Page 56 of The Duke and the Disciple

Aesylt had been to Wulfsgate many times as a child. She’d always looked forward to spending time with Lord Dereham’s children, Pieter and Nyssa, and running through the magical Wintergarden, with its radiant year-round blooms. It, like all the world, had been different then.

The last time she’d gone had been almost a decade ago, to offer solemn testimony to Lord Dereham of all she’d seen the night of the Nok Mora. Drazhan had already begun his slow retreat into himself, so Fezzan had escorted her, and that had been just as well. The Derehams had taken such good care of her, just like Fezzan had, but their pity was all she’d seen. It had driven her heart straight into the ground, and part of it was still there, waiting for the thaw.

The broad stone walls encompassing the great city were the same as she remembered. So was the sense of the world ripping open as the colossal gates sluggishly parted, powered by a dozen straining men on each side. The moon was nearly full, as it had been upon the night of her last arrival, and a low fog cut the village down the middle, like a tear in the sky.

She’d lost track of the time, but the capital of the Northerlands never slept. As their retinue made a slow advance through the town center, only half of the shops were boarded for the night. Smoke billowed from every other chimney, warm lights flickering behind panes. Laughter and conversation drifted toward them on the road, blurring with the night.

It wasn’t as glamorous as the gleaming spires of Whitechurch, where Tasmin had gone—or so Aesylt had been told, as she’d never been beyond the north’s borders—but laying eyes upon the visage of the towering stone fortress on the hill stole no less of her breath.

“We passed a couple of nights here on our way to Witchwood Cross,” Rahn muttered, peering out his window. “But I never saw the keep from the village at night. It’s forbidding, isn’t it?”

“That impression is intentional,” she said as she watched more of the stone towers come into view. “The Northerlands once had enemies and opportunists all over the kingdom. There are so many untapped mines in these mountains,ourmountains. So many resources for others to ravage. There’s nothing a Northerlander loves more than land and home... That’s one important thing they have in common with the Vjestik. It’s why we settled here. Our needs are simple. Our passions are simple. But they’re not for sale.” She realized how much she was rambling. Self-conscious, she cleared her throat and finished her point. “Then a new keep was raised, the great walls constructed. Who needs diplomacy when you have such a powerful deterrent asthis?” She tapped her chest. “The most effective fear is the one that thrives in the absence of words.”

Rahn’s intense stare was like standing too close to the hearth. He held it through the strange silence that followed.

The slow climb uphill took another half tick of the moon, but soon the ground leveled, and they pulled to a stop.

Voices manifested outside and then the carriage doors were flung open. A man about Rahn’s age with a dazzling grin turned it on her and held out his hand. He seemed familiar, but her vision was all but a blur in her exhaustion. “You are a dream, Lady Wynter. Welcome back.”

Aesylt wrinkled her mouth in amusement as she took his hand. “I’m no lady, but thank you for the warm welcome.”

“Far too cold to offer otherwise. You’re much changed from the last time I saw you,” he said, gently guiding her down from the carriage. It was unnecessary, and she almost said so, but a chill gale wrapped her tight. It might be colder in Witchwood Cross, but she’d forgotten that Wulfsgate Keep sat atop an exposed crop of land that offered no reprieve from the wind.

She shook her head, smiling through her fatigue. “Forgive me, but my mind is a jumbled mess right now.”

He was a full foot taller than her, so she had to look up to see the comically wounded look he wore. “Is your favorite childhood friend so easy to forget?”

Aesylt clapped her hands to her mouth. “Pieter! Oh, I’m so... Forgive me.” How could she have not recognized him? “It’s been a long, long night.”

Pieter was seven, perhaps eight years older than her, but the difference hadn’t kept him from joining in when Aesylt and Nyssa had played in the Wintergarden. Tall, striking, with a boyish but serious face, all those things had becomemore.She wondered how Nyssa had changed with the years.

Pieter’s smile trailed away as he looked to her left. “And you must be Duke Tindahl.”

“Rahn. Or Scholar, if you have a penchant for titles.” Rahn stepped forward, his eyes skimming her briefly before he took Pieter’s hand. “You’re Lord Dereham’s son?”

“Couldn’t guess what he’d say if you asked him that question.” At Rahn’s confused look, he clarified. “His failed heir. Yes.” Pieter’s broad grin didn’t falter. He swept an arm toward the carriages in front of them. “My father is greeting Stewardess Wynter and her son, but he’ll offer proper welcome in the morning, after you’ve had a chance at some rest.”

“You weren’t here when I passed through a year ago with the Farrestells.”

“I was not, Scholar,” Pieter agreed. “Shall we?” He turned and started down the long path toward the entrance. “Your trunks will meet you in your apartment. I’d offer you a tour, but Aesylt knows the place well, and you’ve had one before, I suspect,” he called. “Have you broken fast since Witchwood Cross?”

“Not hungry, thank you,” Aesylt and Rahn said at the same time. He offered a sheepish glance from the side, his eyes drowsy and lidded from the long ride. She gave him a lighthearted nudge and hastened to catch up with Pieter.

“I always knew you had an affinity for older men,” Pieter teased. Aesylt would have rankled at the implication, but there’d always been a playful side to him that brought out the same in others.

She grinned, already feeling bits of the weight around her heart melting away. A familiar, friendly face was exactly what she needed amid so much uncertainty. “My vedhma says it’s the lack of strong male influence in my life.”

“Does she? And what does your brother think of that?”

Aesylt laughed, her eyes on the massive looming doors ahead. There were more armed guards in the courtyard than there’d been in all of Witchwood Cross. “Best no one mention it to him.”

Pieter smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you. But where have you been?” She felt Rahn close behind. “The Scholar said you weren’t here a year ago?”

“I actually left about eight years ago.” His hand rested at the small of her back when she started climbing. She usually rejected such empty chivalry, but the familiarity was an unexpected comfort. “Wanted something more than this.”

“More than being the future lord of the Northerlands?”

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