A Cavern of Black Ice (12 page)

Her eyes sprang open. The darkness sped
away in a long blurred streak. She was in her chamber. The embers in
the brazier glowed with a faint orange light. Both amber lamps were
dead.

Knocking.

Ash's head spun around toward the
source of the sound. Not the door, but the tiny shuttered window on
the opposite side of the room. She waited. The noise didn't come
again, but a soft tearing sound, like the flap of wings beating air,
faded into the distance. A bird. Ash shuddered. A raven.

Suddenly aware of how cold and wet the
sheets were, she tugged them from her body. Her nightdress was
soaking, so she pulled it over her head and threw it the way of the
sheets. Freezing and naked, she ran over to the charcoal brazier and
knelt in its warm glow. Using the little copper tongs that were
hooked at its base, she stirred the embers within. The oil-soaked
felt had long since burned away, taking the odor of almonds and
sandalwood with it. Ash was glad. She was in no mood to breathe in
rich and sickly scents.

Her hands shook as she replaced the
tongs. A haze of cold sweat covered her skin, and her knees felt as
shaky as if she had run up all the stairs in the Cask without pausing
to rest halfway. With a small sigh, she pulled at the corners of the
needlepoint rug she was kneeling on, drawing the soft green wool
around shoulders and making a little pocket for herself in the
center. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Feeling a bit better for being wrapped
up, she glanced over to the door. The empty bolt holes stood as a
reminder that either Marafice Eye or Penthero Iss could enter her
chamber any time they pleased. Not that Marafice Eye ever had, but
Ash knew he was out there, sitting on a graymeet bench, big hands
testing the give of the leather bindings on his tunic or pushing
against the bench's armrests, bringing the entire weight of his body
to bear upon any flaws he found in the stone. He was always testing
things to see what it took to break them.

Ash pulled the rug closer. She had
tried to avoid Marafice Eye for the past week, ever since the night
he had first blocked her way on the steps. The Knife didn't like to
be avoided, though, and had now taken to blocking her way whenever he
safely could. If he met Ash alone in a corridor or on the stairs, he
would step directly in front of her and wait, forcing her to walk
around him. He never touched her, never spoke, but his small lips
would twist with pleasure and his small eyes would look beyond her as
if she weren't there at all. Like the armrests on the bench and the
leather of his tunic, she had become yet another thing to push to
breaking.

Ash tugged a hand through her hair. She
was a foundling, alive only because Penthero Iss had chosen to save
her. She wasn't a noblewoman and she wasn't a servant, so where did
she fit in? Marafice Eye didn't know; that was why he was testing
her: to see just how far he could go before Iss stopped him.

"Miss." A soft voice
whispered through the door. "Can I enter, miss?"

Ash didn't want to see anyone. Not now,
not like this. "Go away," she mumbled. Disgusted by how
weak her voice sounded, she tried again. "I'm tired, Katia. Let
me sleep."

"I've brought some hot milk and
rose cakes."

So Iss had sent her. Ash stood,
allowing the rug to drop flat on the floor. "Wait a moment while
I dress." There was no point in sending Katia away, not when she
was under orders from Iss; the girl would just stand outside the door
all night, calling every few minutes for permission to enter until
she wore Ash down. Penthero Iss never raised his voice, never
threatened violence, but he had a way of getting people to do exactly
as he wished.

Wrapping a fresh linen robe around her
shoulders, Ash took a few deep breaths and tried to settle herself
back to normal. More and more these days it was harder to remember
what normal was, though. She never felt like herself, she was always
tired and sweating and cold. Then there was her body… Ash
glanced down. That definitely wasn't normal anymore. Breasts had come
from nowhere in just two months.

"You can come in now." Ash
stepped into the corner as she spoke. She didn't want Marafice Eye to
see her as Katia opened the door.

Katia was small and olive skinned, with
dark eyes and dark lips and black curls that spat out pins. Ash could
never look at the girl without feeling a stab of envy. Katia made her
feel pale and bony and
straight
, Everything of Katia's
curved: her lips, her cheeks, her hips, her hair. Ash's own hair fell
as sheer as water, pale and silver blond, down past her waist. Ash
had tried hot irons, damp rags, pins, and nightly braiding, yet her
hair would have none of it, defying her every time by unraveling
straight.

