Page 39 of The Rising Wave

“I don't know. I think she would have.” Velda leaned against the table. “She loved your mother and you, and she would have wanted justice. But also, these are such complex workings, nothing your grandmother ever considered. She would be proud of your skill.”

“They are complex. Let's hope not so complex they don't work at all.” Ava folded the feather shirt, wrapped it in its own paper and then boxed it up.

“How many is that, then?” Velda waved at the parcels.

“Ten in all. Not much, but they take a long time.” Ava hoped ten was enough. There was a flower one, a wave one, an arrow one . . . all different. All unique. Rare enough Herron would covet one of his own.

“Tomas's friend should be here tomorrow to smuggle them over the border.” Velda straightened.

“Good. I have written instructions for him.” Ava showed Velda the rolled parchment. “The feather one can only be sold to the Herald. It has to be held back until a request comes from the palace.”

“I’ll make sure he knows.”

“And your friends at the border are sure Herron is on his way to Fernwell?”

Velda nodded. “Word is the Jatan have retreated for the winter and Herron is going to Fernwell to report on the skirmish to the queen himself.” She shifted suddenly, a hand going to her mouth. “I forgot. The court messenger is waiting for a reply.”

Ava grabbed the parchment from the Grimwalt court, picked up an ink pen and scrawled her answer across the bottom. She rolled it back up, wound the ribbon around it, and held it out to Velda. Her grandmother's housekeeper had been a second grandmother to her even when her real grandmother had been alive. It had been a balm to her soul to have her company these last three weeks.

Just before Velda took it, though, she changed her mind.

“No. I'll hand it over. Explain how things are. This aggravation has to stop.” Ava walked out into the hall and saw the messenger standing by the fire.

Summer had only just ended, but the weather was cooler than usual.

“Sir.” She came to stand beside him, and passed him the missive.

“Finished with your reply already?” He flicked a glance at her, and a bell began a warning toll in her head.

It wasn't that he was being rude. There were no social barriers in Grimwalt and she didn't care for the pomp and ceremony of her father's Kassia—she rather preferred the refreshing equality of her mother’s country. There was something else here, though. Some nervous energy.

“It was a short reply.” Ava smiled at him, hoping none of her concern showed. “Please tell the speaker of the court that I cannot come all the way to Taunen. It would take too long, and I have pressing business.”

“It would take two weeks, at most,” the messenger said.

The bell toll became louder.

This was not the court messenger she was speaking to, she was sure of that.

Perhaps it was the son of one of the court leaders. Or even of the speaker himself.

“Two weeks is time I do not have.” She inclined her head and backed away. “Please send my regards to the court.”

“Lady . . .” The messenger's call was sharp, and Ava turned, face composed, to stare at him.

“My apologies. It is just not the news the speaker had hoped to hear.”

“I understand. I have been dealt a number of disappointments myself over the last few years. I'm sorry to have been the cause of one for him, but that is out of my control.” She inclined her head again and walked away.

He was on her by her second step, hand over her mouth to stop her screaming.

She fought him, using every trick Carila had taught her, but suddenly, he was not alone. He held her arms at her side while another man tightened a gag over her mouth, all while they dragged her from the hall.

By the time they had reached the door, her arms were pinned to her sides and only her feet were free.

“Ava!” Velda screamed her name from the door to her sewing room, and then ran at both men, grabbing a candlestick from a mantel as she sprinted across the hall.

She hit the messenger hard with it. He had no chance against her because his hands were full, trying to stop Ava getting free from his grasp.

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