The Grail King Read Online Free

with a crisscross of thongs.
    She caught his eye and he lifted his brows. Quickly she averted her gaze. The curved daub-and-wattle wall enclosed his simple circular dwelling. His furnishings were crudely made and haphazardly arranged. A chest, a table, a chair. His hearth wanted sweeping. Overhead, an untidy bundle of herbs hung from a smoke-blackened timber.
    It was the dwelling of a man who didn’t expect much from life. Had it always been thus for him?
    “You are young,” she said finally.
    “Nay so young as you, lass.” She thought she heard amusement in his voice, but when she searched his face, she saw no trace of it. “No Roman knows of my presence in these hills,” he said. “And no Celt would dare speak of it to one such as ye. Who was this old man who sent ye to me?”
    “A … servant in my father’s household. He’s called Aiden.”
    “Aiden?” Raw emotion lit his eyes, then was gone. He shook his head, his startled expression resolving into wry amusement. It made him seem almost human.
    “Curse the old fool,” he said. Then, tentatively, “He is well?”
    “Yes,” Clara said. Once again her fingers found the edges of the furs. “Though … his joints ache at times. He rubs his fingers with a salve I procured from a Celt healer—he would not abide by the leeches suggested by the Greek physician. But I don’t think he truly wants to banish the pain. He claims the rhythm of the ache helps him predict the fall of the dice.”
    “ ’Tis Aiden, to be sure. A more superstitious man ye’ll nay encounter. The idiot sees signs in every turn of the wind, each squawk of the crow. Even the shape of his own spittle upon the ground.”
    “And you don’t?”
    The amused expression fell from his face. “True power ne’er comes so easily.”
    “But isn’t magic a gift from the gods? To be used for the benefit of men?”
    “Gods are capricious beings. They gift and curse with one stroke. They never grant power without demanding payment.” He spat into the fire. “ ’Tis a wise man who leaves the immortals to their own devices.”
    “And yet, if the need is great—”
    “Whatever it is ye came for, dinna ask me to provide it.”
    Clara pursed her lips. He couldn’t refuse her request. Her father’s life depended on it. “I’ll pay you well.”
    “I’ve no need of Roman coin.”
    “Then help me for Aiden’s sake.” She watched him closely. “He gave me a message for you.”
    The Seer grunted. “What message?”
    “He said to tell you it wasn’t your fault.”
    The Seer flinched as if he’d been struck. Rising abruptly, he strode to the wooden chest and jerked it open.
    “If you would but listen …” Clara cried.
    He extracted what looked like a garment from the chest. For a moment, he stood motionless, staring down at it. Then he tossed the fabric in her direction.
    She caught it. “What—?”
    “Put that on.” Giving her his back, he headed for the door.
    “Wait! Where are you—”
    Too late. She saw a sliver of daylight through the open door; then he was gone.
    “Oh!” Clara pounded the ground with her fist. Pain shot up her arm, but she welcomed the sting; it helped ground her anger. Rude barbarian! How dare he walk out on her when she’d traveled so far to find him? She scowled at the door, wishing she had something substantial to throw at it.
    Unfortunately, she didn’t. She had only his spare shirt. She shook it out. It wasn’t like the crude one on his back, but a real garment, woven of linen, well worn and soft. She eyed her own clothing, crumpled in a sodden heap on the floor, her sleeve pins scattered in the dirt nearby. A hot surge of irritation flushed her cheeks. That embroidered wool had come all the way from Rome. How like a man, not to think to spread it to dry. The least he could have done was collect the pins into a pile.
    Keeping one eye on the door, she let the fur blanket slide from her shoulders. She slipped the Seer’s shirt over her head. The