“Jensar, no, we can—“
“He’s right,” Steel cut the boy off. “We head for Riverchill.”
“We’re not even going to talk about it?” Nathen was incredulous, looking from Jensar to Howe to Derek and back to Steel. “What happened back there? Those bugs… and here, that thing? What is it? What is going on?”
“Don’t make this harder, kid. I don’t want to die slow.”
“I think Duke Korith might not be our only problem,” Howe said. “I’ve only ever heard of these things in the histories.”
“We may need more men than we can find in Riverchill,” Derek added.
Despite Nathen’s protests, they were on their way within the hour, leaving Jensar behind as he’d asked. Steel had retrieved his shirt from the dead creature’s hand, and they’d all burned as many insect corpses as they could shake and brush out of their hair and clothes. Few of them spoke. Edwin saw to Rhodoban’s wound, deciding that the rat hadn’t done any lasting damage.
By the time Steel brought them to a stop, they were out of the forest and within a day’s travel of Riverchill. Everyone was still quiet, thinking their own thoughts about what had happened the previous night.
Rhodoban’s heart was heavy and his thoughts were restless. Since he had first speculated to the others that the untapped magic in the land might be the means by which the Lich King returned, he had hoped he was wrong. He had hoped the early reports of undead things were exaggerated, or outright lies. It seemed he had been right - and many of the people with any power to help against Semaj had been killed in Foley.
Neither Edwin or any of the others could tell him what had happened in Foley. They didn’t know, they said. It happened too fast, no one saw anything, there was just a storm that ripped everything apart. He suspected that Steel, the quiet stranger who had saved his life despite Rhodoban’s insistence that he wished to die, could speak of it— he just wouldn’t.
Steel was a perfect name for him, Rhodoban thought. Cold and inflexible. He was half surprised the man hadn’t offered to kill Jensar himself.
But Rhodoban knew something Steel Rygus did not. Before the arrow had struck him, he had seen Melody— at least, he thought he had. She was standing there in the middle of it all. If Melody had survived, she could explain what had happened. She would know if his children were safe. He drifted into sleep praying that Melody had lived.
18
The ship slowed as it approached the impressive bridge city of Porthold, which appeared all the more majestic in the late afternoon sun. Kallisti held her fine hat against her blonde curls to keep the breeze from lifting it away as she watched the massive structure sliding overhead. Cold darkness tightened around her, barely countered by the lanterns lining the tunnel’s edge.
She shivered, her dress hardly up to the task of keeping out the chill of the unexpected wind under the city. Autumn was always brisk, but the breeze over the water was winter-cold. The matching gloves and shawl combined to make a portrait-perfect image, but were too thin to offer any true protection. It didn’t matter. Kallisti’s father had spent more coin than she’d ever seen on her wardrobe for this trip. Three more full outfits were carefully packed away in her trunk, along with shoes and ribbons and fabric for another, more special dress.
Chancellor Garen’s letter to her father must have been terribly persuasive, she thought. Her own letter from him had been … exquisite. Kallisti smiled as she remembered the messenger who had been waiting when the caravan finally arrived at their home in Rindale. She’d been annoyed to see that the messages were from Garen, at first. He’d been a beast to her in Foley— but she’d repaid him for that.
Selling Jovan’s younger brother to Duke Korith’s soldiers against the Chancellor’s strict orders had been every bit as satisfying as she’d hoped. With one transaction, Kallisti had gotten revenge against the horse-thieving Jovan for abandoning her, and against Garen for humiliating her in front of those men by locking her into that awful collar. She’d made a tidy profit and saved her father’s life, as well.
If she hadn’t disobeyed the Chancellor, her father wouldn’t have insisted they leave Foley immediately. If they hadn’t left, they would have been there when the storm came. According to the rumors Kallisti had heard when they stopped in Paltos, there was nothing left of Foley at all. It had burned to the ground, and everyone was dead. Which meant Jovan had perished, she supposed with a moment’s frown, but no matter.
