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  The pool enticed him. The skin of his face and neck crawled with the noxious eel grease.

  “I will find clean clothes for us all, and see my father, so take this time to bathe.”

  Vad dropped his load of arrows and furs to the ground. Gwen knelt at the pool’s edge and ran a hand back and forth in the steaming water. The sight of her well-cushioned bottom clad in the tight men’s breeches made him feel as if a fever had gained control of him again, but it had nothing to do with suppurating sores.

  With a conscious effort, he looked away and sat on a large boulder. “Concentrate on locating the maidens,” he said. “Discover where they are being held. Ascertain the manner in which they are guarded and by whom. Who has access to them? How are they fed? If you can secure clothing for Gwen, she might be able to pass as a serving boy and help you in some way.”

  “Serving boy? Am I trustworthy enough for such a position?” Gwen jerked around to look at him.

  “If you feel a desire to join Narfrom and Ruonail in their endeavors, then do so. But count the cost first.”

  She walked right up to him, her nose inches from his. “Do you think, for even a moment, that I might join them? Didn’t I try to help you fight Enec? Wasn’t I proving my loyalty then?”

  “Any woman would oppose such men. They would have abused you—”

  “Nay.” Ardra rushed forward. “Enec would never do such a thing. He must have believed me in danger.”

  Vad could not contend with their roiling emotions. His energy was drained as dry as a leaking cask.

  “You have to choose, Vad,” Gwen said. Her earnest little face looked up at him and he thought of how he’d held her hand and brought her here—into danger. “Either you trust me,” she said, “or you don’t. I’m not going to rescue maidens for a man who doesn’t trust me.”

  Ardra gasped. “You are impertinent.”

  Vad silenced her with a sharp slash of his hand. “Gwen has a right to an answer. I can offer provisional trust.”

  “Provisional? What’s that supposed to mean?” Gwen asked.

  “It means I have only one act of dishonor on which to base your character. Just as I have but one act of valor to weigh in the balance. What you do from this moment on will tip the scales—one way or the other.”

  “Great. And if I make a mistake and something goes wrong? I don’t know your world, your customs. What if—”

  He placed a weary hand on her shoulder. “There are no answers to ‘what if’ questions. Do your best.”

  To end the confrontation, he turned his back to them both and spread the furs on the cavern floor. He laid out the arrows, inspecting their tips. “I will sleep here tonight, you and Ardra above. Can it be done?”

  “I shall send her to the kitchen,” Ardra said. “She will not raise any curiosity there; it is filled with misfits. One more will not be noticed. If she binds her breasts, she can work alongside the men and listen to the gossip!” Ardra clapped her hands excitedly. “The worst of the gossips is in the kitchen.”

  “Vad?” Gwen said.

  “What Ardra suggests makes great sense. And, Ardra, when you place her there, gather these few herbs for me. Perhaps I can cook up something particularly noxious. A potion to call everyone to chamber pots—at the same time.” He grinned and took a piece of charcoal from a disused fire circle. Using the smooth side of a fur, he scratched some words. “Think of something everyone might eat or drink. Warriors fighting over chamber pots are not much of a threat.” He offered her the fur. “This is what I need—no substitutes.”

  She read the list and then bit her lip. “What excuse have I to gather herbs in the kitchen?”

  “Deep regret that you have shirked your duties until this day.” His sharp words silenced any further protest Ardra might have had for visiting her own kitchen.

  When Ardra had committed his list to memory, she bowed to Vad and turned away. To his relief, Gwen followed.

  Reluctantly Gwen trailed Ardra into the belly of the fortress, her mind in turmoil. There would be a thousand opportunities to slip up. Vad’s lack of trust was like a raw wound, chafed by his every word.

  “What if I need to find my way back?” Gwen asked. Two turns and she felt lost, disoriented.

  Ardra halted and turned to face Gwen. She lifted the torch. “You will never find your way to him. He must wait for us, and you must wait for me to guide you to him.”

  Gwen sighed.

  “You are enamored of him, are you not?”

