Page 404 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 15

It was almost dark when they finally reached the castle, but the gates were open and the courtyard was filled with torches, lighting their way in.

"Lady Sara, it is an honour!" a woman said, bobbing a curtsy, and the shadowy figures behind her did the same.

"Salacia? It has been too long!" Mother, never one to stand on ceremony, hugged the woman. "What have you been doing all these years?"

"Well, after running the boarding house for the construction crew who built the new monastery, I married one of the masons who had a secret talent for brewing beer. We turned the boarding house into an inn for pilgrims who come to see the relics. Since they saved Mirroten from the plague, many more miracles are hoped for, and not a day passes without half a dozen pilgrims arriving. Well, until the winter closes the passes, which looks like it might happen early this year. That's had a lot of people heading home, so I've left my daughters to take care of the kitchens there while I claim the castle kitchens again." Salacia grinned. "I nearly cried when I reached the cellars – so much to choose from! And always the very best."

Mother frowned. "Has the harvest been poor here this year? Or are the monks taking too much? You have only to send word down to Mirroten. We would not let you go hungry."

Salacia laughed. "Oh, no, 'tis not that, Lady Sara. But the best of the harvest always goes to the castle cellars. It's tradition. There's plenty left for the rest of us – even the pilgrims who come to see the relics at Holy Innocents on the Lake, as they call it. No, it's that the pilgrims expect plain food, not the fancy stuff that I used to make in the castle kitchens. With wine and spices and honeyed fruits from Rialto…why, it's almost like Christmas come early, though it's months off yet. But what am I saying? You must be tired from your journey. I'll have warm water sent up to your chamber and dinner will be on the table when you come down."

"Rossa can bathe and change in my chamber for now, as she used to," Mother said. "Right, Rossa?"

Rossa nodded.

Salacia's eyes widened as she stared at Rossa. "Why, I had it in my head that you would be little Lady Rossa, just like I remembered, not a real lady, old enough to be wed! Beg pardon, milady." She dropped another curtsy, considerably lower than the one she'd given Mother.

A real lady, old enough to wed. No, she was neither of those things. And if Mother could hug the woman, then Rossa was allowed to be informal, too.

Rossa summoned a smile. "Please, don't, um, Mistress Salacia. No one at home calls me that. I'm just Rossa. And no wedding for a while yet." If ever, she added silently.

Salacia beamed. "You're just like your mother. You should call me Sal, like you did when you were a little girl." She rubbed her hands together with what Rossa suspected was glee. "Ooh, you wait until some of the boys in the village see you! They'll fall all over themselves to impress you, I'm sure."

Rossa's smile faltered. That was the last thing she needed. "I'll go up and wash, I think."

"Of course, of course." Sal shooed her inside.

Thankfully, Rossa knew the way up to the tower. When she reached the top of the stairs, she opened the window, scooped up a bucket of snow, and melted it with a well-placed fireball. More than melted it, what with those wisps of steam curling up from the water.

She washed quickly, wishing she could immerse her whole body in hot water, but that would have to wait until she found a suitable tub, and carried enough water up those stairs to fill it, as there wasn't enough snow on the windowsill to fill more than a bucket or two.

Rossa brought in what she could, then closed the shutters. It was too dark to see anything out there now, and the snow was still falling.

She surveyed her tower room, which felt smaller now than it had all those years ago. Perhaps it was the carved bed that took up most of the floor space – Raphael's narrow pallet had been enough for him then. Had he and Swanhild ever…?

Shuddering, Rossa trotted down the stairs for dinner, trying to shake such distasteful thoughts out of her head.

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