Imrik wasn’t really strong enough. But Tano and Imrik were a pair, and Tano watched out for Imrik. Until one day…
“Stop it!”
One day Tano had gone to get a drink from the water barrel, and Imrik had to carry the iron from the furnace to the hammer mill on his own. He had done it many times before—Tano couldn’t always be there to help him. He couldn’t. He really couldn’t.
“Leave me alone. Let me go!”
Imrik seized the iron with the big pincers and held it as tightly as he could. He raised the white-hot iron bar out of the flames and turned to—
“It wasn’t my fault!”
—turned to edge past the driveshaft. But just then—
“I tried to get to him. I tried! I was just too far away.”
Just then the pincers slipped, and the white-hot iron dropped, and Imrik had to leap aside to avoid it, stumbling, catching his foot—
I broke off. I had no desire to see exactly what had happened to Imrik’s foot as it got caught in the gears.
Tano was no longer standing defiantly upright in front of me. He was kneeling. Tears glistened on his soot-stained cheeks.
“I promised to take care of him,” he whispered. “I promised. A hundred times, at least.”
He lowered his head and hid his face in his hands as if to prevent me from looking at him again. But I just stood there, knowing suddenly which peddler the cart belonged to, and how Imrik and Tano had come to work as no-man’s-brats in the weapon forges of Dracana. The little peddler. The one who sold children. He had been paid fifteen silver marks for the runt, he had said, and twenty-three for the lout, who was big and strong for his age.
As if he could read my mind, Valdracu began to talk to Tano.
“I bought you, thrall,” he whispered. “Bought you and paid for you. You are my property. My dog. And you know what? You weren’t even very expensive. I paid more for my horse than I did for you. I paid more for my boots.” He set the toe of one embroidered boot against the boy’s shoulder and sent him sprawling. “Well? Are you a good boy now? Have you learned some respect? Are you a good thrall, thrall?”
At first Tano didn’t answer. Valdracu had to prod him again with his booted foot.
“Well?”
“Yes,” whispered Tano. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. May we get back into the cart now?”
Valdracu and Sandor exchanged glances.
“Raving,” muttered Sandor. “The boy has taken leave of his senses.”
“It hardly matters,” said Valdracu. “It doesn’t take much wit to work at the hammer mill. Send him back to the forge, we’ve already lost hours because of his rebelliousness.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and tugged gently at my hair.
“Well done, Dina. For a moment there I thought you were going to disappoint me, but of course you didn’t. You are my rare bird still.”
I hardly heard him. My headache was so bad that I thought I might pass out, and all of a sudden vomit surged in my throat, and I threw up, over and over, until nothing was left but the bitter green gall. There was only one tiny glimmer of light in all my misery. I had managed to vomit all over Valdracu’s expensively embroidered boots.
DINA
The Stone Girl
Lying between smooth white sheets and a quilt of green silk, I felt miserable. I had never before slept in such a fancy bed. I had never before worn night robes such as these, so white and soft and frilly that I felt like a cross between a cloud and a snowflake. Cilia, the miller’s daughter in Birches, would have been sick with envy. Except for my hair, I might be mistaken for what Rose called “one of them rich girls,” someone who lacked for nothing and had every reason to feel spoiled and happy. But inside me, something had curled up and was starting to rot.
There was a light tapping at the door.
“Dina? Are you awake?”
I felt like pulling the silken quilt over my head and saying no. But it was Marte, and there was no fooling her.
“Yes,” I said, and realized a little belatedly that I would have to say “Come in.” I wasn’t used to giving orders and permissions.
Marte pushed the door open with her hip. She was carrying a breakfast tray.
“Are you feeling any better?” she asked.
I felt like a worm—a worm with ugly stiff bristles on the outside and something slimy and disgusting on the inside.
“I’m fine.”
Marte looked at me gaugingly. She was the one who had put me to bed the day before, when I had vomited all over Valdracu’s boots. I had been so dizzy then that I couldn’t stand up.
