Tears of winter

By Martine Carlsson

Paradise is an illusion, and the progressive, experimental city of Nysa Serin was living on borrowed time. The winter festivities that should have warmed everyone's heart take the contorted face of a feast of fools. Despite their knowledge, Selen, Louis, and Lissandro are swamped by events. Falling one after the other, the sick litter the street

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martine Carlsson
• Release date: Aug 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9789198392326

Martine Carlsson

Martine Carlsson lives in the middle of the Swedish forest. Martine is French and graduated librarian and historian from the University of Liege.

Book preview

BLURB

Paradise is an illusion, and the progressive, experimental city of Nysa Serin was living on borrowed time. The winter festivities that should have warmed everyone’s heart take the contorted face of a feast of fools. Despite their knowledge, Selen, Louis, and Lissandro are swamped by events. Falling one after the other, the sick litter the streets of Nysa Serin. A natural pestilence? The vengeful hand of the gods? Turned to ashes, Louis’s dreams slip through his fingers like a shattered cathedral of sand.

Jeopardizing its fragile stranglehold on the crown, the royal couple leaves for a desperate mission while, trapped inside the walls, the citizens strive to survive. Though the clock ticks on, in sickness and fear, the tensions surface and friendships are tested.

The line is thin between cowards and heroes. Should the rescuing party even make it back, the capital will never be the same again and neither will their lives. Therefore, why not haste into darkness… till death do us part?

AUTHOR

Martine Carlsson lives in the middle of the Swedish forest. She is French and graduated librarian and historian from the University of Liege. She takes her inspiration from the nature around her, from her roots in Brittany, and from fascinating parts from the European history. Therefore, it is not uncommon to read in her stories about forest creatures meeting peculiar characters in a detailed, historical-based background. She enjoys writing fantasy, especially a mix between harsh realism and magical wonders. Rising from Dust is her first novel and the first volume of the series Light from Aphelion.

Light from Aphelion

-

Tears of Winter

1

The horses were exhausted, and the riders longed for a warm bed. Among the dry, high grass, the few bare trees waited for the first snows. In the distance, the city of Nysa Serin stretched, as impressive as Lissandro remembered her. He wondered what the ochre city walls held for surprises. It had been more than a year since he had left. By the rumors that had reached King Thorkell’s court in the Frozen Mountains, he had prepared himself for all the possibilities. In a while, he would see if passing the ramparts meant to cross the Iron Curtain or the Eurotas. Despite the biting wind blowing over the Eryas Lowlands, the spark of serenity in his chest kindled, and he breathed out with relief.

I have never seen such a gigantic city, the blond boy riding next to him said with awe. How many people live in the capital?

Lissandro smiled. From the food in the taverns to Millhaven’s gardens, Askjell had been impressed by all the local curiosities since they had crossed the mountains. Raised on his parents’ estate, the boy had received a place at the court only a few months ago with the certitude that Grimmr ruled the earth in the shadow of the gods.

You will have the opportunity to ask yourself, Lissandro said, observing a cortege of riders on their way to meet them.

In the golden afternoon light, their silk and adorned brocade sparkled in a thousand hues. The horses’ manes and the long caparisons waved high in the wind. In front of such a prestigious retinue, Lissandro felt welcomed as a prince, until he saw the long, lilac hair of the rider at the head.

Who is this? Askjell muttered. She is beautiful.

Lissandro grinned. "It’s not a she, Askjell. It’s the queen." Lissandro reined in, got down from his horse, and strode forwards. As their leader raised his hand, the group in front of them halted. The queen dismounted and went towards him.

You took your time to come back, Selen said.

Lissandro’s heart rejoiced at the sound of his soft voice, at the sight of his sparkling, emerald eyes and of his gentle smile. So, you did miss me, Lissandro chuckled.

Yes, I did, Selen whispered, embracing him warmly. Lissandro hugged him hard in return. Welcome home.

It is an honor, Your Majesty, Askjell said behind them. The boy had dismounted and bowed low with his face towards the ground.

Lissandro cocked his head back. This is my squire, Askjell. He has not seen much of the world, but he is eager to learn. The boy blushed at Lissandro’s words. I could have traveled alone, but Grimmr insisted I had an escort.

Nysa Serin is a wise choice of place to learn, indeed, Selen said. Please, let me accompany you.

They got on their horses and headed towards the gates. Lissandro and Selen rode side by side at the head of the retinue. Out of the corner of his eye, Lissandro observed his friend. Dressed in the confusing robes of his function, pale and fresh as a marble statue, Selen radiated a contagious quietude.

Is the king waiting for us in the palace? Lissandro asked. A waft of air blew his long, brown hair over his face. Lissandro brushed it back behind his ears.

The king is waiting for you in the city. He has a surprise to show you, Selen said with an enigmatic smile. His thin eyebrows shone white in the sunlight, underlining his arabesque tattoos on his forehead. Much happened during your absence.

