Breath of Winter, A

by Edwards, Hailey

  Asher nodded. “I stuffed those herbs you left us for sedating trouble boars into a slab of varanus steak and tossed it to Noir. On my way to bed, I heard the noise again, this time near the exit hatch.”

  “The one we used to enter the stables?” I asked.

  “There’s only one exit hatch,” he snapped.

  Henri cleared his throat.

  Asher scowled at me. “I mean, yes. The noise came from the same hatch I led you through.” His breathing slowed. “I figured it must be one of the guards wanting to pass a message through. After I saw what that thing did to Ghedi, I wasn’t about to open so much as the post slot to receive a letter. I climbed the ladder and used the lookout to see what I was dealing with. A male was banging his fists on the hatch. At first, he seemed all right—frantic—but if more of those things might be out there…”

  Henri became very still. “Did you open the hatch?”

  “No. I didn’t get the chance.” Asher’s knuckles whitened. “Another male joined the first. When I didn’t let them in, they began snarling at one another. They attacked each other. That first one—he tore out the other’s throat and fell on him in the snow.” Asher blinked his wide eyes. “I’ve seen a lot in my time, all Mimetidae have, but nothing as brutal as those two. What are they? Why are they here?”

  “They’re risers—corpses,” Henri said. “As to why they’re here…”

  Our eyes met in the same moment, but I was the one to say, “They’ve come for her.”

  “That winged thing? The harbinger?” Asher glanced between us. “Why do they want her?”

  “If a harbinger is required to sing the risers awake, and one is also required to lead them…” Henri’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling. “Then we may have a very large problem on our hands.”

  As in someone who was not our ward had awakened them and led them here.

  “Where are the other guards?” I demanded of Asher.

  “There were three groups of ten on patrol.” He appeared torn. “I haven’t been keeping check on them, what with all this happening below. They may have been forced to use the emergency hatches to reach the nest since all the usual routes are sealed. They may have even taken refuge in the city.”

  He rocked his weight from one foot to another, eyes on the hall, sweat on his brow.

  “Do you have something to add?” Henri asked.

  “Paladin Rhys must be made aware if he isn’t already following the situation.”

  “You mean Maven Lourdes must be informed,” Henri corrected.

  “Maven Lourdes isn’t qualified to make these decisions—” Asher began.

  “To speak against my sister is treason,” he said, voice frigid, “and her husband would be the one to sink his blade in your heart for daring to speak out against his wife. Don’t presume you’re in a position to judge Lourdes’s qualifications.” Henri all but snarled, “Go to bed. I will handle this.”

  When Asher left in a huff, I watched the flush leave Henri’s cheeks. “Was that wise?”

  “I once saw how dangerous it can be when guards develop a sense of entitlement, when they believe they have a right to dictate how our nest is run and how it is protected. I won’t make that mistake again. These males are loyal to Rhys—within reason—because Vaughn would slaughter them if they broke his word to protect our clan with their lives. What they haven’t yet accepted is that regardless of which brother gives the orders, they are all beholden to Lourdes. As much as I regret that such a heavy mantle drapes her shoulders, Lourdes is maven and she must be consulted.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. Silence was the best response I could think of to his outburst.

  We all have our scars to bear. It appeared Henri’s losses were carved even deeper than mine.

  “What happens now?” Organized as he was, surely he had a contingency plan.

  “Now I send word to my contact that I must confer with my sister. Being isolated here, we can’t assume the nest hasn’t been monitoring the risers for days. They must be aware something is wrong, even if they don’t yet understand what.” He eyed his door. “Are you hungry? You missed breakfast.”

  “No. I…” I gave his office a thoughtful look. “Huh. The note from Braden came with his meal.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “You’re offering me food when what you really want is new information.” That told me Henri’s informant had access to the kitchen, perhaps sole access if he controlled what messages went where.

  “You’re fishing,” he said with a slow grin. “Use better bait if you hope to make a catch.”

  “Before you go…” I shifted in the chair. “When you adjusted the seat, I think the back was dislocated. A piece of wood or something is jabbing me.” I rolled my shoulders. “Do you think you could take a look?”

  “Of course.”

  He started to go around back, but I caught his wrist. “I’ll lean forward. How about that?”

