CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Despite the assassination attempt on Tris, Staden's court resumed its merrymaking in short course. Festival days were filled with jousts and entertainment, and glittering banquets and feasts kept most of the courtiers awake until dawn. Winter fell much harder on Principality than on the palace cities in either Isencroft or Margolan. Despite themselves, Tris and his friends could not resist the unfamiliar spectacles.

"I thought I knew what winter was in Isencroft, but the cold here is something completely different!" Kiara exclaimed, her breath steaming in the bitterly cold air. Carina nodded, almost completely buried in a borrowed fur coat that hid everything but her eyes. "I'd forgotten what Principality winters were like. That's one reason the merc troops winter here—the snow is too deep for anyone to attack them, and they're likely to get a decent rest!"

Vahanian shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with the cold. He wore a plain coat of wolf hide, with the leather side out and the fur turned in. What the cloak lacked in opulence, Tris bet it made up for in warmth. "Eastmark's worse. The army has to clear away enough snow to practice. Come spring, the floor of the practice field can be packed snow waist-high above the real ground."

"Mother always said that Isencroft's winter was Eastmark's high summer," Kiara chuckled. "And while she made me bundle up when I was a child, I always marveled that she went about with just a woven wrap most of the time."

Tris laughed. "By comparison, Shekerishet must seem like endless summer. We're further south than any of this, even the Borderlands. Our snows get deep, but not for most of the winter. I don't ever remember it getting quite this cold! Carroway looks like he's frozen solid." He looked toward where the bard played his lute with the other minstrels. Even with short gloves that left their fingers exposed, the musicians looked uncomfortably cold. They stood as close to the fire as they could without damaging their instruments.

"When all this is over, I want to buy one of those sleighs and have it sent to father," Kiara said, with a glance toward the large, graceful troikas that slid across the snow effortlessly behind a team of massive horses. Come winter, Principality nobles traded their carriages for ornately decorated sleighs, and even the merchants replaced the wheels on their wagons with runners. "But for now, let's beg another ride!"

Tris smiled as Kiara left them to find an accommodating driver. All around them, sleighs coursed through the deep snow, and men raced each other with snowshoes over thigh-deep drifts. Daredevils skied down steep slopes, and artists carved complex figures from huge blocks of ice. Groups of soldiers staged mock battles with armaments of snow and ice. The children followed suit; no one was safe from pelting snowballs. Huge bonfires lit the long nights, providing warmth against the bitter cold and making the icy decorations sparkle like the gems for which Principality was famous. All around them, nobles and villagers took comfort in a reminder of light and life during winter's darkest days.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many people dressed in fur," Tris commented. Women snuggled beneath heavy fur coats and blankets in their sleighs; men wore thick fur hats. Carroway confided that it was almost impossible to sing outside for more than a brief chorus or two without his lungs burning and his head pounding from the chill.

"Fur is only one way to stay warm," Vahanian said with a grin. He produced a small flask from a pocket, downing a gulp. Even from a distance, Tris could smell the potent liquor. The chill was a boon to the vendors who hawked wassail, mulled wine, and steaming mugs of warm ale. The crowd, warmed by the alcohol, did not seem to mind the cold.

"Were you watching?" Soterius puffed as he and Harrtuck trudged toward them through the snow. They came from the direction of the mock battle, and their hands and faces were reddened from the cold. "We trounced the other side! A complete rout!"

"Glad to see you've gotten into the festival spirit." Carina laughed, but Tris could see that the joviality did not reach her eyes. As guests of the king, Tris and the others felt obliged to visibly participate in the festivities. But the guards that surrounded them were a constant reminder of the danger. Vahanian in particular chafed at having a bodyguard. Knowing that even here Jared was a threat overshadowed the party spirit. While Tris and his friends could not help enjoying the opulence and beauty of the festival, the companions often withdrew early from the parties, keeping their own company in one of the upstairs rooms, as they had on the road. This night was an exception.

As darkness fell on the longest night of the year, the vayash moru joined the festival. They moved through the crowd unconcerned with the bitter cold; they wore no greatcloaks. No breath steamed as the vayash morn spoke. They kept their distance from the bonfires, and were indifferent to the carts that sold food and ale. Ghosts milled among the partygoers. They were dressed in fashions ranging over several hundred years. They seemed drawn by the music and the crowd. The spirit of one young man had the power to move objects, and he enjoyed playing pranks on festival goers who had had too much ale, deliberately moving their tankards and pulling out their chairs from beneath them. A few of the ghosts looked on with bittersweet longing from the edges, swaying with the tempo of the minstrels' ballads. One young couple, invisible to all but Tris, lingered just behind Carroway. They held hands, lost in the music. All the spirits, visible or not, bowed as Tris passed them, paying their respects to the Lord of the Dead.

Vahanian nodded toward the other side of the courtyard. "Sahila's back," he said with a glance toward the refugee spokesman, jarring Tris from his thoughts. "I don't think he's here for the sleigh rides."

Tris sobered. "Probably not. Staden and I sent blankets and provisions to the refugee camps, but it's still going to be a miserable winter for them. There's no way to get them enough shelter, even with the old army tents we found. I think Sahila's been making the rounds of the merc troops, using some of the gold I gave him to haggle with them for their worn out tarpaulins and field shelters. Since we've been paying gold to hire the troops' services, it seems the mercs are buying new equipment for the spring march. Sahila's a tough bargainer. He's managed to get wagon loads of castoffs that're better than what his people had before."

Tris received reports now almost nightly from Sahila and the refugees. So many soldiers had deserted from Jared's army that the remaining loyalists had begun capturing men and boys from the villages and conscripting them into service, threatening to destroy their families and villages if they refused. One village had hidden their boys in a secret cellar under a barn, but the soldiers burned the barn in retaliation for the villagers' refusal to give up their sons. The boys had perished, roasted alive in their hiding place. More than one of the mothers had thrown herself on the flaming heap, mad with grief.

It was no longer an isolated incident to hear of Jared's troops harvesting the battlefields, taking away the wounded and dying from both sides of the conflict. The wounded would be used to create more ashtenerath, while Arontala would trap the dying men's souls for his Orb to feed the Obsidian King, and his blood magic would grow stronger on their pain and death.

One refugee, a servant Tris remembered from Shekerishet's kitchen staff, recounted the death toll of Jared's lusts. Many of the servants in the palace served as whole families, in positions of honor that were handed down from generation to generation. Bricen had prided himself on his generosity to the servants, who ate nearly as well as the nobles and who received more than adequate clothing and shelter. Bricen's servants were freemen, and the king's openhandedness created bonds of loyalty far stronger than any indenture. Tris knew first-hand that the servants recognized Jared's brutality, and that Jared availed himself of every young girl who came to serve in the castle. Nearly every family had suffered from Jared's vile tempers, his willingness to thrash any servant who displeased him, and his brutality toward the palace animals.