“Yes.” His blue eyes filled with light. “I would give them the freedom to make their own choices, to decide their own fates.”
“A noble ideal, but one that many will not share.”
“I’m not concerned with what the other holders may think. They are blind to what the people desire. And I am not so selfless as my ideas might suggest. In offering my people freedom from one man’s rule, I gain freedom for myself.”
“But as a holder, you are free to do as you will.”
His brow wrinkled. “Power is not freedom. I am yoked to my position just as any man or woman.”
“You could choose to leave the hold to your nephew.”
“Yes, I have choices, but I must also live with the consequences of those choices. If I chose to leave Tem Hold in the hands of my nephew, he might grow to rule, though how wisely I cannot yet tell.” He paused, seemed lost in thought for a moment, then his brow furrowed and he continued. “There are also those who might see him as too young to keep a hold under his sway. In the southern regions, there are many second and third sons of holders who wish to rule but have no lands of their own. If they took Tem Hold from Tratine, I would always know that I was to blame. And if the people are treated badly by the next holder, be it Tratine or some other, would I not be responsible for their plight?”
Kira stopped eating as she considered his words. She understood a sense of responsibility. Heresta had thoroughly ingrained the idea in her. But the concept that rulers could be tied to their rank by a sense of accountability and not just their worship of power and position had not occurred to her. Choices bring consequences.
The holder smiled, his eyes filled with mirth, and she followed his gaze. Vaith had helped himself to a large hunk of meat. He stood in the grass a few steps away and watched her out of the corner of one green-yellow eye as he rapidly tore off large chunks and swallowed them whole.
“Vaith! My apologies, Holder Tem. As you can see I have not been able to teach him proper manners,” Kira said with a shrug.
“Perhaps, his manners are proper for the company of wyverns and he merely honors us,” the holder offered. “As for manners, I would have you call me Milos. I’m not overly fond of titles, especially between friends.”
Kira paused. She had grown comfortable with her role and title of hunter. If he wished to forego his title, he would want her to do the same. To give him a name to call her by would require another lie. “Are you sure that would be proper? There are those in your hold who might find it unseemly.”
“There are some privileges my position allows that I would take advantage of. Offering the use of my personal name to whom I choose is one of them.” His deep blue eyes held hers and her scalp prickled. “Unless there is some reason that you would not give up the use of titles between us,” he added.
Kira turned away. Something made her want to trust this man, but fear kept her in check. “You may call me Ardea,” she said. What would be the harm in letting him call her by her mother’s name?
“Thank you, Ardea.” His smile was warm and open.
A thorn of guilt twisted through her. She studied the sky and realized the morning was gone. “We’ll be missing the midday meal, Hold—Milos. And Milvari will be expecting me for her lessons.” She began gathering up the remains of their meal.
Milos remained seated. “One late lesson will not harm her,” he said. “I wish to know more about you, Ardea.”
Kira tensed as she rolled bread and cheese up in one of the cloths, recalling how another man had once said much the same thing to her. How warm he had seemed. How charming. “What more would you know?” Her hands shook.
He took the roll of food from her, his fingers brushing hers. “I wish to know if you would consider staying on at Tem Hold after the winter storms have abated.”
Fear and excitement stirred her blood. “Stay on?”
“Brilissa brags of your skills and my niece thrives under your tutelage,” he said in a rush.
Kira’s world shrunk. The trees seemed to lean toward her and the air collapsed against her. She shivered, felt as if a dark cloud had swept across the sun. “I cannot stay.” Her voice seemed to come from someplace far outside herself.
She forced her hand to remain steady as she picked up the last of the meat and gave it to Kelmir. The big cat had been lying patiently in the grass, his head resting on his front paws. He sat up and took the meat. Kira wiped her fingers on the grass.
“Cannot? Or will not?” the holder asked. Disappointment was plain in his voice.
Kira turned to face him. His eyes had lost their light.
