Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amari’s stomach had finally adjusted to the rocking of the carriage, though she much preferred to ride a horse on a long journey. But after they left the village, they were in rolling hills, and her queasiness grew again.
“We’re getting close,” Orval said softly, as he started to pull the velvet capes away from the carriage windows.
Amari sucked in a breath of the cold dry air that spilled inside. It helped somewhat. At least it got her mind off her discomfort. Orval and Roth both peered out, trying to get a glimpse of the Keep ahead. All she could see was the afternoon sun glittering on the snowy hills they passed.
Drawing her attention back inside the carriage, Amari studied Orval for a long moment. As close confined as they had been these last weeks, there was still much she didn’t know about him. Did he prefer a carriage to a horse? Could he ride? She knew that if he didn’t take care, his leg would pain him in the night. There hadn’t been time to really know him, and yet—
He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow.
“What can you see?” she asked, dropping her gaze to check the babes and hoping the flush on her cheeks didn’t show. Dalan and Lara were both still sleeping, thank the Harmony. She covered their baskets so the cold wouldn’t reach their faces. They’d need nursing when they woke and she didn’t want them to rouse any sooner than they must.
“Not much yet,” Orval answered. “Roth?”
Roth had his head at an angle. “No banners or flags, and I don’t see anyone on the walls.”
Orval stared out his side. “What walls?”
Roth’s head jerked, but Xydell was leaning on his shoulder so he couldn’t shift to look our the other window. “What do you see?” he demanded.
“There’s a huge breach in the wall on this side,” Orval said.
Yfin stirred then, shifting the capes around and scrambling to his knees between their feet to share Orval’s view. “There’s stone everywhere,” he marveled.
“Old?” Roth asked.
“Hard to say,” Orval replied. “Covered in snow, and quite a jumble.”
“I could get over it,” Yfin said.
“So, no effort to block or repair the hole,” Roth said.
“No smoke, no fires,” Orval noted. “It’s cold enough that there should be fires burning.” He looked at Amari and grimaced.
“If they used catapults to bring down the walls, the gatehouse might still be intact.” Roth peered out his side again. “Our best hope, at least.”
“Why?” Amari asked.
“Smaller rooms, secured access,” Rosalind said. She gave Amari a half-smile as she shrugged at her surprise. “Castles that have been overrun need repairs. Walls are easier than structures.”
“Listen,” Orval commanded.
Amari held her breath as they all obeyed, listening to the thudding of hooves and the creaking of the carriage.
After a moment, Orval shook his head. “No horns, no hails. It’s deserted.”
Roth grunted. “Hopefully.”
Orval put a hand on Yfin’s shoulder. “Yfin, you know the plan?”
Yfin nodded, squatting on his knees. “Run out, quick as I can. Check the main courtyard. Look for wells and buildings, not too far away.” He drew a breath and recited. “Don’t go in anywhere, just look all around and then report to the Captain.”
“Good lad,” Orval grinned at him.
“I’ll take the gatehouse first,” Roth said. “Check it as quick as I can. If it can be secured…” He looked at Rosalind.
“I’ll direct the guards where to put things,” the woman said. “There should be enough room on the upper floors. And don’t forget, there may be a cellar with a well for water in a siege. Check for that too.”
Both Roth and Yfin nodded, but the boy’s face was more serious. “I’ll check the cover too. Make sure the babes can’t crawl in.”
Amari’s heart lifted and she smiled. “It will be a while before that’s a worry,” she said.
“Still and all,” Yfin looked at the baskets with a frown, avoiding Amari’s gaze. Roth caught her eye and shook his head. Amari nodded back and changed the subject.
“I’m to stay with the babes and Xydell,” she said, “until you can get us somewhere safe.”
“I think we’re almost to the gates,” Orval announced; he had been keeping watch.
“Help me fold up the robes and get them out of our way,” Amari said. The adults all helped shift and roll the velvet and furs into a large bundle while ensuring that Xydell remained wrapped well against the cold.
Amari worried for her. She didn’t know much more healing than what one learned caring for children, but it couldn’t be good for someone Xydell’s age to be unconscious for so long.
The carriage rolled to a stop, followed by the creak of wood and the rattle of chain. “Sally-port, most like,” Roth noted.
The carriage rolled through the gate; Ussin’s voice echoed around them, as he shouted: “Keep an eye on those ruins. Watch for any movement. You two, keep watch on the road.”
The carriage door swung open.
“Lord High Baron,” Ussin began, then shouted “hey” as Yfin sprung out the door and pushed past him.
“Boy needed air, being cooped up,” Roth said calmly, moving even as Ussin sputtered a protest. “Shall we check the gatehouse?” He stepped down and offered a hand to Rosalind, who managed to look graceful as she scrambled to follow.
