Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (35 page)

Piran and Kestel were the first inside. Piran went immediately
to set a fire in the fireplace, while Kestel lit lanterns. The inside of the house was almost as cold as the outdoors, but the building sheltered them from the wind. They watched, fidgeting with cold, as Piran got the fire going and then hovered near the fireplace as flames licked at the logs.

Kestel sighed and heaved a kettle toward the fireplace. “Water’s frozen solid,” she said. “Be a while before I can make tea—or dinner.”

“I’d best go feed the livestock,” Blaine said once he’d warmed enough to have feeling in his hands. “They’ll be hungry and I’ll need to chip a hole in the ice for them to drink.”

Kestel gave him an odd look but said nothing as he slipped out the back, leaving Connor and the others inside. Blaine hurried across the open ground to the barn, where the bleating of goats and sheep greeted him. Chickens clucked at the cold wind that gusted through the small building as he hurriedly entered and shoved the door closed behind him.

The animals’ body heat kept the small barn well above freezing. Blaine got to work, glad that the activity would keep him warm, and relieved to have a few moments to himself. He went through the routine of the chores out of habit, free to let his mind wander.

Connor said messengers were arriving at the castle when he left, with word that the manor houses had been hit first. Would Meroven have possibly thought to strike Glenreith? After father’s death and the scandal, I can’t imagine Glenreith being important enough to attract notice.

Blaine was glad to see that the barn had stayed warm enough to keep the water trough from freezing, though a skin of ice had formed. He used a stick to break up the ice, making it easier for the animals to drink. Kestel had left plenty of feed, knowing that it would be a day before they could return, but
Blaine checked to assure himself that the manger and feeding bins were filled. He put his back into mucking out the worst of the pens for the sheep and goats, promising them outdoor time at the warmest hours of the day. Despite the outside cold, he was sweating, and he brushed a lock of hair out of his face with the back of his sleeve.

The work warmed him, but did little to distract his thoughts.
Carr would be nearly grown by now
, Blaine thought, though he had difficulty picturing his younger brother as more than a child. Mari, the sister for whom he’d given up his freedom and his fortune, would be a woman of twenty-two now and he wondered, with a pang, whether she had managed to rise above his father’s actions to make a life for herself. Aunt Judith would be approaching her fifth decade, if fever and heartbreak had not claimed her.

What about Carensa?
he wondered.
I begged her to forget me. Did she? Or did my shame ruin her life, too?
None of the questions were new. Usually, Blaine struggled to put them from his mind at the edge of sleep or wakefulness, when he could not completely banish dreams of home. The appearance of the Donderan refugees made the old loss ache, like a badly healed wound that had never closed.

Blaine washed his hands in cold water from a bucket and dried them on a rag, still lost in thought. He knew the odds were slim that Connor had heard any recent news about his family, but he couldn’t help hoping that there would be some tidbit. In the years since his exile, there had been a few letters from his aunt, but it was difficult—and expensive—to get such things delivered to Edgeland. All mail and packages for convicts or colonists had to be screened by Commander Prokief, and rumors abounded that he was as capricious as he was greedy when it came to censoring the incoming items.

After the first year, the letters from Aunt Judith stopped coming altogether. By the time Blaine made a handfasting with Selane, Judith’s letters had not come for a long time. But as fond as Blaine had been of Selane, he suspected that he would not have mentioned the marriage to Judith, just as he was grateful not to know for certain whether Carensa had found someone else.

The outside door opened and Blaine turned to see Kestel’s hooded form in the doorway. “Did you forget your way back to the house?” she asked. She closed the door behind her as the animals squawked their protest at the cold rush of air.

Blaine shook his head. “Just needed a little time to think about everything Connor and Engraham told us. By Charrot! I’d come to accept that we would never return to Donderath, but the idea that there’s no Donderath to go home to, now that’s going to take some time.”

Kestel nodded. “I think everyone’s struggling with that. I knew most of the people Connor mentioned, at least to see them at court. It’s hard to believe that so many are dead.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “You’re worried about your family, aren’t you?”

Blaine shrugged. “Sure. I mean, Glenreith was never a wealthy holding. My father didn’t have the kind of influence many of the peerage have—had. And the manor was far enough from Quillarth Castle that we were hardly in the thick of the social swirl. I can’t help hoping—”

“That maybe the Merovenians overlooked it?” Kestel supplied.

