First Truth
Page 18
“Strell?” she called softly. No answer. She wasn’t surprised.
“Strell,” she said louder. He grumbled and rolled over.
“Strell!” she shouted.
This produced the desired effect, and he blearily rolled back toward the fire. “Tea?” he croaked as he sat up and extended a rumpled arm.
Sniggering, Alissa handed him his cup. He obviously didn’t appreciate daybreak.
“The water bag is half frozen,” she said as she handed him his share of breakfast. “It’s good we’ll be indoors tonight.”
“Yes, but will we be in the guest rooms or the dungeon?” Alissa was so surprised he had managed a complete thought, it took her a moment to answer. “D-dungeon?” she finally stammered.
He blinked groggily. “Are you forgetting Bailic?”
“Of course not!” she protested, having done just that.
Strell grimaced, and anticipating another argument, she set her cup down with a firm thump. Tea slopped to make a steaming puddle that seemed to freeze even as Alissa watched. Strell sipped cautiously at his drink, ignoring her show of temper. “Well, it’s not like we could get through the mountains any other way now,” he said.
Tugging her coat closer, Alissa silently agreed. “Ashes, Strell,” she grumbled. “Bailic won’t know who I am. I don’t look anything like my papa.”
Strell’s eyebrows rose, and Alissa looked into her tea, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don’t like Useless any more than you do,” she said softly. “But we have to try to get him out.”
“From behind two locked doors?” Strell said. “Besides, what makes you think Bailic won’t simply put him right back there?”
Alissa’s breath slipped from her in a slow, measured sigh. She was sure the closet under the stairs Strell told her about was the same her papa hid his pack in. There hadn’t been a passage leading from it, though. Perhaps Useless meant another stairway with another closet. Even so, she was sure they could find a way past the locks. Then Useless would take care of Bailic.
Strell stretched, collapsing into a lump with a soft moan, clearly wanting to drop the subject. “I suggest we spend the morning inventing a plausible story as to why two people would be ignorant enough to be caught in the mountains this late in the season.”
Alissa swallowed her last spoonful of breakfast, surprised at how coherent his thoughts were this morning. Obviously he had been giving it a lot of thought. “Any ideas?”
He shrugged. “I’d stay with the truth as far as my presence is concerned. A lost bard isn’t that uncommon, but to have two traveling together is unusual.”
“Is it?” she murmured, knowing little of these things.
“My craft doesn’t lend itself to competition. It doesn’t pay as well as you might think. The only time I have seen it is when the two involved are siblings.”
“Why can’t we tell him that then?”
Strell gave her a curious, sideways look. “I don’t look anything like you. Besides, our accents are different. Anyone older than three could tell.”
“Oh,” she whispered. Glancing up through the black branches, Alissa noticed a thin line of clouds on the horizon. If they weren’t snow clouds, she was a plainsman’s mule. It was going to be a miserable night, one that could prove deadly if they didn’t have shelter.
Talon returned empty-handed as they were packing up. Apparently all her potential prey was absent or hiding from the looming storm. “Here, Talon,” Alissa called, extending the last of the dried meat. “You should have something.” Chittering her thanks, Talon daintily accepted the tidbits until her belly began to bulge.
“Hold on.” Strell cautiously knocked the fire apart. “She won’t be able to fly if you give her that much.”
“When does she ever fly anymore?” Alissa said dryly, and sure enough, the moment their packs were slung, Talon flew rather heavily to Alissa’s battered hat and settled herself to nap. “See?” Alissa complained, and Strell grinned. “Get off!” she shouted, suddenly embarrassed, snatching her hat from her head. Talon flew up, then down to land upon her shoulder. It was marginally more dignified, so Alissa let her stay, frowning at Strell’s thinly veiled chuckle.
Alissa’s past hope of getting her original hat back was gone. Strell had shown no interest in his old one, even with the decorative stitches. All that work wasted. She was stuck with his ancient monstrosity and he with her floppy one. Knowing him, he would eventually slather that awful grease on it, turning it a horrid dark brown to match her boots.