Yes, I know. But I still don’t regret to have followed the events from the gods.

Selen broke into a childlike laugh. Brave but not foolhardy.

I came here for holidays, Lissandro said. Selen looked at him with a smirk on his face. I mean it. I only wish to be entertained. He winked.

They passed under the heavy gatehouse. Lissandro had expected an austere and rigid atmosphere, but the streets bustled with people. The shops were still full of the autumn harvest, displaying grapes, pumpkins, and beets. Loaded carts clattered on the cobbles. Scarlet and gold foliage festooned the terraces, and fresh frescoes decorated the walls. Lamplighters walked about the streets to lighten the lanterns before the night. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and honey buns.

I will leave you here and ride back to the palace, Selen said. I will show your men to their quarters and find a room for your squire. One of the guards will lead you through Spreefield to the king.

The escort and Selen reined into the main street. Lissandro followed the guard into the south area. Wherever he turned his eyes, the same peaceful scenes of a worker returning home or a woman closing her shop appeared. It took a while before the obvious struck him. There were no children. The streets were empty of childish screams and laughs. He turned to the guard.

Where are all the children?

The man looked at him and wrinkled his face in doubt before he shrugged. At school.

Dumbfounded, Lissandro contemplated the façades around and the higher windows. He heard a distant babbling. Do you have kids?

Yes, my lord. Two sons. In Poldon. Good pupils they are. The man paused as if musing. We don’t see much… They can read, he added with more spirit and a jot of pride. We’re arrived. The street opened on a large square. The king is right there, the guard added, pointing forward to a crowd of workers, provisional shacks, and treadwheel cranes.

Lissandro raised his head. Holy Christ!

Gaping, he kicked his horse and approached the structure. From down the mountain’s slope in the west, it stretched far among the houses and buildings to the east and was higher than a cathedral. His horse stopped.

Welcome back, Lissandro.

He looked down. Louis stood next to his horse, holding the reins. Lissandro felt the heat through all his body and smiled brightly. Louis had not changed a bit. Yet, there was something more in his sapphire eyes—happiness.

Louis! Lissandro jumped down from his horse and threw himself into his friend’s arms. In return, Louis kissed his cheek with his full lips, grazing the side of his face with his shoulder-length, brown curls. I’m so pleased to see you again.

Me too. You will have to tell us about your journey, but I wanted to show you something. All smiles, Louis let go of him and turned around. The falling sunrays cast a glow on his golden loop earring.

I can’t believe you built an aqueduct, Lissandro whispered.

It brings water directly from the mountain to the entire city. Louis’s finger followed the water’s route. The first part is based on gravity, then buried canalizations convey water to the different areas. The overflow is collected in a water tower over there. He pointed to the east. We don’t need to bring water from Silverfall’s dam anymore. The water from the lake can directly irrigate the fields. It’s not Le Pont du Gard, but it’s still something, Louis said with his hands on his hips.

How could you create something so historically perfect? Lissandro asked. And so fast?

Selen said that they had one in Cnossos. He knew a bit how it worked and explained to us the system of siphons. We talked with builders, and we came to that result. As for the construction progress, we employed every idle hand in the city and asked for the help of some of the peasants out of the sowing and harvesting seasons.

And they all agreed to work willingly? Lissandro turned to Louis.

Everyone received one meal per day and decent wages. It also helped for the cohesion of the population, Louis said with satisfaction.

Lissandro was amazed that the people had complied to Louis’s projects with such good will, and, he had no doubt about it, a good dose of coercion for some. Of course, they were respected, and it was all for their own welfare, but to mix classes and break the barrier with the countryside must have been a strong change in their habits.

It’s getting dark. Should we ride back to the palace? My horse is over there. Louis let go of his horse’s bridle and headed to a group of guards nearby. In the meanwhile, Lissandro got on his saddle and gave a last look at the aqueduct. Louis joined him, and they rode together up the hill.

The palace hadn’t undergone any layout change. Since the beginning of Louis’s reign, it had never been a place of opulence, and unless they were ministers or prestigious representatives, the nobles had no access to the apartments and chambers in the south wing. When Lissandro had asked after the possibility of a royal court, Louis had answered that he was king, not innkeeper. In the quietude of the evening, they rode to the stables. Lads waited for them and bustled about their horses as soon as they dismounted. A group of royal guards wearing the white and blue cloak with the unicorn brooch walked in their direction.

Good evening, Your Majesty. Lissandro.

Folc? It was hard for Lissandro to recognize the boy. Folc had built muscles and had let a light, red beard grow on his cheeks. His armor of captain of the royal guard fitted him perfectly.

I’m pleased to see you again, Folc said, smiling at him. The boy escorted them into the palace. He turned to Louis. Selen is waiting for you in the solar. I met Minister Josselin on my way here. He wishes to have a word with you about the canalizations in the slums.

