Wild Blood (Book 7) Read Online Free PDF

to slip away to her room, wriggle out of her finery, and crawl into bed.
    Despite her weariness at the meeting with High Lord Emaril—or perhaps because of the surreptitious nap she’d had there—Ria was awake as usual when the sun was no more than a thin white sliver barely peeping over the grain fields. Ria bounced out of bed, splashed her face with water from the basin, and dressed hastily, but she took the time to hang up her finery. Lady Rivkah would be furious if she knew Ria had left the gown crumpled on the floor the night before.
    Stopping at the kitchen for a piece of bread and honey, Ria learned to her amazement that High Lord Emaril and High Lady Vesana’s carriage had left to return to Cielman only a few moments before Ria had come downstairs. Still, it wasn’t so surprising, as most of the household would be busy loading the wagons for tomorrow’s departure, and the bustle and confusion around the keep would be exhausting to Lady Vesana. Ria was sorry she’d missed seeing High Lady Vesana’s newest baby, but at least their departure would save her further boring meals and hours in itchy gowns and shoes.
    The servants quickly chased Ria away from the loading operations; her tiny form was all too easy to trip over. Disappointed, Ria found a perfect vantage point on the stable roof to watch the process. Some of the supplies had been stored in the small outbuildings; others had to be brought up from the keep’s cool cellar. There were so many sacks, barrels, and crates that Ria wondered how all the goods would ever be packed into the small train of wagons. Maybe, Ria thought hopefully, there’d be no room for sitting in the wagons and they’d all have to ride horses all the way to Allanmere and sleep on the ground at night. Maybe there’d be no room to take such luxuries as fine gowns and shoes!
    By midday, however, the entertainment of watching the wagon loading had palled somewhat, and Ria was preparing to climb down from her perch and see about some dinner when Cyril unexpectedly emerged from the back kitchen entrance, carrying a large covered basket. He waved to Ria from the ground.
    “I’ve brought dinner,” he said. “Want to come down?”
    “Uh-uh,” Ria said firmly. “You come up.” She mistrusted Cyril’s sudden desire for her company; he could well be seeking revenge for yesterday’s ambush or her falling asleep last night at the meeting, if he’d noticed. He wouldn’t chance a scuffle, though, on the high stable roof; Cyril had never been very good with high places.
    Cyril sighed.
    “All right,” he said. “How do I get up?”
    “You remember,” Ria said impatiently. “From the loft, just climb the wall beams to the trapdoor.”
    “I can do that,” Cyril said with a shrug, “but not with this basket.”
    “Then send it up on the rope.” Ria jumped to her feet and ran to the front of the barn, where the ridgepole of the roof projected several feet outward. At the end of the ridgepole was a pulley used to lift bales of hay to the loft. Cyril placed the handle of the basket over the iron hook and pulled on the pulley rope until the basket reached the ridgepole.
    Ria sat down on the ridgepole and scooted out to the pulley. She wasn’t such a fool as to walk out and then bend over to pick up the basket, although sometimes she and Cyril had jumped off the ridgepole when there was a great pile of hay beneath. The basket was heavy, and Ria’s keen nose quickly told her the contents—roast fowl, cheese, hot rolls stuffed with chopped dried apples and honey, and pies made from last winter’s potted meat and new spring greens.
    By the time Ria had taken the basket back to the relative safety of the rooftop and inventoried the contents, Cyril had climbed through the roof trapdoor and crawled rather less confidently up to join her. He looked down and shivered.
    “Why in the world do you want to sit up here?” he asked. “It’s hot, and the wood’s hard and splintery, and the