A mix of emotions tugged at her heart and mind. Tem Hold seemed a safe haven, a place she might come to call home. She had grown to care for Milvari, grown to appreciate Brilissa’s warm heart and kitchen, grown to like this tall brooding man. All the more reason she couldn’t stay. She would soon be a danger to them. “Holder Tem . . . Milos.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “There are things about me you do not know. Reasons I cannot stay.”
He turned his eyes away. “Of course, you’re free to do as you please, Hunter.” He picked up the last of their things, shook out her cloak and handed it to her, keeping his face averted. He untied his horse, put his foot into the stirrup, and slid into the saddle. “We should return to the hold. After all, we each have our responsibilities to attend to.”
They rode through the forest in silence, moving in and out of shadows as the sun passed high overhead. The holder led the way, his back and shoulders an insurmountable barricade.
Kelmir moved silently off to the left and Vaith flew ahead, flitting from tree to tree. Kira had closed her mind to them and they kept their distance, allowing her to sink into herself.
A loud hiss roused her from her thoughts with sudden alertness. Zharik screamed and reared back. Milos tried to bring the animal under control, but the horse’s eyes were white with fear. Kira leaped out of the saddle and ran forward to grab Zharik’s reins as the terrified horse reared again. Forelegs flailed and Kira ducked.
Another loud hiss erupted beside the trail. Kira kept her face averted. She dived away from the sound. A hoof caught her on the shoulder and she dropped to the ground. For an instant all she could see was a sharp yellow beak, a long black tongue below fiery eyes. A large basilisk arched its neck, preparing to strike.
Kira froze. The basilisk raised its head. A loud screech descended on them. The basilisk looked up. No, Vaith!
The brush beside the trail exploded into a dark shadow that sprang at the creature. Kelmir struck as the basilisk spewed its venom.
Liquid fire burst forth, burning through her shirt and searing her skin.
Kira screamed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The chill wind ran icy fingers along Mayet’s face and crept beneath her cloak as she stepped down from the carriage. She shuddered as the icy air swept aside the warmth from the fur blankets she had nested in for the better part of the day.
Her gaze passed over the faces of the few folk who had gathered to greet her. Household staff and servants. She scowled. Peasants all. Where was Milos? Where was the customary holder’s welcome her station demanded? The redheaded she-dog was missing, too. If Milos and that wanton were together . . . No. It didn’t matter. A burgeoning smile chased the scowl from her face. I hold the spokes now, she thought. The next turn of the wheel will move things in my favor.
Ignoring the servants, she picked up her skirts and strode into the main hall with her son by her side. “Tratine, see that my trunks are brought up and send someone to the kitchen for mulled wine. I’ll be in my chambers. And find out where your uncle is, I would speak with him as soon as may be.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a look.
The hallway leading to her rooms was empty, and she slipped off the fur-lined gloves Lisana had given her when the weather turned harsh. At least her callow little cousin had the decency to ensure her guests were comfortable. Althou
gh, the gifting was probably more a matter of showing off her new wealth than actual concern for the comfort of others. What need did Lisana have to conciliate others? She was a wealthy holder’s wife now. Very wealthy.
Mayet shoved open the door to her sitting room. A low fire crackled in the hearth. She shrugged off her heavy cloak into a heap on the floor and rolled her head to loosen the muscles of her neck. A hot bath would remove the knots, but first she had business to discuss with Lord Milos. A little matter of restoration. The hunter to her master, Tem Hold to its former rules.
Someone rapped at the door. Mayet smiled. Perhaps Milos had mistaken the time of her arrival and had come to apologize.
“Come in,” Mayet cooed.
Alyn entered the room, a heavy goblet in one hand, and a steaming jug in the other. “Your wine, m’Lady.”
Mayet’s neck stiffened. She glared at the girl. “Set it on the table. Must I tell you how to do everything?”
The girl seemed startled. “No, m’Lady.” She hurried to set down the wine and nearly tripped on the cloak heaped in the middle of the room.
