Winter Queen

  She shook her head and immediately regretted it. “I refused to marry him.”

  Rone’s eyes widened and he cursed again. They entered the edge of the forest. Ilyenna heard swiftly running water. Splashing in, Rone sank down with her in his arms.

  It felt so deliciously cool, soothing the heat and swelling. But only Rone’s firm grip kept her from bolting. She couldn’t swim, and water any deeper than her knees brought up memories. Memories of the river bouncing her along. Memories of seeing the sky through a window of ice—ice she’d clawed at until each and every one of her fingernails had ripped off.

  “I’ve got you.” Rone tightened his hold around her. He understood better than anyone her fear of water. She held on, afraid the river would tear her away from him. He pressed his cheek against her forehead. “I’m not going to let go.”

  “Take that shirt off,” Narium ordered Rone. Even as she said it, she started untying Ilyenna’s clan belt.

  Rone gently untangled her hands from his neck. “It’s only waist deep. See?”

  She opened her eyes long enough to discover it was true.

  “You’ll be all right?”

  Too overwhelmed to speak, she nodded again.

  He backed away and watched her for a moment, then jerked his shirt off and began scrubbing his already red arms.

  “Downstream.” Narium pointed.

  Rone glanced at Ilyenna, who now wore only her underdress. He turned and hurried away. “If Darrien comes back, call me,” he shouted.

  Narium shook her head. “And have your pretty little head end up on the sharp end of a halberd? I think not.” As she spoke, she kept pouring water over Ilyenna’s back.

  Several Argon women came running.

  “Wash the lye from her dress,” Narium said.

  The other women went to scrubbing Ilyenna’s dress or busied themselves scouring every bit of lye residue from her skin before it could do more damage.

  At first, the blissful lack of lye and the coolness of the water had been a balm. But the scrubbing burned her already blistered skin. By the end, she had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out. Finally, the women helped her out of the water. Someone brought a blanket and wrapped it around her.

  “Rone,” Narium called.

  He reappeared, shirtless. His body was muscled from a lifetime of working the land and lean after a long winter. His arms and parts of his chest were a painful, swollen red. She was sorry for the pain he’d taken on for helping her.

  Without hesitation, Rone scooped her back into his arms. She couldn’t help but blush at the feel of his bare skin next to hers.

  “Take her to the women’s house,” Narium said.

  Ilyenna rested her head against the soft hair on his chest, her heart fluttering in her ribs. “You’re alive,” she said softly.

  Rone grunted.

  “We didn’t know if you were dead.”

  “Perhaps I should be.” His voice was as hard as stone.

  Before she could ask what he meant, he shifted her in his arms. She gasped softly, her question forgotten. He glanced apologetically at her. Someone opened the door to a one-room house. Rone helped her lie on her stomach and brushed back her hair. “What happened to the Shyle, Ilyenna?”

  She sighed heavily and looked away. “We were still trying to find beds and clothing for all the Argons. Lanna and I went to Volna Plesti’s for wool skeins. On our way home, Otrok rushed past, shouting for us to hide.” She paused and wiped a trickle of moisture from the bridge of her nose. “Lanna died. For a time, I thought I had, too. But then I saw . . .”

  How could Ilyenna explain dying and having fairies bring her back to life? If she told Rone she was marked, would he look at her with repulsion as her brother had? She braced herself. “You should stay away from me, Rone. I think I’ve been marked.”

  His brow furrowed. “That’s just superstition, Ilyenna. The dead don’t do that.”

  Narium pushed her way between them. “You best get back to work, Rone. If Darrien finds you shirking, he’ll have you strapped next. And with you, he’ll not care about scars.”

  Rone tugged on his undershirt and began working the laces. “He’ll have me there whether I shirk or not.” Soon, he hurried out the door.

  Narium peeled back the blanket, leaving only Ilyenna’s buttocks covered. The older woman laid some cool, wet rags over Ilyenna’s back. Almost immediately, the burning subsided, leaving only the rawness. She sighed in relief. “What’s that?”

  “Witch hazel,” Narium replied. “We keep plenty of it on hand. Tyrans like their straps.” She combed through Ilyenna’s tangled hair with a wooden comb and began weaving it into a braid. “What of your father and brother?” she asked.

