by F. E. Greene
He didn’t answer. He’d make light of his injuries, and Carys knew as much. So did Derrie who repeated her diagnosis while Pearl dressed the wounds.
“Why didn’t someone go with you?” Carys demanded.
“No need to risk another skin,” he replied. “It was an easy visit.”
“Oh yes,” Derrie said. “Easy peasy, looks to me. Except for the side of you that’s missing!”
“I’ll take patrol tonight,” Carys announced. “Where were you headed?”
“West,” he said. “Toward Silvern.”
When the critical eyebrow lifted again, Varrick held his ground. The king hadn’t sent any orders through Ilis, so it wasn’t entirely a lie, and he matched his second’s gold stare until she relented. Carys never lowered her eyes, but Varrick had learned over time to recognize when she meant to yield. It occurred less often than he liked.
Derrie wasn’t going to be so agreeable. “He’s off patrol for half a fourt,” she told Carys.
Varrick struggled to stand up. “I can hear you, woman.”
“But are you listening?” Derrie asked. “One careless choice, and those wounds will reopen. So no all-night patrols. No returns to the Gloaming. And no sparring with the lads for the next seven days. Get plenty of rest, and sit more than you stand.” Crossing her arms, she glared up at him. “Or are my orders too tall for you?”
After pretending to consider, he conceded with a nod. “Not when you give them.”
That made Derrie smile. “Pearl, you help him to the apartments.”
“I’ll take him,” Carys said. “I’m headed there anyway.”
Varrick frowned at the backhanded offer. He didn’t need an escort, and Carys, of all inkeepers, would know it. But she wasn’t done raking him over the helstones, no matter how obliging she sounded, and for a moment Varrick was tempted to dismiss her. He could silence Carys as neatly as she had Calen.
Instead he accepted his second’s help and all the trouble that came with it. Again he blamed the gulp.
The instant they entered the courtyard, her interrogation resumed. “Varrick, why did you go alone?”
“You think I can’t manage the Gloaming?”
“Of course you can, but the lads are a different matter.”
“They’re outriders, Carys. We’ve trained them.”
“Not to fight alone,” she told him. “None of us should go there alone – not even you. That’s why the king has outriders. And then there’s Paxton.”
Varrick stopped walking. “What about him?”
She let go of his arm. “If you solo the Gloaming, Pax will see it as a contest and do the same. We can’t lose him to foolish risks. Not now.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted. “But you know why I couldn’t take the lads this time.”
“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t take me. Isn’t that why I’m your second?”
Annoyed by the question, Varrick ignored it. “The metal is cast, Carys. I’m still breathing, and we have the book. Jeron says it will give us answers.”
“Like how it got into the Gloaming?”
An unwelcome voice cut short Varrick’s reply. “Carys, is that you?”
As she called out a yes, Thaddeus Bly stumbled from the oriel into the courtyard. The schooler clutched a dozen tubes of paper that flailed like vestigial limbs, and when he tripped over a rock – one that never changed place – the tubes flew in every direction.
Varrick rolled his eyes at the sight. Bly must have overheard them speaking because he moved with the manner of a newborn colt.
Thaddeus knelt to pick up the papers. “Varrick, how are you? Back from the Gloaming, Jeron says. What are you two doing out here in the dark? Looks like it might snow.”
Disinterested, Varrick let Carys reply. He spent no time considering the wit or appearance of other men, but he’d heard the womenfolk wag chins enough to know Bly was admired for both. Inexplicably his second seemed more smitten than any.
“Nothing special. Castle business. Just chatting about the lads.” Carys helped collect the scattered tubes. “Where are you headed?”
“To the lectory. Jeron has me examining every map in the castle. Honestly I think I’ve worked more this past year than all the rest put together. Not to say I was just sitting around before I came to the castle. A schooler’s life is never easy.” Thaddeus laughed like his insights mattered. “And what are your plans this evening?”
“I’m going out on patrol,” she replied. “I’m headed west toward Silvern.”
