Free Ravens Shadow 02 - Tower Lord by Anthony Ryan Page A

pulled the rope.
    The echo had died away for a good few minutes before there came a muffled shout from beyond the door. “Go away! I’ve got another week! The magistrate decreed it! There’s a mighty hero of the Alpiran war upstairs who’ll hack your hands off in a trice if you don’t leave us in peace!”
    There was a faint sound of retreating footsteps. Vaelin exchanged a glance with Reva and rang the bell again. This time the wait was shorter.
    “Right! You were warned!” The door swung inwards and they were confronted with the sight of a young woman drawing back a bucket, the contents looking both moist and unfragrant. “Week’s worth of slops for you l—” She froze when she saw him, the bucket slipping from her hands, eyes wide as she slumped against the wall, hands going to her face.
    “Sister,” Vaelin said. “May I come in?”
    ◆ ◆ ◆
    He had to half carry her to the kitchen where it seemed she made her home, judging from the chill emptiness of every room they passed. He sat her on a stool before the range, clasping her trembling hands, finding them cold. Her eyes seemed unable to leave his face. “I thought . . . you were hooded . . . for a moment I thought.” She blinked away tears.
    “I’m sorry . . .”
    “No . . .” Her hands came free of his, reaching up to touch his face, a smile growing as the tears fell. The dark, earnest eyes of the little girl he had met on that distant winter day were still there, but womanhood had given her the kind of comeliness he knew could be dangerous, especially when living alone in a ruined house. “Brother. I always knew . . . I never doubted . . .”
    There was a loud clatter as Reva dumped the slop bucket in a corner.
    “Alornis, this is Reva. My . . .” He paused as she raised an eyebrow at him from the depths of her hood. “. . . travelling companion.”
    “Well.” Alornis used her apron to wipe away tears and rose from the stool. “Having travelled, you must be hungry.”
    “Yes,” said Reva.
    “We’re fine,” Vaelin insisted.
    “Nonsense,” Alornis scoffed, bustling off to the larder. “Lord Vaelin Al Sorna welcomed back to his own house by a snivelling girl who can’t even offer him a meal. Won’t do at all.”
    The meal was small, bread, cheese and the heavily seasoned remains of what was at most half a chicken.
    “I’m a terrible cook,” Alornis confessed. Vaelin noted she hadn’t eaten anything. “That was mother’s skill.”
    Reva cleared the last crumb from her plate and gave a small burp. “Wasn’t so bad.”
    “Your mother?” Vaelin asked. “She’s . . . not here?”
    Alornis shook her head. “Just after last Winterfall. The bloody cough. Aspect Elera was very kind, did everything she could, but . . .” She trailed off, eyes downcast.
    “I’m sorry, sister.”
    “You shouldn’t call me that. The King’s Law says I’m not your sister, that this house isn’t mine and every scrap Father owned his by right. I had to beg the magistrate to stay on a month before the bailiffs come for the rest. And he only did that because Master Benril said he’d paint his portrait free of charge.”
    “Master Benril Lenial, of the Third Order? You know him?”
    “I’m his apprentice, well more of an unpaid assistant in truth, but I’m learning a lot.” She gestured at the far wall where numerous sheets of parchment were pinned to the plaster. Vaelin got up and went closer, blinking in wonder at the sight of the drawings. The subjects were wide and varied, a horse, a sparrow, the old oak outside, a woman carrying a bread basket, all rendered in charcoal or ink with a clarity that was little short of astounding.
    “By the Father.” Reva had moved to his side and was staring at the drawings with the kind of wide-eyed admiration he thought beyond her. The gaze she turned on his sister was awed, even a little fearful. “This touches the Dark,” she whispered.
    Alornis managed to hold her laugh