Chapter 12
Mab slept longer than she meant to, not waking until the light through the window had gone gray with twilight.
The bed was empty beside her, and the sheets were cold. But the fire had been built up with fresh logs.
Mab sat up slowly. Her body protested the movement, muscles she hadn't known she possessed making themselves known with every movement.
The bruises on her hips throbbed when she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress.
Between her thighs, she was tender in a way that made her ears heat even though she was alone.
She found another nightgown in the wardrobe.
This one was pale green silk, too tight across the bust and too short in the hem, but it covered her.
She would need to retrieve her own clothes from the kitchen wing tomorrow.
The thought of walking through the holding in borrowed silk made her skin prickle, but the alternative was staying naked, and she had already done enough of that today.
A knock at the door made her freeze with the laces half-tied.
"Mab?" Annie's voice, small and uncertain. "Varek said I should bring your dinner."
Mab crossed the room and opened the door.
Annie stood in the corridor holding a tray. She was wearing a dress that must have belonged to one of the household girls, clean and only slightly too large, and her hair had been brushed and braided. She looked better than Mab had ever seen her look, the perpetual redness around her eyes faded.
"Come in." Mab stepped back to let her pass. "You didn't have to carry that yourself."
"I wanted to." Annie set the tray on the small table by the window.
The tray held bread, cheese, cold meat, and a small pot that steamed when Mab lifted the lid.
Soup. Rich and dark, with chunks of root vegetables floating in the broth.
"Drogga said you'd be hungry. He said—" She stopped. Her cheeks turned pink.
"What did he say?"
"Nothing."
Mab decided not to press. Whatever Drogga had said about why she'd be hungry, she didn't need to hear it repeated by a twelve-year-old.
She sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for Annie to join her. The girl perched beside her, feet dangling, watching Mab tear a piece of bread.
"How is Tibbs?"
Annie's face brightened. "He's been with the warriors all day.
One of them is teaching him how to hold a sword properly.
A real sword, not a kitchen knife." She bounced a little on the mattress.
"He's terrible at it. Drogga says he holds it like he's trying to chop onions.
But he's so happy, Mab. I've never seen him smile that much. "
"And you?" Mab dipped the bread into the soup. The broth was better than anything Garrad had ever produced, rich with unfamiliar herbs. "What have you been doing?"
Annie's expression changed. She glanced at the door, then back at Mab, and a conspiratorial look crept over her face. The look of a child with a secret too good to keep.
"Close your eyes," Annie said.
"What?"
"Close them. And hold out your hand."
Mab set the bread down and obeyed. Something small and cool and round settled into her palm.
"Now look."
An orange.
Mab stared at it. The skin was bright against her palm, pebbled and waxy, and when she lifted it to her nose the smell hit her like a fist to the chest. Sharp and sweet and impossibly foreign.
She had seen oranges exactly twice in her life, both times on trays bound for the lord's table, both times whisked past her so quickly she'd barely had time to register the color.
"Where did you get this?"
"Drogga." Annie was practically vibrating with excitement.
"He gave it to me. Just gave it to me, like it was nothing.
He said they trade for them at Northwatch, that merchants bring them up from the southern coast before the passes close for winter.
" She leaned closer, dropping her voice as though the walls might be listening.
"He said at Northwatch, the children help with the harvest. Apples and pears and these little red berries that grow on bushes near the hot springs. He said I could help too, if I wanted."
Mab turned the orange over in her hands. The weight of it was absurd. Such a small thing to mean so much.
"Have you ever had one?" Annie asked.
"No." Mab's thumb traced the dimpled skin. "They were for the family. And their guests."
"Me neither." Annie scooted closer on the bed, her shoulder pressing against Mab's arm. "Drogga showed me how to peel it. You dig your thumb in at the top, where the stem was, and then the skin comes off in pieces."
Mab dug her thumbnail into the rind. The spray of oil that released was so fragrant it made her eyes water. She peeled it slowly, letting the rind fall onto the bedsheet in curling strips, and when the fruit was bare in her hand she pulled it apart into segments.
She gave half to Annie.
