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  Tears of Winter

  Light from Aphelion - Book 2

  Copyright © Martine Carlsson 2017

  Cover: Nellie C. Lind

  Publisher: Martine Carlsson

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-91-983923-2-6

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book may not be reproduced or shared in any way without the author's written permission. The book is a work of fiction. Part from one character, the other characters, names, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.

  To my daughter, Maximilienne.

  “The secret of freedom lies in educating people, whereas the secret of tyranny is in keeping them ignorant.”

  — M. Robespierre

  BLURB

  Paradise is an illusion, and the progressive, experimental city of Nysa Serin was living on borrowed time. The winter festivities that should have warmed everyone’s heart take the contorted face of a feast of fools. Despite their knowledge, Selen, Louis, and Lissandro are swamped by events. Falling one after the other, the sick litter the streets of Nysa Serin. A natural pestilence? The vengeful hand of the gods? Turned to ashes, Louis’s dreams slip through his fingers like a shattered cathedral of sand.

  Jeopardizing its fragile stranglehold on the crown, the royal couple leaves for a desperate mission while, trapped inside the walls, the citizens strive to survive. Though the clock ticks on, in sickness and fear, the tensions surface and friendships are tested.

  The line is thin between cowards and heroes. Should the rescuing party even make it back, the capital will never be the same again and neither will their lives. Therefore, why not haste into darkness… till death do us part?

  AUTHOR

  Martine Carlsson lives in the middle of the Swedish forest. She is French and graduated librarian and historian from the University of Liege. She takes her inspiration from the nature around her, from her roots in Brittany, and from fascinating parts from the European history. Therefore, it is not uncommon to read in her stories about forest creatures meeting peculiar characters in a detailed, historical-based background. She enjoys writing fantasy, especially a mix between harsh realism and magical wonders. Rising from Dust is her first novel and the first volume of the series Light from Aphelion.

  Light from Aphelion

  -

  Tears of Winter

  1

  The horses were exhausted, and the riders longed for a warm bed. Among the dry, high grass, the few bare trees waited for the first snows. In the distance, the city of Nysa Serin stretched, as impressive as Lissandro remembered her. He wondered what the ochre city walls held for surprises. It had been more than a year since he had left. By the rumors that had reached King Thorkell’s court in the Frozen Mountains, he had prepared himself for all the possibilities. In a while, he would see if passing the ramparts meant to cross the Iron Curtain or the Eurotas. Despite the biting wind blowing over the Eryas Lowlands, the spark of serenity in his chest kindled, and he breathed out with relief.

  “I have never seen such a gigantic city,” the blond boy riding next to him said with awe. “How many people live in the capital?”

  Lissandro smiled. From the food in the taverns to Millhaven’s gardens, Askjell had been impressed by all the local curiosities since they had crossed the mountains. Raised on his parents’ estate, the boy had received a place at the court only a few months ago with the certitude that Grimmr ruled the earth in the shadow of the gods.

  “You will have the opportunity to ask yourself,” Lissandro said, observing a cortege of riders on their way to meet them.

  In the golden afternoon light, their silk and adorned brocade sparkled in a thousand hues. The horses’ manes and the long caparisons waved high in the wind. In front of such a prestigious retinue, Lissandro felt welcomed as a prince, until he saw the long, lilac hair of the rider at the head.

  “Who is this?” Askjell muttered. “She is beautiful.”

  Lissandro grinned. “It’s not a she, Askjell. It’s the queen.” Lissandro reined in, got down from his horse, and strode forwards. As their leader raised his hand, the group in front of them halted. The queen dismounted and went towards him.

  “You took your time to come back,” Selen said.

  Lissandro’s heart rejoiced at the sound of his soft voice, at the sight of his sparkling, emerald eyes and of his gentle smile. “So, you did miss me,” Lissandro chuckled.

  “Yes, I did,” Selen whispered, embracing him warmly. Lissandro hugged him hard in return. “Welcome home.”

