First Truth

  “I know them,” Bailic said tightly. “I just didn’t see her.” His pleasant demeanor slipped as he rubbed the scar running from his ear to across and down his neck. The gesture gave Alissa a chill. Then he slumped, hiding his ire behind a friendly smile. He leaned forward, and Alissa held her breath, struggling not to shirk away.

  “Be easy, my dear,” Bailic said, apparently recognizing her fear. “I’m not a bad man. I won’t throw you out into the snow to perish. You’re welcome to stay the winter.”

  Though it was meant to be reassuring, the soft threat behind his words rang clear in Alissa’s thoughts, and she swallowed hard.

  Strell exhaled in a slow puff. “We accept your fine offer,” he said formally, “and ask that we have until tomorrow to assume our new duties.”

  Bailic stood abruptly, startling Talon and Alissa both. “Done and done,” he said, all business again. “You may stay in the kitchen, if you like. I don’t know if there’re any rooms suited to habitation anymore besides my own.”

  “Might we look about regardless?” Strell asked. “We’ve been sleeping on dirt for ages.”

  Bailic inclined his head graciously. “I would ask you don’t go above the level of my chambers, then. That would be the ninth floor.” He paused, then still smiling, added, “That’s where the stairs become narrow and rough. It’s the beginning of the tower, and the stairs can be treacherous.”

  Pulling his coat close, he nodded his good-night and headed for a large open archway. Alissa and Strell exchanged relieved looks. Then Bailic paused, turning on a slow heel, his head cocked in thought. Alissa dropped her eyes, and she felt him shift his attention from one of them to the other. “She isn’t your sister, is she,” he murmured, and Alissa’s heart seemed to stop.

  Bailic ghosted closer in the sudden silence. Alissa thought he seemed dangerously lost in his own musings, not recognizing they were still there. “No,” he said with a sigh.

  “Any child born to the plains who looked like that would be run out long before she reached thirteen.” He placed his palms on the table before Alissa to make a stark outline on the table. “I would know.”

  “That’s why the school,” Strell said smoothly.

  Bailic jerked to alertness. “Oh, do stop,” he said jovially. “Just admit you’re a flesh-runner. I don’t care. But I am surprised. Have things become so bad in the lowlands that a well-bred plainsman such as yourself needs to take on a bit of flotsam to make ends meet?” His honey-smooth voice did nothing to make his accusation any less foul than it was.

  Alissa struggled to keep her breath even as her panic shifted to a nauseating mix of relief and childhood fright. Bailic thought her family had paid Strell to take her away so as not to shame their name with her existence.

  Strell said nothing; his hands hidden below the table were clenched.

  “You’re wise in taking her to the coast,” Bailic was saying. “With that hair of hers, they might give you a fair purse—if she can gut a fish.”

  “Salissa is my responsibility, not my property,” Strell said stiffly, and Bailic chuckled.

  “I imagine not.” He smiled, showing even, white teeth as Alissa glanced up. “But you’re safe. I won’t turn you in. The way I see it, there’s no better way to keep half-breeds out from societies’ tender eyes. Your profession is admirable— in a way.” Bailic loosened his coat, adjusting it carefully. A short vest the color of slate, reminiscent of her papa’s favorite outfit, peeped from behind the coat flaps. “You really can tell a story and play a tune?”

  Strell nodded a slow, controlled nod.

  “Good. My offer stands. I’ll find you tomorrow.” Without another word, he left.

  Alissa’s stomach churned as she stared at the table, struggling to rebury the irrational fears that Bailic had pulled from behind her hard-won barriers and fervent denials of reality. She had always been loved. True, the surrounding villagers barely tolerated her, but her mother had always dried her tears, hotly insisting that they were the ones with the problem, not her. But there were children who weren’t so lucky—children, who, if they didn’t die outright from neglect, grew up as guilty family secrets, kept from the sun and neighbors’ eyes until the exorbitant fee to lure someone into taking them away could be raised. Such children carried with them an enduring self-incrimination, and all for nothing more than their appearance. It could have been her.

