The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 11

After dark, all cats are lions.

—Iberg saying

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QUESTIONS IN THE DARK

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It was past midnight when Harric buckled the flaps of the last pair of bulging saddle bags and lugged them to the cellar to hang on a hook beside the others. Two he'd stuffed with grain for the horses. The rest he'd crammed to the seams with butter, potatoes, wax-wrapped cheeses, and as many cakes of "strong bread"—a dense Iberg confection of figs, spiced honey and whole hazel nuts—that he could fit. He'd stuffed himself with half a cake while he worked, and imagined could live happily on strong bread alone if necessary.

"Harric?" Caris's voice down the cellar stairs.

"Here!"

A moment later, she appeared in the doorway. When she saw him, her cheeks darkened and her nostrils flared like she was about to cross the room and plant a kiss on him. A nagging dread tugged at his stomach, even as his heart and other parts cheered approval.

"You're sleeping with me tonight," she said.

Harric blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words. Something set alarum horns blaring in his mind. Her eyes. She was actually meeting his eyes, pinning him with an intense gaze. The act was so alien for her that it took him aback. Normally, her horse-touched nature kept her eyes averted and limited her to rare glances. He'd never seen a sustained gaze like this. It was eerie. Un-Caris.

"Um. Sure," he said. "I mean, we've all been sleeping in basically the same room since we arrived—"

"No. I mean I put our bedrolls together in the stable loft." Her brow creased, as if with doubt, and then her cheeks flushed again. "It's...cooler there. And more private."

Her eyes held his, and he found himself looking away, embarrassed. Embarrassed? Moons, by what? He couldn't tell. "Okay. Is...everything okay? Do you need to talk?"

She nodded, eyes still intent. Now she seemed furious with him, or with herself. The muscles of her neck stood out, taut as lute strings. "So you'll come?" she said.

"Yes. Of course."

She gave a curt nod, and finally broke her stare.

As she left, Harric stared after her, unable to move. That wasn't Caris. Something was very wrong. The ring. Something in the ring's spell had changed. His stomach gave a sickening twist. Gods leave it, he had to Find Fink. Fink would know.

He flung the last saddle back on its hook, closed up the rest of the packs, and shut the cellar behind him. Above, the tower seemed to sleep. No light and no sound whatsoever travelled down the curve of stairway before him. Creeping up the stairs to the ground floor, he crossed the empty landing to the heavy exterior door. There he left his candle in a crosset and slipped out.

The sweet scent of fire-cone needles greeted him on the cool, end-of-summer air.

From the west, the red light of the Mad Moon dashed itself against the trunks of the fire-cone grove or glittered like shards in the canopy of needles. Across the yard, the stable was already dark, which meant Caris had finished with the horses and gone up to the straw of the stable loft, where they'd made their beds. With luck, she'd fall asleep, so he wouldn't have to explain why he hadn't come straight to bed.

Day work was done, but night work was just beginning.

Ignoring the call of his own blankets in the straw, he crept down the stairs into the yard. Since Brolli and Mudruffle had gone north along the fire-cone ridge for their watch, he headed south.