Farns stood to one side, his hands swathed in the thick, clumsy warding gloves. He held the warding key while they came through.
“Just in time, Master Beva,” he said, relief clear in his gruff voice. “It’s almost nightfall.”
Caelan did not hear his father’s reply. The gates were pushed shut and locked, and Old Farns reset the key. People surrounded Caelan, clapping him on the back, asking questions, faces glowing with simple pleasure to see him again.
Happiness filled him. The servants were openly pleased at his return. Perhaps they did not yet know why he was home, but even then they would not care. Caelan grinned all around, glad of the welcome. It was good to be home, safe and loved, once again.
“Let’s take you in to the fire,” said Anya the housekeeper. Plump and motherly, she clucked over both Caelan and Beva. “Worn through and half frozen alike. This weather’s no good for traveling.”
“Any trouble?” Beva asked.
Old Farns shook his head, then looked up to study the night sky. “Snow will be coming again. We expect a storm, the way the wind’s turned to come off the glacier.”
“Good,” Beva said curtly and handed his healer’s kit and saddlebags to his assistant.
Gunder was lanky and taciturn, a devout believer in severance. He had come to E’nonhold years ago to serve as an apprentice, but lacked sufficient talent to become a healer. Instead, he seemed content to remain here forever, humbly serving Beva in any capacity he was allowed.
“There are Neika in the hold,” he said quietly. “One with a broken leg that needs setting.”
Beva nodded. “I will make my rounds presently.”
Gunder bowed his balding head and strode away, shoulders stooped against the wind.
“May be in for a long howler,” Old Farns said, still sniffing the wind. “We’ve not enough peat gathered.”
“Then we’ll have to be cold,” Beva said. His voice was short with fatigue. “There’ll be no forays until we have word the army is well beyond the borders of Trau. Is that clear?”
Without waiting for a reply, he walked away.
The servants exchanged glances of consternation, then streamed after him, chattering among themselves. Anya snagged Caelan by the arm, snuggling him close to her ample warmth and chucking him under the chin as she had done when he was little.
“Still growing,” she said. “You’re head and shoulders above Old Farns now. I’ll vow you’re hungry enough to eat the walls.”
Caelan smiled, nodding. “I could eat everything in your kitchen.”
She laughed. “There’s venison stew and fresh baked bread and cheese made this summer and apples baked for a pie and even browly cakes with seed tops, if a certain miss has kept out of them.”
“Lea,” Caelan said, his gaze yearning toward the house, which stood square and plain, lights shining golden at its windows. “Is she up?”
“Up?” Anya said with a snort. “I’d like to see her stay in bed, with you expected home at any hour.”
“Caelan! Caelan!”
A little voice was shrieking his name. Lea came bursting from the door, dashing past her father and the others, her arms outstretched for one person only.
She barreled into his legs and clung tight. “Caelan, Caelan,” she said over and over.
His heart squeezed tight. Caelan crouched down and hugged her until he thought she might break. Her blonde curls smelled of rosemary and lavender, fresh from her bath. She was small and sweet and tender. He loved her so much he ached with the joy of holding her in his arms again.
“I missed you, little one,” he whispered.
“Missed you more!” she shot right back.
Laughing, he stood up and swung her high in the air, making her squeal. Only then did he realize she’d come running outside into the snow in her nightgown and houserobe, thin cloth slippers on her feet.
“Silly girl,” he said, pretending to scold her. “You’ll freeze into an icicle out here.”
Still tossing and tickling her, he carried her into the house, where the warmth was like an oven, wonderful and fragrant with the smells of food and cleanliness. Caelan paused on the threshold only to briefly dip his fingers into the basin of Harmony that was set in a wall niche; then he was inside with Lea squirming merrily in his arms, squealing with mock protest as he kissed and tickled her.
Their happy voices made the walls ring, and from the corner of his eye he saw Beva wince. Anger stirred in Caelan, but he ignored it right then, wanting nothing to spoil this moment with Lea.
