The Knight and the Seer by Ruth Langan Page B

taking care of a grandchild left behind. And a young scullery wench, Charity, who—”
    “Hold.” Andrew lifted his hand to stop her, then took a moment to drain his tankard. Refilling it, he walked closer, his eyes narrowed on her. “Are these more tales you heard while working with the villagers?”
    “It’s as I told you. I heard it from those who have passed to the other side. Before they can find peace, they must settle any debts they left behind.”
    “Debts.” He blinked. “And they hope you will help them clear their debts?”
    “Aye.” She seemed so honest. So direct. And, in truth, he’d heard of the servant who’d been dismissed from Duncan’s tavern for stealing a kettle of stew, though she’d protested her innocence. As for the others, they had all worked here in the castle. Could it be…?
    “And my father?” He dropped to his knees before her, his eyes intent upon hers. “Tell me again everything my father said.”
    She repeated everything she could recall from their conversation. When she finished, she found herself wondering if he believed her. It was impossible to tell from the look in those icy eyes, but at least he had listened in respectful silence.
    “Oh.” She smiled, remembering. “Your father told me one other thing. He said he’d been named for his grandfather, who was said to come from the sea.”
    Andrew scrambled to his feet, his hand fisted tightly around the tankard. “It was something my father was most proud of.” He seemed to be talking to himself. “He’d thought to name me after his grandfather, as well, but had been convinced by my mother to honor her father instead.”
    Abruptly he looked over at her. “Go to sleep now, my lady.” He drained his ale and set the tankard on the side table, keeping his gaze averted. “I’ll think on all you’ve told me.”
    It wasn’t what she’d hoped for, but at least the sarcasm was gone from his tone.
    As he started from the room, he had a quick impression of the soot and ash littering the chambers down the hall. He turned, the merest hint of a smile in his eyes. “Before retiring I would ask a favor, my lady.”
    “Aye.” She turned to him with a hopeful look.
    “If you would, promise me you’ll attempt no spells until this night is over.”
    Before she could respond he was gone, leaving her feeling oddly deflated. Not only did he not believe her, but he also didn’t trust her.
    And why should he? she thought with a wave of revulsion. She couldn’t even trust herself to complete the simplest spell.
    She stormed off to bed, eager to have this night behind her. She had done as his father had requested. She had conveyed his words from that other place.
    On the morrow she would return to the Mystical Kingdom. And there she would remain, so that the rest of the world would never know of her shameful failure.

Chapter Six
    A ndrew paced in front of the fire in his chambers, playing back everything in his mind.
    Was he a fool to even consider believing this woman? She spoke of the dead and their debts as though she were speaking of the logic of fish in the loch, birds in the sky. But he’d seen fish swim and birds fly. He’d never seen walking, talking dead, though he’d heard of such things, but always by wild-eyed crones speaking in whispers, as though afraid to be overheard by those who might call their bluff.
    If his father had things to say, why did he speak to a stranger instead of to the son who loved him?
    Perhaps because the son wouldn’t listen.
    The thought startled him. But the more he chewed on it, the more he knew it to be true. Would he have listened to the whisperings of his heart? Or would he simply allow the pain of his grief to crowd out all other thoughts from his mind?
    Wasn’t that what he’d been doing since returning home? Hadn’t his every thought been about avenging the death of his father? Not only because it was his duty, but because he felt responsible. If he hadn’t argued and left