Chapter 26 #2
With a deep breath, I called upon my power, letting it unspool like a thread from my outstretched fingers.
Sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cold as I concentrated my will on the lock.
The door groaned in protest, the ice melting off in rivulets that flowed away in a stream of my making.
When it was finally clear, I opened my palm, releasing a burst of air that knocked the doors wide open. I grinned, triumphant.
“Very good,” said Enhart, urging his mount forward.
Dropping out of our saddles, we led the horses to a small stable where they could keep warm for the evening. Hay bales had been stacked neatly against the far wall, and the dirt floors were clear of any debris or droppings.
“They keep it fully stocked in case the King ever decides to station troops here again,” said Enhart, as he removed the gear and saddles from the horses. “I imagine that the caretaker comes out here once a month or so.”
Arlys leaned against me as I rubbed her ears and pulled a blanket over her back. I grinned as she released a gentle sigh. She was an ornery thing, but traversing that pass was no small feat for a pony. She deserved a good night’s rest.
Wind whistled through the empty stone corridors inside the keep, kicking up dust around our feet.
I trailed after the prince, squinting my eyes against the dark as we traveled down a long corridor.
Enhart moved around the barracks as if they were familiar to him, showing me where to store my pack and lay my head.
I held my breath as I peered into the officer’s room he had chosen for me, praying that I didn’t see any rats scampering across the floor.
I was in luck. There was no living creature lying in wait apart from a spider that hung from its web in the rafters.
The room was simple, with a desk and a single bed tucked into the corner.
Far better than camping on the side of the road.
To my disappointment, there was no bathtub to be found. I had hoped against all odds for a warm soak after spending the day frozen to a horse’s saddle. Still, Enhart had been able to locate a small store of fresh water, and so I would make do with washing myself standing over a basin.
When I was sufficiently clean, I rooted through my bags for anything that wasn’t caked in sweat or dirt.
I pulled out a woolen dress. The fabric was stiff, but it would do.
I found that I was warm enough to forgo a cloak, despite the steam that unfurled from my nostrils when I took a breath.
Closing my door carefully behind me, I followed a dim light dancing along the corridors to the kitchen where Enhart was busy rifling through the provisions.
“Are we allowed to take those?” I asked.
“You do realize who you’re traveling with, right?” he asked, pulling out a sack of flour.
I rolled my eyes, scanning the mess of provisions before us.
On the road, the guest houses were often accompanied by a cook happy to serve us a hot meal while we rested our aching bones.
Those that were empty were stocked with provisions for our use—hard cheeses, salted meats, and long-keeping bread that could chip a tooth.
I dipped my hand into a crate filled with sand, my fingertips meeting the rounded edge of a leek. I pulled it out, an idea forming.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to cook.”
I shot him a dark look. “It’s not like you’re going to do it.”
The selection was sparse, but I had seen Gran do much more with less.
In Wealdstone, cooking required a certain talent for creativity.
Mama tended to get too frustrated, sometimes being moved to the point of tears when our stores ran dry.
Gran was patient with her, though, showing her how to combine winter crops and salted meats for a simple meal that kept us full.
I ran my fingers through a sack of barley, lifting a grain to my nose. Fortunately, there was no telltale musk of mold in these stores. “Barley, leeks, and cabbage,” I said aloud. “I can make this work.”
Setting a head of cabbage on the counter, I peeled away the rotted outer layers, stacking the discarded leaves into a pile. With a snap of my fingers, steam unfurled from the lip of a pot of water beside me. The prince’s lip curled as he peered over my shoulder. “This is peasant food.”
I scoffed. “We’ve been eating stale bread and cheese on the side of the road for nearly a fortnight, but now you’re getting picky?”
“Only when we weren’t given quarters in someone’s manor. Besides, that cheese came from Ralthan,” he said, referring to a southern city famous for its creamy sheep’s milk cheese. My stomach rumbled at the memory of its taste.
I shook my head, slicing a knife through the cabbage with a crunch. “You’re welcome to cook for yourself if you like. Where I come from, barley stew is considered a luxury. Especially if we couldn’t get meat that month.”
“I thought your father was a huntsman?”
I smirked. “So you do listen to me.”
“You’ve been talking quite a lot lately, so it’s difficult not to,” he shot back.
“Why don’t you go wash up and I’ll call you when the meal is done?” I suggested, my eyes never straying from my work.
“Fine.” He stalked off, leaving me in peace.
No more than an hour later, we sat across from each other at the long table in the mess hall. It seemed silly, two people in a room meant for a hundred. The prince’s hair was damp and combed, his clothes rumpled but clean.
I watched him as he stirred his stew, eyeing it suspiciously. “Were you ever a soldier?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Certainly not,” he replied.
“Then how do you know your way around the barracks so well?”
He shrugged. “All barracks are designed essentially the same way.”
“So you were a soldier at some point?”
“No.” He wore an expression I couldn’t decipher on his face, staring intensely into his bowl. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Have you heard of the Beltzan Uprising?”
My heart thudded in my chest. “Where I come from we don’t call it an uprising,” I said carefully. “We call it—”
“—a massacre,” he finished for me. “I know.”
“The city of Beltzan was northeast of here, situated strategically between Valen and the kingdoms to the northeast,” he said. “It was also home to the kingdom’s largest iron mine.”
“I’ve read that iron ore is priceless in war,” I whispered. “But I’ve never seen what it can do.”
He nodded. “In its purest form, iron shackles can render a witch powerless. It couldn’t kill a vampire, but it makes for a dangerous weapon.
Over a hundred years ago, Beltzan’s leaders began to think that they might be better off as a sovereign nation than they were under the crown.
They were making so much coin through clandestine trade deals with neighboring kingdoms that they felt they no longer needed the crown’s protection.
They could fund their own army. And so the entire city rebelled against their king. ”
“The crown had been stripping them of their only resource for centuries to use in their wars,” I pointed out. “Leaving their people to starve.”
“We knew that,” Enhart said, unfazed.
We. I bit the inside of my cheek.