"Judeth…" Camilla warned.
"Well," the woman huffed, throwing back her shoulders and sticking out her ample chest. "I worry about you, lady. Someone has to."
Camilla offered her a warm smile. "I don't need to be the object of anyone's concern, Judeth. People should be concerned, instead, about Goldmoon."
"Isn't your young man from Goldmoon's settlement?"
Camilla frowned. "He's not my young man, Judeth. He's one of Goldmoon's students. I was simply extending him the courtesy of a warm place to sleep."
Judeth slyly winked. "Courtesy," she tittered. "And you hold hands with everyone you let sleep in front of our fireplace? In all the years I've known you, Camilla, I've never seen you so taken with someone."
The knight blushed.
"I think he fancies you, too," the woman continued.
The knight's fingers fluttered up to her neck, where a thin silver chain and a heart-shaped charm dangled. "A heart, as you've stolen mine," she recalled Gair telling her last night as he fastened it around her neck.
"Indeed, he fancies you quite a bit," Judeth needled. "It's about time there was something in your life other than your order." She poured a cup of tea. The steam rose in a twisting spiral in the chilly room, releasing the scent of orange peel. She stepped back, smoothing her apron with her hands. "Fancies you quite a bit, he does. Pity he said he'll be leaving soon. Within the hour, he told me. Will you be going with him to the settlement?"
She shook her head. "I'm sending a dozen soldiers with him for reinforcements."
"I would think you'd want to make sure they get settled." Judeth winked at her.
"I've other concerns."
The servant drew herself up to her full height, still a head shorter than Camilla. "Well, then, I do hope he comes back. Can I get you anything else, Lady Weoledge?"
"Thank you, no, Judeth."
Camilla sat at the desk, speared a piece of sausage, and watched the woman bustle out of the room, closing the door behind her. Camilla studied the meat as Judeth's footsteps receded down the stairwell beyond, actually considered eating it, then decided against it.
"Goldmoon." She uttered the word as a curse. To mollify Judith, Camilla stirred her eggs to make it look as if she'd at least nibbled at something, dropped the fork, and pushed away from the desk. She returned to the window and opened the shutters to stare down again at the town. Her fingers tightened on the sill until her knuckles grew white, the muscles of her neck knotted tightly with tension.
At the docks, she spotted a carrack raising its sails. It had arrived yesterday from the city of New Ports, far across the bay to the west, bringing in its belly more than a dozen people who'd sold their worldly goods and intended to build a new life here on Schallsea Island. The ship was returning to New Ports or some other mainland coastal city, and Camilla knew it would come back again-with more people and with all manner of supplies for Goldmoon. Iryl had spoken with the captain a long time this morning, and there would be other ships. Schallsea's harbor was too deep to freeze over even in the coldest of winters.
"Blasphemy," Camilla muttered. "What Goldmoon's doing is blasphemy. Her magic of the heart will only push people away from the true gods, though they are absent. Someday the gods will return."
She whirled and paced the length of the room, her boot heels clicking rhythmically over the stone. Passing by her desk, she paused to snatch up the cup of tea, which was growing tepid. She held it briefly, stared at her reflection in the pale brown surface. She let out a long breath, watched the ripples in the tea disturb her image, then downed all of it in one long gulp. It soothed her throat but did nothing to ease her ire. "Blasphemy." She resumed her pacing.
"People coming here, using their last steel pieces to do so. People camping in the snow, freezing to death in blizzards. Misguided, foolish people. Healing without the gods. Blasphemy." Camilla's fingers fluttered to her hip, closed about the pommel of a sword that hung there. "I cannot let Goldmoon build this citadel. I cannot let her ruin so many people's lives."
She returned to her desk, pushing aside the breakfast tray. Tugging open a narrow drawer, she retrieved a bottle of ink, a quill, a length of black ribbon, and a sheet of fine parchment watermarked with a rose wrapped around the blade of a sword. Camilla carefully considered each sentence she put to the paper. Her handwriting was painstakingly meticulous, the letters like soldiers marching clearly and evenly across the page. Finished, she cleaned the quill and replaced it and the ink in the drawer, blew on the parchment- even though the chill wind had already dried the ink- then carefully rolled it and tied it with the ribbon.
She rose and pushed the chair in close to the desk. "Goldmoon will not build her Citadel of Light on this island," she said. "It's blasphemy."
Goldmoon stood next to Gair at the construction site, watching the dwarves hard at work erecting support posts on the outside of the building. The posts would help strengthen the structure so additional floors could be placed on top of it. The harness of Gair's draft horse had been attached to a rope and pulley system, and the animal was aiding in raising beams to the second floor by walking forward on command.
Most of Goldmoon's followers were helping, as Gair had been, too, until he allowed himself this brief break. They were trimming boards and stacking lumber that would make up the walls and ceiling of the second floor, and they were earnestly doing their best to follow the dwarves' instructions.
Within a day, two at the most, the basement and first floor of the building would be finished enough to move many families into it. A thin woman who used to sell bait in the port town was applying a thick resin between the outer boards. The mixture, Redstone's devising, would keep out the wind and seal the structure and at the same time help protect the wood from warping because of moisture. On the roof, what would become the floor of the second level, twin brothers who used to rim a butcher's shop in Solace were spreading more of the resin. Their faces, red from the cold, were identical except for a scar on the left cheek of the man who claimed to be a minute older. They hollered down a good morning practically in unison to Goldmoon and continued their work.
The building looked boxy, but was large and impressive, bigger than the new stable in town, and according to Jasper and Redstone, built much better, despite much of it going up during freezing temperatures. With the spring, it would be trimmed and finished properly, the female dwarf explained, adding proudly that the final touches would be truly impressive.
Already people were inside working on rooms. A family of six, all blond, hinting that they came from the island of Christyne, busied themselves applying a plasterlike mixture to the walls. They sang as they worked, the youngest off-key and loud. Also inside a trio of dwarven brewers from Thorbardin sanded the floor and softly grumbled about the child's singing, though they did so with a hint of amusement in their gruff voices.
"What about a winder?" A stocky man in a threadbare coat wandered inside. He had a thick piece of charcoal in his hand, and he paced about nervously. "Can't plaster ever'thing iffen yer gonna have a winder in here. I can draw it in fer you." The man claimed to be an artist from Solace who had fallen on hard times and had decided to throw in his lot with Goldmoon's followers. Sketches of the people he'd drawn hung in several tents. "I'll make a round one, nice'n pretty."