Before Winter

Before Winter
NANCY K. WALLACE

HarperVoyager

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2017

Copyright © Nancy K. Wallace 2017

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Nancy K. Wallace asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780008103606

Version: 2017-08-18

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

CHAPTER 1: If I Should Die

CHAPTER 2: Vestiges of Betrayal

CHAPTER 3: Lavender

CHAPTER 4: Dreams

CHAPTER 5: The Wilderness of Llisé

CHAPTER 6: Spirits

CHAPTER 7: Albion

CHAPTER 8: The Key

CHAPTER 9: Whispers from the Past

CHAPTER 10: Mysteries and Discoveries

CHAPTER 11: Stolen Secrets

CHAPTER 12: Sanctuary

CHAPTER 13: Unexpected Delays

CHAPTER 14: Discoveries

CHAPTER 15: Free Again

CHAPTER 16: The Way of the Wolf

CHAPTER 17: Loss and Remembrance

CHAPTER 18: Amiens

CHAPTER 19: Refuge

CHAPTER 20: Dinner Conversation

CHAPTER 21: Albion Revisited

CHAPTER 22: Old Alliances

CHAPTER 23: Old Habits Die Hard

CHAPTER 24: Honesty

CHAPTER 25: Bardic Wisdom

CHAPTER 26: Remembrance

CHAPTER 27: Farewells

CHAPTER 28: On the Run

CHAPTER 29: Eviction

CHAPTER 30: The Cabin

CHAPTER 31: Then There Were Four

CHAPTER 32: Night Terrors

CHAPTER 33: Doubts and Speculation

CHAPTER 34: The Valley of the Shadow

CHAPTER 35: Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing

CHAPTER 36: Evidence and Speculation

CHAPTER 37: The Company of Strangers

CHAPTER 38: The Hills of Home

CHAPTER 39: High Hopes

CHAPTER 40: Unexpected Complications

CHAPTER 41: A Time of Reckoning

CHAPTER 42: Confrontation

CHAPTER 43: Realignments

CHAPTER 44: Affairs of the Heart

CHAPTER 45: Beginnings and Endings

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Nancy K. Wallace

About the Publisher

Prologue

Jeanette bent over Devin, her brown curls lightly brushing his cheek. When his eyes fluttered open and focused on her face, she smiled.

“Am I dead?” he asked.

She kissed his cheek. “No, my love,” she assured him. “You aren’t dead but you need help.”

He cupped her cheek with his hand, ran his thumb across her lower lip. “My God, I love you,” he murmured. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”

“Not far away,” she answered. “But I have to go now, Devin, I’m sorry.”

He found her hand and held it. “Don’t go,” he protested.

“I can’t help you, Devin,” she explained. “But Marcus is coming back.”

“Marcus tried to kill me,” he said.

She shook her head, her eyes big in her slender face, and rose from her knees. Her dress swirled around her bare feet. “I have to go.”

“Don’t go!” he begged.

She kissed her finger and stooped to touch his mouth. “I must,” she said. “Be still.”

“When will I see you again, Jeanette?” he asked, raising his head. The pain sent him back down into darkness, her name still on his lips.

CHAPTER 1
If I Should Die

Devin’s head pounded in time with his heart as it slowly pumped his life’s blood onto the forest floor. He lay in deep, velvety darkness as rain spattered the leaves of the trees above him and slid in rivulets down his cheeks like tears. Gone was the fragrance of pine, the wind fresh off the ocean. The air stank of burned paper and cloth. The Chronicles were gone … he had tried and failed to save them and now they were lost forever. The entire history of the provinces had been destroyed by ignorance and flame. Ultimately, his trip to the provinces to preserve the Chronicles had led to their destruction and he would forever bear the guilt of it.

He opened his eyes to a dizzying view of tree trunks and rocks spinning in front of him. He swallowed convulsively and tried to shift to his back to see for himself if perhaps some small part of the repository remained. Nausea rolled over him in waves and he stopped moving and lay very still, half on his side, the way he’d wakened. Minutes passed as the sickness that threatened to overwhelm him finally stilled. He lay stiffly, his teeth clenched, one hand digging into the earth.

