Prologue
Count Du Vinette lay dieing. The entire castle knew it and mourned. Lady Adelle knelt by his deathbed, holding his arthritic hand to her cheek.
“My love,” he rasped, his words slurred by the stroke that had knocked him off his horse the night before.
“Yes, my lord?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry…to leave you…in such a state,” he apologized. “Had you married…younger man…”
“I have never regretted our marriage,” she soothed. It was true. Though she had been a maid of 16 when her father had announced her wedding to the seasoned Count of Vinvalegerd, she had approached her adult life with an open and loving heart. Their union had been a happy one, and two years later they were blessed with an heir. Though life on the borderlands, caught between ancient glaciers and the salt desert as the province of Vinvalegerd, was never easy, it had been full of happiness.
“Gareth—” he grunted then coughed dryly. Adelle patiently tipped a few drops of herbed tea between his parched lips. “Tell him…I love you both…so much…”
“Your love has never been doubted, and has always been returned ten times over,” she assured him.
“Remarry,” he grated. “Be happy.”
“I have always been happy in your care,” she said haltingly, sobs catching in her throat.
The count raised his hand and brushed away a tear. “So beautiful…” he sighed. “Always…so beautiful…” And then he was gone.
Adelle clasped his limp hand and wept freely until she ran out of tears. Then she rose and left the room to direct the servants to prepare Count Du Vinette’s body for the funeral.
Gareth was a shadow behind a tapestry near the door of his father’s chamber. As soon as Adelle confirmed the Count’s death, the boy ran to her, grasped her skirt and sobbed as if his heart was breaking. She collapsed to her knees, her arms around her son. She wanted to cry with him, but her eyes were as dry as stone, even as her heart was heavy with grief.
CHAPTER 1
“Lady Adelle Du Vinette, Countess of Vinvalegerd!” the steward proclaimed. Adelle strode through the open doors with confidence and purpose. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her riding clothes—in fact she hoped that seeing her in leather breaches and a man’s shirt would shock her guest.
Lord Dirk Pelanmoor, rose as Adelle entered the sitting room. His eyes flicked over the lady’s form, astonished at her choice of wardrobe. All the same, he couldn’t honestly say he wished her in more modest attire; the breaches clung to her shapely legs nicely. The man’s shirt she wore under her bodice in place of a chemise gave her a rugged look, even as it gaped open to reveal ample cleavage. Her auburn hair was braided down to the small of her back, and her spring-green eyes flashed dangerously.
“My lady Du Vinette,” he said with a bow. He himself was dressed in the highest fashion of the capitol. A heavy purple doublet over a cream silk shirt and black pants. He wore knee-high riding boots with pointed toes and a jacket embroidered with silver thread. His nut-brown hair was cut just short of his shoulders and tied back with a simple silk ribbon. He thought himself quite the handsome rogue.
“Lord Pelanmoor,” Adelle returned. She refrained offering her hand for him to kiss. For her, this wasn’t a pleasant visit. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.
“To the point, then,” Pelanmoor murmured and straightened. “We have been in correspondence for some time, and our houses have dealt favorably with each other for decades.”
“I am well aware of our business history, Lord Pelanmoor,” Adelle replied crisply. “If you are not going to tell me why you’re here, then please excuse me as I have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, of course,” Pelanmoor quickly collected his thoughts. “The matter is this: We both suffered loss in love this past year, and it would be mutually beneficial for our houses to align in marriage.”
Adelle’s eyebrows rose. It wasn’t that his proposal surprised her—he had hinted to his intentions in his letters to her—but she had expected him to dance around the issue, perhaps try to formally court her. Even though she’d called him out, she felt as if he’d slapped her with a gentleman’s kid glove, and she wanted to take a swing at that perfectly shaven chin.
“I’m flattered that you would offer such,” she said, a bit softer than before, “but my heart is not so lonely I would try to turn a profitable business dealing into something it is not.”
“But surely you see the logic in such a union,” he insisted.
