Breaking Stars (Book 2) (10 page)

Chapter 9

To Gabriel, it seemed as though he was merely a shadow passing through a dark world; oppressed by a blackness that crowded his vision and mind. The ground around him was white with glittering diamonds of snow, but to him it seemed all a muddied, gray landscape with bone-chilling winds that cut through even the wool Mage cloak. He pulled up the hood as he rode, rocking back and forth as the gelding picked his way forward up the incline. The white manor had been in sight for an hour ahead of them, but the way was iced and steep with switchbacks.

Gabriel hated riding. He had not ridden a horse since Head Librarian Mage Athenree presented him a crumbled scroll that detailed the nearly lost tiger-pattern. Saddles were hard, and the fashionably tight trousers Parion deemed wearable shoved all his important bits up where
he
deemed unwarranted. It was the least of his worries, but it was the most nagging, so he focused on it to keep away his cold reality. His Robyn was lost to him forever, Balien and his parents were in jeopardy, and no one could possibly hope to find him this far from the City. It had taken him nearly a month, but at last he came to terms that he would never been be freed. The cold rim of the Castrofax around his neck punctuated the realization.

If he was lucky, he would last only a few more months, if that. The thought of his death quickened a small smirk to his lips, a welcome embrace of an unending sleep, but he realized his reaction and slipped the smirk away in shame.
‘I would be lucky to last that
long—wouldn’t I?’
He glanced in the direction of Nolen’s horse to see if the Prince was looking, but he was hidden behind Mikelle’s pacer.
‘I may yet still have control of one last thing.’
He sighed and lowered his head a fraction, wondering if a fall from the horse would be enough to break his neck. The snow here was too soft. He decided at best he would dirty his clothes and invoke Nolen’s wrath.

‘A broken man’s mind is a treacherous and empty thing,’
he realized as they crested a hill to the white-painted manor not far ahead. He lacked energy to do anything now, from mounting a horse to combing his hair. He had not wept since seeing Robyn’s broken body, too numb inside to do anything but exist.

The manor ahead was smaller than Urima, but it covered more ground, spanning a good length parallel with the mountains but reaching no taller than three stories in select places. It was whitewashed to blend in with the surrounding snow that was most likely present all year long.

“Does this structure have a name?” Mikelle asked growing closer as Gabriel’s gelding caught up.

“It is called the Salt Fort,” Nolen answered.

“Not much of a fort, really,” Mikelle mused.

“No, it sits on salt-rich mines and was called a fort back when it had a wall to protect it.”

“Maybe they call it Salt because it’s white.”

Nolen turned around with a glare to see if she was listening to him but saw her sly face. “Maybe you have too much of an imagination.”

Mikelle seemed satisfied with that and paid Gabriel a sidelong grin that he could not reciprocate. He did not have the energy to even pretend to be amused, so he averted his eyes and watched the looming structure. Someone in a window moved and vanished, and another in a doorway hesitated to step out.

“Do you have no hospitality that you would make me unsaddle my own horse?” Nolen yelled to the dark figure in the doorway as they trotted up. A man hurried out, buttoning the neck of his coat.

“Hundred pardons, m’lord. We don’t right see much people out here. Weren’t sure if you was trouble.” The old man ducked his head repeatedly as he spoke through a mouth void of most teeth. He held Shibaler as Nolen dismounted and lowered the hood of his cloak.

“You may take the horses and see they are well cared for. I doubt you see such good horseflesh up here, so treat them twice better than any of your garrons. Is the lord of the manor about?”

“’Course he is m’lord. Never leaves, he does,” the man smiled pleasantly, either ignorant that Nolen had paid him insults or too leathered to care.

Gabriel slipped down in relief and dropped the reins to help Mikelle dismount. There was something not quite right inside her that he could not understand without a probe-pattern. He understood her strength came in spurts and found that despite all the pitfalls of his reality, he cared that she was able to stand.