  “What?” Gwen felt her face heat. “Enamored? Of someone who distrusts me?”

  “You had congress with him, did you not? And do not deny it. I am not stupid.”

  “It-it was the hypnoflora. It…we were foolish.”

  With a nod, Ardra turned and continued along the stone path. It rose in a gentle incline. “Aye. ‘Tis foolishness to lie with someone who is not your own kind. You were angry with me when I said you were a slave, and as I think on it, a slave would not need the nature of such things explained.”

  “Then explain it. I’m listening.”

  “He cannot mate with you, nor you with him. Such congress leads to naught but heartbreak.” Ardra halted again before a wooden door, no different from any of the others. “You are not from here. I do not know these lands beyond the ice fields, but I do know there are a few rare folk who bear Tolemac blue eyes and Selaw bones. Their life is hard—very. They fit nowhere.” She tapped her upper arm, and Gwen knew she was indicating her arm rings. “A misfit has no hope of status. Should you bear Vad a child, that child would suffer greatly.”

  A child. What a different set of emotions she’d be experiencing if she had such a worry. “If that’s all that concerns you, then rest easy. I’m barren.” It seemed the easiest explanation.

  Ardra’s face softened. “I am sorry for you, but still, I must offer you a warning: Guard your heart. A man of such perfection, such beauty, will never remain with one woman long—barren or not. Why should he, when he may have whomever he desires?”

  Whomever he desires. Ardra was right. Why would Vad want her except when under some influence like hypnoflora? After all, he didn’t even trust her.

  Gwen slept poorly in an alcove off the kitchen, with Vad somewhere unreachable in the caverns below, and Ardra equally inaccessible, somewhere above. But upon waking she found she fit in with the kitchen workers very well. She was just another misfit—smaller than most, weaker than several, uglier than just about everyone, as the loud gossip made sure she understood; still, she was a pair of hands and a willing worker.

  Status among the kitchen folk was based on that willingness. Men, Gwen now among them, carried wood to keep the fires beneath great boiling caldrons of water burning and hauled buckets of fresh water to the cooks.

  It was backbreaking, mindless, hot work. Her hair was plastered to her head; her back and hands ached. At least she’d been given a pair of gauntlets to wear when handling hot pots and rough wood. But, to give Ardra credit, the place was a hotbed of gossip and innuendo—or it was once everyone got over Ardra’s presence in their world. Their mistress puttered about the hanging herbs, asking questions, taking samples. Gwen thought she took more than Vad had requested to conceal what he wanted.

  Once Ardra left, no one cared who spoke or what they spoke about—including her. Names whizzed about her, and Gwen soaked up information like her linen shirt soaked up sweat.

  There was a general feeling of unease about the workers. It was based on the ominous clouds forming overhead. They bemoaned the lighting of torches in the daylight hours and repeated legends of dark times from the past.

  Several women, those with less taxing duties than Gwen’s, wore a single arm ring. Most of the men did as well. One woman, who did not, bent forward to feed small sticks beneath a caldron, and her gown fell forward. Gwen saw two white scars on her breast—each clearly an X.

  At that moment, Gwen wanted to scream. The room was too hot, the air too thick, the future too frightening. Thi
s was not a game. This was not the role she always played, that of the ice woman, a whirling, swirling tempest who saved lives, plucked the hero from danger, and froze enemies where they stood. No, this was a stark and frightening reality of wounded warriors, kidnapped daughters, and evil villains.

  Then she heard a tidbit that chilled her bones. Two men were wagering that a certain hostage maiden would not be a virgin by the next sun-rising. Narfrom, whom they all spoke of with suspicion, was enamored of the girl.

  The heavy, rich odors of roasting meat, baking bread, and simmering wine suddenly sickened her. Her stomach flipped. She glanced around and saw a basket. Filling it with bread and cheese, she asked a small boy how to find Mistress Ardra. He merely stared at her, his bright amber cat’s eyes gleaming, his light brown hair falling over his brow. She forced herself to repeat her request slowly, with the best British accent she could fake, and left out the contractions. He nodded once and dashed away.