Disappointed by her girlish gaze, Varrick stepped away. He announced he was going to find a bed, well aware that neither cared. Gruffly he gave Carys a slew of abbreviated orders. The schooler was not an outrider, and their business wasn’t his.
Carys acknowledged Varrick with the slightest of nods, already retracing her steps with Thadd. They strolled with a closeness that made everyone speculate. They’d done so for a season, and rumors of an entreatment circulated freely. Most inkeepers reacted like it made perfect sense.
For Varrick it just proved confusing.
He knew the details of how Carys found the castle, how much she’d abandoned and how greatly she’d changed. While castle life changed everyone, most folks arrived with obvious skills and a particular purpose. With Carys the king confounded them all.
Had he asked for suggestions – and sometimes the king did – Varrick would have sent the woman straight back to Illial. She could oversee any archhouse with ease. But the king didn’t seek input, or Varrick’s approval, when he invited Carys to join his outriders.
So Varrick found himself, a former soldier of Orld, training an Illiate farmdaughter. Aching to protest, he bit his tongue and snuffed every urge to make her suffer as they drilled. First he built up her strength. Then her stamina. Next came weapons and finally campaigns.
Whatever Varrick asked, Carys attempted it with a focus he grew to admire. Not once did she complain, even when she fainted or fell short of the goal. She kept up with the lads in spirit if not vigor.
She also loved patrolling. Whenever he offered, Carys leapt at chance to strike out alone, and despite all her blather about Pax and the Gloaming, she’d risked a few solo trips, too. Varrick didn’t mind. The Gloaming honed skills which no one could teach. Every outrider should know that fear.
Picturing Thaddeus Bly in the Gloaming, Varrick scoffed at the pitiful image. Bly wouldn’t make it through the doorway, much less survive – alone or otherwise. He wasn’t worthy of a woman like Carys. He wouldn’t know what to do with her.
Much as Varrick had grown to value her company, Carys preferred going her own way. For his second, the coming week would be bliss while he dreaded it already. But there was one advantage to trading routines. Rather than waste time convalescing in bed, he could put the king’s outriders through new maneuvers. Make them ache in ways they hadn’t.
A soldier’s worth came only from his next success, and Varrick would remind the lads of that fact until he could join them again in the fight.
Refuge Chapter Two
Brow furrowed in concentration, Pearl rolled the bandages just as she’d been taught. Fold twice. Press and roll. Encircle with twine. Bind with a half-bow. Derrie called it a shepherd’s knot, and Pearl could see why. When finished, it resembled the crook of a staff.
The simple routine made Pearl feel at ease, and she let out a contented sigh that seemed loud in the quiet. After two seasons of instruction, Derrie had begun to leave Pearl on her own, mostly in the evenings, and she relished the chance to work alone. Surrounded by books and herbs and silence, she felt more at home than anywhere else in the castle.
Her first home, Hollycopse, had been sold. Whenever the winter wind wasn’t too cruel, Pearl climbed the broch, the castle’s highest tower, to view the farm she’d maintained for five years. Sometimes Bonny or Paxton joined her. Sometimes she climbed alone.
But Pearl set limits to her melancholy, refusing to mourn what she mean
t to remember. She tried to do the same with her parents.
It wasn’t just the castle pale that made Pearl feel safe. She had also met the king. In return for her trust, he offered a different sort of home, one oddly steeped in freedoms. The protocols, edicts, and obligations of Rosper – of all the Fourtlands – had vanished.
While castle life was never dull, the days slipped by with predictable ease, mostly due to Owyn’s fastidious control over schedules, errands, and chores. Pearl’s job as the tender’s second also helped. She wore her purple sash with pride and spent many afternoons chatting with Derrie unless injury intervened.
It took Pearl awhile to find her own workspace in the sunken, expansive infirmery. The straight and crooked chairs consumed its center. Past those were three smaller beds that sat low to the ground and near one of the hearths. The bedframes were made from Beforish metal, their mattresses spongy and rough. Plastic curtains gave privacy to each. All were an odd contrast to the castle’s ancient walls and a stone ceiling that sometimes rained mortar on their heads.
