Darkness Rising 1: Chained: Prism, #1

By Ross Kitson

Wild magic comes at a cost... that of the mind.

Emelia dreams of escape from her life of servitude. She dreams of magical powers; she dreams of dark things. When tragedy awakens the sorcery within her she embarks upon an epic journey in the company of two charming thieves.
In the Dead City an ancient evil awakens. The Lord of the Ghasts covets a magical Prism, the clues to which lie with Emelia. And when he begins to share her dreams, surely it is only a matter of time until she succumbs to his power?

Darkness Rising Book One - Chained is the first book in an exciting new epic fantasy series combining traditional heroic fantasy plotlines with modern dialogue and thrilling characters. Available for the first time free on Smashwords, readers have given excellent reviews:

'Ross M. Kitson has built a complex and convincing world here. Frankly, I wouldn't recommend just picking up just the first book, or even the first two books. Get all three, because you'll be chain-reading them.' D Brzeski (British Fantasy Society)

'A finely crafted and unique fantasy novel which had me hooked from the first page. Packed full of action, drama and humor this is a must for anyone who enjoys epic fantasy.' G.Turner 5 stars

'this is an excellent start to the trilogy - richly imagined, well written and thoroughly absorbing. I loved all the main characters, with their quirks and complexities and quarrels and insecurities, and I loved this beautifully detailed world, which feels completely real. A very enjoyable read, and I look forward to the rest of the series.'
Pauline Ross 4 stars

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ross Kitson
• Release date: Dec 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311169051

Ross Kitson

During the day i work as a doctor in intensive care, twiddling ventilators and generally sorting out sick patients...but at night...? At night i tap to ridiculously late hours on my PC crafting stories of fantastic worlds and awesome magic. Day job pays the bills though... My main genres are epic fantasy and YA sci-fi, although I've had steampunk stories published in antholgies also.

Book preview

i. Map of North-Western Nurolia. c 1920

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ii. Map of South-Western Nurolia. c1920.

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iii. Map of North-eastern Nurolia c1920.

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iv. Map of South-Eastern Nurolia c1920.

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v. Map of South Goldoria and North Thetoria c1920

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Prism: dramatis personae

The house staff of the Keep.

Emelia—kitchenmaid

Sandila—her close friend. Housemaid. Azaguntan.

Abila—another friend from the Isles. Scullerymaid

Gelia—maid at the Keep

Annre—maid at the Keep

Tarn—maid at the Keep

Gedre—maid at the Keep

Quellik—maid at the Keep

Mother Gresham—housekeeper at the Keep

Halgar—maid at the Keep

Torm—footman at the Keep

Captain Ris—Captain in the Garrison of Coonor

Sarik—a guard in the Keep

The inhabitants of Eeria

Herfen—chief valet & butler to Lord Ebon-Farr

Tremen—head of Greypeak preparatory house

Talis Ebon-Farr—Lower Lord of the Eerian council and Warden of the Garrisons

Heler Ebon-Farr—his wife (born of the Farvous house)

Jular Farvous—nephew to Talis and son of the Farvouses (by Heler’s brother)

Elik Farvous—head of the Farvous family and Orla’s father

Hulgor Farvous—eldest son of Elik Farvous

Karak Ebon-Farr—eldest son of the Ebon-Farrs

Geldir Ebon-Farr—second eldest son, to join the Priesthood

Uthor Ebon-Farr—third son. To join the Knights

Erica Ebon-Farr—daughter to the Ebon-Farrs

Inkas-Tarr—Arch-mage of Air (gold sash)

Ekra-Hurr—Air-mage (brown sash)

Bardit-Urr—Air-mage (silver)

Lady Orla Farvous—Knight of the Air (captain: 3rd lance. Silver wing)

Highlord Cranston—Highlord of the Eerian council

High Cmmdr Taros—Commander of the Knights of Air

Sir Risstan Helminth—Knight of the Air (sergeant: 4th Lance. Silver wing)

