When Bremmer looked up, it was into the eyes of his god made flesh.
***
A thousand miles away, the wizard Esthar Talbun awoke with a gasp, shivering in the early morning darkness. She always slept nude. Her magic was powerful and old, and seeing to her own comfort was a matter of simplicity. She was never any warmer or colder than she wanted to be.
But now she shivered, sweat soaking her sheets.
She blinked, slightly disoriented. “Fire.”
The braziers in Talbun’s personal chamber atop the tower failed to ignite.
Something’s happened.
She touched her upper lip, and her fingers came away sticky. Was her nose bleeding? She needed light.
She muttered the words to a simple light spell, and an orb the size of a fist blazed into existence, hovering midair a few feet away. She examined the tips of her fingers. Wet and red. She had a nosebleed.
Talbun realized she could no longer sense the Kashar temple at the top of the mountain. She was charged with guarding the priests there through the hundred years of the long sleep. Something had swept through, a force pushing aside spells, shattering wards.
Something’s wrong. There’s nearly two years to go on the Long Dream. Nothing should disturb those wards.
Esthar Talbun was one of the most powerful living wizards in Helva, but for the first time in a century, she felt panic.
She rushed to the window, leaned out to look up at the dark mountain.
A bright-orange glow flickered at the summit. Talbun gasped.
The Temple of Kashar burned.
EPISODE ONE
CHAPTER ONE
Bland dawn light leaked gray between the cracks in the shutters and woke her.
Rina stretched and sat up in bed. She stifled a yawn, not wanting to wake Alem, who was buried beneath the bed furs next to her. He’d been sneaking up the secret stairs every evening, often to make love for hours, other times simply to curl next to her.
Secret stairs. The duke’s old bedroom—hers now—had stairs leading down, exiting behind a secret door behind a set of shelves in the pantry. What else didn’t she know? What other secrets had her father kept?
Rina had her own secrets. She looked down at the white silk glove on her left hand. She always wore it to bed. The idea of some horrible accident terrified her. If she rolled over one night, touched Alem while he was asleep . . .
You made a bad deal with that priest, Rina Veraiin. Now you’ve got to live with it.
She didn’t wear the other glove to bed, so she could touch Alem, caress him, trail fingers down his flat stomach, and then work him until he was ready to enter . . .
Ahem.
She felt herself flush. Best to shift to other thoughts before she overheated herself. She had a lot to do today.
And so did Alem.
Alem.
Loving him was a problem. He was a commoner. Promoting him to stable master was like saying he was the best grubby, unimportant servant as opposed to an ordinary grubby, unimportant servant. In a backwater duchy like Klaar, the affair would likely draw only a few raised eyebrows and dirty looks. Rina was duchess, after all. She could pretty much do as she liked. But in places like Tul-Agnon and Merridan, the capital, such behavior courted ruinous scandal.
It was easier for men. For some reason, women were expected to hold themselves to a higher standard.
I don’t want to hold myself to a higher standard. I want Alem.
Okay, that came out wrong.
That nobility might indulge in a brief dalliance with the lowborn was hardly unheard of, but as of last week, Rina had reached marrying age, and a single duchess of marrying age was a rare commodity. The matchmakers would be coming for her. And soon. Alem simply wouldn’t fit their equation.
She’d been over this in her mind a hundred times already. Burn that bridge when it comes, her father had been fond of saying.
She caressed Alem’s cheek with her ungloved hand, tucked a lock behind his ear. His hair was getting long, down past his shirt collar. Rina’s own hair had been completely scorched off during her battle with the other ink mage—a duel she barely escaped alive, thanks largely to luck.
Rina ran her hand through the new growth on her head. Her hair had come back, jet black as always, but it was still short, spiky in all directions. It gave her a wild, windblown look that she couldn’t quite decide if she liked. She really hoped it would grow back faster so she could braid—
You’re stalling.
I don’t want to be duchess today.