With shelves and tables lining the room, there was space for one desk and a Beforish chair with silver wheels for feet. Both were off limits to everyone but the tender. Eventually Pearl claimed a stool at the corner of a long countertop. It was far from the door but close to the other fireplace, and Derrie’s desk was on her right. Pearl could reach what she needed, and see who entered, without having to move or stand. She could also enjoy a real, crackling fire after growing up in Rosper where wood brought profit but never burned.
To Pearl’s delight a library of instructive texts – manuals, Owyn called them – consumed an entire wall. Housed in cases built for their irregular heights, some were pixicons filled with sketches of the human physique. Many contained words unuttered since Before, and this forced Derrie, like previous tenders, to learn what she could of the cradle-languages.
Pearl in turn did the same. At first the pressure intimidated her, and she grew to admire, even envy, the tender’s steadfast confidence. Derrie could name any rash and set every bone. She sutured deep wounds with a needle and thread as calmly as she treated a cough. Derrie knew when a tummy ache was real or pretend, but she let every child choose a prize from the cupboard.
Some days Pearl felt inspired and others defeated. Whenever she did voice her doubts about the king’s assignment, Derrie would offer the same pointed speech. She had seen the castle when she was younger than Pearl. She’d been tending for all of Pearl’s life – and longer. Practice alone didn’t make a good tender. Patience was also required.
Even with her misgivings, Pearl was happy to live in the castle. As her friendship deepened with Bonny – the first true friend she’d known since childhood – her days became a cadence of work and study, fun and rest. A few things still left her flustered. The sight of darkgard. The armery. Owyn’s disapproval. Calen’s attention. And the presence of Varrick Slone. Aside from the elderfolk and a few sickly children, Varrick spent more time in the infirmery than anyone else.
His last visit had been that afternoon when Derrie pronounced him healed. Watching discreetly from her corner, Pearl saw the relief on his scarred face. He revealed more to Derrie than anyone else, and Pearl enjoyed those moments no matter how nervous Varrick made her. The king’s retriever had saved her life after all, even though he’d barely spoken to her since.
His visit had been the only excitement in an otherwise mundane day. Glad for both, Pearl smiled to herself while she continued to fold the bandages – until she jumped up, almost tipping her stool, when Paxton flung open the infirmery door. As wood banged the wall, the concealed bell clanged.
“Pearl! There you are. Is my mother gone?”
“Since before supper. If you want to find her, you might try the king’s hall.”
“If she’s not here, I know where she is.” Pax leapt over the steps and bounded through the room. With a hop he fell in beside Pearl. “Want to do something naughty?”
Had any other lad asked that question, Pearl might have slapped him. Instead she tried not to laugh. Paxton carried a rolled quilt and wore an orange jacket that made him look like a chimneystack. His grin was more impish than normal.
“What exactly?” she asked with a smile.
“The trium is meeting with the inkeepers. Apparently they’re going to discuss some V.I.B., and it includes the two of us. Want to have a listen?”
Despite the plan’s lack of propriety, Pearl was tempted. “V.I.B.?”
“Very important business. Bring your cloak.”
Outside the day’s miserly warmth had disappeared with the sun. Although the season of marching coincided with springtime, winter stubbornly kept its seat, and without any clouds to blanket the sky, brittle air drenched the courtyard. They didn’t enter the oriel as Pearl expected but kept walking until they rounded the apartments.
Using only the moon for light, Paxton led Pearl along the castle’s southern wall where the ground sloped like the side of a valley. Pax stopped beneath the apartment’s western wing and whispered for Pearl to wait. He scaled the incline until he reached the lowest row of ashlar stones. Pivoting, he waved Pearl up.
Pearl gathered the folds of her skirt in one hand and balanced herself with the other as she climbed. The ground was freezing. The grass was hard and sharp. When Pearl reached the wall, she plopped onto a canvas spread and crossed her arms while she caught her breath which she could see against the frigid night air.
