At least he notices I’m here, Ivanore thought. That’s a start.
She sat on the side of her bed and moaned a little. The boy’s lips turned down.
“Either that stew the chef sent up was bad,” she continued, rubbing her stomach, “or else I’m ill. I hope the former, for your sake.”
She tried to laugh, but she really did feel sick. She was beginning to feel cold as well, and a little light-headed.
She braced her elbows on her knees. “I’m going to vomit.”
Ivanore managed to catch a glimpse of the boy glancing fearfully between her and the ceramic bowl on the dresser. Finally, his stiff demeanor melted, and he dashed across the room for the bowl. He slid it into her hands and then retreated to his corner by the door.
Ivanore felt a sense of victory. This young guard had a heart after all. He had momentarily left his duty to help her. It was a good sign.
After a few moments, Ivanore set the bowl on the floor and laid back in her bed.
“It seems to have passed for now,” she said with feigned drowsiness. “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’ll try to sleep for a while.”
The boy looked more nervous than ever, but in a different way than before, as if he was worried about her more than himself. He blinked and pressed his lips into a tight line. He was considering, she realized, whether or not he should reply.
After a moment, and to Ivanore’s relief, the guard said, “Good night, Milady.”
It was enough for now.
Ivanore pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. The guard had spoken to her. He had helped her, and then he had spoken. Two obstacles overcome in a single night. She allowed herself the slightest feeling of satisfaction as she fell asleep.
***
Over the next several nights, Ivanore’s strategy fell into place. One night, she rearranged her room and asked the young guard to help her shift the bed to the opposite wall as it was simply too heavy to do alone. Another night, she called the guard to the window to show him the full moon. And on yet another she had him hold onto her chair while she stood on it to adjust the curtains.
Eventually, the guard ceased hesitating when she asked for his help. The perpetual look of concern was gone from his face. He even smiled at her a few times, seemingly pleased at the opportunity to be useful.
One night, Ivanore sat on the edge of her bed brushing through her hair with long, slow strokes. The day had gone as usual. She had walked in the gardens, now void of blossoms due to the lateness of the season, and had reviewed some of her art records. She had no intention of returning to her task of researching the artwork, but she wanted to present some semblance of settling back into her old life. If Arik saw that she was content again, maybe he would loosen the stranglehold he had over her.
The castle, she noticed, was quieter than usual, which meant the garrisons had left for a mission. While she occasionally could spot Erland in the courtyard below her window, she had not seen him for several days. Was it too much to hope that Arik had not sent him on another cleansing?
As the day progressed, she became more aware of how empty the castle was. At dinner, she dared to ask the guard standing near her that she wished to speak to Arik. The guard, however, informed her that Arik was out on a campaign with his men.
Arik had left the castle? That was odd, she thought. Later, in her room, she tried to see Arik and Erland, to discover what they were doing. She saw only torchlight and heard the steady clomping of horses’ hooves. Nothing out of the ordinary. But something about the scene, about the severe expression on Arik’s face, filled her with dread. Not that she could do anything about it.
Ivanore set down her brush and twisted her hair into a braid. “You’ve never told me your name,” she said, glancing comfortably at her young overseer who had taken his post a half hour earlier.
The boy’s expression momentarily grew serious as he likely contemplated the consequences should Arik learn of his behavior, but the look was fleeting. He, like Ivanore, must have known the Minister and his direct commander were both away this night.
“It’s Fred,” said the guard.
“Fred,” repeated Ivanore. “That’s my father’s name. Well, Fredric. Is your name short for Frederic?”
He shook his head. “No. Just Fred. My parents thought it a good sensible name for a farmer’s son.”
“I see. So, you must be from inland.”
Fred still looked quite nervous, but he responded politely. “I am. My father grows potatoes, corn, squash and such. He’s got quite a nice piece of land. I stand to inherit it one day.”
Ivanore noted how the boy’s shoulders drew back proudly as he spoke. He wasn’t really a soldier then, Ivanore realized, at least not by choice.
“You miss home?” she asked.
His shoulders drooped. “Every day. But when the Ministry sent out the call for soldiers, it was either me or my father. Every family in my province had to give someone. And father is getting old.”
“You don’t have any brothers?”
“Four sisters.” He laughed. “All older than me. You can imagine how it was for me growing up.”
It was amazing how easily Fred opened up to her. He was a gentle young man with a kind soul. She tried to imagine him accompanying Erland on one of Arik’s dark missions but could not. She hoped he would never have to face that sort of situation. Guarding her was a good task for him.
She didn’t want to encourage too much openness, however. She still needed him to feel like a soldier, like he was doing his duty.
“Well, Fred,” she said. “I’m glad Arik selected you to watch over me. I feel safer when you’re here.”
Fred blushed. “It’s nothing,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Just doing what I’m told.”
“Of course you are.”
As tempted as she was to learn more about him, she decided it was wise to save further conversation for another day. In time, she hoped to share some things about herself with him, and perhaps convince him to help her escape. She would need to take him with her, of course, for fear Arik might punish him. She wondered if Fred would leave the Ministry, or if doing so would endanger his family? But she couldn’t think about that now.
