Chapter 15
It was almost dark when they finally reached the castle, but the gates were open and the courtyard was filled with torches, lighting their way in.
"Lady Sara, it is an honour!" a woman said, bobbing a curtsy, and the shadowy figures behind her did the same.
"Salacia? It has been too long!" Mother, never one to stand on ceremony, hugged the woman. "What have you been doing all these years?"
"Well, after running the boarding house for the construction crew who built the new monastery, I married one of the masons who had a secret talent for brewing beer. We turned the boarding house into an inn for pilgrims who come to see the relics. Since they saved Mirroten from the plague, many more miracles are hoped for, and not a day passes without half a dozen pilgrims arriving. Well, until the winter closes the passes, which looks like it might happen early this year. That's had a lot of people heading home, so I've left my daughters to take care of the kitchens there while I claim the castle kitchens again." Salacia grinned. "I nearly cried when I reached the cellars – so much to choose from! And always the very best."
Mother frowned. "Has the harvest been poor here this year? Or are the monks taking too much? You have only to send word down to Mirroten. We would not let you go hungry."
Salacia laughed. "Oh, no, 'tis not that, Lady Sara. But the best of the harvest always goes to the castle cellars. It's tradition. There's plenty left for the rest of us – even the pilgrims who come to see the relics at Holy Innocents on the Lake, as they call it. No, it's that the pilgrims expect plain food, not the fancy stuff that I used to make in the castle kitchens. With wine and spices and honeyed fruits from Rialto…why, it's almost like Christmas come early, though it's months off yet. But what am I saying? You must be tired from your journey. I'll have warm water sent up to your chamber and dinner will be on the table when you come down."
"Rossa can bathe and change in my chamber for now, as she used to," Mother said. "Right, Rossa?"
Rossa nodded.
Salacia's eyes widened as she stared at Rossa. "Why, I had it in my head that you would be little Lady Rossa, just like I remembered, not a real lady, old enough to be wed! Beg pardon, milady." She dropped another curtsy, considerably lower than the one she'd given Mother.
A real lady, old enough to wed. No, she was neither of those things. And if Mother could hug the woman, then Rossa was allowed to be informal, too.
Rossa summoned a smile. "Please, don't, um, Mistress Salacia. No one at home calls me that. I'm just Rossa. And no wedding for a while yet." If ever, she added silently.
Salacia beamed. "You're just like your mother. You should call me Sal, like you did when you were a little girl." She rubbed her hands together with what Rossa suspected was glee. "Ooh, you wait until some of the boys in the village see you! They'll fall all over themselves to impress you, I'm sure."
Rossa's smile faltered. That was the last thing she needed. "I'll go up and wash, I think."
"Of course, of course." Sal shooed her inside.
Thankfully, Rossa knew the way up to the tower. When she reached the top of the stairs, she opened the window, scooped up a bucket of snow, and melted it with a well-placed fireball. More than melted it, what with those wisps of steam curling up from the water.
She washed quickly, wishing she could immerse her whole body in hot water, but that would have to wait until she found a suitable tub, and carried enough water up those stairs to fill it, as there wasn't enough snow on the windowsill to fill more than a bucket or two.
Rossa brought in what she could, then closed the shutters. It was too dark to see anything out there now, and the snow was still falling.
She surveyed her tower room, which felt smaller now than it had all those years ago. Perhaps it was the carved bed that took up most of the floor space – Raphael's narrow pallet had been enough for him then. Had he and Swanhild ever…?
Shuddering, Rossa trotted down the stairs for dinner, trying to shake such distasteful thoughts out of her head.
Chapter 16
"Where's the rest of it?"
Boris blinked, but his eyes just didn't want to stay open. Nearly drowning and having to drag oneself out of a surprisingly deep pool took a toll on a man.
Something poked him in the belly. Hard.
"Where's the rest of it?"
That sounded a bit like Igor, but it couldn't be. No squire would use such a tone to his master. Not unless he wanted to be clouted across the ear and assigned latrine duties for the next month. Two stints of latrine duty had surely taught Igor some manners by now.
And yet, whoever it was persisted to poke him most painfully.
Boris flung his arm out, shoving his tormentor away, before he forced his eyes open.
An angry Igor sat on the ground, presumably where he'd landed, with the dripping sceptre in his hands.
The sceptre Boris had been forced to leave in the pond, so that he might save himself from drowning.
"Give me that, boy," Boris said, stretching out his hand.
Igor stuck the sceptre behind his back. "No! You give me what you stole from the king, so I can take it back. You should have just taken the potion and run, or not drunk the ale, like I told you! Instead, you stole the crown jewels, so he knew you weren't dead, and he won't rest…I won't rest…until I bring back everything you stole, and you!" His voice had crept up higher in his panic, as though he knew he was on an impossible quest, but it was too late for him to refuse it.
Better for the boy to give up, head to some other kingdom, and find a less treacherous king to serve.
Boris rose. "He is no longer my king." He snatched the sceptre out of the boy's hands, and held it up high, where he could not reach it. "You can go back and tell him the only time he will see the crown jewels again is when he submits to justice for what he did. I will wear them to his execution."