“Lord Pelanmoor,” Adell held up a protesting finger, “I married once for duty, and was fortunate enough to find love. I doubt I will be so lucky twice. Besides, my life is so full of raising my son, the heir to the estate, that I doubt very much I would be a proper wife.”
“Then I have no chance of convincing you otherwise?” Pelanmoor asked hopefully.
“Nothing is impossible, my lord, but only the foolish force the hands of fate,” she smiled. “If that is all, I’m afraid I have some other matters to attend to. Will you be staying for dinner?” As soon as the invitation was out of her mouth, she wanted to bite her tongue and take it back. Still, it was the only civil thing to do, especially after turning down a proposal, and he was a long-respected business associate, after all.
“If I won’t be too much of a bother, my lady,” Pelanmoor said with another bow.
“I’ll see you there,” Adelle replied and quickly exited the room. She retreated to the stables and punched a wall in frustration. It had been a little over a year since her husband died, and she thought she was prepared to reject suitors who wanted her money or title, but her violent instinct towards Lord Pelanmoor’s proposal proved otherwise. She didn’t want another man taking the old count’s place either in her bed or as a father for her son.
It had been a hard year. While Adelle had never been a stranger to hard work, running the estate and raising her son had taken all of her time, attention, and patience. Early on she had given up wearing dresses except on special occasions. Instead, she wore the count’s old clothing. At first, it had been nostalgia that persuaded her to slip on his shirts, smell his faded cologne and natural musk. Then it became practicality—no need to spend more money on working clothes for her when she had a whole closet that just needed a little tailoring.
On more than one occasion, she had thanked her lucky stars for a father who had humored his daughter’s enthusiasm for horses and books, and in contrast forced her to master mathematics and chemistry. Her husband had found it amusing that his young wife could beat him at chess. In fact, her extraordinary knowledge had bridged the gap between their ages.
When he died, Adelle plied every scrap of knowledge to the estate and its workings, partly to ease the pain of his passing. To her credit, things had so far gone smoothly, but she knew that eventually she would be tested against men and nature.
After Adelle had recollected herself, she went outside. The Count's old gelding, Vaughn, was patiently waiting for her where she'd left him when Lord Pelanmoor arrived an hour early. She patted the solid bay horse with affection and quickly mounted. The two took off towards the canyon vineyards.
The province of Vinvalegerd was a unique one. The castle manor was nestled at the base of a large mountain range, the slopes carved by massive ancient glaciers. Rivers trickled from these glaciers into the canyons below. While the first hundred feet of the canyon walls were mottled granite cut away by the ancestors of the glaciers in the mountains millennia ago, the lower levels were sandstone and slate, which had both decomposed under the constant drizzle of cold water and the blasting heat from the dying dust storms of the Salt Desert to the west.
The dust storms had deposited fine sediment at the bottoms of the canyon. By the time the first Count of Vinvaleguard had taken stewardship of the land, rich soil at the bottom of the canyons gave birth to the large, lush grapes that made the county famous. Rice could be cultivated in tiered patties on the mountains. Olives, figs, pomegranates, currents, and barley all had a niche where they did well in the canyons.
Though the earth was fertile and harvests were good, the weather plotted against the estate. Winter blizzards maintained the huge glaciers. Spring was marked by squalls of freezing rain, summer by deadly sand storms. Fall was shrouded by fog so thick that the tenants used thick ropes, tied from front door to barn, to find their way around. Cold mornings and scorching evenings made it difficult for non-natives.
Nimble footed horses bred for the steep, dry terrain were the only way to safely get around. Adelle and Vaughn cantered out across the cliffs to the wheat canyons. Together they quickly picked their way down the pathway to the bottom of the canyon closest to the castle.
Off in the distance, a bell began to toll. Adelle’s head went up and she scanned the horizon. Sure enough there was the smudge on the horizon could only mean one thing: Sandtwister! It wasn’t as dangerous as a sand storm only because it was smaller, but the harsh cyclone winds in the twister could still easily kill any soft-skinned creature caught unprotected.