  “It is an honor, Your Majesty,” Askjell said behind them. The boy had dismounted and bowed low with his face towards the ground.

  Lissandro cocked his head back. “This is my squire, Askjell. He has not seen much of the world, but he is eager to learn.” The boy blushed at Lissandro’s words. “I could have traveled alone, but Grimmr insisted I had an escort.”

  “Nysa Serin is a wise choice of place to learn, indeed,” Selen said. “Please, let me accompany you.”

  They got on their horses and headed towards the gates. Lissandro and Selen rode side by side at the head of the retinue. Out of the corner of his eye, Lissandro observed his friend. Dressed in the confusing robes of his function, pale and fresh as a marble statue, Selen radiated a contagious quietude.

  “Is the king waiting for us in the palace?” Lissandro asked. A waft of air blew his long, brown hair over his face. Lissandro brushed it back behind his ears.

  “The king is waiting for you in the city. He has a surprise to show you,” Selen said with an enigmatic smile. His thin eyebrows shone white in the sunlight, underlining his arabesque tattoos on his forehead. “Much happened during your absence.”

  “Yes, I know. But I still don’t regret to have followed the events from the gods.”

  Selen broke into a childlike laugh. “Brave but not foolhardy.”

  “I came here for holidays,” Lissandro said. Selen looked at him with a smirk on his face. “I mean it. I only wish to be entertained.” He winked.

  They passed under the heavy gatehouse. Lissandro had expected an austere and rigid atmosphere, but the streets bustled with people. The shops were still full of the autumn harvest, displaying grapes, pumpkins, and beets. Loaded carts clattered on the cobbles. Scarlet and gold foliage festooned the terraces, and fresh frescoes decorated the walls. Lamplighters walked about the streets to lighten the lanterns before the night. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and honey buns.

  “I will leave you here and ride back to the palace,” Selen said. “I will show your men to their quarters and find a room for your squire. One of the guards will lead you through Spreefield to the king.”

  The escort and Selen reined into the main street. Lissandro followed the guard into the south area. Wherever he turned his eyes, the same peaceful scenes of a worker returning home or a woman closing her shop appeared. It took a while before the obvious struck him. There were no children. The streets were empty of childish screams and laughs. He turned to the guard.

  “Where are all the children?”

  The man looked at him and wrinkled his face in doubt before he shrugged. “At school.”

  Dumbfounded, Lissandro contemplated the façades around and the higher windows. He heard a distant babbling. “Do you have kids?”

  “Yes, my lord. Two sons. In Poldon. Good pupils they are.” The man paused as if musing. “We don’t see much… They can read,” he added with more spirit and a jot of pride. “We’re arrived.” The street opened on a large square. “The king is right t
here,” the guard added, pointing forward to a crowd of workers, provisional shacks, and treadwheel cranes.

  Lissandro raised his head. “Holy Christ!”

  Gaping, he kicked his horse and approached the structure. From down the mountain’s slope in the west, it stretched far among the houses and buildings to the east and was higher than a cathedral. His horse stopped.

  “Welcome back, Lissandro.”

  He looked down. Louis stood next to his horse, holding the reins. Lissandro felt the heat through all his body and smiled brightly. Louis had not changed a bit. Yet, there was something more in his sapphire eyes—happiness.

  “Louis!” Lissandro jumped down from his horse and threw himself into his friend’s arms. In return, Louis kissed his cheek with his full lips, grazing the side of his face with his shoulder-length, brown curls. “I’m so pleased to see you again.”

  “Me too. You will have to tell us about your journey, but I wanted to show you something.” All smiles, Louis let go of him and turned around. The falling sunrays cast a glow on his golden loop earring.

  “I can’t believe you built an aqueduct,” Lissandro whispered.