Finally, he touched his temple gingerly and found the whole side of his face was caked with a sticky mass of blood, pine needles, and dirt. His hand involuntarily rummaged in his pocket searching for a handkerchief and found it completely empty. Even Marcus’ rosary was gone.

Last night seemed decades ago, when he and Marcus had sat and talked on the banks of the stream, weathering a storm together. What had Marcus told him? “Trust me.” And Devin had. He had trusted Marcus with his life and Marcus had shot him. So, where was his bodyguard now? In some tavern toasting René Forneaux’s bid for chancellorship? Did he regret having shot the current chancellor’s son when he had been sworn to protect him? Or did he accept his new position with the same intensity that he accepted his role as Devin’s bodyguard? What kind of man was Marcus Berringer, anyway, to change loyalties like the wind?

Devin let out a deep breath. He was on his own now. He’d need to find his way back to La Paix … to Chastel, Armand, and Gaspard. Together they would plan a way to thwart this new regime and Marcus would be forever marked as an enemy, not an ally.

Devin tried again to move … to catch some small sight of the repository that had housed the Chronicles. Perhaps there was something left … even a few pages that could be salvaged and reassembled. But the forest lay shrouded in mist and smoke and drizzling rain; here and there an evergreen branch appeared momentarily before the mist swallowed it again. Everything seemed muffled and unreal. Even the birds were silent.

A frightening notion wiggled into Devin’s thoughts like a worm. Perhaps, he would die here after all, only a few feet away from the greatest discovery in Llisé’s history. At least, he had seen this arcane library and touched it with his own hands – the collected histories of every province in the empire. For a populace that was forbidden to learn to read and write, they had not only recorded their oral history on paper; they had organized it and filed it alphabetically. If René Forneaux assumed he was fighting ignorant provincials he was going to be in for shock.

Devin hoped he would be there to see it but from the amount of blood that continued to soak the neck and shoulder of his jacket, he was beginning to doubt whether he would. His head ached unbearably and he curled up on his side like a child and waited for morning. Sleep came fitfully, dragging him down into nightmare and releasing him, cold and shivering, into the darkened forest once again.

CHAPTER 2
Vestiges of Betrayal

“Dear God!” said a familiar voice. “Devin?” Hands eased him onto his back. He groaned as the world spun and lingering raindrops fragmented like a hundred prisms of light as the sun’s rays pierced the trees.

Marcus was bending over him, slapping him lightly on the cheek. “Can you hear me?” he asked insistently.

Devin nodded, the motion setting off pain that threatened to make the top of his head explode.

Marcus exhaled loudly and sat back on his heels. “Thank God you’re alive!” he murmured.

Devin forced words between cracked lips. “No thanks to you.”

“I saved your life,” Marcus explained calmly. “They’d have killed us both if I’d tried to resist. I asked you to trust me. Shooting you was the only way I could save you.”

“Have you come to finish me off then?” Devin hissed through gritted teeth.

“I saved your life,” Marcus repeated sharply.

“And your own skin,” Devin murmured.

Marcus’ face flushed an angry red. “Had I meant to kill you, Devin, do you think I’d have missed at ten feet? I had to get those soldiers away from you until I could come back alone. They had to believe you were dead, so I grazed your head with the bullet. There was lots of blood but I spared your life.” He slid a hand behind Devin’s back. “Now let me help you, damn it! I need you to sit up.”

Devin felt completely limp, like all his bones had turned to water. He let Marcus pull him into a sitting position against a tree but he folded up in agony, cradling his head in his hands.

His former bodyguard produced water and bandages. Dabbing lightly at Devin’s temple and the back of his head with a wet rag, he frowned, his craggy face wrinkled and drawn. He wrapped a bandage around Devin’s head and buried the bloody rags under a bush. “We have to get out of here,” he said. “Can you walk?”

“How far?” Devin asked.