“Do you think you might be able to eat a little?” she asked, setting the tray on the small bedside table. “It would do you good.”
I shook my head dumbly. I didn’t feel like eating. I didn’t feel like anything.
“I made the bread fresh this morning,” she coaxed. “It’s still warm. And there’s honey.”
It was not the bread that I couldn’t refuse. It was Marte. She looked so worried, and in some ways she reminded me of my mother, although the only real similarity was the auburn hair. I forced myself to bite into the bread, chewing slowly.
Marte put a cool hand on my forehead. “I think you have a touch of fever,” she said. “Drink the tea. I’ve put in a bit of allheal. And stay in bed for as long as you like. Mesire said that you should be allowed to rest.”
“Can’t I go out for a little while?” I pleaded. “It’s so stifling in here.”
Marte hesitated. “Mesire doesn’t want you to leave the house. You know that.”
I lowered my head. I could feel tears on my cheek, hot and heavy, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. It might be very grand, this Green Room, but I felt like I was being smothered in fat gleaming green carpets and curtains and pillows and pom-poms. It had been twenty days since I had had a breath of outside air, and it was hard for me to be shut in like this, even if the prison walls had silken tapestries on them.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t take it so.” Marte stroked my cheek and looked terribly upset. “Look, I have an idea. You can sit for a while in the Rose Court. You’ll have sunshine and fresh air, and it’s still part of the house, sort of. If Mesire asks.”
♦ ♦ ♦
I asked Marte if there was something I could do—slicing cabbage or peeling celery or something. But she wouldn’t hear of it. I was to rest, those were Mesire’s orders. So I sat on a white bench in the Rose Court, kicking my heels and doing nothing at all. Still, it was so much better than kicking my heels in the Green Room. Summer had come now, and the earliest roses were blooming, with small pink blossoms and a sweet scent that teased the nostrils.
It was a strange kind of garden, this Rose Court. Everything there had been planted for looks. Not at all like Mama’s gardens where even the smallest plant had its purpose, either because she used it in her cooking or because it was useful against some ailment or other. In this place, there was just a bit of lavender and box, and then roses, roses, and more roses. Rose hedges, rose arches, roses big and small, roses climbing and creeping. Gravel paths wandered among the roses in rough circles, creating a kind of maze. I suppose it had been made this way so that the ladies of the house could go for “walks” without ever having to step outside the high walls that surrounded the courtyard.
Where were the ladies of the house? I had seen no one, unless you counted Sascha, and despite her silken skirts I didn’t think she was a real lady. Valdracu was the only lord in the house now. Maybe he had taken it away from the people who used to own it. It had been a good long while since anyone, lady or not, had walked the circling paths, for the roses now grew fiercely and so untamed that in many places it must be impossible to pass without having skirts or sleeves torn by the dark red thorns.
I looked back at the house. No one seemed to be watching me. And Valdracu may have ordered “rest,” but surely there was no harm in walking a bit among the roses?
I got up and smoothed my s
triped skirts. Then I slowly began to wander into the maze of roses, and no angry voices called me back.
It was strange. I knew there were walls all around me, and that the garden was not that large. But a little bit into the maze it seemed as if the house and the walls disappeared entirely, leaving me to walk in a magic briar wood. Roses curled and tangled overhead, and all around me. Shiny dark green leaves, paler green vines, and red thorns were everywhere, and through the thicket led only a narrow white ribbon of pearly gravel. I followed the white paths, back and forth in soft curves, ever inward to the heart of the maze. This proved to be a small clearing in the rose forest, a small circle of gravel with two benches and—what was it? A statue of some kind? Vines clung to it like thick green tentacles, and at first I could see only what I thought was a human form. Clearing away some of the vines, I realized that I was mistaken even in that. It was the statue of a girl, slender and delicate, but when I pushed the leaves aside, I saw that she had horns. Not big ones like on a goat or a cow, but two soft little points like those of a very young deer.
