Forged in Frost

Ghost

The day has long passed into night when Evelyn finally stores her cleaning supplies in the hallway cupboard. What a dreadful afternoon. The new general walked into the castle again, speaking with Count Hadrian about the courses of his training and the war. When Evelyn turned to listen, she knocked the planter she'd been polishing against the desk, dropping it, denting the rim. Grogar had stormed over and grabbed her arm. Count Hadrian did nothing—as usual—but this new general came in at once and, quite theatrically, brandished his sword on Grogar to instill some kind of fearful reaction. It didn't work. Grogar isn't afraid of anything, much less a man over a head shorter than him, with a sword under his nose that he could use to pick his teeth.

Evelyn had been rather embarrassed. When he'd gotten Grogar to leave, General Asher promised Evelyn that the Orc would never bother her again. She'd rolled her eyes before forgetting that was not a very polite response. But it was rather ridiculous. No one had ever gotten Grogar to leave the staff alone.

There had been something in the general's eyes when he'd asked her name. Something mysterious. He seemed overtly interested in her—in a lowly servant. It wasn't exactly proper. Even she knew that. But she told him her name. And he bowed to her, almost like an equal.

Perhaps things are different in Tarreth. Perhaps servants and royals all go along merrily like equals. Although Countess Ilvara is uniquely accepting—even letting servants eat in the dining hall at dinnertime—there are some barriers that aren't crossed. Evelyn cleans rugs and rips out weeds. No man of any station bows to her.

Grogar was even crueller to her after General Asher left. She found charcoal dust in her waxing polish, mud streaked along a hall she'd just cleaned, and saw him personally dump a pot of slop meant for the pigs over the kitchen floor. He shooed the kitchen workers out and stood by, arms crossed, munching cheese while she cleaned it up. Occasionally, he would spit thickly onto the floor and say, "Missed a spot."

Now, she's just happy to be going to sleep. To plod along back through the great hall to her bedchamber. Just as she presses her hand to the door, she finds a note attached:

Guest chamber, midnight

Evelyn stares at it, confused. Is this some kind of trick? Does Grogar have another nasty treat in store for her? Payment for General Asher's antics today? She doesn't feel good about ignoring it, though. What if it's legitimate? What if Countess Ilvara needs her?

It's about midnight now. Evelyn sighs and tucks the note away, heading for the hallway lined with bedchamber doors. At the end is the room for Countess Ilvara and Count Hadrian, their great study, and an extra chamber. Down the left of the hall are the guest quarters, several bedchambers, storage, and lavatories.

She glances down the hall, still uncertain, consulting the note again. Which guest chamber?

"Psst," she hears from a crack in the far-left door.

Evelyn approaches, cautiously. "Is... there something I can get you?"

The door opens wider. "Come in."

She enters, and finds herself in a small bedchamber she's rarely visited, even to clean. It's not often used, except for now, when the current general of Lockmire needs somewhere to sleep.

"Glad you found it," he says. He sits on the end of his bed, casually. "Didn't think you'd come."

"Why am I here?" Evelyn asks, stiff with confusion and discomfort. The quiet. The solitude. The man undressed to nearly his underclothes before her. Something isn't right. Not right at all.

"Because I called you here."

Asher rises to pour himself wine at the desk. Evelyn glances over the jewelry, gem-encrusted weapons, rolls of parchment with bright wax seals. Wherever he came from must be far nicer than here. Nonetheless, he's made himself at home rather quickly.