  “They were alive when last I saw them,” Ilyenna answered.

  Nodding, Narium tied a leather strap around the end of Ilyenna’s braid. “Seneth didn’t live past the first day. I’m glad for him, at least.” Narium’s voice broke as she said it.

  Ilyenna squeezed the woman’s hand. “He was a good clan chief.”

  Narium nodded. “Yes. And Undon took him away from me. If he has his way, he’ll take Rone, too.” She must have seen Ilyenna’s surprise. “You want to know why Rone hasn’t died trying to avenge his father, or save the rest of us for that matter?” Narium chuckled bitterly. “Darrien has promised that if Rone or the two men with him so much as touch a weapon, they’ll kill us all.”

  Ilyenna was too shocked to respond.

  Narium was silent for a time. “Otec is still alive,” she said finally. “The spring feast is in a month. If we can just make it until then, the Council will listen to your father.”

  Ilyenna understood. If her father and brother still lived, so would the Shyle. They wouldn’t abandon her to the Tyrans. The Council of Clan Chiefs would declare that the Tyrans had broken clan law and come against them.

  Narium rubbed some of the cloudy water into the angry rash on her hands.

  “I’m sorry the lye hurt you,” Ilyenna said.

  Narium waved the apology away. “I have to leave you now. If I don’t finish my work, I’ll be punished. And every time they punish me, I’m afraid Rone will interfere. Darrien is expecting him to.” Standing, she smoothed her damp skirt. “Rest now. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Slipping behind a tree, Ilyenna held her breath. She pressed herself against the icy bark.

  “Ilyenna,” Bratton growled. Footsteps started back toward her, crunching through the cold snow. “You might as well come out. We already saw you.”

  Letting out her breath in a cloud of vapor, she put on her mother’s best clan-mistress glare, crossed her arms, and stepped out. “I want to come too.”

  Rone looked at her with something close to apology in his eyes.

  Bratton pointed the tip of his bow at her. “You’re too little. You’ll slow us down. And you make too much noise.”

  “Only because you won’t teach me,” she shouted. Then she dropped her head, trying her best to appear humble. They had to take her. They just had to. She couldn’t spend another day stuck at the house while Mother coughed up blood. “Please.”

  “Come on, Bratton. She could come,” Rone said.

  Ilyenna glanced up at Rone. He studied her with green eyes framed with lashes like a bird’s wings. His mass of wavy golden hair was tied back.

  Bratton gave him an exasperated look. “She’ll scare away anything we find.”

  Ilyenna narrowed her gaze at Bratton. “You never catch anything anyway.”

  Bratton lunged at her, but she slipped out of his grasp. He was bigger and older. She knew he’d wrestle her to the ground and hold her face in the snow until she agreed to go home.

  Rone grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, Bratton. Let her be.”

  She could see Bratton itch to take her down. He jerked out of Rone’s grip and took a step toward her. “Go. Home.” As he whipped around; his bow smacked her ribs.

  She winced and then tried to still her f
eatures so neither of them would know he’d hurt her.

  “If I catch you behind us again, I’ll throttle you good,” he called over his shoulder. “Come on, Rone.”

  Rone studied her, indecision on his face. “Can you make it back all right?”

  His kindness seemed to make her side throb harder. She dropped her gaze so he wouldn’t see her tears.

  Rone pointed back the way they’d come. “Just follow our tracks. Cross the river where we crossed it. Can you do that?”

  She nodded quickly.

  “Rone!” Bratton called impatiently.

  He studied her. “Hurry back. We won’t be long.”

  Ilyenna watched him run after Bratton until she couldn’t see them anymore. She turned around, her eyes wide. The trees were huge and ancient, so big it would take ten of her lying head to toe to circle them. It wasn’t long after midday, but the canopy blocking out the light made it seem later.

  She’d never felt so alone.

  Ilyenna felt a hand on her arm and struggled to free herself from the dream. She forced her eyes open to see the shadowy outline of a man standing beside the bed. With a gasp, she clutched the pillow to her chest.

