Read Online Exile (Bloodforge Book 1) by Tom Stacey - Free Book Online Page A

made for the door that led to the
stairs and called over his shoulder, “If anybody finds the time, just some
cheese will do.”
    Cook spread her hands.
“If there’s time, milord, if there’s time.”
    Loster stepped out of
the steam of the kitchen and tentatively smelt his clothes. He had only been in
there for a moment, yet they stank of smoke and roasting meat and fish, and he
knew his mother would scold him. She could never understand why he wouldn’t
enter through the Great Hall, but Loster would not run the gauntlet of his
father’s attention if he did not have to. The Lady Helin was adept at being
oblivious to problems around her, especially when it came to her husband.
    Loster sprang up the
wooden steps, keen to get things over with and then retreat to his room. The
staircase was narrow and the steps were made of stone, not yet old enough to be
worn smooth. Each step clopped loudly
in the narrow stairwell. He turned the corner and came face to face with a tall
man with gaunt face, and long, pale hair like straw.
    “Lord Loster. What a
pleasant surprise.” The man’s voice came from high up in his nose.
    “Good day, Korin,”
Loster nodded in greeting. “I’m going to see mother. She asked for me.” Loster
did not know why he was explaining himself to a steward.
    Korin sniffed.
“Unfortunately the gallery is closed, young master. The Lady Helin is sleeping.
I would strongly recommend that you go back downstairs.”
    Loster sighed, and as he
breathed in he realised that he was angry. “Let me pass, Korin. I haven’t got
time to argue with you.”
    The lanky steward raised
his eyebrows briefly, but then his disapproving mask slipped back down. “As I
have told you, young master, your father has ordered the gallery closed. He
doesn’t wish your mother to be disturbed.”
    If
that were true then he wouldn’t have moved her sleeping quarters to the gallery
above the Great Hall. Loster knew the truth of it. The gallery was a
perfect position to eavesdrop on the happenings in the Great Hall. By making
sure that his wife occupied the rooms there, he could ward off any possible
spies, and had a convenient excuse to keep it clear of listeners. But Loster
was no spy. He was the heir apparent of Elk, and he had just about had enough
of people telling him what to do.
    He took a step forward,
but Korin moved quickly to position himself in his way, reaching out a hand as
if to physically restrain the young noble. Loster looked up at him. “We both
know that my father would not appreciate you touching me,” he said through
gritted teeth. Korin was Lord Malix’s closest confidant; many was the time that
Loster had seen him standing outside the room while his father exercised his
perverse sense of discipline. But Malix was a jealous man who regarded all of
his family as possessions, and he would not suffer to share them with anyone.
    Korin hesitated for a
moment more, then skipped aside and disappeared down the stairs on long,
insectile legs.
    Loster breathed his
relief and winced at a stabbing pain in his head. Confrontation always gave him
a headache.
    He climbed the last few
stairs and found himself in the gallery corridor. To the right was the Great
Hall. There were several arches at regular intervals that led to a wooden
platform allowing a view over the whole space. The left wall was unbroken
stone, except for a wooden door about midway along its length. The corridor was
dim here since there were no windows. The only light came from the Great Hall
itself: a deep orange glow that spilled in great fan shapes to lap at the
opposite wall.
    He began to walk
forward, hugging the left side of the corridor. Lord Malix was in the hall, and
though there was no chance Loster might be seen from below, the very thought
made him uncomfortable. Loster came to the door that led to his mother’s
quarters. The wood was a lustrous orange, unstained and fever-bright. He eased
it open and recoiled from the suffocating heat that