by Jason Malone
“The peace has been broken far to the north,” I said. “I can feel it, as if the Gods themselves are warning me. I stand up here hoping to see a messenger.”
“Could it be Emrys?”
“No. Hakon needs my sword to release him.”
My hopes were not ill-founded, for a messenger did come, though he did not bring tidings of war — in fact, he knew nothing of it. Lud was my messenger, and he came with news for me alone.
“I came to the hall, lord,” Lud said once he caught his breath. “But found it gone. Cubert and Egil said some bandits torched it, then told me I’d find you here.”
“You saw Cubert and Egil?” I asked. I had not expected to ever hear of them again. They had deserted me, and I thought them long gone.
“Yes, lord, at the Rose.”
I thought for a moment but decided those two were not worth my time. Oathbreakers brought their fate upon themselves, and I did not need to seek them out to punish them. The Gods would do that for me. My efforts were better off directed northwards. “What news do you bring, Lud?” I asked.
“A letter, lord, from your friend in the mountains.” Lud handed me a scroll of fine parchment, tied with a purple ribbon and with a seal depicting a dragon.
“And you heard no news of war when you left?”
“No, lord. I encountered no trouble on my way here. Ardonn seemed peaceful enough.”
I nodded and bid Lud head inside for some rest and ale. I was not comforted by what he had told me, because Lud often avoided the main roads and towns. If war had truly begun when I felt it had, Lud may have missed it entirely, and news of it would be far behind him.
I turned the small scroll in my hands. Perhaps this would have the answers. I headed for my quarters to read my letter in private, untied the purple ribbon, and popped open the wax seal once I was comfortably by the fire. I began to read.
Edward,
I have received your last letter. Regrettably, I have been unable to reply with my usual haste. I enjoy our conversations, but rebel activity has increased recently in the region, which has made letter-sending difficult. I am sure you understand.
What news, you ask? Well, Fate has decreed that I am to be married. I have been betrothed to the daughter of an important man nearby. I would have loved a king’s daughter, but would it not be true to say that all men desire such a wife?
Her name is Amalie, and she is a pretty young lady with the most beautiful golden hair. She has seen fifteen winters, a virgin, and through our conversations I have already grown fond of her. I know you will probably be unable to make it to our wedding, but in case you find yourself in the area, we will be married at Petalsong this coming spring. I would very much like to meet you in person. Fate will bring us together one day, I am sure of it.
Besides that, business runs as usual. Your donations have been received in full, and for that I am eternally grateful. Your friendship and advice are all I could need in these times, and I shall tell you again that your wealth belongs to you, but I know this counsel will once more be ignored.
Our plans for the future are falling into place quite nicely, I must say. Each day I wake, I become more and more certain that our venture will succeed.
And now, I ask you, are all your matters well? I do hope you have a pleasant Winterlow. My prayers go out to you and your people in these troubling days.
I promise you, Edward, when we succeed in our aims, you shall want for nothing. I shall help find you a good wife, and once you have tired of working in partnership with me, you may retire with her and have a large family and live happily ever after. I swear it, before all the Gods and my ancestors.
Anyway, I must go now. Other matters call my attention. Best wishes to you, my friend, and happy Winterlow.
Your partner,
C.
I stared at the parchment and smiled. There was no news of war, but the letter had brightened my mood and instilled in me a renewed hope, as these letters always did. I placed it down on the small table beside the chair and then found some parchment to write my reply.
I wrote of Hakon and the attack on my home, though did not mention Emrys. I also told him of Matilda and my new apprentice. I wrote that I would be heading north to the Capital once Winterlow had ended and that our paths may cross in the near future. I wished my friend and his sister well and offered prayers for their efforts before closing off the message.
I then sought out Lud. I found him by the great fireplace in the castle’s main hall and handed him my letter, sealed and tied with the same purple ribbon that had come with the letter I received.
