A Song for Orphans. Морган РайсЧитать онлайн книгу.
a walk as he tried to work out which way to go.
There was a man asleep against the post of the crossroads, a straw hat pulled down over his eyes. A cider jug beside him suggested the reason he was snoring like a donkey. Sebastian let him sleep for now, looking up at the sign. East would lead to the coast, but Sebastian doubted that Sophia had the means to take a ship, or anywhere to go if she did. South would lead back to Ashton, so that was out.
That left the road leading north, and the one leading west. Without any additional information, Sebastian had no idea about which route to take. He could try looking for cart tracks on one of the dirt sections of the road, he guessed, but that implied that he had the skills to know what he was looking for, or to pick out Sophia’s cart from the hundreds of others that might have gone past in the days since then.
That left asking for help, and hoping.
Gently, using the toe of his boot, Sebastian nudged the foot of the sleeping man. He stepped back as the man spluttered and came awake, because he didn’t know how someone that drunk might react to the sight of him there.
“Whaddizit?” the man managed. He also managed to pull himself up to his feet, which seemed quite impressive under the circumstances. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Even now, he seemed to have to hold onto the post to steady himself. Sebastian was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea.
“Are you here regularly?” he asked. He both needed the answer to be yes and hoped that it would be no, because what would that say about the man’s life.
“Why do you want to know?” the drunk shot back.
Sebastian was starting to realize that he wasn’t going to find what he wanted here. Even if this man spent most of his time by the crossroads, Sebastian doubted that he would be sober often enough to notice much.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I was looking for someone who might have come by here, but I doubt you can help me. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
He turned back toward his horse.
“Wait,” the man said. “You… you’re Sebastian, aren’t you?”
Sebastian stopped at the sound of his name, turning back toward the man with a frown.
“How do you know my name?” he asked.
The man staggered a little. “What name?”
“My name,” Sebastian said. “You just called me Sebastian.”
“Wait, you’re Sebastian?”
Sebastian did his best to be patient. This man was obviously looking for him, and Sebastian could only think of a few reasons why that might be the case.
“Yes, I am,” he said. “What I want to know is why you’re looking for me.”
“I was…” The man paused for a moment, his brow crinkling. “I was supposed to give you a message.”
“A message?” Sebastian said. It seemed too good to be true, but even so, he dared to hope. “From whom?”
“There was this woman,” the drunk said, and that was enough to fan the embers of hope into a fully fledged fire.
“What woman?” Sebastian said.
The other man wasn’t looking at him now though. If anything, it looked as though he was half drifting back to sleep. Sebastian caught hold of him, half holding him up, half shaking him awake.
“What woman?” he repeated.
“There was something… a red-haired woman, on a cart.”
“That’s her!” Sebastian said, his excitement getting the better of him in that moment. “Was this a few days ago?”
The drunk took his time considering it. “I don’t know. Could be. What day is it?”
Sebastian ignored that. It was enough that he’d found the clue Sophia had left for him. “The woman… that’s Sophia. Where did she go? What was her message?”
He gave the drunk another shake as he started to drift off again, and Sebastian had to admit that it was at least partly from frustration. He needed to know what message Sophia had left with this man.
Why him? Had there been no one else Sophia could leave her message with? Looking at the man he was all but holding up, Sebastian knew the answer to that: she’d been sure that Sebastian would run into him, because she’d guessed that he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He’d been the best way to get a message to Sebastian if he followed.
Which meant that she wanted him to follow. She wanted him to be able to find her. Just the thought of it was enough to lift Sebastian’s heart, because it meant that Sophia might be prepared to forgive all that he’d done to her. She wouldn’t provide him with a way to follow her if she didn’t see a way for them to be together again, would she?
“What was the message?” Sebastian repeated.
“She gave me money,” the man said. “Said to say that… damn, I know I remembered it…”
“Think,” Sebastian said. “It’s important.”
“She said to tell you that she’d gone off to Barriston!” the drunk said with a note of triumph. “Said to say that I’d seen it with my own eyes.”
“Barriston?” Sebastian asked, eyeing the sign at the crossroads. “You’re certain?”
The town didn’t seem like a place that Sophia had any reason to go to, but maybe that was the point, given that she had been running. It was a provincial kind of town, without the size or the population of Ashton, but it had some wealth thanks to its glove industry. Perhaps it was as good a place as any for Sophia to go.
The other man nodded, and that was enough for Sebastian. If Sophia had left him a message, then it didn’t matter who she had chosen to deliver it for her. What mattered was that he’d gotten her message, and he knew which way to go to follow her. As thanks, Sebastian tossed the man by the crossroads a coin from his belt pouch, then rushed to mount his horse.
He steered the creature west, heeling it forward as he set off in the direction of Barriston. It would take time to get there, but he would push as hard as he dared on the way. He would catch up to her there, or maybe he would even overtake her on the road. Either way, he would find her, and they would be together.
“I’m coming, Sophia,” he promised, while around him, the landscape of the Ridings sped by. Now that he knew she wanted to be found, he would do anything he had to do to catch up to her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dowager Queen Mary of the House of Flamberg stood in the middle of her gardens, lifting a white rose to her nose and taking in the delicate scent. She had become good at masking her impatience over the years, and where her eldest son was concerned, impatience was an emotion that came to her far too readily.
“What is this rose?” she asked one of the gardeners.
“A variety created by one of our indentured gardeners,” the man said. “She calls it the Bright Star.”
“Congratulate her on it and inform her that from now on it will be known as the Dowager’s Star,” the queen said. It was both a compliment and a reminder to the gardener that those who owned the indentured’s debt could do as they wished with her creations. It was the kind of double-sided move the Dowager enjoyed for its efficiency.
She’d become good at making them too. After the civil wars, it would have been so easy to slide into powerlessness. Instead, she’d found the balancing points between the Assembly of Nobles and the Masked Goddess’s church, the unwashed masses and the merchants. She’d done it with intelligence, ruthlessness, and patience.
Even patience had its limits, though.
“Before you do that,” the Dowager said, “kindly drag my son out of whatever brothel he is ensconced in and remind him that his queen is waiting for him.”
The