Each day in Steinblomst Keep taught Camden something new about the Ridaerons. Unfortunately, many answers created new questions. The high king hadn’t been present for a fortnight, though he knew from the hustle and bustle that the servants soon expected his return.
For reasons he didn’t understand, Cam visited Freki in the stables with a spare apple he’d found in the larder, then he twiddled his afternoon away with the mare after Horsemaster Hugi said Brynhildr hadn’t been there to ride in days. Peculiar, since she was always on her horse.
As she hadn’t visited his bedchamber and he hadn’t encountered her elsewhere since the execution a week prior, Cam sought the queen instead, knowing precisely where he’d find her even before he reached Frigga’s altar.
Queen Brynhildr knelt before the marble statue in her fighting leathers, a constant in her apparel no matter the dress she wore to accompany them. Her hair was bound in complicated rose-gold plaits, and her weapons lay on the floor behind her.
Liran was right. She did make a ritual of it. Why, Camden couldn’t guess. Was the woman’s marriage in jeopardy? If he judged the health of their relationship purely from the king’s recent absences, he’d have assumed they were steps away from divorce.
He waited in silence, standing against the wall, while she went through her prayers. Once again, she lit four candles and set them by the lamb while he wondered at the significance. No matter who he asked, no one dared speak about it. They all turned pale as ghosts and silent.
When Brynhildr finally rose, she wasn’t the same proud woman who had bashed him into the ground with her shield and dared them to give her a reason to take their heads. Her shoulders slumped and her gaze didn’t reach his face.
“What do you require, Camden, to seek me here?”
“I came to ask something of you, but…” Damn. No matter how much he wanted to see Cara, common sense told him he’d approached her at the wrong time for any request to work in his favor. He sucked the air between his teeth.
Logic told him it wasn’t his business. His soul said she was a slaver, thus unworthy of his concern. But his heart saw a woman suffering, and he couldn’t ignore the visceral pain in her eyes. In Eisland, only the seriously devout, the infirm, or the hopeful visited temples as frequently as she did.
“But what?” she pressed.
“You’ve been a difficult woman to find.”
“I am always where I should be,” she replied. “Still, it is good you are here. I meant to find you after my prayers, but the gods saw fit to send you to me instead. Follow.” She brushed past him and started down the corridor.
He hurried to catch up with her ground-eating stride, falling in beside her. “May I know where we’re going?”
“The stables.”
He stared until he noticed a hint of a smile raising one corner of her mouth. “All right.”
He’d never been one to enjoy surprises, but he’d played this game before with his sister too many times to expect he’d receive a straight answer if he asked again. To his surprise, the horsemaster already stood outside with Freki, the incredibly huge Ridaeron greeting them with a big grin on his bearded face.
“He doesn’t look excited enough, Your Majesty. You must not have told him.”
“Told me what?”
Brynhildr sighed in exasperation and mounted Freki. “You asked to see your sister, so let us be off to do so.”
Camden waited for the punchline to the joke. “You’ll let me see Cara?”
“Yes. As I promised. Mount up before my patience runs thin.”
As he took a step toward her and Freki, the mare danced back three steps. “On your horse.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Ah, but you do,” Hugi interjected, opening another stall. He led a handsome black stallion from within, already saddled and fitted with a bridle. “His name is Geri, and our high queen has generously gifted him to you.”
“He’s mine?”
Hugi chuckled. “Did I stutter?”
Brynhildr clicked her tongue and urged Freki into a trot. Camden hurried to his waiting mount. Soon as he slipped into the saddle, the attendant laughed and slapped the horse’s rump, speeding him along his way.
He had no time to admire the horse or his beauty, from the ground or from the saddle, as the powerful beast exploded from a standstill to an effortless lope and easily caught up to Freki and her rider. The presence of another horse must have excited the mare, who accelerated into a gallop, prompting Camden to give Geri more rein.