Marcus put his hands under Devin’s arms and lifted him to his feet. “Back to La Paix,” he replied, pulling Devin’s arm over his shoulder.

Devin exhaled, “God!”

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” Marcus said.

“Don’t,” Devin protested. He put one unsteady foot forward, his vision still blurry and uncertain. “I can’t see, Marcus.”

“At all?” Marcus asked in alarm.

Devin waved a hand. “Everything is blurry … fragmented.”

“That’s to be expected with a concussion,” Marcus assured him. “You smacked the back of your head on a rock when you fell. It should go away in a few days.”

Devin looked for the shepherd’s hut that had housed the entrance to the repository. He blinked, willing his eyes to focus on what remained. The bank of earth behind it had collapsed; ironically leaving the rickety doorway standing, like a portal to nowhere. Only a mound of dirt was visible and the lingering smell of burning paper. “Do you think there’s anything left?” he asked.

“If there is, we can’t save it now. I need to get you somewhere safe,” Marcus replied. “Come on.”

Devin’s hand fumbled toward the lining of his coat.

“You still have Tirolien’s Chronicle,” Marcus assured him. “They never even looked for anything hidden in your coat.”

“Thank God,” Devin whispered. “Where are Emile and his men?”

“Dead,” Marcus said shortly. He urged him forward. “We have to go. There won’t be any second chances for either of us now. If we’re caught, we’ll be shot on sight.”

Devin moved with him, staggering through the trees to the top of the hill. They followed the edge of the forest, staying deep within its shade as they made their way painfully back toward the road. At the edge of a field of golden flowers bent low by the rain, Devin tripped over a fallen log and fell.

Marcus went down on one knee beside him.

“Give me a minute,” Devin begged.

“A minute,” Marcus reiterated. “We don’t dare stop for any longer.”

Devin closed his eyes, laying his head back against the cool earth. His breath, coming in gasps from the exertion, sounded harsh and jarring under the quiet of the trees.

“Come on,” Marcus said too soon, hoisting him upright.

Devin put a hand to his head as the trees ahead of them blurred and spun. He leaned on Marcus and walked, silently counting his steps one after another. They stopped for water at a clear brook that wound its way through the fields above them on its way to the ocean below. Devin washed his hands and face in the cool water, lingering to splash it across the back of his neck before they went on. Above, the gray clouds hung dark and low.

It seemed like hours before they reached the road. The primitive track made walking easier but increased the chance of detection. Marcus stopped frequently, always listening for sounds of pursuit or horses’ hooves. They went on for at least another hour, Devin staggering more with every step. Without any warning, his legs just crumpled. He slid out of Marcus’ arms and went down, stones tearing through the knees of his trousers. “I can’t do this anymore,” he panted.

“Just a few more feet,” Marcus coaxed. “The cave where we spent the night is right around that curve. If you can make it that far, you can rest for the night.”

He struggled up with Marcus’ help, half expecting that the promise of rest was only to entice him to keep going, but just around the next curve, Marcus led him down an embankment. Below them was the stream that had swollen to twice its size during the thunderstorm last night. Even with blurry eyes, Devin could see it was still muddy and swirling after all the rain. He sank down gratefully under the layer of overhanging rock and stretched out on the ground. “Thank God,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

Devin woke in the night to the soothing sound of water rushing over stone. He shifted cautiously, attempting to keep nausea and dizziness at bay, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Marcus whispered out of the dark.

“I’m still alive,” Devin answered back.

How strange that they found themselves together in the same place where they had stopped two nights ago. Devin rearranged himself cautiously on the rocky ledge. “Tell me what happened to Emile?” he asked.

Marcus took a deep breath. “He sent two men home on a ship – one of them took my rosary that they stole out of your pocket. They hoped it would serve as proof of your death to your father.”

“He’ll know it’s not mine,” Devin interrupted.

“Exactly,” Marcus said. “I hope that we’ve sent him a message that you are still alive.”

“Do you think he has been deposed?” Devin asked.