“Rest here for a while, Lud,” I said. “But once Winterlow ends, hasten back north and deliver this to our friend. And be wary on the road, for I sense there is danger near the Alps.”
“I will take the winding side roads, lord, as always,” Lud said.
“Good. Do not lose that letter, but keep yourself safe first. I can always write another letter, but I cannot write another Lud into existence. I am glad to see you.”
“And you, lord. You’ve that look about you, but try not to do anything foolish.”
I smiled, and at that a horn sounded outside, followed by shouting. Lud and I made our way outside to see what the fuss was about.
Lady Ecwyn stood on the ramparts above the gate with four armed men by her side, shouting at someone. Half a dozen archers pointed their bows down at whoever had appeared before Oldford Castle.
I climbed up the ramparts and stood by Ecwyn. She looked and me and smirked. “This is something you should have told us about when you arrived.”
I looked down at the five horsemen who sat outside the gate. Three of them I had never seen before, but two I recognised. Gunn and Merewald, from Henton. Word must have come to them that I was staying in Adalbert’s keep. They glared up at me.
“That is the Godspeaker our earl seeks,” Merewald shouted. “Hand him over to us, please.”
Ecwyn laughed. “And what will happen to us if I do not?”
Merewald said nothing, and Gunn rode forward a few paces. I heard the creak of bowstrings being pulled.
“Edward,” said Gunn. He smiled up at me. “My da just wants his daughter back safe. No harm will come to you—”
Ecwyn spat down at him. “No harm will come to him regardless. Edward and Lady Matilda are under Lord Adalbert’s protection now. The Earl of Henton would do well to remember the oath he swore to my father, and I would advise you not to break it on his behalf. Go home, men. Winter is no time for this sort of hunting.”
She said not another word, only turned away, gave me a wink, then headed back to the keep with her bodyguards. The archers lowered their bows, and Merewald and his men turned away and headed back down the hill. Gunn stayed for a few moments, held up a hand, and I waved back. He then headed back down the hill with his companions.
It is truly a blessing to have powerful friends.
Once I was certain Gunn and his men were gone, I headed to the forest, following the torch-lined path to the sacred clearing where Winterlow sacrifices were made. I sat before the tree, wrapped in thick furs, and meditated.
The men from Henton would trouble us no more, but they were not our only troubles that winter.
I returned to the castle late that afternoon, just before sunset. It was growing cold, and that night would be the final night of Winterlow — the most important of all nights. On this night, the most valuable sacrifice would be given to Alcyn, and a feast would be had lasting through the darkness. We would stay up in vigil and await the sunrise so that we might greet the dawn of the new year.
Lady Ecwyn was in the main hall, giving orders to the servants as they prepared the feast. She smiled when she saw me. “Edward, my friend.”
“My Lady. How is everything?”
“Oh, splendid. Everything has been perfectly organised. This year’s feast will be one to remember. By the way, Matilda has been searching for you.”
“What for?”
&nb
sp; “I am not supposed to tell.”
“All right, thank you, My Lady.”
I left Ecwyn alone to continue preparing the Last Night celebrations and headed up to my quarters. If Matilda needed me, she could find me there.
But once I got to my room, my stomach dropped, for it was I who found Matilda. She was standing beside the little table by the fireplace. In one hand she clutched a bouquet of winter flowers, and in the other she held the letter I had received earlier that day. She looked up from the parchment and smiled.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Edward, I noticed you have been unhappy these past few days, so I wanted to cheer you up. I picked these flowers for you.” Her smile faded when she noticed the anger on my face. I took a deep breath and stared at her. “Edward, I—”
“That letter is addressed to you, is it?” I said. Matilda flinched and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She looked to be on the verge of tears, but anger boiled inside me. “Read the word at the top of the page.”
“But…”
“Read it.”
Matilda gulped and read my name slowly. “Edward.”
“Edward,” I repeated. “Not ‘Matilda.’”