They strode quickly under the graying skies, making a fast pace over the road. The farther they traveled along it, the more grass-covered it became. But it was always clear where it ran, straight as a beeline, to the Hold. The morning slowly turned into a drab afternoon, and they were still no closer to inventing a reasonable story to explain her presence.
“I don’t see why we can’t use the idea of siblings,” Alissa complained as they walked through the woods.
Strell sighed. “It just won’t work. You’re almost tall enough, and the sun has turned you nearly as dark as I am, and your fair hair and eyes could be excused as bad breeding—ah—no offense. But your accent is a dead giveaway, not to mention the way you butcher your hair. If you sounded more like a plainsman, we might manage it, but you don’t, and that’s that.” He marched stoically forward, his brow tightening. The Hold couldn’t be far ahead, and they still were no closer to agreeing on a plan.
Almost unnoticed at first, the threatened snow began to fall. It sifted down in gradually thickening bands to darken the sky and turn the trunks of the trees to gray shadows. Winter had finally come, just as they feared. Strell was silent, frowning as he ignored the snow and Alissa both. In an unexpected flash of empathy, Alissa decided not to point out that he had been the one to call it down. He glanced up at her unusual silence, and she shrugged. The lines in his face smoothed and his pace slowed as he realized she wasn’t going to say “I told you so.”
“You know, Strell,” Alissa said, pleased she had held her tongue, “your accent isn’t as thick as you might like to believe. Your travel has softened it.”
“Your mother knew I was from the plains,” he said, brushing the snow from her shoulders.
“She would. The plains are her heritage as much as yours.”
“Thought so,” he boasted. “She didn’t sound it at first, but her looks give her away.”
“Her family is from deep plains,” Alissa continued. “But she was sent to the foothills to study the art of diplomacy at Finster’s School for Fine Ladies.”
“Diplomacy?” Strell peered at her, clearly trying to decide if she was joking, and Alissa nodded. “I’ve never heard of a school teaching diplomacy,” he said warily.
Alissa glanced behind them into the heavily falling snow. It was beginning to build, and they were leaving prints. “Well,” she said, turning back to Strell, “it never promoted itself that way, but that’s what Mother said it was.”
She watched Strell eye her. She could tell he didn’t believe her and was too smart to come right out and say so. Wise man, she thought. Curious as to how he would broach the subject, Alissa kept silent.
“Uh, don’t take this the wrong way,” he said slowly, “but why did she school for diplomacy only to become just a farmer’s wife?”
“What do you mean by just a farmer’s wife?” Alissa cried, stopping dead in her tracks.
“That’s not a slur, Alissa,” he said with a wide-eyed bravery. “That’s what she is. And from what I could tell, she’s very good at it.”
Slowly Alissa’s pressed lips loosened as his eyes held no scorn. “M-m-m,” she said. “But that’s not what her father had intended.”
“I can imagine.” Strell smiled softly as they began to move forward again. “She’s a very gracious lady. You can’t learn grace like that, you’re born with it. I bet her father wanted to use her to make ties with another family.”
“Use is exactly right,” Alissa muttered, con
versant with the plains’ barbaric custom of arranged marriages. They never married for love. A mother chose her daughter’s husband with a sharp eye on the purse strings. “That was why my mother was sent away to school,” Alissa continued. “She was supposed to learn how to live with someone she couldn’t tolerate. Instead she found the strength inside herself to say no. Her father was so incensed, he sent her back to the hills in disgrace. He expected she would repent and beg to return. She never did.”
Alissa stomped her boots to shake off the snow. Looking down at the ugly brown leather, she sighed. “And that,” she said, “is where she met my papa.” Alissa smiled sadly. “He used to tease her, telling me he found her chained to a post in the hills. I suppose in a way she was.”
“Huh,” Strell grunted. “How long did your mother stay?”
“At the school? I’m not sure, six years maybe?”
“Do you suppose . . .” He hesitated. “Do you suppose that in those six years, her accent could have shifted so she might sound as if born to the hills?”
