Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  He nodded toward Lathrop. “The duke was just asking you how you enjoyed traveling the land in the company of such an army.”

  “My Lord Duke, forgive me,” she said, bowing deeply to the grey-haired man. “I’m weary from our journey and I had forgotten how beautiful your city and castle are.” She smiled, her eyes flicking toward Gershon, who was frowning at her. “Riding with the duke and his guard is always an honor, but I’ll be grateful for a comfortable bed and a meal prepared in your fine kitchens.”

  Lathrop smiled. “You’re most kind, First Minister. Be welcome. I know that my first minister has been looking forward to seeing you.”

  “And I her,” Keziah said, though she felt her stomach tightening. Leaving the castle to find Grinsa would not be easy.

  A few moments later, Gershon rode back to Glyndwr’s men to give the orders to set up camp. At the same time, Lathrop, the duchess, and Tremain’s first minister led Kearney and Keziah through the city toward the castle. Evetta walked beside her, speaking of recent events in Tremain. There had been a flood early in the planting season—word of it hadn’t reached Glyndwr—and dozens had died of the pestilence in one of the more remote baronies, though the disease had come no closer than that. Keziah did her best to listen to what the minister was saying, but she could not keep herself from looking for Grinsa. He should have been easy to spot, tall as he was. Fewer Qirsi lived in the cities of the minor houses than in Glyndwr, Thorald, and the other majors. There weren’t as many opportunities for them in the smaller castles. But she didn’t see him, though they walked right past the sanctuary and through the city marketplace. Keziah wondered if he had come to Tremain after all, or if something had happened to change his plans.

  “He would have told you,” she told herself. “He would have come to you again.”

  “What?”

  She looked at Evetta, feeling herself grow pale. “Did I say that aloud?”

  “You said something. I couldn’t tell what it was.”

  “I’m sorry, Evetta. I’m afraid I won’t be very good company. I’ve a lot on my mind.”

  The woman pushed a strand of white hair back from her brow. “Of course you do. If I was riding to Kentigern these days, I would as well.”

  “Thank you for understanding. I probably just need some sleep.”

  Evetta gave a strange smile. “Perhaps. Or maybe you need some time alone in our sanctuary. That can be quite restful, I hear.”

  Keziah froze in midstride for just an instant. Before she could say anything, the minister pulled a small folded piece of parchment from her robe and placed it in her hand, the movement so fluid and subtle that no one would have noticed had they not been looking for it.

  “This came for you in the morning,” Evetta said in a low voice. “One of the clerics brought it to me. He made it sound as though this was a matter of some urgency. I didn’t open it, of course, but I assume you’ll need to get to the sanctuary as soon as possible. I can help you get out of the castle and accompany you as far as the marketplace. I’d take you farther, but I expect you’d prefer to go the rest of the way alone.”

  “Thank you,” Keziah whispered, keeping her gaze fixed on the road before her, but unfolding the parchment as quickly as she dared. She glanced down at it for just an instant, but that was long enough to see that it was from Grinsa, and that the entire message consisted of just two words: prior’s bells.

  “Is everything all right?” Evetta asked.

  “Yes, fine.” She looked up at the sun, trying to gauge the time. “How long has it been since the midday bells?”

  “Several hours. The prior’s bells should be rung in another hour or so. Is that when you’re to be there?”

  Keziah faltered. She had always liked Evetta, but enjoying the woman’s company was one thing; trusting her under these circumstances was quite another. Grinsa had relied on her to deliver his note, but he had kept his message so brief as to reveal almost nothing.

  The minister saw Keziah’s hesitation, her features hardening. “I see,” she said, facing forward again.

  “Forgive me, Evetta. The letter took me by surprise.”

  “Did it?” the woman asked, still not looking at her. “It seems to me you’ve been looking for someone since the moment you passed through the city gate.”

  Keziah felt herself growing cold. Had she been that obvious?

