soap and weapon oil, and under that the sweeter musk of her skin.
“I envy you, you know. The bond, if not the man.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Bedding rustled and she imagined Ashlin’s shrug. “It’s not your fault. I could have run away and become a mercenary. It isn’t all bad-I do like Erisinian food.” She tugged gently on one braid. “How did you end up with hair like this, anyway? I’ve seen your parents.”
Savedra accepted the graceless change of subject gladly. “My mother likes to blame the Iskari on my father’s side of the family.” She smiled into the dark, remembering her mother’s quiet profanity as yet another delicate sandalwood comb broke in her hair. “My father always reminds her of her own Assari grandmother.”
They lay in silence while wind whispered around the eaves and the inn creaked and sighed softly to itself. Finally Ashlin’s breath roughened and her hands rested, still tangled in Savedra’s hair. By the time Savedra slept, the princess was curled warm against her back.
She woke the next morning huddled in a ball and stinging with gooseflesh. Ashlin stood before the open window, silhouetted against a lead-and-rose sky. She turned when Savedra stirred, grinning like a child. “Get up,” she said. “It’s snowing.”
They left for the castle at daybreak. No one warned them away or tried to stop them, though from the way the innkeeper shook his head he thought the mission was folly. He pressed charms on them as they left-cords strung with beads of wood and tarnished silver-and a small pouch that settled like sand against Savedra’s palm. Salt, from the smell, and anise or fennel. She thanked the man in mangled Sarken.
Folly or not, their mission was certainly trespass, and on foreign soil no less. Ashlin might be used to such things, but Savedra’s head was crowded with visions of Sarken warlords riding down on them and demanding explanations. The hills were empty, though, save for the usual skitter and scurry of wildlife and birds wheeling overhead.
Snow fell in slow fat flakes that melted when they hit the ground. The sky hung low against the mountains, clouds shredding on their peaks, while sunrise pink and gold cooled to grey. The snow was soft but the wind cut like a razor, mocking Savedra’s autumn clothing.
The road became overgrown the closer they rode to the castle. In better light Savedra saw grey crystals glittering amid dirt and pebbles only a few yards past where they had turned back the night before; the salt of the villagers’ wards. She touched the bag of herbs and salt in her coat pocket. Despite the fabled mystic senses of the hijra, all she felt was cloth and rasping grains. Likewise the cord around her neck felt no more powerful than the pearls she wore at court.
At the foot of the steep, tree-choked slope they found a long ruin that must have once been a stable. The roof had collapsed, and all it housed now were weeds. A rabbit burst from cover when they drew too close, vanishing into the undergrowth with a white flash of tail. In the shadows behind the building, stone steps led up the hill.
After scouting the area, they left the horses tethered in the dubious shelter of the stable, unconcernedly cropping grass. The animals’ calm was reassuring-beasts, unlike most humans, could sense ghosts or strong spirits.
The stairs were cracked and crooked, flagstones washed away and pushed aside by tree roots. Savedra lost count after seven hundred, and they were no more than halfway up. Leaves and fallen pine needles crunched and skittered with every step, sometimes obscuring broken stones and ankle-turning holes. Before long she could hardly hear the crackle of leaves beneath boots over the wheeze of her breath. Sweat soaked her back and her legs and lungs ached to burning. Even Ashlin was winded, and she took some satisfaction in that.
Near the summit, the path cleared the tangled trees, wrapping around the edge of the cliff for several yards before climbing again. To the left, only a few feet of rocks and weeds and scrubby grass separated their feet from a long drop. Far below the Ardos? snaked around the cliff, and pine-thick hills rose on the other side. Snowflakes swirled and spiraled and vanished into grey haze; Savedra regretted her downward glance immediately. The right- hand view was safer, but still breathtaking in its height. And ahead of them the fortress rose, a towering weight of age-stained stone. After a moment’s rest they kept walking, into its shadow.