Garen had apologized so beautifully and made such an impassioned plea for her forgiveness… It was much too dark under the city to read the letter she still held in her hand, but Kallisti had memorized every word on the journey here. She could almost hear his voice in her mind as she waited for the sailors to position the small ship in the angled dock.
“Come to me, my love,” he had written. “I await you here in Porthold, though I would rather show you the wonders of Epidii. I regret that the Duke’s business keeps me far from my home.”
Kallisti regretted it as well, imagining Epidii would be much warmer than the cold dampness she found herself in.
“Sweet Kallisti,” the letter went on, “I do not deserve even the least of your attentions. I know why you disobeyed me, my precious darling, and I do not blame you. I had no right to demand of you the things I did, and my shame consumes me. My only defense is the knowledge that I was bewitched. You must believe me, my love, for how else could my eye have been turned from your charms, your beauty, your radiance?”
Kallisti believed him. That little bit of nothing had certainly enchanted Jovan, what was to stop her from aiming higher? The Chancellor had gone on to write of how the dark haired girl had seduced and betrayed him, but it was the last part of Garen’s letter that had called to her heart the loudest. The paper had crinkled where his tears had fallen. Tears! He had wept to think of her pain … of course she had committed every word to memory.
“Come to me, my love,” he had written for the second time. “My heart’s wounds are nearly as deep as the scars on my body – I am not complete without you. Yes, I am scarred … ugly even; I can barely stand the sight of myself. I am no fitting match for you, my precious. You deserve so much more. I would marry you if I thought you would have me, though I can offer you only the trappings of nobility, not a handsome young husband. I have no right to hope, but if you could find it in your heart to forgive me … to come to me … to let me look upon you just one last time … I could be content.”
Kallisti’s breath caught in her throat at just the memory of the words, and knowing she would soon hear them in her ear sent warmth all through her chilled body. The ship was fully stopped now. Soon she would disembark and she would be that much closer to his embrace. She doubted that the Chancellor could be scarred as badly as he hinted at. Garen was strong, and powerful, and whatever enchantment the witch had placed on him, he was recovered now.
She would forgive him, of course, a lady could do nothing less. She had come with her father’s blessing, and should the Chancellor ask it of her, she would gladly be his wife. Lord Garen clearly needed a woman who would stand by him regardless of his past mistakes, and Kallisti knew she was that woman.
She accepted the aid of the two soldiers that met her on the dock, daintily stepping along the damp wood in the new slippers that matched her dress and hat.
“Letter for you, m’lady.”
Kallisti accepted the parchment, squinting in the shadowed lamplight to see the Chancellor’s personal seal. One of the soldiers held his lantern higher so she could read.
“My precious Kallisti, I am so grateful to you for answering my call. I do not deserve you, I know this so deeply, but the thought of seeing you again gives me reason to carry on. The thought that you might forgive me, that you might once more grace me with your favor … I can only hope, and pray. I regret that the Duke’s business will keep me occupied until late in the evening, so I will be unable to receive you properly until then. I’ve sent a guard to keep you safe while you expl
ore the city, and I wait anxiously until we might see each other again. With all the love in my heart, Garen.”
Kallisti looked up from the letter, torn between excitement at seeing him again and disappointment that it would be after nightfall. Kallisti’s heart pounded. He loved her. The words had been written by his own hand, she could see where the script trembled with his emotion. Garen loved her, and he was going to ask her to marry him, and she was going to be a noble’s wife …
The two soldiers waited expectantly.
“I am grateful for the offer of a guard,” Kallisti said, “but surely no harm can come to me in the city in just a few hours.”
One of the soldiers shook his head. “Chancellor’s orders, miss. City’s on lockdown, no one in or out until we deal with the—“
The other soldier interrupted the first. “Nothing to concern yourself with, miss. Duke Derbin lifted the restriction for you at Chancellor Garen’s request. I am Tarle, this is Welan. We’re happy to show you around. The shops are still open, if you’d like to visit the market?”
