Free Prisoner of the Iron Tower by Sarah Ash Page B

defensively, “that the Drakhaoul drove him to it. It was the only way to save him. I wanted to save him.” Why didn’t her grandmother understand? “It was
my
choice.”
    Malusha shook her head. “And what do you think
he
thinks every time he sees you? Your scars remind him of a deed he’d far prefer to forget.”
    Then that’s why he’s been avoiding me. He’s ashamed of what he did.
Kiukiu’s hand closed on the scars, pressing into them as if her touch could somehow erase them from her body. She wished Malusha had not put into words the fear that had been haunting her for days.
    Malusha gave a disdainful sniff. “I thought you said it was warm in here. I’m chilled to the bone.”
    The fire in the little brazier that dried the linen had burned down to glowing embers.
    “I’ll go fetch fresh kindling.” Kiukiu fled, glad to have an excuse to escape. As she hurried down the passageway she could still hear her grandmother muttering virulent little curses against the House of Nagarian under her breath.
    Dusk had fallen. As she crossed the yard, she heard a soft, hooting call. Out of the shadows Lady Iceflower came swooping down in a shiver of snowy wings to land on her shoulder. She had waited for dark, to follow her mistress from the monastery.
    “You can’t stay here, my lady,” Kiukiu said, glancing uneasily around for fear someone had seen her. Old feuds died hard and she knew the
druzhina
’s instinctive reaction at the sight of an Arkhel Owl would be to kill it. “It’s the summerhouse for you.”
    She set out across the darkening gardens. Lady Iceflower seemed to understand for she took off from her shoulder, circling above her head.
    “Plenty of mice to eat,” Kiukiu said, ducking under the broken doorframe to enter. The owl alighted on a rafter above her. The summerhouse smelled of mouse droppings and rotting wood. This was where she and Lord Gavril had hidden Snowcloud, tending to his injured leg. The summerhouse had become their secret retreat.
    So why did her heart pain her so when she remembered those first stolen meetings?
    “You must stay here,” Kiukiu told Lady Iceflower, “until Malusha is well enough to go home.”
    Even as she spoke the words aloud, she remembered how heavily her grandmother had leaned on her arm.
    She will need someone to care for her, and I am the only family she has left. But that will mean leaving Kastel Drakhaon . . . and Lord Gavril.
             
    “A toast, boyars!” roared Lord Stoyan, raising his goblet high. “To Lord Gavril of Azhkendir, who drove the Tielen invaders from our land.”
    “To Lord Gavril!” roared back the guests.
    Gavril bowed his head to acknowledge the honor. The hall in Boris Stoyan’s house was filled with the wealthy boyars of Azhgorod and their retainers; the firelit room was hot and filled with a fug of steaming mulled wine and the damp fur of their cloaks and coats. He raised one hand for silence and as glowing-cheeked faces turned to him, said, “And a toast to my loyal
druzhina,
who valiantly defended Kastel Drakhaon against Prince Eugene’s armies.”
    He saw Askold’s eyes gleam in the firelight as the boyars repeated the toast, cheering and stamping until his ears rang with the sound. The other
druzhina
nodded their approval and held out their goblets as serving girls came around to refill them. Dunai, Askold’s son, seized hold of one of the girls and kissed her, only to receive a loud slap. This caused great amusement among the other
druzhina
.
    “A ladies’ man, just like his father!” crowed Barsuk, flinging his arm about the young man’s shoulders.
    Gavril stole a glance at Askold to see how he was reacting and saw, at last, the hint of a smile curling the Bogatyr’s lips. “Young fool,” he said, not without pride. “Deserves all he gets.”
    “A word with you, Lord Drakhaon.”
    Gavril turned around to see Lord Stoyan beckoning him to one side. Even though the boyar’s face was flushed with