Dreadmarrow Thief (The Conjurer Fellstone Book 1) Page 13
Lady Nora gasped as she stared at my place setting. “Your napkin should be opened up and placed in your lap,” she said.
I lost patience with the lot of them. Anger surged inside me and red flashed before my eyes. I heard a cracking noise, followed by a sharp cry from Lady Nora.
Her wine glass was broken in her hand. A jagged sliver stuck out from one of her fingers and blood was smeared around her palm. She gulped out loud sobs.
I stared at her in confusion, realizing I’d pictured the glass shattering in her hand an instant before it happened. I tried to shake off the feeling of unease that came over me. It’s just a coincidence. Somehow I’d noticed she was pressing too hard, and the inevitable consequence had flashed through my mind. That’s all. I was sorry she’d cut herself, but it had nothing to do with me.
“You may be excused, Lady Nora,” Lord Fellstone said. He actually looked amused by her distress. At his signal, a footman hurried over and helped her out of the room. Immediately after, two more servants arrived, bringing with them a giant roast pig, which they set in the center of the table. Countess Bracken squealed with delight.
I stared at the poor animal in revulsion.
The countess noted my expression. “Have you never eaten pork? Your childhood certainly has been deprived.”
“I've had pork,” I said. “I never had to look at the poor pig's face though.”
“Imagine how you'd feel if you were a boarman,” said Malcolm.
For the first time, I felt sympathy for those beasts.
“I’d like to start with a slice of its cheek,” Sir Harlan said.
“Would you?” Lord Fellstone said. He wore a smile, and yet something in his tone carried an undercurrent of danger.
Sir Harlan apparently thought so too. “I uh… um… I… I didn’t mean…” The man trailed off, lowering his head.
Lord Fellstone rose. “My daughter said she was disturbed by the pig’s head. What do you think we should do about it?”
Sir Harlan spluttered, having no idea what answer his lordship was looking for.
Lord Fellstone sauntered toward him. “I asked you a question, sir.”
“It’s nothing to me, whatever you like… whatever she likes,” Sir Harlan mumbled.
“How would you feel if it was your head upon that platter?” Lord Fellstone said.
Beads of sweat formed on Sir Harlan’s forehead. Around the table, all eyes were veiled, all expressions tense. Lord Fellstone must have acted this way before; they feared what he might do. They all knew it: the tyrant is unbalanced.
“Hold him,” the lord said to the two who had carried in the platter. They grasped Sir Harlan’s arms behind his back, pushing his head forward onto the table. Lord Fellstone turned to a guard standing by the door. “Give me your sword.” The guard rushed forward and handed over his weapon. Lord Fellstone raised it above Sir Harlan’s neck.
“I beg you, my lord…” Sir Harlan whimpered. His wife, Lady Harlan, left her chair and moved out of the way. Her gaze fixed ahead of her. Sir Harlan’s sons kept their heads bowed.
“Answer the question,” Lord Fellstone said. “What shall we do about the pig’s head?”
“I… I… I don’t know,” Sir Harlan said.
“Shall we take it away, my lord?” Malcolm said, keeping his eyes averted. I admired his courage for daring to speak up.
“Ha! Who says the old are wiser than the young?” Lord Fellstone said.
“Yes, let’s take it away, that’s it,” repeated Sir Harlan.
Lord Fellstone lowered the sword and nodded at the footmen to release Sir Harlan. The man straightened and dabbed at his forehead with his napkin.
“Well?” said Lord Fellstone.
Sir Harlan cowered. What now?
“Buffoon! You said you would take it away.”
Sir Harlan looked around hoping someone might come to his aid, but no one did. He rose, leaned over the table, tore the pig head from its torso, and carried it out of the room, while its grease soiled his jacket and dripped onto his shoes.
Lord Fellstone resumed his seat as if nothing had happened, and waited to be served a slice of pork. When no one spoke, the lord said, “Let’s not forget this is a celebration.”