Lord Hinteron—Lower lord on the council and mining magnate

Shkris—Netreptan envoy on the council

The Denizens of Kir

Jurges Innsman—proprietor of the Rose Tavern in Kir

Alfra’Te—merchant from Kâlastan

Olix—an Azaguntan assassin from Kir

Jelbettio—a Feldorian mercenary

Malik—apprentice assassin in Kir

Hunor—a thief and adventurer. Thetorian

Jem—his friend. Goldorian. A Wild-mage

Linkon Arikson—Guildmaster of thieves in Kir

Scarseye—thief and enforcer in the Kirian guild (West Avenue Boys)

Thintor Lemon-bite—Wild-mage in the employ of the West Avenue boys

The Denizens of Bulia

Igred—Northridge Guildmaster in Bulia, Azagunta

Hegris Grach—Azaguntan merchant and criminal

Olthik Slanteye—Inn keeper of the Lamb Inn

Varix Aol—East side guild master in Bulia

Vrhin—a guard at Grach’s villa

The Knights of the Air

Sir Ronen Unhert

Sir Robert

Sir Iyri Minrik

In Artoria

Marthir—a druid hailing from Artoria

Kervin—a tracker also from Artoria

Ygris—Fire-mage from Pyrios

Sir Tinkek—a former Artorian Knight

Ograk—a Feldorian warrior

Master Hü-Jen—deceased Shorvorian mentor to Hunor

Ebfir—acolyte druid to Marthir

Iogar—an Artorian warrior

Darklord Jüt—commander of the Knights of Ebony Heart

Darklord Klir—sub-commander of the Knights of Ebony Heart

Xirik—a dark wizard

Garin—a dark wizard

Vildor—The Darkmaster. The master of the Ghasts

In Thetoria

Aldred Enfarson—son of Baron Enfarson

Argon Enfarson—Baron of Thetoria

Livor Korianson—Aldred’s friend.

Hinkir—a stable boy at Blackstone Castle

Jirdin—Aldred’s servant

Quigor—advisor to Baron Enfarson. An Azaguntan

Kerdir Almsman—physician to Baron Enfarson

Holbek Gartson—a captain of the guard at Blackstone Castle

Arlana Gartson—his wife

Thrisk—a soldier of Baron Enfarson; Azaguntan in origin

Lord Jerstis—one of the Lords sworn to Baron Enfarson. Nr Greenford

Poris Longshanks—lordling from Enfarson’s Barony

Orlo Smithson—burghmaster of Eviksburg

Urgon Tannerson—Innkeeper of the Traveler’s Rest

Pastor Burker—priest of Mortis

Guntir Hawkskin—captain of the town guard in Eviksburg

Kindar Hawkskin—brother to Guntir. Soldier to Baron Benrich the Younger

Aargil Markson—(deceased) Lord to Baron Benrich the Elder

Inger Markson—widow to Lord Aargil

Hela Markson—daughter to Lord Markson

Orgar Markson—(deceased) son of Lord Markson

Uhurk Wangstane—a merchant from Kokis

Ekris—a mysterious troubadour and thespian

Urenst Enfarson—cousin to Baron Enfarson. Lord of Oldston

Argas Enfarson—cousin to Baron Enfarson. Called the runt

Ligor—dark wizard in Thetoria city

Ajacre—dark wizard in Nolir, South Thetoria

Jaan—a farmer in Nth Thetoria

Loral—his wife

Hinfer—their eldest son

Mek-ik-Ten—Galvorian monk and mentor to Jem

In Goldoria

Sir Krem Listerthwaite—a Goldorian knight of good standing

Gilert—a squire of mean disposition

Utrok—a dark wizard

Elbek-Trall—a Pyrian merchant docked in Goldoria

Darkness Rising

Book One

I The City of Mists

Prologue The House of Preparation

Sunstide 1911

Emelia dreamt of dark things. She stumbled down the expansive beach, the sands sticky beneath her bare feet. The waves thundered and the trees bordering the sand bent like old men as the storm whipped up. Rain lashed against her as she saw the lone figure knelt ahead. His sobs ripped through her chest like a knife.