She laid down and closed her eyes, but as had become usual, her stomach bothered her. And for a few days now, she had begun to experience a dull ache in her right side, just below her waist. The pain had grown more intense during her conversation with Fred.
She tossed and turned, but no position afforded her any relief. As her mind broke from the present, she once again saw Arik framed by torchlight. The horses seemed anxious, the way they bobbed their heads and snorted. She could feel the tension around the soldiers who stood in rank, their hands on their swords. What was Arik doing with them?
The image shifted, as if jumping ahead in time. Now the flames were much larger. Cottage rooftops were alight, bonfires in the night. The screams of women and children sliced across her brain like a red-hot dagger. She pressed the heels of her hands against her ears to muffle the sound, but it didn’t do any good.
Suddenly, she was back at Ashlin, staring across the field. There was Jayson, fending off an attacking Vatéz soldier. But then Ashlin was gone again. Now she stood at the edge of a cornfield, holding the hand of a little boy. A young girl held her other hand. She felt their tiny, shaking palms in hers.
Ivanore quaked with fear. She knew this place. She had seen it before. She knew the cottages, the corn field, the boy whose body she now seemed to inhabit. She could feel herself inside him somehow, seeing the village through his eyes, hearing the screams of the villagers through his ears.
She looked up and saw the face of her brother, of Arik. He was speaking, though his voice was inaudible above the roar of the fires behind her, above the sound of death all around.
And there was Jayson again, the soldier with his sword raised.
Arik with his sword raised. And then in one sudden, decisive move, the blade stuck her in
the same moment the soldier’s blade went through Jayson.
Ivanore’s eyes flew open, and she sucked in a sharp breath. The vision shattered.
“Milady?” she heard Fred’s voice from across the room.
A sharp pain blossomed across Ivanore’s abdomen. I’ve been stabbed. She screamed out, her voice responding automatically to the shock.
Fred hurried to her side, fear etched in his face, but Ivanore was less concerned with his presence as she was with her own body.
Her muscles spasmed sharply. She grunted and clenched her teeth. I’m going to die.
“Fred,” she forced his name out between shallow breaths, fear rising in her. “Fred, something is wrong. Help me get up.”
But as she folded back the blanket, she saw that her nightdress and the mattress beneath her were red with blood.
Fred’s eyes widened in horror.
Ivanore was no less frightened than he was. She not only was in pain, but the room now felt lopsided as her mind began to darken.
“Get help,” she said. “Fred, you have to get help.”
He nodded frantically and did not pause a moment before rushing out the door, leaving Ivanore alone in the room. How ironic, she thought, the very situation she had wanted for months was now before her. Her door wide open, the guard gone, the castle practically empty. And she was in too much pain to take advantage of it.
From far down the hall she could hear Fred’s voice calling out for assistance, but the voice grew farther and farther away until it felt like a distant dream. Then the world around Ivanore faded to gray and then to a dull, silent black.
18
“What are you doing, Papa?” Rylan stood in the doorway to the room he shared with Brommel and scratched at an itch on his nose.
Brommel, who was on his knees reaching beneath his bed, glanced up at his son. “Nothing. Just getting something I need for my next journey.”
The boy’s face fell. “You’re going away again? You haven’t gone away in a long time. Why do you have to go now?”
Brommel’s hands found what he was looking for and slid it out from under the bed. The wooden box was the length of his forearm and nearly as wide and quite heavy. It made a dull scraping noise as Brommel shoved it to the center of the room and lifted the lid.
Inside were tidy stacks of silver coins, all his earnings paid to him by Chancellor Prost and Lord Fredric. Blood money, Brommel realized. Of course, he had spent some of it on basic necessities for himself and his son, but most had been deposited here. It was all Brommel had saved, hoping to one day buy a farm for him and Rylan to live.
He counted out one hundred coins, fully a third of the total, and dropped them into a leather sack he had brought with him for that purpose. Then he pushed the box back into place, pulled the bag’s drawstrings tight, and stood to face his son.
“I am going away one last time,” he said. “I wish I could take you with me, but where I’m going isn’t a place for young boys.” He tried to smile, but the truth was it hurt him to leave Rylan after having stayed home for several months now. Brommel had grown accustomed to spending his days with Rylan at his side. He chastised himself for having neglected his boy for so long, as if keeping his distance would dull the pain of separation.
How foolish he’d been.
Brommel sat on his bed and motioned Rylan to come to him. The boy, though sullen, climbed into his father’s lap and laid his head against his chest.
“I’m going to go help a friend who needs me,” Brommel began. “When I come back, I’ll need you to help her too.”
“Her?”
Brommel nodded. “Promise me you’ll welcome her and make her feel at home.”
“Of course I will, Papa. But I still don’t see why I can’t go with you.”
“After this last trip,” said Brommel, kissing the top of his son’s head, “I will never leave you again. You and I will be together for always. I swear it.”
***
When Brommel strode into the Fortress office later that day, Chancellor Prost was sitting behind his desk, his head bowed low over a parchment. He signed his name to it with a flourish, before lifting his eyes to his unexpected guest.