Finally he set her down, but she continued to cling to him, still giggling, her face round and alight with an inner joy that could not be quelled.
Caelan was relieved that even his father had not yet quenched her merriment.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said. “Want to see it now?”
“Caelan, you will bathe and warm those feet,” Beva said sternly. “Anya has prepared your room.”
“Yes, Father.”
Lea was still tugging on his sleeve. “Come and see it now.”
“In a minute,” Caelan told her. “I’m chilled through. You don’t want me to catch cold, do you?”
She pouted and stamped her little foot. “If you have a bath, it will take forever. Then you will be hungry, and you will eat forever. No one will let me wait that long. Come now before I have to go to bed.”
“All right,” he said, laughing. “I’ll come now.”
Grinning, she pulled him across the room by his sleeve.
As they reached the doorway, Beva straightened from the fire where he had been pulling off his boots. “Lea,” he said, “will I get no home-greeting from you this night?”
She paused, her forehead wrinkling in dismay. In a flash, she ran to him and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re home. Father. I’m glad you brought Caelan back to us. Goodnight.”
Beva touched her golden curls briefly. “Goodnight, little one.”
Then she was back, taking Caelan’s hand and jumping up and down as she led him out. Her chatter was nonstop and only made him laugh. He did not look back at his father as they left. Beva had only his own coldness to blame if she gave him no more greeting than that.
Her sleeping room was a small, plain cube like all the others in the house. But Lea had stamped it with her own personality, filling it with hanks of flower bouquets picked last fall and now well withered, birds’ nests, necklaces strung from wooden beads, crooked sticks with curly bark, and a makeshift tent fashioned from an old hide draped between her clothes chest and a chair.
Down into this she scrambled, beckoning for him to follow.
Caelan’s tired, cold joints creaked as he got down on his knees and crawled into the tent beside her. He was too big for it. His head poked against the hide, and Lea’s elbow jammed into his side as she turned around.
“Is this the surprise?” he asked.
“No, silly.” She was busy rummaging among her collection of cloth dolls sewn from scraps by Anya’s kind hands, with horn buttons for eyes and hair made from shawl yarn. “We have to wake up the dolls, I’m afraid. You were so late I had already put them to sleep.”
He had a vision of having to greet each doll by name and kiss it or something. Caelan yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. He was too tired for this.
“Here!” Lea said triumphantly. She pulled out a slim, flat box and plunked it in his lap. “I have to hide it, you see, so I let my dolls guard it. No one would ever look for it under their bed.”
“No, indeed,” Caelan agreed solemnly. He picked up the box and wondered with an inward sigh if he would find dried worm remains or colored sand inside it. “What is it, then?”
Lea’s face was round-eyed in the shadows. She tensed with excitement. “Open it,” she whispered.
Gingerly, he flipped the small catch and raised the lid. Nine pebbles, each about the size of his thumb, lay jumbled inside. He tried not to sigh.
“Very nice,” he said without i
nterest and started to lay down the box. Some glimmer from the lamplight sparked a glint of green. Caelan frowned and picked up one of the pebbles. Squinting to see it better, he held it up to the light.
It was angular in shape, with crisp facets. The green surface was rough, yet as he slid his finger over it he knew it could be polished. Quickly he picked up another pebble, and another, examining them all.
Excitement started thudding in his chest. Suddenly he couldn’t quite breathe normally. He looked at Lea’s upturned face. “Are these what I think they are?”
“I wanted you to tell me,” she said. “After all, you would know for sure. Are they emeralds, Caelan?”
He held the stones in his hand, hefting them. “I think they are.”
She giggled and leaned against his arm. “Good ones?”
He didn’t know. They were certainly big enough to be extremely valuable. “Great Gault,” he whispered, not caring for once if he swore in her presence. “Lea, where did you find them?”
