Forged in Frost

First Petals

The cobblestones are barely sun-warmed when Ilvara pads up toward the castle. Their coolness leaches through the thin soles of Ilvara's slippers, soft blue and silken, with a thin rim of lace around the foot. Incredibly expensive. Incredibly useless.

She shifts the items around in her arms to better carry them, stacking things in the bucket, looping the handle around her arm. But her mind hardly registers their weight or inconvenience.

She glances back as the last of Caius' party exits Lockmire's gate. Off to fight for Prynveil. Her heart should race with hope and fear. That's surely what Evelyn is feeling now, innocent of the stupidity of this war. But all Ilvara can feel is anger. Anger that men must suffer and die for nothing. To her, there is nothing more pointless than war. Especially one that accomplishes so little. Let Esterden have the blasted Pond, for all she cares. Let them share it. Tear up the old treaty and make a new one. Why carry on ancient traditions that make no sense when all it does is hurt more people?

But what does she know? She's only the smiling, silent face next to Hadrian's.

What more concerns her than even this war is Evelyn's curious silence while she washed her. When Caius left, she gave no explanation. That alone was odd. It was not like Evelyn not to confide in her. And it would not have mattered had she not overheard part of what Caius had said. I've thought about how to tell you, and if I should tell you. There are many consequences if I do... What could he have meant? Surely... surely there is not already a romantic pursuit! Surely not by the commander himself!

When Ilvara had collected her things and stood quietly by the dividing sheet, Evelyn still did not explain. She only smiled, thanked her, and shifted to her side to sleep.

Evelyn's own vow returns to her with dizzying clarity: "I swear to never begin, encourage, or tolerate romance between myself and any fellow troop... Should I break this vow, let me be immediately expelled from this army, banished from Lockmire and all its holds, and let my name be accursed."

These were incredibly high stakes. Ilvara's best hope is that, if it does involve Caius, his reckless actions at the mountain pass will be enough to expel him from the army. Then, he'll be gone, and Evelyn will have no more involvement. It doesn't matter if she has any feelings in it. Not with a vow like that. No feeling is worth giving up her entire life.

Ilvara ponders her own decisions bitterly. How she wished someone could have stopped her once...

Judith is waiting inside the castle door when she arrives. She hands Ilvara a lit candle. Ilvara is glad she no longer insists on doing everything for her like when she first became her servant.

"Thank you," Ilvara says, handing her some of the washing supplies. "Is the count awake yet?"

Judith nods. "I believe he is downstairs, my lady."

"The prison?"

Judith's eyes flicker. "Your laboratory, my lady."

Ilvara holds her expression flat. "Thank you."

She heads for the door to the narrow, spiralling staircase to the lower level. Guided by her orb of candlelight, she navigates to the little nook reserved for all her alchemy ingredients, tools, weights, scales, and bottles. She sets down the light, pretending not to notice the shadow seated in the dark corner.

She begins to put away her supplies. Bottles wink down at her from the shelves in every shade—deep crimsons, bright violets, glittering ambers. She carefully organizes her loose herbs, scrapes leftover tallow into a storage bowl, and covers small pots of mixed oil with waxed parchment.

"Why did you marry me?"

Ilvara jumps, genuinely startled. She peers into the darkness. "Hadrian, what—?"