Of Embers

by Amily Cabelaris

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’ve given up. First my mother, and now you.”

  Ilvara recoils as if the accusation has physically wounded her. “I haven’t given up. But why risk so much? This life isn’t so bad, is it?”

  Evelyn shakes her head. “You’re growing accustomed to your cage, Mama. You so quickly forget the sight of the mountains up close. You forget the way the sun set over them. You forget how much you loved being free. Here, we are not free.”

  “You don’t have to see it that way. With time and maturity, you’ll understand.”

  Evelyn squeezes her eyes shut. Has everyone gone mad? “In Imber, I left you because I felt I had a greater purpose. I had to prove I was no longer a prisoner. And I’m still that woman. This is just my new cage.”

  “I know. Please, just try to understand. Take these things one day at a time. I will work to get your mother assigned elsewhere.”

  Evelyn walks to the door and wraps her fingers around the handle. “It seems your flame has burnt out, Mama,” she says, voice shaking, and meets her guard outside.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Ilvara sinks into her seat again, rubbing her forehead, trying to reason with herself. Evelyn is distressed by the circumstance, so she isn’t seeing clearly. If she was, she’d see that Ilvara is far from content with the situation. However, that has more to do with Sylvia than anything.

  For most of the last month, Sylvia has been out with the rest of the bandits, assigned to scout Lockmire and surrounding holds for any runaway troops. But she is returning on the morrow, and Ilvara’s discomfort will triple.

  She must admit that Andrew has been shockingly lovely. He is careful and warm in all his interactions with her. He constantly seeks to make her more comfortable, from allowing Evelyn and Caius to work for them to giving her this study so she has her own space to relax in. He has repeatedly told her that this is her castle, too, and she has every right to command the servants, change the décor, and conduct herself the way she pleases. And with Evelyn here with her, there is more added comfort. A few weeks ago, she would have never thought this place would feel like freedom rather than imprisonment.

  Then again, the first month with Hadrian was nice as well, though he was stricter.

  She’s brought up Sylvia once to Andrew, when he asked about their history. She only said she’d done regrettable things to her many years ago, and Sylvia wanted revenge. He promised that nothing would happen to her. A cup-bearer would be with her for every meal and guards would watch her every moment. That’s what made him decide to keep Caius here. At least Caius already cares for Ilvara, though interactions with him lately have been scattered and awkward. She just keeps thinking of their conversation at Evelyn’s burial.

  Ilvara heads to the dining hall for her midday meal. Maids serve boiled ham, carrots, and potatoes. There are still plenty of spoils from the battle. She’s eaten meat every day, so much that it sometimes makes her sick. A woman at her side takes a bite of each food in front of her, then turns the plate to her and backs away.

  Andrew enters and immediately smiles at her. “Ah, you are here. Good.”

  “Did you need something?”

  “Yes, I need to see you.” He takes a seat at the head of the table, gesturing for a servant to fetch his own meal. “I’ve received another letter from Chancellor Meeves in Tarreth.”

  Ilvara sets aside her knife. “Oh?”

  He lowers his voice around the servants. “He wants to set up a proposition. Either we cut all ties with the bandits, or Tarreth declares war.”

  Ilvara nods slowly, digesting the information. “It seems simple, then.”

  “Nothing is simple. I signed a deal with Gilbert, the bandit leader. We cannot loosen from the agreement unless we offer them something in return.”

  “Lockmire,” Ilvara guesses.

  “Most likely. But that would not be so terrible. We could take the other three holds and let them have Lockmire. As long as we get Prynveil.”

  “But how will that be governed? How will we control those holds from this distance?”

  “I don’t know. What do you propose we do?”

  Ilvara stares at him. “What?”

  “Well, I need your opinion. What do you think?”

  She folds her hands. “I… have never been asked that on such matters.”

  Andrew smiles. “Like I’ve said before, this is a different castle you’ve entered. Your thoughts are very important to me.”