Igor began jumping like a flea, trying to reach the sceptre. "You don't understand! I must bring them to him! I must!"
Boris sighed. "Then you're the stupidest squire who ever lived," he said sadly. With one swipe of his arm, he sent the boy sprawling, out cold.
He took the sceptre back the cave, where he packed it into the sack with all the other treasures. Then, he headed deeper into the forest, where Igor would not be able to find him. Even his stupid squire would have to give up some time.
Chapter 17
When day dawned, it took but a moment for Rossa to get her bearings and remember where she was, before she threw open the shutters, to see the world outside. Not just one, but all the shutters, though at the first touch of chill air she put up a shield to keep the warmth inside the tower, while still letting her look out.
Sometime in the night, it had stopped snowing, and the sky was now as clear and crisp as the icicles that would soon festoon the eaves around the castle. The world…well, the world was white, smoothing the ground while it frosted the trees and shrubs, blanketing the roofs of cottage and monastery alike. Only the lake stood out, bright blue depths like a single, giant eye, staring at the sky above.
But it was the forest that drew her gaze, trees stretching endlessly up into the mountains for many miles more than she could see. She wouldn't be surprised if the forest did not thin until it reached the plains on the other side of the mountains, where the king's court lay. Not that she or any other sane person would travel that way, when there were roads and rivers, both far more sensible ways to reach the capital. If her father ever deemed her ready to go there.
He would. Maybe not this week or this month or even this year, given it was waning into winter, but he would.
As long as she did not slacken in her training. And what was a little snow, except a new challenge to be faced?
Movement caught her eye, between the trees, way down below. A creature of some kind…no, several of them. A herd of deer, she realised, fattened for winter but still searching for just a little more to eat before the final frosts set in.
She and Father had talk
ed of going hunting, before he'd been summoned to Byzas. Because winter stews and sausages wouldn't be the same without a little smoked venison to season them. Without Father here, she'd have to go alone, but she didn't mind. She was more than a match for any deer.
She dressed for the hunt in clothes that had once been her brother's, though Tobias was much broader in the chest and shoulders now. Sure, the tunic was a little tight across her breasts, but it would do for today. Tomorrow, she could buy new ones in the village, at whatever tailor or weaver shops existed here in the mountains. Mother would approve of her bringing her trade to the local businesses, and they'd likely make warmer vestments than what was needed in Mirroten. They'd need the warmth up here in the mountains.
Maybe it was time to get a new winter cloak, too. She fancied a fur one, though she didn't think there was anything big enough in these mountains with the fur to fashion a whole cloak from. So pieces, maybe, from a hundred thieving squirrels…
Rossa laughed softly to herself. It would take all winter to amass so many squirrel pelts. Then again, it wasn't like she'd have anything else to do up here except hunt…
Venison first, then she could think about clothes, she scolded herself, taking her bow and a quiver of arrows, plus a brace of knives, as her weapons for today. A quick stop to the kitchen, where Sal plied her with fresh bread, a waterskin and some of the last autumn apples, and Rossa was soon headed out the gates, to the freedom of the high forests.
She mapped the forest in her mind's eye, trying to match what she'd seen from her tower to the view down here on the ground. The deer had been…that way, she decided, marching into the trees.
Her boots crunched through the snow, making her wish she'd chosen softer leather shoes instead. But they'd have been soaked in an instant, she knew, which was why she'd donned the heavy boots. Still, she was hardly a silent hunter, when anyone could hear her from miles away. Not even deer were that stupid.
If she intended to hunt today, she'd have to make it an ambush, lying in wait where no one would hear her. Of course, that meant guessing which way her prey would go, so that she might surprise them.
She cast her mind back to the view from the tower. Several streams meandered into the lake from the mountains, and the deer had been heading toward one. If she got there first and found a tree to hide in…her noisy boots would no longer matter.
Almost by magic, she found a fresh trail that led to the stream. Someone had tramped through the snow this way, breaking branches with the width of his shoulders, for she knew of no two-legged creature quite as destructive as an armoured man. Whoever he was, he would not hear her coming, for she took care to walk in his footsteps, where the squashed snow mixed with mud made little sound beneath her much lighter feet.
When she could hear the stream gurgling ahead, Rossa took to the trees, climbing the trunk of one before taking her boots off to use the branches as her barefoot highway. A whisper of magic added strength to branches that would not normally take her weight, as she slipped through to a gap in the trees.
There, she found a tiny waterfall, where the stream skipped down a line of rocks before tumbling into a pool a couple of yards below. The tree canopy here was so thick, no snow lay on the ground yet, though that would surely change as winter came. Instead, the pool's banks were carpeted in green.
Rossa wanted to laugh out loud. If she were a deer, whose food had been suddenly covered by snow, she'd be headed here, too. So she settled down to wait.
Sal's bread was half gone – Rossa hadn't dared risk crunching into an apple – when she finally spied movement. Down went the loaf, up went her bow, though she didn't reach for an arrow yet.
