Winter Queen (8 page)

“You’re a summer fairy, aren’t you?” Ilyenna asked. In response, the fairy disappeared. “Come out.
I promise, I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

The fairy’s face peeked out again. She was so small it was hard to read her expression. But Ilyenna noted the hesitant way she stepped onto the branch, the way her wings seemed wilted behind her. “I am Jablana. What does the winter queen wish of me?”

Ilyenna wet her lips with her tongue. “Can you help me?”

The fairy laughed. “The winter queen wishes my help?”

Ilyenna nodded. “Please.”

Jablana’s wings came up, and Ilyenna wondered if reading a fairy’s emotions was as simple as watching her wings.
“For how long?”

“For as long as it takes.”

The fairy’s wings flattened. “You must think me a fool, because only a fool would agree to such an open-ended agreement.”

Ilyenna shrugged.
“Until I am free then.”

The fairy watched her warily.
“And the payment?”

Ilyenna sighed. “What do you want?”

Jablana fluttered forward, so close Ilyenna could see her pink lips. “You and your fairies will not freeze my apple blossoms, no matter how pretty the flowers look covered in frost.”

Ilyenna blinked in surprise.
“Very well.”

“You must say ‘yes.’”

Ilyenna suppressed a groan. “Yes.” A ripple of power flowed through Ilyenna. The fairy’s wings spread wide, as if stretching to devour the sun.

“You’d better hurry,” said a voice behind her. Ilyenna whirled as an Argon woman with a basket of washing on her hip emerged from the trees. “If you’re not back when Metha thinks you should be
, she won’t let you eat lunch.”

Ilyenna pivoted back to the fairy, but she was gone. Ilyenna wanted to call after her, but somehow she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The fairy would not come back. And even if she did, the Argon woman wouldn’t be able to see her. She’d think Ilyenna mad if she started talking to a flower.

Ilyenna rinsed the last of the sand from the dishes. Then she hurried back to the kitchen and traded the clean basket of dishes for a basket of soiled washing.

When she arrived back at the river, the Argon woman was still there. “I’m Ilyenna,” she offered.

The woman’s face darkened. “I know. I’m Shia.” She turned and searched the forest, as if expecting to find someone watching them. “If we’re caught talking, we’ll be punished. We’ll speak tonight.”

Ilyenna nodded. At least she’d have nights in the women’s
house to look forward to. Perhaps Rone would even be there. With that prospect to lighten her day, the washing didn’t seem so bad. Her stomach still felt slightly hollow, but she felt stronger. Her back didn’t even hurt as much.

After hanging up the last of the washing behind the clan house, Ilyenna stepped inside the kitchen. The women had just filled the wash basket with dishes from lunch. Metha squared off in front of her.

“You took too long. No lunch, either.” She handed Ilyenna a rag and bowl of water with soap shavings floating in the bottom. “Scrub the great hall from top to bottom. Then do the dishes. You take too long or don’t do a proper job, and you’ll not get supper, either.”

Ilyenna scrubbed tables, floors, and walls until her knuckles bled. By the time she finished, she could smell dinner cooking. Metha met her at the door with a scraper. “Clean out the chicken coop. Bring in the eggs.”

With a sigh, she took the wooden scraper and left the room. The midday sun added heat to her back. She started to wish she’d let Narium sew her dress after all. When she had finished with the coop, there were more dishes to wash. No matter how fast she worked or how good a job she did, Metha always found something wrong. A scrap of food stuck to a plate cost Ilyenna supper.

It was dark by the time she finished lugging in the last plates. After she’d put them away, she trudged toward the women’s house. Footsteps echoed her own.

She turned to see Darrien coming toward her. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep them from shaking, from fear as much as from hunger. As always, he came too close. She squared herself, resisting the urge to lean away from him. His nose wrinkled in disapproval. “You stink like sweat and chicken dung.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I swore to give my sweat, and that’s what I’m doing.”

