Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (5 page)

Kestel leveled a half-joking glare his way. “Let them
assume
all they want. After all, a courtesan’s reputation is her biggest asset.”

Blaine gave her an exaggerated glance from head to toe. “I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he drawled, and she smacked him on the shoulder. “But I’m still in awe of how you managed to arrange this. Everyone assumes that the four of us are your paramours. Meanwhile we four luckless, loveless bastards suffer in silence without relief and you know we can’t set the record straight without making a mockery of our manhood.”

Kestel grinned. “Damned right. No one needs to know that I’ve ‘retired’ from the courtesan business. And there’s nothing stopping any of you from meeting your needs with one of our fine convict wenches or the strumpets down in Bay-town.”

“You’re lucky your other courtly skills include cooking and spying.”

Kestel snorted. “You’re lucky I was willing to lay my virtue
on the line with Prokief to get you your Ticket, or you’d still be in the mines.”

Blaine planted a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. “Right you are on that one, luv. I’ll owe you eternally.”

“Yes, you will.” She shuddered. “I slept with more disgusting men at court, but at least they were rich.”

Blaine chuckled. When the five of them had earned their Tickets, Blaine had offered Kestel his protection, no strings attached. A place like Edgeland presented a different set of dangers than the royal court. Kestel’s renown as a courtesan had made her especially vulnerable to Velant’s guards, until two of the first to force themselves on her had mysteriously turned up dead. No one had been able to say just what had killed them, but the others took note. It was then Blaine realized that Kestel could name “assassin” among her talents, along with sex and intrigue, and that while she valued his friendship, she scarcely needed anyone’s protection.

“Has anyone mentioned that you two carry on like an old married couple?” Piran laughed.

Kestel crinkled her nose in mock disgust. “You do. Frequently. So far, I’ve been willing to overlook it.”

She paused at the bottom of the steps and made a shallow bow. Next to the entrance was a small shrine to Charrot, Donderath’s high god. Both male and female, one head with two faces, Charrot embodied both creation and destruction. A small hutch housed a ceramic figure of the god, next to which sat a dozen smooth pebbles, the offering of those who wished a favor or protection. Beside Charrot were several small carved wooden figures, the household and family gods Kestel insisted they honor. Blaine noticed that Kestel had placed a figure of Yadin, god of the dark water, in the hutch to ask for protection for the fishing fleet. He shivered, recalling what a close thing that had
been. Though Blaine usually left it to Kestel to appease the gods, this time he inclined his head in thanks as he entered the cabin.

By Donderath standards the cabin was primitive. By Velant standards, it was very comfortable. Blaine, Piran, Dawe, and Kestel had met as new convicts in the hated dormitories, along with Verran Danning, who had befriended Blaine on the ship to Velant. A bond born of hardship had endured, and when they earned their Tickets of Leave and their acres of land, they had decided to pool their resources by building a shared house.

“Take your coats off and have a seat. I’ve got a pot of cabbage and mutton on the stove,” Kestel announced, though the aroma that filled the cabin already had Blaine’s stomach growling. “Dawe and I got some bread baked yesterday on the chance you’d be along. Once you’re fed and rested, you’ve got your choice of digging turnips or gutting and smoking the rabbits Dawe caught this morning.”

“Where’s Verran?” Blaine asked as he set his sack to the side and sat down at the rough-hewn table. Piran followed suit.

Kestel was ladling out generous portions of the stew into wooden bowls. She placed the bowls on the table in front of Blaine and Piran, followed by a hunk of bread. Dawe brought them each a wooden tankard full of home-brewed ale. “Verran’s been playing his music in some of the taverns in Skalgerston Bay. He’ll stay a few nights each week, and come home with coins in his pocket and some wine or ale for the house.” She sighed and pulled up a chair on the other side of the table. “The money he’s bringing in bought some new sheep and it’s gone a ways toward making sure we’ve got food enough put up for the winter.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with him,” Piran said, breaking off a hunk of the bread.

Kestel snorted. “I’ve got no desire to go back to the courtesan
business, especially with the likes of what wanders into a Bay-town tavern.”