“Most gracious of you, pet,” she smirked and took his arm up. She was going to play the angle of lovers as long as possible, and so far she was very good at it. As nervous as that had first made Gabriel, he was now comforted by it. No matter what Mikelle said or did, she did not expect anything from him, and he found himself at ease around her.

Nolen strode out of the blowing snow, and Gabriel dropped his eyes even lower. The Prince was growing more ambitious with his power, trying to catch Gabriel off guard in hopes they would make eye contact. Sometimes he needed no excuse and freely gave him the back of his hand.

“You will behave yourself within these walls. One word out of line, and I will have you strung naked in the yard overnight.”

‘Nolen wouldn’t—would he?’
Gabriel only nodded a feeble jerk of his head. He stood two inches taller than the man, and Nolen often tried to get into his vision to make him lower his head even further. This time Gabriel turned his face away and closed his eyes until he heard Nolen triumphantly stalk away. He opened them when Mikelle took his arm through his cloak. She gave him a smile that could only have been forced in the circumstance.

“What will you be wearing to bed?” she asked, watching as Nolen snaked a gray string of Air behind him in a pattern they had come to know as the eavesdrop-pattern. “Prince Nolen seems to think I have an imagination, and I am sure you will agree. It will be cold here. We may have to lie before the fire all night wrapped in each other’s limbs.” The eavesdrop-pattern slipped back to Nolen as she expected it would, giving her a true reason to grin slyly.

“If’in you give me a moment I’ll get someone to announce you,” the weathered man called over his head. “Mairie! Give us a hand will yeh!”

An older woman scuttled from a doorway at her name and wrapped her shawl tighter around her plump body. “Come in, come in lovelies. I’ll get you warmed up before the master has a look at you.”

Nolen gave her a dark look that she did not see as she shifted through the snow and put her hand on Gabriel and Nolen’s backs. “I’ve a nice warm fire and some cider on pot should be warm now. Hurry, hurry, you’ll catch the black skin in this cold.”

Gabriel increasingly found he did not like to be touched, but the woman did not seem to notice him shy away from her.

Mairie ushered them into the white door and closed it behind them. The room smelled of peat and smoke, with hints of apple undertones from a fire in the corner.

“Might I be a’getting you a cup of apple cider?”

“I would love a cup,” Mikelle replied.

“No, we will be seeing the lord of the manor first.” Nolen denounced.

Mikelle gave him a hard stare. “I will take my cup to go.”

Mairie had already ladled a mugfull from a pot over the fire. “Will you be having a cup, my blue eyes?” she asked Gabriel.

“He will not,” Nolen answered before Gabriel could reply. He was cold to the bone; a warm drink would have heated his shivering chest.

Mikelle was two steps ahead of him. “Bah, he’s cold. He
will
have a mug, Mairie.”

“Right you are, my darlin’,” the woman smiled and filled another mug.

Gabriel took the mug and felt the heat through his gloves. “Very kind of you,” he said quietly.

Nolen looked fit to bend nails with his teeth by the way he grinded them. “We are ready to see the manor’s lord. Or better yet, his daughter.”

The woman seemed surprised. “Not too often we have suitors up here. Not often at all.”

Nolen sputtered for a moment and pointed at the door on the far wall. “Take me to Tabor Novacula immediately!”

“Right you are,” she said and bounced what looked like a curtsey before scuttling out of the room. They followed. The hall was rich of dark wood, old by the look of it, and lit by a few candles in alcoves. They dripped beads of white wax down the wall to pool on the floor in original art pieces. Overhead the exposed beams were dusty, and one creaked as someone trod on it. Candle smoke mixed with smells from a kitchen was not far away, filling the hall with turkey and apricot.

“M’lord should be in his study now,” Mairie said over her shoulder as Gabriel sipped at the cider. It was as warm as he expected, and he could feel its traces down his chest as it leeched its heat outward. Robyn loved cinnamon and cooked with it more often than he liked, but the taste of it reminded him of her. It turned stale in his mouth. “He’s not one likes to be disturbed when he’s in his books, but it’s rare we get guests this far North.”