He stepped closer. “You don’t have to. Marry me, and you’ll not have to work one day of the five years. You can sleep in my rooms, eat at the clan-house table. I’ll give you fine clothes and . . .” His hand shot out, deftly unfastening her clan belt. Before Ilyenna could react, he held her identity in his hand. “You can have this back.”

Without her belt, her overdress gaped at the sides. She felt a cool breeze moving against her underdress. Her father had fashioned the leather from one of their sheep. Her mother had sewn in all the knots but the last. That one, the clan-mistress knot, Ilyenna had added days after her mother’s burial. She reached for it, but Darrien held her back. “You’ve no right to take that!”

He smiled in satisfaction. “You don’t have a clan anymore. You’ll endure what I want you to endure.” He stepped so close she could feel the heat from his body. “Unless you wish me to tell my father you killed his favorite son?”

Tears pricked her eyes. Of all the things Darrien had done to her, taking her clan belt cut closest to her heart. Reaching out again, she tried to snatch it back. The movement brought her closer to him.

He pulled her in, his lips inches from hers. “It’s a pretty good bargain, Ilyenna.”

She squirmed until she felt the skin on her back crack and sting. “What you want is a harlot.”

He released her and took a step back. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll come to me. Sooner or later, you’ll come. And when you do, I’ll make you beg.” He turned and started towards the clan house.

She watched him go. Was he right? Could he afflict her until she submitted?

She lifted her head higher. Shyle are stronger than stone, more supple than a sapling. No matter what any of them said, she was still a Shyle, and she wouldn’t forget her clan’s pride. Ilyenna felt eyes on her back and turned. A dark shadow peered at her from behind the trees—Rone. How much had he seen?

His smoldering eyes said he’d seen enough. “One of these days, I’m going to kill that son of a whore.”

Ilyenna rubbed her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Suddenly her emotions seemed too much to bear. Starting past him on her way to the women’s house, she lashed out, “Why? You’ve never cared about me. Why start now?”

His hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Don’t say that. When we were children, you were like a little sister to me.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tears burning her eyes, she turned, her gaze staring after Darrien. It wasn’t Rone’s fault. Not her being here, or Darrien, or her being marked, or the fact that Rone thought of her as a sister. She relaxed her fists.

His grip loosened. “The other women all came in a long time ago.” He handed her something draped in an old rag.

Ilyenna unwrapped it. A piece of crusty bread and a sliver of cheese. Without Metha lording over them, the other tiams must be eating better. Her mouth watering, Ilyenna took a bite, ignoring the crunch of weevils. “Thank you.”

Rone stared up at the moon, which reflected dark glints in his green eyes. “I’ll kill him if you’d like.”

She nearly choked on her cheese. Without asking, she took his waterskin and swallowed. “Kill him?” she whispered with a furtive glance. “If you even touch an axe or knife, they’ll kill us all.”

“Mother told you.” It wasn’t a question. The lines around Rone’s eyes tightened. “Sometimes I think that might be a relief.”

Ilyenna froze, the food in her hands forgotten. “Do you not recall who you are?”

Almost immediately, the hunch in his back straightened. “I am
an Argon.”

“You are the Argon clan chief,” she said sternly.

His gaze looked her up and down. “And you are the Shyle clan mistress.”

A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “A clan mistress who smells of chicken dung and sweat and wears her dresses backless?”

He chuckled. “Well, there’s that.”

She closed her eyes. It didn’t have to be this way. Being a tiam was supposed to teach a lesson, not break a spirit. For instance, with Otrok, Ilyenna had offered a trade. She’d allowed the child’s father to stay home and continue to scrape together enough to feed his wife and
other children, as long as his youngest son came in his place. In doing so, she’d probably saved the child’s life—only to have it taken from him months later.

“We aren’t criminals,” Rone went on. “We’ve done nothing wrong. I am the Argon clan chief, and you are the Shyle clan mistress.” They arrived at the women’s house. “Good night, Ilyenna,” he said before walking away.

She watched him go, her eyes heavy. “I suppose it could be worse,” she murmured. “I could be alone in this.”