Orval grimaced as he struggled to stand. Amari leaned forward, reaching for him, and he took her hand. He glanced out the door as he got his balance, wrapping her hand in his long, warm fingers. “I could see if Ussin would take you and the babes back with him,” he offered quietly. “ I think it’s eating at him. If I begged—”
“No,” Amari held tight to him. “Our place is with you. We are far safer with you than in Satia’s hands.”
Orval nodded, gripping her just as tightly. “Keep the token close,” he whispered before ducking out after Roth. “Don’t even think of leaving those crates there,” he shouted. “Ussin, what is the meaning of this?”
He closed the door behind him, blocking the chill. Amari pulled her hand under her cloak and pressed her hand to her chest, missing his warmth. She drew a long, steadying breath as she listened to the shouts outside, and the horses stamping, their harnesses ringing as Orval and Ussin argued.
Dalan shifted in his swaddling and started to stir.
“Roth?” Orval demanded.
“Gatehouse can be secured,” came a distant shout.
“Very well,” Orval snapped. “Get your men to carry these crates and supplies in, quick like. Form a line and move .”
Amari blinked at his tone, so sure and commanding.
“You heard the Lord High Baron,” Ussin bellowed. The pressure in Amari’s chest eased slightly. It had worked, Orval had won the day. A tiny triumph, but a triumph just the same.
The carriage door opened and Orval stuck his head in. “Have they roused?”
“Almost,” Amari said.
“Let’s get you inside, then.” Orval grimaced. “Cold and damp, but we can tuck you in a corner so you can nurse.” He looked at Xydell, who hadn’t once stirred. “Maybe Ussin will forget she’s in here?” he gave Amari a sly look. “Take her back with him?”
He was making light of it, but Amari wasn’t fooled. That little crease in his forehead told her that. “How bad is it?” she whispered.
“Not so bad. Cold and,” Orval looked away and swallowed hard, “empty.”
A memory of their old rooms filled her: cluttered shelves, glowing copper lamps, and the warmth of home. “We will fill it,” she whispered, and watched as his eyes went damp and his resolve returned.
He reached for Lara’s basket. Amari took up Dalan and accepted Orval’s help exiting the carriage. She got a brief glimpse of the snowy courtyard before she followed Orval through a heavy wooden door into the gatehouse. The guards stepped back to let her in.
The stone room was very large and very empty and very cold, with a dusty, unused smell. The only light came from the open door. There was a small stool by the cold hearth; Orval moved it to tuck her into a corner, out of the way.
“Best we can do for now,” he said, setting Lara’s basket on the floor.
“It’s fine,” she said. The stool rocked on its four legs as she settled in place but seemed sturdy enough.
“All right, then,” he said, and turned back to the guards. “Don’t just stand there,” he snapped. “There’s more to unload and we need to get the furniture inside.”
Amari set Dalan’s basket down and undid her lacings as Orval harangued the guards. Dalan’s eyes were wide open and he latched on quickly, sucking greedily. He was warm against her skin and the familiar tug on her nipple was reassuring. No matter what, babies needed to be fed…she wrinkled her nose…and changed.
“Orval, I’ll need that sack of nappies,” she said.
Orval nodded and squeezed through the door as the guards brought in more sacks and crates. He returned quickly, cheeks red with the cold, followed by men carrying their familiar, old kitchen table and chairs.
“Those can stay here,” Orval ordered as he put the bag of nappies next to her. “Put it against the wall with the chairs in front. The rest can go up to the third floor.”
Other things were being brought in, things Amari didn’t recognize. She looked questioningly at Orval.
“They’re from the storage room,” he said softly. “My sister’s things.” There was a flash of pain on his face but he went out the door before she could say anything.
She looked down at Dalan, but his eyes were closed again, his tiny hands curled in pleasure. She rocked a bit on the stool, probably more for her own reassurance than his.
A rattle startled her as pebbles bounced out of the chimney. She stared at the small stones scattered on the kitchen floor.
The pounding of feet on stairs was followed by Yfin bursting into the room, his hair in his eyes, a grin on his face. “They came down?” He crowed when he saw the stones on the floor, then ran over to peer up into the fireplace.
Amari nodded.
“It’s clear, then,” he reported as he dodged the guards to pick up the stones, his words tumbling out breathlessly. “There’s privies on every floor,” Yfin blinked at her in wonder. “And outside there’s a dovecote, with lots of pigeons. My ma made a real good pigeon pie. And one of the barn cats let me pet its head.” He laughed. “It’s kinda an ugly cat.” He glanced at the hearth. “Cap’n said if the fireplace was clear, we could start a fire.”