Marcus shook his head slowly. “I can’t be certain, Devin. A lot may have happened in the two weeks it took those men to get here. If he is still in power then Forneaux is only biding his time. Your father may have sent those men to find you and bring you home and instead Forneaux paid them to kill you.”

Devin put a hand to his head. “There are too many different conspiracies. How do we sort them all out?”

“We don’t have to,” Marcus said. “We continue with our plan. If we can reach La Paix before the others leave, we can join them when they go to Coreé.”

“I’ll be recognized,” Devin said.

“Not necessarily,” Marcus replied. “You have a good start at a full beard: you’ve lost at least two stone in weight and in those clothes I doubt your father would recognize you.”

“And who will kill Forneaux?” Devin asked, thinking of Angelique’s insistence that she wanted to murder the man herself.

“I believe we will have several contenders standing in line,” Marcus muttered. “Don’t worry about that now. Are you hungry at all?”

Devin shook his head and regretted it.

Marcus handed him a flask. “Drink some water and try to sleep then.”

Devin could just make out his bodyguard’s profile as Marcus kept watch, his pistol in his lap. When they’d camped here before, he’d trusted Marcus, even confided in him. Last night, he’d been shot by his own bodyguard and almost killed, but Marcus didn’t appear to have changed. He had assumed his previous position as though he expected Devin to accept him also. And yet Devin would always see the muzzle of Marcus’ pistol aimed at his head and feel the sharp burn of that bullet, the instant before he passed out.

CHAPTER 3
Lavender

Devin dreamed of troops marching in Independence Square, his father standing on the steps of the Chancellor’s residence to view them, surrounded by his bodyguards. Devin stood beside him, as did his brothers and his mother. The pound of their horses’ hooves hurt Devin’s head as they shook the ground. They never missed a step, one hoof after the other, as though the horses had been trained to march in perfect time, but the soldiers’ rifles were aimed at the Chancellor and his family.

A hand descended over Devin’s mouth, waking him abruptly and yanking him backwards. He struggled, fighting imprisonment and nausea, as rough cloth was pulled over his head and body.

“Be still,” Marcus hissed in his ear.

Devin realized the pounding hooves were not a dream but horses passing on the road above them, at least one squad of soldiers, maybe more. Faint light passed through the coarse fabric of the blanket Marcus had hidden them under. The fabric was a sullen gray like the stone that hid them. It would have concealed them from a casual glance but the men passing above them never halted. The hooves and jingling bridles faded off into the distance, leaving Devin chilled and shaking.

Marcus waited a long time before he spoke. He finally pulled the blanket down and dropped it in a heap beside him. “Those may have been your father’s men, but I have no way of knowing. They could as easily be some secret squad of Forneaux’s sent out to track me down.”

“Why would my father deploy a small army to retrieve me?” Devin asked.

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Because with the political situation so volatile, I’m sure he wants you safely home.”

“Is Coreé safe?” Devin asked. “It doesn’t seem very secure for my father right now.”

Marcus shrugged. “Perhaps Emile told us what he wanted us to hear. The government may be more stable than you think. Your father has a host of supporters. There is very little that Forneaux could present that would discredit him.”

“And yet Forneaux feels he has an angle. He’d hoped to add Gaspard’s and my deaths to the list of offenses against the provincials but we’ve managed to avoid falling into his traps.”

“Pray it continues,” Marcus said.

“Where is Emile’s body?” Devin asked after a minute.

“At the bottom of the harbor along with his men. I didn’t have time to hide them anywhere else. I needed to get back to make sure you were all right.”

Devin raised his eyebrows. “So you weren’t sure, after all.”

“Sure of what?” Marcus asked brusquely, but the color had begun to rise in his face.

“Sure that I was still alive,” Devin answered.

“I never miss,” Marcus replied. “I’m an expert marksman.”

Devin didn’t doubt it. “Then what was the hurry?” he asked.

“I didn’t want you to bleed to death,” Marcus answered gruffly. He busied himself with rearranging his pack.

