were on the ramparts, rather than in the barracks asleep. But the ramparts are too far from where the invasion occurred. If the alarm had not been given, the fact that we were armed and wakeful up there would not have mattered until it was too late.” She paused again. “Given that we were the first to respond, the toll on the Honor Guard has been heavy. In the short term, we may have to augment your guard with troops from the keep garrison.”
    The Earl nodded. “Do whatever you think necessary, Captain.” His gaze grew hard again, searching hers. “But you have not mentioned the Heir. Does
no one
have any idea where she is, or might be?”
    Not “Malian,” thought Nhairin, or “my daughter,” but “the Heir.” She bent to rub her aching leg, concealing her expression.
    “We have