Bitter Winter, page 7
part #5 of Ilyon Chronicles Series
“Will you be staying?”
“If you don’t mind,” Lydia said. “We won’t stay long. We don’t want anyone to come by and notice.”
He smiled gently. “It’s still your house. We are merely its caretakers.”
“You’re far more than that.” Lydia peered around the dining room with a longing expression and ran her hand along the edge of the table. Jace could only imagine the memories playing in her mind.
He glanced at Ethel. Her pinched expression didn’t show pleasure at harboring fugitives, but she didn’t speak against it. Instead, she murmured, “I’ll start dinner.”
She left the room, and Lydia turned to Jace and Talas. Her eyes and cheeks were still red from crying, but she appeared more in control of her emotions than she had all day. “We have two guest bedrooms you can use. I’ll show you.”
They collected their things from the entryway and followed her. Jace had never been upstairs. The long hall at the top of the staircase had three doors on either side. Lydia opened the first one and motioned to Talas.
“I’m afraid you won’t find anywhere to hang your hammock.”
Talas shook his head and replied graciously, “The bed will be just fine. Thank you.”
Lydia opened the next door for Jace. He thanked her and stepped into the room. A thick blue quilt draped the bed in the corner, and a large braided rug covered the middle of the wood floor. He glanced out the window, which faced the front of the house, toward the road. Though he didn’t anticipate trouble, he appreciated the vantage point.
He set his pack on the bed and took a seat beside it, breathing out a sigh as he reached up to rub his arm. The wound ached from all the digging. In fact, his entire body felt drained. How could only three days hold enough emotion and exhaustion to fill an entire month? It would take weeks just to recover.
He sat for a few minutes, contemplating the funeral and being here in the Altairs’ house, before everyone gathered downstairs again. Kyrin and her mother disappeared into the kitchen to help Ethel while Jace followed the men into the living room, where a fire crackled in a large fireplace. Here they discussed the goings-on at camp until joining the women in the dining room for a warm meal.
They passed the food around quietly. After a minute or two, Lydia broke the silence and asked Carl, “Have you had any trouble while we’ve been away?”
“Nothing to speak of. We’re still getting a monthly sum and supplies from the fort. It seems the General is holding out hope you’ll someday return and wants us to look after the place.”
“Hopefully that won’t cease. My father led the attack against camp and was taken captive.”
Carl raised his brows. “Who managed that?”
“I did,” Marcus said quietly.
Carl sent him a look that hinted of pride. “Well, whatever happens, I’m sure we’ll make do.”
This didn’t appear to ease Lydia’s concern. “I hope so. This winter isn’t being kind to anyone.”
Carl grunted in agreement. “We’ve heard of the food shortages. How are you faring?”
“There’s concern over how we’ll feed everyone,” Marcus answered. “It’s not dire yet, but we’ll have to figure something out. We had planned to send the extra dragons to Dorland for the winter, but after the attack . . .” He shook his head. “It’s something we’ll have to discuss when we get back.”
Jace hadn’t considered how the attack would change their plans. Could they afford to send away so many of their dragons? What if Davira launched another attack? Could they risk it? Either choice presented them with the possibility of grim consequences.
“Have you heard much news from Valcré?” Carl asked.
“Not recently. Most of our dragon riders are out looking for food, and now that Aric is at camp, we don’t hear much from the palace. Our only other informant isn’t included in much of Davira’s dealings. Last we heard, though, things were bad. Sounds like people don’t even want to leave their homes for fear of being murdered right on the street. I don’t know how Davira thinks her proclamation will help her destroy us. It will sooner destroy the country.”
“It’s bad,” Carl agreed, “and it has only grown worse. Did you hear of the Miner’s Fever?”
The mention of the dreaded sickness brought memories to Jace’s mind from when he was a boy, about ten years old. It had reportedly originated in the mines of the Graylin Valley and spread rapidly through most of western Arcacia. People had died by the thousands. He remembered the fear of his fellow slaves who would never receive the proper treatment if they did contract the illness. There hadn’t been any cases of it that he knew of since that winter.
