StarCrossed

by Elizabeth C. Bunce

Pox, that told me nothing. “I heard he was in prison a long time.”

  Nodding, Lyll poured the fever medicine into her narrow-necked vial. “There are some things a king can’t forgive, and I suppose one of those is being the son of the man who struck war against him. It took all of Antoch’s doing just to get Remy decent food, let alone convince the king to spare his life and let him go. Part of that bargain, of course, was that we go to Corlesanne.”

  “I — what?” I paused in my grinding.

  She was looking at the books stacked above the workbench, but her gaze was far away. “I can only assume His Majesty felt it was too dangerous to have both Daul and Nemair loose in the same country again.”

  “And it’s not dangerous now?”

  Lady Lyll’s jaw tightened slightly, and she gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, Celyn. You’re so young. You won’t remember what it was like, after the war. The betrayals, the exiles, the suspicion. You think it’s bad now? Everyone was your enemy in those days.” Suddenly she stopped and gave me an odd, appraising look. “Sixteen, and named Celyn. Maybe you do know something about it. The Anointed Children?”

  I just kept grinding away with my pestle. “Bastards for Celys, you mean?” After crushing the Sarist rebels, Bardolph had proclaimed that bearing an army of Celyst children to run over the land was a patriotic way for fertile young women to show their devotion to the Goddess of Life. I was just one of thousands of children born those first few years — dozens in the Celystra alone were taken from our mothers and raised by the church. Meri was lucky; her parents had left her with people who loved her, a cousin to watch over her like a brother — and then they’d come back for her. I’d been told my mother was dead, but it had never made much difference to me. Now, inexplicably, I found myself hoping it was true.

  Lyll reached out and lifted my chin with one strong finger. “I’ve always thought that was too great a burden to put on such young backs.”

  I pulled away. “I’m alive. That’s enough for me.”

  That afternoon was bright and cold, and we were scheduled to take a turn about the castle walls, all the court together. Standing in the freezing courtyard, I clapped my gloved hands together and stomped my feet. Lord Antoch strode over, under a mound of furs, a steaming mug of something in his great bear’s paw of a hand.

  “Fine day, eh, Celyn?” he said cheerfully, and I nodded through chattering teeth. He laughed. “Don’t get much snow where you’re from, do you? You’ll get used to it. Come have a look; the view from the walls should be spectacular today. We can watch the progress being made on the pass.”

  Or not being made, more accurately.

  I followed dutifully; Antoch at least made a decent windbreak. Winding up toward the battlements, we squeezed past a pair of black-and-silver guards patrolling with pikes. Below us in the courtyard, Daul had Meri on his arm, her pale face looking up into his. I shoved my hands into my sleeves and pressed close to Lord Antoch, who had paused to point out some feature of the valley. Snow glittered in the sunlight, almost too bright to look at.

  Eptin Cwalo sidled up beside me, neat and compact in a black felt doublet. “As always, the prospect from your towers is unparalleled, my lord.”

  Antoch slipped something from his coat, a tube of brass and wood, which he lifted to his eye, then handed to me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A spyglass. Look through it.”

  I obeyed, and the distant valley sprang closer, so suddenly it startled me. I yanked the device away, then looked through it again, this time ready for the surprise. “How does it work?” I said, watching the men and dogs, now disorientingly larger, moving vainly against the wall of white.

  “Lenses and mirrors,” Cwalo explained. “It was invented by a clever astronomer in Corlesanne, and promptly outlawed in Llyvraneth.”

  “Outlawed? Why?”

  “For tempting men to gaze too closely upon the faces of the moons,” Antoch said. “But ships’ captains and generals find them too useful to give up. If you turn this way, you can see the Gerse road behind us too.”

  What would be the point of that? I handed back the spyglass.

  “And if you look here, Lady Celyn,” Cwalo said, “You can see one of the more unconventional approaches to the castle.” He pointed straight down, to where the earth fell away at the base of the wall, a sheer drop to nothingness. I liked heights, and I leaned far over the edge, letting the cold crisp air freeze every thought from my head. The path from the ridge looked impassable, little more than a twisting staircase of crumbling rocks, barely one person wide. I couldn’t imagine an entire army clinging to that narrow ledge, storming those sheer walls. Along the edge, the floor of the battlement opened up in oblong holes, slanting down like chutes into the sky.

