CHAPTER 17
The Winter
A week later, the first blizzard of the year reached the Yaltiran and found them on the road. Elaina hated the cold. Traveling with a crowd of casters, they were not even forced to halt and cower in front of fires and stoves wrapped in blankets.
That was what she wanted to do—spend every minute that frozen water spat from the sky under a pile of blankets in front of a roaring fire. The kind of fire Hetarth would have rolled his eyes at and muttered about wasting wood. The kind of fire that inspired them to invite Landon home to chop wood.
How long ago was that? It feels like a lifetime. Elaina tried not to think about what he was doing. There was no hope of escape, and wild fantasies of Landon coming to a daring rescue were a waste of energy. She needed that energy to stay warm—which brought her back to the dream of huddling by a fire.
Every last person was out in the blistering wind and bone-numbing cold without any of those wonderful, warm dreams of hers. Well, only some were totally without fire. She was without fire.
Nothing could burn properly with the high wind driving snow before it, but pure Fire could not be extinguished by nature. The Brethren had enchanted half the blasted camp with bonfires that she couldn't feel, thanks to the Bloodstone and Truth-blasted ashendari.
Elaina was convinced it was a new and awful form of torture. There were the fires, shining blue beacons fixed to upturned shields. Everyone else seemed to be taking great comfort from them. It was torture.
She didn't mind cold weather—it was being cold that she hated. Cold weather was about big fires and fur-lined coats and gloves that felt delicious and cozy. Being cold to the bone with no way to get warm, though, that was a nightmare. Wet, deep, unending cold was awful. Like this.
Huddled on the wagon seat, Elaina glowered at the black-coated figures that moved through the snow on the edge of her vision—three spans in this miserable mess, the only shadows in a world of white. Half of them didn't even have their coats buttoned all the way. They were hard men.
Elaina was not. Even healthy this would have been uncomfortable, and as thin and weak as she was, it was only an hour before she shivered uncontrollably. Three cloaks, a wool dress, a camisole, two pairs of socks, wool-lined gloves, a scarf, and high leather boots weren’t helping. She stared straight ahead and decided not to look at the fires.
In two hours her teeth chattered loudly enough to be heard clearly above the howling wind. A'lan glanced over at her once, but she stared resolutely ahead. If he wouldn't admit he was cold, she certainly wasn't going to complain. E'dan didn't seem to notice, though he must have. Watchers noticed everything.
I am NOT going to ask to go inside, no matter how much I want to. That would be weakness. Besides that, it wouldn't help. Keravel had ordered no one should hide from the storm in their wagon while others bore it. Never mind that some were at a huge disadvantage, thin and chained and freezing cold.
In three hours the tiny strip of exposed skin around her eyes was almost blue. That was when E'dan went inside with her, ignoring one order in the interest of following another: the order to keep her alive. A'lan merely nodded, hands steady on the reins in unlined black gloves.
In four hours, even out of the wind, she was no warmer. When E'dan stuck his head outside to speak to his brother, she gasped at the frigid gust that seemed to sneak past his body and knife straight through the pile of blankets she was enshrouded in.
"She's no better." She heard him say with her head ducked under the covers. "In fact, she might be worse, though I don't see how. Should I light a fire?" E'dan asked calmly. There was no hint of frustration in his tone, or worry. It was as if he had not noticed the awful gale that whitened everything more than two spans away.
Elaina peeked out to see A'lan look back with a tiny frown through the open door.
"This would be a poor time to burn the wagon with a loose ember." He noted. "Can you not warm her yourself?" E'dan gave what might have been a resigned sigh and shut the door again. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the pile of cloth over her that already included all three sets of bedclothes and her own cloaks. Then, in one smooth motion, he reached over one shoulder and stripped off his shirt without word or expression.
Elaina stared at him, shocked. The vague expression of a man doing a tedious chore lingered around his eyes as E'dan kicked off his boots and unbuckled his sword belt. When he slipped under the layers to lay down beside her without so much as a ‘by your leave,’ Elaina squeaked. She'd never been this close to a man before.
Strong arms snaked around her waist and pulled her back against him in a determined sort of way, and she could not find it in herself to fight him.
He was so warm. It felt like lying next to a furnace. Her scarlet blush of mortification brought the feeling back to the tip of her nose. The more grateful she was for his audacity, the more she blushed, and the warmer she felt. It was a difficult cycle that ended only when she fell asleep.
Elaina awoke slowly to find herself nestled in warm muscular arms. Blinking in the light that streamed in through the cracks, she slowly realized where she was and sat bolt upright, slamming her head into the low bunk above.
With a yelp and a scarlet blush, she scrambled out of what she now recognized was A'lan's bed across the small aisle to her own narrow pallet, one hand to her pounding forehead. A'lan, shirtless and now awake, propped himself up on one elbow to watch her with mild surprise.
"How dare you!" she snapped, gathering as many blankets as she could around herself. It wasn't against the cold—though it was little warmer than before, but an effort to hide from that piercing stare.
"How dare I do what?" he asked calmly.
"I—you!" she choked, "That's your bed!" she hissed, blinking away the stars in her eyes and wishing she couldn't feel her pulse pounding in her ears. She had a monstrous headache coming on.
"Which is why I'm in it." He replied.
"Why was I in it, you cretin! You're not even clothed!" she wailed unhappily, bright red from her collar to the roots of her hair. Something that might have been amusement moved in his eyes.