  “It’s all right, Ilyenna. It’s just me—Rone. You were dreaming.”

  She let out her breath in relief. Still, she didn’t feel much better, naked as she was. The witch hazel had dried. Her back burned and itched so badly she wondered why her hair hadn’t caught fire. “I dream a lot.”

  He closed his eyes as if her words pained him. “Me too.” He studied her. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

  “No,” she said softly.

  He looked away. “I’m sorry, but I have to know,” he paused, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Did—did Darrien hurt you?”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Not beyond what you already know.”

  He ran his hands through his wavy hair. “Mother’s not back yet. The other women are with her. If you’d like, I could put on some fresh rags.” He didn’t say anything more, but she knew enough to figure Narium and the others were being punished—punished for helping her.

  Normally, she’d never allow a man to see her bare back, but the thought of the cooling witch hazel squashed any protests. “Please.”

  Rone removed the old rags and replaced them with deliciously damp ones. His hands were sure and strong, and he was careful to keep his calluses away from her bruised and weeping skin. He helped her drink water and some tasteless broth. “I’m going to take care of you, Ilyenna.”

  She wondered why he said it. Of course he would take care of her. He was a clan chief now—it was his duty. But she was too tired to ask. He began humming a lullaby, one her mother had sung to her as a child. “Two in the rockers, One in the field.” Before long, Ilyenna was sound asleep.

  At dawn, she awoke to feel fresh rags on her back. Narium was asleep on the floor, dark circles lining her eyes. How many times had she woken in the night to replace the dressings? Glancing around the small home, Ilyenna saw numerous other women sleeping on blankets on the floor. She was the only one in the bed. Their kindness left her feeling a little less forlorn. But she desperately needed to visit the forest.

  Ever so carefully, she reached for her underdress. Just as her hand closed around the linen, the door banged open and Darrien stormed in. “Lazy, ungrateful wenches! Up! Up!”

  The other women rushed to tug overdresses over their heads. Ilyenna froze, her breasts pressed into the woven horsehair mattress. Darrien’s gaze fell on her. In two strides, he reached the bed. Ilyenna snatched the blanket beneath her and held it tight. He wrenched her to her feet. Her bruised back groaned in protest, and she felt her skin crack. She struggled and kicked as he pressed himself against her. “Get dressed. You’re to work in the clan house.”

  His gaze dropped down, his eyes hungry. She struggled to free a hand to slap him. Shoving her back on the bed, he laughed dryly and headed for the door.

  Narium rushed to Ilyenna’s side. “Vile man. After beating you the way he did, he should let you rest for a week.”

  She plucked Ilyenna’s underdress from her clenched fists and tugged it over her head. Ilyenna gasped as it scraped her back. Narium cast her an apologetic glance.

  Utterly humiliated, Ilyenna stood, quivering and wishing everything below her neck and above her waist would simply stop existing.

  Narium was a little more careful with her overdress. Ilyenna gritted her teeth and hissed every time it touched her skin. Finally, Narium strapped on Ilyenna’s clan belt while the other women hurried from the room. “I can put a running stitch through or leave it open.”

  Ilyenna grimaced. What was worse? The humiliation of having her back exposed for the entire day, or letting the fabric rub her raw? She shook her head in despair. What use was pride? Hadn’t Darrien just hauled her from her bed in nothing but nature’s dress? “Leave it.”

  Narium nodded, then wiped Ilyenna’s back with witch hazel. As the Argon clan mistress turned for the door, Ilyenna called, “Thank you for caring for me last night.”

  Narium shook her head. “Rone did most of it.” And then she was gone.

  Ilyenna stood for a moment, vaguely remembering someone caring for her while she slept. An unexpected warmth spread outward from her belly.

  She walked stiffly from the house, her ripped dress bumping her like a tail. She paused before entering the clan-house kitchen. The smell of bacon, cooking eggs, and porridge assaulted her. Her mouth watering in anticipation, she stepped inside.

  Three women froze in the midst of preparing the food. Two girls, about fourteen and ten, bore Undon’s reddish hair. Ilyenna guessed they were his daughters. The third looked nothing like the other two. She had glossy blond hair and, even more surprising, generous curves. Ilyenna gaped. She’d never seen such a plump person before—there was never enough food for it.

