Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel Page 3

  Heavier than I remember.

  Gregory twirled his staff with lithe arms before swooping it toward her. She parried the attack clumsily, letting the impact jitter up her arm. She tightened her grip on the staff, and swung it up and over with full force.

  He recognized her intent and barred her blow, knocking her staff away from him. He attacked and she parried again, and again. Her arms burned as she moved the staff faster. High, low, low, high. The quarterstaves clacked each time they met. She swung high once and he ducked, bringing his staff up to throw her off. He was quicker than she, and had better balance. She knew he moved slowly for her, that he was withholding his best moves.

  Typical Gregory, she thought as the staffs clapped together. Polite even in combat.

  She lunged at his midsection, and quick as a snake he parried, grinning. She swung at his left, at his right, above, and below, pushing him toward the fence. He leapt back to give himself room, and glanced down in surprise when he stepped in fresh horse dung. She used the distraction to feint another lunge, and as he went to meet it, she twirled her staff up toward his head.

  Gregory's staff disappeared for half a moment, and then pain cracked through her hands as their staffs met. Her surprise gave him all the time he needed to swing his staff to her side. The quarterstaff hit her ribs and knocked her to the ground.

  "Are you hurt?"

  Dazed and wincing with every breath, Ember sat up. "No, of course not."

  "Sorry. I shouldn't have swung so hard." He proffered a hand to help her stand, his lips curled in a half-smile.

  "It's to be expected," she said, taking his hand. "I wouldn't have accepted the challenge if I wasn't prepared for injury..."

  Gregory pulled her up, and his sweaty, sweet clove scent warmed her so much that she forgot what she was talking about. The sun lit the gray flecks in his eyes, and a brown lock of hair curled against his temple. Ember was drawn to his soft lips like a butterfly to nectar.

  His smile disappeared. He dropped her hand and stepped away to rub his boot over the grass.

  Dizziness rocked her, and a broken-winged sparrow beat inside her chest.

  "Well, I should probably get back," she said, turning to go. "Good luck at your race. I will be waiting at the finish line."

  Gregory picked up the quarterstaffs, red tinging his neck and cheeks. He wouldn't look at her. Not even a glance.

  She walked away.

  "Ember," Gregory called. He held the staffs with hunched shoulders and a line creasing his forehead. "Thanks."

  Ember nodded and let her feet carry her back to the lake.

  chapter four

  Ember tackled each side of the boat with her oars in equal rhythm until she reached the stone steps of Silverglen.

  With aching arms, she tied the boat up to one of the twisted iron stakes along the base of the steps, and sluiced cold mountain water over her hot face.

  She couldn't seem to make sense of Gregory. Why was he so distant? Perhaps he was simply nervous for the race, or had other things to think about. Or he regrets last summer and no longer loves me.

  She pulled away from the water when it started to ripple. A curious squelkin. She climbed up the stone steps and walked beneath the iron arcade that bent over the main path leading to the great hall. Curving shadows simplified the slender twists and arcs that were Arundel's handiwork. Four servants worked at one end of the arcade, scraping off rust and rubbing linseed oil into the iron with emery cloth.

  Gregory would always love her, but perhaps not in the way she wanted. Not like last summer. She couldn't help but wonder if his distance had anything to do with who she was. But Gregory had never before cared that she was a shifter. Perhaps something made him change his mind, but what?

  Her thoughts were broken by the sound of voices rising from behind a screen of tall conical evergreens. The shrubs rose up in the gardens on either side of the arcade, forming alcoves and screens to hide parts of the gardens. Salena's handiwork. Ember crept along the nearest garden path to hear better.

  "Mother, you're being unreasonable. I'm only asking for one summer. I did well at the Academy, and I deserve a break."

  "Just because you passed your practicals—"

  "I did more than just pass my practicals! I had perfect scores. Do you want to test me yourself?"

  "Don't goad me, Finn. Your father will be the one to test you when he returns, and you know perfectly well that you need his consent to leave."

