“I know what you’re talking about, Lady Erren. I may be young, but I’m not a fool.”
“If I thought you were, you would not be here,” Erren said softly. “And if I ever think you are, you will vanish quite quickly, be assured.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “There. Welcome to the staff. I must go out for a time.”
“In that case, Lady, shouldn’t I be in her room? That is, if she is not in your sight, shouldn’t she be in mine?”
“An excellent point,” Erren replied. “Let me prepare her. I will return shortly enough. I have news to deliver to the archgreffess Fastia. Let her have the unpleasant task of carrying it further.”
“Cal Azroth?” Anne blurted. “I can’t go to Cal Azroth! Not now!”
Fastia gave Anne a peculiar look. “Whatever do you mean by that, Anne? What particular thing keeps you here at this particular moment?”
Anne felt something in her belly drop away. “That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. “I just don’t want to go, that’s all. Cal Azroth is a boring place.”
Fastia’s suspicious gaze lingered for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Anne, let me explain the facts to you. Fact the first: our mother was nearly murdered. Fact the second: Father and Erren and everyone else who ought to know fear that you, or I, or any of us might be next. We’re all going where we can be protected. Fact the third: you are going to Cal Azroth. This is not an evening chapel or a sewing lesson you can skip by dressing as a boy and leading the Royal Horse on a merry chase. If need be, you will be tied hand and foot until the barge is well under way.”
Anne opened her mouth to begin an angry protest, but Fastia held her finger to her lips. “A moment,” the older woman said. “Let me say more. Mother needs us, Anne. Do you think she wants to go into exile any more than we do? When she heard, she stormed to Father and railed against it. But Father needs to know we are safe, and Mother needs her children. Needs you, Anne.”
Anne closed her mouth. Fastia had a way of making everything sound true. And if Erren was involved—well, Erren had a way of finding things out, if she put effort into it. And Erren most certainly should not find out about Roderick.
“Very well,” Anne replied. “I see this is important. When do we leave?”
“On the morrow. And tell no one, you understand? Too many people already know where we’re bound.”
Anne nodded. “Austra will go, of course?”
“Of course.”
Fastia took Anne’s chin in her hand. “You look tired, Anne. Have you been sleeping well?”
“I’ve had Black Marys,” Anne admitted. “I—” She had a sudden, powerful urge to tell Fastia about her experience in the maze. But if the praifec himself told her not to worry, there was no point in it. It would only be one more thing Fastia would think was wrong with her.
“Yes?” Fastia prompted. “What sort of Black Marys?”
“Silly things,” Anne lied.
“If they keep up, you must tell me about them. Dreams can be important, you know.”
“I know. But these are just … silly.”
“Not if they make you unwell.”
Anne forced a smile. “Well, there will be plenty of time to discuss this at Cal Azroth, I should think. There’s nothing else to do there.”
“Well, there’s always Elyoner. I’m sure she’ll pay us a visit. And I’ll see about having your horse Faster brought along. How would you like that?”
“Oh, Fastia, would you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, pack. I’ll see you soon.”
“Very well.”
“And, Anne?”
“Yes, Fastia?”
“I do love you, you know. You are my little sister. I know sometimes you think—” She frowned, and reddened slightly. “Anyway.” Her hands fluttered briefly, then settled. “Pack,” she said.
When Fastia was gone, Austra came padding into the room.
“You heard?” Anne asked.
“Yes.”
“What a nuisance. I’m supposed to meet Roderick tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to get word to him?” Austra asked, a little trepidantly.
“Yes,” Anne murmured. “Yes. Tell him I’ll meet him tonight, instead. At the midnight bell, in the crypt of my ancestors.”
“Anne, that’s a very bad idea.”
“I may not see him for months. I will see him before I go.”
8
Scrifti
The sting of a slap brought Stephen out of his dream.
He was actually grateful to the pain, for it released him from terror, a phantasmic netherworld of horned beastmen, eviscerated women and children, feathered beasts, and leering faces that formed and dissipated like clouds, variously his kidnappers, Aspar White, and Brother Desmond.
He wasn’t grateful for long. In his sleep, blood had glued his shift to his back, and in places to the wooden bench he slept on. The movements of waking pulled ropes of pain tight about his back and limbs.
“There’s a good lad,” the brother bending over him said as Stephen sat up. “Up with you.” He slapped Stephen on the back, inciting a gasp of shock and tears of pain.
“Leave him be,” a softer voice said. “Desmond and his bunch aren’t around now.”
“I don’t know that,” the first fellow muttered. He was a short man, barrel-chested with skinny arms, red-haired and copiously freckled. “For all I know, you’re in with ’em. All I know is, it never hurts to treat the new ones rough. It can hurt to go soft on ’em.” He thumped Stephen’s back again, though not as hard this time.
But it was too much. Stephen bounced up from the sleeping board, towering a good head over his antagonist. “Stay back from me,” he warned. “Don’t touch me again.”
The redhead gave two steps, but he didn’t look terribly concerned.
“What’s your name, fellow?” That was the other man, a gangly young fellow with big ears and an easy smile.
“Stephen Darige.”
“I’m Brother Alprin, and the little one there is Brother Ehan.”
“Don’t call me the ‘little one,’ ” the redhead warned.
“Gozh margens ezwes, mehelz brodar Ehan,” Stephen said.
“Eh?” Brother Ehan exclaimed. “That’s Herilanzer! How is it you speak my language?”
“I don’t. Only a few words.”
“How did you guess he was Herilanzer?” Brother Alprin asked.
“His name. His accent. I’m good at that sort of thing.” And it’s been getting me in trouble, up until now. I should have kept my mouth shut.
But Ehan grinned. “Well, that beats anything I’ve heard lately. Generally speaking, no one understands Herilanzer but Herilanzers. No one even tries. What’s the point?”
Stephen shrugged. “Maybe someday I’ll go to Herilanz.”
“That’s even funnier,” Ehan said. “You’d last about half a bell in my homeland. If the frost didn’t kill you, the first child to come along would.”
Stephen mused that if Brother Ehan was a typical Herilanzer adult, the children must be knee-high at best, but decided against saying any such thing. He already hurt too much. He nodded instead. “Maybe,” he conceded.
He glanced around the dormitory—a large room illuminated by high window slits. It was very spare—fifty wooden benches each just wide enough to sleep on, and a small open box at the end of each bench for possessions. He noticed his was empty.
“My things! My books, my charcoal—my rubbings! Where are they?”
“One of Desmond’s boys took them. If you’re lucky, and behave well, you’ll get them back.”
“Does—I mean, the fratrex—”
“Don’t even start thinking that way,” Alprin cautioned. “The only way around Desmond and his lot is to cooperate, thank them, and hope they eventually move on to someone else. Whether the fratrex knows about all of this, I can’t say. That’s a moot point. If you go to him—or to anyone—that’s a very bad mistake.”