Countess Bracken began to talk about the weather, and the others joined in with forced jollity. I suppressed a shiver and remained silent.
CALDER
He wasn’t accustomed to going more than three hours without a meal, and now it was approaching five since he had a few meager rolls. When the smell of roast pork wafted into the corridor where he’d been taking a short snooze against the wall, he thought he would die if he didn’t get a taste of it. He followed the scent to the hall outside the formal dining room and watched while the footmen carried it in. He hurried to the entrance but the doors fell shut right in front of his invisible nose, nearly catching it between them in fact. He’d hoped to snag scraps that fell from the table, or even to snatch a bite or two off someone’s plate, but now there would be no pork for him, unless he could find leftovers in the kitchen later. Calder didn’t think he could bear to wait that long.
Leaving his bag in a corner, he padded his way into the kitchen to find Cook and her scullery maids preparing the next course, a luscious fig pudding. Other staff were seated at a long dining table in the servants’ hall, digging into plates of boiled chicken parts. He tiptoed over to the serving tray, which rested near the elbow of a stern butler with eyebrows shaped like wings. Just as Calder reached up to swipe a piece of chicken, a maid with a voice like nails on slate asked the butler to pass the meat. The plate was whisked up and sent down to the other end of the table, leaving Calder struggling to suppress a curse. He was now forced to follow the chicken to its new resting place, all the while dodging newly arriving servants who came to take their seats at the table. Once within arm’s reach, he had to wait until one of the footmen made a joke, distracting everyone’s attention. His hand shot to the tray, and he grabbed two legs before running from the room.
“Well, knock me over with a feather…”
Calder glanced back as he rounded the corner. A young kitchen maid stood behind him with her mouth open.
“What’re you rattling on about?” asked the stern butler from the table.
“I just saw two chicken legs flying through the air,” she said.
The footman laughed. “Oh really, Molly? Where?”
“They’re gone now. They ran out of the room,” she said.
“’Course they did. They were legs after all,” the footman said. Others broke into laughter.
“I think we need to check the lock on the liquor cabinet,” the butler said.
“This isn’t fair. I haven’t had a thing,” Molly said, but her protestations were buried under the loud mocking that followed.
Calder ducked into a small, empty room tucked behind the kitchen, which held only a table and chair. He sat down and raised one of the legs to his lips, but an instant before he could chomp down on it, he heard steps approaching from the hall.
Blast! He dropped the legs onto the table so they would not appear to be suspended in mid-air as he held them, and scooted over to the wall. Ratcher—of all people—stepped into the room carrying her meal on a tray. She paused and stared down at the chicken. Had she seen them floating? She glanced around the room, appeared satisfied, and sat down with her food.
For the sake of all that’s holy, why is she eating here? The servants might not have welcomed her presence but they could hardly bar her from the kitchen. Probably she considered herself above them. Having grown up among servants himself, he knew the fear of association. One minute you’re dropping in to swipe a chicken leg, and the next, someone has ordered you to clean out the chimney flue. Yet, neither had Fellstone invited Ratcher to join him and his guests in a feast that included a tantalizing roast pig. She was neither master nor servant, but somewhere in between. It had to be a lonely life. He almost felt sorry for her.
He didn’t
dare sneak past her to the door in case she’d glimpsed the floating legs and was now on alert, listening for the movements of an unseeable person. After all, invisibility could not be terribly surprising within the abode of a conjurer. There were probably a dozen spells that could accomplish it. Thus he remained pinned to the wall, as still as he could manage, while his throat grew dry and his stomach hollow. It was torture enough watching her scrape every last crumb off her plate, but then, when she reached for the legs, he feared he could stand no more and would have to kill her for them. Somehow he held himself in check while she cleaned the meat from them so thoroughly, it was as if the bones had been dropped into a vat of burning acid. He would’ve wept if he could’ve done it in silence. At least she could’ve taken off her mask while she ate, to satisfy his curiosity if not his hunger. But her mouth wasn’t covered, for this very purpose he supposed, and she could eat perfectly well as she was. He wondered if she even slept with the blasted thing on.
