Ghosts in the Snow (3 page)

"Thank you, milord." Dubric bowed and turned to leave, closing his eyes to the images of the two dead girls. With his eyes closed, he stepped between them and felt them follow, silent and pleading. He did not look at Josceline as he descended the dais.

He hurried across the subdued great hall. Although many looked at him, thankfully none dared to speak.

Nella dropped the armful of dirty sheets into the laundry cart and stretched until her back popped. She stood in the outer hall of two-east, known as The Ladies' Wing to most of the castle's people. The cleaning staff, however, referred to two-east as The Bitches' Wing, or The Bitches, at least privately. Nella had to agree. She had never imagined a handful of women could be such a pain in the behind. If they weren't demanding that the staff run silly errands and boost their already oversized egos, they seemed to spend every waking moment of their lives creating work for others.

Nella shrugged and pulled a clean set of sheets from the cart. She needed the work if she was ever going to repay her debt. The ladies on two-east guaranteed her as much work as she could stomach, and Nella could stomach a great deal. Making beds, replacing bath linen, and fetching silken pillows all day was nothing compared to mixing clay and working brick ovens sunup till sundown, not to mention the threat of death or worse if quantities were inadequate.

She hummed as she carried the sheets into Lady Thremayne's suite. Like most of the ladies' suites, the single room was large and open with a private bath in one corner. The floors were polished wood with thick warm carpets, the outer walls were white stone while the rest were cheerily painted plaster. A single window faced east and the morning sun filtered through lace curtains to glisten on beautiful shining trinkets. Every day Nella wanted to touch the baubles, to see them up close and hold them in her hand, but she never did. They weren't hers to touch or admire, except from a distance. Her job was to change bedding and replace towels, not pretend she could ever be more than she was.

Nella thought Lady Thremayne's suite was the prettiest room in the castle, at least that she'd cleaned so far. She smiled and drew in a deep breath between hummed verses. Lady Thremayne used the nicest smelling perfumes. Soft infusions or tinctures that smelled like flowers and spring rain. Happily distracted, Nella dropped the sheets on an overstuffed chair beside the bed and tossed the pillow shams to Dari.

Dari never worried about looking at Lady Thremayne's trinkets. Dari never worried about much of anything. She stood before Lady Thremayne's tall mirror and fluffed her hair, as she did most mornings. She caught the pillow shams in one hand with barely a glance, and grinned. "Think I should let it grow out?" she asked, tilting her head. She pouted into the mirror and cocked her narrow hips to the side with the pillow shams fluffed out behind her like a lady's skirt.

"I think you need to get back to work before you get us into trouble," Nella said, laughter sparkling in her voice.

Dari ran to the bed, her feet a whisper on the carpets. Laughing, she belly flopped onto the feather stuffed mattress and giggled. "I don't want to work. I want to do something fun! I haven't taken a day off in over a moon, and all this work is boring." She rolled onto her back with her feet hanging off the edge, and her eyes gleamed at Nella. "I know! Let's take your horse for a ride."

"Oh, Dari." Nella shook her head but her smile refused to hide. Button was a plow horse, big and brown and regular, but Risley had bought him. Bought him just for her.

Groaning dramatically at Nella's reluctance, Dari stretched on the wide, soft mattress. Nella could not begin to imagine how wonderful it must feel, but Dari didn't seem to think about that at all as she wiggled with gleeful anticipation. "We can ride into the village and look at dresses. Maybe we can even flirt with some nice-looking young farmers. What do you think?"

Nella shook her head. "He's not my horse yet. I still have to finish paying for him."

Dari bounced her feet against the side of the bed. "Let's take him for a ride anyway. It'll be fun!"

Nella shook her head again. "I still owe Risley twenty-one crown and change. I can't ride Button until he's paid for, even if I could take time off."

Dari reached for a pillow. As she stuffed it into the sham she said, "Nella, I'm absolutely
positive
Lord Risley would be happy to let you ride your horse. Besides, an afternoon of play never killed anyone."

"Still wouldn't be right." Nella shooed Dari off the bed and pulled the crisp sheet across the mattress. Risley would let her, all right. He'd probably saddle Button and offer to come along and pay for everything. She refused to think about it. As fun as it sounded, she did not want more debt.

