Chapter 28
They crested a snowy hill. The wind ripped and bit cold across Mirielle's face out in the open plains. She tucked her face further into Reis's furs.
Reis decided that they needed to stop at Brightwater, a small village just out of their path. The journey through the forest had taken longer than expected, slowed by the attack and winter storms. They were low on supplies. They needed food, fuel and oats for the horses.
Below them rested the sleepy village, rough stone houses bunched together against the cold. Smoke billowed from chimneys crowned by dried thatch.
The sight should have felt welcoming. But Mirielle felt the weight of tension bearing on her. All the men were uneasy. Mirielle noticed that Reis had been guarded all morning, quieter, like he was dreading the coming day.
"Reis," Mirielle finally spoke. "What's wrong?"
Mirielle felt Reis's hand tense on her belly. Then he looked down at her with apology. She watched him with honest worry.
"You need to stay close to me while we're here."
She scrunched her brow.
"The people of Brightwater aren't fond of me."
"Why?"
He looked down at her with a gentle expression. "You'll see."
Dane shifted uncomfortably in his saddle behind Lettie, who looked just as confused. Even Kellan looked grim.
The air around them seemed to shift as they crossed the threshold into the village, as if a storm had been thrust upon it.
Mothers hurried their children indoors, the doors shutting behind them too quickly.
A woman glanced at them in passing and her expression wavered.
It wasn't fear but something far more complicated.
Nearby, a young boy was playing. He was bundled in thick wool and a scarf. When he spotted them, his face brightened.
"King Reis!"
He started running towards them with bright enthusiasm.
Reis stiffened.
"Wait!"
His mother grabbed the boy's arm with so much force it knocked his feet out from under him.
The boy looked up at his mother in confusion.
"But—"
The woman's expression hardened. Her gaze swept over the party. First at Reis, then at the woman sitting in front of him. Finally it settled on Dane. Something ugly flashed across her face.
"Traitor." The word hit like a stone. She spat into the snow.
Dane's jaw tightened and he looked away.
"Mom!" the boy protested.
"Hush, boy!" Her grip tightened on his arm. "I won't have yer hysterics." Then she turned and pulled him away, dragging him back towards his cottage. The child looked back over his shoulder, completely bewildered.
Mirielle watched them disappear into the crowd. Her confusion only deepened.
They continued through town in uneasy silence. Heads poked out from doorways and windows. Some nodded respectfully toward Reis, some glared and others simply looked away.
Mirielle found herself glancing repeatedly at Dane.
His shoulders had gone rigid, his gaze locked firmly on the back of Winter's neck. Eventually he bent and sighed the sigh of a man who knew he couldn't get away with it.
"I grew up here."
Mirielle blinked.
"This is your home?"
"Aye."
The answer explained almost nothing.
"What happened?"
Dane was silent for a moment. Then his shoulders slumped. "Myrkur happened." The words were flat, worn smooth by repetition.
"Myrkur?"
Mirielle looked between him and Reis and Reis met her gaze with apology.
"He's who we're at war with," Reis said quietly as if his voice being softer would keep her from fright.
Dane stared ahead. "He threatened the village." His jaw flexed. "Said he'd kill everyone if they didn't give him children."
Horror crossed Mirielle's face.
Dane gave a humorless laugh before his gaze dropped to the reins in his hands. "My father thought sacrificing a few was better than losing everyone."
Pain lanced through Mirielle as water threatened her eyes. "Your father tried to give you to Myrkur?"
"Aye." The single syllable carried years of hurt.
Mirielle couldn't imagine it. A father handing over his child. A father choosing. She looked up at Reis. His expression was hard as stone.
"He wasn't the only one," Reis said quietly. "Several men agreed."
Silence followed. The horses' hooves crunched through the snow. Finally Dane spoke again. "Reis killed them." His voice held no accusation. "At least the ones involved."
"Oh."
Mirielle looked around the village once more. A woman hauled water into a stone cottage. Another chopped wood with a child playing in the dirt nearby—women raising children alone.
Suddenly she understood the looks they had received. To some, Reis was the man who had saved their children. To others, he was the man who had left them widows.
Kellan, who had been unusually silent, rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.
"Well," he muttered, "this should make shopping pleasant."
Nobody laughed.
They decided to split up. Dane had quietly asked Reis if he could visit his mother and sister while they were in town, which Reis agreed to without hesitation.
Since Reis refused to be parted from Mirielle, that meant Kellan and Lettie were to shop for food. Neither of them seemed very happy with it. Reis, however, seemed entirely unbothered.