  “Well…” Ilvara gives the matter a few moments’ contemplation. She waits until the servant brings his food and leaves again. Even still, she keeps her voice quiet. “I think we should side with Tarreth. Together with them, we should destroy the bandits and split the holds. Perhaps we could control Lockmire and its holds and give them Esterden. We’ll take over the southern region, including Prynveil and the Pond, since they have the Sea of Kalpine right there. That makes sense geographically at least.”

  Andrew presses his mouth against his steepled hands. He grins at her. “That is brilliant, my dear.”

  “It is? I would have thought that, with your years of connection to the bandits, you would be opposed to the idea.”

  “Part of me is. It feels reckless to tear down this alliance, but partnering with them has been a chore anyway. Tarreth will help us secure the region. It will bring peace. I’ll speak with Nathan.”

  “Perhaps you should think on it a few days before speaking with the commander.”

  Andrew rises. “No, I must speak with him at once. Time is critical.” He lifts her hand to his lips. “Thank you for your input. You are a gem of wisdom.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “No time for that. I’ll return soon.”

  Ilvara smiles as he goes, but it dies quickly on her lips. She prays the bandits will not discover their plot to betray them. She thinks of Sylvia, learning that Ilvara once again plans to cross her. She thinks of Goldie, with her daughter now inside Esterden. Will she be pushed to the bandits’ side, separated from her blood by politics? Or will she ostracize herself from the bandits? From the little Ilvara knows of Goldie, her daughter alone will not draw her away from her bandit ties.

  The more she considers it, the dizzier she gets. A servant arrives just as she leaves.

  “Take our plates. We’re finished,” Ilvara says to her. She stumbles into the main hall, down the corridor to her bedchambers. There, she collapses next to the chamber pot, retching what little food she ate.

  “My lady,” she hears behind her.

  “Go, Evelyn. I’m all right.”

  Evelyn’s hand is on her back in a moment. “You are ill. Shall I fetch the physician?”

  Ilvara sweeps hair off her forehead. “No. I’m all right. It’s just these strong meats I’ve been eating. They have disagreed with my stomach.” She laughs once.

  “What is funny?”

  “At one point in my life, meat was all I ate. Now, my delicate system cannot contain it.”

  “Try to stand. Let’s get you to bed.”

  “I’m all right, Evelyn. It’s passing.”

  Evelyn helps her to bed anyway, supporting her with a great silk pillow and soft covers.

  “Do you have any potions?” Evelyn asks.

  “Yes, but I don’t need one.” A wild possibility springs to her mind, but she shakes her head, clearing it away. “Please tell the cook to only serve me cooked fish and vegetables. No strong spices. No wine, only water and milk. Esterden wine tastes awful.”

  “I thought it was very good. Are you certain you are not ill?” Evelyn studies her face as if to read the answer there.

  “I’m certain. Go, please. Take the chamber pot.”

  Evelyn lays a cloth over it as she exits.

  “And Evelyn…”

  She turns. She looks so small in the wide doorway.

  Ilvara tries to smile, her mind on their earlier conversation. “Thank you.”

  Evelyn shuts the door quietly beh
ind her.

  Ilvara reaches for her bedside table drawer. She pulls out a book—some book of poems written by a woman in Tempesco—and flips through until she finds the folded piece of parchment. She unfolds it carefully and runs a finger along the ragged edge where it’s been opened and closed numerous times.

  Her eyes scan the letters. Hadrian’s last message to her. Speaking about how she could rebuild Lockmire. How the flame in her may burn it down again. When they were first married, he called her his flame. He was the moth drawn to her, burned by her heat. Perhaps that is why he grew so rigid with rules so quickly. Her actions were regulated. He even tried to chain her moods.

  She rereads the part about Dianna. About how the child wasn’t his. The top of the note falls over the bottom. Absently, she taps the parchment against her dry lips. What if that’s true? What if Dianna’s child wasn’t his, and he was the only problem when it came to children?

  The thought has plagued the back of her mind for weeks, always surrounded with questions and doubt. I’m too old. It’s just a new experience. I have not adjusted to the new environment. The meats are too strong.

  But all the signs point to one thing.

