Kristian Frostborne's Arc

Chapter 8 of 9

The next morning Kristian went to find the one hand he still trusted. Aldus swept the forgotten corridors of the ice keep, and Aldus saw everything. Years ago the old sweeper had taught Kristian to read a man by watching his feet. If anyone knew who carried the locket up the stairs, it was him. But the low corridor stood empty. The broom leaned in its corner. No shuffle of boots. No dry cough. Kristian had never come here and not found Aldus at work. He searched the servant halls. A washing girl said she had not seen the old man since the locket came. That timing turned Kristian's blood to ice. The greybeard had struck at his eyes first. Kristian found him at last in a storeroom off the kitchens. Aldus lay on the cold floor between two barrels. His face had gone gray. His lips were tinged black. The broom lay across his legs where it had fallen. "Aldus." Kristian dropped to his knees. He turned the old man over. Aldus still breathed, but the breath rattled thin. Aldus's eyes opened partway. He tried to lift a hand and could not. "You came," he whispered. "Told you the price would be steep." "Who did this?" Kristian said. "Show me." Black powder crusted the corner of the old man's mouth. The same powder from the locket. From the washing water. Someone had put it in his food. Aldus's fingers scratched at the floor. Kristian understood. He was pointing. Not at a person. At his own feet, then at the door. His last lesson, given with the last of his strength. "Watch the feet," Kristian said for him. "Whose feet came to you, Aldus?" The old man's throat worked. "Kitchen boy," he breathed. "New one. Walks... on the sides of his boots. Limp he hides. Serves the greybeard." His hand fell still. "Find the limp. Find your enemy." Kristian gripped the old man's shoulder. "I will get the cup. It compels truth. It may pull the poison's name from you." Aldus's mouth moved into something like a smile. "No cup fixes this, boy." His eyes lost their focus. "You can read them now. You don't need me." The breath went out of him and did not return. Kristian knelt in the cold a long moment. He had come for eyes to read the keep. He had lost them for good. But the dying man had left him one true thing. He stood. He wiped the black powder from his glove onto the barrel. Somewhere in his kitchens a boy walked on the sides of his boots, hiding a limp, waiting for orders. That boy had carried the locket. That boy would lead him to the greybeard. Kristian walked out toward the kitchens. He did not look at faces now. He watched feet.