In the center sat a battered wooden table. Several metal instruments, molded to bizarre shapes, were strewn across it. An open book took up one corner. Clarysa didn’t recognize any of the words. The creased, worn pages spoke of frequent use.
What a strange and wondrous place, she thought, drinking in the room’s preternatural delights. What glorious magick does he perform here? A smile spread across her lips at the thought. But this lighthearted elation plummeted when a distinct scratching sound came from beyond the walls. Slight at first, and soft. It must have been a rat, but what in the world could it possibly find to eat in this place?
The sound grew harsher. Now it seemed like nails raking across the walls, accompanied by a low, rhythmic thump. The air turned bitingly cold. A sudden draft blew out the lantern.
In the darkness, something touched her hair.
Clarysa yelped and ran for the exit. She stumbled through the door and shut it quickly, but not before catching a glimpse of an apparition filling the room. A hideous, pulsating entity that defied description. If ever a nightmare were personified in the flesh, it lay beyond that door now.
Wide-eyed in terror, Clarysa bolted up the stairs. The ethereal thump-thumping sound faded with each hurried step. Up and out the green door she flew. Wasting no time, she slammed it closed. Chilly sweat ran in rivers down her skin as she attempted to gather her scattered wits. That is the last time I let my curiosity get the better of me in this place. She headed for the warm, safe kitchen, attempting to purge the noxious terror from her mind. Heaven only knows what kind of horrors Stellan has faced here. Heaven only knows!
* * * *
Much later, after Clarysa had regained some feeling of normalcy and a healthy respect for all things ethereal, she asked Gretchen to show her the throne room. Like her father’s castle, this room had vast murals splayed out across the walls. But these were far different from those back home. These depicted only dark and dangerous images.
Stellan, Gretchen explained, used to spend days creating them, often having nothing more than charcoal and a blank wall. Clarysa absorbed the vistas of giant gargoyles, imps, goblins, and other demonic creatures. Scattered among the sinister illustrations were beautiful, willowy nudes, women with long, flowing hair and dark eyes. They stared at the viewer no matter where one stood.
Next, Gretchen showed her the library, one overrun with heavy, cobwebbed tomes and ornate woodwork. Some of it had rotted away or fallen into disrepair. Many of the books were so fragile they were entirely unreadable, or worse, consumed with worms. Nevertheless, Clarysa transported a good number of them into the kitchen to read while Gretchen tended to her duties. Many contained delightful illustrations, some of them in color. The stories they contained transported her into worlds the likes of which she hadn’t known existed. Reading helped mitigate the long wait for Stellan’s return.
When night clothed the castle in its ebony cloak, Clarysa joined Gretchen and her son in the kitchen. The two younger folk played cards or sang. Ghyslain, as it turned out, was an accomplished guitarist. Gretchen frequently sewed, humming along with his tunes.
Froll, a cheerful, laid-back fellow with dark, straight hair and squinty eyes, joined them for a day in between trips for supplies. Clarysa liked the bright bandanas he wore, and the way his belly shook as he laughed. Sometimes, he would smoke a pipe and tell her gypsy tales from far away.
More days passed, and still no sign of Stellan.
One afternoon, Clarysa realized she had been wearing the same dress a few times too many. It had belonged to Patrulha in her younger years. The others probably didn’t care how she looked, but she wanted something nice to wear when Stellan returned. She approached Gretchen about the matter.
“I saw some old clothing in the royal suite,” Gretchen told her. “Patrulha never wanted any of it, but they might suit you. Let’s go see if any of them still hold together.”
They sauntered up a level, and entered a chamber as wide as a field. “Is this where Stellan sleeps?” Clarysa asked, eyeing the once-luxurious mahogany bed. Somehow it had split in two, and was draped in nothing but silky cobwebs.
“Oh, no. He uses one of the servant’s rooms by the kitchen. It’s much warmer there, y’know.”
Gretchen used her candle to light some of the torches ensconced in the walls. “Here we go!”
A huge wardrobe stood to Clarysa’s right. Gretchen pulled the doors open wide. They creaked so loudly Clarysa feared the whole wardrobe might collapse.