I will meet him later, Louis answered. I would like to take care of our guest tonight. We have much to discuss.

As they talked, they crossed the gallery and entered the inner garden.

After you, Louis said, holding out his hand towards the solar door. Lissandro had noticed that even after over a year as King of Trevalden, Louis still decided to ignore the most basic etiquette and favored the politeness particular to his previous country.

Lissandro pushed the solar door open and stopped dead. You must be kidding me.

In front of him, Selen paced the floor slowly with a baby nestled in his arms. Lissandro stepped in and pointed at the child, speechless. Selen looked at him inquiringly, his head tilted as if he did not understand. His eyes grew larger, and he laughed.

At his right, Lissandro heard another laugh he recognized at once. By the gods, Lissandro, he’s mine. He turned around and saw Kilda come to him. You are still such a fool.

Kilda. He embraced her with affection.

Lissandro took a step back to look at her. Kilda folded her gloved hands on her stomach and played with her rings. Her black hair now reached her shoulders. Her burgundy velvet dress was a pleasant change. Around her neck shone a necklace of pearls. Though she still towered over him like a Northman, she had become a beautiful woman. A fact that the scar on her cheek barely lessened.

Your husband wanted to see me? Louis asked Kilda.

Yes, he is waiting for you in the council room.

I would have enjoyed meeting him, but I have to take Lissandro to the city again. Please, be kind and greet him from me and present my apologies to him.

I will, Kilda said.

She walked towards Selen and motioned to take the baby in her arms. Lissandro noticed with which care Selen handed the child to her and the twitch of bitterness in his eyes.

He seems used to him, Lissandro teased, glancing at Louis. His friend shifted his gaze away.

Kilda had a light cough. My health has not always been good, and Selen has watched over my boy many a time. There was an awkward silence that Kilda broke rapidly. I wish you all a good evening and hope we will soon meet again. Her son against her bosom, she took her leave, followed by Folc.

So. What have you two planned to do with me tonight? Lissandro asked and rubbed his hands.

We are going to take you to a place you have not been for a very long time, Louis said, all smug. A restaurant.

Yippee!

From the outside, nothing differentiated the place from a tavern. Flowers on the windowsills and orange stained-glass windows gave the building a hospitable touch. The wooden sign on its metal pole represented two donkeys stirring a cooking pot.

The Donkeys’ Brew? Lissandro said, dubious.

There are only two restaurants in the city for now. It’s still a prototype, but you won’t be disappointed, Selen said.

As they entered, Lissandro noted he had misjudged the place. It smelled of meat pie, and it was warm and cozy. The benches had red gingham cushions matching the tablecloth. On each table, candles shone in small vases. He pushed back his hood and unfastened his heavy, fox-fur cloak. Though he was accompanied by the king and the queen, the customers barely took note of their presence. They took a seat at a table near a window.

You do not really create a mass hysteria, Lissandro pointed out.

It was the case in the beginning, but they have learned I disapprove of such things, Louis answered.

You threw a few zealots in your jails? Lissandro joked. Selen raised an eyebrow to confirm. Oh. I see. There is constancy in some things. The kitchen’s fumet had wakened up his hungry stomach. He grabbed a folded piece of hard paper he thought to be the menu. Stewed beef with its cloves and wine sauce, duck in a mustard crust, parsnip pie with garlic… There is a French touch in here, Lissandro grunted.

Not only, look at the last one, Louis pointed out. Requested only for you.

Squirrel. It’s too kind. I do feel welcome. He squinted.

Well, could you tell us why you decided to pass winter here with us? Selen asked.

"When you officialized your relation last year, every king in the neighboring countries decided to assert his virility by getting married or being seen with a woman. Many women, in the case of King Horvath in the Iron Marches. Useless to say that in my case as your ex-companion and son of the king of the Frozen Mountains, I was rapidly considered as one and got a stepmother in the following month. I passed last winter with the court and the royal couple trapped in the palace under six feet of snow. I can tell you that there were nights I regretted I hadn’t been eaten alive by Agroln. More questions on how your irresponsibility ruined my love life?"

Just one. Do they question my virility? Louis asked. His jaw line pulsed, the sudden severity of his face sharpened by his short, dark sideburns.

That was before we got the news that you had disposed of three to five percent of the population. Now, depending if they are nobles or peasants, they call you the Bloodthirsty Bastard or the Wise.

Selen frowned at Louis—as hard as his thin, light eyebrows could allow him—before turning to him. We are sorry for what happened to you. We lost grip on the events, and all happened quite fast. 

Well, let’s forget that, Lissandro sighed. I will take the squirrel in its verte sauce with chopped spinach in cheese.

The waitress took their order. A while later, she put a plate in front of him with two brown, crispy roasted bodies swimming in a green gravy. The aroma of mint and ginger brought water to his mouth. Lissandro looked at the cutlery. Plates, a fork?

