A Cavern Of Black Ice (Book 1)

by J. V. Jones

  She should have been relieved, yet the nerves in her hand continued to register the contact seconds after she withdrew. Against her will the memory of the night she had walked along the east gallery came back to her. She hardly knew what she’d felt, had tried to convince herself many times that the whole thing had been a figment of her imagination, brought on by extreme cold and fear and darkness, yet the feeling of want returned so sharply that it brought the taste of metal to her mouth.

  Something in the Splinter wanted what she had.

  A deep part of her mind had known it all along, from the very first instant she had felt the thing’s presence in the tower, yet she had thrust it to the back of her mind with such force that everything had become jumbled and unclear. It was clear now, though. Perfectly.

  Slowly, taking a child’s careful steps, Ash backed away from the Splinter. She nursed her hand as she retreated; the fingers that had touched the door felt like ice.

  “Come on, Cob,” she said, hating how weak her voice sounded. “Let’s get back to the stables.” Cob paid her no heed, forcing Ash to spin around and fetch the mare herself. She didn’t like turning her back on the door, and the desire to run was so strong that she had to bite down on her lip to fight it. Yet she couldn’t very well leave a horse in the quad. Master Haysticks would have a few choice words to say to her if she did.

  Cob was still sniffing at the wall, and as Ash dipped down to grab the bridle, she spied the object of the mare’s attention. All the heat drained from her face. A blue ribbon lay embedded within the snow like a vein beneath a hand. She recognized it at once. It was a tie from a nightgown she had given to Katia to mend. The fabric was wearing thin, and several of the ribbons were loose. One or two had fallen off. Ash plucked the ribbon from the snow. Katia had asked if she had any clothes that needed mending before winter, and Ash had handed her an armful of cloaks, dresses, and night-gowns. They hadn’t been returned, but that was nothing strange. Seamstressing was not one of Katia’s strong points. It took her a whole morning just to pick the hem from a skirt.

  The ribbon was cold and limp, a tongue of blue ice. Turning back to face the tower door, Ash studied the two drag lines that ran alongside the footprints. Something large and heavy had been hauled inside. Like a bed. Ash frowned. Where had such a thought come from? Any number of objects could have left similar tracks in the snow. In fact, things were beginning to make more sense now. The interior door was only half the size of this one, cut narrow to match the scale of the east gallery. Nothing wider than a man could be brought through. So if Iss needed something large brought into the Splinter, this was the only way he could do it.

  Ash rolled the ribbon between her fingers. What had her old clothes got to do with anything?

  ... and of course there’ll be a new chamber . . .

  No. Ash shook her head, sending Katia’s words away. It was madness. Her foster father couldn’t be planning to move her here. Not to the Splinter. He loved her and worried about her, and just last night he’d told her how pale she looked and encouraged her to take a ride in the snow. Ash crushed the ribbon in her fist. She needed to get back to her chamber. Suddenly nothing felt right.

  Walking alongside Cob, she made good time. Marafice Eye and Katia still hadn’t emerged from the stables, and even Master Haysticks hadn’t sent out a groom to watch for the horse. Ash was out of breath by the time she reached the stable door. Her stomach was cramping wildly. She hardly knew what to do, didn’t know what to think, couldn’t believe the ideas that kept shooting through her head.

  “Whoa, lady. Watcha doing in ’ere?”

  Ash wheeled around. She had walked straight into the stables without thinking.

  A young groom with bad skin and a flat head stepped out from behind a stack of hay. “Best step outside, lady. Haysticks don’t like no high collars strutting about when he’s not around.” The groom moved forward. “’Ere. I’ll take Old Cob.”

  Feeling like a fool, Ash held out the reins. What had she been thinking? Leading her own horse into the stables like a journey-man. Just as the groom took the reins, a great rumbling noise shook the building. Already on edge, Ash flinched. Suddenly the far end of the stable block was flooded with light as a whole section of the endwall was wheeled back. Of course, she thought, relaxing instantly, the stable has a second entrance to service the trade gate.