  “It’s your choice, First Minister,” Evetta went on before she could say anything. “I’ve offered my help. It’s yours if you decide you need it.”

  “I do,” Keziah said, making up her mind in that moment. “You’re right. I need to be at the sanctuary with the prior’s bells. I’m meeting—”

  “No.” The woman shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I’m not certain that I want any part of this.”

  You don’t, Keziah wanted to say. No more than I do. Instead she nodded, saying only, “I’ll be grateful for whatever aid you can offer.”

  They came to the castle a short while later and entered the larger of the structure’s two wards. There Lathrop presented his daughters and Tremain’s swordmaster, a dour man who barely even looked at either of the first ministers. Keziah was sure that he and Gershon would be fine friends.

  They were shown to their quarters—hers was on the same corridor as Kearney’s, but several doors away from it. It was a small room, but comfortable, with an ample bed, a washbowl, and a pitcher filled with water so warm that steam still rose from it. The lone window afforded a fine view of the river and, in the distance, the abrupt cliffs of the steppe.

  Lathrop had said that there was to be a banquet that night in honor of Kearney and the rest of Tremain’s guests, but it was not to begin until dusk. Whether he had known this or not, Grinsa had planned their meeting perfectly.

  Keziah was not alone in her chamber for more than a few moments when there came a knock on the door. Pulling it open, she found Evetta standing in the corridor, looking as withdrawn as she had before. Keziah felt a fool for not trusting her. She feared that she had lost a friend.

  “If you want to be at the sanctuary when the bells ring, we should go now.”

  Keziah nodded. More than anything she wanted to wash herself with that water while it was still hot.

  “You do still want to go,” the woman said, eyeing her curiously.

  Keziah shook her head. “No. But I have no choice.”

  That drew a smile from Evetta.

  She stepped out of the chamber and pulled the door closed behind her. “I’m sorry for not confiding in you before,” she said, as they started toward the nearest tower and the stairs down to the ward. “It’s not a matter of not trusting you. Much of this isn’t mine to tell. Nearly all of it, really. I was afraid to say too much; I still am.”

  “I understand,” Evetta said, smiling again. “In our position, it’s sometimes hard to separate ourselves from the affairs of our dukes.”

  Keziah didn’t bother to correct her; best for now to let her think that she was acting on Kearney’s behalf. They descended the winding steps of the tower and hurried through the castle wards to the streets of Tremain. They were crowded still, though not as they had been earlier in the day, when Tremain’s people had turned out to greet Kearney and his company. Sunlight slanted sharply across the low buildings, casting odd shadows on the narrow stone lanes. The bells tolled as the two ministers neared the cluster of merchant stalls in city marketplace, the sound filling the streets and halting conversations momentarily.

  “Follow this lane back toward the north gate,” Evetta said, stopping at the north end of the marketplace. “You’ll see the sanctuary just beside it. You passed it when you entered the city.”

  Keziah nodded. “I remember. Thank you, Evetta. I’ll see you at the banquet.”

  She could see the spires already, and she walked quickly toward them, her pulse quickening. In spite of everything else, she was eager to see her brother again. It had been more than half a year since the Revel’s last visit to Glyndwr,
and even then, she and Grinsa had not dared spend too much time together for fear of drawing attention to themselves.

  The sanctuary gate was open and she made her way through the courtyard to the grand shrine with its narrow, soaring towers. This was Adriel’s Turn, and later that night, after darkness fell, the shrine would be filled with young lovers seeking the blessings of the goddess and offering their devotions in anticipation of the Night of Two Moons, three nights hence. That night, perhaps the most anticipated night of the year among the men and women of the Forelands, they would consummate their affairs and, according to legend, assure themselves of everlasting love. But with the golden light of late day shining through the brilliant stained-glass windows behind the altar and along both sides of the building, the shrine was nearly empty.

  Keziah made her way toward the altar slowly, wondering suddenly if this was where she was to meet Grinsa, or if he was in another part of the sanctuary.