  “All right.” He ducked his head and might have bent over my shoulder had I not turned my face, capturing his lips with mine. It was a startled kiss on his part, and I’m not entirely sure if he enjoyed it, but I did. His lips were firm and smooth, his involvement hesitant, and his taste indefinably Henri.

  Gods it was a mistake. I knew it when our tongues met and those decadent quivers reignited.

  After I withdrew, Henri lingered, his nose to my nose, staring at me in bewilderment. I laughed. “I took your advice. I used better bait.” I hooked my finger in his shirt and tugged. “Feeling caught?”

  “More and more all the time.” He cupped my cheek. “The next time you kiss me—”

  “The next time?” I was still reeling from the first.

  “Do it because you want to.” He smoothed his thumb over my lips. “Not to make a point.”

  Ridiculous as it would have been to ask if that meant he wanted me to kiss him again, or worse, he expected me to, I was tempted to risk making a greater fool of myself in the name of clarification.

  Thankfully, it was one temptation I managed to resist.

  “Where are we with processing the oil?” There. That sounded perfectly normal. Not at all like a female who had gotten a taste of something she had the sense to realize might prove to be addictive.

  “We have two more boxes of dayflowers to strip and then six hours to wait for the next step.”

  Six hours until Ghedi got the cure in him. Relief made me giddy. “I can manage that.”

  “The dayflowers are kept in the second room on the right.” He pointed at the greenhouse. “Take the remaining plants with blossoms and—you know the rest. When you finish, use the strainer on the kiln to remove the old petals from the oil. Mix the fresh petals in the reduction, bruising them gently with the spoon. After that, return the pots to the heat. If it’s difficult for you to reach the rear burners, don’t risk a burn to prove me wrong. All right?” He waited for my reluctant nod. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Grateful for the work to steady my hands, if not corral my rambling thoughts, I ventured into the greenhouse. The humid air stole my breath and gave my skin a sweaty sheen. Homesickness dizzied me. Heat and false sun made me pine for the southland summer and the green scent of drying grass.

  Thanks to Henri, I would hear that brittle grass crunch beneath my feet again one day soon.

  Thanks to Henri and that kiss, I almost wished that wasn’t the case.

  Chapter Seven

  Possibly the first thing I had learned about Henri was that if his interest was engaged, hours sped past while he hunched over his project, oblivious to the passage of time or to the presence of others.

  The arrival of risers at the edge of Erania was enough to engage anyone’s full attention.

  Even after I finished the petal-removal detail, Henri had yet to return from his office. Of course, I chose to blame the risers and not myself for creating an awkward environment for him to return to.

  After tabulating what
time it must be, I rushed to strain the reduced petals from the second batch of essential oil then divided the final handfuls of fresh petals before bruising them to release the oils.

  Glancing up at the sound of a latch catching, I had expected Henri but was treated to the sight of Fynn exiting the bastille. Once he spotted me, he grinned sheepishly and lumbered over to me.

  After stirring the pot, I balanced the spoon on its rim. “I’m finished here if you have a minute.”

  He nodded and came to stand beside me.

  “How’s your head?”

  Fynn turned his back on me so I could admire the neat row of stitches tracking his scalp.

  Someone, likely Henri, had shaved all the hair from the crown of his head to his nape.

  “Ouch. No wonder you bled so much.” I pinched his shirt to turn him back to face me. “You will hardly get a decent scar out of that cut. Your hair will cover it over when it grows in again.”

  He shrugged. He had never been much of a braggart even when he had spoken.

  He tapped my shoulder.

  “My stitches?” I worked my shoulder in a circle, careful not to wince. “They’re still in there, but I feel as good as new. As long as I don’t do anything too strenuous, I’ll be fine. Or so Henri says.”

  He frowned as he studied my leg and the chair that was a natural extension of me these days.

  Fynn signed a few words before realizing I couldn’t understand them and mimed snapping a twig with his hands. I winced, remembering the sound of the bone breaking and the way my ankle had flopped and rolled instead of bearing my weight. My gut lurched. Good think I hadn’t eaten.

  His foot began tapping while waiting for my report.

  “The ankle is broken, but Henri says it’s healing. I’ll be stuck in a cast for a few more weeks, but it’s not so bad with this.” I patted my armrests. “Henri made this—no, not for me—but he’s letting me use it. With it, I can be of some use to him while he works out how best to treat Ghedi.”