Alissa felt a trace of a grin as she followed his thoughts. “I do believe that in six years, she might have lost her accent completely.”
“A school in the foothills could account for your hair, too.” Strell nodded to himself. “And you’re sure Bailic has no idea you exist?”
“Very sure,” she whispered, her eyes on the ground as she remembered how costly that protection had been.
“Then that’s what we will do,” Strell said firmly. “We can’t use my name; the Hirdunes are potters, not minstrels. But my mother’s name used to be Marnet. It’s common enough.” He hesitated. “That is—if you’ve no objections?
“Alissa?” he called, but she wasn’t listening. She had stopped and was staring in openmouthed awe at the massive stone structure that had loomed suddenly out of the swirling snow.
They had arrived.
18
Strell dragged Alissa’s numb feet across the frozen ground to stand wide-eyed before the huge entryway of the Hold. Even after having seen it through her papa’s eyes, it was impressive. The outer set of doors still hung open, and snow had collected against the thick, rough timbers. Standing taller than two men, the doors would have covered a space wide enough for three carts to pass. The doors looked frighteningly substantial, and she wondered why they weren’t closed.
It had been left to the decorative set of doors to keep the Hold secure. They were made of the same black wood, but were heavily bound with metal on all edges. The precious stuff was tooled, softening the harsh, blackened silver with the look of twining ivy leaves. Between the two sets of doors hung a huge bell. Shrugging, Strell grasped the frayed cord and gave a firm tug.
Even expecting it, the harsh clank made Alissa jump. The snow seemed to swallow the sound, and she fidgeted as her pulse slowed. It seemed to take forever until the doors opened and they were greeted by a pale figure clenched with cold under a long, elegantly trimmed housecoat.
“Burn me to ash,” Alissa whispered, her eyes going wide and her knees threatening to give. Her papa’s memory hadn’t been a dream. This man standing before her had killed him. The last few weeks hadn’t been a nightmare but a demented reality. She was a Keeper. Useless was real, and she might be able to do—magic?
He didn’t know her. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know her, Alissa repeated to herself in a half-mad litany to keep from bolting. The fierce grip Strell had on her elbow helped, too. Her pulse pounded as Bailic frowned up into the snow and hurriedly gestured. They stumbled over the threshold and the door thundered shut.
The silence was almost palpable as the candle he held flickered, threatening to go out, then burned steady. Her eyes darted nervously to the stairway. The closet’s door was hidden on the opposite side, but she knew it was there.
“What luck,” Bailic said, his soft voice shockingly smooth. “To find shelter just as the storm began. You must be a favorite of the Navigator.” He stood ramrod still, unmoving as he looked them over. There was the same hard tightness to him that Alissa remembered, and she felt her stomach knot. Why hadn’t she just agreed to go to the coast?
“Not too much of a favorite, I hope,” Strell said lightly, a grin pasted on his face. “Could you ask your master if we might stay the night?”
Bailic shook his head. “I’m the master, and I don’t think you will be staying just the night. I do believe it will be all winter.” He seemed to soften as a slow, almost predatory smile came over him. Something had shifted. Alissa felt her chest tighten. What the devil was she doing here?
“Weren’t you warned?” Bailic said. With a shake of his housecoat, he lost the last of his sharp demeanor, extruding a warm welcome instead. “Once it starts to snow in the mountains, it doesn’t stop.” He turned to Alissa, his smile freezing and the barest hint of disgust flicking over him as he realized she was of mixed blood. Again he hid his emotions behind a smile, and Alissa’s eyes dropped in a shame she hated herself for feeling. “It’s cold in the great hall, my dear,” he said, bending solicitously close. “Let’s go to the kitchen to discuss the terms of your stay.”
