Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

The dash from our tent to the breakfast pavilion was harrowing. The winds were whistling past, catching the trees up so they whipped wildly. Snowflakes whirled in vortexes as they slashed against my face. The ground was covered up to mid-calf, and here and there trails of footprints broke through the crust of snow and ice.

While the breakfast pavilion wasn't far, by the time we reached it I was chilled to the bone. We stumbled in and immediately gathered near the main brazier, warming ourselves before taking our place at the table we'd eaten at the night before. The tent was noisy, but the howling of the wind had drowned the sound of voices while we were outside.

Breakfast consisted of sausages, hot cakes, and fruit compote. I followed Fenling to the table we'd sat at the night before. Bran was there, already, and when he saw us coming, he motioned for two more plates. The trays of food were piled high in the center of the table, and as I sat down and accepted a plate, it occurred to me that my life had changed completely within less than a fortnight's time.

"You slept?" Bran asked.

I nodded. "Yes, actually. I slept so deeply I barely registered anything until morning hit." I speared several sausages, stacked four hotcakes on my plate and smothered them in butter and jam, then added a spoon of the fruit compote to my plate. "This smells delicious."

And it was. The sausages were made from pork—I could tell by how juicy they were. The hotcakes were light and fluffy, and the fruit compote was so thick that the juice had reduced to a syrup.

"Compliments to your cook," I said. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"We'll mend clothes, fix harness straps…whatever needs tending to that doesn't require venturing outside." Bran poured me a mug of tea. "Would you like to help?"

I shrugged. "Of course, I'll pitch in. I don't take charity," I added. "I'll work for my keep."

After breakfast, I followed Bran back out into the storm. He tried to shelter me as he led the way to a tent near the stables. I glanced at the horses. They were sheltered from the wind, and two men were sitting with them, tending to a fire. Whoever these people were, they cared for their mounts.

Bran ducked inside the tent and quickly shut the flap after I entered. I looked around. There were several large blankets, a few cloaks, and other pieces of clothing lying in a heap on the ground.

"Can you sew?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Yes, though I'm better at outdoor work. But I'm not going hunting in this weather. I can chop wood, though," I added.

"You continue to surprise me. Or rather, you remind me of our women, rather than a village-dweller. Our women handle the same tasks as the men, although if it's too big or physically taxing, the men usually take care of it." He pointed toward the pile of cloth. "If you can sort, I'll start mending the leathers. You can sew the garments."

I sorted through the clothes, wanting to ask more questions, but I had already learned how reticent he was. I picked through the pile. There were several blankets, a few tunics and pairs of trousers, a cloak, and then several pairs of deer hide boots where the stitches were coming loose.

Bran picked up a boot where the heel was splitting up the back. He examined the way it was fashioned, then excused himself and ducked out of the tent. Outside, the wind howled even louder than before. I sorted the clothing into piles, then picked up one of the blankets and looked it over. The padded quilt was in relatively good shape except for one corner that was torn along the seam. I threaded the needle and tucked the thimble over my index finger, then began stitching up the rip with tight, uniform stitches. I didn't enjoy sewing, but I was determined to pull my weight here. For the time being, I needed these people and I didn't want to give them any reason to kick me out.

By the time Bran returned, I had mended the tear, and was working on the next. This one was harder. The rip wasn't along a seam line, but it was small and relatively easy. I stitched away, glancing up as he returned.

He held up a leather patch. "Sonya wore a hole in her boot heel." As he settled in and began to work, the wind outside strengthened.

"The Snow Witch…you said she's real?"

"Oh, she's real. And so is her story." He paused, then asked, "What will you do? For your future?"

I shrugged. "I didn't have time to plan it out. I thought I might join the People of the Sun, find a job, blend into one of their villages or cities. I can't go home again. Garimorn will put a price on my head. So that's forever barred."

"Are there other villages among your people where you could live?"

I shook my head. "We're all connected. If I were to seek refuge in one of them, word would get back and I'd be extradited. Either that or some scumbag would find out and blackmail me. No, I'm an outcast now. But…" I hesitated for a moment, but then I realized I was slowly feeling safer among Bran and his people. "Garimorn forces all his indentured serving women into his bed. He beds them all, beats them, and by the time their term of service is up, they're either with child or so scarred they can't find work elsewhere. I'd rather die in the wilderness than go through that." I kept my focus on my work.