Gretchen poked her head inside, nudging aside a rat with her foot as she did so. Clarysa joined her, giddy with anticipation. But rifling through the dusty material only gave her a fierce sneezing fit.
Gretchen chuckled. “I see you’re in quite a rush there.”
After an hour of searching, they finally struck gold–a lacy, off-white gown with wide sleeves. It had been stored more carefully than some of the others, and thus retained its luster. Clarysa tried it on. Much to her delight, it fit perfectly. She wrinkled her nose. “I should clean it first!”
“I’ll help you,” offered Gretchen.
They headed back downstairs.
Clarysa hugged the dress to her chest. “You know, I should like to learn how to cook.”
“Oh, I see! Is that so, hmm?” Gretchen’s voice echoed loudly as they descended the stone staircase.
Clarysa offered a supplicant look. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, of course.”
Gretchen shook her head. “No, of course not!”
And so once her new–old!–dress had been washed and hung up to dry, Clarysa joined Gretchen at the hearth for her first cooking lesson. Her days in the wintry wilderness brightened considerably as she began to feel like a more productive and vital member of the eccentric household. If only Lionel could see her now, what would he say? And Edward–keeper of the royal decorum? The blood vessels in his neck would surely explode!
As for Stellan, what thoughts would he have upon encountering a member of the Aldebaran royalty scrubbing a century’s worth of scum from the walls? Clarysa could scarcely wait to find out!
Chapter 15
“They’re coming!” Gretchen announced in the predawn darkness as soon as Clarysa opened her bedroom door. The woman fingered a handful of gold pieces in the light of her torch. “Stellan sent a messenger ahead, courtesy of your cousin.”
“Lionel!”
Gretchen glowed with excitement. “I’ll be able to cook something decent for once.”
“We can have a feast!” Clarysa clapped her hands and smiled.
Gretchen chuckled. “Hurry and get ready.”
They spent the day preparing a cornucopia of dishes based on ingredients brought by Froll and Ghyslain from the village market. Meat roasted on spits over the fire. Platters overflowed with breads and assorted cheeses. Three kinds of soup warmed in large clay pots and jugs of wine sat on a cart, ready to be rolled out.
Froll set up four long tables in the throne room. The hall blazed with scores of candles.
Clarysa couldn’t resist the urge to keep peeking out the front gate. Stellan had saved her life and helped her people all without hope of reward or political gain. She would do anything for him. Maybe I can be his reward, she thought with a devilish grin.
Come late afternoon, the party was expected any minute. Clarysa wanted to help serve, so the gypsy insisted she wear an apron over her dress while she readied appetizers. Clarysa fingered the coarse material. This was certainly a first.
Gretchen faced the hearth, basting the meat. Clarysa sat at the table cutting oranges. As she reached for the seventh piece, a man with a wild mane of red hair appeared at the doorway. Grinning, he put a finger to his lips for silence. He tiptoed across the room to the hearth. Then he grabbed Gretchen from behind and gave her a loud, rambunctious bear hug.
Gretchen shrieked, arms flailing. As she turned around, Clarysa could see a fierce blush on her cheeks.
“Keep your loutish hands off me, you scurvy rat!” Gret
chen beat on him with a large wooden spoon. “Out! Out of my kitchen this instant!”
Clarysa laughed until tears streamed from her eyes. The hefty soldier passed by her table and helped himself to a handful of grapes. “They call me Hunter Red. Nice to meet you, miss! Having a lovely day, are we?”
He threw up an arm in defense as Gretchen drove him on, wielding her spoon like a battle-axe. “Don’t bother her, mister. We know your kind, oh yes we do!”
With a parting wave, Hunter disappeared through the door. Gretchen stood looking after him, breathless and chest heaving. She grinned upon meeting Clarysa’s inquisitive gaze, but would say no more. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she turned back to her cooking. She was humming.
After Clarysa finished making the appetizers, she peeked into the great hall. As the men arrived, they piled their cloaks in one corner. They stood around shaking wet hair and warming themselves by the grate’s blazing fire. Conversation and laughter filled the air. To look at them, one would never think they had returned from a dangerous mission. Chairs scraped against stone as they sat at the tables, eagerly awaiting the most anticipated guest–the main course. Gretchen and Ghyslain appeared by her side, laden with trays of food.