Adelle urged Vaughn into a reckless pace down the path. Vaughn was a wise animal, and knew the dangers of the canyons and the desert beyond. As soon as they reached the level bottom of the canyon, the horse broke into a gallop. The bell continued to ring. That was good; usually the short warnings were too late for the workers to reach safety. They reached the first shelter, a small shack, sturdily crafted and set deep into the stone wall of the canyon. Workers were crowding in, urgent but un-panicked. One of them spied her.
“Lady!” he shouted above the hissing of the wind. “Quickly into the shelter!”
“I’ll take cover in the next one,” she shouted back as she passed him. Dread started to creep over her, and she knew something wasn’t quite right. She was determined to make sure everyone was safe. The next shack was much the same as the last one, and again she passed by it.
Adelle was nearly to the desert now, and the bell had stopped ringing. She needed to get into shelter quick. The last shack was there. She dismounted and led Vaughn to the door. Someone must have been watching at the porthole, because they opened it for her. Someone gently took the reins from her hand and lead the horse back into the cave with the other animals. Adelle took one last look at the end of the canyon.
A dark shape was running from the sandtwister. Someone was about to get polished by the sharp sand laden winds.
“Cloak and goggles!” she shouted and held out her hand expectantly. Someone handed her the rose-glass goggles, the lenses scratched from other storms. The overseer held onto the cloak.
“Lady, I’ll—”
Adelle snatched the heavy, hardened leather cloak and threw it on her shoulders. She was running even as she snapped the hood over her head and face, leaving only the goggles visible. The cloak was specifically made for rescue missions. The thick leather was from the camels that wandered the desert, seemingly immune to the sand storms. Lead studs weighed it down, and it was generous enough to protect two people at once. She’d braved other twisters dressed like this, but her heart was still in her throat.
The sand was getting deeper and slowing her down. Sand whirled around her eyes, scratching the goggle lenses, but she stayed focused on the dark shadow of the victim. Vaguely, she recognized the broad shouldered shape as male, but that was no surprise since most of the workers were men. He stumbled, fell, and hunched himself against the winds. Adelle swore and pushed her burning legs faster. Finally, she reached his collapsed form. She lifted the edge of the cloak over him and hugged his body, pressing both of them into the ground.
Time dragged on. Her back was to the wind and the howling winds tried to push her body off of the man she was protecting, but she stubbornly held on. Finally, after what felt like hours, the noise died away. It left so quickly, that it took a moment for Adelle to realize it was gone. She concentrated beyond the ringing of her ears to make sure the storm was truly past. Then she stood up and sand poured off her. She unsnapped the cloak, dropped it on the ground and pushed her goggles to get a better look at the man she saved.
His hair was dark, but dusty from the storm. His skin was a mottled gray, tan and red. His clothes were of average quality and were shredded across his back and arms. He moved slowly, blinking in the orange afternoon light.
“What’s your name?” Adelle asked briskly.
He looked at her, eyes wild, and she could tell he was shaken up by his brush with death.
“Your name?” she repeated, gentler.
He made an obvious effort to focus. “R-Rotem,” he replied, his voice gravely and dry.
“Next time, Rotem, get to shelter as soon as the bells start ringing,” she said. She looked towards her estate. The field supervisor was running out to meet her, several of the workers right behind him. She walked to meet them, giving Rotem some privacy while he recollected his wits. She met the overseer, and briskly instructed him, “Get him inside. He’s relieved of his duties for the rest of the day.” She swept off the goggles and handed them to the overseer before continuing, “He’s not much for conversation now, but I want you to personally find out who his supervisor is and report to me this evening. There was plenty of warning for that storm, and no reason anyone should have been left out.”
“As you wish, my lady,” the man replied, resolve squaring his shoulders. Leaving a worker out to the elements was a serious offense.
Adelle shook the sand out of her hair and walked to the worker holding the reins of Vaughn. She mounted and started back up the canyon. The workers would be cleaning up any damage done by the sandtwister for the rest of the afternoon, she knew. As much as she wasn't in the mood, she had a guest to entertain.