Bran was silent, and I didn't look up. But a moment later, he placed his hand on mine. He gently took the sewing out of my hands and set it to the side. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. All for being late with your tithe?"

I could barely breathe as I stared into his eyes. But they were kind now, and he seemed sincere. "Yes. Garimorn is corrupt, and so is our Magistrate. But the Magistrate works behind the scenes—or rather, he doesn't work. He's a hedonist, and he lets Garimorn take over the heavy lifting so he can drink his days away. Garimorn is the real power of Renmark."

Bran entwined his fingers with mine. "No woman should be treated such. But I know too many who love power so much that they are willing to forsake respect and devotion because of it." He squeezed his eyes shut, as though he were remembering something that weighed on his mind. "We can't travel south until it's warm enough to do so, but until then, you may stay with us, and we'll treat you right. When spring comes and we can make for the southern border, we'll escort you there, if that's where you still want to go."

"Thank you," I whispered. The feel of his skin against mine distracted me. It was hard to concentrate, his hands were so warm on mine. And up close, he smelled musky and warm, like a smooth brandy on a cold evening. I closed my eyes, all too aware of his proximity. No man had ever stirred these feelings in me before, and I had no idea what to do or say.

"Asajia…I love your name. What does it mean?" He held my gaze and every hair on my body stood at attention.

"Asajia means "frozen star" in my people's secret language," I said. "It also can mean snowflake. My last name, Wildwalker, is from my father. Among our people, we're given the last name of the most active parent. Or rather, the most prominent. There have been five generations of Wildwalkers in my past. My grandmother was an incredible hunter, and she gave her last name to my father."

"Are your grandparents alive?" Bran asked.

I ducked my head. "No, they were both killed in a raid. The Wolf People came through, disguised as wolves. Once near the village, they shifted shape and came in force into our village. I wasn't born yet. The winter was exceptionally harsh and everybody was hungry. The Prince of Wolves brought his warriors down to our village and raided it. Ten soldiers and five civilians died in the attack. My grandparents were both killed. My father was spared because he was out on a hunting mission that day. My mother and he weren't married yet."

Bran paled. He let go of my hand and stood, pacing.

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

"No…it's just…" He turned toward me, a look of incredible sadness on his face. "I have something to tell you. You'll find out sooner or later, and it's better I tell you now, especially after what you've just confided."

I caught my breath. "What is it?"

"We've managed to keep it hidden from you, because we weren't sure if you'd be moving on or not." He leaned against the table in the center, ducking his head. "My people—we are from the Wolf People. I am not the leader of the entire Wolf Nation, but I am close enough in rank."

Floored, I stared at him. "What? You're a wolf shifter?"

He nodded. "I am. I lead the Lorani, the Outer Guard. My brother is the Prince of Eleago." He looked so deflated that I almost felt sorry for him. "I suppose you hate me now."

I could only stare at him. "I'm not sure how I feel. Were you the one who killed my grandparents?" I was telling the truth. I wasn't sure of what I was feeling. I had never met my grandparents. Their tragedy was just a sad story to me. My father and mother were both dead. If I kept up a feud, it was me against the enemy.

"No, I was not. But I'm certain that my brother, the Prince of Wolves, led the raid. He reigns because he's the eldest. I knew about the raids…in fact, I know first hand because I took part in some of them. But not, I think, the one on your village."

That gave me a start. "You're…then you're at least twice my age?"

"Even more. The Wolf People live a long time." He sighed. "Do you want to hear what it was like that winter?"

Not sure of my answer, I merely nodded. I had gone through too much the past week to just toss everything out the window. If I broke ranks with his people now, I'd freeze to death before I could reach the Leanderial Line.

"Very well. I'll listen," I said.

"The Snow Witch was angry all winter. She brought storm after storm against the entire area—and she reached south of the Bramble Fel Forest, to encompass your lands as well. The game was sparse, hunting was difficult for everyone due to the fear of getting caught out in her wrath. The skies that summer had been overcast with a dark ash from one of the volcanoes in the far frozen northlands that erupted. The ash cooled the skies, dampening the growth of all food as far south as the Southern Jungle. The berries were stunted, and so were the crops. It was a harsh year for finding food." He stood, pacing toward the door with his hands behind him.