  Marafice Eye picked that moment to emerge from the nearest horse stall. His big dog hands were busy with the buckle on his belt. As soon as he saw Ash he sneered and turned the simple business of belt buckling into something she couldn’t bear to look at. Feeling her face growing hot, she turned and ran from the stables. Laughter followed her.

  The moment she was free of the building, Ash threw the ribbon onto the ground and kicked it into the snow. She was sick of being out here. She hated Marafice Eye and the pimply groom and Master Haysticks. She hated all the things going on behind her back. Where was Katia?

  “Aaw, miss. Are we going back so soon?”

  Ash spun around. Katia, her wool cap gone and thick curls disheveled, leaned against the stable door and smiled lazily at her mistress. “I’ve come over all flushed. I swear I’ll need to take a roll in the snow to cool my blood.”

  Three steps and Ash was on her. Grabbing Katia’s arm, she marched the girl from the stables.

  Katia fought back. “You’re hurting me!”

  Ash wrenched Katia’s arm and twisted it behind her back. She was filled with fury, angry at everyone and everything, sick to her stomach of being afraid. “I don’t care. Now walk on.”

  Katia did as she was told, yet it wasn’t in her nature to go quietly. “You told me to go to the stables! Said you didn’t want me around. ’Taint my fault if you’re jealous of me and the Knife. ’Taint my fault you’re flatter than sheet ice and no man would give you a second glance. What you need—”

  “Be quiet!” Ash twisted Katia’s arm another degree. Her own anger surprised her. She was shaking, yet for the first time in months it wasn’t with fear. It felt good to have control over someone—even if it was just a servant girl. “Open the door. And be quick about it.”

  In the fourteen months that she had known Katia, Ash had never seen the girl move so quickly. She snapped down the door latch faster than she pocketed rose cakes. Two brothers-in-the-watch were walking along the great circular corridor of the Cask, their leather cloaks fastened to their tunics by lead broaches the size of sparrows. Both men wore quarter helms that cast shadows across their eyes. It was telling that neither man smiled or reacted in any way to what they saw: by now the whole fortress knew that wherever the Foundling was, the Knife was only paces behind. Ash slammed the door shut with her boot heel, then pushed Katia directly into the path of both brothers, forcing them to step aside to let mistress and servant pass.

  Climbing the stairs to her chamber, Ash was aware of her heart racing in her chest. Just one touch! One touch and the thing, the presence in the Splinter, had known she was there. In all her life she had never felt such need. It pulled at something, some part of her she had no name for.

  Reach, mistressss. We smell you. Smell of blood and skin and light.

  “Aargh! Miss! You’re breaking my arm.”

  Ash started. Looking down, she saw where she was holding Katia so tightly that blood had stopped flowing to her hand. Abruptly she let her go. Katia stumbled forward and immediately began rubbing her arm. She said things—a whole stream of them—yet Ash cut them away from her mind. Calmly, as if Katia were perfectly silent, not in the process of sobbing and issuing threats, she said, “Follow me.”

  Ash took the final steps to her room, secure in the knowledge the maid would follow. The door was ajar, and when she pushed it she came face-to-face with Penthero Iss’ manservant, Caydis Zerbina. The tall dark-skinned servant stopped dead on the spot. His long, elegant arms cradled an odd assortment of her belongings: the green wool rug, a thick winter cloak, one of the amber lamps, a silver hairbrush.

  As
h supposed she should be surprised at seeing him here, but she wasn’t. The calmness was still upon her. She made a small bobbing motion with her chin, indicating the items he held. “It’s all right, Caydis. Please continue. I realize you didn’t expect me back from my ride so soon. The fault is entirely my own. My apologies. Please finish your business.”

  Caydis Zerbina bore Far South blood, as Katia did, yet unlike Katia, he was soft-spoken and gentle in manner. He worshiped with the priests in the Bone Temple and never wore any fabric heavier than linen, even on the coldest day. Common was not his language of birth. “So sorry, mistress. I stop now. Cause no more offense.” He bowed deeply, the bone bracelets on his wrist chinking like falling rain. Slowly he began to back away.