Count Du Vinette lay dieing. The entire castle knew it and mourned. Lady Adelle knelt by his deathbed, holding his arthritic hand to her cheek.
“My love,” he rasped, his words slurred by the stroke that had knocked him off his horse the night before.
“Yes, my lord?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry…to leave you…in such a state,” he apologized. “Had you married…younger man…”
“I have never regretted our marriage,” she soothed. It was true. Though she had been a maid of 16 when her father had announced her wedding to the seasoned Count of Vinvalegerd, she had approached her adult life with an open and loving heart. Their union had been a happy one, and two years later they were blessed with an heir. Though life on the borderlands, caught between ancient glaciers and the salt desert as the province of Vinvalegerd, was never easy, it had been full of happiness.
“Gareth—” he grunted then coughed dryly. Adelle patiently tipped a few drops of herbed tea between his parched lips. “Tell him…I love you both…so much…”
“Your love has never been doubted, and has always been returned ten times over,” she assured him.
“Remarry,” he grated. “Be happy.”
“I have always been happy in your care,” she said haltingly, sobs catching in her throat.
The count raised his hand and brushed away a tear. “So beautiful…” he sighed. “Always…so beautiful…” And then he was gone.
Adelle clasped his limp hand and wept freely until she ran out of tears. Then she rose and left the room to direct the servants to prepare Count Du Vinette’s body for the funeral.
Gareth was a shadow behind a tapestry near the door of his father’s chamber. As soon as Adelle confirmed the Count’s death, the boy ran to her, grasped her skirt and sobbed as if his heart was breaking. She collapsed to her knees, her arms around her son. She wanted to cry with him, but her eyes were as dry as stone, even as her heart was heavy with grief.
CHAPTER 1
“Lady Adelle Du Vinette, Countess of Vinvalegerd!” the steward proclaimed. Adelle strode through the open doors with confidence and purpose. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her riding clothes—in fact she hoped that seeing her in leather breaches and a man’s shirt would shock her guest.
Lord Dirk Pelanmoor, rose as Adelle entered the sitting room. His eyes flicked over the lady’s form, astonished at her choice of wardrobe. All the same, he couldn’t honestly say he wished her in more modest attire; the breaches clung to her shapely legs nicely. The man’s shirt she wore under her bodice in place of a chemise gave her a rugged look, even as it gaped open to reveal ample cleavage. Her auburn hair was braided down to the small of her back, and her spring-green eyes flashed dangerously.
“My lady Du Vinette,” he said with a bow. He himself was dressed in the highest fashion of the capitol. A heavy purple doublet over a cream silk shirt and black pants. He wore knee-high riding boots with pointed toes and a jacket embroidered with silver thread. His nut-brown hair was cut just short of his shoulders and tied back with a simple silk ribbon. He thought himself quite the handsome rogue.
“Lord Pelanmoor,” Adelle returned. She refrained offering her hand for him to kiss. For her, this wasn’t a pleasant visit. “What do you want?” she asked bluntly.
“To the point, then,” Pelanmoor murmured and straightened. “We have been in correspondence for some time, and our houses have dealt favorably with each other for decades.”
“I am well aware of our business history, Lord Pelanmoor,” Adelle replied crisply. “If you are not going to tell me why you’re here, then please excuse me as I have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes, of course,” Pelanmoor quickly collected his thoughts. “The matter is this: We both suffered loss in love this past year, and it would be mutually beneficial for our houses to align in marriage.”
Adelle’s eyebrows rose. It wasn’t that his proposal surprised her—he had hinted to his intentions in his letters to her—but she had expected him to dance around the issue, perhaps try to formally court her. Even though she’d called him out, she felt as if he’d slapped her with a gentleman’s kid glove, and she wanted to take a swing at that perfectly shaven chin.
“I’m flattered that you would offer such,” she said, a bit softer than before, “but my heart is not so lonely I would try to turn a profitable business dealing into something it is not.”
“But surely you see the logic in such a union,” he insisted.