"My people were hungry, and the game elusive. So my brother, who ruled even then, decided we'd go on raiding parties. And raid we did. All through the villages above the Leanderial line. I was not in the raiding party that took your village by surprise, but I know my brother was. I will give him this: he's no coward. He's not afraid to ride in the front lines."

"And so he led the raid that killed my grandparents?" I knelt by the fire, holding my hands to the flames. While I wanted to hate him for what he did, the truth is, the People of the Snow lived on the edge. My people were used to facing hardships. Raiding parties were just one of the dangers we lived with. And my grandparents…I never knew them. If they were like my father, I couldn't claim they were good people. He had been an incredible bowman, but as a husband and father, he had severely lacked.

"He did," Bran said.

I straightened my shoulders. "Then your family owes me a blood debt."

"We do. Your grandparents were protecting their wares."

Blood debts could only be enforced when the two parties had not been in a mutual feud that was agreed upon by both sides. And it couldn't be enforced against someone you slighted or hurt, although they could turn and claim the debt against you, if you murdered or maimed one of their loved ones.

I thought about it for a moment. "I will save it for now. Should I need help in the future, it might come in handy."

If he had hoped I'd put it to the side, he said nothing. Instead, he said, "I will tell you now, my brother might not honor the debt, but I will if I possibly can."

"Understood." I wanted to ask more about his family. His brother was the Prince of Wolves, and Bran was the royal scout, from what I gleaned. But he didn't seem entirely fond of his brother, and I wondered if the feeling was mutual. Impulsively, I stood and walked over beside him. "I won't ask for the moon. I'll only ask for help should I need it."

He turned to face me, a dark smile on his face. "I wonder…" But whatever the rest of the sentence was, he didn't finish it. The mood grew thick, and my head began to spin as I stood so very still. Outside the hush of the snowflakes falling crackled like static electricity. My stomach was in my throat, and a storm of our own felt ready to break.

Before I could move, he suddenly turned the other way. "We should get back to work," he said in a harsh voice.

Startled, I merely followed his lead and sat down in front of the pile of mending. As we sewed late into the afternoon, I tried to keep my thoughts to myself, but it was difficult.

That evening, we had just finished mending everything that had been in the pile, when the clang of a gong rang.

"Dinner," he said. We'd stopped for a quick lunch of bread and cheese which Fenling brought in, but other than that, we'd worked in silence. As the hours wore away, I realized that I was comfortable in silence around Bran. A rare joy. I enjoyed talking to friends, but my time to myself was important, and I was used to days out in the forest, hunting, with no one to talk to. I had grown used to the silence of my thoughts.

"I'm hungry," I said, standing to stretch. "Is the storm still bad?"

He peeked out of the tent. "Worse."

"I need to use the privy," I said. "Where is it?"

"Too far from here to chance. You can use the one in my tent. Come, follow me." He led me outside by the hand. "Don't let go. I know my way around the camp blindfolded, but it's nearly zero visibility and you could easily get lost in the blizzard."

I held on tightly, letting him lead me through the blinding snow. It was coming down so hard and fast that it was almost impossible to see my hand in front of my face. I trusted that Bran knew his way around, and sure enough, a few moments later we were standing inside his tent.

He pointed to the screen. "Behind there. I'll stand right outside and wait for you."

As he vanished out the door, I raced behind the screen. As I sat there on the wooden seat, I thought about my grandparents. I had never met them. My father had hated the Wolf People, but my grandparents' deaths had been more academic to me, and I hadn't developed the same hatred.

I finished my business and washed my hands in the basin sitting on a small table by the screen. Since Bran's brother was a prince, did that make Bran royalty, as well? For some reason, that thought hadn't occurred to me before.

I peeked out the tent flap. "I'm done."

"Then let's go get some dinner." He took my hand and we pressed against the biting winds towards the mess tent. As we ducked inside, everybody looked up. We were among the last to join the group. Bran motioned for me to take a seat, while he went over to confer with several other men, and his cousin Fenling.

Feeling slightly self-conscious, I sat down on the bench in the same spot I'd sat in before. The man across from me had long brown hair, and his skin was dark. His eyes gleamed with a yellowish color and there was something incredibly feral about him. I realized then that, given they were the Wolf People, that wildness was simply part of their nature.

"Thank you," I said as he passed me a large platter of beef. "What's your name?"

"Quen," he said. Then, his eyes gleaming, he asked, "Are you Bran's woman?"

I jerked my head up, startled. "What?"

"I asked if you're Bran's woman? He could use one, for sure."