  Ember hovered on the other side of the screen before deciding to rescue her brother.

  "It's like being in a dungeon," Finn was saying as Ember entered the alcove.

  He stood to one side of a small table, tall and lanky, grasping the top of an iron chair. A mop of dark brown hair was topped by a round red hat, and a sparse crop of brown-gold hairs formed a patchy beard. His clothing was immaculate as always: a pressed red tunic, seamless dark hose, and pointed leather shoes that gleamed with oil. His violin sat on the table, looking worn and soft compared to the iron on which it sat.

  Finn revealed his sharp, pointed teeth in a grin.

  "Sister, I hate to tell you this, but dressing like a man doesn't make you a man."

  Ember smiled wryly. "I'm not trying to be a man. I only want to go unnoticed."

  "A man with a bosom and curves is strange enough to draw a blind man's gaze. If you're looking to make yourself unremarkable, throw on some Glamours."

  Finn knew Ember couldn't cast spells very well. He's in a sour mood.

  "Thank you for your advice, little brother. Perhaps you can help me practice over this long summer. In the dungeon, if you like."

  "Ember," said Salena, lounging in a chair on the other side of the table with her modest green dress gathered around her. Her vibrant copper hair was twisted and braided a hundred different ways and coiled over her head like rope netting. "You know how I feel about those clothes. And why are you so sweaty?" The Glamours on her face failed to hide her irritation as she waved a pomander beneath her nose. "I insist that you bathe before supper. Your father will be home by then."

  He's not my father, Ember wanted to argue. She smiled politely instead.

  "I don't wish to change the subject. I think Finn should be allowed to go to Edlen for the summer."

  Salena sighed. "There is nothing further to say on the topic, Ember."

  "He is only seventeen, Mother, old enough to travel on his own. And he's a lord's son. It's expected of him to travel."

  "Yes, with his father," Salena pointed out. "To learn the politics of Lach. You know your father's plans for him."

  Finn slammed a fist onto the chair. "I don't give a damn about the politics, or about Father's plans for me. There are still years before I would ever have a chance of obtaining a position with the Council."

  "You have to work your way up, as you know," said Salena. "And you have the smelter and mines to think about, as well."

  "They are a bore, Mother—"

  "They are your family's legacy."

  "I have no intention—"

  Salena's expression hardened. "You can travel with your father or not at all."

  "He still has two years left at the Academy," Ember said. "There is plenty of time for him to learn everything and work his way up."

  Salena pretended not to hear. "You will not go to Edlen. This argument is over."

  Finn's face reddened. He grabbed his violin and stalked out, fury rolling off of him like clouds of smoke.

  "You know this would be good for him," Ember continued. She empathized with her brother’s need to leave, wanted him to be able to do what he loved. "It would give him time to grow up. He could indulge in his music."

  "Drinking, you mean. And falling in love with whores. That city is tainted."

  Ember had never been to the city, but she had heard plenty about it. "That city is all he's ever dreamed of. Music, dancing, artists." She longed for him to go there. If what she had heard was true, she was certain he would love it.

 
; "Yes. He will come back married to some Ekesian who can't speak Lachian. His prospects would be ruined forever."

  "That's ridiculous, Mother. Ikish and Lachian are both common languages. If you're worried about him getting married, make him vow not to marry while he's away."

  "Words mean nothing to someone of his age. Too young and stupid."

  Ember, only a few years older than Finn, chose not to take offense at this comment. "But that's exactly why he should go to Edlen."

  "I know," Salena said wearily. "He may come back a man. He will drink, fight, likely fall in love. He might have more focus when he returns. He might even discover he dislikes Edlen and that his dream was a delusion."

  "So you will let him go?"

  "No. That decision is your father's."

  Arundel would never allow it, unless Salena could convince him. She had surprising influence over her husband's behavior. Except when it came to shifters.

  “Where have you been?" Salena asked, evaluating every smear of dirt and drop of sweat with sharp eyes.