"Put the tray on the stand,
Katia."

Katia jumped at the sound of Ash's
voice. "There you are, miss. Gave me such a fright hiding behind
the door."

Ash ignored Katia's statement. The girl
was always claiming fright over something.

Having placed the copper tray on the
stand, Katia moved over to the mantel to relight the lamps. Briefly
Ash considered speaking up to stop her, then decided against it.
Penthero Iss had doubtless given Katia orders to take a good look at
her mistress, and the fastest way to get the whole thing over and
done with was to let her go right ahead.

As Katia refilled the lamp with the
small pieces of amber that she kept in a cloth bag around her waist,
Ash took the opportunity to smooth down her hair and rub her face.
She wished she didn't feel so shaky. But there was nothing to be done
about that.

"One should be enough," Ash
said after the wick thrust into the oil-and-amber mixture took the
spark. "Come here, and let's have it over and done with."

"Have what done with, miss?"

Ash smiled. Katia was a terrible liar.
"Well, my foster father obviously sent you to check up on me, so
go right ahead and check." She held out her arms, letting her
robe fall open around her breasts. "Should I strip naked, or
will this be enough?"

Katia shook her head, black curls
bouncing. "Why, you're wicked, miss! Plain wicked. His Lordship
never said such a thing. I came here to bring you a late supper out
of the goodness of my own heart, and this is what I get for my
trouble!" She nodded in the direction of Ash's silver-banded
dressing table, where an untidy stack of books and folded manuscripts
looked set to topple over. "Been reading too much for your own
good, if you ask me. A hot supper's just a hot supper, you know.
Nothing's attached but the skin on the milk."

Suddenly glad Katia was there, Ash
pulled her robe together. Katia had been with her for fourteen months
now—longer than any other maid she'd ever had—and it felt
good to know someone well enough to tease them. "I'm sorry,
Katia. But the rose cakes always give Iss away. They're quite
tasteless, smell like old roses, and cost a small fortune to
prepare."

Katia snorted, but quietly. "Well,
if you don't want them…"

"Take them. In future, if you must
interrupt me in the middle of the night, bring me fresh bread, salt
butter and lots of it, and beer instead of milk. A dark brew, mind.
One that's thick enough to float a spoon and has to be sieved through
a cheesecloth to remove the hops." Ash tried to keep her face
straight as she spoke, but the word
cheesecloth
proved too
much, and she burst out laughing.

"Oh, miss! You are wicked."

Katia's laugh was just a little too
loud to be considered feminine, and Ash loved to hear it. Sometimes
it was hard to remember that Katia was a full year younger than she
was. Katia was so grown-up, so … well…
rounded
,
yet whenever she laughed she became a child again.

Abruptly, the smile slid from Ash's
face. "Katia."

"Yes, miss?"

Ash struggled to find words. "Are
you still"—seeing the servant girl's large dark eyes
looking straight into hers, Ash hesitated, wishing she had never
started—"
friendly
with Marafice Eye?"

Katia's expression changed. "And
if I am? 'Taint nothing to do with you."

Ash took a breath, decided not to say
any more, then went right ahead and spoke anyway. "He's such a
big and powerful man. Like an ox. You should be careful, that's all."

With a forceful shake of her head,
Katia said, "What I do in my own good time is my business.
Unlike some around here, I'm a full-grown woman, and those that
aren't and hain't ever so much as kissed a man should keep their
opinions to themselves."

Blood flushed Ash's cheeks. She didn't
speak. Stupidly, ridiculously, she felt her eyes stinging.

After a moment Katia's expression
changed right back again, and she crossed the room and put her hand
on Ash's arm. "I'm sorry, miss. Truly I am. You made me speak a
stock of nonsense that I surely didn't mean. You'll come to your
blood any day now, I'm certain of that." She drew Ash over to
the bed as she spoke. "And as soon as that happens you'll have
fine, proper dresses, a ladies' maid to preen your hair, and suitors
lining up from Hoargate to the Red Forge, all begging for the
priv'lege of your hand."

