“The neighbors, their neighbors. The entire street. No one saw anything.” Ventillas lifted a glass from the table and drank deeply. Indicating a cup on the bedside table, he added, “Master Jac left that for you. It will help you sleep.”
Cas leaned close to the cup and sniffed. Tea, no longer hot. It smelled faintly of mandrake. “No.”
“One drink won’t hurt—”
“No.” Cas rolled to his feet. Mandrake was a distant cousin to poppy, to opium. He did not want to start down that path. He was afraid he would never be able to step away from it, once he had begun. To distract Ventillas, he said, “What’s this about a statue in the gardens?”
A dull flush worked its way up his brother’s neck. “I’ll have it taken down.”
“What does it look like?”
“Not good,” Ventillas said, annoyed. “That sculptor was inept and his fee was absurd.”
Cas smiled. He had left his boots at the foot of the bed by a large chest. He sat on the lid, grabbed a boot, and tugged it on.
“Where are you going?” Ventillas asked.
“I want to see it.”
“You don’t.” Ventillas sounded certain. Watching Cas pull on a second boot, he said, exasperated, “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Maybe it will look better in the dark.”
A reluctant smile from Ventillas. “I’m telling you, you won’t like it.” But he grabbed his cloak off another bedpost and followed Cas out the door.
“What were you thinking?” Cas said, mystified.
Ventillas looked embarrassed. The keep’s inner garden was surrounded on all sides by covered walkways two stories high. Sporadic torchlight flickered from wall brackets. Unlike the formal gardens at the front of the keep, with their neat rows of olive and orange trees, this one had a half-wild look to it. Vines climbing the walls, bushy shrubs left to grow as nature intended. Pomegranate flowers bloomed around a small fishpond stocked with pike. The air always smelled of rosemary and saffron and whatever else Cook tended to in a far-off corner. Best of all, the benches underneath the trees were large enough for a growing boy to nap on. It had been one of Cas’ favorite places, something Ventillas had not forgotten. Hence the horrible statue.
“Lady Rondilla recommended him. Some famous artist out of Elvira,” Ventillas added with remembered annoyance. “The sketches he drew were good, but I wasn’t here to see him sculpting it and by the time I came home—” He grimaced. “I just wanted him to be done and go. It’s depressing to look at.”
Cas held his torch higher. The statue was carved from stone and was life-size, and it had been placed on a pedestal. At that angle, Cas could see clear up its nose. Its enormous stone nose. His nose did not look like that. It was an exaggeration and an insult. The statue was dressed like an old man in formal court wear, with a long robe and a stiff, ruffled collar that rose to its ears. And what was wrong with its ears? He peered closer, saw that they were slightly pointed at the top, like those of an elf in a bedtime story.
Cas turned to his brother in utter bafflement. “My ears.”
Suddenly, Ventillas laughed, the sound rumbling into the night. “You’re right, it’s terrible. Even the cats hate it. Come on.”
“Where?”
“To get rid of this cuckoo.” Ventillas called to a guard standing beneath an archway. “Get more torches out here. We’re going to need the light.”
Carrying a torch, Cas followed Ventillas down the steep, winding staircase. The original armory had been built in the central keep, as safe as possible in case of a breach to the outer walls. The air was cooler down here. It smelled of metal and leather. At the bottom they came upon a door made of iron.
Ventillas produced a large key, warning, “Mind your head.” Cas stooped beneath the door, built for smaller ancestors.
A series of connected chambers made up the armory. The ceiling was low. Stone archways separated each room. There were racks full of swords and walls lined with shields. Round shields. Kite shields. Some made of wood, others covered in boiled leather. There were crossbows and longbows and plenty of arrows for both. A long wall displayed armor, but not the sort currently in use. Those were kept in the main armory near the amphitheater. These were old, going back centuries, some collected from faraway places after foreign wars. Scale armor and mail armor. Armor made from the hide of an animal called a crocodile. There was a bronze cuirass, the front plate molded to resemble a bare-chested, heavily muscled warrior. It was mounted along with its greaves, which protected the legs, and a helmet, arranged so that at first glance it looked as if a warrior stood at attention. The bronze had been polished until it gleamed.
Ventillas gestured wide with his key. “Choose one.”
The smile crept up on Cas, along with anticipation. He had rarely been allowed in here as a boy. “Anything?”
“Except for that.” Ventillas pointed to a massive warhammer on a wall, spiked at the tip. “That’s mine.”
Which was fine with Cas. He did not want the hammer. He walked over to the strange crocodile armor and reached above it for the mace on the wall.
A spiked mace made of iron. One hundred and eighteen spikes covered the ball. Cas had counted them long ago. A larger spike jutted out from the tip. The handle was nearly three feet in length, longer than most. Cas tested the weapon’s weight. Five or six pounds. A good solid weight. This would destroy an ugly statue, and anything else it came across.
Ventillas strolled over, the warhammer propped on his shoulder. “You’ve been eyeing that one since you could walk.”
“Yes,” Cas breathed, his tone reverent.
Amused, Ventillas walked toward the door. “Come on, then. Let’s see how you like it.”
By the time they returned to the courtyard, an audience had gathered. As requested, torchlight filled the niches along the passageways. The fireflies were used only indoors. Their brightness did not last as long in the cold. The light had brought curiosity seekers, mainly guards, but others had come from their beds, peering down from the balcony. Men and women and children. Many in long voluminous robes, some with floppy nightcaps still on their heads.
Cas heard the jangle of keys and the crunch of gravel underfoot. “Warhammers? Maces?” Master Jacomel said mildly. “Are we under attack?”
Bemused, Ventillas asked, “What is everyone doing here, Master Jac? All I wanted was some light.”
“Where you both go, excitement follows. Shall I send them away?”
“No.” Despite the cool night air, Ventillas removed his cloak and shirt and tossed them onto the ground. “We might as well bring out some wine. Keep them warm.”
Master Jacomel went off to arrange for the drink. Cas kept his shirt on. A flash of blue in the upper balcony caught his eye. He looked up to see Lena near a pillar, watching him.
She was dressed in one of those voluminous robes. No cap, though. Her hair remained loose, dark and lovely and so long it tumbled out of sight behind the balustrade. She lifted a hand in silent greeting.