Marcus shook his head. “No, what of it?”
“I’m afraid it’s back. We just heard a few days ago that it’s sweeping through Valcré and the forts.”
“That may be why Davira didn’t send a larger army after us.”
Jace had to thank Elôm for the timing of the fever. They would not likely have been able to hold back a much larger army.
“There is a remedy for it, isn’t there?” Kyrin asked.
Jace had never heard of a remedy, but Kyrin would know. After all, she would have been in Valcré at Tarvin Hall during the first outbreak.
Carl nodded slowly. “Yes, but supplies are limited. Word has it the queen has taken control of that supply and only doles it out to those who can prove their loyalty to her and the gods.”
Kaden scowled. “So she’s using it as a tool to kill us.”
“Yes, and unfortunately she doesn’t believe the poor are worth saving either. Many are turned away simply for being too far beneath her. It’s the same with food supplies. Not only is crime rampant in the city, but Davira holds them all in a suffocating grip.”
* * *
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly with a light snow falling outside. It reminded Kyrin of days long ago when she, Kaden, Marcus, and Liam were little—the days they would play on the living room floor in front of the fireplace or listen to their father tell them stories. She had always loved winter because he was home every day instead of at the fort.
A couple of hours after lunch, Kyrin wandered upstairs. Her brothers too had found their way back to their rooms. Stepping into her own, she stood and looked around for a few minutes. Her mother hadn’t done much to change it since she was a girl. The bed and lavender colored quilt remained the same, and her toys were still present. It was as if time had stood still in this room. It didn’t take much to imagine herself as a little girl, listening to her brothers play and fight in their rooms and hearing their father call them from the staircase. Their bare or stocking-clad feet would pound down the hall in their race to meet him.
Kyrin’s breath snagged, and she had to pull it in hard. Blinking away the wateriness in her vision, she crossed the room to a little white shelf and picked up the doll sitting on the edge. Its brown yarn hair was a bit of a mess, and the hem of its cotton dress had frayed. However, the red thread of its mouth still formed a happy smile, and its blue button eyes matched Kyrin’s almost perfectly. Though other dolls sat on the shelf, this one had always been Kyrin’s favorite. Her father had given it to her on her fifth birthday. She’d so badly wanted to bring it with her to Tarvin Hall.
Cradling the doll in her hands, Kyrin sank down on the rug at the foot of her bed and stared at the doll’s face, getting lost in the memories it held.
* * *
Jace reached the top of the stairs. Kaden and Talas’s voices drifted from just down the hall. Approaching the open door, he glanced into the one to the right—Kyrin’s room. He paused. She sat on the floor against the end of her bed and stared down at something in her hands—a doll. The sight mirrored her sitting on the mountain overlooking Valcré, her father’s necklace in her hand. She bore the same small, fragile look she’d had then.
He stepped into the room and quietly sat down next to her. She glanced at him. Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes were red with held-back tears. For a few moments, both of them sat silently as Kyrin continued to stare at the doll.
“I wanted to name her Kyrin since I thought she looked like me, but my father suggested Kiah.” She ran her fingers over a line of stitches on the doll’s arm where it had obviously ripped. “Kaden impaled her with a stick.”
A flicker of a smile appeared on Kyrin’s face, and Jace had to smile too as he imagined how little Kyrin must have screamed at her brother in horror. But the smile faded at the sadness engulfing Kyrin’s expression.
Her voice wavered as she clutched the doll more tightly. “She belonged to a little girl who never imagined her family would be ripped apart in so many painful ways. A little girl who laughed and played with her brothers and thought everything would always be all right.”
Now the tears spilled over, sliding one by one down to Kyrin’s chin. Sharing her pain, Jace reached his arm around her and held her close, much the same as he had done that day on the mountain.