They ate in silence. The juice ran down Mab's chin and she didn't bother to wipe it. The flesh was sweeter than she'd imagined, bright and strange on her tongue. Each segment burst between her teeth with a taste that belonged to somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm. Somewhere she had never been.
Annie ate hers with her eyes closed, making small sounds of pleasure that reminded Mab of the orcish dining customs. Honest appreciation. No shame in wanting.
"Drogga says the hot springs keep parts of the mountain warm enough to grow things," Annie said when she'd finished her last segment and licked the juice from her fingers.
"He says there are gardens carved into the rock, with channels that bring the warm water through.
He says in winter, when the snow is piled higher than the walls, you can still pick herbs from the indoor gardens.
Fresh ones. Growing right there in the mountain. "
"It sounds like a fairy story," Mab said.
"That's what I thought too." Annie pulled her knees up onto the bed, tucking her feet beneath the borrowed dress. "But he wasn't lying. I could tell. He got this look on his face when he talked about it, like he was seeing it in his head and wanted me to see it too."
Mab set the orange peels aside. Her fingers were sticky and fragrant, and she didn't want to wipe them clean. She wanted to keep the smell.
"Are you scared?" she asked. "Of going there?"
Annie was quiet for a moment. Her fingers picked at a loose thread on her sleeve.
"I was," she said finally. "But then Drogga told me about the orchards.
And the hot springs. And the children who help with the harvest." She looked up at Mab, and her eyes were clear in a way Mab had never seen them.
No tears gathering at the edges. No flinch waiting to happen.
"I think I'm still scared. But I'm also—"
"Excited," Mab said.
Annie nodded. "Is that wrong? To be excited about something that started with people dying?"
"No." Mab reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Annie's ear. The gesture came without thought, and she let it happen. "The dying is done. What comes after is something else."
Annie leaned into her hand for just a moment before pulling back. "Tibbs says we shouldn't trust them. He says orcs are still orcs and we should be ready to run."
"Tibbs swung a knife at one of them and didn't get hit back. That's the part he should be thinking about."
"That's what I told him." Annie yawned, her jaw cracking with it, and her head came down against Mab's shoulder. The weight was slight, barely there, but Mab felt it like an anchor. "Mab?"
"Hmm?"
"Is he kind to you?"
Mab's hand found its way to Annie's hair, smoothing down a strand that had escaped the braid. The gesture was automatic, something Hester used to do. She hadn't realized she'd learned it until now.
"Yes," she said. "He is."
"Good." Annie's voice was getting slower, the words softening at the edges. "Drogga says once Varek decides something belongs to him, he'd burn down the world before he let it go."
Mab swallowed. "Drogga talks a lot."
"He does." Annie yawned. "I like him. He laughs with his whole body. You can feel it in the floor when he laughs."
Mab smiled. She could picture Drogga's massive frame shaking with mirth, the vibration traveling through stone and wood until everyone nearby felt it in their bones.
Annie's breathing was evening out, her weight growing heavier against Mab's side. The girl's eyes had drifted closed, lashes dark against cheeks that had lost the pinched look they'd carried since the raid.
"Annie," Mab said softly. "You should go to your room. Your bed."
"'M comfortable here." The words were slurred with sleep. "Just for a minute."
Mab didn't have the heart to move her. She shifted carefully, easing Annie down onto the pillows, and pulled the coverlet up over the girl's thin shoulders. Annie curled into the warmth without waking, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Mab sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep.
The orange peels still lay scattered on the sheets, their fragrance filling the room with something that didn't belong to this place. Something that belonged to the future instead. To hot springs and mountain gardens and children helping with harvests.
She was still sitting there when the door opened.
Varek filled the doorway, his shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the frame. His eyes found Mab first, then moved to the small figure curled beneath the coverlet.
"She brought my dinner," Mab said quietly. "And then she fell asleep."
Varek crossed the room. He didn't speak, just bent and gathered Annie into his arms like she weighed nothing. The girl stirred, made a small sound of protest, and then settled against his chest without waking.
"Drogga's in the corridor," Varek said, his voice pitched low. "He'll take her to the children's room."
He carried Annie to the door, transferred her to the waiting arms on the other side, and exchanged a few words Mab couldn't hear. Then the door closed, and they were alone.
Varek turned to face her.