  "Visiting Gregory. He's entering the race tomorrow, and I promised I would—"

  "Tomorrow? Yes, the Council is coming here tomorrow." Salena spun the pomander on a strand of green ribbon. "It's absolutely essential that you attend their meeting—in secret, of course."

  Ember felt faint. "But I promised I would go. I said I would be there..."

  She didn't try to explain how important the race was to Gregory, or how important going to the race was to her. Salena would never understand. Nor would she care.

  "You have duties here, Ember," she said in a low tone. "You know just as well as I do how essential it is for us to know what the Council decides regarding shapeshifters."

  Heat rose to Ember's face. Salena was not a member of the Council, and was therefore forbidden to attend meetings; Ember had grown up attending the meetings in her stead, usually in the form of a mouse. But she knew Salena wasn't just interested in news regarding shapeshifters. She wanted it all: the gossip, the laws, the beliefs of the Council members. Any scrap of information Ember brought back Salena hastily gathered up, to sew into some hidden quilt of intrigue.

  Ember straightened her back. "I made a promise to him, and I intend to keep it. You can't go on using me for the rest of your life."

  "I can, and if you refuse to do your duty—" Salena's eyes grew flinty, and she grasped her pomander in one hand, "you will no longer be welcome here."

  Ember's voice quaked. "You would throw me out?" I'm getting too old to be ordered around. How have I let her have so much control over me? She felt as though she was being stuffed into a drawer. Too small. Too suffocating.

  "I would have no other choice. Your place is here with me. You were meant to be a spy, Ember. You have nothing else to offer beyond your female parts. Do you want to be reduced to such filth?"

  Salena didn't typically stoop to such insults. This one hurt, not because what Salena said was true, but because Salena still thought Ember was childish enough to believe it.

  Ember crossed her arms. "You know as well as I do that there are hundreds of things I could do before selling myself like—"

  "Devondra."

  Yes, like Devondra, Ember was about to reply when she realized Devondra had walked up behind her. Her sister, two years her elder, wore a flowing white gown so bright and pure that it made the apple blossoms appear yellow.

  "Mother, I hope you weren't referring to me," Devondra said in her lilting voice as she floated into the alcove. Devondra's handmaid followed at her heels. "And really, why wouldn't you put up silence wards if you wished to speak of such delicacies?" With a flutter of her hands, she cast a ward to the alcove entrance. Her copper hair matched Salena's, but hung loose down her back and shoulders, crimped from drying in plaits.

  "Sister," Devondra said, pecking Ember on the cheek with a moist kiss. A heady scent of rose and mint fanned over Ember as she swept away to give a similar greeting to her mother. Before they had left the Academy, Devondra had spent days locked in her rooms, crying about some lover who had been a researcher and twenty years her senior. Today, not a dint of remorse showed on her soft, smooth features. A simple Glamour brightened her large hazel eyes and reddened her fulsome lips.

  "I wasn't expecting to speak of such things," Salena said as Devondra sank into the chair opposite. Her handmaid stood a few paces behind, her calm dark eyes resting on the back of Devondra's head. "But we are finished now, aren't we, Ember?"

  It wasn't a question. Ember pursed her lips and began to turn away.

  "I take it from your outfit that you visited Gregory today," Devondra said in her innocent, silvery voice. "Tell me, did he seem distant? Distracted?" Devondra regarded her with placid eyes as she twisted a golden necklace laced with emeralds. "I've heard rumors about a woman who dresses very finely, with very lady-like manners, and who is an excellent horse-woman. Have you heard? It seems that she's befriended your Gregory."

  "He mentioned nothing about her." Gregory would never be interested in someone so refined.

  "Of course." Devondra tilted her head down a fingernail-width. Her gaze took on a feline quality. "Did you really think he'd continue to be interested in a girl who dresses like a boy? Really, Ember, you're covered in mud and smell of sweat. I can't imagine how he ever found you attractive—"

  "He works with horses all the time," Ember said, trying not to yell. "He's used to bodily smells."

