Touch of Iron (The Living Blade #1) (27 page)

In every household, the whole country over, it was tradition that the women of the house prepare for Solstice. Seeing as Cumi was in the lower courtyards and most of the girls they had recruited desired to return down the everlong stairs to their own families, only Nora and Calla were left to decorate the temple. They decked the halls with pine branches and red winter berries and then swept the fireplaces clean and heaped baskets full of logs next to them, making them ready for the celebration. A large bonfire had already been set up in Scyld’s courtyard and another, larger bonfire sat ready in the square at the foot of the stairs, just in front of the red gates. The old ash was swept together and stored in large wooden buckets to be distributed to every privy throughout the temple, though some was also kept for tilling under the soil when spring came. No fire was lit during daylight on Solstice. It was the shortest day of the year, the longest night, and all would remain dark until midnight. Then every fire would be re-kindled and would blaze through the dark hours of morning to welcome the new light. For now, the fires were cold, but the ovens roared, the candles spilled golden light from the windows of the houses, and strings of paper lanterns danced in the chill breeze.

Nora and Calla were scrubbing the wooden tables and floor in the dining hall when Calla made an attempt at conversation. It was dull work, women’s work, leaving the mind free to wander and the mouth free to chat.

“I shall be singing the sun hymn with Shade Padarn,” she said into the silence. “He has quite a beautiful singing voice.”

“Who’d have thought?”

“He plays the lyre, too.”

Nora hmm’d. She was scrubbing Brenn’s blood from the table, the dark brown mark still showing, though she’d rubbed it vigorously. Maybe they’d have to sand over the spot.

“Don’t you think it strange that he can sing and play the lyre so well?” Calla continued. “It doesn’t really fit with his…flirtatious nature.”

“Well, seeing he grew up as a male prostitute, I’m not surprised he can sing, dance, and blow the flute.”

“Play the lyre!”

“Whatever.”

“He was a male prostitute? I didn’t know that.”

“Owen told me Shade grew up in a brothel. I’m making a guess as to how.” Nora put her scrubber aside and turned to look at Calla. “Shade Padarn? Really? Why are you talking to me about him?”

Calla blushed.

“He asked me to go down to the festivities in the lower courtyards with him, after the ceremony here.”

“And?”

“I thought you’d come along?”

“And I thought you’d ask Owen,” Nora said.

“I have.”

“Really?”

“He said he’ll be too busy checking facts on the Temple of Shinar,” Calla replied.

“Well, see? That’s Owen.” Nora smiled despite herself. “You won’t want me as a chaperone, will you?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a buffer. Shade…has a darkness in him that I’m not sure what to make of.”

“Shade?” Nora considered the blond young man for a moment. Boisterous, loud, good fighter, fast. “Darkness?”

“It’s the wrong word. I don’t mean it as negative. It’s a feeling of…of a shadow cast over something. A blank wall. Impenetrable. Like the watery deeps. I know there’s something beyond the surface, but I don’t know what or how far it goes.”

“Mystery man.” Nora smirked.

“Master Diaz has it, too. I thought it was a wight thing at first,” Calla added hastily when she saw Nora’s face. “Spiritual defenses. Owen told me the Lords and Ladies have always been rumored to be able to do that. But then I felt it in Shade, too. I didn’t know humans could do it. I wanted to ask him how he does it, but I don’t know how to. He’s always so…and it’s not an easy subject to talk about, anyway. I’m scared he won’t be serious.” She paused. “Will you come? Please.”

Nora looked at her. Calla knelt on the floor, her knees soaked with soapy water. She had removed her silver bangles and chains and had arranged her hair in a messy bun at the back of her head, so that a few strands of blonde fell about her face. Her scrubber was in her hands, held in her lap like a flower. She was waiting for an answer. Nora looked away.

“Are those twins still all right?”

“They are growing and their mother is well. We should be able to deliver them without too many complications.”

Calla’s face was bright and open, with no sign of deceit. Nora chewed her lip.

