Sentinelspire

Chapter Eighteen

Lewan spent the rest of the morning and most of the early afternoon on his balcony, raking in the clear air, the scents of flowers, and the sounds of the birds. He watched a lizard hunting the tiny blue butterflies in the vines that clung to the stone next to his balcony. It made him think of Perch, and his already dark mood darkened further, a reflection of the growing gloom in the canyon. This night of all nights, surrounded by so much stone, cut off from the natural world that had so defined his life for the past several years, Lewan felt very alone.

Another storm had climbed up the mountain-a fierce one, by the look of it. Lewan could see the lightning flashing in the clouds, and the thunder came deep and low down the slopes. It would fall on the fortress before sunset.

He returned to his room, grateful for the warm light of the candles. The ashes in the hearth were cold, but more wood lay stacked in an iron rack next to the fireplace. He knelt beside it, and for the first time noticed that each of the four curves of black iron ended in the shape of a leering face, eyes wide and lips open in an almost feral grin. Who would craft such an awful thing?

The tin bucket of kindling next to the firewood was filled with shavings from apple wood. Lewan breathed in their scent as he scattered the kindling over the ashes. He chose the small birch logs next. They would burn hot and fast. Once the fire was going, he would add the cherry wood. It would burn warm and slow, and he loved the scent.

The flames were just beginning to catch in the birch logs when the door opened and Ulaan entered, carrying a platter of food. Behind her came another girl, slightly taller and dressed in a loose silk robe of blue and green. She was so like Ulaan that they could have been sisters. A bundle of fresh candles dangled from one hand, and she bore a large brass wash basin.

Seeing the platter of half-eaten food still filling the small table, Ulaan placed the new platter on the bed and turned to face Lewan. She motioned to the other girl. "This is my sister, Bataar."

Bataar rose from where she had placed the wash basin on the floor, then gave him a small bow, never meeting his eyes.

"The Lady Talieth said that you are feeling unhappy," said Bataar. "She ordered these brought to you in hopes of lifting your mood."

She turned and clapped her hands. Thunder rumbled outside, putting a slight vibration in the floor, and four servants, each muscled as thick as a seasoned warrior, entered the room. Each pair bore a large clay pot between them. In the first pot grew a tree, a mature oak, though it was no more than the half-height of a man. In the second pot grew a full bloom of holly, a mass of dark green leaves and bright red berries. The servants placed each at the foot of the bed, bowed to Lewan and the women, then fled the room.

"Do they please you?" said Bataar.

A laugh-more exasperation than humor-escaped Lewan. Talieth had him shut in this tower, surrounded by cut and crafted stone, cut off from the natural world, and as recompense she sent him two potted plants. Was it some sort of cruel joke? When he felt his laugh turning to a sob, he clamped his jaw shut and turned his back on the women.

"The trees displease you, master?" said Bataar.

"No," said Lewan. More thunder shook the tower, and he could smell rain on the breeze through the balcony curtains. "No, they're fine. But I want to be alone, if you don't mind."

"As you wish," said Bataar. "Lady Talieth, she warned you about tonight? About staying in your room?"

"Yes," said Lewan, his back still to them.

He heard the women shuffle out, but one of them stopped in the doorway and said, "Lewan?" It was Ulaan's voice.

"Yes?"

"Tonight, it would be wise to lock the door as well."

The door closed, the first heavy drops of rain began to spatter the balcony outside, and Lewan could control his sobbing no longer.