The gates opened before their arrival, and then they were in the open countryside and flying like the wind down the path, hooves beating packed earth and country air whipping Cam’s hair.
Joy pounded through his veins, the taste of freedom sweeter than mountain air after weeks of imprisonment. Prior to bursting free from Steinblomst Keep’s bleak walls, the most joyous moment of his life had been setting sail as a cabin boy at age ten, separated from his twin for the first time when she attended mage school. Until that moment, he’d struggled to find his identity. To find happiness without his other half.
Brynhildr led the way northwest, taking him on a different route than any of their previous rides. Lush green hills gave way to rocky crags and thick forest. They followed a clearly marked road, packed dirt lined with marked stones.
“May I ask a question?” he called over.
“You may, though I do not have to answer.”
“Your prayers at the altar…I’ve rarely seen anyone attend daily observations. What do you entreat Frigga for?”
“It surprises me that you even know her name.”
“The chapel is a prominent part of the keep. It seemed fitting to know who—”
“Come!” she called. “You must be eager to see your sister again, but your riding says otherwise!”
He blinked at her change of topic. He’d definitely stuck his inquisitive fingers into a sore spot, but she was liable to bite them off if he dug again too soon.
Two exhausting but glorious hours of hard riding later, Brynhildr finally slowed. His hair was in disarray and sweat dampened his clothing. He smelled like horse, meadow air, and pine. Their mounts were lathered and frothing, tossing their heads and stomping their hooves, huge chests heaving.
Still, the only thing Cam wanted more than a steaming hot shower was to hug his twin.
A long, low building occupied a clearing in the forest beside a stable inhabited by a dozen horses. It was certainly nothing much to look at, crafted from dark stone that would blend in against the trees after sundown. What few windows there were appeared small and unlit.
“My sister is here?”
“Yes, she and other mages we’ve brought to be contained.”
“It’s not as large as I imagined,” he said as he dismounted.
Brynhildr smiled faintly. “The crypts run deep.”
“Crypts?”
A mounted sentry wandered past, pausing to bow at the waist before the queen prior to continuing his rounds. More stood at the only entrance and greeted the queen with warm welcomes. Wherever Brynhildr went, people seemed to love her, whether they were nobles, paid staff, or thralls obligated to obey her.
The door slid open, operated by a mechanism beyond his sight. It, too, was thick stone.
“At times, we prefer to build down into the earth,” she explained, guiding him inside. “It is a technique we’ve learned from the dwarves. Steinblomst Keep is different. I prefer the light.”
Cara hated enclosed spaces, so he could only imagine how much she and his sister both hated this dreary place of shadows and cramped quarters. “I imagine it makes it harder for them to escape,” he murmured.
Brynhildr led him to another two guards who each bowed. “This is Camden,” she said, gesturing to him. “He will be able to come and go freely to see his sister.”
“As commanded, my queen,” said one, opening the door to another hall.
The corridor sloped downward in a subtle spi
ral, though he couldn’t estimate how far they walked before the hall led out into a chilly room chiseled from black rock specked with silver.
Two more guards greeted them, rising from their dice game. Brynhildr led the way through narrow halls, past several rooms with heavy doors. Eventually, she stopped at one and unlocked the door with a slim silver key and gestured Camden ahead.
Compared to prison cells and brigs he’d seen in Eisland, the room was generously proportioned and clean, tidy shelves on the walls and a narrow but long bunk beside the wall. All it needed was a few windows to provide light for the mage seated at a desk with a book lit by one oil lamp. “I told you, I’m not interested in your—-” Cara glanced up, blinking twice, doing a double take before she knocked over her chair in her haste to rise. “Cam?”
“It’s me.”
His twin flung herself into his arms, her embrace tight and long despite the drying sweat on his skin. If his smell offended her, she didn’t show it. She burrowed into him, shuddering. “By Triton’s scales, I thought I’d never see you again. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Cara—”
She leaned back, staring at his face. “How are you here? Why—” Her questions abruptly died. Cam knew why, mentally following her gaze over his shoulder to Brynhildr standing behind him.