  “Wolves,” Strell swore. “That didn’t go very well.”

  “No,” she agreed softly. “But we’re here.” She stood with a sigh, and Talon made a quick flight to the rafters. Feeling miserable and lost, Alissa hung her dripping coat and hat by the fire and knelt to build it up. She was cold. “Thanks, Strell,” she murmured to the warm ash.

  “For what?” He was brushing the snow from their packs, keeping the puddles in the corner.

  Alissa bit her lip. “For telling him—for saying I wasn’t . . .” She hesitated. “For not thinking I’m . . .” She stopped, and her gaze dropped. She couldn’t say thanks for not thinking she was less than nothing, fit only to be sold to a reluctant bidder as if she was a wagonload of half-rotted potatoes to be hauled out to the edge of town and dumped.

  Strell grimaced. “I should have punched him in the mouth.”

  “And we would be back in the snow,” she said, smiling thinly.

  “Better part of valor and all, eh? But I don’t like it. What do you think of Bailic?”

  Alissa grew still, refusing to meet his eyes. He scared the breath from her, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  Seeming to understand, Strell dropped their packs and came over to peek into the kettle. Anxious to change the subject, they put their heads together and gazed at the unidentifiable chunks bobbing in the thick, greasy-looking soup.

  Alissa’s nose wrinkled at the sour smell drifting up. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure, some sort of stew?” Strell poked at it with the ladle, making a face as a sticky bubble broke.

  “I’m not going to eat that,” they said in unison.

  They both forced a laugh, trying to dispel the last of their unease. Alissa turned away and began to hunt for something edible. Strell began investigating the cupboards, humming a tune about a woman and her hungry dog. Behind a small door, Alissa found what she thought was a kitchen garden. It was complete with a refuse pile, and that was where she was going to dump the stew until Strell convinced her she shouldn’t.

  She lingered in the softly falling snow looking for fresh herbs, enjoying the chill now that she knew she could return to the kitchen’s fire when she wanted. They had done it, or at least the first step. Now if only they didn’t slip up, they would free Useless, or at the very least, sneak away with her book. Even if Useless couldn’t stop Bailic, he ought to be of some help.

  Alissa would be the first to admit the presence of the garden had a lot to do with easing her fear. She was a farm girl. It was hard for her to stay anxious with so many familiar herbs and trees around her, still recognizable in their overgrown disarray beneath the slowly accumulating snow. The garden seemed to stretch the entire length of the Hold, its end lost behind the tangle of vegetation and lazily drifting white. What she could see was more of a slice of wood and field than a true garden, and Alissa loved it even before she saw its entirety. The distant walls rose higher than she could reach, blocking the worst of winter’s bite. But it was still cold, and with one arm wrapped tightly about herself, she turned to find the way back with a handful of overgrown chives.

  “Can you believe this kitchen?” she said, shutting the garden door tightly.

  “I was hoping you’d like it.” Strell looked up from a large pile of onions. “I found the larder.” His eyes grew wide. “You can walk right into it! It’s bigger than the whole kitchen was at my home. And the shelves are all full!”

  “It’s early winter. Why wouldn’t they be?” Then she became suspicious. “Just why were you hoping I’d like the kitchen?”

  Strell sniffed from the
onions. “Part of the arrangement was that we would prepare three meals a day for him as well as us.”

  Alissa’s eyebrows rose. Normally she might be upset at playing cook for a madman who would do nasty things if he knew whose child she was, but after seeing what he had been eating, it sounded like a good idea. He wouldn’t need any special strength to be rid of her, just make her eat his cooking. “Our choice of menu, or his?”

  “I never thought to ask.” Strell set his knife down in thought. Then he smirked. “I don’t think he will care what we put in front of him if he ate that stew. What do you think is in it?”

  Alissa shuddered, settling herself across from Strell and taking an onion in hand. “I don’t even want to guess.”