Too bad.
She reached under the furs to rub Alem’s bare back. He grunted, burrowed deeper into the bedding.
“Get up, Alem.”
He grunted again.
She smiled but prodded him more insistently. “Come on. We both have a lot to do today.”
“The new boys can handle the horses,” he mumbled from beneath the furs.
“You can’t be here when the servants come to clean,” Rina said.
He sighed and sat up, throwing aside the furs, shivering in his nakedness. “I thought it was getting warmer.”
Rina smiled, eyes lingering on his body. “It is. A little.”
A little more than two months since the Perranese had fled their shores, and spring was coming even later than usual, but the bitterest part of winter had passed. The wind off the sea was now merely cold instead of biting. The thaw wasn’t far off. The castle folk—as the common people called Rina and her people—could sleep straight through until morning without the servants needing to sneak into their bedchambers in the middle of the night to stoke the fires. When spring came, it brought with it new duties for Rina. The trade roads would open. She needed to renew the relationships with her neighbors that her father had forged years ago. A hundred little tasks.
Dumo, help me. I don’t know how to be a duchess.
Alem pulled on his breeches and boots. Shirt. Vest.
The heavy green cloak of thick, expensive material had been a gift from Rina. It clasped at the front with a silver buckle wrought in the shape of a horse’s head. She’d meant it as a badge of honor. She’d been pretending, she realized, trying to make believe Alem was something he wasn’t. The gap between stable master and noble was as wide as the sea.
No matter how I dress him up, he’ll never be good enough for some people.
Alem kissed her on the cheek. “See you tonight.”
“Not tonight,” she said quickly.
He blinked at her, surprised.
“It’s getting close. We need to sleep apart a few nights. Like last month.”
“But why . . .” His eyes shot wide. “Oh! Yes, okay. Right.”
He looked away as he blushed red, something Rina didn’t think still possible after all of their nights together.
Young ladies of good birth were expected to abstain from sexual relations until marriage, as was only proper, of course. It was also the only sure way to prevent an unplanned child. But Rina’s mother had been a pragmatic woman and had taken Rina aside once Rina had gotten her blood at age thirteen. She’d taught Rina to keep count of her days each month. It wasn’t a foolproof system, but it was better than nothing.
“I might take a horse, then, and see my grandmother. The roads are clear enough now.” He smiled. “I mean, if I have the duchess’s permission.”
She returned the smile. “Of course.”
He kissed her again, on the lips this time. Her mouth opened to take his tongue, her arms going around him. They let go of each other a few seconds later, breathless.
“How many days?” Alem asked.
Rina laughed. “You’d better go now or you’ll never escape.”
Alem went to the full-length mirror on the wall and pulled it open on well-oiled hinges, revealing the narrow stairs behind it. Alem paused a second, shot Rina a final grin, then entered the secret passage, pulling the mirror shut behind him.
She went to the large cedar wardrobe across the room and
threw the doors open. On the lower shelves sat the black armor the wizard Esthar Talbun had given her. She hadn’t worn it since the slaughter in the castle and the streets of Klaar. It was still bloodstained from those she’d cut down with her own blade, still damaged and scorched from her battle with the other ink mage. The wardrobe was probably the wrong place for it. Maybe she should hide the armor under the bed or have it taken away.
She hated to think that she might need it again.
Her eyes shifted to the dresses in the wardrobe. She selected one of sapphire blue that buttoned all the way to the throat. No cleavage today. Long sleeves. Matching blue gloves. She’d told her personal servant she wanted matching gloves for every outfit she owned. The white glove was fine for bed, but people would think her odd going around with only one glove all the time.
She peeled the white glove off of her left hand, and as always her eyes were drawn to the ugly tattoo on her palm, a skeletal hand. Rina had come to think of her other tattoos as quite fetching, even making her look a bit exotic, especially the ones around her eyes. But the sight of the skeletal hand always turned her stomach, stole whatever warmth was left from Alem’s kiss.