The buck entered the clearing first, ducking a little so his enormous rack of antlers didn't snag on the tree branches. Perhaps a dozen red deer followed him – a mix of does and juveniles. As they spread out along the stream, Rossa took her time assessing her options.
If she shot one of the smaller juveniles, she could probably dress the carcass and carry it home easily. But some of the juveniles came close to rivalling the buck for size, and the buck would be a prize for any hunter. She knew the buck's harem would winter just fine without him, likely finding another protector before the spring snow had melted. Still, she'd likely need to use magic to carry his carcass, for he was far too big for her. Then again, if she used her magic, she might be able to carry two home…
The obvious first choice was the juvenile who'd been at the back of the herd, a young male who'd be fighting for his own harem next year, if he lived that long. Bringing him down would likely panic the others, so she'd be lucky to get a second shot off, and she'd direct it toward the big buck.
She drew an arrow from her quiver, and sighted along it. The young male moved toward the trees, almost as if he sensed something wrong, before dropping his head to nibble at the grass once more. If she felled him just right, he'd block the trail, buying her time to take down the buck before they found another way out of the clearing.
A roar erupted, louder than any deer she'd ever heard. Who was the buck challenging?
Her target bolted, as the rest of the herd panicked.
To blazes with it. Rossa sent her arrow toward the antlered buck. It sank deep into the animal's eye, killing it, barely a moment before a massive paw broke the buck's neck.
Rossa reached for another arrow, aiming before she could truly process what she was seeing. It wasn't another deer that had roared, but a bear. A huge, white bear, which ripped her arrow out of the deer's eye and whirled to see where it had come from.
He spied her instantly, in her treetop perch. Her eyes met his, and she saw nothing but fury in them. Then he charged toward her.
Rossa didn't pause to think. She bolted.
Flying through the tree branches, leaping from one tree to another, until she reached the edge of the forest and was in sight of the castle gates. Still she ran, not stopping until she could bar the doors to the great hall and set her back against the impenetrable oak.
Sal came out of the kitchen to see what the noise was. She took in Rossa's dishevelled appearance and said, "Had a bit of a tumble, did you?"
Rossa shook her head, desperately trying to get enough breath in her lungs to force the words out. Finally, she managed to say, "There was a bear. In the forest."
Sal just smiled. "Oh, yes, we do get a few here. They come down from the mountains, to raid the orchards. They're quite partial to chestnuts and apples. They eat their fill and then go. Quite harmless, really, and nothing to fear, as long as you keep your distance and don't bother them. In spring, they sometimes bring the babies. Very cute to watch."
Rossa could only shake her head. There was nothing cute about that massive monster.
A monster she should have shot when she had the chance, she now realised, for a killer so huge, so close to the village was surely a danger to everyone here.
Instead, she'd run like a coward.
Anger fired her blood. Not at the bear, but at herself. How could she be so stupid?
"I'll be in the yard, chopping wood," Rossa managed to say, her hands shaking as she unbarred the door. She peered around the yard cautiously, making sure the bear hadn't followed her, before she dashed toward the axe and the chopping block.
If the bear did come here, this time, she'd be prepared.
Chapter 18
Boris eyed the buck. The beast would be his dinner tonight, and perhaps on the morrow, too.
In the past, he might have brought it down with a well-placed arrow, but he hadn't thought to bring a bow when he left the capital, so he made do with what weapons he had. He leaped from his hiding place, fastening both arms around the beast's neck, and then he twisted until the bones snapped. Only then did he let the buck fall to the ground.
Boris blinked. There was an arrow in the buck's eye. An arrow that had certainly not been there a moment before.
He had no arrows, nor a bow, which meant…
Igor had found him again.
/> Boris scanned the trees, searching for his accursed squire. There, a flash of colour where it did not belong, and a terrified eye peering through the leaves. Boris roared in fury, and raced across the clearing.
The boy, more monkey than man, fled through the branches, faster than Boris could follow.
Boris sighed. He did not understand why the boy didn't just give up. After all, Boris let him go, much as he'd allowed the remaining Bisseni to flee into the mountains when the battle was done. Some things just weren't worth pursuing.
That deer, however, wasn't something he wanted to lose. He butchered it as best he could, and carried it back to his cave. Somewhere along the way, he'd acquired a flint and tinder, and while he knew he could eat the venison raw, he much preferred his meat cooked, which he could manage over the small fire he kept burning.
What he'd give to taste a proper hunter's stew, laced with pork and venison…one day, he promised himself. When he'd finally dissuaded the squire from hunting him.
Chapter 19
It was a full week – and a month's worth of chopped firewood – before Rossa could bring herself to enter the forest again. Plenty of people who remembered her from when she was small had come to reassure her about the bears in the woods. They'd all advised her to bring a bag of apples with her if she went into the forest again, for all the local bears would completely ignore her for a bag of apples.
When she tried to explain what she'd seen, no one believed her. The bear had only looked so big because she was frightened, they'd said. They preferred fruit to meat, though they occasionally ate carrion if they were starving at the end of a long winter. It must have been a very light brown, not white…
And so it went, on and on, until even Rossa was inclined to misbelieve her own senses.
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