Ghosts in the Snow (36 page)

They clasped palms and nodded. Dien turned, opening the door. "Marlee! Gimme three more ciders and a basket of fried boar skins," he hollered over the din. All three went inside.

Nella woke before dawn, feeling dread gnawing at her soul and remembering vague, vaporous dreams of blood and darkness. Numbly pushing her concerns aside, she washed, dressed, and hurried to the great hall to fetch breakfast.

Yesterday a kitchen lackey had brought a cold pan of plain porridge and greasy bacon for Risley's morning meal, and an equally chilly pan of congealed mashed turnips and two-day-old lamb gravy arrived in the evening. Her simple supper offering of slightly bruised fruit, hard bread, and a hunk of cheese looked, and smelled, far more appetizing.

Only the milkmaids and a few morning kitchen workers had begun breakfast, and she walked among them, placing her selections in her apron. A muffin for each of them—one pumpkin and one oatmeal, to give Risley a choice—a handful of prunes, and three nicely browned sausages she carefully wrapped in a napkin. The serving wench gave her a disgusted glare, but Nella paid her little notice. She had a whole bell before work, and she intended to spend all of it with Risley.

Steeling herself for the squalor and stench, she hurried down the east-tower stairs and knocked on the gaol door.

The gaol keeper opened it. "Thought it would be ye, missy," he said, reaching out to touch her shoulder, "but I canna let ye through t'day."

"What? Why?" she asked, feeling tears stinging her eyes. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Oh no, tis not ye!" he said. He seemed to search for the right words, then simply said, "M'lord Dubric came fer him last night. He's gone, missy. I'm so sorry fer ye."

"No!" she said, backing away, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Muffins and prunes and sausages fell at her feet, rolling into the shadows. "He can't be dead! He can't!"

"I'm sorry, missy, truly I am, but tis the way of things here. Those sent to the dark hall don't stay there long, er else they stay there ferever. Either way, it's their last bed. I tried to tell ye.

"Or Aghy's seen it all, and I'm sorry, missy, but ye wouldn't listen. And ol' Dubric, he don't listen, neither. Not to me, not to no one but hisself. I asked him to fetch ye, to give ye a chance to say g'bye, but he refused. Can ye forgive me fer my failure?"

She offered a sad smile, touching his arm. "Of course I can, Aghy. Thank you for trying."

Aghy blushed, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and said, "Ye best get goin', missy. This ain't no place fer a purty lady like yerself. Go on now. I gots work to do."

He closed the door and she heard the key turn in the lock. Struggling not to cry, she climbed the stairs, the beat of her heart echoing in the hollowness behind her ribs.

She found herself in the temple, kneeling before the Brushgar family tapestry. She said good-bye to Risley, begging the Goddess to accept him. Friar Bonne stood behind her, his prayer for forgiveness rolling gently over her. When she finished her plea, he held her and let her cry until numb emptiness filled her heart.

Then, swallowing her sorrow, she went to work.

Dari remained unusually quiet, and even Stef gave her a wide berth as they labored through their morning. Time disappeared under a dim haze of loss, until Dari touched her arm.

"Nella?" she said, trying to smile. "Someone wants you."

Bleak nothingness engulfed her in its cold and empty embrace. "Who?"

"I dunno. Some man. Not sure who he is."

Probably Aghy returning Risley's book
, Nella thought, taking a breath. She walked to the hall and saw a man in a gray cloak, his face covered by shadows. "You wanted to see me?" she asked, not really caring if he replied or remained silent.

He bowed slightly, offering her a folded note.

It had a seal as blue and bright as the evening sky, and she lifted it from his palm with a shaking hand. He moved, shifting his weight and granting her a glimpse of stylish clothes in a noble cut hiding beneath the robe. "You will not be harmed," he whispered. "I swear on my life to protect you."

Nervously, she broke the seal.

My love,

I must allay your fears. I am not dead, but rescued by your fortitude and by your faith. You have saved my life, and all debts between us are paid, for now and for all time. I leave for Haenpar tonight, love, and I'd like you to join me on our next journey together. I hope you will, and I pray you still love me.

The man before you is my father's castellan,

Bostra Hargrove, and he knows where Dubric has hidden me.

Please come. I love you.