8. Strong as Stone

Ilyenna took the bowl of porridge Narium offered. Trying not to notice the black flecks, she spooned some into her mouth and made an effort not to wince when weevils popped between her teeth. Dim light slanted through the small, dirty windows. The women weren’t allowed candles and only enough wood for cooking their meals.

Narium hurried over and tied a rag over Ilyenna’s hair. “It will keep your hair out of your eyes.” She nodded toward the gruel as she wiped Ilyenna’s back with a cloth dampened with witch hazel. “Eat it quickly or you won’t have time to eat at all.”

The other women were shoving spoonfuls in their mouths as fast as they could. Ilyenna increased her pace. After only a few more bites, a man appeared at the door with a strap in hand. He cracked it against his palm. Abandoning their bowls, the women rushed for the door.

Ilyenna hurried after them. “Where will you be working?” she whispered to Narium.

Narium glanced at the man before she whispered back, “In the fields.”

“Then where are the men working?”

“They’re gathering river stones.”

“To build what?” Ilyenna asked.

Before Narium could answer, Ilyenna bumped into one of the other women. All of them had stopped, their mouths set in grim lines. Ilyenna followed their gazes down the long road. A cluster of dirty, ragged women trudged toward them. One woman staggered and fell. A man rode up behind her and whacked her with a switch. She lifted her arms as if to protect her head, then lurched to her feet and scurried forward. Ilyenna’s eyes widened as she recognized her—Larina.

Cold fury burned within her. These were her people—her clanwomen. She recognized the others one by one. Jossa, Wenly, Kanni, Parsha, and Bet. Lowering her head like a charging bull, Ilyenna marched forward. A hand clamped down on her wrist.

Narium pulled her back and hissed in her ear, “You want to know what our clanmen have been building for these devils we call Tyrans?” She didn’t wait for an answer.
“Another tiam house. Did you really think Undon would settle for taking only you?”

Suddenly, Ilyenna couldn’t catch her breath. “How long has he been planning this?”

Narium shrugged. “Undon’s no fool. He knew the Shyle would aid the Argons.”

“From the beginning,” Ilyenna finished, answering her own question. Tears of betrayal filled her eyes. The group of Shyle women moved closer. Each was around the same age as Ilyenna. She didn’t want to dwell on the reason young women had been chosen. She tried to pull free, but Narium held her firmly.

“They might know about my father, my brother,” Ilyenna protested.

Narium’s grip only tightened. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Fear blossomed in Ilyenna’s breast like a thistle flower. Bratton and her father had been fighting Tyrans when she’d been taken. Had Undon simply waited for her to leave before killing them? Perhaps she hadn’t saved anyone. “Do you think”—she cleared her throat— “do you think they’re dead?”

The women next to her shifted to let someone through.
Rone. He rested a hand on her arm. “Even Undon wouldn’t dare kill a surrendered clan chief.”

She watched as her clanwomen milled uncertainly near the barn, and suddenly she had a purpose.
A clan. Tiams be strapped! She was still their clan mistress. “Make the roof of their house tight.”

Warily scrutinizing her, Rone nodded.

Shrieks erupted all around Ilyenna. The Tyran with the strap was using it on any tiam he could reach.

Gripping her skirt, Ilyenna dashed toward her clanwomen. Relief and hope crossed their faces when they saw her. “Ilyenna,” some of them cried.

Larina gripped her hand. “What are we to do?”

The other women voiced so many questions that Ilyenna could barely distinguish one from another. “Quiet. There isn’t time,” she commanded softly. Her eyes met Larina’s. The girl had a pained look Ilyenna had seen on the chronically ill. “Are you hurt?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Larina hugged herself tight. “I’m fine.”

“What happened after I left the clan house?”

Larina squeezed her eyes shut.

Bet answered, “They took everything they wanted. Killed or beat anyone who tried to stop them.”

“And my father and brother?” Ilyenna forced the words out.

“They were badly beaten, but still alive when we left,” Jossa said.

“How many of you are there?” Ilyenna asked as she began counting.