He bit his tongue. He’d missed Cara so much it hurt, but she could be opinionated at the worst of times. Tension denser than lead flooded the room and filled his chest with dread.
For the love of the gods, sister, don’t tell this woman where to put her sword.
“I’ll leave you two here for a moment,” Brynhildr said. “I’ll inform the wardens that she has a visitor who will require an additional supper.” The door clicked shut behind the high queen before Cam could even thank her.
Cara pulled back and stared at him. “What’s going on, Cam? The queen is escorting you now?”
“I don’t even know where to bloody begin. She told the guards up above that I’m allowed to visit you when I want.”
Her brows shot up. “Must be nice. “
He frowned, ignoring her tone in favor of taking her by one wrist then the other, inspecting the thick bangles. Before, it had taken him days to chisel a weakness through them with his pick. “How are they treating you here?” It felt odd; all his life she’d been the privileged one due to her magic, and now their roles were reversed.
“It’s a prison, Cam. They feed us old slop that’s long cold and come in once every few days to give me a bucket of fresh water.” She’d lost weight. He could see it in her face, her high cheek bones sharper and more defined. She was swimming in the abrasive burlap rags, shirt too large and trousers knotted with a rope around her waist. They gave her no shoes to protect her feet from the cold stone floor.
Skeptical of their alleged privacy, he took a few steps away from her and examined the walls with his fingers. It was all solid stone and brick, though he felt between the crevices anyway, searching for concealed peep holes. Confident no one could hear through inches of reinforced stone, he moved to her side again and said in a low voice. “They executed the captain who started this entire mess. Less than a week ago. I had a front row seat for the event.”
Cara snorted. “Good riddance to the bastard, but he’s the least of my problems here.” She rubbed her wrists, the skin chafed beneath the heavy cuffs. “All this time I thought you were in a cell like me.”
“No. I still can’t tell you why I’m not.” He hesitated to tell her about his luxurious bedchamber, the delicious meals, or the fact that the queen had tried to bed him twice. “I’m sorry that our plan fell through.”
Her features softened. “You did what you could. None blame you, I’m sure.”
“Gods, I hope not.”
“And I’m glad you’re well, at least. The guards here…they threatened all sorts of things—said all sorts of things. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.”
“What things?” he demanded, alarmed.
“That you’d be whipped and beaten if I so much as blinked or twitched a finger the wrong way.”
“Something tells me that won’t be happening.”
“Which? That you’d be beaten, or I would?”
“The queen seems to fancy me. I’m still waiting for her husband to run a sword through me for it.”
“I doubt he will. Seems to be the talk around here that she picked herself a new toy. I hadn’t realized it was you. They say the king has his own concubines.”
Camden grimaced, unable to imagine sharing any woman. It wasn’t uncommon for men to have mistresses in Eisland, as well as the opposite, but they shrouded their adultery in secrecy and never carried out trysts in public without the express intention of humiliating their spouse. “I’ve turned her down. I don’t care what they want. If I knew how to get you out of here, I would.”
“Visit me then. If you truly have permission, scout this prison. Sneak in what you can to get these blasted things off. There aren’t many guards down here, at least not that I’ve seen.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t? I’ve waited every day for the mere chance to know you’re all right and that they haven’t…” He thought of the condition of some slaves they’d rescued and closed his eyes, jaw clenching. “Out of the blue, she told me she had a gift for me and took me to the stables, gave me a horse, and guided me here. What have you learned? You’re clearly not in the dark as I am. The other thralls don’t trust me yet. Won’t utter a peep.”
“Not much.” Her eyes flashed. “There are only about a dozen other prisoners like me here that I’ve seen. Some have been here for years, taken out when they’re required to work. I saw a man brought back, burned out from magic use, a good forty pounds lighter than when he left. I’ve seen him twice since then but it’s been days. For all I know he died.”