Risley

Her lip trembling, she looked at the robed man standing before her. "You—"

"Do not speak of it, milady," Bostra whispered. "The stones have ears. Will you follow me?"

She folded the note, her hands shaking and rattling the fine paper. "Yes."

He turned and walked away, and she followed him.

They crossed the castle along the second floor, to the west wing, and past the alcove where she and Risley had shared a pie. Bostra knocked on the tower door and Otlee opened it, closing and locking it behind them.

"The tower clear?" Bostra asked, opening his robe. The inside was lined with fine butter-colored silk.

"Yessir. Top to bottom. All doors are locked and secure."

The robe fell away to reveal a tidy, compact man of middle age with a neatly trimmed beard covering a bruised chin. An eye patch and its strap circled his head, but the patch had been flipped up, exposing a blackened eye. "Put this on," he said, turning his robe inside out. "You're going to disappear."

" 'Disappear'? I can't just 'disappear.' "

He smiled, showing fine white teeth, and meticulously smoothed his yellow jerkin and black silk pants. "It's a figure of speech. You are now officially in hiding, milady."

"I'm not a lady," she said, drawing the robe around her and raising the hood. "Where's Risley?"

"You have no more patience than he." Bostra laughed gently and ran up the stairs. Nella followed.

"We are officials from Casclia," he said. "I need you to walk beside me and lean close as if we are conferring over an intricate detail of extreme importance."

He reached into a fine leather knapsack beside the door and pulled out a black silk chasuble and a small wooden hand club. He adjusted the chasuble over her shoulders and said, "I want you to hit your leg with this club, a nervous habit of sorts, while you walk. Most people will look at the movement instead of possibly recognizing you."

She gripped the club and tapped her leg in an erratic staccato like her father testing cooling bricks. "Like this?"

"Perfect." He took a step back, adjusted her hood and nodded. "That'll do nicely." He reached into the knapsack again, retrieving a loosely flowing hat with long, bejeweled tails of buttery satin. Placing it upon his head at a jaunty angle, he slung the pack over his shoulder. "Ready for your performance?"

She smiled. "Your eye patch?"

"Oh!" he laughed, flipping it down. "Forgot the damned thing." He gave her an encouraging smile and called out, "Go, Otlee."

Then he opened the door.

* * *

They strode down the hall, quietly discussing a border dispute that hinged upon the definition of a river's location. Rambling incessantly about the rocks on an imagined northern shore, Nella did not glance at Risley's door as they passed it, and no one in the hall seemed to pay them undue notice.

Floor maids curtsied, scurrying out of their way, and a pair of ladies gave Bostra appraising looks, but they walked through the hallway without pause. The herald hurried up the main stairs with a note in hand and his cloak flowing behind him. Gracing them with a friendly nod, he hastened off the way they had come.

Still discussing the same imaginary river, they turned down the short northern hallway that housed titled officials. Without slowing, they walked past Dubric's door.

An accountant shuffled toward them, wringing his hands and muttering, then he wandered away, turning the corner and leaving their sight.

Bostra grasped her arm and turned, guiding her back to Dubric's door. A blink later they slipped inside. She had indeed disappeared.

* * *

Nella had never been in Dubric's suite before, and she had not expected it to be dark, or small. Unlike the bright, rambling rooms of Risley's suite, Dubric appeared to have only two rooms plus a privy chamber, and a lone window facing north. Dim, wine-colored light illuminated the drawn curtains, leaving the room in hazy shadow. A tall oval mirror glowed in the far corner, shining on the old man as he stood beside a table.

Her companion led her to Dubric. "Remain silent," he said in her ear, "before your opportunity for choice is lost."

Dubric motioned her toward him, and said, "You of all people are an innocent in this, Miss Nella, and I cannot allow you to go uninformed into hell."

He smiled at her, kindly yet concerned. "Risley will be taken to Haenpar tonight whether you go with him or not. He has no choice in the matter. But I cannot in good conscience send you to your possible death without showing you what he has done."

Acrid bile tainted her mouth but she swallowed it away. She noticed he clenched a filthy dress in his hands.

"Show me," he whispered, and the mirror wavered, replacing his reflection with a dead girl in an ale room, lying in a pool of blood. He dropped the dress and picked up another garment. "Show me," he said again. This time the image reflected a milkmaid, facedown in the mud with her back gone.