  Lord Antoch saw me looking. “For discharging missiles,” he said, miming musket fire.

  “I’ve been telling Lady Lyll for years that you need to modernize,” Cwalo said. “Build a new artillery wall, shore up the gates. These defenses were fine in the days of magical attacks and siege engines, but with the new cannon, and especially these long-range arms they’re coming out with from Varenzia, we also need new approaches in defense.”

  “Well, you’ve finally talked us into it, old friend. We’ve been dis cussing plans to replace the western and southern bailey walls in the spring.”

  My brain was frozen, and it took a moment for their words to penetrate. I pulled my head back from the edge and looked at both men. Had Lord Antoch just said they were rebuilding Bryn Shaer’s defenses? That might mean nothing; they were remodeling the entire castle, after all. Along with modern roofing and modern windows and modern fireplaces, modern battlements and artillery walls made perfect sense.

  But the Nemair had told me that Bryn Shaer was so remote that its military properties were obsolete. No reason to defend the Breijarda Velde, when there was peace in Llyvraneth.

  I looked down over the valley, springing away in a bright dip of white so dazzling the sky had turned it blue. Smoke lifted from the Broad Valley, snug behind its blockade of snow. Did the Nemair expect that soon there wouldn’t be peace in Llyvraneth?

  Oh, I was very good. Playing the innocent maid with a sudden interest in military architecture, I drew out every thing Cwalo and Lord Antoch would tell me about the castle’s defenses, and what they didn’t show me, I checked on myself later that afternoon. It took me into the older part of the castle, where they were storing supplies for the renovations, and when I was supposed to be helping Meri practice her lines for the kernja-velde, I was instead climbing over dusty ladders and frame-horses and peeking under draped canvas. I didn’t know what I was looking at, of course, but I recalled it all faithfully.

  By the time I emerged, gray with dust, the sun had dropped behind the mountain, and Zet’s moon winked at me from a twilit sky. I crossed back toward the Lodge, pausing to rub a handful of snow over a stubborn mark on my skirt. Berdal, the guard so eager to share his avalanche knowledge on the way up here, was in the paddock yard, trimming the hooves of a white, spotted horse.

  I made to curve around back toward the Lodge, but he saw me and gave a wave. I changed directions. “Lady Merista’s horse?”

  “Sweet little lass, like her mistress,” he said. “She does like to ride, that one. I’m surprised their lordships let her ride out alone, though. It’s pretty rough terrain in these parts, particularly with the trails obscured by snow.”

  I stopped. “What — alone? No, she rides with her father.” I put those riding clothes on her every morning and brushed them clean an hour later. I knew she’d told me tales of Lord Antoch —

  Berdal shook his head. “Not since that Lord Daul’s been around and taking up all of his lordship’s time. Most mornings Lady Merista goes out alone, though I’d feel better if one of you maids went with her.” He gave an easy laugh and dropped the pony’s hoof. “I suppose it’ll have to be that Phandre, since you haven’t learned to ride yet, have you?”

  I s
miled back absently, turning toward the Lodge. If Meri wasn’t riding with her father, then where was she going?

  Stepping out of the wind, at first I didn’t see Daul lurking just inside the pentice, the covered walkway that connected the older Bryn Shaer with the Lodge.

  “Learning anything interesting?” he said, his voice a purr as he fell into step beside me. He was clad today in dark blue, a color that made him look sallow and irritated. Maybe it wasn’t just the color.

  “Oh, yes. You’ll be pleased to learn that Lady Lyll is hiding the whole Sarist army in the buttery, and Lord Antoch is — ow!”

  He’d caught me by the thumb and was bending it backward to my wrist. I gasped and tears sprang to my eyes. “All right, all right!” He let me go, and I rubbed at my thumb. It hurt like seven hells, but wasn’t dislocated, thank the gods. I was sure Lady Lyll could have popped it back into place — but I didn’t fancy explaining to her how it had happened.

