Chapter Seventeen #3
impossible,” she says. “I’d be a poor innkeeper if I didn’t warn my guests of such things.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Calvus says. “Full winter is still weeks away. We’ll make it through the mountains the same way
we made it through the desert: together. And with the blessing of the gods.”
Silence fills the dining room. Tiny Titus and Salina are still slurping away at their porridge.
Ovidia reaches over and pushes her daughter’s hair back from her forehead.
The woman’s eyes seem haunted, and I can’t help but wonder if she disagrees with her husband.
It’s said that Corthan women do not contradict Corthan men.
I would never survive in Corth.
I say, “Don’t be stupid,” and my mother gasps.
“What my daughter means to say,” Ma amends while giving me a side-eye, “is that we don’t want to see something terrible happen
to your lovely family.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I meant ‘Don’t be stupid,’ ” I say.
“I’ll decide what’s best for my family,” Calvus says, shooting daggers at me with his eyes.
I meet his gaze dead-on. “Look, you already did right by your family by getting them out of a bad situation and making it
all the way across the world. But when we say the mountains are impassable this time of year, we truly mean impassable. If
you—”
Titus’s large hand is suddenly on my knee, and lightning zings up into my chest at his touch. His hand is heavy, warm, comforting;
everything I was going to say flees my head.
To Calvus, he says, “Bria is wise in the ways of these mountains. Listening to her saved my life.”
“Really?”
“Truly. No amount of willpower or determination gets a wagon through twenty-foot-high snowdrifts. Cairns mark the road to
keep it somewhat passable during an early or late-season snow, but they’ll get buried when the real snow comes. You won’t
even know which way to go. You’ll be lost. Then you’ll be dead.”
Calvus’s brow furrows as he absorbs this information. I hate being shushed, but the Corthan man wasn’t going to receive any of this from a girl. He has a lot to learn if he’s going to make a life for himself in Grimsvold.
Ovidia watches her husband carefully, hope blooming in her face.
At last Calvus says, “We’ve nowhere else to go, and we can’t afford to stay here a whole season.”
“How handy are you with a hammer?” Ma asks.
“I can do basic carpentry,” he says. “But I’m a stonemason by trade.”
Ma’s eyes light up.
Ovidia knows where this is going, and she jumps in with, “I’m a basket maker. But I also make all my children’s clothing.
I’m a fair hand at gardening too.”
Ma says, “Does that mean you’re willing to work for your keep?”
Calvus’s face grows suspicious. “Do you have some kind of indenture in mind?”
“Oh, gods, no, that’s not legal in Grimsvold. I’d take what work you’re willing to give. Full room and board in exchange for
company this winter and repairs to the inn.”
“Please, love,” says Ovidia to Calvus. “We need the rest.”
“I won’t lie to you,” Ma says. “By spring, you’ll be sick of porridge, jerky, and pickled trout. But the part of my inn that’s
still standing is warm and solid. Recent family tragedy means I have extra winter stores. Enough for all of us.”
My heart is in my throat as I listen to their negotiations. On the one hand, I love the idea of my mother having guests to fawn over while I’m gone. Someone to help her make repairs and busy her grieving heart. But we just met this family. How do I leave my mother alone with a group of strangers?
She wouldn’t be entirely alone with them, I tell myself. There’s still Jaco Smyth up the road and Ysald Muhler by the creek. The trapper brothers will be checking
in every few weeks. It could be a good arrangement. And Ma has always been an uncanny judge of character.
“You can make this offer without checking with your lord?” Calvus asks.
“I have no lord,” Ma says. “Well, I’m beholden to the baron and the king, of course. But this is Angarsold land, free and
clear.”
“But you have no husband.”
Ma recoils as though arrow-struck, but she recovers quickly. “In Grimsvold, property is passed down matrilineally. This inn
was my mother’s until she died, and when I’m gone it will be Bria’s.”
And somehow, hearing that spoken aloud makes it so much harder to leave. I love my home. I always have. I love innkeeping.
I love my mother.
It’s hard to keep the quiver out of my voice when I say, “We don’t have any plum trees, I’m sorry to say. But we have a whole
orchard of pear trees, and some are very good for climbing.”
Salina gives me a shy smile. “I’ve never eaten a pear.”
“You’re in for a treat.”
Calvus inhales deeply and says, “Well, then, Dama Angarsold. If you’ll have us, we’ll stay.”
Ma’s smile could light the Spires on a winter night. “It will be nice to have little ones around again. And please, call me
Gislava.”
I lean toward Titus and whisper, “Do we need to leave today?”
He whispers back, and his breath in my ear makes me shiver: “We’ll stay one more night. Make sure everyone’s settled. And
I want to check on your ma one more time before we go.”
My relief is so profound my chest stings. “Thank you.”