Chapter Seven
For two nights, they remained at the Altair house. When it came time to leave, Jace sensed Kyrin’s desire stay longer, but their presence risked exposing Carl and Ethel. The day and a half long trip back to camp thankfully passed without major snowfall to delay them. Landing in camp put a hard knot in Jace’s stomach. It was as if it sank in right then that they’d left Michael in Mernin. Nothing about this felt right. One look at Kyrin told him that she experienced the same emotion, though infinitely stronger. Her eyes glinted with abundant moisture, and she didn’t seem to know what to do once she dismounted Ivoris.
Clearing his throat, Jace hurried to her side and helped her unsaddle her dragon. She sent him a grateful look, and he offered a sad smile. He helped carry the family belongings to their cabin. The fireplace was cold when they entered, so he built a fire for them. Once the warmth began to seep into the room, he turned to Kyrin. She appeared to have conquered her emotions for now. Tears no longer threatened to fall, and she managed a small smile of her own.
“Thank you.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently. “I’m going to go check Rayad if you’re all right.”
She nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He hated to leave her, but he hoped she would rest while he was gone. They all needed it. He left the cabin and headed toward the one he shared. Tyra met him along the way, bounding through the snow, her tail wagging. He paused to pet her. Though he hadn’t been gone nearly as long as he had in the past, she was just as excited to see him. He was thankful to have people he trusted to look after her whenever he had to be away. Motioning to her to follow, he continued to the cabin.
Josef was there when he walked in and appeared to have just finished examining Rayad’s wound. Setting his pack down next to the door, Jace asked the physician, “How is he?”
“He is healing well. I don’t see anything to be concerned about.”
Jace breathed out, releasing some of the tension he’d been carrying. He shouldn’t have worried, but life felt too fragile lately.
As Josef packed up his medical supplies, Jace shrugged off his coat. He eyed the coffee pot hanging at the fireplace. The journey back had been cold. Josef bid them both goodbye, and Jace crossed the cabin to pour himself a mug of coffee. He then joined Rayad, where he’d taken a seat at the table.
“How did it go?” Rayad asked.
Jace stirred a little sugar into his coffee and then met Rayad’s gaze. “It was tough… Kyrin didn’t want to leave.”
Rayad nodded slowly. “It’s hard when you feel like you’re leaving family behind.”
Jace agreed. He’d hated leaving Kalli and Aldor’s graves at the farm. “Did anything happen while we were gone?”
“Two of the wounded men died. We buried them yesterday.”
Jace grimaced, but at the same time, he thanked Elôm. The loss could have been much greater. If Marcus had not trained such a skilled militia, this camp would have fallen. Everyone would have been killed or destined for execution.
“I’m heading over to Trask’s cabin after lunch,” Rayad said. “It seems there’s talk concerning the captured soldiers. Many aren’t happy with the idea of feeding them when there’s so little food to begin with. Add that to the losses, and no one will feel charitable toward them.”
Jace could understand that. He didn’t feel very charitable himself, but what could they do? Let the soldiers go? He didn’t envy the decisions Trask, Daniel, and Balen would ultimately have to make.
* * *
A couple of hours later, Jace followed Rayad outside and toward Trask’s cabin. Whatever they chose to do about the soldiers concerned Dagren and the General, and Jace wanted to know what their leaders would decide. Along the way, Marcus joined them.
“Is Kyrin coming?” Jace asked.
Marcus shook his head, his expression set in a determined frown. “I don’t think she wants to hear about the General right now.”
Jace didn’t blame her.
When they reached the cabin, Trask, Daniel, Balen, and several others of the group were waiting for them around the table. Anne poured fresh coffee for everyone before Trask began.
“I’m sure most of you have heard the grumblings going around. Maybe you even feel the same way. Emotions are raw right now, and though I expect them to settle with time, it’s an issue we have to deal with. We have eleven soldiers held in the meeting hall. That’s eleven more mouths to feed.”
“What does everyone think we should do?” Sam asked.
“It’s mostly just displeasure at the thought of feeding and sheltering them but… there have been a few veiled suggestions of execution.”