Katia placed a hand on Ash's shoulder,
gently pressing her to sit. A second hand flitted to her brow. "Why,
you're shaking, miss. And hot and cold all in one."

"I'm fine, Katia, really. Carry on
telling me what will happen when my blood comes." Ash didn't
much care for the idea of suitors lining up from one end of the city
to the other, and she knew that any ladies' maid worth her salt would
end up storming off in frustration within a week, muttering to
herself about hair that
refused
to take a curl. Yet she
liked to hear about them anyway. When Katia spoke of such things, Ash
could almost believe that everything was normal and would continue to
be normal, and that the strange, almost hungry look she saw in her
foster father's eyes when he studied her these past few months was
nothing more than a trick of the light.

Katia reached for a brush and started
working on Ash's hair. "Well, miss, let me see. There'll be new
shoes, of course, a dozen of them: lamb's hide for day and
embroidered silk and stiff lace for night. You'll have to have a new
riding habit—trimmed with black fox, no matter what His
Lordship says—and you'll need a proper lady's filly, not that
old cob Master Haysticks lets you ride around the quad. His Lordship
might even bring in some old cloistress t'elp with your manners and
table 'port. Though there's no need to teach you how to read and
write, His Lordship's done that himself…"

Ash nodded, enjoying the sensation of
Katia's capable hands brushing her hair and letting her mind slip
away as the little maid chattered on.

Too much had changed this last year.
There had been a time when her foster father was different, when he
sent for her each day and spent his own time teaching her how to read
and write. Any number of priests and scribes could have done the work
for him, yet Penthero Iss had chosen to do it himself. And it wasn't
just because he liked to keep her away from anyone who might befriend
her—though Ash had recognized that possessiveness in him early
on, as time after time maidservants and fortress children whom she
became close to were routinely sent away. No. Her foster father had
genuinely enjoyed instructing her. Knowledge was one of his joys.

'… and of course there'll be a
new chamber, one with proper isinglass windows and—"

Ash blinked back, suddenly interested
in what Katia was saying. "A new chamber?"

"Why, yes, miss. That much is
certain as ice on the Splinter."

"I don't understand. Why?"

Katia put down her brush. Eyes darting
in quick glances as if she suspected people could be hiding and
listening, she lowered her voice and said, "Oh yes. There's been
talk of it already. Just the other day when I was… er…
visiting
with the Knife in the Forge, His Lordship came in
and told him that he needs to be ready to move you on his say.
'Course when old Vealskin saw me he stopped dead, gave me one of his
looks—you know the sort, all pale and scary like a frosted over
corpse—and sent me running out of the room without so much as a
spoken word." Katia beamed. She loved telling secrets.

Ash swallowed. She was glad she was
sitting. "Move me on his say?" Nodding, Katia crossed to
the dresser and popped one of the precious rose cakes in her mouth.
Chewing, she spoke. "That's what was said. If you ask me, it'll
be to one of those fancy upper chambers in the Bight, with all the
black marble and dark glass cut into the floors. Might even have a
private entrance and a staircase all your own." Katia took a
second rose cake, looked at it, then set it down. "You must
swear to take me with you, miss. Wherever you go. I couldn't stand
going back to the kitchens and scrubbing pots again. Couldn't stand
being made to—"

"Hush, Katia." The servant
girl's chatter was beginning to irritate Ash.

Katia's mouth closed with a squeak.
Skirts whipping air, she moved around the chamber and began checking
shutters, stirring the brazier and making preparations for the night.

Ash barely noticed. A move away from
the Cask? It was unthinkable. This chamber had been her home for as
long as she could remember. Of all the four towers in Mask Fortress,
the Cask was the only one she knew. She had broken her arm here,
climbing the outer battlements when she was six; when she was eight
she had been confined to her room for two months because of blood
fever, and her foster father had visited her every day, bringing iced
honey and yellow pears; and when she was eleven her caged bird had
grown sick in this very chamber and had started pulling out its own
flight feathers and chewing on its claws, and to please her Iss had
performed a little ceremony by the door before sending it to Caydis
for a mercy killing. All her life was here. All of it.