Rina quickly pulled on the blue gloves, dismissed the horrid tattoo from her mind.
She opened the door to an anteroom next to her bedchamber—a small place with a modest desk, a table, chairs, a room in which she could rest or read or converse quietly and privately with confidants. The warmth hit her immediately. The fire in this room had been recently stoked.
Her maidservant rose quickly from her stool in the corner, knitting needles and a half-made scarf in her hands. Lilly had a round, sweet face and wide hips. She’d just turned sixteen and was the daughter of one of the other castle servants. She’d been offered to Rina as a personal maid, and Rina had accepted without thinking. A duchess needed servants, right?
Normally, the maidservant would have entered Rina’s bedchamber to help her dress, but Lilly held back, allowing Rina her privacy.
Because she knows about Alem. They all know. It’s the worst-kept secret in the castle.
Lilly curtsied clumsily. “Some breakfast, milady?”
“Yes, and hot tea, but have it sent to my office,” Rina said. “I have too much to do today to dawdle.”
CHAPTER TWO
The four boys gathered around Alem in the castle stables. They were streaked with mud and stank of horse and boy sweat. One scratched his head incessantly. Probably fleas.
Was I as filthy as that when I was a stable boy?
Probably. Alem would address the subject of baths upon his return. It would help if the weather turned warm a little faster.
Alem pointed at the smallest stable boy, a lad of perhaps eleven. “You. Pip, isn’t it? Saddle the white mare. I’m leaving for a few days on an errand.”
“Yes, sir!” Pip flicked him a two-finger salute and scurried to obey.
Alem told the next two boys—twelve years old, a pair of twins named Hamm and Jak—to get about the business of feeding and watering the horses.
The last boy, Vohn, was fourteen, tall for his age and lanky, a shock of red hair and freckles, a gap between his front teeth.
“You’re head stable boy, Vohn. You’re in charge while I’m away,” Alem said. “You up for it?”
Vohn grinned. “Yessir.”
“Have you been cuffing the stable boys on the ear again?” Alem asked.
Vohn’s grin dropped. “They don’t always listen. My old man says a slap learns ’em quick.”
“Don’t do that anymore.”
Vohn frowned.
“Look, if they give you any back talk you can cuff them,” Alem said. “Otherwise, show a little patience. That’s part of being a leader.”
A nod and a shrug. “Yessir.”
Pip brought the mare, and Alem mounted. “Back in a few days.”
He trotted out of the stable.
It felt good to be on the back of a horse again. There were few things Alem could do well enough to claim expertise. He’d been practicing with the crossbow but was hardly a marksman or any kind of warrior. He had no formal education.
But he could ride better than anyone else he knew, nobleman or commoner. Alem could ride fast and ride well. He had a good rapport with horses, could get the most of them.
Mostly he just enjoyed it.
He spurred the mare faster, and it sped with rapid clop-clops across the cobblestones and through the narrow streets toward the front gate. Alem’s green cloak flapped behind him. It was still early morning and cold, and the streets were mostly deserted. A few times he had to dart around a startled pedestrian, but Alem maneuvered the horse easily.
When he rounded a corner to the wide courtyard in front of the city’s main gate, he slowed the mare to a walk. The gate stood open, light foot traffic coming and going as the makeshift repairs on the bridge continued. Alem fell in with the others going through the gate.
He stopped upon reaching the other side, standing up in the stirrups to take a look at the repairs. Thick wooden planks were being fitted into place across the gap in the stone. It had been Rina, during her duel with the other ink mage, who’d blasted the huge gap in the Long Bridge. Travel to and from Klaar always dwindled to a trickle during the thick of winter, but even those few intrepid trekkers who still traveled had been forced days or weeks out of their way to enter the city through the back gate. Rina had ordered the bridge fixed, but options had been limited.
“Craston,” Alem called.