At last she finished and rose up. She bent to adjust her tunic and left the room. He waited a moment and was about to set off himself when he noticed a shiny object resting on her seat. It surprised and puzzled him to find, on closer inspection, that the object left behind was none other than Tessa’s windrider.
TESSA
I had been hoping to speak privately to Lord Fellstone, but the display during dinner made me reluctant to approach him. In the end it made no difference, as he came to me. His manner was cheerful, but I now knew how quickly that could change. He took me across the courtyard to the center tower, and I followed him up the stairs—of which there were many—until at last we went through a door that led outside, onto a domed balcony high above the rest of the castle. Here he directed my gaze out over his vast domain, eerily lit by the glow of the moon. The view was stunning; even the Cursed Wood looked appealing from this vantage point.
“I hope you can forgive the careless actions of my knights,” Lord Fellstone said.
“Careless?” I said, forgetting in my anger that my responses should be more guarded. “Is that how you describe the murder of my father?”
I could tell he didn’t like to hear me use that word for Papa. But he held himself back from correcting me. “Irresponsible, then,” he said. “They were meant to take the locksmith in for questioning regarding his role in your kidnapping. But he resisted them.”
“An unarmed locksmith against three of your knights?” I would have also liked to challenge his use of the word “kidnapping,” but I realized I must let some things go if I had any hope of gaining his lordship’s cooperation.
“You are right,” said Lord Fellstone. “They were overzealous and will feel my wrath.”
His concession gave me hope, and I blurted what was closest to my heart: “Please let me save him.”
Lord Fellstone stiffened. “Save him?”
“Allow me to use your dreadmarrow,” I said.
He frowned. “Out of the question.”
“Sir, I beg you with all my heart.”
“You don't know what you're asking. You would not want it if you did.”
“But you let Ratcher use it on me.”
“What, you think reviving the dead is the same as healing a bruised elbow? Only a powerful conjurer could bear the effects of a resurrection for long.”
I turned away, struggling to swallow my anger. At that moment a crow flew down and landed on the cupola above us. Without noticing the bird, his lordship placed his arm over my shoulders. It took all my self-control not to recoil from him.
“Dear child,” he said. “You shall feel my generosity. I have decided to release your young friend without consequence.”
“Thank you. But—”
“Do you know anything about the lord who is master of all conjurers?” he said.
“Lord Slayert,” I whispered. As much as the people of Sorrenwood hated and feared Fellstone, they would’ve pledge their loyalty to him for an eternity if it meant keeping us safe from Slayert. His subjects were bound to him in slavery, and his torture chambers were infamous.
“He means to expand his realm. If I wait, if he perceives me as weak, he will soon set his sights on Sorrenwood. I need to act quickly, before he suspects me. I’ve been gathering my forces to oppose him,” Lord Fellstone said. “His reign has lasted too long and I intend to replace him.” He looked at me. “But I need your help.”
Nothing could’ve surprised me more. “What could I possibly offer?”
“The Fellstone blood runs through you. Tell me, did you picture Lady Nora's glass breaking in her hand before it did?”
“I never thought it would happen.” How does he know what was in my mind?
“Strong emotion feeds your power. Directed thought gives it focus. I will teach you.”
I couldn’t believe I made the glass break merely by thinking about it. I’d certainly never done anything of the sort before. Except… I’d been too angry and grief-stricken to consider it at the time… but it was strange how the lamps in our house had flared up, the moment I discovered my dead Papa.
There had to be an explanation for that. I’d left the door open; a breeze must have blown in and whipped up the flames. In any case, whether I had powers or not, I didn’t want Lord Fellstone teaching me his foul magic. I wouldn’t wish to hurt anyone with my thoughts, even if it were possible.