I welcome civilization if it spares us from eating like cavemen, Louis said. He broke his bread into small pieces that he dipped in his stew.

How do you celebrate Christmas here? Lissandro asked. He worked on a squirrel leg. The meat was juicy and melted in his mouth. He washed it down with the wine Louis had ordered and which matched the meal in its bouquet of flavors. You could trust a Frenchman to pick the most delicate beverage on the list.

You mean the winter solstice, Louis said, lifting a spoonful of beef stew with a soaked piece of bread to his mouth.

Yes. Assuming you have not banned the religious celebrations.

Though he remembered his friend to be a deist, the Revolution had wiped out all Christian symbols to replace them with patriotic ones. However, the Cult of the Supreme Being would sound as much as a nonsense to those people as it would to Selen. As for himself, this society could as well be compelled to pray Taranis that he would still keep Jesus in his heart.

Not at all, Louis replied with a casualness that indicated he wasn’t a stickler concerning the people’s private beliefs. Last year, the people celebrated the solstice with candles and grilled pork. They gathered around bonfires and sang in patois until morning. It was…

Boring, Selen said, rolling his green eyes. You have no idea.

This is why I thought we could present something new this year. I am sure we could inspire ourselves once again from your culture, Louis said, turning to Selen. That would delight the spirits. Didn’t you use to recite poetry?

Yes, Selen. Tell us how your civilization used to celebrate the solstice, Lissandro teased, knowing the answer.

Selen put down his bowl of soup. I’m sorry, but there is no poetry. At that time of the year, during Poseidon’s cycle, it’s the rural Dionysia. Drunken young men sing and dance while carrying a giant phallus. People share lewd jokes and drink with each other while eating the meat of the sacrifices. It’s very convivial. He turned to Lissandro. Oh, it’s also during those celebrations that we perform the dances you asked me about once—where we use our bodies.

Lissandro grinned, but inwardly he laughed his guts out. Louis’s indignant, gaping face was priceless. "Come on, Louis. It’s not as if you were prudish." Louis turned to him with such a look of anger that Lissandro understood he had hit the mask at the right place. You haven’t told him. Anyway, let’s add a layer, he thought. You could open the celebrations with an orgy.

No, Selen retorted, serious. This never happens during the opening, he said, candid as usual. Later…but I never stayed that long. I hate such things.

The touching ingenuousness of the Cretan, Lissandro thought with a mocking smile. We could take the dances, Lissandro said. He had not given up hope to see Selen perform a pagan dance.

Selen’s face brightened. I’d love it. I could train a few dancers and perform between bonfires. We need a lot of wine, goatskins for the costumes, and horse manes for the tails. I will also need someone to carve me a wooden dil— Lissandro hung on his lips, but Selen looked at Louis and lost his words.

Or we could hear what your period has to propose, Lissandro, Louis said with a look at Selen still tainted with reproach.

In my period, Christmas is a time where a family reestablishes the values of love, generosity, and community. Everyone gathers around a homemade meal and sings carols, before sharing gifts under the adorned Christmas tree. You can go out to help the less fortunate and show the virtues of humility and friendship towards your fellow citizens, Lissandro recited with his best apple-polishing voice. Selen narrowed his eyes to show he was not fooled. Lissandro would have sneered at Selen if Louis hadn’t been watching him with approval.

Well, I think we have found…

The customers’ screams interrupted Louis. People rose around them. Lissandro bent forward and saw that a man lay on the floor, shaking with spasms. There is someone sick, he muttered.

Selen got up and moved towards the table where the man had fallen. Lissandro followed him. The waitress hastened to put herself in Selen’s way.

Your Majesty, you should not approach him, she whispered, her head bowed, uncertain of how far she could oppose her queen. The man looks sick.

I can help him, Selen retorted. Let me have a look.

The woman moved to the side, along with the crowd of curious. Lissandro put his hand on his mouth. The skin of the man lying on the floor was greenish. His features were covered in sweat and his tongue stuck out, swollen. The man lay in a pool of his own vomit.

He probably strangles with something, Selen said, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic. Before he touched the man, Louis grasped Selen’s wrist, his knuckles tense. Selen swiveled his head.

Don’t! Look at his neck.

Lissandro bent closer to see. Under the collar of the man’s cloak, white lumps poked out. Lissandro stepped back with fright. Louis pulled Selen up and turned to the crowd.

Everyone out! Now! Louis turned to the waitress. All he touched. Burn everything. And send a lad to fetch Brother Benedict in the palace. Lissandro, take your cloak. We all wait outside.

Lissandro glanced down again. His face a gnarled, petrified mask, his aghast gaze fixed far above their heads, the man was dead.