  Ilyenna noted a rolled up blanket in the corner. Someone slept in the kitchen. That meant the woman was either a servant or another tiam. One treated far worse than Otrok ever was.

  The plump woman crossed her arms over her ample chest. “My name is Metha.” She jerked her thumb at the other two, oldest to youngest. “And this is Bennis and Hanie. You’re to obey us as you would Undon or Darrien.” Her voice brimmed with an odd combination of affection and distaste when she said Darrien’s name. She pointed to the fire, where a heavy pot of porridge burped thin, steaming wisps that smelled of bacon grease.

  Ilyenna’s mouth watered in earnest. But instead of offering her any, Metha thrust a cloth and wooden spoon into her hands. “You’re to serve the men. Spill one drop and I’ll count it as your breakfast.”

  Definitely not a tiam.

  Hanie gave Ilyenna a small wave behind Metha’s back. Bennis ignored her.

  Using the cloth to protect her hands, Ilyenna took the pot and moved through the wide doorway. Speaking in hushed tones, Undon and Darrien sat at the thick table before an immense fireplace. This great hall was much larger than the Shyle’s, but it felt so empty with only two men inside it. Ilyenna pursed her lips in disapproval. Besides wasting firewood, the men debased their women by refusing to eat with them. Her father would never force her to sit so dishonorably.

  But she wasn’t a Shyle anymore. She was a Tyran tiam. With a deep breath, she spooned porridge into Darrien’s bowl. Father and son went silent. Ilyenna froze, wondering what she’d done wrong. Then, she suddenly understood. If they were this obstinate about sitting arrangements, what about serving the clan chief first? She hurried to Undon and scooped up a spoonful of porridge.

  Darrien gripped her wrist and wrenched it to the side. The porridge-coated spoon flew out of her hand, sticking to the floor like a spear driven into the ground. “Always, always serve my father first. Do you understand?”

  She blinked. “I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know?”

  His grip tightened and she felt the bones of her wrist shift. Suddenly, the pain all seemed too much. Lanna and
Otrok dead. Five years of her life gone. Her back on fire. Her stomach turned inside out from hunger. She cried out.

  Satisfaction crossed Darrien’s face. He threw her to the floor. The pot landed with a dull thud, the porridge slowly flowing toward the floor. He raised his fist. Ilyenna held up her arm like a shield.

  “Patience, Son,” Undon intoned. “She cannot learn if she’s dead.”

  Darrien lowered his fist to his side. “You’re right, Father.” He sat back in his chair without giving her a backward glance.

  The porridge bulged out of the pot like a tongue trying to lick the floor. Ilyenna caught it in her hand and righted the pot. Her hands burned terribly, but she forced herself to scrape it back inside. At least she’d saved her only chance for breakfast. Shakily, she rose to her feet. She pulled the spoon from the floor and tried to still her trembling hands enough to finish filling their bowls.

  After she’d served their eggs and cleared away their plates, she went back into the kitchen. Now that the men had been served, the women sat down to breakfast. Ilyenna stood, waiting for Metha to acknowledge her. When the woman was scraping the last of the porridge into her mouth, Ilyenna couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m hungry.”

  Metha dumped her bowl into a basket full of dirty dishes. “You dropped the spoon.”

  Ilyenna’s shoulders slumped, and her hands seemed to burn all the more. No breakfast today.

  “Wash them at the stream,” Metha called as she pushed herself up from the table and waddled away.

  Resting the basket’s weight on her hip, Ilyenna filled it with dirty bowls, plates, and pots. Hanie came from the great hall. Without pausing, the girl placed a piece of bread on the table and hurried outside.

  Ilyenna watched the girl disappear. Before anyone could take the bread, she shoved it in the space between her over and underdress. As soon as she was out of sight on the trail that led to the river, she wolfed it down so fast it made her stomach hurt.

  The river wasn’t far. The water was clear and clean, as it came straight from the Shyle. The bottom was coated with the river stones etched from the mountains behind Ilyenna’s home and carried downriver. Cupping her hands, she drank her fill.