“Lord Pelanmoor,” Adell held up a protesting finger, “I married once for duty, and was fortunate enough to find love. I doubt I will be so lucky twice. Besides, my life is so full of raising my son, the heir to the estate, that I doubt very much I would be a proper wife.”
“Then I have no chance of convincing you otherwise?” Pelanmoor asked hopefully.
“Nothing is impossible, my lord, but only the foolish force the hands of fate,” she smiled. “If that is all, I’m afraid I have some other matters to attend to. Will you be staying for dinner?” As soon as the invitation was out of her mouth, she wanted to bite her tongue and take it back. Still, it was the only civil thing to do, especially after turning down a proposal, and he was a long-respected business associate, after all.
“If I won’t be too much of a bother, my lady,” Pelanmoor said with another bow.
“I’ll see you there,” Adelle replied and quickly exited the room. She retreated to the stables and punched a wall in frustration. It had been a little over a year since her husband died, and she thought she was prepared to reject suitors who wanted her money or title, but her violent instinct towards Lord Pelanmoor’s proposal proved otherwise. She didn’t want another man taking the old count’s place either in her bed or as a father for her son.
It had been a hard year. While Adelle had never been a stranger to hard work, running the estate and raising her son had taken all of her time, attention, and patience. Early on she had given up wearing dresses except on special occasions. Instead, she wore the count’s old clothing. At first, it had been nostalgia that persuaded her to slip on his shirts, smell his faded cologne and natural musk. Then it became practicality—no need to spend more money on working clothes for her when she had a whole closet that just needed a little tailoring.
On more than one occasion, she had thanked her lucky stars for a father who had humored his daughter’s enthusiasm for horses and books, and in contrast forced her to master mathematics and chemistry. Her husband had found it amusing that his young wife could beat him at chess. In fact, her extraordinary knowledge had bridged the gap between their ages.
When he died, Adelle plied every scrap of knowledge to the estate and its workings, partly to ease the pain of his passing. To her credit, things had so far gone smoothly, but she knew that eventually she would be tested against men and nature.
After Adelle had recollected herself, she went outside. The Count's old gelding, Vaughn, was patiently waiting for her where she'd left him when Lord Pelanmoor arrived an hour early. She patted the solid bay horse with affection and quickly mounted. The two took off towards the canyon vineyards.
The province of Vinvalegerd was a unique one. The castle manor was nestled at the base of a large mountain range, the slopes carved by massive ancient glaciers. Rivers trickled from these glaciers into the canyons below. While the first hundred feet of the canyon walls were mottled granite cut away by the ancestors of the glaciers in the mountains millennia ago, the lower levels were sandstone and slate, which had both decomposed under the constant drizzle of cold water and the blasting heat from the dying dust storms of the Salt Desert to the west.
The dust storms had deposited fine sediment at the bottoms of the canyon. By the time the first Count of Vinvaleguard had taken stewardship of the land, rich soil at the bottom of the canyons gave birth to the large, lush grapes that made the county famous. Rice could be cultivated in tiered patties on the mountains. Olives, figs, pomegranates, currents, and barley all had a niche where they did well in the canyons.
Though the earth was fertile and harvests were good, the weather plotted against the estate. Winter blizzards maintained the huge glaciers. Spring was marked by squalls of freezing rain, summer by deadly sand storms. Fall was shrouded by fog so thick that the tenants used thick ropes, tied from front door to barn, to find their way around. Cold mornings and scorching evenings made it difficult for non-natives.
Nimble footed horses bred for the steep, dry terrain were the only way to safely get around. Adelle and Vaughn cantered out across the cliffs to the wheat canyons. Together they quickly picked their way down the pathway to the bottom of the canyon closest to the castle.
Off in the distance, a bell began to toll. Adelle’s head went up and she scanned the horizon. Sure enough there was the smudge on the horizon could only mean one thing: Sandtwister! It wasn’t as dangerous as a sand storm only because it was smaller, but the harsh cyclone winds in the twister could still easily kill any soft-skinned creature caught unprotected.