  “May I help you?” someone asked from behind her.

  She turned so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. A woman stood before her, a cleric, judging from the color of her robe.

  “You seem lost,” the woman said, smiling kindly.

  “No, I’m not. I’m just … I’m looking for someone.”

  The cleric glanced around the shrine. A young couple sat close together on one of the wooden benches near the back of the building, and an older woman was kneeling before the altar, crying quietly. Otherwise there was no one in sight.

  “Perhaps this person intended to meet you here tonight. It’s a bit early yet.”

  Keziah smiled, though she felt herself blush. She was about to explain that she wasn’t meeting a lover, when it occurred to her that this would only make the woman curious. Maybe it was best to play along. “No,” she said. “We were to meet now, at the ringing of the prior’s bells. I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, maybe we should look else—”

  “It’s all right, Sister,” came another voice.

  Keziah turned again, and saw a woman in a robe of deepest red standing behind the altar. The prioress.

  “She’s here to see me.”

  The cleric’s eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly, nodding once and withdrawing.

  “Do you care to offer blood?” the prioress asked, gesturing for Keziah to approach the altar.

  “Of course,” she said, wondering if she truly had a choice.

  She walked toward the altar, which was made of dark wood with a wide swirling grain and exquisitely intricate carvings of the various gods and goddesses. An ornate sconce stood at the center of the altar, holding four long, tapered candles of red and white. Beside it rested a stone bowl and a long-handled knife, also made of stone.

  Keziah stepped past the crying woman and around to the far side of the altar where the prioress waited for her. She held out her arm and, as an afterthought, looked away.

  “My name is Janae,” the woman said, as she lifted the bowl and dragged the blade across the minister’s arm. “I assume you’re Keziah.”

  “Yes.” She barely noticed the cut at all, though she did feel warm blood flowing down her arm and dripping to the bowl.

  “You don’t like to see blood, Keziah?”

  “Not my own, not if I don’t have to.”

  The prioress laughed.

  “I’ll take you to them in a moment,” the woman said after a brief silence.

  Them. Grinsa was with Tavis. Keziah had been so intent on finding her brother that she had forgotten the young lord entirely. She was nearly as reluctant to meet him as she was impatient to see Grinsa. It was because of him that they had left Glyndwr, disrupting her life and putting Kearney’s at risk.

  “There,” Janae said, dabbing at the cut with a soft cloth. “We should bind your arm before we go to them. Unless you care to heal yourself.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have that power.”

  The prioress nodded, pulling a long cloth from within her robe and wrapping it around the wound with sure hands.

  “You’ve a deft touch, Mother Prioress.”

  “I should. I’ve lifted that blade many times.”

  A moment later, the bandage was in place.

  “Come with me,” Janae said, starting toward a small door near the altar.

  Keziah followed. In a moment they were in a second courtyard, smaller than the one between the gate and the shrine. It opened onto several small buildings, each of them appearing to be a dwelling for clerics. The prioress led her to the last of these, pushing open the door and indicating with a hand that Keziah should enter.

  The minister hesitated, but only briefly. Grinsa was reclining on a small bed by the far wall, looking tired, though no more so than he had the last time he entered her dreams. He rose when he saw her, smiling broadly and walking to her to take her in his long, strong arms.

  He looked and felt and smelled just as he had in the visions. But the dreams, real as they were, could not replace actually being with him.

  He kissed the top of her head. “It’s good to see you, Kezi.”

  She nodded, but she wasn’t ready to speak just yet. She merely dried her tears on his shirt and stepped back, returning his smile.

  His eyes strayed toward the window, and she followed the direction of his gaze. A young man sat in a chair, watching them, his expression unreadable. He had straight hair the color of wheat, and dark blue eyes. His features were fine and youthful, without being womanly, as those of young Eandi nobles sometimes were. Had he been smiling, and had it not been for all the dark angry scars on his face—one at his temple, another near his right eye, and one more across his other cheek—she might have thought him handsome. Even with his wounds, even wearing the fine white robe of a sanctuary novice, the young lord was hardly what she had expected. He didn’t look like a murderer or a spoiled court boy. He looked, she had to admit, strong and thoughtful, as a young king should.