  “Stop wasting time. I am not paying you to play the whore for the winemonger and the stable boy.”

  “You’re not paying me at all,” I snapped back. “And I’ve been doing exactly what you told me to do. Do you have something to write with?”

  His eyes narrowed with interest, but he recovered soon enough. “I’m sure I’ll remember.”

  I shrugged. “The Nemair are rebuilding Bryn Shaer’s defensive walls.” I sketched out the details of what I’d learned. “The new construction will withstand an attack from artillery fire — cannons.”

  “I know what artillery fire is, thank you. Anything else?”

  Really, there was no pleasing the man.

  “It looks like they’ll be ready by summer.”

  He almost smiled. I could see the corners of his scarred lips straining to resist.

  “What are you going to do with this information?” I said. “It’s not like you can report it to anybody, not right now, anyway, with the snow —”

  A finger raised in warning. “You let me worry about that. The only thing that need concern you is learning every thing you can. And on that note, what luck have you had recovering my journal?”

  I shook my head. “There wasn’t anything like it in Antoch’s rooms. There might be another place I can look, but —”

  “I do not require a blow-by-blow accounting of your failures.” Daul leaned over me, his face inches from mine. “I am interested only in success. Believe me, Antoch would not have let that book far out of his reckoning. Find it, bring it. Don’t make me find additional motivation for you, little mouse.” His voice was hot with warning, and I turned my head away.

  “I’m not your mouse,” I muttered, as he slipped away down the pentice, and I stood there, rubbing my sore hand.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Somehow, Daul had sapped away all my plea sure over the day’s discoveries, and now I just felt cold and dull. Though I was frozen through from climbing around in the cold, unheated older castle, I didn’t feel like going back inside, returning to the warmth of the Lodge, and Lyll, and Yselle’s hot, heavy supper. I needed space and sky and air. I needed night.

  It was reckless and I knew it, and I didn’t care. From the storeroom by the mews gate, I grabbed the gamekeeper’s fur-lined coat and a pair of heavy boots that came nearly up to my knees and even fit over my nob’s shoes. I hefted the iron bar on the door and shoved out into the night.

  It was getting dark, as dark as it ever gets with seven moons looking down on us every night. Only Mend-kaal was full, a shady blot of blue-gray high above the mountains, nothing to worry about. The night watch was far away on the other side of the castle, though that was just stupid blind luck. Hoping Berdal was tucked safely away in his rooms above the stable, and wouldn’t take it upon himself to have a last check outside the mews, I stomped away from the light and heat and weight of Bryn Shaer pressing against me.

  Mouse. It was obvious — I had small hands and sharp eyes and a nose that led me straight into trouble. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

  One hot night a couple of summers ago, a brash young thief with a beard had hired me for a job at the Royal Exchequer. It was easy enough, but there had been a sticky spot along the way. My planned exit was blocked, and I had to escape by crawling along a water pipe that opened out over a gutter. Tegen had been impressed. Just like a mouse, he’d said, watching me emerge headfirst into the street. I’d laughed and produced the spoils — coin dies for the new silver marks, which I’d hidden beneath my snug hat.

  I still remembered the way his fingers felt, brushing through my hair the first time. It had been a warm night, but his touch brought shivers to my skin. Bravely, I had touched his fingers with my own, and thrilled to feel them wrap around my hand. When he lowered his head to breathe my name against my neck, I thought it was the end of the world.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice ragged. He had me pressed against the brick wall outside the Exchequer, our twined hands lifted above my head. My eyes were closed, but I felt the solid form of his body inches from mine. I could have traced that shape in the darkness from then on.

  I tried to laugh. “Eleven years of convent school?”

  Tegen ignored me. One arm stole around my hips and pulled me bodily toward him. “You’re magnificent, you know that?”

  I felt my cheeks go hot, and shook my head. He was a few years older than me — darkly handsome, very intense, serious in a way that’s rare among thieves — and I was a little in awe of him. I still hadn’t recovered from the shock of being hired on in the first place.

