Dawn of the Dreamsmith (The Raven's Tale Book 1) (27 page)

Harri seemed oblivious to either the bird’s rage or its suffering. Eagerly, he offered the gory heart up to the cage. The crow gave it one look, let out a shrill caw and renewed its assault on the bars. Harri’s face fell.

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “I have tried everything to make her happy. I thought this would work...” Cole was astonished to see a tear roll down the hunter’s cheek. “I would catch the sun and the moon themselves if I thought it would make her well, but I see now that it would not.”

“It... she looks ill,” said Cole.

“My father told me you could not cage a creature such as this, that she was too much of the wild, but I would not listen.” Harri’s voice was laced with despair. “I thought I could prove them wrong.”

Cole patted the young hunter’s shoulder. “I think it’s time to let it go.”

“Yes.” Harri stood and lifted the cage. Within, the crow was still but continued to eye the hunter with suspicion. Gently, he undid the latch fastening the cage door and opened it. No sooner was the door open than the crow burst through it with a rustle of feathers, and took off into the sky.

When it was done, Harri sank to his knees on the ground, his shoulders slumped. Cole thought about trying to comfort him, but decided to leave him to grieve in private.

He focused his mind, and Harri, the forest and all around them vanished in a blinding white light.

When Cole reopened his eyes, it took him a moment to readjust, as it always did. Gradually, he became aware of his surroundings – the glowing coals of the fire, the peat miners’ huts and the smell of the muddy fuel filling the air. As the fire had died down, the chill of the approaching winter had returned. Cole shivered, and found himself missing the warmth of the forest in Harri’s dream.

The young hunter was sitting upright on the other side of the fire, watching him silently. His face was still, his expression blank. Cole didn’t really know what to say to him, so said nothing.

Of a sudden, Harri coughed, stood up and stretched his back. “It is my turn to take watch, I think,” he said stiffly. “Get some sleep, Cole, tomorrow will be a long day.”

He looked as though he was about to say something more, but instead the young hunter shook his head and stalked away into the night.

CHAPTER 12

“
H
urry up, or we’ll miss the snowfall!”

Elise felt a sharp tug at her sleeve, but stood her ground. There was plenty of time, she knew. She ignored the sigh of exasperation from beside her and continued to stare at the shopkeeper’s window, unable to tear her eyes away. She had waited for so long, that to be so close at last was intoxicating. As she stood on the cobbled street, one hand resting lightly on the glass, it was all she could do to stop herself jumping up and down in excitement.

“Odette, what do you think?” she asked.

“Think about what?” The girl beside her groaned impatiently. “Come on, Elly, if I miss the start I shall never forgive you.”

“It’s only Vinterfest,” Elise chided. “They have it every year. The dress, I mean, isn’t it beautiful?”

Odette was aghast. “Once a year? If we miss it today we shall be old maids by the time the next one comes around!” All the same, she joined Elise in front of the seamstress’ shop and cast a critical eye over the object of her friend’s desire. “It’s nice,” she said finally. “It looks expensive.”

Elise breathed a happy sigh. “It is. And tomorrow night I shall wear it at the Winter Ball.”

Odette gasped and twirled Elise round to face her. “The invitation came! Oh, Elly, that’s wonderful. All the lords and ladies will be there. Everyone is going to want to dance with you. Maybe you’ll meet a prince!”

“Perhaps,” Elise replied coyly, blushing. She had often fantasised about exactly that over the past year. “Do you really think so? Dance with me, I mean.”

“Of course!” cried Odette. She took a half step back and examined her closest friend. “You can count on the fingers of one hand how many there are in the whole of Ehrenburg with hair like yours, and they’re probably ugly old trouts in comparison. I was at Comtesse de Tanterville’s garden party this summer, and I overheard people whispering. The girl with the night’s mane, they called you. I would have heard more, but for some reason they stopped talking when I began to gag.”

“So you think I should wear it?”

“I think you could put on an old flour sack for the Ball and the little lordlings will still be lining up to dance with you, Elly dearest.”

Elise giggled. “Oh Ode, you are wicked. They would certainly be talking about me if I did. I think I shall wear this just the same. Mother is sending Agatha down in the morning to collect it. I just hope father doesn’t see the bill before the Ball, he’d probably bring it back himself!”

“Or faint on the spot.” Odette snorted. “Enough about dresses! We have to go now or we’ll be too late.” She grabbed hold of Elise’s arm and began to drag her down the street. This time she followed, and soon they were running down the paved streets towards the palace, laughing together.