Lettie stared stubbornly at a fence. "I can shop alone."
"You absolutely cannot," Kellan said at nearly the same time.
Lettie gave him a scathing glare which somehow physically wounded Kellan.
"That came out wrong."
"Aye, it certainly did."
"But that's hardly the point."
"Really, Kellan? It seemed rather pertinent," Lettie spat as she cocked her head. Her eyes were on fire now.
Reis looked away suspiciously fast. The traitor was trying not to laugh.
Kellan ignored him and looked at Lettie. "It is not safe," he said more quietly. Kellan's sincerity seemed to pierce Lettie's shield. Her expression faltered. Lettie looked away to hide it. "I've managed this long."
"Yes," Kellan said without hesitation as he rubbed the back of his neck, "but I'm still not letting you walk around alone."
Lettie opened her mouth only slightly.
Kellan pointed at her. "Before you start, you should know I'm fully aware that you are capable of stabbing me."
A small reluctant smile tugged at Lettie's mouth like she was enjoying the thought.
"There," Kellan said, pointing again, "that one. Keep that expression."
Her lips twitched.
Kellan looked absurdly victorious, which wiped the expression clean off her face, replacing it with the pain that she had been wearing for the last few days.
Kellan frowned. He ruffled his hair. "Right, food." He offered his arm. Lettie ignored it and trudged past him.
Kellan ducked his head, shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked behind her.
*
Lettie refused to acknowledge Kellan's existence.
It was remarkably successful.
Lettie wove through the market with grim determination, inspecting vegetables, speaking to merchants, haggling prices when they were too high.
Kellan followed her like an extremely practical ghost. Whenever a merchant produced a sack of food, Lettie would simply forget it on the counter for Kellan to retrieve and carry.
By the time they were finished, dusk was setting and Kellan looked more like a mule than a man. He was beginning to wonder if Lettie was choosing heavier foods on purpose.
As they began to head back to their meeting point, they passed a tavern. The smell of hot stew invaded Lettie's senses, nearly making her drool.
Lettie's stomach growled.
Loudly.
Traitor.
"Let me buy you a meal," Kellan said immediately.
Lettie's footsteps faltered. She was weary and hungry and her feet were aching. For one terrible moment she considered it.
Kellan noticed her hesitation. Hope bloomed in his face.
Lettie saw it.
"No."
"Lettie..."
"No."
Her stomach growled again.
"Your own body is testifying against you."
Lettie stubbornly kept walking. The light of the tavern began to retreat.
"I won't talk," Kellan finally offered, "not if you don't want." Kellan rubbed the back of his head and scowled at the ground. "I just want you fed."
Lettie's footsteps stopped. She pinched her brows at the gravel below her.
Then without a word, she turned towards the tavern door and climbed the stairs. Kellan physically bit his tongue and stalked behind her.
They entered the tavern. It was small and simple. Stone walls and rough wooden ceilings. Villagers crowded tables, mostly women but a group of men too were talking over a round of ale.
Lettie found a table near the bar tucked beneath a lantern blackened from years of smoke. Kellan dropped the mountain of packs and sacks on the floor before ordering ale and meals for both of them. Then he collapsed into a chair.
A waitress appeared carrying plates of stew. She dropped them on the table and gave Kellan a scathing look before returning to the kitchens.
Lettie pretended not to notice.
For a while they ate in silence. Lettie buried herself in her stew, her attention stubbornly fixed on the bowl in front of her. Kellan was fairly certain that the maid had spat in his stew, so he decided against eating it.
Several patrons at a nearby table kept glancing their way. More specifically, they kept glancing at Kellan. None of the looks were friendly.
Kellan went still as stone. His instincts immediately shifted. Years of being a spymaster had trained him to notice when people were paying attention.
The woman whispered something to the man beside her. The man looked at Lettie, then at Kellan, then visibly frowned.
"Did I do something wrong, Kellan?"
Lettie's voice was smaller than he had ever heard it. It pierced through all his attention. Kellan looked at her, genuinely horrified.
He opened his mouth to say something when a chair scraped behind him.
"Oy!"
A large man in rough worn clothes stood at the table next to them. He glared down at Kellan.
His voice lowered to a gruff growl. "You were there."
Kellan immediately stood and faced the man. He was strong like a farmer, glossy-eyed from too much ale, his hair thinning with age. Dark circles clouded his eyes.
"Lettie, leave." Kellan's voice was filled with urgency.
"What?" Lettie was reeling from the rapid change of events.