“I’ll show you tomorrow,” she said. “I’ve been wishing and wishing for you to come home. And now you have. Maybe my talent is for shaping the thread of life.”
He burst out laughing. “Where did you hear that !”
“I thought it up myself. Don’t laugh at me.”
Hastily he straightened his face. “I would never laugh at you.”
“Yes, you are. Your eyes are still smiling.”
He drew down his mouth and crossed his eyes in an awful grimace.
She crowed with laughter and punched him. “Silly!”
He put the emeralds back into the box and closed the lid with unsteady fingers. These stones represented a fortune.
More than enough to buy his way into the army.
The thought came unbidden, and swiftly he thrust it away. He wasn’t going to steal his own sister’s treasure, but perhaps he could find some of the precious stones for himself.
“Where did you find these?” he asked.
“In the ice caves. Where else?”
“You shouldn’t be playing in places like thai,” he said automatically. “Especially in winter.”
Sometimes lurkers made dens in ice caves. And some of the caves, especially the older ones, sang. It was a trick of wind blowing through cracks in the ice, some said. Others who believed in the old ways said the earth spirits sang to lure the unwary. Either way, the melodies rang out like crystal, hypnotic enough to draw the listener deeper into the caves, until there was no way out again.
Caelan had grown up exploring ice caves of all kinds. He’d fallen into the lures of the singing caves and barely made it out. Once he’d almost been attacked by a lurker. He’d had many narrow escapes, including cave-ins, not that any of them had stopped him from going back. But with Lea it was different. Protectiveness filled him.
“Ice caves are not safe,” he said sternly. “You must be careful, little one.”
“I always am,” she said without concern for his warning. “Since you’re so clever, can you guess which ice cave?”
He had to laugh at her sauciness. “There are hundreds.”
She nodded. “But only one where the emeralds are.”
“Will you show me?”
“Yes, tomorrow. I want you to find as many emeralds as I have, and if you don’t, then I will share mine with you.”
“You are a generous lady,” he said, bowing to her. His love for this sweet child welled up again. Little did she know how much her offer meant to him, and his future.
Smoothing his hand across the lid of the box, he handed it back to her and watched as she hid it beneath her dolls. It was madness to suppose them safe in such a place, yet he wasn’t about to take them away and lock them in Beva’s strongbox.
By law, all precious stones gathered had to be tithed to the emperor’s tax collector, just as all income was tithed. Caelan wasn’t about to tell his little sister she had to give up part of her treasure to the emperor—a man at the other end of the earth whom they didn’t know and would never see. If Beva learned of the emeralds, he would obey the law and tithe without question. Better to leave them here in the child’s hands. Lea wouldn’t lose them.
“You’re wise to keep them a secret,” Caelan said. “You’ve got quite a dowry for yourself now, little sister.”
“Yes, I have,” she said, sounding almost grown up for a moment. “Which is a good thing because Father spares no attention for such matters.”
Caelan grinned. “Now I know you’ve been listening to grown-up talk. Who said such a thing? Anya?”
Lea nodded. “She tells me much, even when she doesn’t mean to. She says women have to stick together in this hold of feeble old men.”
“She’s right.”
“Only you aren’t old, and you’ve come back. I missed you terribly.”
“I missed you just as much,” he said, stroking her curls.
Her hand stole into his and gripped it hard. “It was a bad place, your school. Wasn’t it?”
He nodded.
She sighed. “I knew it. Every night I think about you before I go to sleep. And sometimes I’ve dreamed about you running and running. There were creatures flying through the darkness after you, and men with big sticks trying to hurt you—”
“Hush,” he said, catching her close in a hug. “Hush, little one. Don’t talk about that.”
“But I was so afraid for you—”
“I’m all right,” he said to soothe her, feeling her tremble in his arms.