The white stone face was frozen in an expression of despair. And as I stood there, staring at her, a shiny beetle ran down one cheek, so that for a moment it looked as if she were crying.
It terrified me. I don’t know why. Suddenly it seemed that the green vines belonged to a tentacled monster that had caught her and was slowly smothering her, and I couldn’t bear to watch. I spun and ran, back into the maze.
Briars caught at me like claws. I jerked free, ripping a long tear in Marte’s white blouse; I knew this was not a good place to run, but I couldn’t help myself.
Then I suddenly caught a glimpse of green that was not leaves, and this made me stop.
It was a door. A door in the wall. It was nearly hidden by tangled roses, and I don’t think I would have found it at all if I hadn’t been tearing so frantically through the thicket, unmindful of paths, without caring how badly I was scratched. There was something secretive about this door, something forbidden. It was not meant to be found and used by just anybody. Maybe it had been made so that some lord could get in unseen to visit with the ladies walking the maze. But to me, it was a door leading out.
I tore at the tangle of roses. My hands had already been full of scratches, and I now acquired deep new ones, but I barely noticed. A door. A way out! The handle was a huge iron ring, rusty and difficult to turn, but I was stubborn. And finally there was a muffled click from the old mechanism, and I was able to open the door.
Behind it, there was a small meadow of stiff yellow winter grasses, so tall that they nearly reached my waist. Behind the meadow, there was forest. Dark and silent pines. And rising behind the forest were the mountains. The Highlands.
My feet took off without waiting for further orders. I didn’t even close the door behind me. I waded through the tall grass, wet from the dew of the night. My skirts were soaked in moments and clung clammily to my legs, and little yellow seeds stuck to the striped material. But it took me no time at all to reach the forest’s edge.
Among the pines, it was a dim and silent world. My feet passed soundlessly over the thick carpet of brown needles, and only a few frail sunbeams reached the forest floor. It felt more like evening than midmorning in there. Distantly I heard the rushing falls of the river and the clangor from the mills, but they no longer concerned me. I was not in Dracana anymore; I was on my way to the Highlands. I was going home.
How long would it be before Valdracu discovered that his rare bird had flown the coop? Marte would be the first one to worry. She would look for me in the Rose Court, call my name, perhaps. Sooner or later they would find the door, and I supposed they would figure out the rest. And Valdracu would gather some men and—
I stopped abruptly. I knew exactly what Valdracu would do. He would send Sandor down into the cellar to get Tavis. And then he would kill him.
I dropped to my knees on the forest floor. For a brief moment, I had forgotten all about Tavis. For a brief moment, I had been free. Now the trap closed its jaws about me once more. I could squirm and fight it, but it wouldn’t change the facts: if I ran without Tavis, Tavis would die.
My legs still wanted to run, on and on, through the pines, as far away from Dracana as I could get. It was terribly hard to turn back, and harder still to hurry. But I had to get back, and preferably before anyone discovered that I had been gone.
I had barely reached the green door when I heard Marte call my name. I hurried through the maze as quickly as I could.
“Sweet Saint Magda, girl, will you look at yourself!” she said when she caught sight of me. No wonder. My scratched hands, the torn sleeve, the wet skirts—no wonder she looked crestfallen.
“Come on in,” she said. “Hurry. We have to get you into some decent clothes. Mesire wants you, and this won’t do at all!”
“Why did it take you so long?” Valdracu glanced up, coolly and disapprovingly, from a letter he had been reading. “When I ask for you, I expect you to present yourself immediately.”
“I had to change my clothes,” I mumbled, which after all was just the truth. No need to tell him why I had needed the change.
“I see,” he said. “Go with Sandor. I’ll join you shortly.”
Where? I thought, but I didn’t ask. Although Valdracu was mostly happy with his rare bird, he still upheld his rules, and in his presence I didn’t speak unless I was told to.
Sandor opened the door for me. “This way, Medamina,” he said with false courtesy. Sometimes it amused him to treat me as if I was some grand lady.