“You wait here,” Gretchen instructed her. “Let the food and wine calm them down first.”
Clarysa reluctantly returned to the kitchen. She couldn’t wait to hear about the heroics Stellan had performed against the Pestilence horde.
After the main course had been delivered, Gretchen handed Clarysa a wide platter full of rolls to pass around. She carried it carefully into the hall. The air felt toasty warm and smelled strongly of spiced meat.
She slowly made her way down the long table, offering rolls. Most of the rough-looking men were engrossed in their meals, but a few noticed her. Some stared with frank curiosity. Others nodded politely.
Clarysa’s heart skipped a beat as she spotted Stellan at the far end. A few days’ growth of beard and soiled clothing couldn’t obscure his handsomeness. It seemed like they’d been apart for months instead of a few weeks. She had daydreamed about their reunion hundreds of times during his absence.
Holding her breath, Clarysa stepped forward and held out the platter. But the dream didn’t come true. He didn’t even turn his head while grabbing a roll. Clarysa was crestfallen. Am I that invisible to him? For someone who never lacked for words, she suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say.
She’d seen him display the same cold, impersonal manner at the hunt. He isn’t interested, so why do you persist? Fool. Lower lip trembling, Clarysa quietly moved on to the next diner.
“Wait!”
She instantly spun back around at the sound of Stellan’s commanding voice. “Yes?”
“I’ll have another,” he said as he reached for the platter–this time catching sight of its server.
Clarysa smiled. His look of surprise indicated he hadn’t even recognized her. With a borrowed bandanna covering her hair and the new dress, she must have looked like a hired servant. She pushed the tray before him and awaited his response.
Stellan’s furrowed brow pronounced itself as his face darkened. Leaping to his feet, he tore the platter from her grasp and slammed it down upon the table. “Gretchen!” He searched the hall. Some of the men glanced up at his shout, but most kept their heads bent down over their plates. “Gretchen! Woman, I command you to attend me at once!”
Gretchen rushed over, necklaces clinking. “What is it? The soup cold? What’s wrong?”
“This!” he said through clenched teeth, gesturing sharply to Clarysa. “Dishing up to the men like a common wench. You know who she is. What’s wrong with you?”
Gretchen wrung her hands. She opened her mouth to reply when Clarysa laid a hand on Stellan’s arm. “No, wait! It’s not her fault. I wanted to help. I asked her to let me! Stellan, it’s all right. I wanted to do my part. Really, it’s all right!”
He turned and glared, his eyes burning holes into hers.
Undaunted, Clarysa picked up the scattered rolls. She held out the platter, practically shoving it under his nose. “I made them myself. Try one–please!”
After cutting one more heated glance at Gretchen, Stellan scooped up a roll and bit into it. His eyes were cast downward as he chewed, and Clarysa found herself admiring his face. If she hadn’t been studying him so intently, she might have missed the slight relaxation of his shoulders. “Well, what do you think?”
After swallowing, he tore off a fresh piece. “Needs more salt,” he murmured. “Taste for yourself.” He gently pushed the morsel against her lips and into her mouth.
He grazed her tongue with his fingertip, and the pressure he exerted told her it was no accident. Clarysa almost forgot to chew. Well, she wanted to start sucking on his finger, but given the public arena that would have been very unseemly. Instead, she let her tongue drag upon the long, firm digit as he withdrew.
His widening eyes and parting lips gave her hope. His heart was not as cold as he would have her believe. His blood certainly ran hot, judging from the heat of his finger.
The hall became abruptly quiet. By this time, Clarysa was so happy she didn’t care what kind of spectacle she created. After what seemed like an eternally blissful moment, Stellan resumed his seat. She moved to pick up the platter, but the sorcerer stayed her with a tenacious hand on her arm.
“Cervantes,” he said to the man on his left, “give her your seat.”
The burly man in question gave a quick, knowing smile to his neighbors and chuckled.
