He held up a halting hand as I opened my mouth. ‘And that is all I am going to say. To bed, now, Fitz. To bed.’
I yawned again as I rose, and stretched until my joints popped. ‘You’ve grown again,’ Chade complained admiringly. ‘At this rate, you’ll even top your father’s height.’
‘I’ve missed you,’ I mumbled as I headed toward the stair.
‘And I you. But we shall have tomorrow night for catching up. For now, bed for you.’
I went down his stairs with the sincere intention of following his suggestion. As it always did, the staircase sealed itself moments after I exited it, by a mechanism I had never been able to discover. I threw three more logs on my dying fire and then crossed to my bed. I sat down on it to pull my shirt off. I was exhausted. But not so tired that I could not catch a faint trace of Molly’s scent on my own skin as I pulled my shirt off. I sat a moment longer, holding my shirt in my hands. Then I put it back on and rose. I went to my door and slipped out into the hallway.
It was late, by any other night’s standard. Yet this was the first night of Winterfest. There were many below who would not think of their beds until dawn was on the horizon. Others who would not find their own beds at all this night. I smiled suddenly, as I realized I intended to be part of the latter group.
There were others in the halls that night and on the staircases. Most were too inebriated, or too engrossed in themselves to notice me. As for the others, I resolved to let Winterfest be my excuse for any questions asked of me the next day. Still, I was discreet enough to be sure the corridor was clear before I tapped on her door. I heard no reply. But as I lifted my hand to tap again, the door swung silently open into darkness.
It terrified me. In an instant I was sure harm had come to her, that someone had been here and hurt her and left her there in the darkness. I sprang into the room, crying out her name. The door swung shut behind me and ‘Hush!’ she commanded.
I turned to find her, but it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The light from the hearth fire was the only illumination in the room, and it was to my back. When my eyes did penetrate the darkness, I felt as if I could not breathe.
‘Were you expecting me?’ I asked at last.
In a little cat voice, she replied, ‘Only for hours.’
‘I thought you would be at the merrymaking in the Great Hall.’ Slowly it dawned on me that I had not seen her there.
‘I knew I would not be missed there. Except by one. And I thought perhaps that one might come seeking me here.’
I stood motionless and looked at her. She wore a wreath of holly upon the tumble of her hair. That was all. And she stood against the door, wanting me to look at her. How can I explain the line that had been crossed? Before, we had ventured into this together, exploring and inquisitive. But this was different. This was a woman’s frank invitation. Can there be anything so compelling as the knowledge that a woman desires you? It overwhelmed me and blessed me and somehow redeemed me from every stupid thing I had ever done.
Winterfest.
The heart of night’s secret.
Yes.
She shook me awake before dawn, and put me out of her rooms. The farewell kiss that she gave me before shooing me out the door was such that I stood in the hall trying to persuade myself that dawn was not all that close. After a few moments, I recalled that discretion was called for, and wiped the foolish smile off my face. I straightened my rumpled shirt and headed for the stairs.
Once inside my room, an almost dizzying weariness overtook me. How long had it been since I had had a full night’s sleep? I sat down on my bed and dragged my shirt off. I dropped it to the floor. I fell back onto the bed and closed my eyes.
A soft tap at my door jerked me upright. I crossed the room swiftly, smiling to myself. I was still smiling as I swung the door wide.
‘Good, you’re up! And almost dressed. I was afraid from the way you looked last night that I’d be dragging you out of your bed by the scruff of your neck.’
It was Burrich, freshly washed and brushed. The lines across his forehead were the only visible signs of the last night’s revelry. From my years of sharing quarters with him, I knew that no matter how fierce a hangover he might have, he would still rise to face his duties. I sighed. No good asking quarter, for none would be given. Instead I went to my clothes chest and found a clean shirt. I put it on as I followed him to Verity’s tower.
There is an odd threshold, physical as well as mental. There have been but a few times in my life that I have been pushed over it, but each time, an extraordinary thing happened. That morning was one of those times. After an hour or so had passed, I stood in Verity’s tower room, shirtless and sweating. The tower windows were open to the winter wind, but I felt no chill. The padded axe Burrich had given me was but a little lighter than the world itself, and the weight of Verity’s presence in my mind felt as if it were forcing my brain out my eyes. I could no longer keep my axe up to guard myself. Burrich came at me again, and I made no more than a token defence. He batted it aside with ease, then came in swiftly, one, two blows, not hard, but not softly either. ‘And you’re dead,’ he told me, and stood back. He let the head of his axe sag to the floor and stood leaning on it and breathing. I let my own axe thud head first to the floor. Useless.
Within my mind, Verity was very still. I glanced over to where he sat staring out the window across the sea to the horizon. The morning light was harsh on the lines in his face and the grey in his hair. His shoulders were slumped forward. His posture mirrored what I felt. I closed my eyes a moment, too weary to do anything anymore. And suddenly we meshed. I saw to the horizons of our future. We were a country besieged by a ravenous enemy who came to us only to kill and maim. That was their sole goal. They had no fields to plant, no children to defend, no stock to tend to distract them from their Raiding. But we strove to live our day to day lives at the same time we tried to protect ourselves from their destruction. For the Red Ship Raiders, their ravages were their day to day lives. That singleness of purpose was all they needed to destroy us. We were not warriors, had not been warriors for generations. We did not think like warriors. Even those of us who were soldiers were soldiers who had trained to fight against a rational enemy. How could we stand against an onslaught of madmen? What weapons did we have? I looked around. Me. Myself as Verity.
One man. One man, making himself old as he strove to walk the line between defending his people and being swept away in the addictive ecstasy of the Skill. One man, trying to rouse us, trying to ignite us to defend ourselves. One man, with his eyes afar, as we squabbled and plotted and bickered in the rooms below him. It was useless. We were doomed to fail.
The tide of despair swept over me and threatened to pull me down. It swirled around me, but suddenly, in the middle of it, I found a place to stand. A place where the very uselessness of it was funny. Horribly funny. Four little warships, not quite finished, with untrained crews. Watchtowers and fire signals to call the inept defenders forth to the slaughter. Burrich with his axe, and me standing in the cold. Verity staring out the window, while below Regal fed his own father drugs. In the hopes of stealing his mind, and inheriting the whole mess, I didn’t doubt. It was all so totally useless. And so unthinkable to give it up. A laugh welled up from inside me, and I could not contain it. I stood leaning on my axe, and laughed as if the world were the funniest thing I’d ever seen, while Burrich and Verity both stared at me. A very faint answering smile crooked the corners of Verity’s mouth; a light in his eyes shared my madness.
‘Boy? Are you all right?’ Burrich asked me.
