I sighed, thinking of the outer walls, and decided to continue to work on the floor of the main hall—something that might be finished before I died of old age. Tosten was working alone on the floor and I joined him. Tiling was mucky and nasty, and the lime in the grout found its painful way into every little cut.
"Why did you rebuild Hurog so large?" Tosten asked, fitting a tile into the pattern we'd decided upon. "It doesn't need to be this big anymore. Hurog isn't rich and this seems pretentious. We could have had a hall half this size, two stories instead of three, and half the bedrooms."
I could have argued the large. It only felt big because he and I and Oreg were the only Hurogs left to live in it. My sister, Ciarra, had married our cousin Beckram and lived at Iftahar, my uncle's estate. Iftahar's keep rang with the sounds of children and seemed much smaller than it actually was.
I said, "There is little expense involved—the granite is ours and only needs quarrying. I'd be paying the Guard anyway, they might as well do something for it."
Tosten snickered, "I'd like to hear you say that in front of Stala."
I widened my eyes and dulled the expression on my face. "Do I look stupid to you?"
"No one," he said, fitting a tile against the grout he'd laid down, "is as stupid as that."
I laughed and looked around at the keep. "It's not that large; you could fit our keep into the king's palace at Estian a dozen times over. The trade with the dwarves isn't much yet, but Axiel tells me that the mysterious illness that had afflicted his people is over. There are dwarven children now, after so many years, and soon there'll be more time to spare for the making of luxury goods for trade."
Tosten nodded. "Good for him. I haven't talked to him since he came here last winter and helped finish your room."
"Neither have I," I said, "but Oreg visits him now and again."
"How is Tisala?"
"The only thing we're still worried about is her left hand, but she'll live even if Oreg doesn't manage to save it."
He nodded again and turned his attention to the floor. After a little while he began humming a ballad. When he began singing, I joined in, too. After a bit we began to attract a group of children, so we hammed it up a little. Tosten found a song with male and female roles. He took the male in a high squeaky voice, and I sang the female in bass. We entertained the children and worked on the floor until it was time for dinner. Even Tosten was hoarse, but the cook brought in hot-mulled cider and kissed his cheek in gratitude for keeping the children at bay while their mothers cooked and cleaned.
3—WARDWICK
Rejecting properly sent invitations is impolite and can cause lasting harm to one's future.
After I finished eating I ventured up to check on my guest. One of the maidservants had told me she'd brought soup and bread up but Tisala had been sleeping.
The Lord's Chamber at Hurog would show well against any room I'd ever seen, including the royal chambers at Estian. It had been a gift from the dwarves who'd snuck in while I was away at Iftahar working out some business with my uncle.
The wood trim was some exotic southern hardwood, full of swirls and rich color. The dwarves had taken advantage of the complex grain and carved fantastical shapes in odd places. The walls were layered in plaster drawn into soft patterns gleaming with powdered gemstone. High above, skylights let in slits of sunshine through narrow strips of thick, clear crystal. It was luxury I still could not accustom myself to—and it was distinctly odd in the spare style of Hurog keep.
"You live well for a poor northern barbarian," commented Tisala hoarsely.
Her eyes had been closed when I came into the room, but she was awake now.
I waved an arm at the whole room and said, "A gift from the dwarves."
She grinned suddenly. "Save a race from extinction once, and have to live with it forever. I killed a couple of bandits and passed out—I didn't expect to wake up in luxury. It's certainly not what I expected from Hurog." The grin disappeared as quickly as it had come—it must have hurt the purple bruise that had bloomed on the right side of her face since I'd last seen her.
"One of my people found you," I said. "We brought you here this morning. I believe there's some soup and bread around somewhere if you're hungry."
Ignoring my offer of food, she looked at her unbandaged left hand, which looked significantly better than the last time I'd seen it, and her face registered astonishment. "Just this morning?"
"Oreg is a good healer," I said. "You came to the right place—your hand had gone septic. Anyone else would have had it off."
She was silent for a moment, flexing her fingers slowly. Still watching it, she said, "I'm so sorry to show up here like this, but I couldn't think of anywhere else I could go."
"My home is your home," I said, meaning it.
"He'll look for me," she said, "because he thinks I am the key to two things he wants very much."
"Jakoven?" I asked.
She nodded, and met my eyes. "He thinks I know the names of the nobles who are giving aid to Alizon."
"Do you?" I asked.
"Not all, but enough to hurt a lot of people who are doing nothing but protecting a man from unlawful, unjustified prosecution—unlawful at least until Jakoven officially declares Alizon a traitor."
The king's half brother had disappeared almost a year ago, about the same time the royal armies descended unexpectedly on his estates. Alizon had escaped with little more than the clothes he was wearing—and a large number of allies who were willing to hide him. The king had pressed no charges, saying he preferred to wait until his half brother could defend himself.
Tisala sat up, her face tightened in pain but her chin rose to stifle any hint of sympathy. "I needed a place to hide until I recovered. I'm sorry I've put you at risk—but I don't think he'd ever consider looking for me here."
"King Jakoven doesn't like me much anyway, nor I him, for that matter," I said wryly. "You are welcome here as long as you like, and know that you are not hurting my standing with the high king."
"I didn't come empty-handed," she said. "The second thing Jakoven wants from me is the means to convict your cousin Beckram of being a traitor." She flexed her hand again and continued, "It seemed to be a matter of some importance."
I noticed that she didn't say Beckram wasn't involved.
I turned away and stared at a dragon carved into the mantelpiece. According to my uncle, who was seldom wrong when it came to matters of court affairs, King Jakoven was angry about his half brother's growing support, but he didn't appear to take it as a serious threat to the throne. A view I thought, regretfully, that was fully justified.
"How did you escape?" I asked. "Torturer's victims are usually carefully guarded."
"I wasn't held in the castle," she said. "Jakoven had me secreted away in the basement of a building in town."
Jakoven always played games, intrigues within intrigues. Some things, though, made sense—of course he'd secreted her someplace other than the castle. He'd lose a lot of support if it became known he'd tortured Tisala—a woman of high birth. "Correct me if I'm wrong," said Tisala thoughtfully. "But Jakoven's murdered several of the queen's other lovers. And he was trying to kill Beckram and got Beckram's twin instead four years ago. It would be easier for Jakoven to have Beckram killed than to pin a charge of treason on him."
I shrugged and sat on the foot of the bed, leaning against one of the elegantly carved posts. "You're right. But when the king killed Erdrick, I don't think he realized just how much power the name Hurog still holds on the heart of Shavig. Politically, it is smarter to have Beckram proved a traitor and executed than to have someone kill him. Besides, then the punishment would fit the crime. My uncle forced the king to back down for Beckram's sake—a charge of treason would humiliate Beckram equally." I slouched a little, sliding down the bed, and Tisala casually pulled away from me.