  Ilvara swirls her hands over her abdomen. Tears wet her face before she can stop them. She glances up as Evelyn re-enters.

  “I’ve rinsed the pot,” Evelyn says, “and fetched you some herbs from the kitchen. Cook said they were going to help with—Mama? Are you all right?” She rushes to Ilvara’s side.

  “Yes.” Ilvara touches her arm, trying to decide whether to tell her of her speculation or not.

  “I’m going for the physician,” Evelyn says, but Ilvara pulls her back.

  “No. No, Evelyn. I’m all right. I promise.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “I’m crying because I’m happy.”

  The impact of that word confuses Evelyn’s face, as if such a thing is impossible here. “About what?” she asks.

  Ilvara drops Evelyn’s arm. Things have been so mixed up between them lately. And it might not even be true. Why distress Evelyn more with news that she may be pregnant with her enemy leader’s child?

  “I’m happy you’re here with me, serving me again,” Ilvara finally says. “You said something about herbs?”

  “Yes. The cook explained that this one, soaked in hot water, will help with sickness. Smell it.”

  Ilvara leans forward. “Peppermint?”

  Evelyn nods. “And she gave me this one. She said it’s a red raspberry leaf. She just told me it might help. She’s boiling water now.”

  Evelyn continues to lay out the different plants. Ilvara stops listening. She knows what these things do. She knows she doesn’t need them now. Only more time will tell what the verdict is. And with enemies closing in on all sides, it’s sure to be a stressful nine months.

  Chapter 29

  Frozen

  Evelyn descends the stairs to the kitchens, stopping at the bottom to catch her breath. Wretched place was built with the kitchens underground, as if it were the last thing a castle would need.

  “Already? Perhaps her body is just adjusting.”

  “I’m telling you. That woman is not just adjusting.”

  Evelyn rounds the corner. “Who isn’t adjusting?”

  The cook and her maid glance up from the hearth. “Pay no mind, girl. We wasn’ talkin’ to ye. Did ye give ‘er the ‘erbs like I said?”

  “Yes. I think she’ll do much better now.” Evelyn sets her empty tray on the edge of the hearth. “Do you think she isn’t adjusting to your way of life here?”

  The cook and maid exchange a look.

  “Don’ ye mind, I say,” the cook says abruptly. She gestures to a bunch of herbs tied to the ceiling above. “Bring those to the cour’ wizard. They be finally finished dryin’.”

  Evelyn drags over a chair so she can reach them, but the maid fetches them herself. She pushes them into Evelyn’s hands.

  “Easy now, don’ crumple ‘em,” barks the maid.

  “Sorry,” Evelyn says. She goes to the doorway, stops, and turns around again. “I don’t know where the court wizard is.”

  The maid rolls her eyes and goes back to chopping an onion on the counter. The cook points up the stairs.

  “His laboratory’s upstairs, on the t’ird floor. It’s very secluded. Just take tha’ second fligh’ o’ stairs, and it’s righ’ a’ the end of the hallway. Make sure to knock.”

  “Yes. Yes, madam.”

  Evelyn repeats the instructions to herself on her way up, past the guards, toward the second staircase she never even noticed much until now. Down the hallway.

  There are two doors. One at the end of the hall, one halfway down. She picks the one at the end and knocks gently. She can hear a voice inside.

  “—isn’t how I planned it of course. I thought it would dissolve. But it turned blue. Isn’t that something?”

  Evelyn knocks again.

  The voice pauses, then, “Hello?”

  “I… uh… have herbs,” Evelyn says.

  “Come in.”

  Evelyn opens the door to a very wide room with a large balcony across it, directly in front of her, letting in the summer breeze and filling the room with warm, midday light. Before the window is a desk set with neat, little stacks of parchment. The centre of the room is mainly clear, but either ends are packed around the walls with counters covered in vials, instruments, tools, pots, bowls. Light shimmers off a crystal decanter on the desk in front of her, filled with blue liquid. And behind the desk, a very ordinary-looking gentleman maybe a few years younger than Lord Krassis. She’s never seen him around the castle. He must not leave this room much.