Jace raised his brows. Execution? It was hard to imagine the people of this camp turning to such extreme measures. Who would even carry out such a sentence? But then, many of them were hurting deeply. If he searched his own heart, wouldn’t he find similar feelings when it came to Dagren—the man responsible for the murders of Kalli and Aldor? Still, these men couldn’t truly be labeled as murderers—they were soldiers.
He glanced at the others to gauge their reactions. They said nothing, but no one appeared comfortable with the idea.
Trask focused his attention on Daniel. “I would leave such a decision up to you, but I personally wouldn’t be willing to pursue such action, at least not right now.”
Daniel seemed to squirm a little at the prospect of such a decision. Jace certainly wouldn’t want the responsibility. Still, he was to be their king, not to mention, perhaps, Elanor’s husband. He had to rise to the challenge.
Whether he caught Jace watching him or not, Daniel straightened in his chair as if to accept the burden. “I understand why some might want this . . .” he cast a look at Marcus, “but I won’t start executing captives. Murder is one thing, but most of these men are just soldiers following orders. As for General Veshiron and Captain Dagren, I’m not sure just how highly my sister values them, but they could be worth something should we need bargaining pieces in the future.”
* * *
The next morning, Jace stared up at the rafters in the cabin from his cot as dawn slowly brightened the world outside. He let his arm hang over the side as he scratched Tyra’s head. Sleep had eluded him for the last couple of hours since waking from a dream—not one of the nightmares he still suffered occasionally but one of life on the farm. He ached for that life—ached for Kalli’s mothering and Aldor’s humor. He tried never to let himself dwell too deeply on the pain of the past, but discussing Dagren at the meeting yesterday opened the old wounds.
Finally, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. Tyra pushed herself up with a yawn, and Jace scratched her under the chin. A shiver passed through him at the chill in the cabin. Only embers glowed in the fireplace. He pulled on his clothes and walked over to the hearth to stir the coals and add some wood. Flames soon sprouted from the dry kindling, and he started a pot of coffee. The others would appreciate it being ready when they got up. Rayad and Holden already stirred in their cots.
While the coffee brewed, Jace sat down at the table with a couple of pages of the King’s Scrolls that Kyrin had copied for him. He felt especially in need of them this morning, though his mind kept straying. Frustrated, he closed his eyes and prayed—first for Kyrin and her family and the others who had lost someone in the attack. Then he turned to his own struggle, pouring out the troubling issues in his heart.
When he finished, he released a long sigh and rested back in his chair. Rayad was just getting up across the room. He moved slowly, favoring his side, but at least he’d escaped serious injury. Jace again thanked Elôm for this blessing.
Once dressed, Rayad joined him at the table and eyed him perceptively. “Are you all right?”
Jace gave a slow nod. “It’s Dagren. I’ve been struggling… with revenge.” He didn’t have Kyrin’s memory, yet the pain of riding up to the farm and finding Kalli and Aldor murdered still stabbed into his mind and heart. The desperation to take down the man responsible had remained buried inside him, reawakened now that he was only a couple of cabins away.
“Understandable,” Rayad murmured. He’d been right there beside Jace at the farm, the only one stopping him from seeking revenge that very day, starting with his old nemesis, Morden.
Jace drew in a breath to fortify himself. “I know what I have to do.”
The moment he finished breakfast an hour later, Jace pulled on his boots and coat. He reached for the door but then paused to pick up his sword. He hadn’t felt the need to carry it in camp for a long time. The attack had changed that. He buckled it on and stepped outside. The cold air bit his face immediately, the heavy clouds threatening yet more snow. Spring couldn’t come soon enough.
Setting his mind on his task, Jace strode toward the meeting hall. At the door, he paused for prayer before letting himself inside. Two guards Trask had posted sat at a table near the fireplace playing cards. The captive soldiers were chained together at the far end of the hall. Trask planned on rearranging the occupancy of some of the cabins and converting one into a jail of sorts. Though Jace would have willingly given it up, he was grateful Trask hadn’t asked for his. He still clung to his dream of soon beginning a life with Kyrin even though recent grief shadowed it.