Papa? Papa, why are you crying? she asked.

Her gaunt father made no reply but rather turned and with horror Emelia saw his eyes were two gold coins. Terror gripped her heart as she staggered back. The gold began to run, pouring in molten tears down his cadaverous cheeks, steaming in the driving rain.

Emelia screamed but the sound was flattened under the crash of immense waves. Her father dug his fingers into his smoldering cheeks and wrenched, tearing the skin off as if breaking open a crab. No blood ran as he shredded the flaps of flesh away but rather Emelia saw a grey hue beneath, like rock.

With a final wrench her father ripped apart the skin and a man made of stone remained. He regarded Emelia and then slowly began moving towards her, his sockets gaping voids.

Emelia scrabbled backwards in the sand but her legs felt like lead. Then she looked down and she saw: saw the sand become stone; saw the stone become dark and saw the darkness harden across the pale sands of the beach like a giant shadow. All around her, the island surrendered its colour, slipping beneath the featureless dark. Then the stone came for her too, began spreading up her legs, closing tightly about her chest, sealing up her mouth, her nose, her eyes with cold, uncaring rock.

***

The dormitory was pitch-black. The terror stayed with her as her sleep-caked eyes adjusted to the gloom. Emelia was shivering uncontrollably. She bit her lip hard, to stop her teeth chattering.

Had she woken the other girls? She cautiously lifted her head from her bed and checked. No—they all slept despite the chill of the room. Her hand slid beneath her single sheet and her heart skipped a beat as she realised she had wet the bed in her fear.

Hot tears flowed from her eyes. She would get the birch for sure. But even that would be as nothing compared to the taunts of the other girls. The Azaguntan girls particularly would seize on this as a sign of weakness.

A dozen fantasies ran through her six-year-old mind. She lay there wracked with indecision for half an hour, the cooling wetness of the urine feeling like a blanket of snow on her body.

Emelia rolled quietly from her bed and then carefully removed the wet sheet. She bundled it up then crept across the flagstoned dormitory. The other girls did not stir, lost in their own private dreaming.

Emelia stepped out into the corridor. Light from the blue Aquatonian moon, her moon, shone through the frost-painted window. Emelia shivered from cold and fear as she scuttled down the corridor. The stone walls of the servants’ quarters were a featureless grey and harsh to the touch.

She passed into the grand entrance hall. Warmth flickered from lanterns set in the ornate brass hooks which studded the oak-paneling. Dour faces of the still living and the long-time dead glared down at her from the portraits on the walls. Emelia forced her eyes downward as if to look back at one of those fearsome portraits would set them screaming an alert.

The linen room was adjacent to the entrance hall. She passed a huge tapestry, its threads as thin as the grease the servants spread on their bread in the mornings.

Emelia eased the linen room door open. In the safety of the dark room she stripped her nightdress off and threw it with her sheet into the large basket. Her skin became taut with the cold as she hurriedly donned a fresh dress and felt in the darkness for the pile of starched sheets.

Her task complete, Emelia stepped out into the hallway and returned to the entrance hall. A rush of terror erupted in her throat as she heard voices outside the main door.

The door began to open.

Her eyes darted between the stairs and the door back to the dormitory corridor. By Asha, she would not make it across the length of the hall.

Emelia ran for the stairs, taking two at a time. Each creak of the oak stairs seemed to peal like thunder in her ears. She achieved the upper landing and crouched, her heart pounding.

The three men were ascending the stairs.

Emelia scampered along the upper hallway, seeking a niche to hide within. She saw a small recess between a cabinet and the edge of an alcove and squeezed into the dark gap.

The voices were loud and unfamiliar. They spoke Eerian, the Imperial language. After five months of birch across the knuckles every time she spoke her own dialect instead of the master’s, she had learnt Eerian soon enough. The owners strode into a room ten feet from her hiding place.