2

Louis had dragged him out of the restaurant in a rush. Some of the customers walked away, while some curious lingered to see what would happen, rousing the curiosity of passerby. As Lissandro slipped his cloak on, Selen turned towards his friends.

Will you finally tell me what’s going on?

Haven’t you seen the marks on his neck? Louis asked.

Yes, I had. The man was sick, but he would not bite. Why such a fright?

Lissandro and Louis shared puzzled looks. You mean you don’t know what symptom it is? Lissandro asked Selen.

Well, maybe we were a bit quick on the conclusions, Louis objected in a low voice.

Quick or not, I won’t take any risk, Lissandro said with a tinge of irritation as he turned to Louis again.

Me neither, Louis said, rubbing his arms. He had left his cloak inside. Selen unfastened his and put it on his friend’s shoulders. Thank you. He nodded. There is no need for you to worry right now, Selen. Not until we know what it is.

Selen stayed silent but his teeth gnashed. Though he mildly appreciated their consideration, this pampering exasperated him. Lissandro might be smarter than him, but they could give him a chance to learn.

In the cold night, they waited against the restaurant’s wall. Disappointed by the inaction, the crowd dispersed. A while later, two horses turned the corner of the street and approached them.

How can I help Your Majesty at such a late hour? Brother Benedict asked while dismounting. The monk turned to them, displaying his jovial smile despite his disheveled, white hair erected on his neck and his tired features.

Selen glimpsed at the young man behind the monk. He had never seen him before. His face was smooth, and his eyes were as narrow and angular as the ones of cats. Though longer as it should be, his auburn hair was shaved at the top of his skull in a tonsure. The ephebe’s lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t a genuine one like the monk’s or a mischievous one like Lissandro’s. It made Selen feel uneasy, and he surprised himself by grasping Louis’s wrist.

Yes, Brother, we need your help, Louis said. He craned his neck. Who is that boy?

Your Majesty, let me present to you my assistant, Eliot, Brother Benedict said as he tied his mount’s reins to a post. He came three weeks ago from Tremeven Abbey. He…

You take in assistants without informing me? Louis interrupted him. The monk squirmed. We will talk about it later. We need your expertise on something.

They returned inside the restaurant. The dead man’s corpse lay where they had left it. His features were distorted with pain as if he had fought for air in his last moment. It smelled of piss and cold spew. Brother Benedict bent over the man and put his gloves on.

I would say he choked on something, but this green bile in the corner of his mouth may be the sign of a liver failure, the monk said. He pressed the throat between two fingers.

He bled from the ears as well, Brother, Eliot said, turning the man’s head to the side.

And the lumps? Louis asked.

I know what you are thinking, Your Majesty, but the infection of the lymph nodes can be one of the symptoms of several diseases, Brother Benedict replied. Yet, we lack important information like how long he has been sick or how he caught it. Who has been in contact with him?

I don’t know. I sent everyone home, Louis said, lowering his voice as he realized his mistake.

Brother Benedict frowned. With one hand on the table at his side, he pushed himself up. A joint in his leg made a soft plop. We will see if more cases show up. In the meanwhile, I suggest we bury the body with care and disinfect the place.

Do what you consider best, Louis said.

Selen, Louis, and Lissandro fastened their cloaks and went out. They rode back to the palace in silence, each of them lost in his thoughts. Selen pondered what he had seen. By the monk’s diagnostic, his friends’ mysterious disease was known in this world as well. Selen glanced around and waited for an explanation that never came.

Are you afraid it can be pox? he asked out loud as his patience ran dry.

We are afraid it may be something serious, indeed, Lissandro said, but not pox.

Brother Benedict said it could be a liver disease, Louis said.

Lissandro looked at him with a grimace. You know as well as I—

That if such a thing spread through our city, it will be a disaster we are not prepared to face, Louis interrupted him.

As they passed under the palace’s gatehouse, Lissandro halted his mount, letting Louis carry on forwards alone. Selen stopped next to Lissandro and bent over to see what he was looking at. 

It’s only a dead rat, Selen whispered, waiting for Lissandro to reassure him.

Yes, it is. Just don’t mention it to him. Lissandro kicked his horse again.

A shiver ran through Selen’s spine. He did not need to know the disease his friends were referring to to understand this was a bad omen.

3

Here is your harness, Your Majesty.

Selen finished fastening his long, lilac braid and picked up his chest protection. You’re new in the palace? he asked. The leather was still sticky from the olive oil he had applied on it as conditioner.

Yes, Your Majesty. I arrived last week from Millhaven, the guard answered. One step at his side, he stood at attention.

Then you should know to drop the particulars when I am here, Selen said. He fastened the leather straps on his flanks and shortened the longest ones he twisted in a V on his back. Because when you will raise your sword against me, I want you to see the enemy, not the queen. Selen gave a short smile and passed in front of the guard. He picked up his helmet and exited the guards’ room.