“What about Ratcher?” I said. “Isn’t she your apprentice?” She must have far more magical skills than I would ever possess, and most likely she’d relish going to war with another despot.
“She has talent as a conjurer, but she is low-born and can never be our equal.”
“Is that why she wasn’t at dinner with us? Does she dine with the servants?”
“She’s neither servant nor master. She sups alone.”
I glanced up at the cupola, wondering if the crow were still there. If I was right, and the crow was no mere crow, it was not a conversation to be having now.
“I would like to help you, my lord,” I said. “But another matter aches at my heart. Please… tell me what happened to my mother.”
Lord Fellstone lowered his arm, and his voice hardened. “She went from here sixteen years ago.”
“But four years after that, she disappeared from our home.”
“I advise you never to think of her again. She abandoned us both. I haven’t seen her face since the day she stole away with my unborn daughter like a thief in the night.”
Is it true? If she were not here at the castle, I had no idea where to look for her. And if Lord Fellstone were to be believed, she had no wish to be found. The thought of never seeing her again drained me of hope, which, combined with the lingering chill of the wraith’s touch, brought on a fit of trembling. I rubbed my arms to settle myself.
“Forgive me,” Lord Fellstone said, his manner instantly pleasant again. “You must be exhausted after what happened at the castle walls.” He nodded toward the stairs. I looked back once before descending them, to see the crow flying away.
His lordship delivered me back into the hands of the same footman, Thomas—a swarthy person with a trim mustache—who had escorted me to dinner. Thomas returned me to my room while I asked him questions about how he came to work at the castle. He was as tight-lipped as Mary, though I understood at the end that he was born into service and therefore would always be in service. I told him it was possible for some people to rise out of their stations in life, but he showed little interest in my opinion.
Once inside my room, I removed my jewelry and was preparing to change into the plainer gown I wore earlier, when a soft knock sounded on the door.
Calder’s voice came through from the hallway. “It’s me,” he said. “Calder.”
I opened the door but no one was there.
“I'm here,” Calder said. “You just can't see me.” He brushed against my arm, making me jump. “You can shut the door now,” he added.
I heard footsteps and then I saw an apple rise from the fruit bowl.
“Incredible,” I said. “Where did you learn magic like this?”
“My tricks aren’t magic, they’re science.” It sounded more like “shy-ants” because his mouth was full of food. “Listen, I've gone ’round the whole castle. I know where to find Ash and the dreadmarrow.” He finished the apple, pulled a folded piece of parchment out of his bag, and handed it to me. “I made maps. It was amusing to watch my quill and parchment appear to float in the air. Here's yours.” He picked up a large bunch of grapes and began popping them into his mouth. Once inside, they also disappeared.
“What about my mother?” I explained what Lord Fellstone had told me. “I don’t know if I believe him. He might be holding her prisoner.”
“I don't know. With luck we'll soon have the dreadmarrow as a bargaining tool—once you use it, of course.”
I needed to tell Calder what I’d learned, but I found it hard to even know where to begin.
“Sit,” he said, seeing my distress. He took an orange before drawing me down on the divan beside him.
“Did you know about my…” I said. “I learned my father is really… oh, it's just too awful.”
“Oh dear,” he said. “I was afraid that would turn out to be the case. Stay strong, Tessa. Your father is the man who has always filled that role in your heart.”
I nodded tearfully. He was right, of course he was. Papa would always be my father. How much stronger must be the love that encircles the child who was born of another man.
Calder, peeling the orange, said, “Now, we need to free Ash and—”
“Lord Fellstone said he would let Ash go,” I interrupted.
“This from the man who ordered your papa's death?”
“He claimed that was a mistake,” I said.
“Fellstone's men don't make mistakes like that. They value their lives too much.”
I began to perceive a faint shimmer of Calder. “I can see you. A bit.”