The manor was quiet but for a few footfalls overhead and the crackling of a fire far down the hall. The air was heavy with the scents only a campfire could replicate. It reminded Gabriel of happier times when the smoke would latch onto his skin and clothes and linger for days. Robyn always carried the scents with her, settled in her hair. He sighed softly and pushed the memory away with a swig of cider, but it only made him sadder with its cinnamon finish.

Mairie stopped at the end of the long hall that led through a tall atrium and pushed open a wooden door. It stood ajar carved with stags racing over a snowy scene. “M’lord Tabor, we have visitors.”

A smooth tenor voice replied quietly, but Gabriel could hardly understand it from his distance. Nolen, however, had strung a tendril of Air forward when the man spoke, and his jaw tightened as he listened. Mairie straightened and turned to face them, but Nolen pushed past her, ignoring her cry of surprise.

He stood in the threshold of the door as it banged against the wall and took the stance he often adopted around Gabriel: shoulders back and head tipped forward just a touch to make him seem opposing. From inside the study, the man laughed, a chuckle at first before becoming a full laugh that filled the hall.

“You bleeding idiot,” the man said loudly as he gained his composure. “It is about time you showed your skinny face in my halls. Mairie, bring mulled wine for the guests and have decent rooms turned down.”

Gabriel raised his eyes long enough to see the man step into his vision. Tabor was as tall as Nolen with a much broader frame, filled out by a healthy layer of flesh, rosy cheeks, and a winning smile of teeth stained by wine. He had the unmistakable Novacula eyes with dark, thick lashes, and deep green colors framed by heavy brows. His hair, unlike Nolen’s tight curls, was a lighter brown, speckled with white, and brushed back to fall above his collar. Gabriel judged him to be less than twice as old as his son by the wrinkles at his eyes and edges of his smile. Garbed in a long burgundy robe tied at his waist, he looked as though he could easily play the part of a King even in simple clothes.

He clapped his hands on Nolen’s shoulders. “I thought I told you to come find me. You sure took your bleeding time.”

“I was waylaid…for seven years,” Nolen said with a touch of mirth in his tone. “You look old.”

Tabor barked a laugh. “You finally grew into your ears.” He looked over in Gabriel’s direction. “You bring a small rescue party to break the wards ‘round this place.”

‘Tabor Novacula, banished for selling secrets to the Shalabane,’
Gabriel thought.
‘He is as much prisoner here as I.’

“The fire is warmer in here,” the man said and stepped aside. “Have a sit. Bleeding cold this landscape is. Your mother said she did me a kindness sending me here. Lady Aisling wanted me farther north, though I cannot say this is any better.” Mikelle gave him a dangerous grin that threatened him with every tooth as she slipped loose of Gabriel’s arm and strode past him. Gabriel was lost for a moment,
‘Follow or stay in the hall?’
But Tabor put a hand on his shoulder and guided him inside. “Who are your friends? And what of my dear Miranda?” he sneered her name, taking a seat across the fire.

Gabriel took a seat as far away from Nolen as he could manage and fixed his eyes on the fire. It gave off such power, but he could hardly feel it anymore, so he settled for its warmth.

“Miranda still sits,” Nolen replied, unbuckling his cloak to hang by the fire. “As does Lady Aisling. But…” He smiled slowly, and Tabor followed him with his eyes as he took a seat beside him, “They all belong to me.”

‘Hardly. Never Aisling.’

Tabor chuckled. “I want to hear it all. Tell me of this lovely creature with you.”

Mikelle pulled her lips over her teeth and gave him another threatening smile. “I am Class Five Water Mage Mikelle Anlon of Arconia.”

“Have not had myself a Water Mage—visit here in a while,” Tabor grinned. “Never, in fact—visit, that is.”

Gabriel instinctively extended his hand to Mikelle palm-up. She took it in an unmistakable ‘mine’ declaration. It felt strange to want anything in his state, but keeping Mikelle out of harm’s way seemed to be the correct move. Tabor chuckled. “And what of you boy?”

Gabriel said nothing, not wanting to cross Nolen after his nonverbal assault against Tabor.