Blaine and Piran exchanged mock-offended glances. “I think we’ve just been insulted,” Blaine said.

“Of course you have,” Dawe replied from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Did you forget how our Sour Rose loves to whittle you down to size?”

Blaine swallowed his stew. “It’s Kestel’s other profession I was thinking of, when Piran suggested going into the Bay. Hard to be much of a spy out here in the wilderness.”

Kestel grinned. “Spying always paid far more than being a courtesan. And for that matter, who says I haven’t been to town? It’s just that Bay-town is a small place. I hear more when I wait a little while between visits. That way, my friends have a chance to miss me, and they can’t wait to catch me up on the news,” she said with a wink.

Blaine finished his food and leaned back in his chair. “And what news have you heard since we’ve been out to sea?”

“Plenty,” Kestel said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “And I want to hear what you learned out on the boats. Nothing like cards and grog to loosen men’s tongues. I’m hoping you’ve got some tales to tell of your own.”

“You first,” Blaine said with a grin.

Kestel’s green eyes glittered as she looked from Blaine to Piran. “Word has it that Prokief’s warden-mages aren’t doing quite the job they used to do. According to my sources, there was an escape a few weeks back. Man went over the stockade and it took them a day to realize he was gone.”

Blaine frowned. “That’s unusual. The mages made it their business to know who sneezed.”

“Prokief was plenty mad about it. But I always thought he was scared of his own mages. Hard to do much to someone
who can magick you with boils or snap your bones with a thought.”

“Anything else?”

Kestel nodded. “The supply ships from Donderath still haven’t come.”

Piran shrugged. “So? They’re always late.”

Kestel shook her head. “This time, it’s over three months. One of the merchants was beside himself about it. After all, without goods to sell from Donderath, the shopkeepers in Bay-town have little to offer that people can’t make themselves.”

“Had he heard anything about why the ships are late?” Piran asked.

“Everyone’s got ideas. But in one of the taverns, I turned the head of Prokief’s supply sergeant.” She lifted her shoulder and batted her eyes. “The barkeeper kept the ale flowing and the sergeant was so thrilled to have my full attention that he had to show off how much he knew.”

“And?” Blaine prodded.

“One of Prokief’s lieutenants told him there was a letter on the last ship from General Olvarth. Donderath can’t spare supply ships on the schedule they’d been coming. Said we might see three or four a year, instead of one each month.”

“Why so few?” Piran asked, frowning in alarm. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Kestel shrugged. “That sergeant didn’t know. But one of the guards I danced with at another tavern told me he’d heard the war with Meroven was going badly.”

Blaine and Piran exchanged glances. “Oh?” Blaine leaned forward.

“The war’s pulled in the other two kingdoms, and from what I hear, it’s a bloodbath no one knows how to end,” Dawe said, kicking away from the wall. “I overheard a couple of soldiers
down at the tavern. Said they’re almost glad they’re here in Velant, because they didn’t like the look of things back home.” His gaze was thoughtful as he looked away, trying to remember the conversation. “Food shortages. Conscription is so bad, there weren’t enough men to work the last harvest.” He shrugged. “That was the news they got with the last convict delivery and supply ship three months ago. Could be worse by now.”

Blaine frowned and sat back, crossing his arms. “All because Meroven made a grab for some of Donderath’s borderlands.”

“So the ‘official’ story goes,” Dawe replied. “Word has it that Meroven is equally convinced that King Merrill made a grab for
their
borderlands. But from what I’ve heard, Edgar of Meroven is insane; I’d put my money on him having made the first move. The two countries have been fighting over some of the same godsforsaken land for generations. Of course, the real reasons for the war aren’t likely to trickle down to any of Prokief’s foot soldiers.”

“Anything else?” Piran asked.

Kestel shook her head. “Just one soldier’s observation that the men were never very fond of Prokief, and if food and pay began to run short…”

“No one’s going to mutiny as long as Prokief has his warden-mages,” Piran said with a snort.