  19

  Dinner preparation was a leisurely affair, and by the time they sat down, it was nearly dark. It was the first meal they had eaten together at a table, and they couldn’t help but feel rather festive. The tight, anxious look Strell had been wearing the last day or so eased, and he cracked joke after bad joke about Bailic’s dietary habits. Alissa found herself humming as she finished the superb meal that she and Strell had prepared together.

  “So,” she drawled, comfortably full of potatoes, carrots, and biscuits. “You never did say what our other tasks are.”

  Strell sighed and pushed his empty dishes away. He’d eaten more than Alissa believed could be stuffed into a person. Wrapping his hands around his mug of tea, he leaned back with a contented air. “We have all the food we can eat, shelter, and most of our time to ourselves. In return we keep up the wood for the kitchen hearth and any other we want.” Strell smirked. “He told me to take it from the nearby woods and not that garden you found.”

  “What about his fire?” Alissa asked.

  Strell shrugged. “He didn’t say, but since he’s got enough food in that pantry of his to last all three of us until spring, I imagine he has wood stashed somewhere for himself. Apart from that, there’s only some light entertainment.”

  She felt a frown drift over her. “You’ll take care of that, right?”

  “Nuh-uh.” He grinned. “I help cook. You help entertain.”

  “Come on, Strell,” she pleaded. “Can’t you tell him I’m no good?”

  “I already did,” he said cheerily. “And besides, you’ll make up for your lack of experience in enthusiasm!” He drained his mug with a noisy slurp. “Let’s go,” he said as he stood and took his coat and hat. “I want to see if that door under the stairs is still locked.”

  “I told you,” Alissa said, rising to her feet. “There are no passages from that closet. Useless must have meant some other set of stairs. But maybe we could find my book tonight.”

  Strell grunted doubtfully, and she agreed. Bailic had spent the last fourteen years searching and hadn’t found it. Besides, they had time. In all likelihood, they were snowbound already. The storm was from the northwest. It wouldn’t stop until the snow was so deep they couldn’t get down the mountain.

  A stirring of excitement filled Alissa as she shrugged into her coat and took up a candle. Leaving the rinsed dishes, they headed to the great hall by way of the dining room. They had taken a quick peek at the dining hall as they prepared dinner, but the barren room held little: several long black tables, their accompanying hard-backed chairs, thick red drapes covering a wall, and an enormous hearth, black and empty. Together they passed through the archway into the echoing darkness of the great hall. Their candles did little to light the four-story-tall room.

  Impatient with Strell’s cautious pace, Alissa strode to the far wall supporting the stairs. At first glance, the wall looked like solid rock. She peered closer, the memory of her papa helping her find the outline of a door. “Here,” she said, running a finger across the hairline cracks in the rock. “This is where my papa hid his pack.”

  Strell was silent as he came up beside her, his eyes on the yellow stone. His brow furrowed, he set his candle down and tried to wedge a fingertip into a crack. The stones fit too closely for anything more than a thumbnail. “Useless said the closet under the stair in the great hall,” he whispered. “Do you think there might be a hall bigger than this?” Then he turned to Alissa and smiled. “What did your father do to unlock it?”

  Alissa’s eyes widened. “You think I could do it?”

  “Why not?”

  Her heart gave a heavy thump, and she handed her candle to Strell. Nervous, she stood before the door and steadied herself. “He put his hand like this,” she said, cautiously extending her palm until it touched the stone. The rock was cold, and she stood poised, waiting for something to happen. She suddenly felt foolish, and she dropped her arm and stepped back.

  “There must be something more to it,” Strell said, not a trace of amusement in his voice.

  Alissa flushed. Had he actually believed she might be able to shift the stone door? Magic, she scoffed. How could she have even thought it was real?

  “Too bad,” Strell said. “Bailic probably already took your father’s pack.”

  “Probably,” Alissa whispered, more disappointed than she thought she would be.

  “Do you think Useless meant those tunnels?” Strell whispered.

  Alissa turned to where they were gaping a darker black. She was tired and didn’t want to explore them tonight, especially in the dark. Her papa had said they were for storage. “I don’t think so,” she said softly, heartsick at the reminder of him. “Why don’t we find a place to sleep? We can start searching tomorrow.”