They had always been closer than thought. Females were not expected to possess talents, and they were never trained. Still, Caelan knew Lea was gifted. She could frequently guess what he meant to say before he spoke. If she wished for something hard enough, very often it did come to pass. And sometimes, she could pronounce the future. He had warned her to hide what she could do. Although Lea was only sunshine and good, her gifts were the kind that might be misunderstood by superstitious strangers. It was important she learn to be careful from an early age. Besides, in a year or two, she would be expected to put away her dolls and wear a shawl. She would start her training in the domestic arts. Then would come betrothal, and eventually marriage.
Caelan found himself praying she would be bonded to a decent man who would let her sing and laugh, who would see her gifts for what they were and not use her harshly. Worry added to his sense of protectiveness. He knew he should stay here and see to it himself. His father might not take enough care.
Lea struggled against him and pushed away. “You’re hugging too tight,” she told him breathlessly.
“Sorry,” he said.
“What are you thinking?” she asked. “You’ve come home different, and I cannot tell what is in your heart.”
“That’s just as well,” he said, trying to make his voice light.
“Why are you closed to me? I could always read you before. Now you are all tight and guarded, like Father.”
The last thing he wanted was to be told he resembled Beva in anything. Caelan shifted angrily and crawled out of the tent.
She followed anxiously. “Caelan, what’s wrong? What did I say?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes widened. “You have quarreled with Father. Don’t, Caelan. You mustn’t.”
His mouth twisted into a bitter little smile. “Too late. I already have.”
She flung her arms around his waist. “Please don’t sound like that. I don’t want you to fight with him.” Tears streaked her face. “I don’t want you to leave. Please!”
“I won’t leave you, sweetness,” he said, hugging her. But even as he said the words, he felt horrible for lying to her. His throat closed up into a knot. “In my heart I will never leave you.”
She lifted her huge, tear-drenched eyes to his. “I don’t want you to go”
“I haven’t left yet—”
“Caelan!”
He sighed, trying to find an explanation, and couldn’t. “You’d better get in bed.”
She frowned and stamped her foot. “Don’t treat me like a baby! You’re keeping things from me. I don’t like it.”
He scooped her up and tucked her into her bed, smoothing the feather-filled coverlet.
She kicked at it. “I can make you stay. I can, if I wish it hard enough.”
“Go to sleep.”
“You and Father have to—”
“All Father and I want to do right now is eat our supper,” he said, trying to soothe her. “If you don’t go to sleep, we can’t go look for emeralds tomorrow.”
She was still frowning, but her eyes were growing heavy. “Tomorrow I’ll learn your secrets,” she said sleepily. “I’ll make you promise to stay.”
He kissed her forehead and turned the lamp down low, leaving only a glow burning beneath the wall disk of the goddess Merit, protector of small children. At the door he hesitated, filled with regrets, but then he closed the door soundlessly and left before her will could force him to give in.
Chapter Seven
SUPPER WAS EATEN in silence, he and his father spooning Anya’s rich stew hungrily by the ruddy light of the kitchen fire. The kitchen served as the common room. Central to the whole house, its large hearth never went cold, and there was plenty of space beyond the long trestle table of worn, well-scrubbed pine for the other members of the household to gather.
Surva, Anya’s elderly mother, worked her loom in one corner. The rhythmic clack of the shuttle was a lulling sound in the general quiet. Old Farns carved wood, the shavings curling over his big, gnarled hands. Gunder frowned over lists, grinding herbs to refill the medical supplies. Raul, the groom, had dragged in a saddle to oil it, and the aromatic scent of the leather mingled with the smell of stew and hot bread. Anya hovered with her big wooden spoon, ready to ladle out additional helpings of food, while the young scullion Tisa scrubbed copper pots with river sand and made them shine.
On the surface it looked like a content domestic scene, but although Caelan was dying to ask dozens of questions and catch up on all that had happened at the hold during his absence, he dared not break the silence. Beva did not permit chatter at mealtimes, saying it impeded digestion.
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