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It was so lame So inadequate But it was all she had

Chapter Twenty-two Strange Bedfellows

Spring was usually a golden time at Raven’s Ghyll The bitter winter winds that roared down out of Scotland departed in favor of soft, spring breezes laden with the scent of high country flowers Clear streahts Best of all, the tourists who plagued the rest of the Lake District in fine weather carass that rippled across the ghyll withered and turned brown, beaten down by cold and unrelenting rains Buds shriveled on the trees, reneging on their prohts, the furnace in the cellar rattled into life, and the servants kindled the fire on the hearth in a vain effort to war room D’Orsay was forced to spell his servants to keep the off to friendlier cliht be assassins working for the Roses Wizard lights glittered on the surrounding hills, evidence that the Roses hadn’t lifted their siege

They’d heard nothing from Alicia Middleton and had consequently lost track of Warren Barber Which ht mean they were dead, the new Covenant taken or lost As for the Dragonheart, D’Orsay had to assume it was still in the sanctuary Unless the Roses held that also

He and Dev rattled around Raven’s Ghyll Castle, snapping at each other--they who had always got on so fae from the Roses Not a demand for surrender, as D’Orsay expected, but a request for a otiate the terms Would it be safer to hold it in Raven’s Ghyll, or would that open the ghyll to invasion? Could the D’Orsays feel secure in a hyll? Would it be necessary to hold thein of sefas?

Finally, the terer to h hyll, a site scoured clean by both sides prior to the event

It was usually a lovely spot in spring, starred with bluebells and buttercups But noas sere and silent, like the site of some horrible industrial accident

It was an intibranch of the White Rose, and Geoffrey Wylie of the Red Rose The last tiether had been at Second Sister--when D’Orsay and Leicester’s coup against the Roses had nearly succeeded

It was a spare , without ceremony or hospitality, since neither side trusted the other enough to break bread together They met in a tent-like pavilion with a planked wood floor covered in wool rugs

"Jessaloved hands and kissed her cheek He nodded curtly to Wylie "Geoffrey This is my son, Devereaux"

Poor Dev hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets As usual, he ard and tongue-tied in corate at the center spilled welcome war this nasty up here in April," Jessa, despite her layers of leather and fur "Can’t you do so about it?" As if the weather were a failure of his hospitality

"The weather is unusually cold," D’Orsay admitted "But then, as the poet says, ’April is the cruelest month’ I assume you didn’t come up here to discuss the weather Except as it relates to other events"

Jess jumped on that like a trout on a mayfly "What do you raciously

"We know you have the Covenant," Jessamine said bluntly "But you’re unable to consecrate it"

D’Orsay tilted his head "What makes you think that?"

"Because you would have already done so, if you could"

"All right," D’Orsay said, with the air of a uests "So why are you here? Why not just let us dwindle away into obscurity?"

"Because you hold the ghyll The ghyll houses the Weirstone And so?" D’Orsay felt ludicrous, like the captain of a sinking ship, stillthe wheel as the deck sloshed under the waves

Wylie lifted both hands, indicating their surroundings "Please You are presiding over a wasteland, Claude When I think of what it used to be…"

"Don’t be overdramatic, Geoffrey," D’Orsay said "This is merely the consequence of unusually foul weather and incoers into her chest "The Weirstone is dark I can usually feel its presence, anywhere in Cu" She shivered "It’s as if the source of our power has reat distance"

In point of fact, D’Orsay had already e bedfellows, and he was definitely running out of options He needed to get out of the ghyll, or he and Dev ht just slit each other’s throats

"I’ve noticed it, too," D’Orsay conceded "It feels like true north has shifted, doesn’t it?"

"The question is, why?" Wylie settled back in his seat

"Perhaps it’s the effect of the siege," D’Orsay suggested "What’s it been, six ested "Just a thought"

D’Orsay looked up at the surrounding hills, at the wizard fires blazing there "You could withdraw your forces"

"It’s not because of the siege," Wylie said impatiently "The shift in poas rather sudden Back in midwinter, I believe"