Matilda slumped her head and put the letter back down on the table. “I wanted to make you happy,” she mumbled. “But then I saw your fancy letter and thought it was from the king, and I wanted to see why the king was writing to you.”
I glared at her, and she stared down at her feet. She began to sob, and I watched as a tear fell to the fur rug. “I am sorry,” she said.
“King Stephan would never write to me,” I said. “You’re a child. I regret taking you from Henton. You’ve been nothing but a burden and a pain. That letter is deeply personal, and you have no right to touch it. Get out.” I pointed to the door and stood to the side. Matilda stared at me for a few moments, her eyes red and wet. Her face wore a look of total dismay.
“I said—” she began.
“Out! Go dig your pointy nose into someone else’s business.”
Matilda dropped the bouquet, put her hands over her mouth, and rushed out of the room. I was furious, partly with Matilda but mostly with myself. I should never have left that letter sitting out on the table, especially not with Adalbert’s spies wandering the castle. Had I been too hard on her? I walked over to the flowers, now scattered over the rug, and scooped them up. They were indeed pretty. Some were even rare. I placed them down gently on the table and then tossed the letter into the fire. No one would see it now.
I sat before the fire for a while, watching the parchment burn. Matilda seemed to have no idea who the letter might have been from, or what it was about, which was a relief. But perhaps she would figure it out.
Not long after Matilda ran from my quarters, I received a knock at the door. It was Ecwyn, and she looked unhappy.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Excuse me, My Lady?”
“I found Matilda heading for her quarters. She was in tears.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Ecwyn glided to the table and picked up the flowers. She admired them. “Matilda spent a long time in the woods picking these for you. She was wanting to brighten your mood. So, what did you do?”
“I yelled at her. She was reading a personal letter of mine.”
“You are a cold man, Edward. I pity Matilda.”
“Why do you pity her?”
“You are a fool if you cannot see it.” Ecwyn put the flowers into a jug of water that sat by my bed. “Go apologise to her. Show her that there is still warmth in this bitter winter.”
Ecwyn was right; I needed to apologise. I had wronged Matilda. I was foolish enough to leave that letter out for anyone to find, and she was only curious. Certainly, she was wrong to look, but her actions did not deserve my response.
Ecwyn left me alone, and I stared into the fire for a few moments longer, watching the last remnants of blackened parchment flutter up the chimney. I hated apologies, for I was prideful, but I owed it to Matilda. I had been very tense and irritable in those days, but that was no excuse for my reaction to her discovering the letter. I made my way to her room.
I stood outside for a few seconds. I knew she was in there, because I could hear her soft sobs from inside. I raised my knuckles to the door, paused, and then knocked three times.
“Come in,” Matilda said. There was weakness in her voice. I opened the door slowly and entered to see her lying on her side, on her bed, with her back to the door. I approached her and sat awkwardly for a little while, unsure of what to say. She just lay there in silence.
I looked around the room and spotted Matilda’s insects. She had cleared more shelves of books and replaced them with jars of all sizes, and they were arranged neatly to showcase every single creature. She had clearly grown accustomed to Adalbert’s generous hospitality the month past.
“Which insect is your favourite?” I asked, breaking the silence. She quickly rolled over and sat up, her eyes wide. I turned to her and gave a smile, and Matilda looked like she was about to cry. “Well?”
She said nothing, only got up from her bed and walked over to her shelf. She looked at her jars for a bit and then took one from the shelf and brought it over to me. I turned it in my hands while Matilda sat beside me, her arms folded over her chest.
The creature in the jar was an enormous moth, about the size of the palm of my hand. It was beautiful, with bright orange wings and black and red spots.
“I found it in the forest yesterday,” Matilda said. “I have never seen it before, but I think it is quite pretty.”
“It is,” I said. I handed the jar back to her, and she placed it on her bedside table. Her eyes avoided mine. “Matilda, I want to say I am sorry. Sorry for how I treated you. You have been of great help to me lately, and it was unfair to repay that kindness in such a way.”