“Eleven,” Bet said. Her eyes took in Ilyenna’s ripped dress. “What’re we to do?”

Ilyenna wet her cracked lips and stepped closer. “For now, do what you’re told. If you don’t, you’ll be beaten.” Pain shot through her back. She tried to hold in her cry, but it came anyway. On her knees, she turned to see Darrien standing over her, strap in hand. “You dare keep Undon waiting for his breakfast?”

Casting a warning glance back at her clanwomen, she scampered away from him and ran. Humiliating as it was to flee from Darrien or his strap, she hoped her clanwomen would watch and learn to do as they were told as quickly as they could.

***

Metha kept Ilyenna busy with dishes and scrubbing until long after the plump woman had fallen asleep before the hearth. But at least Ilyenna had managed to find a forgotten, moth-eaten rag she could use in place of a clan belt. Moments after she left the clan house, Rone stepped out from behind a tree. He handed her another wrapped bundle.

“Did they feed you anything today?”

She shrugged. “Metha wasn’t pleased with my cleaning of the chamber pots, but at least I had breakfast.” She didn’t mention it had been a piece of moldy bread.

Opening Rone’s offering, she found an oatmeal biscuit and a boiled egg, but she hesitated to take it. “Is this from your own share?” If he gave this to her, he wouldn’t have enough for himself.

He kicked at the dirt. “No. It’s from the allotment given the tiams.”

“Thank you.” She took a bite of the egg. She’d give just about anything for a withered old winter apple right now. “How are my clanwomen?”

Rone glanced at her sideways. “The Shyle are a strong people, but they need you to reassure them.”

He opened the door to the women’s house, and Ilyenna surveyed the sullen faces. An even mixture of Shyle and Argon women.

Why has Undon taken three Argon men but no Shyle men? Ilyenna wondered.

“It isn’t right, Clan Mistress,” Larina cried. “The Tyrans had no cause to take even one tiam, and they’ve taken eleven of us.”

“To take a clan mistress or clan chief is unheard of,” Jossa put in, “and they’ve taken three and killed the other.”

More grumbles rose up. Ilyenna lifted her hands and said firmly, “I know, but there’s nothing we can do right now. The clan chiefs meet for the spring feast in a month. They’ll hear of our plight and force Undon to release us.”

Larina sniffed. “And what are we to do until then?”

Ilyenna looked into the women’s faces one at a time, making sure each of them met her gaze. “War and peace—opposite ends of the Balance. Make no mistake about it, we are in a war. Battles will be lost, but only when winning will cost more than can be gained. Keep together as much as possible. Look after each other.”

Kanni asked Rone, “What do the Tyrans expect of us?”

He stepped forward. “The men are gathering stones for a new tiam house. The women have been put to work in the fields. The rest of the Tyrans aren’t as cruel as Undon and Darrien, but try to avoid them. And Ilyenna’s right—it is best to stay in groups.” He eyed the women. “Especially you clanwomen. Some of the men have been . . .” He glanced at Ilyenna. “Unruly.”

The women lowered their heads. Larina gripped her overdress so tight Ilyenna wondered that it didn’t disintegrate beneath her clenched fists.

The door opened and a burly Argon slipped inside. “Men from the clan house are coming this way.”

Rone reached for the axe that was no longer there. He grimaced. “You women better get in bed. You’ll have less than two minutes.” He paused at Ilyenna’s shoulder. “I’ll not be far. Call out if you need me.” He joined the other man out the door.

The women scrambled to wrap up in their blankets. Rone had calculated correctly. No sooner had the last woman tucked the blankets around her than the door opened. Darrien stepped inside, a line of men behind him. His gaze raked across the women. Reaching the nearest one, he yanked off Jossa’s blanket. “Sleeping in our overdresses now, are we?”

“If Tyrans are going to barge in here, we certainly won’t be sleeping in only our underdresses,” Narium shot back as she clambered to her feet. Ilyenna and the other women did the same.