She tried to turn away, but Bostra held her still, forcing her to see. A scullery maid in the slush with her intestines pulled over her hips. A laundress, eviscerated and nearly beheaded. A horror of meat and barely human extremities scattered in the mud, a dyer bubbling in a vat, another gutted and half-charred. A girl she had never seen, with her back opened and her guts trailing behind her. Plien… her insides steaming in the snow, her thighs filleted and her throat slashed.

"Stop it!" Nella cried, scrunching her eyes closed.

Dubric turned, his eyes glittering and determined. "He did these things, Miss Nella. Look at them! Each worse than the one before. He enjoyed it."

"Risley wouldn't do those things! Not him."

"He slaughtered those girls, and if you leave with him he will do the same to you."

The image of Plien remained in the mirror, and Nella turned her head away. "He will not harm me. He loves me."

Dubric dropped the cloth in his hands and Plien's horrid corpse faded away. "I know you love him, Miss Nella, but is his passion for you a symptom of his madness? Does a killer like that understand love? I instructed Aghy to let you do as you wished when you visited Risley in gaol, for I knew he could not truly harm you there. But soon, very soon, he will be able to do as he pleases again. At least for a few days."

Her heart hammered in her throat. "What happens in a few days?"

Bostra released her arms. "After he is found guilty of murder, three sages from Waterford will cleanse Risley's mind."

"Then he'll be fine again? He'll—"

"No, Miss Nella," Dubric said, rubbing his eyes as if they pained him. "Then he will be an infant, less than an infant, in the body of a man."

She took a step back, rabidly shaking her head, and stepped on Bostra's foot. "So you're telling me that if I agree to go with him, at worst he will kill me, and at best his mind will be taken away?" She took one burning breath and another and another as she tried to understand the situation before her.

"Why, then," she said at last, looking between them, "did you make me disappear?"

"Because no one can know Risley lives," Bostra said, "nor that I am here."

"Our people will kill him outright if they knew," Dubric said. "Justice is one thing, murderous mobs are a different matter entirely. I hope you choose to remain here, Miss Nella, but I have watched you for moons and I know how you feel about him. If you remain, we will spirit you through the east tower and return you to your life. But if you go, Miss Nella, if you go, you must be aware of what awaits." He paused and watched her with pity shadowing his face.

She thought of Risley, his face, his touch, his gentle, hungry kiss, and tears welled in her eyes. "Does Risley know?"

"No," Bostra said, "and you must not tell him. He must believe the sages will cure his insanity or he will resist. If he resists, he will certainly die."

"There has been enough death," Dubric said.

Her knees shaking she said, "No matter the danger, I can't leave him. Maybe he will kill me. I think I'd prefer that over watching…" she shuddered and her breath fell away, leaving her empty and trembling. "But whatever the future brings, I can't leave him. I won't hurt him like that. I love him too much."

Both men nodded. "That is your choice, milady," Bostra said, leading her away from the mirror. They stood before a closed door while Nella composed herself. "It isn't locked," he said, gently pulling the chasuble from her shoulders. "You seem a fine woman and I am truly sorry we didn't meet under better circumstances."

"Me, too," she said, then she opened the door.

Sunlight sparkled through lace curtains, washing the sitting room with jewels of light. Risley lay asleep on a bed that seemed out of place among the stuffed chairs, bookshelves, and a lifetime of collected trinkets.

Dien stood just inside the room and he smiled encouragingly as Bostra closed the door.

Risley looked so peaceful, snoring softly and sprawled on his belly, that her hesitation melted away. He wasn't a monster; he was Risley, her Risley, and she could never leave him.

She knelt beside the bed and brushed tousled hair from his brow before kissing his cheek. "I'm here," she whispered. "And I love you."

He whispered her name and snuggled into the pillows, moving closer to her, and relaxed beneath her touch. Still stroking his brow she asked softly, "Why is he so tired?"

Dien said, "We pulled him from the gaol around two bell this morning and he hadn't been sleeping. I doubt he'd slept at all."

She whispered his name and kissed his cheek.

Dien shifted his weight and yawned. "Dawn had come by the time we'd agreed on a plan and put it into motion. He's been sleeping ever since."