The city burghers had done a fine job again this year, Elise had to admit. The streets of Ehrenburg had rarely looked finer. Flags and pennants in crimson and white, the imperial colours, fluttered from every building and walkway. Each avenue dripped with row upon row of festive bunting. Groups of young children scampered around the edges of the crowds, gawping up at the trees in the city square, the branches of which were festooned with streamers of coloured paper and delicate glass baubles of every shape and size. Many were ornately decorated with sparkling stars, crescent moons and snowflakes.

The palace square was heaving with hundreds – thousands – of citizens who had gathered for the festivities, and the carnival atmosphere was in keeping with the grand surroundings.

Everywhere Elise looked, men and women were talking, laughing, eating or drinking. Some were even attempting to dance, though the sheer number of people crammed into one place meant that they were able to do little more than sway rhythmically in one spot. On one side of the square, between two trees, a raised platform had been erected. A group of minstrels were stood atop this, plucking gamely away at a selection of lutes, salteres and other instruments. The music was just about audible above the din of the crowd.

Also arrayed around the edges of the square were a number of small canvas tents, in front of which burned cooking fires. As Elise and Odette made their way through the throng of citizens, the smell of roasting meats, onions and smoke filled the air. In front of one such tent, Elise caught sight of an entire pig, spitted and with an apple placed in its jaws. Two young potboys slowly turned the spit with a handle at each end. Its browned skin glistened with hot fat, droplets of which sizzled as they fell into the flames. Elise thought the pig’s expression to be surprisingly serene. At another, chestnuts glazed in honey were being roasted in a large kettle on top of a brazier. The sweet-savoury aroma made her mouth water, and judging by the throng of people gathered before the street-seller, she was not the only one.

Above the heads of the crowd, she saw mummers on stilts, amusing revellers with feats of dexterity. Two of them juggled half a dozen chicken eggs between themselves at dizzying speeds. Onlookers gasped whenever one appeared to be dropped, but it was always part of the act; at the last minute, one of the mummer’s hands would flick out and catch the falling egg, before flinging it back towards their partner. At the end, one of the jugglers caught one of the eggs in his mouth, shut his jaws with a snap, and then reopened them to reveal a bright yellow chick sitting on his tongue. Elise and Odette laughed and clapped enthusiastically with the crowd at such a feat.

Odette tugged at her sleeve again. “Let’s get closer to the palace, I want to be right at the front when they cut the ropes.”

They pushed their way through the throng; Elise lost count of the number of times she either trod on a stranger’s foot or had someone step on hers. But their persistence paid off, and before long they were standing before the wrought iron gates of the Imperial Palace.

And not a moment too soon. They had barely squeezed to the front of the crowd, when the familiar faces of the Imperial family began to appear at the grand balcony above their heads.

Emperor Maximilien V, known throughout the Empire as Maximilien the Great, stood in the centre. He was smiling down at the gathered crowd, she could see, but at this proximity it was clear it was not an expression his face was accustomed to wearing. He was dressed simply in a crisp white tunic trimmed with crimson, the Imperial bull’s head crest stitched in red onto his left breast. His white, thinning hair was hidden beneath a red skull cap.

Standing on either side of him, as far apart from one another as the width of the balcony would allow, were his sons, the two princes. Jarrod, the younger, was on his father’s left, flanked by a lordling she did not recognise. He was dressed far more extravagantly than his father, in a midnight black doublet slashed with vermilion, while his chest was adorned with an ornate gold amulet set with the biggest green stone Elise had ever seen.

Opposite him, in place of honour at the emperor’s right hand, stood the elder. Prince Adelmar, known to the masses as the Bloody Prince, wore the dark red platemail that reflected his sanguine nickname. Atop the armour, his leonine features were made even more pronounced by the mane of thick auburn hair that tumbled nearly to his shoulders. Unlike his younger sibling, who was larking unsubtly with his companion, Adelmar stood stiffly to attention. His face was composed as he stared out across the sea of faces below.

At the sight of him, Elise’s heart fluttered. “I am pleased that the prince was able to make it back from the north in time for the snowfall,” she said coyly.

Odette gaped at her. “Adelmar? Oh, Elly, he’s old enough to be your father!” She turned back to the balcony. “Your grandfather, even.”

“Don’t be beastly, Ode,” Elise hissed back. “The prince is a fine man. Father says that while the emperor rules the realm, it is Adelmar that holds it.”

“He’s a good commander, no doubt, but you don’t want a soldier for a husband. You’d never see him. I don’t know how Lady Ellara puts up with it.” Odette grinned wolfishly. “What you want to snag for yourself is a rich banker or merchant, Elly dear. Someone who won’t race off across half the Empire every time one of the northern barbarians so much as sneezes in our direction.”