“I’ll be there,” she decided.

*     *     *

Nora tucked the thin package
under her arm and jogged up the stairs to the library, sometimes taking two steps at a time. The door wasn’t closed. In the wet weather, the wood had warped ever so slightly. The door only closed if you first grasped the handle and then lifted it into the lock. She reached out to the handle as the door opened. It was Shade Padarn. His suddenness startled her.

He grinned when he saw her face.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“You know I love to hear you talking, Shade. But I hear you can sing, too.”

“Calla’s been talking, then. Jealous? Want me to sing for you, Briar?”

“It’s still Noraya. And only serenades, please.”

“Of course.”

She laughed then.

“What?” He winked. “Don’t believe I would?”

“Oh, I believe you would. But I don’t even like serenades.”

“Tell me what you do like,” he said, stepping closer and reaching for her fingers. His touch was light, his hands as callused as hers. She snatched her hand away; it was holding a parcel. He looked at her, curious, but she stepped around him to the door, scanning his face closely. She saw no darkness, only good looks and an eagerness to please.

“I like…folk songs,” she said, a little breathless. Her fingers prickled.

“Is that so?” He laid his palm against the door, barring her way. Their eyes locked.

“ ’Twas on a branch a cuckoo, fa la la la, oh, on a branch a cuckoo sang
,” he sang softly. “
She was heard by a young hunter, fa la la la, oh, heard by a young huntersman
.”

“Do you think you’re a huntsman, Shade Padarn?”

“Depends.”

“On what?” His lips were close to hers. She raised her chin high to see what he would do.

“On whom I’m listening to.” He came even closer.

“I don’t sing very well.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

They broke apart when they heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

Shade cleared his throat and thumped the door.

“This is very good, er…” He spoke louder than usual.

“Oak,” Nora whispered.

“Very good oak,” he said loudly. “The carvings are…intricate and the details—Oh, hello, Owen.”

“We were just admiring the door’s woodwork.” Nora smiled at her brother, who poked his head through the door.

“It’s oak,” Shade said gravely.

“It is,” Owen said, his eyes narrowing at Nora. “I thought I heard your voice, Nora.”

“You have very good hearing, brother dear.”

“So, you didn’t happen to bring me any cheese?” Owen asked.

“I’ll see you later, then, Noraya?” Shade arched his brows.

“I’m eagerly waiting to hear your song,” she said sweetly, and he grinned.

“You look…happy,” Owen said as Nora stepped into the library. “Did you do something inappropriate?”

“I’m not that happy,” Nora answered.

He sighed and walked her to the table in the middle of the library. After a moment, he snatched the thin parcel out of her hands. She had been holding it all this time.

“This is nice. Good cloth wrapping. Darker shade of red. Echoes the color of his cloak. Maybe an unconscious choice. Maybe on purpose. Nice touch with the black ribbon. Shows you care.”

She caught the parcel as he tossed it back to her.

“Who do you think this is for?” Nora asked, smiling.

“Please don’t say Master Diaz.” Owen ran a hand over his face.

“It’s for you, idiot.” Nora tossed the parcel back.

He opened the wrapping and smiled, reading the gold embossed letters on the dark red leather. “
Tales of the Tabard Inn
.”

“Bet you feel awkward now.” Nora was smug.

“A little.”

She watched him bury his nose into the pages of the book and take a deep breath.

“Remember sitting under the kitchen table when we were small?” She leaned against Owen’s table while he flicked through the pages. “Every Solstice, we’d drag our pillows downstairs and pretend we were in a pilgrim temple. Mother Sara would read us the stories of the ancient pilgrims. I thought you might like a copy of your own.”

“It must have cost you a fortune.”

“It did. I slaved at the forge for over two months to order a copy from Dernberia. You have no idea how many horseshoes those pages cost. Also, I bled a bit on it on the way across the Plains. You could say it’s personalized.”