I followed him out of the Marble Parlor, down the hall, and into the cobbled courtyard in front of the house. A groom was wiping down an exhausted-looking horse with the Dragon Crest on its saddle blanket. It probably belonged to the messenger who had brought Valdracu his letter. The groom aimed a silent bow in our direction as we passed.
Apparently, we were headed for the stables, or at any rate for the tack room. Harness and saddles hung in neat rows, and there was a smell of leather and linseed oil, with just a hint of dust. In the floor, there was a bolted trapdoor with a big ring in it. Sandor shot back the bolt and hauled on the ring until the hatch came open, no easy job by the looks of it. He waved at it with an extravagant flourish.
“Ladies first.”
No great prize, that—not when the door in question was a hole in the floor with some narrow steps that were really just a ladder. A sour, fusty smell flowed up at me, making me think of rotting turnips.
“Why do we have to go down there?” I asked, even though it was against the rules.
“You’ll find out,” he said. “Down you go.”
Whenever I had thought of Tavis and his cellar, I had always imagined it to be below the big house. It had never occurred to me that it might be below the stables instead. The darkness down there was almost total. I sincerely hoped that this was not where he had been stuck for twenty days, but what other reason could there be for us to go down there?
Sandor was getting impatient. “Down!” he snapped, and I didn’t dare to hang back any longer.
At first I was almost completely blind, but slowly my eyes got used to the darkness, and there were a few weak glimmers of light. Mostly from the open hatch, but also from cracks between the rough floorboards over our heads. Along one wall there was a row of large cagelike crates of the kind winter stores are kept in. In the nearest one were some cabbages, packed in straw to prevent them from rotting. It soothed me a bit to see them. This was no longer a dark mysterious cave, but a root cellar not unlike the one we had had in Birches. This one just happened to be a bit bigger and darker.
There was a rasp of steel and tinder, and a small flame grew between Sandor’s cupped hands.
“Get that,” he said, nodding toward a square lantern hanging on a nail by the hatch.
I took it and carefully lifted one of the soot-stained glass panels, so that he could light the candle inside. With a hissing sound, the wick caught fire and began to burn w
ith a small but steady flame.
“Down that end,” Sandor said, this time jerking his head in the direction of the back wall of the cellar.
The ceiling was low, and Sandor had to duck his head to avoid the beams. I eyed the storage crates as we passed. Most were empty or nearly empty, and the beets in the third one looked distinctly unappetizing. Most of the rotting smell came from them.
And then I stopped in my tracks. In the second to last crate, on a layer of straw that was thinner than the one the cabbages rested on, lay Tavis. He had curled himself into a ball and didn’t even look up when the light of the lantern touched him.
“Tavis….” My voice was nearly soundless, a stunned whisper. He heard it anyway. He turned to look at me, shielding his eyes with one hand. Even the weak glare of the lantern was too much for someone who had spent weeks in the dimness of the cellar.
“Go away,” he said, but his voice was more scared than angry. “Stupid cow. This is all your fault.” His voice was cracked and hoarse, as if he had been doing a lot of shouting.
“Move,” said Sandor, shoving me in the back. “Mesire has no interest in him today.”
What did interest Mesire, it appeared, was still the crazy tramp. He was crouched inside the last crate, and I realized immediately why they hadn’t dragged him along to the Marble Parlor this time. There was no way he’d be able to stand or walk, the way they had beaten him.
“He’s just a poor beggar who’s not right in the head,” I whispered. “Can’t you let him go?”
“Mind your own business,” snarled Sandor. “You just do as you’re told, girl.”
At that moment we heard someone making his way down the ladder. It was Valdracu, and he was angry. Whatever had been in the letter, it hadn’t pleased him. When his boot heels hit the floor it sounded as if someone was cracking a whip. Sandor straightened like a soldier coming to attention and was suddenly in a great hurry to open the front of the tramp’s crate and drag him out onto the cellar floor.
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