She knew she should return to the dormitory but then a tiny voice deep down bubbled to the surface: a naughty voice, a voice of rebellion.

Heart in her mouth, she snuck along the paneled corridor towards the voices. She could see three figures through the crack of the door: one tall, one young and one fat. The tallest she recognised as Master Tremen, the head of the preparatory house. His scanty grey hair covered his wrinkled scalp like dust.

The other two were sat in the room, sipping at what Emelia guessed must have been smoking wine. One was a young man, his nose angled like the beak of a large bird. He had the arrogance that came with wealth and power. The second was a short man with cheeks so flushed that it made Emelia think of a fat robin. His grey hair was pasted to his head with lacquer. Emelia began to concentrate, picking her way through the clipped tones.

… suggest with this unseasonable snow that you take the opportunity to indulge my hospitality and stay the next few nights, Herfen, Master Tremen said, sipping his wine. It will give you an opportunity to select the appropriate girls for Lord Ebon-Farr.

You are kind as ever, Tremen, though I would speculate you have a fair idea what girls we require anyway, Herfen said. None the less it will allow Lord Karak here to further his education.

Emelia stared in wonder. The fat robin had called him Tremen, not Master Tremen, but no blow or birch had followed.

Master Tremen turned to regard the younger man. I am still uncertain as to why your father felt it pertinent to send you with Herfen to my house, though of course it is an honour.

The young man drained his wine. Father seeks to dispatch me to study the Rolls in three years, as he was chosen to by his father. I suggested it would be of benefit for me to see first-hand how the Statute of Servitude works in reality. Some of the chaps at school jest it is simply slavery for the faint-hearted.

Master Tremen laughed and reached for a small gilded box from one of the bookshelves in the study. He offered the contents to his guests.

Please indulge in a touch of non-liberal snuff. I think you’ll find what we and the eight other prep houses participate in is anything but slavery, Lord Karak. I mean of course there is a place for slavery in Eeria—after all who else would build our roads?

The two guests both took pinches of the snuff and snorted it, concluding the act with a tiny shudder.

In fact the slaves come on the same trade route as this delectable weed. Huge chaps, skin as dark as onyx and muscles like a mountain giant. But so, so primitive—they even worship the spirits of their ancestors.

The Galvorians and the Shorvorians both respect the spirits of ancestors, Tremen, so that’s hardly an indication of being primitive, the one called Lord Karak said, wiping his beaked nose.

No, no indeed—you would make a fine Lawlord, m’lord. I think my point is that they are far better off working as slaves in civilisation—it is a far better life they have. And that in itself was good enough for not just us now, but also for the Pyrians and the Artorians in their time.

Until the Statute came into being, Herfen said. It’s a charitable act, m’lord. We take these girls from their disadvantaged childhoods, give the parents a very reasonable sum of gold and allow them to work in some of our finest houses. And most choose to remain in service after they achieve their twenty-first year.

The same faint-hearted chaps back in Coonor would say that’s because most of them have no idea how to get back to where we bought them from, Lord Karak said with a smirk.

An icy terror was seeping through Emelia’s body as she eavesdropped. She could hardly follow all these grown-up words. Did they mean she wouldn’t be able to find Papa?

We keep reasonable records, not least for the legality of the contract of servitude, Master Tremen said with a shrug. I am certain any could return. Very few do.

As you say, Lord Karak said. Father is interested in purchasing some Islanders and we hear you have some in… training.

Indeed, Master Tremen said brightly. Ten years ago they were a rarity, m’lord. Now we have had an influx. I hear that there is a famine in the Scattered Isles.

Emelia started at the sudden mention of her homeland.

Aye, I heard as much too, Herfen said. Juton in the Clifftop House was speculating it was due to the dearth of fish in the Islands. Word has it that the Water-mages have been altering the currents for the Corinthian fleet.

Their loss, our gain, Master Tremen said, snorting another pinch of snuff. The Island girls are far better value than the Azaguntans. They are hard workers, physically superior and most… he paused for a moment as his mouth widened into something not altogether unlike a smile. … beautiful.