A little man with bright eyes and a pointed beard turned, waved when he saw it was Alem, then jogged over to stand next to the mare. He shook hands with Alem.
“How goes it?” Alem asked.
“I am ashamed,” Craston said. “A wood span is all I can manage. The Long Bridge used to be a beautiful achievement. One of the man-made wonders of Helva.”
When Rina had asked who had the best chance to repair the Long Bridge, everyone had mentioned the same name: Craston.
“You’re the best stonemason in Klaar,” Alem said.
“Yes,” Craston agreed. “And the best carpenter. The best builder of any kind.”
Alem could tell the man wasn’t bragging, merely acknowledging a fact.
“But Klaar is not the world,” Craston continued. “The Long Bridge was built by university engineers with precise mathematical measurements. Every arch, every supporting buttress and stone, fit one to the other exactly. I can bring the stone from the quarry and put it back together in my own way. And maybe the first caravan of trade wagons comes across and the whole thing falls down again.”
Alem tsked. “I don’t think Duchess Veraiin would like that.”
“No, I think not.”
“What’s the answer?”
Craston grinned. “Duchess Veraiin sponsors me to attend the university in Tul-Agnon, of course. I learn the secrets of the ancient builders and return in ten years to fix the bridge.”
Alem scratched his chin. “Some scheme that can be achieved sooner than a decade might be more acceptable to all involved.”
Craston shrugged and gestured at the bridge where the workman labored. “As you can see, I can fill the gap with a wooden span, narrower than before, but strong enough. People can pass each other without problem, but wagons will have to go one at a time. We’ll have to establish some rules—right-of-way, that sort of thing. It won’t be as good as before. I am not satisfied, but I know my limits. I can do better with more time, but I have been told to hurry. The thaw is coming and that means traders arriving. The duchess wants what she wants.”
Yeah, I know what you mean.
“So is your bridge open for business, Craston?”
“Two more days,” Craston said. “But for Klaar’s master of horse, I can make an exception. Tread carefully. The guardrails are not up yet.”
“Thank you, Craston,” Alem called over his shoulder as he galloped toward the bridge. “Good luck!”
Craston whistled loudly at his
workers, and they stepped aside as Alem crossed the bridge. He looked down as he crossed the narrow, unfinished wooden span. The sight made him dizzy, the floor of the canyon nearly a mile down.
I’m glad the horse is more sure-footed than I am.
Once across the bridge, Alem spurred the horse into a run. There was still snow on the road, but it wasn’t deep. If he kept to the road, he’d reach the village of Crossroads at the bottom of the mountain in a few hours, and then he’d turn south toward his grandmother’s village of Hammish.
But he had one errand before seeing her.
He patted the parchment in his vest pocket to make sure it was still there. Rina had sent a runner who had found him in the barn. The runner had given it to Alem with Rina’s instructions.
And so Alem rode hard for the Hammish hunting lodge to deliver a message.
CHAPTER THREE
Rina sat at the desk in her official office. The anteroom off of her bedroom was for meetings and informal chats with friends. The ducal reception hall was for meeting other heads of state and similar diplomatic occasions. The daily grind of running a castle and a city was handled in this office, the same room her father had used. The conquering Perranese general had also used it for a time. Klaar’s coat of arms had been found in storage and returned to its place on the wall behind her desk.
Rina poured tea into a delicate cup from a pot and set it back on her desk. She sipped, closed her eyes. Warm.
Her secretary entered, and Rina’s brief moment of calm evaporated. Time to get to business.
“Bruny to see you, milady,” said Arbert.
Arbert was young and pale with sandy hair and thin bony fingers. The man had spent some small amount of time studying to be a scribe. The simple fact Arbert could read and write and had good penmanship was what had gotten him drafted as the duchess’s personal secretary. He kept a strict log of her schedule, scribbled notes when needed, and recorded the business of the day.
The Tattooed Duchess (A Fire Beneath the Skin Book 2) Page 2