"You're upset." He noted, earning a growl of disgust from across the wagon. "You were not upset when E'dan brought you in and lay with you." He reminded her. His choice of words sent her two shades darker. "Why is this different?"
"I'm not freezing anymore, for one! And you moved me to your bed! And you've nothing on!" Elaina howled.
"You're only warm because you were with me, and my bed is larger than yours." He noted logically, "and I do have something on," A'lan offered, sticking out one trouser-clad leg. "My shirt was wet with the snow and ice—I didn't think that would be comfortable to sleep in. Or next to." He explained pointedly. Elaina glowered at him.
"I can't believe you!" she murmured harshly under her breath. He might have chained her up, hauled her around, watched her stripped to her camisole and beaten, seen to her wounds afterwards, and lived in the same wagon, but this was unacceptable!
"Forgive me, Wielder, in my country it is common for men and women to share blankets for warmth on campaign. I can see this is not the way of the Northlands."
His calm sincerity was absolutely free of any mocking, but Elaina hated to let him off so easily. To think I just spent the night in a man's bare arms! In his bed! Somehow that is infinitely worse. Oh how my head aches!
Muttering to herself, Elaina resolved to be absolutely uncivil all day, but couldn't think of anything inconvenient that she had not done before. E'dan and A'lan took no notice of her glares, and A'lan even informed his brother of the reason for her headache—which he described as hitting her head while scrambling to get up like a drunken Tancat on ice—when the former asked if he'd finally struck the Wielder.
As if I’m not right there! Just because they treat me like an animal didn't mean I no longer understand human speech. And 'finally struck the Wielder?' They’ve been discussing the fact they want to hit me, have they?
Elai
na pouted for a few days, making sure she never got cold enough to need them again by wearing all her clothes and a few blankets besides whenever she emerged from the wagon. Her performance did not do one hair of good. Eventually, she gave it up and returned to being politely unmanageable and suicidal, like before.
Firstborn Keravel glared around the half-circle of Brothers standing around his chair. Loyal Rechane, Segarin and Sirean, and troublesome Menkar, Losdar, and Halyar. So they do not like the way I handle the Wielder, do they? Feeling guilty about Gerain’s death? Well. That is why I am the Firstborn and they were mere Brothers.
"She is looking positively meager, Brother Keravel!" Halyar protested in his deep, rolling voice. "I am not sure she will even make it to Hurndrith in this weather. You must stop whatever you have been doing." He snugged his coat tighter around his bulk. The tent did little to block the chill, but Halyar’s bulk should have kept him warm.
"It concerns me that that is exactly her goal, Brother—never to reach Hurndrith, one way or another." Menkar added.
"Have you ever tamed a bird?" Keravel interrupted. Halyar blinked and gave a puzzled half-shake of his head. Keravel forged onward before the man could think of a response. "Well, I have. Some of them are pretty, colorful things that you put in a gilded cage and make to sing for you. Those ones sometimes go off their food at first, and you must feed them gently with your own hands, things like honeyed nuts and sugared fruits. he paused for effect.
“Then there are the birds you want to train to hunt, the proud, dangerous birds. No honey for them, it only makes your job harder. They get contemptuous if you coddle them, they are strong and only understand strength. So you show them who is stronger. Once they are sure it is you, they are a docile as day-old kittens. But they have to be sure."
The only sound was the wind against the tent, sneaking bitterly cold drafts around the seams. Then he thought he heard someone mutter about the bird freezing to death.
No one spoke loud enough to call attention, however. They still feared him—that was good. They ought to, he had not come to this position by being weak or foolish or binding himself with the petty morals of other men.
Keravel knew his presence, his rule, was a blessing to Arith like it had never seen, so logically any goal of his was likewise favored by fate. What could stand before that? And, more importantly, what actions are forbidden to a man who carries fate on his shoulders? None.
Someone stirred, and the brush of fabric tore Keravel away from his musings to study the faces of those around him. After so long together, they were easy to read.
Losdar is doubtful, the dolt, but Rechane's dark eyes glitter as they so often do. He takes such pleasure in breaking things, even more than I do.
"These last few days before the end, brothers, we must be strong! All our work until today would be undone if we let up now. You know she lacks proper respect for the Brethren. If we allow it, she will only grow more proud, more unruly. No, we must be firm. The next time she crosses the line, Brothers, we will be ready to do all that is necessary. Will we not?"
Calling them brothers curdled his tongue—as if Menkar and Halyar could really be of the same blood as he! Only Rechane was close, a small comfort.
But words were only words, to be bartered and traded and used even more readily than coin. If calling them brothers inclined them to agree, then that was what he would call them.
He was not disappointed.
One by one, they all nodded. Keravel held back a smile. It would not do to let them see that they have just handed me victory. All I have to do now is wait. The girl will be kneeling to kiss his rings in a matter of days, now, just as the prophesies promise.
The Brothers shuffled out slowly, with polite nods and small conversation drifting among them. Keravel waited until they were out of the tent before he crooked a finger and brought a servant running.
"Bring the girl. Don't worry whichever of the Watchers is not on duty with her, only one will be needed." Keravel instructed absently.
This will be her warning—I am a fair man, I will warn her. Well, if I thought she would heed my warning I might not, but this will only serve to goad her directly into my trap.
Silently, the servant bowed double and left. Keravel did not notice.