“How did you kill them?” Devin asked after a minute.

“Emile and his crew?” Marcus cocked his head, his voice formal but taunting. “That’s not something I’d have expected you to ask, Monsieur Roché.” He looked away, sharpening his knife against a stone. “I drugged their beer in the Wind and Water Tavern and when they staggered out along the dock, I cut their throats one by one and let them drop into the water. I weighted them down with chains so they wouldn’t float to the surface.”

Devin turned his head away. He’d wanted to know, but now that he did, the details only emphasized how brutal Marcus could be when he had to. But then when he thought of the smoldering Chronicles, his fists clenched and he thought that perhaps he could have pushed them into the harbor himself.

Marcus changed the subject. “We’ll stay here for today. They’ve already passed by this area so I think we are safe for the time being. You need a day to rest anyway. How is your head?”

“Better than yesterday,” Devin answered, although any movement still made his head throb.

“Stay quiet for today,” Marcus suggested, pulling cheese and sausage from his pack. “You didn’t happen to bring another one of those little crosses that would grant us access to the tunnels, did you?”

Devin fumbled with his jacket, trying to keep his head still. “Actually, I did!” he said, withdrawing a cross that was still attached to the lining. “I sewed it into the seam because I thought there was some chance we might be separated.”

Marcus beamed. “Excellent! Leave it right where it is. You don’t want to risk losing it. Now all we have to do is find a church.”

“I don’t believe there is even a town close by,” Devin answered. “At least I didn’t see any on our way through here the last time.”

Marcus stretched his legs out in front of him. “I believe you’re right. The closest church is in Calais and we’re not going back there.”

“So, we’ll walk until we find another,” Devin said. “By tomorrow I’ll feel more like myself.” He closed his eyes against the swirling patterns the leaves made and hoped that tomorrow would be better.

“I thought I might try to catch a fish for dinner,” Marcus offered. “Will you be all right alone if I leave for a few minutes? I’ll stay within hearing distance.”

Devin opened one eye. “Go ahead. There is nothing much happening here.”

Marcus threw him the pouch with the bread and sausage. “If you are hungry before I come back, you can eat this then. I think you’d prefer it to raw fish. I’ll find a fish for myself and be back shortly.” He laid a pistol on the rock beside Devin. “Keep that close at hand while I’m gone.”

Devin’s head still throbbed but he hadn’t admitted that to Marcus. There was no way out of the present situation except to walk back to La Paix and he would do it, whether his head hurt or not. The journey would take longer this time, a week or more, with them having to avoid the roads and any small towns or villages. He leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes; the rushing water of the stream below him formed a soothing backdrop. The forest spoke a dozen peaceful languages around him: birdsong, wind through leaves and needled branches, the scurry of small creatures searching for food.

A cascade of stones and dirt sat him upright, the gun in his hand. Before him was an elderly woman. Her head would have barely come to Devin’s chest and he wasn’t tall. She was like a wizened child; ragged grayish-brown clothing clung to her slight frame, making her blend effortlessly into the rocks and earth behind her. She squatted down, blinking uncertainly at Devin.

“Who are you?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“I might ask the same,” Devin replied. “Who are you?”

She cocked her head as though trying to remember. “I am Lavender. Are you the one those soldiers are looking for?”

Devin feigned nonchalance. “Are they looking for someone?”

“They are,” she said with a fearful look at the road above. Her brow furrowed. “They are always looking for someone and then people die.”

“They won’t hurt you here,” Devin replied.

She frowned, giving her brown wrinkled face the look of an oversized walnut. “They don’t want me. There is no one else in the forest except that man fishing. And you’re on edge,” she prodded. “It makes me think they’re hunting for you.”

“I honestly don’t know who they are hunting for,” Devin replied. “And what business is it of yours anyway?”

“It’s my business to know what happens in these woods,” she said defiantly.

“Well, this particular matter doesn’t concern you.” Devin waved the gun in her direction. “You need to be on your way.”