“Brommel,” he said. “So, you’ve finally seen fit to respond to my summons. I’d long given up on you. Already hired a new man to replace you, so you can go.”
Prost waved a bony hand at him and returned his attention to the parchment.
“I’m not here for a job,” said Brommel, gathering his courage. Prost was a small-statured man of advancing years. Frail, actually. Yet there was always something about his piercing gaze that intimidated Brommel, as if he had a way of cutting into a man’s very soul.
Prost looked up again. “So, why are you here?”
Brommel stepped closer. He felt the weight of his leather bag gripped tightly in his left hand.
“I want to pay off a contract.”
Prost eyed him suspiciously for a moment and then leaned back in his chair. He rubbed a finger against his chin. “A contract. One of those you collected, I’m assuming?”
“Yes.”
“Could it be the former Hestorian assassin has finally grown a conscience?” Prost seemed to consider this a moment. “No, I doubt it. You’ve brought me dozens of contracts over the years, yet you are interested in only one.”
Brommel felt a sheen of sweat break across his forehead. “Silas Sotherby, from Quendel. The contract is for six months. More than three have already been worked. I want to pay off the rest.”
“So, what is it about this Silas Sotherby that interests you so much? Surely, he can’t be anything more than a simple farmer if he is from that side of the island. What value is he to you?”
“When I arrived at Quendel to collect the man,” Brommel explained, “his wife took his place. She is the one who is in the mine.”
“I see. A woman. Not many women go to the mine, but she isn’t the first. Married, you say?”
Brommel could no longer bear Prost’s gaze and lowered his eyes.
Prost burst into laughter. The sound startled Brommel. He looked up again and saw the old man with a wide grin on his face, a hand over his belly, chortling with pleasure. When his laughter died away, Prost pinched his eyes.
“The great Brommel’s stone heart has finally cracked—because of a woman. And not just any woman. A poor, ignorant wife of a poor, ignorant tenant farmer. A slave.”
He clapped his hands, and the young page boy who stood always at his side snapped to attention.
“Fetch me the contract for Silas Sotherby, and hurry. I have a busy day today and would like to get on with it as soon as possible.”
The few minutes that passed were unbearable for Brommel as Prost continued to study him over tented fingers, like a man might study an insect in a jar. Finally, the boy returned, out of breath, and handed Prost the scroll.
The Chancellor snapped the wax seal and unrolled the document across his desk. He scanned down to the bottom and read the words out loud.
“Silas Sotherby is hereby in arrears of his debt to Lord Fredric for the amount of eighty coins. The balance must be paid in full or said debtor must pay with service to the King.”
Prost raised his eyes. “There it is then,” he said slyly. “Eighty coins will free your woman from the mine.”
Brommel blinked. “But half the debt is already paid. Surely her work would lower the rate to forty coins.”
“Eighty coins,” repeated Prost. “Not a cent less.”
He is cheating me.
Brommel knew that he had no power to sway the old man. Who would he complain to, Lord Fredric himself? He set the leather bag on the corner of Prost’s desk and counted out eighty coins, stacking them neatly in front of the chancellor. As Brommel tied up the bag again, he noted how light it felt now. He might never be able to buy that farm for Rylan, but he could never live in peace if he left Arla in the mine.
He clutched the bag with the remaining coins in one hand a
nd held out the other. “The contract,” he said.
Prost moved leisurely as he dipped his quill into an inkpot and signed his name to the bottom of the parchment. He blew on it to dry the ink, and then rolled it back up and sealed it.
He held out the scroll, his eyes training on Brommel’s, toying with him.
How I hate this man.
Brommel closed his fingers around the scroll and slid it out of Prost’s hand. Then, without another word, Brommel turned and strode out of the office, swearing to himself he would never return to the Fortress again.
19
Each day that passed, Jayson grew stronger. The progress did not come easily, however. Some days his body did not want to cooperate. His hands trembled more than usual and he’d drop his plate, or his legs would collapse from underneath him. When this happened, he cursed himself, cursed his injuries, and cursed the Vatéz.
Agnora, for the most part, stayed out of his way. She prepared his meals and washed his clothes and chided him when she felt he was taking too long to get out of bed in the morning.
Teak and Dianis came to visit at least once each week, sometimes staying for a day or two before returning to their new home. Jayson appreciated their company, a welcome change from the often sharp comments of his host. Teak and Jayson sometimes sat for hours at the table while Teak filled him in on the work he and Dianis were doing to the farmhouse. The place, they explained, had fallen into disrepair since Teak’s uncle had died at the hands of the Vatéz several years earlier. The first thing they had done was replace the wooden shingles on the roof, each of which he had to cut by hand from trees he felled himself. That had taken the entire first two months that Jayson had been with Agnora. Dianis was equally busy working in the field, tilling the soil with the uncle’s old tools, preparing to plant in the spring.
After nearly four months of work, much of it in the thick of winter, the house, Teak claimed, was at least livable.
The Crystal Keeper BoxSet Page 27