On the inner courtyard, the guards were already aligned in rows. Selen took his place between two of them, on the second line a few steps behind Folc. The winter sun grazed the east bailey’s ridge and cast long shadows of the men up to the smithy shacks. In the morning breeze, only an occasional whinny from the stables echoed to the hammers’ bangs on the anvils. After a while, the combat instructor, Merrik, stepped out of the north tower. Merrik towered over each one of them. His chin was as close-shaved as his scalp. It contrasted with the shaggy, black sheep furs on his shoulders. He was the only one in the yard in full plate armor. The aligned guards of the palace and the royal guards wore plain gambesons and hoses.

Selen was the other exception. Whatever the weather, he would never separate himself from his leather breastplate and his knee-laced sandals. His loincloth—he had overheard some guards call it a skirt—was a compromise he had come to with the instructor. He had reduced his equipment to the minimum tolerated. He had less comfort than the others but was freer of his moves. Besides, he had trained naked all his previous life. Though he had to admit that the loincloth was an improvement, the stifling gambeson had turned him mad after two séances, and he had tossed it away.

As the solstice got nearer, he envied the hairy bodies of his comrades. The low walls in the shadow were still covered with frost. His breastplate and forearms protections broke the wind and kept him warm, but gooseflesh ran over his legs to his toes. Impatient to start the warm-up, he shifted his helmet from one hand to the other. The helmet had been Louis’s idea. It covered his whole head, and only a slit was cut for the eyes and down to a sharp point further down his chin. An abundant, thick horse mane rose as a crest from the top to the back and cascaded behind. Selen would never wear it on a battlefield, but a highly reduced vision was a good training. As for the rest of his material, it was in a perfect state. It wasn’t rare he took his training suit home to the solar. He grazed a finger on the cold metal while he fancied. Maybe today. The instructor’s voice dragged him out of his musings.

Move your arses, you lazy goat-suckers! Merrik barked. On your neighbor and pump up those bony arms of yours!

Selen turned to the guard at his side. Fortunately, the man was shoulder-height. I start.

Selen put his helmet next to him and stretched down with his arms and legs spread, his palms on the ground. In the same position, the guard weighted heavily across his back. Selen lifted his chest up, stretching his arms as well as he could. The guard wasn’t cheating and pressed the other way down.

When he had asked to join the training, at first, no one had wanted to touch him. Selen didn’t know if it had been for his status or for another reason he had long been used to. With time, and some yelling from the instructor, the guards had gotten used to his presence and treated him as a peer.

The instructor’s boots halted at his eyes’ level. You call that stretching, Cherry? My old nan is stronger than that, and she is three times your age! Merrik crouched next to him. I want to see your pal meet the sky. Is that clear, Pussy? he spat.

Yes, Selen murmured, fighting for breath.

He didn’t mind the insults. It was part of the game. And there were tacit terms now. The instructor had called him s-cumbag once. Two hours later, the man had been called by Louis into the council room. The incident had never happened again.

After ten stretches, Selen didn’t feel the cold anymore. The other guard offered his hand and pulled him up to his feet. They changed places and repeated the exercise.

Get up, you skamelars! On your sticks or I’ll beat the shit out of you!

Selen jumped up and brushed his hands on his thighs. He picked up his helmet, put it on and hustled to the racks on the wall where he picked a long stick among the heap of material. The guards agglutinated around him, fighting for a weapon. Two sticks were missing, and no one wanted to be the fools standing empty-handed. As he stepped away, wood hit his shoulder. One of the guards had challenged him.

Through the slit, Selen peered around. A heavy blow knocked his helmet. It resounded to his brain like in the inside of a bell. He refrained from putting his hands to the sides and positioned them on his stick instead.

Left. He pulled himself together and turned. He sighed at the sight of the bulging muscles. The Beef was a merry fellow, but he had taken him as a personal challenge and kept hitting on him at every occasion. Probably until one of them bit the dust, and Selen wouldn’t have bet a jug of ale on himself.

His grip on his stick relaxed, and his feet spread. The Beef’s stick lashed up in the air. Selen dodged. He raised his stick, was blocked in his move, and got hit on the hip. And one bruise. The Beef slashed down. Selen escaped. Once. Twice. Blocked. Returned a blow. His heart raced. His adversary waved the stick in his face and disappeared from his vision. The wood hit his flank. Right. Selen heard a whiz but saw nothing. He swiveled and felt pain on his back. His stick spun in the air. He froze on the defensive. A crack on the left. He hit. Touched. Sweat moistened his cheeks. His own panting was deafening. A blow on his leg. He straightened. A mass in front of him. His lashes rubbed against the edge of the slit. Don’t aim for the wood. Aim for the hands. The mass moved. Selen crouched, rotated the stick, smashed two of The Beef’s fingers.

Hey! That hurts! The Beef exclaimed.