  “Keziah ja Dafydd, first minister of Glyndwr,” Grinsa said, still looking at the boy, “allow me to present Lord Tavis of Curgh.”

  Keziah bowed, searching for something appropriate to say. “My Lord Tavis. I’m … honored to meet you. I wish I could have done so under different circumstances.”

  The young lord offered only the slightest of nods in response, his dark eyes going from Keziah to Grinsa and back to Keziah again. “So the two of you are sister and brother,” he finally said, his expression still revealing little. “I never would have guessed from looking at you.”

  She glanced at her brother, unnerved by Tavis’s comment.

  “It’s all right,” Grinsa said softly. “Keziah is Lord Glyndwr’s most trusted advisor,” he told the lord. “I thought the two of you should meet before we went to the duke to ask for asylum.”

  Tavis seemed to consider this. “Glyndwr never struck me as a particularly bold man,” he said to her at last. “Do you think he’ll agree?”

  She had to fight an impulse to just walk out. Tavis was about to ask Kearney to grant him a great kindness, one that carried grave dangers for the entire dukedom, and not only had the boy insulted her duke, he hadn’t even shown the courtesy of referring to him as Lord Glyndwr. Despite his regal looks, she found it very easy to dislike this young lord. Already she couldn’t imagine counseling Kearney to grant the boy’s request. “I don’t know, my lord,” she said. “Do you intend to be as rude with him as you’re being with me?”

  “Keziah!”

  She ignored her brother, keeping her eyes on Tavis.

  “I wasn’t aware that I was being rude,” Tavis said. “You’ll have to forgive me for not getting up to kiss your hand. After the half turn I spent being tortured in Kentigern’s dungeon and the two days I had to ride in a merchant’s cart, buried under a mountain of broadcloth, I still have trouble moving my legs without it causing me a good deal of pain. But I suppose you’re right. I should be polite. Perhaps you’d like me to be cheery as well. And why not? I’m so looking forward to passin
g the rest of my days in the highlands. Better that than the dreary future I would have endured as duke of Curgh and king of Eibithar.”

  “That’s enough,” Grinsa said. He cast a disapproving look at Keziah. “Both of you.”

  The room felt terribly small. She wanted to be far away from Tavis. She didn’t even wish to be near her brother just then. Part of her was so angry with the boy, she would have liked to strike him. Another part of her was so ashamed of herself she couldn’t bring herself to look at either of them. She couldn’t imagine what Tavis had been through over the course of the past turn. What bothered her, though, was that she hadn’t even tried. She should have been able to muster some compassion for the boy. His scars screamed out for it. Yet his manner made such feelings nearly impossible, and she hated him for it.

  An uneasy silence settled over the chamber, heavy as an early snow. Keziah needed to return to the castle to prepare for the banquet. They hadn’t much time and there were matters they needed to discuss, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  “Is Kearney planning on leaving in the morning?” Grinsa finally asked.

  Keziah nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the stone floor.

  “So you’ll have to convince him tonight to speak with me.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “It’s not enough to try, Kezi.”

  She looked up and found him staring at her, a pained expression in his yellow eyes.

  “We’ve been through all this before,” he said, pleading with her. “You know what’s at stake. Don’t make me convince you again, Kezi. We haven’t the time.”

  She ran a hand through her white hair, glancing briefly at Tavis. He was still watching her, wearing that same placid expression. If he was angry with her or afraid that she wouldn’t help them, he showed no sign of it. What are you thinking? she wanted to scream at him. Do you feel anything anymore?

  She faced her brother again. “Kearney won’t want to stay,” she said. “He was reluctant to stop here in the first place. We could have covered another league today had we kept going, and had it not been for Gershon arguing that the men needed to rest, we would have.”