And obedient?

Oh… of course, of course. The mouth narrowed. All our girls are obedient at this house. We are most rigorous with the discipline—they are fluent in Eerian by the time we sell them on and versed in the etiquette of the grand houses. I have one at the moment who is most delightful to the eye—she has remarkable grey eyes. I shall show you her now in fact—Emelia is her name.

The chairs scraped as the visitors stood. Emelia’s mouth was dry. These men were here to take her away! These men were coming to see her in the dormitory now!

Emelia grasped the sheets and flew down the corridor. She took the stairs two at a time, images of skipping across the rocks of her beach-side home flashing across her mind. The clatter of boots were echoing down the first floor corridor as she twisted around the base of the stairwell and hurtled through the door and into the corridor.

She slowed as she reached the dormitory door and chanced a look back. She would be flayed alive if she were caught out of bed at this hour. She opened the heavy door, wincing at the slight creak and eased her way into the dormitory.

Emelia flung the fresh sheet over the bed and dove under it. Twenty seconds later, as her heart still pounded in her ears, a chink of gold lantern light invaded the room. The three figures clumped across the dormitory.

This is her. She’s been with us five months now, so ready to start as soon as you need.

Emelia lay as still as she could whilst Tremen’s hand grasped her shoulder.

Open your eyes, girl, there are men here to see you.

Emelia rolled over, blinking her eyes in a befuddled manner then squinting at the lantern light. Master Tremen tugged her into a sitting position then pulled her chin to look up. Her whole body was trembling as she met Lord Karak and Herfen’s stares.

Hmm, yes I see, Herfen said. Lord Ebon-Farr will be satisfied.

As will Mother, Lord Karak said. All her friends have Islanders now. I’m uncertain about Gresham though.

Ha. That’s my concern, young master, Herfen said. Right, Tremen, some more wine before we retire perchance? It’s not often I am allowed a break from the Keep.

The three strode from the dormitory leaving Emelia feeling stunned and terrified. The other girls peered from their beds but not one said a word. She rubbed her chin furiously where Tremen had grasped it: she could still smell the pungent fragrance of the snuff on her skin.

She lay there in the dark of the room, listening as the undulation of the girls’ slumber resumed.

Sleep had left her. And besides, had she wanted to sleep the nightmare would be there, waiting for her as it did every night. As it had done ever since she had left the island on that dark ship.

Asha, why have you let the evil people take me from Papa and Mama?

The sea goddess made no reply.

How am I going live? Asha help me… help me please.

Don’t be daft, a voice replied.

It was a girl’s voice. A naughty voice—the one that had tempted her into listening upstairs. Yet there was no-one close to her and the other girls were asleep.

Are you a ghost?

Don’t be silly, Emelia. I am the other voice—I’ve always been with you.

Emelia felt icy fear seeping through her. What was happening?

Who are you then?

I am a friend, like no other could ever be.

Oh. Can you... can you help me? Look after me? Stop the darkness in the night coming for me?

I can, Emelia, yes I can. All I need is your trust and your belief. I can help you escape to wherever you want to.

How?

Just by shutting your eyes. Your dreams will be your refuge and I shall be your guardian.

But you don’t know… bad things happen in my sleep.

Ah but I do know… you mustn’t worry, I can show you how to find good dreams. I can show you how dreams can help you see. Even the worst dreams, even they can show you secrets. You just have to know how to look.

But -

Shush! The voice laughed hard, almost hysterically, then continued. Sshh! Dreams are a game. You just have to know how to play them. Now close your eyes, stupid!

Emelia trembled. She tentatively closed her eyes.

That’s it, that’s it. Now relax your mind and come with me!

Emelia emptied her thoughts. In moments, she was asleep. And with that sleep soft deep breaths arrived. Presently, she smiled.

Chapter 1 The Air Mage

Harvestide 1920

Nine years later

The first glow of dawn shone off the knight’s armour as he banked towards the Citadel. Far below Emelia peered up at him through the slit-like window of her dormitory. To her, it was as if the knight and his griffon were cast from molten gold.

