Chapter 469: The Secret Beneath the Hills

Chapter 468: The Secret Beneath the Hills

Lyria’s POV

Jim turned towards me at once, his attention sharpening so suddenly that I found myself hesitating beneath the weight of his gaze. I had not yet determined how best to broach the matter, and now that I had begun, I could scarcely withdraw my words without inviting questions I was ill-prepared to answer.

I cleared my throat softly.

"M-might I a-ask w-whether the p-place you s-speak of is s-somewhere the w-water runs n-naturally w-warm?" I ventured. "A h-hot s-spring, p-perhaps?"

The change in Jim’s expression was immediate. His brows drew together, and the guardedness that had begun to ease during our conversation returned with such force that I might almost have imagined a wall rising between us once more.

"’Ow d’ye know about that?" he asked, his voice cold — it had never been particularly warm before, but it was colder still now.

"S-someone I k-know discovered it by a-ccident," I answered quietly. "He t-told me of its e-existence."

Jim stared at me as though endeavouring to discover some hidden design behind my words.

"An’ ’oo might this someone be?"

"I s-shall t-tell you p-presently," I assured him. "But b-before I do, I should l-like you to understand that I h-have no intention of d-disclosing what I know to a-anyone beyond this r-room. I w-would not have b-brought the m-matter to your a-attention at all, were it n-not for the f-fact that Gallowshill a-appears to have n-need of the s-spring."

His gaze remained fixed upon me, and I could not discern whether my explanation had eased his suspicions, or merely furnished him with further cause to question me.

"’Ow?" he demanded, at length. "’Ow did this person of yours discover it? Ye’ve not even been in this town a full day an’ night, an’ already ye’re askin’ after somethin’ most folk wouldn’t know ter look fer at all."

"I u-understand well enough why that m-might a-appear suspicious to you," I replied, keeping my voice even. "But I a-assure you, I have n-not been there myself, nor have I a-any knowledge of the p-precise circumstances in which it w-was found, beyond what I h-have already told you."

"Then ye’ll forgive me if I find that a mite ’ard ter swallow."

"I d-do not blame you for your d-doubts."

"There’s a reason I spoke of the difficulty in reachin’ it," he said. "The path’s blocked. Not by a few loose stones ye can kick aside, neither. There’s debris scattered everywhere since the storm, an’ no soul can get through. We’ve ’ad more pressin’ matters ter attend to. Folk need roofs over their ’eads, fields need mendin’, an’ we still ’ave ter find food enough ter see everyone through. We ain’t ’ad the time ter start diggin’ our way through a ’illside, not when there’s so much else demandin’ our attention."

His words came sharp, each one carrying the weight of a frustration that had been accumulating long before my own arrival. I could scarcely fault him for it. To the people of Gallowshill, every hour spent upon one difficulty was an hour stolen from another, and they had already been compelled to choose between necessities that ought never to have stood in opposition to one another.

"I am n-not the person who d-discovered it," I repeated gently. "And I have n-not beheld the s-spring, nor the p-path leading to it. I w-would not presume to t-tell you how e-easily it might be r-reached, when I know so l-little of the c-circumstances surrounding it."

"Then wot is it ye want from us, Your ’Ighness? Fer ye can’t tell me ye’ve no ’idden design, ’avin’ discovered it."

The question was blunt enough to sting, though I suspected he had intended it less as an insult than as a demand for some answer he might properly trust.

I regarded him a moment, uncertain whether to feel disappointed, or merely to remain patient.

"I h-had thought," I began, "that a-after our c-onversation, we m-might have a-arrived upon somewhat m-more even ground between us. I have t-told you what I c-could of myself, and you h-have been kind enough to s-speak of your p-people’s circumstances in turn. I had h-hoped we might c-continue in that s-same spirit."

Jim said nothing.

"I w-want nothing from you, Jim, nor from y-your people, e-except your c-cooperation, and t-treatment of m-my people w-without p-prejudice. I d-do not expect you to o-offer me anything in e-exchange for what I have s-aid, nor do I i-intend to keep the s-spring’s existence a s-secret for my own a-advantage. It b-belongs to the p-eople of Gallowshill, does it n-not? If it m-might serve you all, then I s-see no reason why I s-should withhold what l-little knowledge I p-possess of it."

There followed a beat of silence as we regarded one another, and then I spoke up.

"B-brayden?"

My guard, who had remained discreetly near the door throughout our conversation, straightened at once.

"Your Highness?"

"Would you be so k-kind as to f-fetch Duke Valenridge? I b-believe he may be a-able to answer s-some of Jim’s q-questions rather more s-satisfactorily than I c-can."

Brayden bowed.

"At once, Your Highness."

He departed without delay, leaving Jim and myself once more alone in the quiet room.

Jim watched the doorway a moment before turning back to me.

"Duke Valenridge, is it?"

"Yes. He w-was the one who d-discovered the s-spring."

"Don’t know ’oo that is," he muttered. "Is ’e the one wot was screamin’ in the night?"

For a moment, I stared at him.

Then I laughed lightly.

"I-I beg your p-pardon," I said, as my laughter subsided. "I did n-not mean to l-laugh at you. I was m-merely surprised. You t-truly do not know who D-Duke Valenridge is?"

"I’ve just told ye I don’t, ain’t I?"

"Y-yes. Of c-course."

I drew a breath, making a determined effort to compose myself properly.

"Then m-might I ask whether you k-know who any of the n-nobles accompanying me a-are?"

Jim’s lips tightened slightly, and I wondered whether he had taken some offence at the question. Yet after a moment, he answered.

"I know the Duke of Eastmere. Even down ’ere in Gallowshill, we’ve ’eard tell of ’ow kind ’e is."

I nodded quietly.

That did not surprise me in the least. Lucian was well regarded, and his reputation for kindness extended a very great deal beyond the boundaries of his own territory.

"D-do tell, s-save for him, d-do you k-know who the o-others are?" I asked him.

"I couldn’t tell ye exactly ’oo they are."

I found myself smiling again, though upon this occasion I contrived to keep my amusement to myself.

"I c-can scarcely fault you for n-not knowing Duke Valenridge," I admitted, finally. "He is c-considered rather m-mysterious by most, and has n-not made a habit of a-appearing before the p-public eye. The greater part of people k-knew of the p-revious Duke of B-Blackmere, but c-comparatively v-very few could have c-claimed to know much of the p-present one, before this s-selection brought him into v-view."

"Though," I continued, "I d-daresay you shall have o-opportunity enough to l-learn who my c-companions are, before l-long. I b-believe it would be only p-proper that they i-introduce themselves personally, rather than e-expect the p-people of Gallowshill to r-recognise them by t-title alone."

"T-though I must a-ask," I told him, "d-do you k-know who I am?"

Jim nodded.

"Obadiah told me."

"I s-see."

So he had not known precisely who I was, until Obadiah had thought to inform him of it.

I had scarcely begun to consider what further I might say, when Jim abruptly straightened.

Footsteps sounded beyond the door, followed by the faint rustle of clothing as persons approached. A moment later, the door opened, and Brayden appeared, stepping aside to admit the man who followed close behind him into the room.

Jim looked from the Duke to myself, then back again. His eyes widened with recognition.

"’Im?" he asked, his finger pointed towards Duke Valenridge, who only smirked in reply.