She laughed again, a deep humorless sound that put Devin’s nerves on edge. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I can,” Marcus’ voice said suddenly. He had come up silently behind Devin, his gun in his hand.

Lavender was unconcerned. “You won’t shoot me,” she said. “The sound of a gun will bring those soldiers back here.”

“True,” Marcus answered, his voice deadly. “But I can slit your throat and no one will hear a sound.”

Lavender’s body crumpled, like a bunch of rags thrown on the floor, her gnarled hands went to her scrawny throat. “Why would you kill me? I’ve not done you any harm. I’ve done nothing but speak to the gentleman.”

“He told you to be on your way,” Marcus replied. “You need to leave.”

“I will,” she said. “I thought we could help each other.”

“In what way?” Marcus asked, his voice sarcastic.

“I can show you a way into the tunnels,” she whispered.

Devin and Marcus exchanged a look. The tunnel system, which used the natural cave formations of Northern Llisé, would provide them with a safe, protected route to reach Madame Aucoin’s house in Amiens. “And what do you want in return?” Devin asked. He realized his mistake too late when her toothless grin revealed her brown gums.

“So you do need to reach the tunnels?” she cackled.

“Devin, shut up!” Marcus growled. “You’re only making matters worse.”

“I can take you there safely,” said Lavender. “For a price.”

“And what would that be?” Marcus asked.

“What does the boy have hidden in his coat?” Lavender asked.

“You’ll find nothing in my coat but a ripped lining,” Devin replied, involuntarily clutching Tirolien’s Chronicle to his side.

“Let me see,” Lavender asked, reaching out with sticklike fingers.

Marcus slapped her hand away with the barrel of his gun. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he said.

She snatched her hand away, holding it against her scrawny chest. “If you hurt me I will tell the soldiers where you are.”

“Then I may as will kill you,” Marcus replied calmly. “I doubt anyone will miss you.”

“Lavender is a story,” she protested feebly. “You can kill the bards but you can’t kill stories.”

Devin leaned forward warily. “What do you mean?”

She wrapped her arms around her as though she were cold, her ragged clothes looking more like a burial shroud. “Stories live on if you keep telling them.”

“There need to be bards to tell them,” Devin corrected her gently. “The bards tell the stories so that they won’t be forgotten.”

“You can tell the stories,” she insisted. “You can tell Lavender’s story.”

Devin rubbed at the bandage on his forehead. He wanted to lie down and still the thumping ache in his head.

“Come back tomorrow,” Marcus said. “You can tell your story then.”

“Lavender’s story is part of the Chronicle,” she said.

Devin exhaled. “Dear God, Marcus! She can’t be the Lavender that Armand taught me about?”

“I agree,” Marcus muttered, shifting his gun from one hand to another. “That was centuries ago, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Devin whispered. “Lavender, is your story about your white pony?”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes,” she said, “my beautiful white pony that ran away.”

“Where is your father’s house?” Devin asked. “Surely there must be someone left who wonders what happened to you.”

She shook her head, looking forlorn and afraid. “I can’t find it.”

“You lived in Arcadia,” Devin explained gently. “This is Tirolien. Your story is in Arcadia’s Chronicle. I believe that you lived there.”

She threw her hands out in supplication. “I don’t know where that is.”

“We are going that way,” Devin said.

“Devin!” Marcus warned. “We can’t take anyone with us.”

“But she’s lost,” Devin said. “Surely we can show a little mercy?”

Marcus shook his head unyieldingly. “Not now. Not here.”

Devin looked helplessly at Lavender. “How do you live? Where do you sleep?”

“I sleep under the trees. The roots are my pillows. In winter when it is cold, I live in this cave.”

“This cave?” Devin asked, nodding behind him.

She nodded, curling her feet around her, pulling the scraps of her clothing down to cover her toes. “I eat berries and nuts.”

“This is her cave, Marcus,” Devin protested. “We can’t stay here.”

“I don’t mind,” Lavender offered. “We can all stay here together.”

“We mind,” Marcus replied. “If this is your cave, we’ll move on.”