Not sure how to respond, I swigged my mug of ale. I preferred juice, but it gave me the chance to collect myself. "Uh, that would be no. I'm…nobody's woman."

"Really?" he said, laughing. "Then all's fair…"

Unsure of what he was hinting at, I stabbed a couple pieces of the beef and placed it on my plate. He handed me a massive bowl of mashed potatoes and I spooned out a good sized portion. After that came the gravy and bread. I was about to dig in when Bran and Fenling returned to their seats. They quickly filled their plates, and I glanced at Quen, but he was engaged in lively conversation about an upcoming hunting trip with the man to his right.

"The storm's likely to last another two days," Bran said. "The soothsayer predicts it."

"Soothsayer? Is that…like a witch?"

"Witch. Shaman. Fortune teller, all in one. Endaria is one scary assed witch, but she's accurate. And she and her sisters have served the royal family for years. She comes out with the guard, her sister serves my brother for the throne, and the third sister—Leela—lives in the Cave of the Ancients, spinning out the silk of our lives."

Fascinated, I said, "I've never heard of them."

"They're like the Fated Sisters and the Maids of Fortune, but they're aligned to the Wolf People. They're known as the Wyrd Women." His voice lowered. "Once, when I was very young, I wanted to see Leela. I knew how to get to the Cave of the Ancients and disobeyed my father, who was the Prince at the time."

Fenling turned. "I remember that. You talked me into going with you."

"We raced into the mountains and climbed to the ledge of the cave. As we entered, I remember a massive cloud of fog rising into the form of a woman. She had stone black eyes and red lips, and she leaned down to us—we were just pups—" He paused at Fenling's look. "I told her who we are."

"Good, it was bound to come out sooner or later."

"Anyway, we were just pups, and the mist woman leaned down to us, and she whispered, "I will count to ten. If you aren't gone, you will never leave my side and you will become part of the mist folk." That scared the hell out of us. We turned and ran, and I've never been back to the Cave of the Ancients, save for when we laid my father's body to rest." He chuckled. "And I'd hesitate to go back for any reason other than one which was sanctioned. I think I'm still afraid she'd remember me."

"She would. Leesa remembers everything." Fenling shook her head. "We got our butts swatted but good when we went home. Of course, Leesa transmitted the news of our visit to her sisters, and they told Bran's father. We were sent to work in the stables for days after, in punishment. We mucked out so many stables I still remember smelling like manure when I got home for the day."

As they laughed, I studied the energy between them. They read more like brother and sister, and I had the feeling they'd always been close like this.

"So, now that you know we're Wolf People, are you still going to stay with us?" Fenling asked.

"She will, at least for now," Bran said. "Come to find out, my family owes her a blood debt. Remember the bad winter during the year of ash?"

Fenling frowned. "Yes."

"Remember the raids?"

Fenling nodded.

"Turns out Karehl killed her grandparents during one of the raids." He dug into his meal, eating as though he was famished.

Fenling let out a slow breath and turned to me. "Is that right?"

I nodded. "Yes. My grandparents died before I was born. My father hated the Wolf People, but given I had never met my Nan and Napa, it all seems distant to me."

"Then Bran is correct, we owe you a blood debt." She paled, her fork and knife poised over her plate, as though she didn't know what to say. In fact, by the look in her eyes, I had the feeling she was embarrassed.

"It was long ago," I said. "This is a harsh world. I know that all too well." When she still didn't respond, I said, "So, the storm will last another couple days?"

"That's what our soothsayer predicts," Fenling said, shaking out of her silence. "The Snow Witch is dancing in the clouds."

At that moment, the tent flap opened and a man broke through, looking half-dead and frozen. Immediately, Bran and two others were at his side, examining him. They carried him over to the central fire and Fenling brought him a mug of hot tea. As he shivered, groaning as the healer examined his hands and face, he managed to whisper out a few words.

"Lord Bran, I bring you orders from the prince."

"Oh?" Bran's expression changed ever so slightly. "And what are they?"

"You are to proceed back to Eleago as soon as the storm is past. I bring you a letter from his lordship." The man groaned again, and said, "I'm starving, may I have something to eat?"

As they gathered around to tend him, I turned back to my food. Across the table, Quen openly stared at me.

"I see the Wyrd Women are on the move again," he said, but when I asked him what he meant, he shook his head and went back to his meal.