Selen froze. I’m sor—

The blow got him above the neck and sent him flying to the ground, face first. Dust rose and slipped inside the helmet and into his eyes. Drat. He had probably scratched his legs as well. A large paw grabbed him by the harness.

C’mon, Majesty, The Beef exclaimed. He dropped him onto his feet. T’was a nice one you gave me there. The guard gave him a tap on his back which would have expelled anything stuck in his throat.

Selen managed not to stumble. He removed his helmet. The cold air dried his sweat. Could we say you won? You’re no match for me. Rubbing his eyes, he shuffled over to the benches where some guards were having a break. Selen flopped down on the corner of a bench.

Ah! You’re just too kind, Your Majesty, The Beef said cheerfully. I was just feeling lucky today. He handed him the water skin. Tomorrow, I’ll be victorious. The guard grinned.

Selen took the water, drank, and rinsed his face. I just can’t wait, he whispered.

Tiny stones were stuck under his lashes. He blinked a few times to remove the red from his vision. It felt good to breathe without the helmet. He stretched his legs. The damage was superficial. Glancing around the courtyard, he saw a cart parked near the gates. At the side of his dray, the driver held the bridle and craned his neck in their direction. Poking out of his long sleeve, his hand waved for attention. Selen passed the water skin back to The Beef, rose, and walked towards the man.

Can I help you? Selen asked.

Someone should have met me here, the man answered. His fingers combed his white, tow hair from over his eyes. Lord Lissandro?

Selen chuckled. A Lord, you say? He put his palms on his hips. What business do you have with him?

The man stared at him askance, his eyes fastening on Selen’s hair. And you are? His head leaned backwards to a point where Selen could see the inside of his nostrils.

I’m the queen, Selen added casually.

The man’s attitude took a U-turn. Oh! You don’t say? Your Majesty…erg…I am one of the glass masters. Pilkin is my name. The man bowed. I am here to deliver Lord Lissandro’s order. The master trotted to a box on his cart. You see, it was such an unusual request that I felt obliged to deliver it in person. He unlocked the box and rummaged in the wood shavings. See.

The round object the master held in his hand dazzled with all the shades of red as if all the sunrays passed through it and were projected around to light the world itself. Dust of silver mottled its rim.

Selen gasped, uttered a high-pitched scream, and clasped his hands in excitement. It’s beautiful! He bounced. What is it?

Lord Lissandro called it a bauble.

May I? Selen reached for the bauble. His fingers barely held the glass masterpiece. He turned it around. A small hook topped it. What is this for?

I have no idea. Lord Lissandro asked me for several hundreds of those.

Hundreds? Selen nearly dropped the bauble. This year, the solstice promised to be breathtaking.

A young boy halted at their side. Your Majesty. He turned towards Pilkin. The Lord Chamberlain will welcome you in the great hall, master. Please follow me.

If you’ll excuse me.

Pilkin took the bauble back, bowed, and followed the boy in the direction of the main gallery. Selen stared at the cart before returning to his training.

Luckily, The Beef had found a new victim and was busy hammering his adversary into the ground with a shield. From a rack, Selen picked up a wooden sword.

It doesn’t smell of fish today, a paunchy man at his side said, talking to a fellow guard who slaked his thirst. I can smell the rancid stink of your feet. The man burst out in laughter while his companion smashed his fist on his muscular shoulder.

You culvert! Your wife washed them this morning, the guard sneered.

Why would it smell of fish? Selen asked, interfering in the conversation. His palm twisted on the wooden hilt, mechanically testing the balance.

The paunchy man looked at him. His dark nails rubbed his nose. Kit didn’t show up today.

Selen remembered Kit. The scrawny guard had his post near the kitchen. He carried around a kind of salty perfume of smoked herring. Some said it lingered in the cracks of his pimpled skin. His mother lived in the slums, a stone’s throw from the docks.

He’d said his mother had fallen sick lately, the guard carried on. Seems he caught it too. Or he poisoned himself with rotten cod. Both guards laughed.

Selen didn’t hope so. His own food passed under the man’s nose. The idea Kit had sneezed on it got a nasty shiver out of him. Sword in hand, he slipped his helmet over his head again and resumed his training. He passed behind the novices practicing their skills on rotating dummies, reached the combat field, and clashed his sword against the one of a hand-tattooed royal guard in a green gambeson. The man adjusted his sallet and jumped en garde. All limbs loose, Selen settled in a ready position and, full with confidence, engaged the fight. Common guards were easy adversaries, but such fights allowed him to sharpen his techniques. Weapons clacked at high speed. Selen’s sword sneaked through unprotected gaps and froze a hairbreadth before it hit. Touched. A grin from his opponent and a lick on the lower lip. The man spun his sword and grated Selen’s down. He wasn’t over yet. Selen welcomed the challenge and switched on the defensive. Cocky, the man hurled forward in a fury of graceless blows. Selen held, stepped aside, and stroked, sending the man smashing facedown onto the gravel.