Owen’s fingers caressed the gold letters. He looked up at her.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Nora bent over and kissed her brother’s cheek. “It’s Solstice. I have a crazy idea. Why don’t you leave the library for one evening and come celebrate with us?”

“Us? You mean there’ll be other people around? Shade, maybe?”

“Maybe Calla, too,” Nora said lightly. “Come on. It’ll be fun. We’ll sing and dance and get very drunk. Throw up over Prince Bashan’s boots. Then you can come back here and read for a few days all on your own to purge the dumb-people talk.”

Owen smiled and rubbed his neck.

“It’s funny you mention Bashan and Shade,” he said. “I think this might be the first Solstice they’ve ever had together.”

“Bashan and Shade…?” A mental picture formed in Nora’s mind. She shook her head to get rid of it, but it stuck. “You mean they…he didn’t make that impression…I mean, I know that some people…I mean, those two are…?”

“Father and son.”

“Oh. What?”

Owen started to laugh.

“You should see your face.”

N
ora frowned.

“Shade is Bashan’s son?” Out loud it sounded weird. “How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I knew about five minutes after we met them. And I didn’t say anything because it was so obvious I thought even you couldn’t miss it. Their eyes, the jawline, the nose. The way they both stand, cock their heads, the way they both speak, their sense of self-importance. Though Shade has a sense of humor, and with Bashan, it’s all earnest.”

“I need you to tell me these things, Owen. I love to wallow in my willful ignorance. Not so much in the unskillful kind.”

Owen snorted again and Nora smiled at him. She returned to her train of thoughts, examining her picture of Bashan with the mental image of Shade. Prince Bashan was a tall, imposing, dark-haired man, with strong features some might find handsome. His air was standoffish, though, nor did he like to let those around him forget their inferior birth. He was the legitimate heir to the Empire of Arrun, but not fit to rule as far as Nora was concerned; his temper was too similar to that of a pampered child, his art of leading was too near tyranny, and his way of seeing the world and everyone’s place in it was too disagreeable. But what did she know? Emperor Fasul had supposedly appointed his warhorse as chief councilor. Empress Keren had had Queen Noraya—Nora’s namesake—watch as she threw Noraya’s children from the highest spire in Moorfleet onto its cobbled streets. Bashan’s old man had fathered Empress Vashti through Bashan’s fourteen-year-old cousin and then believed in a prophecy that led him to disinherit his only son, bringing the empire to the brink of civil strife. A streak of madness, a touch of remorseless brutality—Shade seemed different. “
There’s a darkness in him
,” Calla had said. Huh. He was good-looking and knew it was all.

“I wonder how old Bashan was when Shade was born,” Nora mused. “He can’t have been older than we are now. Probably younger.”

“Same age as us. About seventeen. I think it’s safe to say that Shade is his firstborn son. There might be others we don’t know about. But judging by Shade’s and Bashan’s ages, they must be younger.” Owen paused. “The firstborn son of a ruler has great power, of course.”

“You mean Shade might become a duke?”

Owen gave her a look.

“I meant power in a spiritual sense.”

“What? Like magic?”

Owen sighed.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? Is it really so hard to understand? Gods, I sometimes wonder what’s going on in your funny little mind.”

“Enlighten me, brother. I know you want to.”

He wanted to. He launched into a long monologue, and there was little to be done about it but listen to him talk. Which he did without any intermission, quoting authorities Nora had never even heard of with a relish, sidetracking on details that went over her head, and addressing a variety of theories he had been pondering. Living Blade, blood sacrifice, power, blah, blah, blah. Nora thought about the way Shade had leaned in earlier, his lips full where his father’s were thin, the spark in his gray eyes burning with fire while Bashan’s gleamed cold and flat. She imagined what it would feel like to rake her fingers through Shade’s golden hair, but her mind replaced the blond with dark brown hair, the pale skin with bronze, and Shade turned into Diaz, black eyes burning like volcanic stone, hardened lava.
Damn. Where did that come from?