  She gave a pleased smile, caressing the necklace that was probably some payment from the old researcher in Pemberville. "Oh, so you wish you were his horse."

  The comment hit too close to her heart. Her chest tightened.

  "I—"

  "Enough," Salena interrupted. "Devondra, we need to speak about Lord Wincel Bourke and your scores from the Academy. Ember, you may leave us."

  Ember jerked away as Devondra began making up excuses for missed classes. She knew Devondra would go on to explain how Lord Wincel, with his hunchback and drooping face, was a pathetic prospect for a husband, and that eventually she would wheedle her way out from Salena's pressure to marry. Somehow, her sister always seemed to get what she wanted. Nearly any man in her bed, jewelry, and freedom from marriage. Even with all her missed classes and low scores at the Academy, Devondra had somehow managed to graduate in the spring.

  Yet Ember wanted none of those things. Jewelry was pretty but boring and useless; marriage was something neither she nor Salena wanted for herself; attending the Academy at all seemed pointless. But having any man in her bed...

  Gregory. Was he interested in another woman now? An excellent horse-woman. And I wanting to be his horse.

  Her face burned as she headed toward the great hall. The wide iron doors showed twisting vines that seemed to strangle birds and beetles and butterflies. Two guards opened them for her and she nearly ran to the back of the great hall, focusing her gaze on the doors that led upstairs to the keep. The murals of the great hall would be too much just now. She didn't want to be reminded of hunting, or of Arundel. She didn't want to see or think of animals.

  She must go to the Council meeting, and she must keep her promise.

  I will find a way to keep it.

  chapter five

  Ember crept into the cellar when no one was looking. The deep, cold passages ran beneath the great hall and extended directly under the solar where the Council would be meeting.

  She went to the darkest corner of the cellar, where she knew the crates stood empty and the braids of garlic and onion were long gone. She tucked her clothes behind a crate and shifted into her smallest form, a mouse. She was more like a small rat, fat and plump, but forcing herself into something smaller was akin to being stuffed into a jar. At some point, there wasn't enough room for all of her, as if her limbs were detached from her body, and it was too uncomfortable to bear.

  At once she could hear voices from above, thin as strands of hair weaving their way through the stones. Ember hopped and crawled her way over the crates and
shelves, smelling the residue of jarred peaches, plums, and pickled goats-feet. At the end of fall harvest, the cellar was always packed full, either with food grown, hunted, or caught in Merewood or with food from Ekesian traders. Arundel had a distinct appreciation for rich and exotic foods, a fact that earned him a bit of respect from Lachians who lived a sumptuous, lavish lifestyle.

  Ember squeezed through a sliver of space between the stone ceiling and the stone wall. She entered the solar near the middle of the room, just under a giant circular table.

  Dozens of candles lined the walls, each held captive by an iron sconce that twisted and bent to form a sun. Flickering sun-shadows stretched up to the ceiling. More candles rested on the table, a giant circular slab of stone. Inlaid into the stone were yellow, orange, and red pieces of glass: a gift from Lady Dell of Glaspell in honor of Yathe, the god of Lach. The room smelled of the candles: a soft beeswax scent mingling with sharp mint and flowery bergamot. She could smell hundreds of other things in that room, even the ones that were nearly gone. Clothes rustled nearby, and Ember crept to the stone base of the table to wait.

  The door to the solar swung open.

  "Lord Arundel will be here shortly," said a man Ember recognized as the castle steward. "We have refreshments. Sumbac, for those of you who enjoy the orange liquor, hot coffee spiced with Ekesian cinnamon, mint-lemon tea fresh from our own gardens, and chocolate warmed with Ekesian cinnamon, vanilla, and sugared hazelnuts."

  Behind the steward trailed six members of the Council. Ember recognized them all, this being the twentieth or so meeting she attended. At first she had distinguished them mostly by what they wore, but now she felt she knew them quite intimately.