Anger flared in Elise’s breast. “Sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends at all. You can be very cruel.” She sniffed haughtily. “I admire Prince Adelmar, but that’s all there is to it.”

Odette rolled her eyes. “Well, anyway, if I were to have my choice of prince, it would be the younger.” She sighed.

“Jarrod?” Elise was taken aback. The young prince was somewhat comely, she would admit, and in public he was always quick with a smile or jest. But there was a slyness to his manner, a predatory look behind his eyes that always left her feeling uncomfortable in his presence. “He... can be charming, I suppose.”

“He goes at it like a stoat as well, or so I’ve heard.”

“Ode!” Elise could not hide her shock. She knew her friend was more... experienced than she, but she was usually far more circumspect in her presence. She glanced anxiously at the faces around them, fearful that they had been overheard.

Odette was not so concerned however. “Insatiable, they say. Barely a week goes past without some poor scullery wench ushered out the servant’s entrance with an unexpected babe in her arms and a gold coin in her petticoat to buy her tongue.”

“Those are just rumours, surely,” Elise said firmly. “And even if it was true, it is not seemly to discuss such things in public.”

Odette shrugged, a mischievous grin plastered across her face. Elise was left feeling distressed by the turn their conversation had taken, and unconsciously groped for the crystal pendant around her neck. Touching it always calmed her, until it had become a reflex whenever her usual good mood faltered. Within moments, after rolling the stone a few times between her thumb and index finger, she felt herself once again uplifted by the ebullience of the crowd.

Standing half in the shadows behind the emperor, Elise caught sight of another familiar face. The man was tall, in his middle years and dressed in a pristine white robe. It was not possible to see from this distance, but she knew that his eyes were as green as the stone worn by the young prince. She wondered when the Archon had returned to the capital. He glanced down and their eyes met. To her surprise, the Archon smiled, as if in recognition.

Odette noticed as well. “Well, it looks like all those months of attending the Order services are paying off, Elly dear. It seems you are in the Archon’s favour.”

Before Elise was able to reply, the emperor raised his hands. Gradually the crowd quietened. When there was silence, he began to address them.

“One thousand years ago, when our ancestors laid the first stones of our fair city, on the first day of their first winter a blizzard fell upon them.” The emperor’s voice was strong, belying his years. It carried to every corner of the packed city square. “Though each stood waist-deep in the snow, they toiled. It was their will and determination that shaped us, not just as a town, but as a people. Made us strong. Each year since that first, we celebrate the Vinterfest to remind us of our beginnings. Twenty-seven years ago to this day, Emperor Frederik, my father, lay on his deathbed even as the sounds of the carnival drifted to his bedchamber. I was there at his side. His last words in this life were ‘let the snow fall’.”

Up on the balcony, Jarrod whispered conspiratorially to his companion, his mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. A jest of some kind, no doubt, as the lordling snickered dutifully.

Adelmar glared sharply at the pair of them, radiating silent disapproval. Smiling wanly, Jarrod acknowledged his brother with a minute nod of his head.

Most of the crowd, standing further back than Elise and her companion, were oblivious to this exchange. Equally unperturbed, the emperor continued. “In this world there are only three certainties. We are born. We die. And on the first day of winter, there will be snow on the streets of Ehrenburg.”

The crowd erupted into applause, which turned into gasps as in one fluid motion Adelmar drew his sword. Sunlight glinted on steel polished to a mirror-like shine.

“Duty!” Elise cried. It was the first time she laid eyes on the Legion commander’s famed blade. “They say he has kept it always at his side since the day it vanquished the rebel lord.”

“I can believe it,” Odette replied slyly. “I’ve heard it said that he’d rather take the sword to bed than his wife.”

“If you lifted your mind out of the gutter every so often you might occasionally see the stars,” Elise replied primly. All the same, at the mention of Adelmar and his bed, she felt her cheeks flushing.

Upon the balcony, the Bloody Prince swung the blade in a flat arc at a rope tied to the balcony, severing it in a single stroke. With that, the gigantic canvas sheets that had been tied all along the ramparts of the palace opened, letting loose a multitude of white flakes. All around the city, other bulging sheets opened, scattering a blizzard of tiny white flakes into the wind.

Soon, the air all around them was filled with the fluttering shapes. Elise caught one between her fingers. A small slip of paper so thin you could almost see though it. It had been folded and cut in numerous places, so that when unfolded it resembled a large snowflake. Every one of the countless flakes would have been prepared just the same, she knew.