  Gwen tucked her small basket under one arm, then shifted it in front of her, as the men carried things, and followed the boy.

  As they climbed worn stone steps the air grew cooler, the scent of food less heavy.

  The boy led her to the family rooms. Here it was not apparent that one was in a hulking, Dracula-style fortress. The family chambers had polished wooden floors, whitewashed walls, and decorated chimneypieces. Somewhere, far below in the bowels of the earth, Vad waited for them.

  Ardra stood before a narrow slit of a window, the only sign that her home was not just her living quarters, but also a stronghold. “Place the basket there.” She pointed, and Gwen did as bid.

  “Wait,” Ardra commanded as the boy gestured Gwen out. “I wish a word with this slave.”

  The boy scampered off. “At least he is one person who seems unaffected by ill omens,” Gwen noted.

  “Aye. He is a happy child, the son of one of my seamstresses, born of a Selaw warrior who fell in battle.”

  Another warning? A thick silence fell between them as Ardra added various items to the basket. Outside, men shouted as they worked. A wagon rumbled by on cobblestones, sounding a little like the thundering water below in the grotto.

  “Your gown is lovely,” Gwen said to break the silence.

  Ardra hurried forward, flapping her hands in a gesture of silence. “A male slave would not remark on a woman’s gown.”

  Her golden-yellow wool gown was the color of her eyes. A long silver chain, dotted with turquoise and amber, wrapped several times around her slim waist before falling nearly to the hem. Her hair was loose and rippled to her waist. She no longer wore the silver and turquoise necklace from Nilrem. She wore a large silver disk with a center stone of polished amber about her neck.

  While Gwen told her the gossip she’d heard, Ardra rubbed the disk thoughtfully.

  Finally she turned with a swish of skirts. “We must get to Vad. We must plan quickly. It is all worse than I had imagined. If Narfrom forces her, it means that, rescued or not, she will no longer be a maiden.”

  “No kidding.”

  “She will be cast out.”

  “What?” Gwen’s sweaty garments felt chilly against her suddenly cold skin.

  “Aye. A tainted maiden is worthless.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gwen hurried after Ardra through the dark maze of stone corridors and wooden doors. Some of the paths they took felt vaguely familiar; others did not. She thought she recognized a few of the corridors, with their twisting veins of turquoise occasionally illuminated by Ardra’s torch. They reminded her of the tunnels of an abandoned mine.

  “We’re going a different way,” she said to Ardra as the scent of the cavern and its heated pool came to her.

  “Aye, ‘tis a shorter way. There are several paths to each destination.” She opened a door on the cavern.

  Vad looked as if he had not slept the night before or at all during the day. Nor had he used the steaming waters; his hair was still thick with eel grease. Although he looked exhausted, when they entered, his blades were instantly in his hands, glinting, ready. Gwen swallowed, remembering the death of Ardra’s men.

  “Your voices arrived first,” he said, and sheathed his blades. “What brings you back so urgently?”

  “You tell him,” Gwen said. She peeled off the wool tunic she’d worn all day and flapped her sweaty linen shirt away from her body. There was a steamy atmosphere in the cavern, but occasional breezes and errant drafts kept it pleasant, unlike the kitchen, where the heat and steam probably never dissipated.

  “It is grave news I bring you. Narfrom is enamored of one of the maidens. The eldest, daughter of Ranoc.”

  Gwen saw that Vad did not need further explanation.

  “Then we need to act without delay.”

  “It’s not so easy,” Gwen said.

  “If ‘twas easy, Ardra would rescue the damned maidens herself.” He scowled at Gwen, as if she had some control over their situation.

  “I’ll forget you said that.” Gwen placed the basket she carried on the floor. “Here is some bread and cheese, the herbs you wanted, and some other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?” He rooted about and nodded his appreciation of the spoons and a tiny caldron Ardra had packed. He grunted his approval of a rolled parchment containing a crudely drawn plan of the fortress.