  “It brings water directly from the mountain to the entire city.” Louis’s finger followed the water’s route. “The first part is based on gravity, then buried canalizations convey water to the different areas. The overflow is collected in a water tower over there.” He pointed to the east. “We don’t need to bring water from Silverfall’s dam anymore. The water from the lake can directly irrigate the fields. It’s not Le Pont du Gard, but it’s still something,” Louis said with his hands on his hips.

  “How could you create something so historically perfect?” Lissandro asked. “And so fast?”

  “Selen said that they had one in Cnossos. He knew a bit how it worked and explained to us the system of siphons. We talked with builders, and we came to that result. As for the construction progress, we employed every idle hand in the city and asked for the help of some of the peasants out of the sowing and harvesting seasons.”

  “And they all agreed to work willingly?” Lissandro turned to Louis.

  “Everyone received one meal per day and decent wages. It also helped for the cohesion of the population,” Louis said with satisfaction.

  Lissandro was amazed that the people had complied to Louis’s projects with such good will, and, he had no doubt about it, a good dose of coercion for some. Of course, they were respected, and it was all for their own welfare, but to mix classes and break the barrier with the countryside must have been a strong change in their habits.

  “It’s getting dark. Should we ride back to the palace? My horse is over there.” Louis let go of his horse’s bridle and headed to a group of guards nearby. In the meanwhile, Lissandro got on his saddle and gave a last look at the aqueduct. Louis joined him, and they rode together up the hill.

  The palace hadn’t undergone any layout change. Since the beginning of Louis’s reign, it had never been a place of opulence, and unless they were ministers or prestigious representatives, the nobles had no access to the apartments and chambers in the south wing. When Lissandro had asked after the possibility of a royal court, Louis had answered that he was king, not innkeeper. In the quietude of the evening, they rode to the stables. Lads waited for them and bustled about their horses as soon as they dismounted. A group of royal guards wearing the white and blue cloak with the unicorn brooch walked in their direction.

  “Good evening, Your Majesty. Lissandro.”

  “Folc?” It was hard for Lissandro to recognize the boy. Folc had built muscles and had let a light, red beard grow on his cheeks. His armor of captain of the royal guard fitted him perfectly.

  “I’m pleased to see you again,” Folc said, smiling at him. The boy escorted them into the palace. He turned to Louis. “Selen is waiting for you in the solar. I met Minister Josselin on my way here. He wishes to have a word with you about the canalizations in the slums.”

  “I will meet him later,” Louis answered. “I would like to take care of our guest tonight. We have much to discuss.”

  As they talked, they crossed the gallery and entered the inner garden.

  “After you,” Louis said, holding out his hand towards the solar door. Lissandro had noticed that even after over a year as King of Trevalden, Louis still decided to ignore the most basic etiquette and favored the politeness particular to his previous country.

  Lissandro pushed the solar door open and stopped dead. “You must be kidding me.”

  In front of him, Selen paced the floor slowly with a baby nestled in his arms. Lissandro stepped in and pointed at the child, speechless. Selen looked at him inquiringly, his head tilted as if he did not understand. His eyes grew larger, and he laughed.

  At his right, Lissandro heard another laugh he recognized at once. “By the gods, Lissandro, he’s mine.” He turned around and saw Kilda come to him. “You are still such a fool.”

  “Kilda.” He embraced her with affection.

  Lissandro took a step back to look at her. Kilda folded her gloved hands on her stomach and played with her rings. Her black hair now reached her shoulders. Her burgundy velvet dress was a pleasant change. Around her neck shone a necklace of pearls. Though she still towered over him like a Northman, she had become a beautiful woman. A fact that the scar on her cheek barely lessened.

  “Your husband wanted to see me?” Louis asked Kilda.

  “Yes, he is waiting for you in the council room.”

  “I would have enjoyed meeting him, but I have to take Lissandro to the city again. Please, be kind and greet him from me and present my apologies to him.”

  “I will,” Kilda said.

  She walked towards Selen and motioned to take the baby in her arms. Lissandro noticed with which care Selen handed the child to her and the twitch of bitterness in his eyes.