Blaine sighed. “Yeah. It was hardly a strategic target.”

“Unless you’re only looking to inspire terror. Knocking out a country’s leadership would have assured a lack of organized and well-armed defenders.”

“Except for the part where the magic goes horribly wrong and wipes out both sides.”

Kestel grimaced. “I don’t imagine either side seriously thought that was ever a possibility.”

Blaine leaned against one of the rough barn timbers. “Who would have dreamed that it might actually be lucky to be in Edgeland? If the war mages were strong enough to knock out magic all the way up here, I hate to think about the destruction back home.” He sighed. “I never dreamed I’d be a free man again, or that there’d be any price too high to pay for it.”

Kestel took his arm. “Come on. The fire’s warmed up the kitchen enough for me to put some wassail on the hearth, and once the water boils, I’ll get a soup going. There’s bread and cheese enough for dinner. And I don’t want to miss what Connor has to say.”

Blaine allowed Kestel to lead him back to the house. Inside, Connor, Piran, and Dawe were laughing heartily.

“What did we miss?” Kestel asked. Kestel’s whole manner was more animated than usual and her eyes were alight. She had pulled back her hair with a comb, a simple thing that drew attention to her high cheekbones and her green eyes. Blaine had the feeling Kestel knew just how to ply Connor for all the information they wanted.

Piran wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes and Dawe slapped his thigh, still chuckling. “You have to understand, Kestel, we’ve not heard any new jokes in how many years?”

Verran gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve already asked if our guest knows any new songs he could share with us. Unfortunately, he says he’s got a tin ear for such things.”

Connor looked apologetic. “You might have more luck if you ask Engraham. He was surrounded by musicians at the Rooster and Pig. My existence at court was more administrative than
social, I’m afraid. Lord Garnoc, my master, was up in years and a widower. He rose early and retired just after supper on most nights.”

Kestel nudged the cook pot closer to the fire and then drew up a stool. She gave Connor her warmest smile and laid a hand gently on his arm. “You have no idea how exciting even the tiniest scrap of news is when you’ve been gone as long as we have,” she said, meeting Connor’s gaze. “Please, tell us anything, everything.” She poured him a cup of wassail. “Your arrival is the most interesting thing that’s happened in ages.”

The poor fellow doesn’t stand a chance
, Blaine thought, smothering a smile. He had little opportunity to see Kestel go to work on a “source” and it was clear that exile had not blunted her skills. Connor smiled self-consciously and took a sip of the wine.

“If you say so, m’lady,” he replied. He was silent for a moment, as if searching for a suitable story. “There was an incident with Lady Henereth’s chambermaid a few months ago that was quite the talk of the court.”

“Arabella Henereth?” Kestel asked, leaning forward. “We attended quite a few balls together. Please, spare no detail!”

Connor warmed to Kestel’s request, and as one story led to another, he proved that his memory had not been impaired by the arduous journey north. Blaine, who had paid little attention to gossip at court before his exile, found the stories more interesting than he had expected, especially when Connor mentioned people Blaine had all but forgotten from his old life. As Connor talked, Kestel bustled around the kitchen, readying vegetables for the pot. She sent Dawe out back to slaughter and pluck a chicken for the stew. Between tasks, she kept Connor’s cup liberally full of wassail. Before long, a delectable aroma filled the small house.

Connor fell silent for a moment, having answered all of Kestel’s many questions. Blaine leaned forward.

“Do you recall any news from Glenreith?” he asked, meeting Connor’s eyes. “Anything about Lady Judith Ainsworth, or perhaps Lady Carensa of Rhystorp?”

Connor thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, m’lord… I mean, Mick. Nothing comes to mind.”

Blaine sighed, and leaned back, looking away. “That’s all right,” he said quietly. “I had to ask.”

Kestel laid a hand on Blaine’s shoulder in passing as she came back to the group, and he knew she would have understood the urgency in his question, and his disappointment with the answer. She took her seat next to Connor, slightly flushed from the exertion of readying dinner. “You’re the best company we’ve had in ages,” she said to Connor with a smile.