Amari opened her mouth to protest; there were rituals and prayers for a first fire in a hearth. But Yfin had already darted off again, deeper into the building.
She hugged Dalan and sighed. Not what she had imagined for her first hearth. Sorrow rose in her chest and she fought it down. Given all that had happened, she should thank the Ancestors that she and hers weren’t dead in a ditch and beg forgiveness for her ingratitude. Still, the ceremonies were important. She could pray, silently, and sweep the hearth before they laid the fire. As to the water, she could—
“Here,” Yfin burst back in the room, all youthful, awkward eagerness. “I brought you this.”
There in his hand was a bucket, brimming with water, yet not a drop spilling.
As good an omen for a new hearth as any could ask.
“There’s a well below,” he grinned as he put the bucket beside her, on the hearthstone. “It’s got a good cover too, one with a latch.”
Amari smiled up at him as he stood bouncing on his toes. “We’ll need firewood,” she said. “To start our first fire.”
Yfin flew out the door, causing at least one guard to curse him as he plunged through them.
“A hearth heals in its own way,” one of her aunties used to say. Amari took a breath and breathed out a small prayer of thanks.
Roth stuck his head in the door. “They’re almost done,” he said. “Just a few more things. I’ll get Xydell.”
“Make sure we have those capes,” Amari said. “They’ll make fine bedding, if nothing else.”
Roth gave her a funny look, bowed his head, and disappeared back outside.
“No, take that back downstairs.” Rosalind’s voice floated down from above. A moment later, she entered the kitchen from the stairs, followed by two guardsman holding a large, wooden box. “It can’t be that heavy,” she scolded them as they put their burden on the table and fled outside.
“I found some dishware and some foodstuffs they must have grabbed off your shelves,” Rosalind continued. Rummaging in the box, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with the symbol of the Harmony on it. “I have no idea what this is,” she said, studying it.
“I do,” Amari said reaching out, her heart lifting.
Orval watched as the guardsmen struggled to get the last bits out of the wagon, rolls of carpet and a few more sacks of what looked like bedding.
Ussin came to stand next to him. “Got my orders, don’t ya know. Need to see to my men. Can’t miss that portal.”
Orval stayed silent.
More guards came to help with the heavy rugs while others were seeing to their horses and mounting up.
One of the guards heaved up a large sack that clanked. Ussin took a step forward and said, “Here, you, take this’n to Cap’n Roth.” The soldier nodded, a quick jerk of his head.
“Roth’s weapons,” Ussin said gruffly, avoiding Orval’s eye. “And the boy’s knives.”
Orval said nothing. If Ussin was uncomfortable, so be it.
Ussin cleared his throat. “Here’s your Letters Patent granting you the Barony of the Black Hills,” he said, shoving a heavy scroll at Orval; it dripped with red wax seals and ribbons. “Along with a list of expected tithes,” another scroll, “including a piece of pure white marble large enough for a life-sized statue of King Xyrath.” Ussin reached into the wagon and produced a cage filled with pigeons. “Send word when the King can expect delivery.”
Orval stared at him incredulously. “Xyrath really expects—”
A shriek of horror came from inside the gatehouse. “The tapestries?”
The guards scrambled for their mounts.
“Sun’s light be with you,” Ussin said over his shoulder as he headed toward his own horse. With sharp commands, the men, carriages, and wagons were gone in a flurry.
Orval just stood there, scrolls in one arm, cage in the other, watching them vanish through the main gates and down the road. The pigeons in the cage fluttered and made grunting sounds at their rough treatment.
So that was that. They were on their own, abandoned and betrayed. Yes, they’d secured themselves as best they could, but it seemed a hollow victory.
He looked up, over the walls of the Keep, to the mountains that loomed over them. The sun etched sharp shadows on their face, making the scene feel ominous and threatening.
The wind picked up and he shivered, feeling the ache in his leg. He’d have pain tonight, sure as anything. He was used to that. But the pit in his chest was new, wide and deep, with no remedy.
An outburst from the open gatehouse door drew his attention. He gathered himself and limped in, dreading the others’ anger and despair.
A fire in the hearth made the room glow. Rosalind was sitting on the rolls of fabric that were not carpets, it seemed, but tapestries, her face buried in her hands.
She lifted her face, covered in tears and…laughter. Yfin giggled by the hearth, and Roth was struggling not to laugh out loud as they built the fire up.
“What?” Orval moved further inside, totally confused. Roth shifted to close the door behind him.
Amari was by the table, her face glowing with merriment, tears in the corners of her eyes.
She gestured to the crate on the table.
Orval limped over and peered in, and his own laughter bubbled up in his chest, releasing tension and fears he’d trapped there.
They’d packed the pot of pease porridge.