  “He seems used to him,” Lissandro teased, glancing at Louis. His friend shifted his gaze away.

  Kilda had a light cough. “My health has not always been good, and Selen has watched over my boy many a time.” There was an awkward silence that Kilda broke rapidly. “I wish you all a good evening and hope we will soon meet again.” Her son against her bosom, she took her leave, followed by Folc.

  “So. What have you two planned to do with me tonight?” Lissandro asked and rubbed his hands.

  “We are going to take you to a place you have not been for a very long time,” Louis said, all smug. “A restaurant.”

  “Yippee!”

  From the outside, nothing differentiated the place from a tavern. Flowers on the windowsills and orange stained-glass windows gave the building a hospitable touch. The wooden sign on its metal pole represented two donkeys stirring a cooking pot.

  “The Donkeys’ Brew?” Lissandro said, dubious.

  “There are only two restaurants in the city for now. It’s still a prototype, but you won’t be disappointed,” Selen said.

  As they entered, Lissandro noted he had misjudged the place. It smelled of meat pie, and it was warm and cozy. The benches had red gingham cushions matching the tablecloth. On each table, candles shone in small vases. He pushed back his hood and unfastened his heavy, fox-fur cloak. Though he was accompanied by the king and the queen, the customers barely took note of their presence. They took a seat at a table near a window.

  “You do not really create a mass hysteria,” Lissandro pointed out.

  “It was the case in the beginning, but they have learned I disapprove of such things,” Louis answered.

  “You threw a few zealots in your jails?” Lissandro joked. Selen raised an eyebrow to confirm. “Oh. I see. There is constancy in some things.” The kitchen’s fumet had wakened up his hungry stomach. He grabbed a folded piece of hard paper he thought to be the menu. “Stewed beef with its cloves and wine sauce, duck in a mustard crust, parsnip pie with garlic… There is a French touch in here,” Lissandro grunted.

  “Not only, look at the last one,” Louis pointed out. “Requ
ested only for you.”

  “Squirrel. It’s too kind. I do feel welcome.” He squinted.

  “Well, could you tell us why you decided to pass winter here with us?” Selen asked.

  “When you officialized your relation last year, every king in the neighboring countries decided to assert his virility by getting married or being seen with a woman. Many women, in the case of King Horvath in the Iron Marches. Useless to say that in my case as your ex-companion and son of the king of the Frozen Mountains, I was rapidly considered as one and got a stepmother in the following month. I passed last winter with the court and the royal couple trapped in the palace under six feet of snow. I can tell you that there were nights I regretted I hadn’t been eaten alive by Agroln. More questions on how your irresponsibility ruined my love life?”

  “Just one. Do they question my virility?” Louis asked. His jaw line pulsed, the sudden severity of his face sharpened by his short, dark sideburns.

  “That was before we got the news that you had disposed of three to five percent of the population. Now, depending if they are nobles or peasants, they call you the Bloodthirsty Bastard or the Wise.”

  Selen frowned at Louis—as hard as his thin, light eyebrows could allow him—before turning to him. “We are sorry for what happened to you. We lost grip on the events, and all happened quite fast.”

  “Well, let’s forget that,” Lissandro sighed. “I will take the squirrel in its verte sauce with chopped spinach in cheese.”

  The waitress took their order. A while later, she put a plate in front of him with two brown, crispy roasted bodies swimming in a green gravy. The aroma of mint and ginger brought water to his mouth. Lissandro looked at the cutlery. “Plates, a fork?”

  “I welcome civilization if it spares us from eating like cavemen,” Louis said. He broke his bread into small pieces that he dipped in his stew.

  “How do you celebrate Christmas here?” Lissandro asked. He worked on a squirrel leg. The meat was juicy and melted in his mouth. He washed it down with the wine Louis had ordered and which matched the meal in its bouquet of flavors. You could trust a Frenchman to pick the most delicate beverage on the list.