“He’s the only company we’ve had in ages,” Verran grumbled good-naturedly.

“Don’t mind him,” Kestel said. “Verran doesn’t like to share the stage with anyone.” She leaned closer. “But what I’m dying to hear more about is your map.”

Connor paused to take another sip of wine. “That’s an interesting story,” he said, letting out a long breath. “It begins with a vampire.”

That announcement got even Piran’s attention. “Vampire?” Piran nearly choked on his wine.

Kestel looked thoughtful. “There were two vampire factions in Donderath: those belonging to Lanyon Penhallow, and those belonging to Pentreath Reese. Which ‘family’ was your source a part of?”

The relaxed mood of a moment before had shifted, and Blaine felt a new tension in the air. Connor looked as if he were considering his reply. Despite the offhanded way Kestel had
asked the question, there was obviously some unspoken issue of great importance, one that only Kestel and Connor seemed to understand.

“I heard it from Lanyon Penhallow himself,” Connor replied.

Kestel looked skeptical. “How is it that you are so well acquainted with such a
long-standing
member of the peerage?”

“It can’t hurt anyone now to admit that my late master was a longtime conduit of information for Lord Penhallow, who found it personally difficult to attend court.”

Kestel nodded knowingly. “So Garnoc was Penhallow’s spy?”

Connor shrugged. “One of many, I’m sure. You know how it was.”

“Yes, I do,” Kestel replied with a hint of a smile. “I made Lord Penhallow’s acquaintance on a few occasions. He was… always a gentleman.”

“The night before the firestorm, Garnoc sent me to Penhallow to give a report on how the war was going. Penhallow gave me the obsidian disk you saw and told me it was important for me to find the map.”

“Why?” Blaine asked, leaning forward.

Connor met his gaze. “Lord Penhallow believed Edgar of Meroven intended to conquer the entire Continent, and planned to use his mages to do it. King Merrill didn’t like using mages and he avoided using magic as much as he could. Penhallow didn’t think Merrill was hearing the full truth from his generals, didn’t realize that Meroven was poised to make their final assault.

“Penhallow couldn’t go to the king directly, but he was trying to warn him. He was afraid that in a magic war, the places on the map where magic was strongest would be the hardest hit, and the null places would be safest for… refugees.” Connor’s voice dropped as he finished.

“So Penhallow expected the attack?” Dawe asked, his voice tinged with outrage.

“Feared it, is more accurate,” Connor replied. “Penhallow said he had witnessed such an attack long ago, in another place, and had survived only because he was already dead.” He stared at the fire as if replaying the conversation in his mind. “It’s rare to see emotion from one of the Elders,” he said quietly. “But Penhallow seemed troubled by the memories. He intended to take his entire household away from Rodestead House that night, to someplace safe.”

“A null spot on the map?” Kestel asked.

Connor shrugged. “Perhaps. I believe he hoped King Merrill would have time to evacuate the city.”

Kestel pursed her lips as she thought. “Why send such a message with you? Or rather, with Garnoc? Why didn’t Penhallow take the message to the king himself?”

Connor sighed. “I asked the same question. Penhallow said that Merrill wasn’t fond of the undead. He didn’t think Merrill would believe him. But he did tell me that if Donderath fell, I was to find a mage named Vigus Quintrel and give him the map and pendant.”

“So why didn’t you?” Piran asked.

Connor shook his head. “Because Quintrel had already gone missing when Penhallow gave me the message. Even Penhallow didn’t know where he had gone. After that, with the firestorm and the fall of the castle, Garnoc ordered me to take the map and pendant out of the kingdom for safekeeping. I’m guessing that Garnoc figured I could come back later, when it was safer, and look for Quintrel.” He paused. “I didn’t get a chance to ask a lot of questions. Garnoc was dying. His last order was for me to take the map to safety. I obeyed.”

Piran eyed Connor skeptically. “How do you know Penhallow wasn’t lying to you? After all, he’s a vampire. They’re not like us.”

Connor chuckled. “No, they’re not. For one thing, they’re dead. For another,” he said, beginning to wrap up his sleeve on his left hand, “they have their own magic. And their own way to communicate when it’s important.” He bared his arm, and the white scars were visible in the firelight.