Kallisti frowned. “Restriction?” She looked around again, noticing for the first time that the boat Garen had sent for her was the only one at the docks, and it looked like the sailors were preparing to leave again. “What is happening here?”
Welan directed two of the dock hands to Kallisti’s trunk while Tarle explained. “There was an attack, miss. Horrible things, unnatural— but there’s no need for concern, it was more than a week past, we’ve got them held back now. You’ll be safe with us.”
Kallisti refolded the letter, placing it in one of the deep pockets of her fine new dress. “Chancellor Garen must be an important man,” she said, flattered that an exception had been made for her. “Even in Porthold.”
Welan nodded. “Aye, miss. He’s working closely with the Dukes on the problem. They’ll have the gates re-opened in no time.”
“Are you hungry?” Tarle offered Kallisti his arm, and she took it gracefully. “The food in the market is delicious.”
“Some of it,” corrected Welan. “We’ll show you.”
Kallisti let the two soldiers lead her up the rough-hewn steps from the dock into the city above, still bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. The smells washed over her, reminding her of the markets of Paltos or Foley, somewhere more civilized than her own tiny home of Rindale.
The city was surprisingly big for it being a bridge, and both Tarle and Welan were happy to explain how it was all laid out. There were four towers, two on each side of the wide river, with a gate between each set and the city itself stretching out between them over the river. Shops and services lined the center street, under the massive stone corridors that made up the Duke’s second-level home. Every room in the keep had a view of either the market center or the stunning landscape outside. Most of the people lived out by the gates, but the merchants stayed in their shops, in the back.
Kallisti finished the warm honeyed cake Tarle had bought for her, and brushed crumbs from her fingers before putting her gloves back on. Dusk had fallen while they talked and ate, and despite the protection of the city walls, the wind had picked up again.
“Is the Chancellor ready to receive me, I wonder?” she asked, looking up at the candlelit windows on the second level, wondering which was Garen’s. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, shivering.
Welan pointed at a dark, arched window in one of the far towers. “He’ll put a candle there when he’s ready, miss,” the soldier said. “We’re watching. Did you bring a cloak with you?”
“It’s in my trunk,” Kallisti said, reluctant to admit that she’d chosen not to wear it so Garen would have an unobstructed view of the picture she made in her fine new dress.
“That’s already upstairs,” Tarle said. “Marm Merry has the best cloaks, her shop is right over there. The Chancellor’s provided you a generous allowance, you could get a new one.”
Kallisti tore her gaze away from Garen’s window. “An allowance?” she asked, curious.
“Aye, miss,” Tarle replied. “He was real clear you were to have anything you wanted.”
She smiled, imagining again her life as Chancellor Garen’s wife - quite a step up for a simple merchant’s daughter. “A new cloak would be lovely,” she agreed, glancing up at Garen’s dark window. “It will only get colder, I’m sure.”
Kallisti had chosen and purchased a new cloak and indulged in a second honey cake before the flickering candle finally appeared in Chancellor Garen’s window. She noticed it before the two soldiers, and her intake of breath brought their gazes up.
“There he is,” Tarle said. “Are you ready, miss?”
Welan stood and offered Kallisti his arm again. “Shall we go?”
She nodded and went with them across the wide street and into the tower, trying to be subtle as she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips for color - damn the cold, she must be pale as a fishwife.
The glimpses of the moonless sky she caught through the windows of the tower stairs were so dark, not even starlight lent a brightness to her eye. Without the lanterns of her escorts, she wouldn’t be able to see the stairs under her feet. Kallisti patted her hair into place, straightening her hat again until it balanced perfectly on her curls. Would he still find her appealing?
Don’t be silly, she scolded herself, barely looking at where she was being led. Of course he would. A man who could feel so deeply and write with such passion, however wounded, would make a fine husband. She swallowed her nervousness and resolved to be as calm and dignified as she could, no matter how shocking his injuries. Being a noble’s wife, even if he was a scarred noble, was something. Something more than a merchant’s daughter, anyway.
