“Orval, no, I can’t let you do this,” she whispered even as he opened his mouth to speak.
“You can, Hearth Mother.” Orval put his arm around her shoulders, felt her trembling against him. Lara’s tiny face was pressed into Amari’s soft breast as she suckled fiercely. He drew in the scent of Amari’s hair, of her skin, of baby and milk, and his heart cracked wide open.
Warmth flooded into his chest, so lovely it hurt. His old, book-lined life had been swept away and he had no regrets. If he needed to offer his life for hers and the children, he would do it without hesitation and not regret the going.
Orval’s heart twisted then, as he realized the truth. He would indeed regret the going, for he wanted more; he was greedy for more of life with this wonderful woman at his side.
“You can’t go,” Amari looked ill; her eyes were wet with tears. “You can’t do this.”
“Our duties,” Orval whispered. “As Hearth Mother, your duty is protecting the hearth. Our babes must have their mother.”
Amari nodded then, and he shifted to risk pressing a kiss to her temple. But she turned her head and met his lips with her own warm ones. “Please come back to us,” she begged against his mouth.
Her lips were sweet and salty on his. Orval did the hardest thing he’d ever done; he pulled away from her. “I will use every weapon I have, to return.” Orval forced himself to release her and rose to his feet. “Besides, it might take a few trips before they approach me.”
They were all staring at him and he found his courage in their steady gazes.
Straightening his tunic to cover his own concerns, Orval asked, “Where, exactly, is this shrine to the Lady of Laughter?”
The sun hadn’tyet set but the walls and the Keep created patterns of deep shadow and light. Orval slipped out the door and walked toward the main doors to the keep.
With a clunk, Roth and Yfin bolted the door behind him. It sounded so…foreboding. Still, Orval walked on through the courtyard.
This seemed so much easier in the books he’d read. Famous warriors never spoke of knots in their guts or of fear. When stories were told, no one mentioned a desire to puke. Orval paused, swallowed hard, and resolved to think of something else.
Pigeons fluttered in the rafters. Something scurried in the dead leaves that lay swirled in the corners by the wind. Scurrying rats, most like. He caught a brief glance of red fur and the bright eyes of a startled fox running off. Seemed Yfin had competition.
Orval stopped to admire the main doors, sagging from rusting hinges. Old wooden doors, warped by water and time. Despite being richly engraved and carved, they somehow looked lost.
He stepped into the main hall. Dead leaves rustled though no breeze stirred the air.
Rats, Orval assured himself. Just rats.
The stairs were off to the left, as Yfin had said, a circular stair with arrow slits that let in enough light to see. Cobwebs clung to the rough stone.
A Lady of Laughter shrine would be something to see. Few enough remained after the purge by the clerics of the Lord of the Sun. He’d read about the shrines, of course. Even seen a rare sketch. Orval frowned, trying to remember which book he’d seen that in, as he started up the steps.
Nowadays, the Lady of Laughter was rarely worshiped or invoked. The Church of the Lord of the Sky referred to her as the Lady of Darkness. A source of evil and chaos. But it hadn’t been that way in the old days.
Orval paused to catch his breath. The stairs weren’t that steep, and there was a clear enough path through the rubble and accumulated rubbish. Still, Orval took his time, resting one hand on the rough stone to make sure of his balance.
The first entrance he came to was dark, but he could see a bit of light ahead. Why hadn’t he thought to bring a lantern? He couldn’t linger long, since he didn’t want to lose the light. Besides, there didn’t seem to be anyone here but him.
He stepped in, looked up, and gaped in admiration.
Stars. The ceiling was covered in stars that glittered in the fading light.
He wandered forward without really looking where he was going and stumbled over the raised lip of a reflecting pool that had white marble pillars at each corner. No water now, of course, but in its day it would have been full, its waters and dark tiling designed to reflect the stars above. All white marble, now dirty and stained with time.
Orval stood in the center and stared up, turning in a circle. The stars seemed to wheel above him, still bright, although it looked like someone had scraped at a few to see if they were actually silver. Silver paint, perhaps. Did they reflect actual star patterns? Orval wasn’t sure but—
A rush of steps behind him was his only warning. They were on him fast, grabbing his arms and forcing him back violently against one of the pillars. Orval lost his breath at the impact, seeing nothing as a sack went over his head.
The sack smelled of tubers and dirt and was tight on his face.
Orval jerked back instinctively, banging his head on the pillar. When he tried to relax, he felt something sharp prick at his throat. He froze. In the stillness he only heard his ragged breaths and those of his captors.
An older female voice grated in his ear, grating and vicious. “Talk, scribe. Tell us of your master.”