“Then why is the fire dying?”
The girl flushed crimson. “It isn’t my . . .”
Mayet spun around to face her. “What?”
“I beg your pardon, m’Lady, but I am assigned to the kitchen. The upkeep of your rooms is not among my duties.”
Mayet’s hands flew to her hips. “Your job is what I say it is. If you wish to retain your current position, you’ll remember that.”
The girl stared at her a moment, then lowered her eyes to the floor. She opened the grate and placed several small logs on the fire, poking the embers and the burning wood with a metal rod to encourage the flames. Soon, a bright blaze warmed the room.
As the girl stood up to leave, Mayet snapped her fingers. “My cloak.”
Alyn picked up the cloak. She brushed the folds out with brusque strokes, then hung the garment on a peg near the door. Her face was blank when she turned back to Mayet. “Will there be anything else?”
Uppity disobedient girl, Mayet thought, she should be punished. But all in good time. She waved a hand at the door. “You may go, for now.” She poured a glass of the spiced wine and inhaled the scent of sweet herbs as the door clicked shut behind the girl. Sasson Hold might claim a more obedient staff, but their kitchen was no match for Tem Hold’s.
She let a small laugh bubble to the surface. It felt good to be home, to put the servants in their place. Sasson Hold’s subservient staff had been a welcome reminder of the way things should be. Soon Tem Hold would be able to boast of the docility of its own staff. She sipped the warm brew as she went over her arguments once more. Until her visit at Sasson Hold, she hadn’t realized just how far out of hand things had become at home. Milos would need strong persuading to return things to the way they should be.
She glanced down at the rumpled folds of her dress. Perhaps it would be better to bathe and dress appropriately before presenting her case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Milvari headed toward the well, her basket sagging with its burden of winter roots. The fresh tubers were covered in dirt and needed to be scrubbed and cleaned before they were stored. As she struggled with the weight of the basket, Tratine intercepted her. He planted his feet, crossed his arms and stood before her, barring the way.
Milvari smiled. “Welcome back, Tratine.”
“Welcome back! Is that all you can say?” Tratine’s face was flushed and reddened by the winter wind and sun. “Mother looked for you when we arrived and you weren’t there to greet her. Where were you?”
“I was out gathering roots,” Milvari said in a small voice, nodding her head in the direction of the basket. She shifted the weight of the basket and attempted to take a step forward.
“Gathering roots?” Tratine refused to move.
Milvari lowered the heavy basket to the ground.
Tratine kicked at it, spilling the contents on the ground. Milvari stooped, picked up the tubers one by one, and placed them back into the container.
“Stop that!” her brother yelled. “That’s a servant’s job!”
Milvari’s mouth flew open, but her throat tightened around her words. She finished gathering up the roots and stood.
Tratine glared at her. “What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Why can’t you behave properly as Mother asks?”
Milvari bit the inside of her mouth to keep from crying. What was wrong with her? She looked down at herself and rubbed at the dirt on her hands.
“Mother is right,” her brother derided her. “You’ll never be a proper lady, and you’ll never find a proper husband.”
His words were meant to hurt, but Milvari’s muscles suddenly turned to stone. Her head buzzed and small black dots swam before her, turning everything fuzzy and gray as confusion and anger roiled up in her. The past few weeks had been the first she’d known of freedom. Freedom to question. Freedom to learn. Freedom to be who she wanted to be, rather than who she was told she should be. Why did they insist that something had to be wrong with her just because she was different? “I can see you know all about it,” she said. “My big brother has come back from seeing the world and will now tell me how to live.” Her voice was high-pitched and coated with contempt.
Tratine jerked his head back, as if he’d been struck, and stared at his sister. A nervous giggle pushed its way up from Milvari’s middle. She pursed her lips and feigned a frown.
“It’s a good thing that hunter will be leaving soon,” Tratine said. “Being around her has made you worse than ever.”
“What do you mean, leaving?”