“Shall I knock for you, m’lady?”
She blinked, realizing that they had come to a stop in front of a nondescript wooden door. How long had she been lost in thought?
“Please,” she said, taking a final moment to smooth her skirts.
Tarle held wide the Chancellor’s door for her to pass through, and closed it behind her before she could offer her thanks.
“Kallisti, I’m so delighted to see you.” Garen’s quarters were even darker than the stairs – barely lit by the single flickering candle on a table in the center of the room. His greeting, delivered from the deepest shadow, seemed to echo as if the room had no furnishings aside from the round table. Kallisti’s heart was beating fast - whether from nerves or the brisk journey from the market, she couldn’t be sure.
“My Lord Garen.” She curtsied deeply, though she had no idea in which direction to nod her head. “The pleasure is mine, of course.” She took another step into the darkened room, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim light, looking around curiously. “It’s so dark.”
His voice came again from the corner, as low and soothing as she remembered it. The sound of his voice had always been able to set her at ease.
“Your eyes will adjust, my love, I promise. I hardly dared to hope that I would see you again. You are even more lovely than I remember. Please, take off your cloak. Won’t you come closer to the light?”
Kallisti obeyed, draping the new cloak over the single chair and straining to see into the shadows for a glimpse of the Chancellor - even as she tried to pose prettily beside the table. This close, she could see the book open in front of the candle. There were twisted, dark drawings on the page. Her anxiety grew, and the sound of Garen’s breathing was the only sound in the room besides her pounding heart.
“M-my father sends his warmest regards, Lord Garen,” she said to fill the silence. “He regrets that he could not escort me personally, and enjoy the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
Garen’s voice again slid from the shadow, but this time it sounded like it was beside her – she turned, trying to follow his movements.
“I am certain he is a busy man, sweet Kallisti. I will meet him soon enough. You look so radiant there, framed by the light. It shames me to think of how I treated you.” His v
oice lowered even more, and Kallisti had to strain to hear him. “Please … please say you forgive me?”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her stomach flutter. He was so sincere, how could she ever be angry with him?
“Oh Garen …” She turned again, thinking she had seen him move, and now she was facing the table, and the book. Kallisti tried not to look down at the pages, but her eye returned to the terrible, upsetting images. “You couldn’t help yourself, I understand. Of course I forgive you.” She was too close to the only light to see any distance at all into the shadows. “Can I – can I look at you?”
“Not yet.” Garen was suddenly behind her, touching her, his arm strong as iron around her, keeping her from turning to face him. She gasped, momentarily afraid, but there was his voice, right in her ear, so close she could feel his breath. His grip was an embrace.
“I can’t bear the thought of you seeing me like this, my precious Kallisti. You are so lovely, and I – I’m not who I once was. How could I have thought you would want to … marry me?” He sounded so disappointed.
Kallisti tried to twist in his arms to comfort him, but his grip was inescapable. “How can I reassure you if I don’t know what you’re talking about?” she asked. “You’re still the same man, whatever you look like … if you would let me see you—“
It happened in the space of a heartbeat. He spun her to face him, but the shadow of her own body in the candlelight hid his features from her. She caught a glimpse of a shimmer on one side of his face, but it could have been a trick of the light. Kallisti’s heart would not stop racing.
“You don’t know me, Kallisti.”
She forced a smile in the direction of his face, hoping he could see her sincerity. “I’d like to.”
It was as if he hadn’t heard her.
Chancellor Garen began speaking, but Kallisti couldn’t understand a word he was saying - or rather, chanting. His tone had changed. No longer soothing and easy, it was instead somehow dark and cold. Her imagination seemed to overflow, and visions of Garen filled every corner of her mind. He was speaking in front of a huge crowd of people, he was wearing a crown, he was bowing deeply in front of a shadow that scared her to the bone and she thought suddenly, unreasonably, that the shadow could see her, it was looking straight at her, into her …
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