Paxton handed her the quilt. “We might be out here awhile.”
“I thought we were going to a meeting.”
“We are. Sort of.” Whispering, he pointed at a hole between two stones. “This leads all the way to Jeron’s office. We can hear what they’re saying.”
“What happens if we get caught?” she whispered back.
“Who’s foolish enough to be out on a night like this?”
She made a face. “Besides us? One of the lads.”
“They’re all in the keep.”
“Shouldn’t you be with them?”
He pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s already begun. We’ll miss something.”
Relenting, Pearl scooted closer to the hole. She turned her head to the left and tilted until her shoulder touched Paxton’s arm. As promised, sounds flowed down the weephole.
“Close your eyes,” Pax said. “Makes the voices clearer.”
Had any other lad suggested it, Pearl would have refused. No matter how harmlessly they behaved, she still didn’t trust the outriders. They might be trained soldiers, but they were also her age and prone to pranks as entertainment unless Carys hovered nearby. So far only Paxton had earned her trust. He was transparent even when doing his best to deceive.
The first voice Pearl heard belonged to Owyn. “And where is Thaddeus? I gave him that pocketclock so he would use it.”
Above a mess of uncertain murmurs, Carys answered more clearly. “He’s still at the library in Stockington.”
“He was due back at sunset. King’s request.”
“Take it easy, Owyn.” Taul Kenelworth’s southland drawl flowed like the pastoral dales of its making. He was as mild and unruffled as his wife was not. “Has Thadd ever gotten anywhere on time?”
“If you can get here, so can he.”
“Is he with us?” A long silence followed Varrick’s terse question, his coarse brogue a rough contrast to Taul’s languid tones.
It was Carys who finally replied. “Of course he’s with us. Lackings don’t equal disloyalty, and Thaddeus isn’t perfect. Those of you who are, please feel free to stand.”
After a pause, laughter traveled down the pipe until Derrie’s imposing voice took over.
“Sit down, Owyn!”
Jeron spoke next. “I think everyone’s with us who’s going to be. So let’s start.” His gentle tenor forced all of them, including Pearl and Paxton, to listen intently. “We’re here to discuss the unreadable book.”
“I want to know how it got into the Gloaming,”
Owyn said. “It was alone in that house for less than a day – and well hidden from what I understand. Nothing from the Overland enters the Gloaming except through the Gloaming door. No one goes through the door except us. Well, some of us.”
“You’re not saying there’s a traitor in the castle?” The question from Carys sounded more like a dare.
“It’s happened before,” Jeron said. “If there is a traitor, the king will let us know. What matters is that we have the book. It gives the location of the lamp and the map. Both were last seen where we guessed they might be, but we need to find the lamp first since the map is useless without it.”
“The last time we tried retrieving the lamp, we lost six of our own.”
Again Varrick’s words brought silence to the room.
“None of us need to be reminded of that,” Derrie said.
“But he’s right,” Jeron replied. “We shouldn’t rush back there just because we have the book. However, Ilis says time is short. Let’s begin planning another retrieval. Varrick, you and Carys will oversee the campaign. Take outriders with you – all of them if you like.”
When Varrick asked if that included Paxton, Jeron told him no.
“Isn’t it still his choice?” Taul asked.
“Of course,” Jeron said. “Always.”
A temperate female voice settled their debate. “He should remain.”
As Pax groaned in frustration, Pearl lifted her head. “Who was that?”
“Ilis.”
Hearing the name, Pearl understood why the voice was unfamiliar. Inside the bustling castle Ilis lived apart. She took most of her meals separately, and if she did attend suppers in the king’s hall, she ate in solitude.
To Pearl it had seemed, at first, a high and mighty way for a former dockwhore to live. When she asked Bonny if shame was the reason, her friend firmly disagreed. Ilis was the king’s singer, and her job was to listen. One voice among many could be difficult to hear.
“And what about Pearl?” Derrie asked.
