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Authors: Fiona McIntosh
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see her. Our mam’s dead. I’ve been sent to find her.”
Her expression melted, as he had anticipated it would. “You poor mite—she’s not here, love. Come on inside. Let’s warm you up a bit. I’m Rene.”
Fynch followed, making no protestation.
“Thanks to you, Rene,” he said as she pulled a chair up to the stove and sat him down.
“There, that should warm those thin bones of yours. Now, how about something to eat? You must be hungry—boys are always hungry.”
He was not. Hunger rarely entered Fynch’s mind. “I’m starving,” he said, forcing a grin, not really enjoying beguiling this kind soul.
“I knew it. I’ve got a couple of young nephews and their bellies are always grinding.” She ruffled his hair and set about gathering some items to tempt him.
Rene said hello to a few women who moved into and about the parlor. They ignored him and he them. Fynch stared into the flames through an opening in the stove, making sure he looked cold, scared even, and not open to conversation with others. As he sat lost in his thoughts, he realized he had already begun thinking of Romen’s murderer as now being Wyl. He wondered whose shoes Wyl walked in now. Fynch had no doubt the whore was involved, even though Liryk had looked shocked at the Queen’s insinuation. He intended for her to lead him to Wyl.
“There you are, sweetie,” Rene said, arriving at his side and dragging his thoughts back to the warm kitchen. “Cheese and homemade chutney is the best I can do. And here’s a knuckle of bread. I’ve left a glass of milk behind you on the table. What’s your name, by the way?”
Fynch hated milk. “I’m Fynch. Rene, you’re very kind.”
“I just feel badly you’ve come so far for nothing,” she said, her expression soft. “My little brother died a few years ago. He would have been a few years older than you, around ten summers now.”
Inwardly he sighed. He was nine summers, knew he looked younger. “You must miss him,” he said, forcing himself to munch on the food.
“So much. He was a lovely lad. Shouldn’t have drowned. It was an accident but still…”
“I’m sorry, Rene.”
Fynch noted how she forced herself to brighten. “I know. But you remind me of him a little with your coloring. Somehow I don’t think he would have trekked so many miles to find me, though. You must love your sister very much to have come so far.”
“I had to. We need Hildyth. Father is really sick too and there are five wee ones, the others all younger than me,” he said, laying on the accent thickly, suggesting he was becoming upset. He was, in truth, for lying was not Fynch’s style.
“Oh now, now. Come on. Hildyth is no longer working here—in fact I know she’s left Crowyll—but let me see if I can find out any more for you.”
He nodded, pushing more bread into his mouth so he would not have to lie any further to such a decent person.
She disappeared for a few minutes and returned whispering with someone. Another woman, slightly older, regarded him.
“You’re Hildyth’s brother?”
He nodded slowly, weighing her up, not allowing himself to fib anymore. Her eyes were narrowed.
“She never said anything about a brother.”
“Hush,” Rene said. “His mother’s just died. There’s several children. Be gentle.”
The other woman shook her head. “Hildyth’s gone. She left on the night of that fellow’s death here—the one who got stabbed.”
Fynch wrinkled his brow in confusion.
Rene rolled her eyes at her companion’s heavy tongue. “We had a mishap here not so long ago. A noble. We don’t know anything about him, but obviously someone wanted him dead. Hildyth was…looking after him at the time. I took her home.”
The other woman bent down. “Do you know what your sister does for a living, boy?”
Again he nodded. “She makes men happy,” he said seriously, and he watched Rene’s face soften once again with affection.
“That’s right, love, she did
Her expression melted, as he had anticipated it would. “You poor mite—she’s not here, love. Come on inside. Let’s warm you up a bit. I’m Rene.”
Fynch followed, making no protestation.
“Thanks to you, Rene,” he said as she pulled a chair up to the stove and sat him down.
“There, that should warm those thin bones of yours. Now, how about something to eat? You must be hungry—boys are always hungry.”
He was not. Hunger rarely entered Fynch’s mind. “I’m starving,” he said, forcing a grin, not really enjoying beguiling this kind soul.
“I knew it. I’ve got a couple of young nephews and their bellies are always grinding.” She ruffled his hair and set about gathering some items to tempt him.
Rene said hello to a few women who moved into and about the parlor. They ignored him and he them. Fynch stared into the flames through an opening in the stove, making sure he looked cold, scared even, and not open to conversation with others. As he sat lost in his thoughts, he realized he had already begun thinking of Romen’s murderer as now being Wyl. He wondered whose shoes Wyl walked in now. Fynch had no doubt the whore was involved, even though Liryk had looked shocked at the Queen’s insinuation. He intended for her to lead him to Wyl.
“There you are, sweetie,” Rene said, arriving at his side and dragging his thoughts back to the warm kitchen. “Cheese and homemade chutney is the best I can do. And here’s a knuckle of bread. I’ve left a glass of milk behind you on the table. What’s your name, by the way?”
Fynch hated milk. “I’m Fynch. Rene, you’re very kind.”
“I just feel badly you’ve come so far for nothing,” she said, her expression soft. “My little brother died a few years ago. He would have been a few years older than you, around ten summers now.”
Inwardly he sighed. He was nine summers, knew he looked younger. “You must miss him,” he said, forcing himself to munch on the food.
“So much. He was a lovely lad. Shouldn’t have drowned. It was an accident but still…”
“I’m sorry, Rene.”
Fynch noted how she forced herself to brighten. “I know. But you remind me of him a little with your coloring. Somehow I don’t think he would have trekked so many miles to find me, though. You must love your sister very much to have come so far.”
“I had to. We need Hildyth. Father is really sick too and there are five wee ones, the others all younger than me,” he said, laying on the accent thickly, suggesting he was becoming upset. He was, in truth, for lying was not Fynch’s style.
“Oh now, now. Come on. Hildyth is no longer working here—in fact I know she’s left Crowyll—but let me see if I can find out any more for you.”
He nodded, pushing more bread into his mouth so he would not have to lie any further to such a decent person.
She disappeared for a few minutes and returned whispering with someone. Another woman, slightly older, regarded him.
“You’re Hildyth’s brother?”
He nodded slowly, weighing her up, not allowing himself to fib anymore. Her eyes were narrowed.
“She never said anything about a brother.”
“Hush,” Rene said. “His mother’s just died. There’s several children. Be gentle.”
The other woman shook her head. “Hildyth’s gone. She left on the night of that fellow’s death here—the one who got stabbed.”
Fynch wrinkled his brow in confusion.
Rene rolled her eyes at her companion’s heavy tongue. “We had a mishap here not so long ago. A noble. We don’t know anything about him, but obviously someone wanted him dead. Hildyth was…looking after him at the time. I took her home.”
The other woman bent down. “Do you know what your sister does for a living, boy?”
Again he nodded. “She makes men happy,” he said seriously, and he watched Rene’s face soften once again with affection.
“That’s right, love, she did
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