By the time they reached the final landing, Savedra had no more strength to admire the view. Instead she sat with her back to the hulking gate, laying her head on her knees and waiting for her breath and heart to slow. Her side ached like a knife between her ribs and her racing pulse made her nauseous. Ghosts or demons were welcome to eat her, if it meant she didn’t have to get up again.
“Here.” Ashlin crouched beside her, passing a water skin and a wedge of oily cheese. “Slowly,” she cautioned as Savedra lifted the bag.
When her stomach ceased its seasick roil and the pain in her side faded, she rose to face the castle.
Carnavas was a fortress, not a palace like those in Erisin. The hulk that loomed above them was solid, heavy walls and arrow-slit windows, built for defense. Built to last for centuries, but twenty-seven years of neglect had taken their toll all the same. Moss and vines webbed the stones, and saplings pressed against the walls like an invading army.
The portcullis was raised, and unlikely to lower again. Corroded iron spikes bled rust down the narrow walls and the bird nests clogged the lattice. The ground below was crusted grey with droppings. The great ironbound double doors beyond were in no better condition, the wood dry and splintering. One side stood ajar, a handspan gap leading into shadows. The only sound was the rustle of dry leaves and the mournful sigh of the wind.
Cahal crouched to study the filthy ground. “No one has passed this way recently,” he said, voice hushed either in caution or out of respect for the stillness. “And no large animals.”
“That’s something, at least. I’d rather not walk into a bandit nest.” Ashlin adjusted her sword, and Savedra checked her own dagger hanging at her waist.
“If there is anyone inside,” Iancu said, “they’ve likely heard us coming by now.”
“Yes.” Ashlin raked a hand through her sweat-stiffened hair. “No use dithering on the doorstep.” She started forward, but Cahal intercepted her with a glare.
“Wait your turn, Captain.” His sword rasped free of its scabbard; the steel gathered pale daylight and cast a watery shimmer against the wall. He braced his free arm against the door, and Savedra held her breath.
Wood creaked and groaned, then swung inward with a shriek of rusted hinges. The sound echoed like a scream. A flock of birds burst from a nearby tree with a rattle of branches, croaking disapproval. Savedra flinched, and Ashlin grimaced. Cahal ducked and crouched behind the other half of the door, waiting for a response.
None came, and the echoes faded into the sighing wind. The birds settled in another tree, glaring indignantly at the clumsy humans.
“Well,” Cahal said at last, uncoiling from his crouch. “Now the ghosts really know we’re here.”
The old witch’s story had filled Savedra’s head with visions of corpse-strewn halls, skeletons clutching rusted weapons or ghosts wailing and screaming for revenge; the ghosts in her imagination looked suspiciously like stage specters in artfully tattered shrouds and greasepaint. None of that confronted them as they stepped into the narrow courtyard.
The stones were fouled with dead weeds and leaves and bird droppings, and feathers drifted like dark snow in the corners. Vines cocooned the well and the wooden cover was broken and half fallen away. The yard smelled of stone and damp and mildew, shit and the sharper pungency of cat urine. Savedra pinched her nose against a sneeze. The ground
Despite the stink and ominous doors and hallways and broken-shuttered windows that stared down at them, an ache spread behind Savedra’s breastbone. It must have been a pleasant place once-empty flower boxes hung beneath windows, and rotten trellises climbed the walls, tangled with browned roses. Drifting snow and the slanting morning light lent the yard a ruined, antique beauty. Like yellowed lace, or funeral art.
Something hissed in the shadows and Savedra yelped. Eyes flashed copper-green in the gloom of a doorway and Ashlin’s hand closed on her sword hilt. A heartbeat later Cahal laughed at both of them as a scruffy striped cat bolted up a flight of stairs and vanished down a gallery. Ashlin laughed too, but touched her shoulder to Savedra’s in mutual reassurance.
They startled a few mice and feral cats as they explored the ground floor, and one sleepy owl, but found no other signs of life or unlife. Signs of the previous inhabitants were all around them, though. Beans spilled out of