  Strell nodded, and they headed for the stairs. Alissa had been sleeping outside for nearly a month and was sick of sticks in her hair and fires that wouldn’t last the night. A warm bed was worth more right now than just about anything. Cold and tired, she followed Strell up the impressive stone stairway to the second floor. The first room they came to was large and empty, sporting several unshuttered windows. Wondering why the snow swirled outside, yet didn’t come in, Alissa leaned out into the shadow-gray of the snow-induced twilight.

  “Alissa!” Strell cried. “Don’t!”

  “What’s that?” She smiled innocently, leaning out farther. A tingle hummed through her fingers, seeming to cramp them where she touched the sill. Surprised, she jerked herself back in.

  “Don’t do that!” Strell said. “You might fall out,” he added, dropping his eyes.

  Ignoring Strell’s dramatic gestures, Alissa leaned out to run her fingers over the sill again. This time the tingle was a sting, and she snatched her hand back. “There’s a ward on the window,” she said, wringing her throbbing fingers.

  “A what?” Strell came close. She couldn’t tell if he was anxious about her fingers or if he wanted to be sure she wouldn’t lean out again.

  “A ward,” Alissa repeated. “You know, the same thing that’s keeping me from—from my source,” she whispered. She looked up to see understanding fill him. “It’s cold in here,” she said, “but not as cold as it should be. I think the ward is to keep the snow out and the heat in.”

  Strell frowned in worry. “That, and empty-headed farmers who don’t have enough sense to keep from falling out.” Seeing her still rubbing her fingers, he bent closer. “Here, let me,” he offered as he took her hand and carefully studied her fingertips. “You should know better than to stick your fingers in a boiling pot,” he murmured, his words a warm breath on her skin.

  Alissa froze, and Strell arched his eyebrows, refusing to let go under her slight tug. Disconcerted, she yanked her hand away and crammed it into a pocket. “I didn’t think it would strengthen as I tested it,” she said, the hurt in her fingers and the confusion in her thoughts making her voice harsher than she intended.

  “Come on.” Strell chuckled. “Unless you want to stay and not burn your other hand?”

  With an indignant “harrumph,” Alissa snatched her candle and strode to the next room. They found it much the same. All the rooms on the second, third, and fourth floor were oddly empty. She was beginning to despair of ever finding
a place to lay her head, when on the fifth floor they found abused-looking cot frames running in two tidy rows down a long, narrow room. “Want me to get the packs?” Strell asked, and Alissa winced.

  “I don’t know,” she hedged, thinking the room wasn’t much better than a cave. “There’s bound to be something better,” she said, and they retreated.

  But they found the entire floor the same, as were the next two. The only difference was that the rooms became smaller and the unmade beds fewer. Alissa followed Strell, her gloom deepening with every barren room they found, but as her feet reached the eighth level, she straightened with a faint sense of purpose. Perhaps it was a fragment of memory from her papa, but she knew where to go. “This way,” she said eagerly, and turning left at the top of the stair, she skimmed past all the closely set doors until she found the last one. Her hand jerked back at the slight tingle as she touched the door, but it creaked under her small pressure. Wiser now, Alissa pushed it open with her foot.

  “This is better!” Strell exclaimed, following her in. The small corner room had surprisingly large windows facing south and east, so it would receive sun almost all day. There was a single low bed accompanied by a rickety-looking table. The west wall held a small hearth. An orderly pile of ancient-looking wood was stacked next to it. A large, overstuffed chair was pulled up to the hearthstones, its fabric so worn, the pattern could only be guessed at. Over the top of the fireplace were empty shelves. Although there was no fire, the wards on the window made it feel warm after weeks of being outside. It looked as if the last occupant had just walked away—a decade ago. This, she decided, was where she would stay if Strell could find something equally nice nearby.

  “It even has curtains.” Alissa smiled as she fingered the heavy yellow cloth, “and a rug.” She pulled the drape against the night and turned, absolutely beaming. It was the first bit of warmth and comfort they had found, and she wanted to keep it.