She was silent for a long moment. Too long. I thought all hope was lost, but then she shook her head. “No, I am sorry, Edward.” Matilda’s eyes began to water, and her voice choked up. “Your anger was justified. I looked at your private things and betrayed your trust. And now you hate me.” With those last few words, two tears ran down her cheeks, and she shut her eyes tight.
“I don’t hate you, Matilda. We all make mistakes. Will you forgive my anger towards you?” I asked. She opened her teary eyes and nodded. “Thank you. And thank you for those flowers. They are very pretty.”
Matilda forced a smile. Her feet shuffled. “Are you in danger?”
“Where did that question come from?”
“Dughlas told me you spend a lot of time waiting for something up on the wall. And you have been very tense of late. Something troubles you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself with my troubles. I will make sure you are safe.”
“But I want you to be safe too.”
“I will be safe, I promise.” I slowly, awkwardly, put my arm around her shoulders. I had been with women plenty of times, but now, just by putting my arm around Matilda, I felt strange. I was nervous, wondering whether she would appreciate it. But she did. Relief washed over me.
Matilda leaned in closer to me, and as she drew her head to my chest, I put my other arm around her. We sat there for a while, Matilda’s head pressed against me with my arms around her. We said nothing. For some reason, I did not want this moment to end.
But it did, for we could not miss the Last Night celebrations.
I left Matilda alone so she could get ready, and I headed back to my quarters to change my clothes before heading down to the main hall. The coming night would be the longest of the year. The air was frigid, but it was deathly still. The first night of Winterlow had been wild, but this night was the complete opposite. The trees were still and the air was silent, so much so that the slightest noise echoed across the rolling hills around Oldford. The sky was void of clouds, which meant the night was a bright one, for the stars and the moon illuminated the land, their li
ght reflected by the sparkling snow.
As the sun set, and all of Adalbert’s guests made their way into the main hall, I sat in my seat at the high table. Philip was three seats to my right, since Ecwyn had given him a place at the high table for tonight. He was wrapped in a thick fur blanket and wore a fox-skin hat; the fire was raging, yet he was still cold. I laughed. “You don’t get winters like this where you’re from?”
Philip shook his head. “No, Master.” He shivered. As we waited, Matilda came down. She looked beautiful, as always, and was wearing a thin black dress — presumably from Ecwyn — as well as one of the fur cloaks Adalbert had gifted me. She joined Philip and I at the high table.
“You’re going to get cold wearing that dress,” I said.
“I already am. But this will keep me alive, at least,” Matilda said, stroking the fur. It was made from the coat of a black bear and was one of the finest cloaks I had ever worn. I had lent it to Matilda for the night. “It smells like you.”
“It smells like bear,” I said.
She shrugged. “What will you sacrifice tonight?”
“A horse.”
“Not Lilly, I hope.” She smiled at Philip. “You look cosy.”
“I am not,” he said.
“Do not complain too much. There are places far to the north that have no sunlight for days, and it is so cold that during winter people go blind because their eyes have frozen,” Matilda said.
“And how could you possibly know that?”
“I read it.”
I laughed. “Your eyes don’t freeze up north.”
She waved her hand as if to dismiss me. While we waited for the rest of the guests to fill the hall the three of us talked for a while about the south. Matilda was very curious about those lands and wanted to know all about Luria, of which Philip was quite proud. Once all the guests were in the hall, Adalbert and Ecwyn arrived, as did Lodulf, and speeches were made. Bread and cheese was eaten until the final sacrifice was ready, and then we all went outside and gathered in the sacred clearing, as we had done on First Night.
There Alcyn was appeased with Adalbert’s finest mare. I silently prayed that Alcyn’s desire for blood would be sated this winter, but I knew those prayers were in vain. The dread still lingered in my mind, but on this night, the Gods were silent.