Darrien crossed the room to Narium in three strides. He lifted his fist. Narium didn’t flinch. He shook his head and dropped his hand. His eyes searched the room, stopping on Ilyenna. He pulled his axe from the loop at his belt.

Has he come to kill me?
she wondered.

She wished Rone hadn’t left. The temptation to call for him nearly overwhelmed her, but she knew Narium was right. If Rone interfered, he’d be killed. No matter what happened, Ilyenna had to keep her mouth shut.

Besides, she’d been marked. Death would seek her at every turn. The question was, how many more times could she evade it?

Darrien casually tested the weight of his axe. “I have reports you had a meeting here tonight. What was said?”

Other Tyran men crowded into the room. Big, strong men with axes, against unarmed women. It would be a massacre. Ilyenna felt like she was suffocating. Some of the women exchanged terrified glances.

Darrien wandered through the room, staring the women down. “A good tiam answers when her master asks a question.” He paused beside Ilyenna, his shoulder brushing hers. “Shall I show them what happens when a tiam refuses to submit?” She clenched her teeth to keep from making a sound.

He gripped Narium’s arm. “Shall I start with you?” He shoved her toward the door. Narium stumbled and hit the floor hard. Darrien reached for her again.

Ilyenna knew Rone would be watching from the barn. If he saw Darrien hauling his mother to the beating pole, he’d interfere. Then they’d all die. Ilyenna jumped between Darrien and Narium. “The Shyle wanted to know what was expected of them.”

“And what was your answer?” Darrien growled.

“I told them to obey and keep their honor.”

Darrien rotated his axe in his hands. “Perhaps that’s so, perhaps not. Either way, tiams do not meet. They do not discuss. They obey!” He glared at each face in turn. He moved so close to Ilyenna that his shirt brushed against her breasts. “Choose one for the beating pole, Ilyenna.”

She closed her eyes, willing her tears to stay at bay. “I choose myself.”

Darrien looked surprised.

Narium gathered herself up from the floor and straightened to her full height. “I’ll go in her place.”

Larina jutted out her chin, tears streaming down her cheeks. “No, I will.”

Within seconds, the whole house erupted as women volunteered to be strapped.

Ilyenna fought to keep the triumph off her face. The Shyle and Argons had just won a battle.

Darrien glared at the women.
“Silence!”

The clatter died like a capped candle. Darrien circled Ilyenna, his axe balanced in his hands—the same axe that had nearly killed her before the fairies’ healing. At her back, he stopped. Her skin crawled, but she didn’t dare turn. He rested the sharp point on her shoulder. “I wonder,” he said as he began drawing it down.

The axe dragged along the length of her back. Ilyenna’s still-tender skin flamed. Darrien came around her. His axe probed open the ripped belly of her dress. Fear rose in her throat till she nearly choked on it.

“I wonder if you aren’t the cause of such . . . rebellious thoughts.” He stroked his jaw as he exchanged glances with his men. “What do you
think, clanmen? Shall we keep a closer eye on this one?”

“I’ll watch her for you,” one of the men jeered.

Ilyenna fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself as Larina had.

Darrien chuckled and began pacing in front of her like a wolf before the barn door. “I’m not sure I would trust you with her, Ondeb. She’s as tricky as a mountain goat. No, I think she must stay in the clan house.” He paused to watch her reaction.

She clenched her fists at her sides to keep them from shaking. She wouldn’t allow him to see her despair. “I am a Shyle,” she said softly.

He backhanded her. She fell to the floor, dazed. “No. You are a tiam,” he said, “and tiams don’t have a clan.” He chuckled. “My room will do. I can keep a very close eye on you there.”

The men snickered.

Ilyenna lay stark still. She was afraid if she shifted at all, she’d black out. “I am a Shyle,” she repeated. “A Shyle is strong as stone and supple as a sapling. You cannot hurt me, Darrien of the Tyran clan.”

He stopped laughing and booted her in the stomach. Air fled her lungs, and her stomach cramped. He crouched before her as she coughed up blood. She lifted her face and glared at him.