  “Nothing scares you,” he continued. “You’re game for anything. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  And I had believed him, and I’d let him kiss me.

  And I’d let myself believe that that meant something special.

  I’d gone a quarter mile or so away from the castle now, pushing through the deep snow toward the fringe of woods. Behind me, the lighted bulk of Bryn Shaer loomed against the mountains. I sank down into a snowbank, my head on my knees.

  “You bastard,” I said aloud, not even knowing what I meant. Who I meant.

  Suddenly, something snapped behind me.

  I scrabbled up from the snowbank, my tears freezing in the bitter wind. I wobbled in my loose boots. Looking left and right, glancing behind, I tried to pinpoint the sound. I was terribly exposed — anyone hiding behind a tree or a snowdrift could pick me off and carry me away, and nobody would be the wiser. I fumbled through my layers of coat and skirts and found Durrel’s knife, but I wouldn’t be able to wield it long before my fingers froze in the open air. I clamped it in my teeth, and shoved my hands back inside the fur sleeves. Not, I may add, a recommended posture for sneaking.

  Seeing nothing, I cautiously took a few gliding steps closer to the trees. It could have been a bird, I told myself — one of the black rooks that lingered for the winter. Marau’s birds. But there were no branches to creak overhead, no prints in the snow that I could see.

  When I reached the trees, a little girl in a purple cloak was standing a dozen paces from me.

  I just stood and stared at her, half sure she must be some sort of cold-induced hallucination. Apparently she was thinking the same thing, her eyes wide open in surprise.

  I spat my knife into my hand. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, and she shrank back. Pox. I stuck the knife behind me through the shell of the coat, at an angle so I wouldn’t idiotically stab myself or slice the pleats right off the back of my dress. “There, look. All right?” I took a step closer to the little girl — gods ask me why — but she spun and ran back into the woods.

  And I ran after her.

  I must have had some mad, half-formed thought that she was lost, one of the servants’ children, somehow come loose from the castle. But her cloak was like a lure — that impossible, illegal color. Black branches flashed and slapped, silver moonslight sparkled the path of white at my feet, while the purple ducked and wove through the woods. I kept up until I stepped to
o heavily in a deep place and lost one boot to the snow. I fumbled my way out again. Close to the trees, the snow was not so deep. I kicked off the other boot and picked my way through in just my slippers, the girl in purple always just ahead.

  Finally we broke out into a clearing, and I scrambled to such a quick stop that I almost fell over. Clustered around a blazing campfire were at least a dozen people, all of whom looked very shocked to see me. A blocky brown dog lunged my way, roaring its objection, but a firm hand gripped its collar and held it back. The little girl flew into the waiting arms of a beast of a man, who scooped her up from the forest floor like she was made of moonslight.

  Slowly I snaked my hand toward my knife. Fine night for a campout. I remembered the Nemair’s warning about outlaws and eased back toward the trees.

  “You are lost from castle?” A tall man bundled in gray stood up from the fire and shook his hood back to reveal a thick mane of light brown hair, just starting to silver. He beckoned me closer. One of his companions said something, in a low, guttural language I couldn’t understand, and Graymantle barked back, silencing him.

  “Who are you?” I said, my voice a little too sharp.

  He smiled. “We are . . . Tigas Wanderers. We make winter camp here at Bryn Shaer.”

  I nodded, edging farther from the fire. The Tigas were an ancient people from Talanca’s hot southern coast — swarthy and dark, with black hair and skin like copper. But my young friend in purple had hair like a flame; the man holding her wore a ginger beard. I looked at the gray cloaks and the motley clothes. More flashes of purple, below collars, inside hoods, and suddenly my crack to Daul about baby-eating Sarists didn’t seem so amusing. Memory served up every horror the Celystra had ever ascribed to the followers of Sar: Animal mutilation. The desecration of the dead. Brandings. Burnings. Outrageous accusations, meant to scare us.

  They worked.

  I couldn’t have gone far — a straight line through the trees, and I’d be back at Bryn Shaer, hiding the gamekeeper’s mangled coat, in ten minutes.