His steps light, Bailic turned and began walking to a small door. “Bailic?” Strell’s eyes seemed to say, and Alissa nodded, reaching to touch Talon’s feet reassuringly planted upon her shoulder. Bailic’s pale eyes and even paler features made a startling contrast with the rich blackness of his coat. Despite his refined polish, he looked all wrong. He was tall, even for the plains, topping Strell by nearly a head. Thin, almost gaunt, he exuded the proud arrogance that comes from growing up in the desert. His coloring, though, was wholly from the foothills, with his unnaturally white skin paler than the most pampered farm girl’s. His hair was hardly there, it was cut so short. Even so, it suited him very well. If not for being nearly white, he wouldn’t look more than a decade older than Alissa remembered her papa being when he had left.
As they followed him across the echoing expanse to a narrow door, all the doubts Alissa had ignored the last few weeks rose up. This won’t work, she thought as her breath quickened. He had to know who they were. They would never get Useless out. She would never find her papa’s book. She was risking her life for a book, and she didn’t even know why!
Alissa was near panic when Strell bent close. Speaking loud enough for Bailic to hear, he whispered, “Relax. I’ve done this lots of times. I don’t see any domestic help. If we aren’t hired as entertainers, we can surely stay as kitchen drudges.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze then, but she wasn’t sure if it was in encouragement or in warning to keep her mouth shut.
The small door opened to a dimly lit kitchen. Bailic pushed a tarnished kettle over the fire, and after stirring the flames to brightness, he sat at the head of one of the three tables. Strell and Alissa sat at the foot. A hard gleam seemed to come into Strell’s eye at the prospect of haggling the terms of their stay—his plains upbringing coming to the forefront—and Alissa would admit she ignored them as she looked around in astonishment.
Simply put, it was the largest kitchen she could ever imagine. The ceiling went up at least two stories so the heat wouldn’t become unbearable, even in the last days of summer. Chandeliers, their candles gray from disuse, hung from thick support beams that crisscrossed where the ceiling ought to be. An amazing three hearths took up the north wall; only the smallest was in use. Formidable metal doors were set in the stonework between them, telling of ovens large enough for a whole sheep. An entire wall was devoted to utensils, some of which Alissa couldn’t begin to guess their use. One corner—it was the size of her kitchen at home— had herbs making a low, once-fragrant ceiling. Now they looked brittle and tasteless in their forgotten age.
“Sounds fair,” Strell said loudly, breaking into her reverie. “What do you think, Salissa?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.” She blushed, too flustered to be annoyed with him mangling her name. Then she recalled the plains custom of naming children with the same first sound.
“So they are,” Strell hastily agreed. “She’s my half sister—at least, that’s Father’s best guess.” Smirking, he slumped conspiratorially toward Bailic. “Just between us, she isn’t much of a musician. Father thought to marry her off, and when she refused, he exiled her to Finster’s School for Fine Ladies to find some manners. It’s on the edge of the foothills. That’s where she picked up that barbaric accent.”
Bailic glanced from Strell to her, his eyebrows raised. “So why is she with you?”
“Alas,” Strell sighed, “she’s too stubborn. Even the good ladies at the seminary could do nothing with her. No looks, no talent, what was Father to do?”
Despite her fear, Alissa’s face began to burn.
“She’s my favorite sister despite her—shall we say?— questionable origin,” Strell said, “and rather than let her rot at Finster’s any longer, I pleaded with Father to allow me to take over her care as I traveled for new material. She’d been there since she was thirteen. Obviously, the banishment wasn’t working, but perhaps if she found how miserable life could be, she would be more amenable to marriage. Besides”—he grinned—“it was less expensive than keeping her in that cell of a school. And so I’m stuck with her!” Strell merrily gave her a whack on the back, pretending not to see her frown. “It’s a shame about that hideous accent,” he said. “I think she picked it up out of spite. If not for that bird of hers, I wouldn’t have bothered rescuing her.”
“Bird?” Bailic said uneasily. “What bird?”
Strell hesitated. Alissa could understand his confusion. Talon was surprisingly quiet and had apparently been missed, seeing as she was pressed up against Alissa’s neck, hiding amongst her hair. “Why—she’s a kestrel,” Strell said. “Can it be such a worthy man as yourself doesn’t know the least of the falcons?”