  “I have marked the chambers in which the maidens are being held,” Ardra said. “They are together in chambers near my father’s, guarded by four men, in shifts of two on and two off, as at the grotto entrance. One only, the youngest, is allowed to wander, and she has become somewhat of a pet of the household.” Ardra took a deep breath. “The oldest maiden is here.” She touched a mark, shaped like a tear, with the tip of her finger. “‘Tis a chamber between those of my father and Narfrom.”

  “What should we do?” Gwen asked. She rolled up her sleeves and propped her elbows next to the map. Vad came to her side, and his shoulder brushed hers as he leaned over the map. A zing of heat pulsed where they touched. She shifted over to give him more room—and to give herself peace.

  Vad absently tapped the map with the tip of his dagger as he spoke. “We have several choices. I can go above and demand Narfrom meet me in combat, with the maidens awarded to the victor.”

  “Nay!” Ardra cried.

  “Or I could rescue the maidens as quickly as possible and let Ruonail settle Narfrom as he sees fit once the women are no longer in danger. Did you think of anything everyone in the fortress might eat or drink?”

  “The mourning wine,” Gwen said. “I saw some men bring up these huge casks to the kitchen.” She spread her arms wide. “They said they needed so much because everyone would be drinking to the dead men.”

  “Dead men?” Vad rolled up the drawing.

  “Enec,” Ardra’s voice broke on his name, “and my two guards.”

  Vad nodded.

  “I had merely to tell my father of their treachery, that they tried to harm me, and he wanted their heads. When I said they were dead, he accepted it gladly. I told him I purchased a few slaves at the settlement to help manage the boat on the return journey, and he accepted that, too. He was distraught that I could not obtain Nilrem’s aid. He still cannot sleep.”

  “And the guards at the grotto entrance?” he asked.

  “They never asked who accompanied me, nor did they get a good look at us in the storm. It is a testament to my father’s grave illness that he was so unconcerned about the loss of his men. He was quickly satisfied—and this from a man who relentlessly fought his way to the height of power here in Selaw.”

  “His reputation is well known.” Vad’s expression was grim. “When a warrior loses his fighting spirit, his day is done.”

  “Nay. Do not say such a thing. He will recover. You will rescue the maidens; Narfrom will leave.”

  “What are the funeral plans?” Vad began to pace about the steaming pool.

  Ardra continued, although her voice was still low and her head bowed. “The men’s belon
gings will be burned in a few hours, the ashes scattered on the ice. As is tradition, a mourning vigil will be held in the chapel when the moons rise.”

  “And before the prayers,” Vad said with satisfaction, “the mourning wine will be drunk. Excellent.”

  “Why would anyone mourn men who betrayed you?” Gwen asked.

  “It is traditional to offer comfort to their families, whether what they did was right or wrong. No wailing, no outward grieving will be allowed, however. And…my father plans to use the ritual as a means of chastising those who might stand against him.”

  Gwen perched herself on a flat boulder. “What if the maidens drink the wine? It won’t hurt them, will it?”

  He shook his head. “Some it will put quietly to sleep. Others…let us say there will be constant attendance at the chamber pots while the people of the fortress empty their bellies and bowels.”

  Ardra made a face.

  “Our time of opportunity will be very short. Guard changes are timed. If one of you can taint the wine, there will be little resistance from the guards—or anyone else. For those who do not sleep, the misery will be acute, but short-lived. It is the child who troubles me.”

  Gwen nodded. “I thought she might be a problem, too, when Ardra described her to me. She’s everywhere and nowhere at once. I think I saw her running around with a few other children near the kitchen. Does she have long blonde hair—all tangled? And a blue gown with silver embroidery?”

  “Aye, that would be Liah.” Ardra said. “What shall we do about her?”

  “One of you must locate this Liah and bring her into these underground rooms. Make an excuse to separate her from her companions that will not raise a fuss.”

  He began to lay out the items Ardra had gathered. “I shall greatly enjoy testing my strength against Narfrom’s.”

  “He is hardly a match for one such as you,” Ardra said with just a touch too much admiration. Maybe Ardra had warned her off because she was, herself, enamored of Vad.