“Just what I said. Mother is going to see that peasant gone.”
A chill ran cold fingers along Milvari’s skin. “She can’t!” she blurted. “She’s injured.”
“Injured?” Tratine sounded surprised.
“Yes, a basilisk. She’s been ill for several days now. I—I’m caring for her.” Milvari stuck out her chin.
“You? I suppose you think that you’re some sort of healer, now.”
Milvari stared at the ground. “No, I—I’m only making her teas and—and poultices,” she murmured.
“Not that it matters. Mother is determined to be rid of her. And you know what happens when Mother sets her mind to something.” Tratine gave Milvari a cold smile.
All of the confidence fled from Milvari. She felt small and weak. The way she used to feel. She wanted to hide, to be unseen. “Mother can’t make her leave. Uncle Milos won’t allow it.” Her words were as much to reassure herself as to convince her brother, but they made her feel less afraid. She picked up her basket, stepped around her brother, and went to the well to finish her task. The voices in her head clamored at her to apologize, to tell Tratine he was right. No, don’t listen, she told herself as she set the basket beneath the pump spout and worked the handle. Icy water spurted out of the pump and splashed over the basket of roots. She knew Tratine’s eyes were fixed on her, knew his face was contorted into a fierce glower, but she refused to turn around.
She filled a bucket with water and scrubbed at the tubers, punishing the dirt from their thick hides. Tratine marched up beside her. “When I am the holder here, the servants will behave as servants. And the ladies will act like ladies,” he grumbled.
Milvari tried to picture her brother as a grown man, running the hold, but all she could see was her father’s hands reaching out to her to lift her into the air and carry her into the warm kitchen. Her mother’s harsh, thin-lipped gaze suddenly appeared before her. She frowned. Tratine might have their father’s hair and eyes, but he had their mother’s mouth. And her hard, calculating nature.
She gazed past Tratine as Harl came out of the stable and headed toward the kitchen at the back of the main hall. Milvari smiled. Harl had become a good friend. With him she could be herself, just as she could with the hunter. Her eyes flicked back to Tratine. The two boys were close to the same age, but were utterly unalike. Decidedly
, she preferred Harl.
Tratine stuck his fists on his hips. “What are you smiling about?” he snarled.
“Nothing.” Milvari picked up another tuber.
Tratine glanced over his shoulder, but Harl had disappeared into the kitchen. Tratine rolled his eyes and stalked off.
Milvari stopped scrubbing and emptied the water bucket. She would need to speak to Uncle Milos about the hunter, to make certain he knew how ill she was. It was Milvari’s responsibility to make sure the hunter healed properly. She picked up the basket of tubers and hauled them into the storage room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Kira licked her dry cracked lips. Her tongue felt thick and furry. She was stiff all over and her arms burned. When she tried to open her eyes, the light cut into them like a knife. She inched open one lid, groaning as she lifted her hand as a shield against the brightness.
The light that had at first seemed so blinding slowly receded to a pale gloom, and she saw that she was lying in a large bed in a strange room. She tried to sit up, but fell back in agony, gritting her teeth against the burning pain. Pushing aside the coverlet, she peered down at herself.
Beneath the cotton sleeping-gown she wore, her arms and neck were covered with a thick salve. Ah, the basilisk, leaping at her without warning and releasing its poison. She knew that under the balm her skin wore a mess of blotches and dark blisters. More memories returned to her and she cried out. Vaith. Dear little Vaith. He had tried to protect her from his own worst enemy, a venomous basilisk. She saw again the fluttering of gilded wings, heard the screams of the terrified horses, relived the searing pain of the poison. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Foolish little creature, she thought, foolish and loyal and brave.
She leaned back into the pillows and covered her eyes with her hand, mouthing an oath as pain shot through her arms. Her mind reached out for Kelmir, seeking the comfort and reassurance of the connection. The big hunting cat paced beneath the trees just inside the forest southwest of the hold.
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