Dari continued on undaunted, reaching for a fresh pillow and tucking it under her narrow chin. "I don't understand. Surely you see he doesn't want you to pay him back. He likes you." She winked at Nella and stuffed the second pillow in its sham. A giggle later, she dropped the pillow on the floor, then tucked the corner of the sheet under and tied it tight.

Nella unfolded the top sheet with a flick of her wrists while Dari tied corners. "He likes lots of girls. I'm the one who owes him money."

"So you won't allow yourself a few simple pleasures because of a little debt?" She finished tying the bottom sheet's corners and helped Nella smooth the top sheet. "You've been here almost three moons and haven't spent a penny on yourself, or taken a single moment to rest. Pigs' wallow, Nella, you even hunt for
more
work. What are you so afraid of?"

This was not a subject Nella wanted to discuss, so she reverted to the tried and true. "I have to pay the debt." She reached for the first blanket and shook the folds out.

Dari grabbed one end of the thick wool blanket and walked to the other side of the bed, her eyes rolling. "So you slave all day in The Bitches, then mend clothes and polish candlesticks half the night? All for a few more pence Lord Risley doesn't even want? You're going to kill yourself."

Nella knew what working to death was like, and making beds in perfumed rooms was nowhere close. "No, I'm not. I promise. Can we talk about something else, please?"

Dari smoothed the wool blanket while Nella unfolded the cotton one. "Avoid it all you like, it's still there. He likes you. You like him…"

Nella sighed and lowered her eyes. "Dari, you know that's not true."

Dari took the blanket from her and flicked it over the bed. "Oh, don't even try to deny it. I've seen what happens. You work and slave all phase to make what? Eight crown? Ten? You count it, get all happy, tuck it in a tidy little package and give it to Lord Risley. You're so giddy you can't hold still. He's so smitten he has to wipe his drool off the floor, and all for what? A few moments of flirting followed by eight days of misery? It's crazy."

Nella picked the pillows off the floor. "It's not like that."

"Horse piss. It's exactly like that." Dari turned to Nella and leaned forward, gesticulating in aggravation. "You know what you should do? Instead of taking me and that plow horse of yours into the village, you should ask Lord Risley if
he'd
take you to town. I'm sure he'd leap at the chance to see you." She grinned again. "Besides, his horses are much prettier."

Nella shook her head and arranged the pillows on the bed. "You've forgotten a couple of things."

Dari leaned back, her hands on her hips. "Oh no, here come the excuses."

Nella ignored the last comment and said, "Not only do I owe him money, but I'm a commoner. A servant. No one."

Dari's hands moved off her hips and gestured in the air, fingers spread wide and straight. "And he's the King's grandson. I don't understand why you won't even try. What have you got to lose?"

Nella turned to her friend and said, "I don't have anything to lose. That's the point. And I've caused him enough trouble." She looked at Dari for a moment, then walked to the privy room to collect dirty towels.

The privy room was small, with barely enough room for a tub, a chamber pot, and a washbasin set on a tall narrow table. The walls were white stone, the floor bare wood. A narrow cupboard stood in the corner to hold bath linens and soaps. A small mirror hung on the wall and a bottle of perfume waited beside the washbasin, nearly lost within a tangle of soapy cloths.

While servants used rough, plain-woven wool to wash and dry themselves, the castle nobility were provided with finely woven cottons that were soft to the touch and a pleasure to behold. The delicately embroidered washing cloths were perhaps twice the size of a man's palm, and the big drying towels Lady Thremayne somehow left lying about every morning were larger, and cozier, than Nella's sleeping blanket. Nella had never understood how one woman could get so wet, or create such mess in the process of bathing.

She lifted a dripping towel from the basin, another from the middle of the floor, and knelt to retrieve one wedged beneath the tub while her mind wandered.
How can I explain Risley to Dari when I don't understand it myself
, she thought as she pulled. The towel was good and stuck—how had Lady Thremayne managed that?—and she put her weight behind it and tugged. She thought about Risley, how his eyes glimmered in sunlight, the sound of his voice, his laugh, his scent, and she shook her head and tried to shove the meanderings away.
Best not to go there, Nell
, she scolded herself.
You know better
.

From the main room, Dari squealed, "No. Here?"

The towel slid free, and Nella's head snapped up, banging against the cupboard door. All pleasant thoughts of Risley faded away.