She saw them sweep down out of the sky and come to perch atop the Citadel of Air, on Coonor’s highest plateau. Emelia stared longingly at the tiny glinting figure and then stepped down from the window and back into the shadows of chamber that she shared with the other servants.

The other girls, seven in number, were still sleeping. The morning light was not yet intense enough to break their slumber. Emelia had been awake an hour already, watching the evolution of dark to light in the tiny chamber. Mother Gresham always teased that she should have been born with her eyes on stalks because of the amount of time she spent peering through the windows of the Keep.

Yet, what a view it commanded. The world seemed to roll effortlessly away from the eye. The Keep perched on the edge of Coonor, City of the Mists, and had been the residence to the House of Ebon-Farr for a millennium. Emelia fancied that the mountains fell away from the precipitous city like the billowing skirts of some Eerian lady, rippling as they became hills and settling finally on the smooth farmlands that edged to the horizon. Somewhere beyond was the sea, and across the sea the island of her birth.

Her bare feet curled away from the cold flags of the dormitory as she crossed the room towards the bowl in the corner. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy as she imagined the sensation of diving, of slipping unclothed into the warm sea of her early childhood, the taste of brine nipping her throat. How would it feel to twist and spin without ground beneath her, to swim in water like the knights flew on their griffons through the air?

The cold water sliced through the daydream as she washed away the night sweat. Emelia’s nights were tempestuous and laden with vivid dreams. Whilst her fellow maids shivered under the rough yarkel-wool blankets, she would sweat the night through, abruptly wakening into the dense blackness.

Only fragments of her dream now remained, like the smell of a pipe after the smoke has cleared. Emelia was certain that she had been some kind of animal, perhaps a lamb or sheep. She recalled wandering through the higher corridors, squinting at faded tapestries and dusty shields. The focus of her mind’s eye had swirled like draining water in a bath. Then she had been on top of the Keep. Fear had risen within her as she looked to either side. The world dropped away from the ancient edges of the roof. On one side she could plummet without ever hitting the bottom. On the other she could see the cobbled streets that ran from the gatehouse; the invitation of a quicker death.

She dried her face with a threadbare towel and slipped quickly from her night shirt, goose flesh appearing in an instant. She tugged on a brown yarkel-wool tunic and skirt. Emelia felt the reassuring presence of her shell pendant, the only remnant of a distant childhood.

The next detail of the dream was vague. There had been a wolf or a wild dog on the roof with her. Had she seen him or heard him? Or had she felt him? Had she sensed his fur pressing close to her woolly side and his hot breath on her neck?

Her feet had skittered underneath her and then she had that curious appreciation of weightlessness and the cobbles rushed towards her. She always woke up as she fell. A shudder slid up her body.

Several moans arose in the cramped dormitory as the other girls began to stir. Emelia began tidying her curly blonde hair. She dipped a wooden comb into a pot of grease and ash and scraped it through her tresses, wincing in discomfort. Fingers still numb from the frigid air of the dormitory, she secured it in a bun before washing her grey hands. The Ebon-Farrs preferred a traditional appearance for their house staff. She returned to her bed to straighten her sheets. Her cot was situated between those of Sandila and Abila—friends as close as sisters.

Emelia smiled as Abila tumbled from bed and scurried to the bowl. Abila was small and chubby, her body carrying puppy fat that was yet to dwindle with maturity. Like Emelia she was a Scattered Islander. They shared the same blonde hair and pale skin of the Islanders yet in height and build they were poles apart.

Sandila rolled in bed and yanked the covers over her head. She was the night to Abila’s day. Sandila, an Azaguntan, enjoyed big hips and big bosoms and had a brashness that made Emelia blush almost perpetually. Her impudent smile and flashing eyes acted like a sprite’s song to the men of the garrison stationed above them. A small part of Emelia’s mind emulated Sandila, a little voice that spoke inside her head when embarrassment threatened to paralyse her. Emelia had named her Emebaka: it meant the ‘light of dreams’ in the Island dialect.

