She climbed out of bed, shivering in the darkness. The fire in the hearth had burned down to a paltry glow of embers that tumbled shadows across the floor. Louvaen used a rush tip to light candles so she could locate her shawl and pull on her damp boots. She blew on her hands to warm them and retrieved the flintlock along with her supply of flint, powder, patch and ramrod. Her fingers chased the remaining two round lead balls inside a small purse before capturing one. She set it on the bed step’s surface next to the flintlock. Reloading the pistol was slow work, especially with hands made clumsy by the cold, and she cursed her lack of foresight in not doing so before falling asleep.
What madness possessed these people that they ignored the sounds emanating from the castle’s lower chambers? Her own sister showed a lack of concern for de Sauveterre’s suffering. Unlike Cinnia, Louvaen didn’t believe a word of Ambrose’s assurances that his master was not dying nor that his tribulations were both regular and temporary. She refused to cower in her room and hope the screaming would stop. She’d find out for herself what terrible business lay below. At least then she’d know whether she’d have to sling Cinnia on Plowfoot tonight and brave a snowstorm in the dark or wait until morning when the sun was up and could she could see clearly enough to set those repulsive roses on fire before she left.
With the pistol loaded and a candle in hand, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and poked her head into the empty, torch-lit corridor. Cinnia’s door was shut. Surely she didn’t dream the dreadful howling? Another cry split the silence; she was most definitely awake. She tried Cinnia’s door. It opened under her touch. Louvaen growled. Did the girl trust so easily that she wouldn’t use a lock or bar?
Cinnia huddled under a stack of blankets in a grand bed, partially concealed by heavy drapes attached to the bed’s canopy. She murmured in her sleep, and Louvaen breathed a small sigh of relief. Their family joked about Cinnia’s ability to sleep through a barrage of cannon fire. Considering the racket drifting up from beneath the castle, she thanked every god within earshot that her sister slept so deeply.
She had a quandary before her. Awaken Cinnia to have her bar the door and spend the next hour arguing with her or leave her be and make her way downstairs alone. Neither option was palatable. In the end she let Cinnia sleep, reasoning that a sorcerer lived here. No simple lock or barred door ever withstood a powerful spell cast by a skilled hand.
She closed the door behind her and tiptoed down the narrow stairwell leading to the great hall. The hall itself lay in darkness, the hearth gone cold. A flicker of light danced beneath the screens separating hall from kitchen. Louvaen entered the heart of the fortress, following the groans and howls drifting up from another short stairwell situated in one corner. The stairs descended into a buttery leading to a corridor that hooked sharply left. More light flickered at one end, accompanied by voices speaking instead of screaming. She recognized Gavin’s first.
“It’s much worse this time. I’ve never known him to suffer like this.” Though Louvaen couldn’t see him, she heard the fear and worry in the son’s voice for his father. One of the knots inside her loosened. At least someone else in this sad jumble of stone besides her wanted to retch at the hideous noises.
Ambrose answered him. “The flux is stronger. Can you tell?”
“Aye. I feel like a mangled rag with the strength wrung out of me. He’s tougher than all of us combined to survive this kind of torture.”
“He always has been.”
Louvaen remained still, shamelessly eavesdropping. She jumped and almost dropped her candle when Ambrose’s voice snapped out of the dark. “Show yourself!”
She gripped her shawl and strode through the low archway separating her from the men. The arch led to a circular chamber protecting a deep well. Storerooms lined the curved walls, some empty, others filled with barrels or sacks of grain. Two were closed off by wooden doors heavily fortified with iron strap hinges and heavy bars across small cutouts. Locks shimmering with blue light held them shut. Gavin and Ambrose stood in front of one, the breath steaming from their noses and mouths in the chilly air. Gavin wore a startled look. “Mistress Duenda.”
Ambrose glared—or so she first thought. He was without his spectacles, and Louvaen wondered if maybe it was more of a squint. “I might have known,” he said. “And armed of course.” The acidic bite of his words assured her it was a glare.
She lifted her chin. “What did you expect? Not even dawn and the poor man is shouting your towers down around your ears.” Cinnia had said Gavin’s father was disfigured. Louvaen wouldn’t have been in the least surprised to learn he was also completely mad. No one lived through this kind of horror with their mind still intact. She raised the candle higher and caught her breath as the flame reflected in Gavin’s yellow eyes. “My gods...”
Ambrose knocked her hand aside as Gavin turned his face from her. “You shouldn’t be here, Mistress Duenda.”
“You’ll get no argument from me, sorcerer,” she snapped. “Touch me again, and I’ll wear your teeth as a necklace.” She turned her attention back to Gavin. “I’ve heard from the trickster here.” Ambrose growled, but Louvaen ignored him. “Now I want your version of the story. What is wrong with your father, and what is wrong with you?” She jabbed a finger at him when he opened his mouth to answer. “Don’t tell me it’s some illness. I’ve seen the whites of a man’s eyes yellow from disease. Yours are different, and I remember they were green a week ago. Now they glow like a wolf’s, and your father sounds like an injured cur needing to be put down.”
Gavin’s eyes closed for a moment. He waved Ambrose away when the man made to protest. “Ambrose didn’t lie. It’s the flux. I’m pulled back to Ketach Tor at the high tide. It’s impossible—painful even—to resist. My father is completely imprisoned by it. He can’t leave our lands, even at ebb tide. I usually take to my bed—weak, sick in my belly. My eyes don’t usually change.
“It’s always bad for my father. The flux twists him so much he’s maddened by the pain. To protect ourselves—and him—we made one of these storerooms into a cell and keep him chained there until the flux ebbs.” The color washed from Gavin’s face and tears glossed over the yellow eyes. “This is the worst so far, and the longest.”
“Satisfied, mistress?” The dislike in Ambrose’s previous expression paled in comparison to the loathing she heard in his voice now.
Louvaen’s throat had closed up during Gavin’s explanation, so much more heartfelt than Ambrose’s had been. She’d come to Ketach Tor with the intention of snatching her sister back and peeling a strip off Gavin’s hide for having the short-sighted audacity to steal Cinnia away from Monteblanco. A part of her still felt that way, but another smaller part made her want to pat his shoulder and offer any help she could give to both father and son. “I want to meet him.”
“No!” Ambrose stepped between her and the cell door.
Gavin stared at her long and hard. Whatever he saw in her gaze must have answered an important question for him. “Show her.”
“This woman is an unwelcome intruder with no right—”
“Show her, Ambrose. She has as much right as anyone. She’s acting in her father’s stead for her sister’s protection. Were Cinnia your daughter, wouldn’t you want to know what resides in this castle with her?”
Sour-faced and reluctant, Ambrose produced a key from a hidden pocket in his robes. The lock clicked twice at the key’s turn. He held out a hand. “Give me your pistol, Mistress Duenda.”
Louvaen hesitated. She’d made a few enemies in her life; Jimenin the most dangerous. Until now. “And provide you with the means to shoot me in the back?”
The magician’s answering smile was as wolfish as Gavin’s yellow eyes. “You’ll have to trust my restraint, but I’ll not let you in that cell so you can put down the injured cur.” His fingers twitched in a telling gesture: relinquish the weapon and be quick about it.
“Why don’t I give it to Gavin?” she said.
A small smile eased the somber lines in Gavin’s face. “Because you’re not going in alone. I’m going with you”. He turned grim once more. “The last thing I want is my father somehow snatching your pistol from me.”
Louvaen placed the weapon into Ambrose’s waiting hand. “Excellent point.”