It’s not a dagger. Use the range.

The man staggered upright, hefted his sword in both hands, and grunted. I’m not done.

Selen prowled around him, clearly enjoying himself. Then, get me.

The battle fever had taken over Selen’s body. He wouldn’t leave his opponent a chance.

Until the sun reached noon, Selen crossed swords and sweated under his metallic prison. The gods smiled upon him, and, besides honing his skills, he won most of his rounds. The horn resounded before the wheel could turn.

Nice fight, Your Majesty, his tenacious opponent panted from under his sallet. You’re as swift as they say.

He flipped his helmet off, revealing a handsome, curly-haired young man. Catching his breath, the lad smiled broadly. The sun brought out his blond hair and the dust on his overly tight hose. Heat tickled Selen’s ears, and butterflies filled his chest. The guard bowed and nearly lost his balance. The thought of catching him crossed Selen’s mind, but that would have been foolishness and increased the already awkward euphoric feeling. Besides, he was exhausted and could barely stand. He nodded.

Thank you, he breathed. It was a pleasure.

With both hands, he flipped the helmet from over his head. The wind dried his wet cheeks. He put the sword back on the rack before he headed to the solar’s bathroom. Folc had insisted he didn’t share the guards’ room’s baths. The boy had implied he talked in the name of the whole garrison.

Once showered, combed, and dressed in woolens, Selen crossed the inner garden and entered the apothecary. It consisted of three rooms. One was Brother Benedict’s, one was his to use, and the third, longest and central, was a well-furnished storing room with a multitude of jars, pots, oaken tables, and all the instruments imaginable. Here and there, as well as hanging from the rafters, plants dried on racks. Stuffed animals and other mammal skeletons completed the botanical decoration. Despite Selen’s suggestion, Brother Benedict had declared human bones out of the question.

It was cold in there. Behind piles of copper pots, the two large, black hearths were dusted with ash. His coat tight around his body, Selen slipped to his room.

A line of books at man’s height squared the space. On the lowest shelves, plain boxes with ingredients and raw materials were neatly ordered. By the high window, a stuffed owl spied him with his two orange-golden orbs. Selen sat by his board where his work waited for him.

Three sides of the square pouch of flowery linen had been sewn. The herbal blend he had made stood in a sealed flask. He opened it and breathed in the fragrances. Lavender, chamomile, and mandarin flowers. He would have lain down on a bed of it. Delicately, Selen filled the pouch. Then, he took a needle and a thread and with small, meticulous stitches sewed the parts of the last side together. The cushion was ready. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled the perfume once again and smiled. It was time to go down to the city.

Selen put the little cushion in a satchel he passed around his neck and exited the apothecary. The sun still shone at the zenith. He wouldn’t be late. He crossed the garden and, leaving the main gallery for the inner yard, held the door for a young maid overloaded with laundry baskets. Her face hidden under her wimple, she minced past him and disappeared inside.

In the yard, a stableboy waited with his horse. Selen thanked the lad and hopped into the saddle. Once the reins were gathered, his mount cantered its way out of the palace and trotted downhill to Nysa Serin.

In the streets, the people flitted around from shop to shop. Warmly tucked under their furs or wools, they collected the last items for the solstice. It could be ingredients for the puddings, a few extra candles, or most importantly, the pork. A whole pork for those who could afford it, bits for pies and soups for the others. Despite Louis’s attempts to promote a diet based on greens and dairy, these people loved their meat.

The shops’ bells rang as Selen wound his way through the shopping area to Khorkina House. When he passed under the porch, an aroma of newly brewed ale welcomed him. Maybe he would get the privilege to taste the household’s production. Lads were busy decorating the majestic, carved façade with ivy and mistletoe under the supervision of the house’s steward.

Good day to you, Pierce, Selen said, waving hello to the slender, ash-haired man.

Pierce turned around. Above his narrow, hooked nose, his bushy eyebrows curved with surprise. Oh. Good day, Your Majesty. I will announce your arrival to my lady at once.

It’s all right, Pierce, Kilda cheered. I’m right here. From under a welter of lace and beige furs, she stretched her hand towards Selen and motioned him to hurry in. Selen knew the way through the halls and stairs to the solar. Kilda followed on his heels. When he pushed the door open, piles of clothes had taken over the furniture. The dressed gueridon was the only spared spot.

Don’t mind the mess. I was working on the linen, she said while passing in front of him. As if cupping a ball of feathers, she lifted her son from his cradle and cuddled him against her bosom under layers of scarves. Please. Take a seat. I had some tea prepared.

Selen stretched his lower body into a chair while leaning over to catch a glimpse of the milky, chubby face. Only a clenched fist and an ear poked out. It reminded him of the motive for his visit. He rumbled in his