  “Yes, come in,” he says again, not looking up from the decanter. “Sorry, I cannot take my eyes from it. It may change at any moment. Come and see.” He picks it up and holds it in the light. The crystal catches the light and splashes a rainbow across Evelyn’s side of the room. She steps forward uncertainly.

  “What may change?” she asks.

  “I treated dragon blood with a very concentrated drop of aloe juice. Look at that. It’s changing again.”

  Evelyn watches in amazement as the liquid shifts to a deep purple. “Why?”

  He meets Evelyn’s eye for just a moment. “You’re Goldie’s child, aren’t you?”

  Evelyn wishes she could paint her hair so she would stop getting that question. “Yes. Why did you put aloe in dragon’s blood?”

  He takes the decanter to the balcony and holds it up in the sunlight. “It’s an experiment to heal our beasts during battle, should they need it. Or fight them, should they turn against us.” The liquid shifts again, now to a burnt red, almost black. The wizard curses under his breath. “Aloe isn’t the thing. Even disconnected from the heart, the enzymes in their blood replenishes too quickly. It’ll harm them, but not kill them.”

  Evelyn glances around. “Was someone else in here with you?”

  “No, why?” He scribbles something on his parchment and crosses out something on another.

  “I heard you talking.”

  “Oh. I talk to myself sometimes. I’m sorry. I don’t think we were introduced. You’re Goldie’s girl, right?”

  Evelyn blinks at him. “Yes. Evelyn.”

  “Sorry. I’m all over the place today. A lot to do.” He takes the dried plants from her, peering at some of the leaves. “The echinacea isn’t quite as dry as I’d like it, but that’s fine.”

  “And you are?”

  “Forgive me. Lucius Trent.” He bows slightly. “Court Wizard of Esterden.”

  Evelyn’s mouth freezes open. “Lucius Trent?”

  He glances to the side. “Yes?”

  “Your son…” she says, and watches his expression drop.

  “Yes. I suppose you would have met him in Lockmire.” He sighs. “He was quite proud of that little adventure of his. Here I am, in dire need of an assistant, and he must go and fight our own men.”

  Evelyn’s mind works quic
kly. “I could assist you.”

  He looks up. “What do you know of magic? Or alchemy?”

  “Er… not much.”

  He takes a seat. “Well, thank you, but I need someone with at least the faintest idea what they’re doing.”

  Evelyn shrugs. “My friend knows all about plants. He knows exactly what each one does. And he used to be a bandit, so he knows dragons like no one else I’ve ever met. He isn’t so good with magic, but I’m sure he’d learn fast.”

  “The man who came with you? Callus?”

  “Caius.”

  “Right. The trainer of Lockmire.”

  “He digs gardens all day, but I know he’d love to do more. He’d be an asset to you, I’m sure.”

  Lucius leans back in his chair. “I’m not sure. I would have to speak with him. And have Lord Krassis approve it.”

  “As long as it would help you, my lord,” Evelyn says, lowering her head.

  “It would. I’m glad you came in here today.”

  Evelyn smiles. This could work. “Me too.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Caius plants his spade in the soil and looks up at the sun. The heat scorches his skin. He hasn’t drunk enough; he can feel it. He’s not sweating near as much as he should be.

  Today’s assignment is a thorough dig of the castle gardens. It’s too late for seeds, but Lord Krassis ordered half-grown shrubs and flowers of all kinds to be replanted here. Caius thinks “beautification” was the word thrown about.

  The other men working comment on the beautiful day. Caius has never liked summer much. Fall and winter, though dead and lifeless, are at least more comfortable. The night he visited her in Lockmire’s prison, Evelyn told Caius he was like a furnace. But it isn’t just natural body heat that he exudes. When he was a child, he got cold easily, like everyone else. His mind doesn’t want to remember why it all changed, but it’s something to distract him as he works.

  Caius was fourteen, and that day began frigid and snowy. It had been since Casum Sole when Father left, but this was one of the worst days. Caius sat at the table, staring at the single boiled potato on his plate.