Excerpt:
“I need to speak to my son alone,” said the Duke, in that commanding voice he used with everyone but his wife and his youngest daughter.
The girls continued giggling into the hallway. Etien’s mother let out one significant sob, and followed them. His father sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his large hands on his knees.
He’s nervous, thought Etien. He had never seen his father ruffled, not in the face of death, not even when the Whennish army had squashed the legions and the Duke’s last chance to rule the six provinces as king.
But the thought of talking to me about marriage unmans him!
“How long have you been having night sweats?” he asked.
“Father, I’m not worried about getting married. Honestly.”
“I should think not. Lila will make an ideal wife and duchess. That’s not what this is about.”
“I didn’t know this was about anything,” said Etien. “I awoke a little sweaty, that’s all. Probably something I ate. I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss.”
“You’ve only just recovered from last spring’s accident, son. People are worried, but it’s more than that.” He frowned and Etien was a little boy again about to receive a scolding for trying to mount his father’s warhorse.
“As my heir, I might have told you this sooner. I tell you now, hoping you will only need this information to pass on to your own son.”
Etien never before heard his father ramble.
“Our family, and your mother’s too, since she is cousin-kin, have for generations kept the secret of our. . .our curse. Certain Fabian children mature differently than others. I had hoped you were past the danger of the change, but no one really understands it.”
“The change?” asked Fabian. Dread prickled his flesh. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered a whispered discussion overheard as a child. An uncle, or perhaps a cousin, gone or taken. As a child, he had only understood the adults’ anguish, but not its cause.
“The mountains are our blessing,” said the Duke. “They protect us from our enemies. They provide for us, but they are also our Lords, and they take whatever they see fit.”
“The White Death,” whispered Etien.
“That’s how it started, but not the worst of it,” said his father. “One of our ancestors, no one really knows his name, he survived the White Death, just as you did, but he sold his soul to the mountain in return for his life. The Barbegazi claimed him, and others in our family ever since.”
“The Barbegazi? Father! They’re just stories for the hearth-fire.” Etien loved those tales of the icemen who lived on the coldest mountain peaks, doling out mischief or help to weary travelers, as they saw fit.
“They’re not stories. Etien, I have seen the change myself. Your Mother’s brother was taken from us this way. It starts with night-sweats. Soon even the coolest days of autumn feel unbearably hot. The skin ages like leather. The feet swell. The heart slows and then life just melts away.”
“Father, you can’t be serious. You can’t mean. . .”
“I’m telling you, because you need to know. You are my heir. You will inherit this land, all its profits and its curses. Just promise me, son, if these night-sweats are more than a bad meal, do the manly thing. Don’t make me lock you up like a dog. Our family name must not be sullied.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Etien, feeling suddenly hot. The suggestion he might put his own welfare before that of his family offended him. His father covered his hands with his own, a mawkish gesture that Etien could not ever remember from his father.
“I hope that’s true. But tell me, son, when that avalanche bore down on you, did you, like our unnamed ancestor, pray to the White Death for mercy?”
Etien did not answer. He closed his eyes and pictured the avalanche and the icy angels riding it like the horse of fate. How could he tell his father that he had embraced that fate?