Drenched bath linen in one hand, the other rubbing the back of her head, Nella hurried from the privy room. Her roommate, Plien, relaxed against the hall doorway as if it fondled her, and her eyes glistened with worldly ease. Her linen maid uniform had been partially unbuttoned and her golden hair framed her face like a lover's caress, extending just long enough to curl against the exposed curves of her breasts.

Dari stood quivering beside the bed and her face had paled as white as the stone wall behind her. She crushed a toss pillow in her hands, denting the silken fabric.

"What happened?" Nella asked, her throat clenching.

"You'll never believe this!" Dari said, glancing between Plien and Nella. She looked like she might rip the pillow apart.

Nella's voice hitched as she spoke. "Believe what?"

"A milkmaid was murdered," Plien said as if she were explaining a stain on her uniform. Flicking her hair from her eyes with one hand, she added, "I heard her legs were cut off."

Towels fell to the carpet beside Nella's feet with a wet schlopping sound. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth and her knees felt loose and quivery. The memory of her sister's death flared in her mind. The bastards had broken Camm's legs when they raped her. Snapped them loose from her hips before abandoning her naked corpse on the stoop. Life had never been the same. "Oh, Goddess!" she said and sat on the edge of the bed before she fell to the floor. She had never sat down on the job before. When Dari stared at her, surprised, Nella tried to stand but couldn't. She couldn't shove away the memory of Camm.

Plien examined her fingernails and smiled, the gleeful bearer of bad news. "Word is Dubric puked all over her, she was so messed up."

Dari turned away from Nella and snapped, "Take your nasty story and go. Can't you see she's upset?"

"I'm all right," Nella whispered and staggered to her feet.
Plien must be lying, creating the story to scare us
, she thought.
She's tried to frighten us before
. Nella didn't think Lord Dubric would ever vomit at the sight of death. He seemed too strong for that. She nodded, reassuring herself, and tottered to the wet towels, dropping to her knees to retrieve them before her legs gave out. Dari dropped the pillow and hurried to Nella's side.

With a toss of her head, Plien left Lady Thremayne's suite, presumably to spread more good cheer.

Nella's shoulders shook as she smelled the perfumed air and tried to calm herself. She was in Faldorrah now, not Pyrinn, and no one was raped or murdered because of debt. Ever. Risley had
promised
. Dari helped her with the puddle and she wished she could sop the memory of her sister from her mind as easily as the mess on the carpet.

* * *

Dubric was halfway to the physician's office when a scream ripped through the great hall. Far ahead of him, three scullery maids with terrified faces ran from the ale room as if Taiel'dar himself slathered on their heels. People near the ale room surged to their feet and stampeded away.

A sick feeling blossomed in the pit of Dubric's stomach as he and several others pushed through the panicked crowd. He was ashamed of the relief he felt. "Stop," he said, grabbing the only person to reach the door before he did. It was a tall, skinny kitchen lackey, perhaps ten summers old, with flour-and-grease-spattered hair and a filthy tunic. "Let me go first."

The boy nodded and Dubric pulled his sword as he pushed open the door. The crowd huddled far behind him, as silent as the ghosts.

The ale room was dark, cold, the shadows of the stacked kegs like lumbering giants in the dim light. Dubric pulled a torch off the wall and held it as he entered the room. Sword in one hand, torch in the other, he walked between rows of kegs. Something pale lay on the floor, gleaming in the torchlight as if it flowed from a tipped keg. He raised the torch higher and hissed out a breath. The hand and arm of the victim extended between the kegs.

He turned to the boy and two men who followed him. Torchlight reflected red in their eyes, like blood. "Everyone out. This room is off-limits for the time being." He looked at the boy. "And you. Hort, is it? Can you fetch two of my pages? Tell them to knock when they get here."

"Aye, milord." The boy ran off.

"What is it?" Lander Beckwith, the herald, asked. Tall, lanky, and timid, he hesitated as he looked through the door. The white feather in his herald's cap seemed to mimic the deflated and shocked look in his pale eyes. The other man was a no-account noble named Talmil. His eyes flashed eagerly and he reached for the edge of the door.

"Nothing for you to worry about yet," Dubric replied, then pulled the door from Talmil and locked himself inside the ale room.

He approached the body slowly. Two similar deaths. Could it be a demented brute on the loose or a lovers' triangle gone awry? If the unthinkable stalked his castle, could he catch the beast? Could he survive more ghosts?