How are you always first to the bowl, Emelia? Abila asked, shivering as she slipped on her skirt.

You get the best views of the patrol at this time. Well you do if you’re a foot taller than I am.

Sandila’s muffled voice was griping. More like little Miss Star Eyes wants to get the warmest milk from big Momma Gresham’s teat.

The room erupted in laughter at this and Emelia kicked playfully at Sandila’s covered form. The copper haired girl sat up chuckling. The colour drained from her face as she came upright. Emelia instinctively stepped back as Sandila coughed and then vomited over the pale stone floor.

The acrid stench assailed the slave girls’ nostrils and they all began whining and yelling. Emelia side-stepped past the pool of vomit then moved towards Sandila. An unexpected hush came upon the room as Sandila lay back down, wiping her mouth.

Annre and Abila had clambered out of their beds, bleary-eyed, their hair emulating haystacks. The two exchanged looks and then sprinted for the bowl. The room erupted into frenzied activity as they all realised that the last one in the dormitory with Sandila would be the one Mother Gresham would make clear it up.

***

The manner in which Mother Gresham dominated her area of the kitchen went beyond her physical presence, which was formidable enough. Her corpulent bulk seemed to expand to occupy all available space. Rolls of fat cascaded from her face, giving the appearance of a gigantic candle that had melted. Her arms had swinging flaps of skin that Sandila joked could lift her enormous bulk over the upper city’s walls and into the void beyond, should a wind catch her unawares.

Yet there was a shrewd glint in Gresham’s eyes, borne from the strength of mind that had elevated the Mother from her beginnings as a scullerymaid to the matriarch of the lower floors.

She waddled the short distance to the robust bench on the periphery of the huge bustling kitchen. Emelia observed, over the top of the bread roll she ate, that Mother’s breathing had that peculiar wheeze of the gargantuan.

Mother Gresham took a mouthful of the alcas bread and scratched one of her chins in thought. She turned to address the six girls who squatted against the kitchen wall eating their breakfast. The peppery seeds of the bread gave her face an extra flush.

Sandila’s left us in a bit of a fix, my girls, she said. She spoke Imperial with a strong Azaguntan accent.

Not as much of a fix as poor Gelia’s in now, Emelia said to Abila with a whisper. Gelia, the slowest of the maids, was still scrubbing vomit in the adjacent dormitory.

Sandila was to be taking up Lord Ebon-Farr’s breakfast early today. He always insists on her when he has guests, Gresham said.

I wonder why, Abila said to Emelia. She tried not to laugh back, biting hard into her alcas bread.

Mother Gresham fixed her steely gaze on Emelia.

Which I suppose means we’ll have to unleash you on them today, Emelia.

Emelia blushed as the girls all stared at her. A trickle of dread rose from her belly and her mouth began to dry despite the moistness of the bread.

B-but, Mother, surely Annre is better to… Emelia said.

Mother shook her head, her jowls wobbling. Annre, Abila and Tarn are to attend Lady Ebon-Farr for her dressing. M’lady has an engagement with Lady Farvous in Northside. I think we all remember your last experience of dressing.

Emelia cringed at the reminder. Two years ago she had helped dress Lady Ebon-Farr in her many rich skirts and had torn the fabric on a loose nail. Mother had been obliged to cane her and she had sobbed herself to sleep for a week afterwards.

If she wasn’t such an ignorant crone, continually moving as you tried to fix her skirts, it wouldn’t have happened, Emebaka observed acidly. Emelia shut the voice out and tried to think of another excuse.

Mother interjected before Emelia could speak.

Gedre and Quellik are needed in the kitchen today for the baking. The garrison is working full tilt with the Ni-Faris festival coming up. And besides they are both too young to be acting as parlourmaid.

Gedre and Quellik both began to protest, but a glare from Mother Gresham brought them to a halt. Gresham had a temper to match her flaming hair.