“A dozen,” he repeated. “And they haven’t taken you anywhere?” Every time he thought he was closer to understanding, he uncovered some new piece of the puzzle. “Makes no bloody sense,” he muttered to himself.
“I’m too ‘high risk’ according to their captain of the guard. Their way of saying I refuse to bow to their whims.”
“At last, your iron will and stubbornness prove beneficial.” He tried to smile, but it was too strained to linger for long. “I’ll return on my own tomorrow and see how they treat me when I arrive. It’s too early to do anything risky just yet.”
A bell chimed and a second door in the room swung open onto a lit space. Camden could see other thralls entering from their own cells. “I guess having the queen’s consort around means I get to go in the public room again.”
“I’m not her godsdamned consort,” he snapped. Regret swam through him and churned through his stomach with a flash of sour bile. He abhorred the title, but the sentries had adjusted their behavior over the course of days, from gazing at him with unconcealed disgust to grudging respect.
Was that what Brynhildr called him behind his back? He wondered if the drottin had whispered amongst themselves during the execution, referring to him as the high queen’s consort—her toy. More pissed than repulsed by the discovery, Cam moved to the opening and peered through.
Ten other mages ranging in age from about twelve to fifty, or perhaps a healthy sixty, entered the space. A single table ran down the middle with enough chairs to seat fourteen, and two guards watched from above them on a balcony, both armed with heavy crossbows.
“Lunch time. Or is it dinner? I have no way to track the hours anymore and the food is always the same.”
“It’s dinner,” he said in a quiet voice. “Dusk fell shortly before our arrival.” He twisted around and glanced at the surroundings, taking in the faces and committing their features to memory. None looked familiar, three of them Samaharan, one with pointed ears and an androgynous face of inestimable age. He’d never seen an elf before, only read about them.
He followed his sister into the room and took a few moments to look around the rectangular chamber
and the recreational den at the end of the room with a few book cases, hardwood benches, and standard game cases. When a chime rang, all eleven hustled to chairs around the table.
“Do I—?”
Cara jerked her head toward the table and gestured toward a seat. He joined them, despite his increasing curiosity. Once everyone was seated, another door opened and a guard wheeled in a cart.
The meal appeared decent, a hearty rabbit stew with chunks of bread and glasses of water. Cara shot him a meaningful look, lips pressed tightly together, but the others all stared at their respective meals with wide eyes.
Camden received his portion last, his bowl the largest and offset with a half-loaf of buttered garlic bread. Still, no one moved, even after the guard left, the door closed, and a third chime rang. Only then, did the mages practically attack their food, tearing into the meal with ravenous gusto.
“This isn’t our usual fare,” Cara said drily. “It’s all a show for you, I wager.”
“Suppose I’ll have to make visits a daily occurrence,” Cam muttered, as if he hadn’t already promised it and wasn’t already up to no good. Though he’d missed dinner while riding, he barely had any appetite, too absorbed with watching the others. While they survived on crumbs, he’d dined like a king each evening, eating better in Steinblomst Keep than he had on any naval ship.
Eisen’s beard.
His sister slid her bread to the youngest among them, an albino girl no older than twelve. Cam did the same, but she barely glanced up, hovering over her food as though she expected someone to take it from her.
“She’s Ridaeron,” Cara said. “Cast out because she was born with magic. They haven’t taken her out so long as I’ve been here. I think they’re actually afraid of her, calling her a ghost or wind devil. She doesn’t speak much, either.”
Camden studied the girl for a while, something tugging at his memory. The harder he tried to recall, the deeper it fled, until at last he snapped his fingers. A sentry above them jerked, glanced down with his crossbow sighted, then appeared to relax. “I’ve seen a child like her once before,” he whispered, voice low. “The boy who sails with James.”
Sea Witch and the Magician Page 22