“We might get more news soon,” Kestel said. “I heard there are some convicts earning their Tickets. They might have heard something from the newest prisoners about what’s happening back home.” She grimaced. “I’ll go down to the camp gates with some of the other Ticketed women. We’ll help the lasses find their footing. A proper brothel for the ones who want to resume business and a sponsor and a job for the ones who don’t.” Her tone had grown bitter. “Sad, but it’s better than some of them had before they were sent to Velant.”

Kestel’s voice had lost its bantering tone. It didn’t take much for Blaine to guess the reason for her anger. Prokief’s guards enjoyed bragging to the male convicts about the liberties they’d taken with every new group of female prisoners. Prokief and his guards used each new group of female prisoners as their own private bordello until a shipment with fresh victims arrived. For some of the women, the mistreatment was not far different from what they had experienced back in Donderath. For others, those sent away for minor crimes and petty infractions, the abuse was enough to drive them to hang themselves within a few weeks of arriving at Velant. And for the male convicts, who were likely to settle down with those women, the memory lingered as a constant reminder of Prokief’s power over their lives.

Kestel’s last announcement dimmed the high spirits of the homecoming, and the group scattered to their tasks. Blaine and Piran went to put their sacks away in the room they shared with Dawe and Verran, while Kestel cleaned up what was left of the meal.

Blaine put his few personal possessions away and headed outside to store the barrels of fish in the shed behind the cabin. When he finished, he pulled his cloak more tightly around him and headed down a path toward a stand of pine trees on a ridge behind the cabin. The snow crunched under his boots and as he climbed, the wind grew stronger, so that he raised his hood and had to hold its edge with both hands to keep the wind from blowing it off his head.

He followed the path to where it ended by a mound in the snow. Beneath the mound was a stone cairn, built two springs before. From the foot of the cairn, Blaine could see in one direction out over a wide expanse of pristine ice that stretched to the horizon. In the other direction, he looked down over the slope that led to Skalgerston Bay to the sea. But from this spot,
Velant’s prison stockade was not visible. It was why Blaine had chosen the place, and one of the reasons why it had always given him a measure of comfort.

Blaine reached into a small pouch at his belt and withdrew a small piece of wood carved in the shape of a bird, no larger than his index finger. He bent over to lay the carving atop the cairn. “Brought you something, Selane,” he murmured.

Blaine sighed, and his breath clouded around his face. “Ship just got in last night. Bad run of it with the weather. Just as well you couldn’t worry. With the long dark coming, the fleet may not go out again before winter. I wouldn’t mind that.” He paused. “I know you can’t hear me, but it was so much better coming home when you were here.” His throat grew tight, and for a moment, he stood in silence.

Behind him, he heard the crunch of footsteps and turned. Kestel was making her way up, struggling in the snow, her cloak drawn around her, its edges fluttering in the wind. She finally made it to the top and stood beside him. He could see that the wind stung her eyes and reddened her cheeks. “I thought I’d find you up here.”

Blaine shrugged but said nothing.

“I miss her too, Mick. We all do.” She laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I should be happy for her. She’s free. If the stories the Temple Guardians told about the Valley of the Gods have any truth, she’s in a place where she won’t be cold or hungry or imprisoned ever again. No damn fever to hurt her.” He shook his head. He’d finally accepted the fact that he would never go back to Donderath, never see Carensa again. Selane had made it bearable. Together, they had something that Velant and Prokief couldn’t take. Then the fever took her.

“I’m sorry, Mick.”

Blaine turned to look at Kestel. “I don’t think you followed me up here to rehash the past. Not in this cold.”

Kestel used the edge of her hood to shield her face against the wind so that it was easier to breathe. “You and I are the only ones in Velant who knew the court of King Merrill. What do you really think about the news from the tavern? Do you think Merrill will lose the war with Meroven?”

“Do you?”

Blaine watched Kestel intently. While it was true that before running afoul of Donderath’s law, both of them had access to the king’s court, Blaine had not known Kestel. She, however, had recognized him on sight, and knew the court gossip that surrounded his banishment. It had counted for something that Kestel claimed that many in the court secretly sympathized with Blaine, and that his father’s reputation had not gone completely unnoticed.

“Merrill’s not a bad king,” Kestel said, thinking as she chose her words. “He can be clever, and the generals respect him.”

“Just how well did you know him?”