The Grail King Read Online Free Page B

rotating the hare’s carcass slowly, searing it in the flame. Grease sizzled onto the fire, sending a savory aroma into the air. Clara blinked against a sudden lightheadedness. How long since she’d eaten? A full day? More?
    Her stomach sent up a rumble. She pressed her palm against it, mortified. A flash of real amusement lit the Seer’s eyes. Just a spark, and only for a heartbeat, but it lifted Clara’s hopes. Perhaps there was a touch of softness within him, despite his gruff ways. She sipped her bitter draught, watching as he tended the meat. Drawing a knife from a sheath on his belt, he cut a portion of seared flesh from the bone. He placed it on a thin slab of wood and offered it to her.
    This time, she was careful not to let her fingers brush his as she accepted his offering. Keeping the blanket well over her bare legs, she perched the plate on her knees. Hunger overtook her and she ate with far less care than she’d been taught. The Seer watched her, a bemused expression on his rugged face, then rose and moved across the room. He returned to lay a hunk of stale bannock on her plate.
    Clara eyed the barley bread with distaste. Only slaves and cattle ate barley. But hunger was a potent spice. She accepted the offering without complaint, using the hard bread to sop up the last bit of meat juices.
    Where did the Seer come by his grain? Did he pilfer from remote farm fields or cultivate his own small plot? She chewed thoughtfully, trying to imagine his solitary existence. She found she could not.
    When she looked up, the Seer had seated himself in the dwelling’s single chair. He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, his big hands dangling between his legs. His fierce azure eyes unnerved her.
    “Will you not eat?” she asked him. The Celt words were coming easier now. She was glad she’d practiced so often with Aiden.
    “Nay. But ye may have as much as ye like. Though if ye’ve been without food for a while, ’tis best if ye dinna fill your stomach too quickly.”
    She put the empty plate aside. “I thank you, Wise—”
    “Owein,” he said sharply. “My name is Owein.”
    She hadn’t known that. Aiden had called him only “The Seer,” and “The Wise One,” as if afraid to utter a given name.
    “Owein,” she repeated slowly, letting the Celt lilt of the vowels roll off her tongue. She matched the sound of it to his face. “Well met, Owein. I am called Clara.”
    Once again his gaze found her, but he said nothing. The corners of his mouth turned downward, and the lines of his face settled into a grim expression that even his beard couldn’t hide. A quiver of fear rippled through her. Despite his youth, despite his reluctant kindnesses, she sensed he was a hard man, about as easily moved as a boulder. She worried the frayed edge of the blanket, an uncharacteristic reluctance to speak overtaking her.
    “I’ve disturbed you,” she said at last.
    “Aye, lass, ye have.”
    “I wouldn’t intrude on your solitude, except for the gravest of needs.”
    He said nothing.
    “My father,” Clara said. The last bite of the bannock turned to dust in her throat. “He’s ill. Near death.”
    “I’m no healer.”
    “It’s not healing I wish from you. There is … something that was stolen from me. A cup with healing power. If I can find it, I may have a chance to save my father’s life.” Perhaps at the cost of her own, she added silently. “Aiden was certain you could help me locate the thief. Please. I’ll pay any price.”
    “ ’Tis the gods who name the price of power. I guarantee the cost willna be to your liking. Far better to leave the immortal ones undisturbed and accept your sorrow. No man lives forever, nor should he wish it.”
    Clara twisted her fingers, glad for the pain the movement brought, for it helped distract her from the sickening roll of her stomach. “My father is my only relation, and he is not an old man. It’s not yet his time to—”
    “ ’Tis nay my concern,