Adelle urged Vaughn into a reckless pace down the path. Vaughn was a wise animal, and knew the dangers of the canyons and the desert beyond. As soon as they reached the level bottom of the canyon, the horse broke into a gallop. The bell continued to ring. That was good; usually the short warnings were too late for the workers to reach safety. They reached the first shelter, a small shack, sturdily crafted and set deep into the stone wall of the canyon. Workers were crowding in, urgent but un-panicked. One of them spied her.
“Lady!” he shouted above the hissing of the wind. “Quickly into the shelter!”
“I’ll take cover in the next one,” she shouted back as she passed him. Dread started to creep over her, and she knew something wasn’t quite right. She was determined to make sure everyone was safe. The next shack was much the same as the last one, and again she passed by it.
Adelle was nearly to the desert now, and the bell had stopped ringing. She needed to get into shelter quick. The last shack was there. She dismounted and led Vaughn to the door. Someone must have been watching at the porthole, because they opened it for her. Someone gently took the reins from her hand and lead the horse back into the cave with the other animals. Adelle took one last look at the end of the canyon.
A dark shape was running from the sandtwister. Someone was about to get polished by the sharp sand laden winds.
“Cloak and goggles!” she shouted and held out her hand expectantly. Someone handed her the rose-glass goggles, the lenses scratched from other storms. The overseer held onto the cloak.
“Lady, I’ll—”
Adelle snatched the heavy, hardened leather cloak and threw it on her shoulders. She was running even as she snapped the hood over her head and face, leaving only the goggles visible. The cloak was specifically made for rescue missions. The thick leather was from the camels that wandered the desert, seemingly immune to the sand storms. Lead studs weighed it down, and it was generous enough to protect two people at once. She’d braved other twisters dressed like this, but her heart was still in her throat.
The sand was getting deeper and slowing her down. Sand whirled around her eyes, scratching the goggle lenses, but she stayed focused on the dark shadow of the victim. Vaguely, she recognized the broad shouldered shape as male, but that was no surprise since most of the workers were men. He stumbled, fell, and hunched himself against the winds. Adelle swore and pushed her burning legs faster. Finally, she reached his collapsed form. She lifted the edge of the cloak over him and hugged his body, pressing both of them into the ground.
Time dragged on. Her back was to the wind and the howling winds tried to push her body off of the man she was protecting, but she stubbornly held on. Finally, after what felt like hours, the noise died away. It left so quickly, that it took a moment for Adelle to realize it was gone. She concentrated beyond the ringing of her ears to make sure the storm was truly past. Then she stood up and sand poured off her. She unsnapped the cloak, dropped it on the ground and pushed her goggles to get a better look at the man she saved.
His hair was dark, but dusty from the storm. His skin was a mottled gray, tan and red. His clothes were of average quality and were shredded across his back and arms. He moved slowly, blinking in the orange afternoon light.
“What’s your name?” Adelle asked briskly.
He looked at her, eyes wild, and she could tell he was shaken up by his brush with death.
“Your name?” she repeated, gentler.
He made an obvious effort to focus. “R-Rotem,” he replied, his voice gravely and dry.
“Next time, Rotem, get to shelter as soon as the bells start ringing,” she said. She looked towards her estate. The field supervisor was running out to meet her, several of the workers right behind him. She walked to meet them, giving Rotem some privacy while he recollected his wits. She met the overseer, and briskly instructed him, “Get him inside. He’s relieved of his duties for the rest of the day.” She swept off the goggles and handed them to the overseer before continuing, “He’s not much for conversation now, but I want you to personally find out who his supervisor is and report to me this evening. There was plenty of warning for that storm, and no reason anyone should have been left out.”
“As you wish, my lady,” the man replied, resolve squaring his shoulders. Leaving a worker out to the elements was a serious offense.
Adelle shook the sand out of her hair and walked to the worker holding the reins of Vaughn. She mounted and started back up the canyon. The workers would be cleaning up any damage done by the sandtwister for the rest of the afternoon, she knew. As much as she wasn't in the mood, she had a guest to entertain.