A rich voice rose above the din from the kitchen as Captain Ris came in, and sat beside Mother on the already strained timber bench.

It is a fair comment, lass. The lads are busting a gut and a hungry soldier is a mutinous one. Besides, it’ll give the lads a treat to see those eyes of yours in the upper Keep.

The other girls all laughed. Emelia blushed again, feeling suddenly awkward and uncomfortable.

Ris’s pale blue eyes met hers as he peered down his hawkish nose. Like most Eerians he was tall and slim, with the grey hair that grew on them all from manhood. He had a clipped beard that gave his jaw a commanding edge.

It seems only the other day these lasses were brought on the stagecoach from Greypeak, all doe-eyed and smelling of starch. You’ve done a fine job with them, Mother, what with Mister Hirfen moving to the Lord’s estate in Lower Eeria.

Mother clucked at the praise.

You’re too generous, Captain. Merciful Torik knows that girls can be a challenge, but they’ve each got good in them if you can just ferret it out.

The lads’d ferret it out of the Azaguntan lass, that’s for sure—shame she’s taken a fever, Ris said with a chuckle. Young Emelia’s diamond eyes might yet put a smile on his Lordship’s face today. He’s got some serious company it would seem, to be rising as early as the likes of us.

Emelia sighed in defeat and rose.

***

Emelia straightened the pressed pinafore she had put on top of her tunic and skirt, still feeling self-conscious as she ascended the final flight of steps. It had been several months since she had journeyed so high in the Keep. Most of Emelia’s days as a maid were spent in the lowest floors: in the kitchens, the cellars and the sewing rooms. On occasional days she was sent to attend to some minor task amongst the city garrison. The garrison was stationed on the three floors of the Keep that rose from street level. The bawdy welcome that female servants received meant Mother Gresham usually dispatched the more robust girls, like Gellia or Sandila. So it was with some trepidation that Emelia had embarked on her errand.

Predictably the journey through the garrison’s floors had been replete with teasing. Most comments revolved around crude observations that Emelia had changed from a gawky adolescent to a young woman in what seemed only a few months.

Emelia turned the corner of the stairwell and was startled to see a hunched figure on the stairs ahead. He was a broad lad, although two or three years younger than her. Soft sobs echoed against the hard stone.

She made to approach him then hesitated. It was unforgivable to dally on the way to serve the lord. Yet the lad was new and she felt a surge of pity in her heart.

Are you all right?

The boy jumped, drying his eyes.

Are you crying?

No! he said. He stood to leave. Emelia saw his scalp had a reddened area and his long blond hair was patchy.

All right, sorry. Are you hurt then? My name’s Emelia. I’m one of the kitchenmaids.

The boy stopped and looked at her. He was fair and very well built.

Are you of the people of Asha? he asked.

Well I was before I got brought here, an Islander that is, Emelia said nodding. Now I think I’d faint if I ever saw the sea. You?

I came from Clifftop House near Port Helien four days ago. I can still smell the brine on my skin.

Hold onto your memories whilst you can. So ‘Island Boy’, why are you sitting in the stairwell? Shouldn’t you be down in the kitchens or in the scullery?

I was sent up to attend Lord Uthor but I got … waylaid by the soldiers, he said. Leaning forward, hesitantly, he showed his bloodied scalp.

They cut it with a knife?

They said footmen with long hair carry lice.

Emelia looked away, shaking her head. The pair stood in silence for a minute.

C-can I ask, are you the one they call Star Eyes? Emelia started as he switched to their native tongue to speak her other name. It was risky speaking anything other than Eerian.

The lad stared at his feet as he spoke.

It had not been until her ninth year that Emelia had seen herself in a mirror. She had accompanied a chambermaid named Halgar to the rooms of Lady Erica, the Ebon-Farr’s daughter. Erica’s vast chambers, located on the floor above her parents, were jammed with mirrors to such a degree that it felt as if you were in but one of an endless row of rooms that stretched away to infinity.

Emelia had looked with fear at the looking glasses as Erica