  Ash raised her hand. “No. I insist you carry on. Your actions cause me no offense.” And the strange thing was, they didn’t. Caydis Zerbina was just carrying out orders, like Katia and Marafice Eye. One person ruled Mask Fortress, one person had access to the Splinter, one person had suggested she leave her chamber this morning to go for a ride in the quad: Penthero Iss. Her foster father had wanted her out of the way so he could collect more things for her move. Chances were she wouldn’t have missed anything except the rug and the lamp, and both those items were in need of cleaning or repair, and their absence could be smoothly explained.

  Caydis Zerbina was clearly unhappy at being compelled to finish his business. His dark eyes, with their almond-colored whites and thick lids, flicked nervously as he moved about the chamber. Ash suspected that he collected things solely to satisfy her wish that he carry on, rather than from any real need to remove anything further. She held open the door for him as he left, inclining her head in a gracious farewell. “Caydis,” she said after he had taken a handful of steps along the corridor, “I won’t tell my foster father about our unplanned meeting. I trust you will do the same. There’s little benefit in either of us admitting our mistakes.”

  Caydis bowed his long gazelle neck. “Mistress.”

  Even before he reached the steps, Ash had turned her attention to Katia. The servant girl was standing against the corridor wall, her face all red and puffy, rubbing her arm as if she couldn’t quite believe it was hurt. One step forward was all it took to cower her. Ash supposed she should feel ashamed about having someone frightened of her, yet a teeny bit of her rather liked it. “Inside. Now.”

  Katia’s eyes were huge with a mixture of indignation and suspicion. She moved, though. Quick enough to dislodge the last remaining hairpins from her curls. The pins struck the stone with musical notes as Ash shut the door behind her.

  “Sit,” she said, wagging her head toward the bed.

  Katia sat.

  Ash turned her back on her. “Now. I’m going to ask some questions, and you have two choices. One, you can answer them honestly and be away from here within the quarter. Or two, you can lie and deceive me and get hurt.” She spun back. “Now which is it going to be?”

  “You won’t dare hurt me. I’ll scream. I surely will.”

  Bending forward so that her face was only a breath away from Katia’s, Ash said, “Go ahead. Scream. The Knife is out there. He’ll hear if you make enough noise. But before you do, think for just one moment. You may know and bed him, but it’s me he’s charged to protect. Me. Not some scrap of a kitchen girl who doesn’t know what’s good for her. Me.” Ash saw hurt in Katia’s eyes but forced herself to continue harder than ever. “Ask yourself this. If you cry out and I cry out, which one of us is he likely to aid first?”

  Katia made no answer. Her teeth pulled at the skin on her lips.

  Ash straightened her spine. “Right. Why has my foster father set Marafice Eye to watch me?”

  “Don’t know.” Katia sounded sulky. “The Knife hisself thinks it’s madness. Says he’s sick of the sight of you, and that he’s got better things to do than watch over a thin strip of bacon wi’ no fat.”

  Ignoring the gibe, Ash said, “So he doesn’t know why?”

  “No. Says it’ll be over soon, though. Vealskin promised any day now.”

  Ash frowned. Marafice Eye was Protector General; he would hardly agree to act as personal guard to a foundling without good reason. He knew something, Ash felt sure of that. And despite what he said to Katia, he took a cat’s pleasure in watching and taunting her—though he wouldn’t likely admit that to any girl he chose to bed. Suddenly uncomfortable with the turn of her thoughts and knowing that if she dwelled on them further, she would lose her nerve and weaken, Ash changed the subject. “What happened to the clothes I gave you to repair last week?”

  “Iss took them.”

  “Where?”

  Katia shrugged. “Don’t know. Said he wanted to start collecting a few things here and there to make the move easier when it came. Said he wanted to surprise you, and to tell you I wanted them for repair.”

  “What other special instructions did my foster father give you?”

  No reply.

  “I said, what else?”

  Katia shuffled her feet. “Nothing.”

  She was lying. Ash took a breath, thinking. After a moment she began to shake her head. “You know, Katia, my foster father isn’t the only one who has power over you. I don’t have to take you with me when I move to my new lady’s chamber. I could tell my foster father that I no longer care for your services, that you bed any man who crosses your path, and that you stole one of my—”

  “’Taint never stole nothing!” Katia stood, fists clenched. “You’d be lying if you say so. Lying!”