“Cervantes,” Stellan continued, his voice deepening, “perhaps I wasn’t clear.”
“Oh aye…aye,” said Cervantes, who immediately stood to find another spot. “You was most certainly clear, all right!”
“Oy, Cervy!” shouted Hunter from down the table. “While yer up, could you pass me some of her buns? I hear they’re delicious!”
A round of laughter erupted. Clarysa blushed. Cervantes picked up two rolls from the platter and threw them none too gently toward Hunter. Hunter caught one, but the other hit him on the forehead and bounced off. The men laughed harder still. Eventually, their tales from the recent battle resumed.
Clarysa studied Stellan’s reaction. He was ignoring them. He pointed to the chair next to him. She sat. Wordlessly, he fixed her a plate before resuming his own meal.
Clarysa’s stomach was all aflutter. She could only pick at the food. So she used the time to observe Stellan’s people.
The stalwart form of Patrulha sat across from the prince. Clarysa noticed the captain kept stealing glances at him. Clarysa studied her in between bites, noting her chiseled bare arms and broad shoulders. Black leather bands circled both wrists. Her hair was the same color as Gretchen’s, though tamer, and still damp from the falling snow. She, too, bore the spectral pallor of one who languished far beyond the sun’s rays. Clarysa wanted to ask how she had lost her eye but ultimately thought it best to hold her tongue.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not polite to stare?” Patrulha turned on her sharply and pounded the table. The boisterous group fell silent.
Clarysa blushed again, mumbling an apology.
Patrulha’s eye narrowed. With a final, quick glance toward Stellan, she abruptly stormed off in a huff. For a few awkward moments, no one spoke.
“Eh, don’t mind her,” said Hunter. “She’s had a chip on her shoulder long as I can remember.”
Clarysa dared not look up. Surely everyone at the table could feel the waves of heat emanating from her flushed cheeks. Alienating Stellan’s captain of the guard was hardly a way to make a good first impression. She finished the rest of her meal in silence.
An hour later, the last bite was consumed and the last of the table wine drained. Clarysa looked around with surprise as the men helped clean up. They carried plates into the kitchen, wiped down the table and mopped the floor.
A hand cupped her elbow. “Come with me,” Stellan said.
He led
her to a private study, away from the noise and smoke. A comforting fire burned in the grate. The intimate chamber had better furnishings than the other rooms Clarysa had seen. Antique decorations lined the shelves, and tapestries hung on each wall. A plush crimson rug with silver embroidery drew the eye to the center of the room.
Stellan carried a jug of wine and two goblets. He filled one and gave it to her before pouring another for himself. Then he stretched out on the room’s red settee, one knee raised while the other dangled off the side. Clarysa watched his languid, sensuous movement with prurient interest. Stellan’s body lay open before her, like a book. Was it an invitation, or the alcohol speaking for him? She settled into a stuffed velvet chair to calm the butterflies in her stomach, sipping sparingly.
Neither one spoke at first. Clarysa remembered her apron and took it off. Stellan was staring at her from beneath drowsy eyelids. “Is something wrong?”
“Where did you get the dress?” His voice sounded dulcet, low–and slurred.
“Upstairs. From the royal suite. Is…that all right?”
Stellan nodded, staring at her. But he wasn’t looking at her face. As a vigorous heat spread across the exposed skin of her chest, she ached for the cool touch of his strong, graceful fingers to follow. But his attention shifted back to his wine.
Clarysa heard a yip, and then a large white wolf appeared from behind the settee. It bypassed Stellan and sniffed around Clarysa’s feet.
“How lovely!” she cried, reaching out to stroke its fur. She rubbed its cheeks and gazed closely into its light gray eyes. “There are some tasty bones for you in the kitchen. Have you tried them yet?” The animal licked her hand. Clarysa looked up and smiled. “What’s its name?”
Stellan smirked. “Wolf.”
Clarysa winked. “With an ‘e,’ of course!”
“I’m only going to say yes because I haven’t the energy to go running after you again.” A brief smile graced his lips. “Anyway, I suppose you’d like to hear about what happened.”
Lord of Snow and Ice Page 12