  “Hush, girl,” Ash said in a voice she hoped sounded bored. “I can claim anything I want and get away with it. Do you really think my foster father will take your word over mine? Do you?”

  That made Katia stop and think. All the strength and light in her face faded, leaving her looking as young and vulnerable as the girl she really was. Fifteen, that was all. Ash felt her determination waver; all she wanted to do was go to Katia and put her arms round her and assure her that she’d never say anything bad about her—even if she really had stolen something. Katia was younger than her by almost a full year, yet up until today, until right this minute, Ash had always felt like the younger one. Strange, but the very thing that was frightening her was also making her strong. She had to know. And she would do anything, anything, to find out.

  Steeling herself, Ash said, “I think we both know the answer to that question, Katia. You’d be back in the kitchens within a day on my say-so, no matter how diligently you carried out my foster father’s orders. I am Penthero Iss’ ward, his almost-daughter. Now tell me what I need to know, and I swear he’ll hear nothing but good about you from me.”

  Although she was still standing, Katia seemed smaller than usual; her shoulders were slumped, and her back was bent. Even her curls seemed flatter. “Promise to take me with you when you go.”

  Ash closed her eyes. A pain, like a sore muscle, flared softly in her chest. “If I go to a grand chamber with isinglass windows and a fireplace all my own, then I promise to take you with me.” She felt the lie as she spoke. It was the truth, but it was also a lie.

  Katia, who was such a terrible liar herself, heard only the truth. She brightened immediately. “Well, that’s settled, then. Isn’t it?”

  Ash nodded. She didn’t know how she managed to stop her cheeks from burning.

  “Well, miss, it’s the strangest thing. Can hardly understand it myself—’less of course it’s to do with your ’tility.” Seeing Ash’s blank look, Katia expanded, her love of sharing secrets now fully engaged. “Your fertility. You know, when you finally come into your blood and can be married and tumble with men. Well, ever since His Lordship engaged me, but most particular these past three months, he’s asked that I check your chamber pot and sheets each morning for blood. You know, women’s blood. Says he must be told the minute you come to your menses. Right fierce on the matter, he is. Gives me the dox just thinking about it.”

  “Sheets? Chamber pot?”

&nbs
p; “Aye, and your nightdress and underthings, too.”

  Ash exhaled softly, her strength vanishing as quickly as it came. You can’t stay a child forever, Asarhia. The old blood will show soon enough. Her foster father’s words came back to her, each one a drop of ice against her face. Iss was waiting for her menses to come. All his pinching and prodding and watching was for just one thing. Why? What did he want with her? What would he do when her blood finally broke? The thought made cramps jab at Ash’s stomach. Putting a hand on the wall to steady herself, she said, “Leave me, Katia. I want to be alone.”

  The little maid brought her lips together, took a step forward, hesitated, then took one back. “You won’t tell Iss I told you, will you? He’d be madder than a snagcat in a trap if he knew. If mad’s the right word for someone who never raises his voice, just fixes you with a cold stare and—”

  “I promise I won’t say a word.” Ash cut her short; the last thing she wanted right now was a reminder of how cold-blooded her foster father could be. As Katia swung open the door, she said one last thing. “I’m sorry about hurting you before. Truly I am. It won’t happen again.”

  Katia turned and smiled. “Weren’t nothing really, miss. I used to get worse from Mistress Wence. A lot worse.”

  Ash tried a smile but failed. By the time she thought of a reply, Katia was gone. Ash stared at the closed door. Why had she never mentioned being beaten before?

  It seemed like a very long time before she made her way to the bed. The cramps became stronger, rolling across her abdomen in sickening waves, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Later. She would decide what to do later. Her eyes closed, bringing darkness and peace, and before she could form another thought she fell into a deep numbing sleep.

  So cold, mistressss. So dark. Reach.

  Ash twisted in her bed, turning her back on her dreams. They pursued her, liquid shadows with hands that cracked and bled. Their shapes massed and shifted, darkness leaking from them like water weeping from ice.