  His lips twisted in not exactly a smile.

  “What did I say?”

  He fluttered his eyelashes and blew a kiss at me.

  “Mock me all you want. I will do whatever it takes to save Ghedi.”

  Fynn’s bushy eyebrows slanted down and almost met above his nose.

  “Does that look mean you don’t approve?”

  He inclined his head, studying me.

  “I told Ghedi you bumped your head harder than he gave you credit for.”

  A snort was his answer.

  “Zuri.”

  I spun at the sound of Henri’s voice.

  “Is anything the matter?” He crossed the room and joined us.

  “Not at all,” I rushed to assure him. “I did as you asked. We’re set for the final six hours.”

  “Thank you.” He was studying Fynn. “I thought you were with Malik and Braden?”

  Fynn’s next hand gesture was one even I had no trouble reading. He patted his stomach.

  “I sent word to the kitchen.” Henri held my gaze. “The food should be here soon.”

  A few hand signs later, Fynn conveyed his thoughts on the matter.

  “I’ll relieve Malik,” Henri told him. “Don’t worry about that.”

  I butted into their conversation. “What sort of relief are you offering?”

  “He caught Malik dozing near enough to the cage that your ward almost snagged his shirt. They planned to wait until Asher had at least six hours of sleep in him before posting him, but Fynn doubts Malik lasts that long.” Henri’s weary grin surfaced. “I offered to stand in for Malik after I’ve eaten.”

  “I appreciate the gesture,” I said, and I meant it, “but when was the last time you slept?”

  “I’m needed here.” Henri leaned against a table for support. “Here is where I must stay.”

  Fynn’s fingers blurred with his opinion.

  Henri clasped his shoulder. “I’m fine. Zuri worries too much.”

  “Fynn, you aren’t seriously considering letting Henri in that room with our ward, are you?” If he had nodded, I might have thumped his newly mended head. “What if I took Malik’s place instead?”

  Both males stared first at the stubborn set of my jaw before eyeing my leg.

  “You aren’t—” Henri stopped, reconsidering whatever he’d planned to say. “I would prefer it if you didn’t take on such strenuous duties as of yet. I can last a few more hours before I rest.” He glanced the way he had come. “There’s no point in sleeping yet. Not when a response will arrive soon. I might as well help Malik while I wait.” He grinned at something Fynn told him. “She is.”

  “Who is what?” As if I couldn’t guess who they meant. I was the only she present.

  A flurry of gestures from Fynn must have told Henri what should have been obvious—I was fast becoming annoyed.

  They sighed in unison, and Henri answered him…instead of me.

  As my brothers had done before him, Henri latched on to their secret sign language as a means of excluding the lone female in the group. No doubt Asher and Braden would soon join in, and there I would be with nothing but the sound of my own voice for company. The thought set me to growling.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I have work to do.”

  For lack of anything else to do, I returned to the table and began cleaning my station.

  “Fynn told me you’re overprotective of those you care about, but not to let it worry me, I would get used to it in time.” Henri watched me for a reaction. “I assured him that wasn’t the case with us.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath that hissed through my teeth when I narrowed my eyes on Fynn.

  He winked at me. Winked. At me. As if he had done me a favor. As if I should be grateful.

  Brothers. If I’d had a knife and my aim back, I would have made his smarmy wink permanent.

  Regaining my composure, I asked Henri, “How will you know when your answer arrives?”

  “Don’t worry.” He appeared amused by my flustered state. “I’ll know.”

  I raked fingers through my hair, wishing I could tug his. “You do realize non-answers generally make those on the receiving end of them think violent thoughts about the person who gives them?”

  “My contact is…” Henri appeared to test several words before dismissing the effort with a wave of his hand. “It’s impossible for a person of his station to gain a private audience with the ruling pair without drawing suspicion. Therein lies the problem.” He rubbed his mouth, I think to avoid a yawn. “It would be better for him to wait until Lourdes is receiving, rather than request a private audience.”

  “Hmm.” I couldn’t fault the logic of his scenario. “So you might be waiting for a while.”

  He canted his head. “Was that non-answer sufficient?”

  Fynn’s slight smile as he glanced between us annoyed me enough to change the topic.

  “While we wait,” I said, “our skin gets to crawl at the thought of risers swarming the city.”

  “It is impossible to breach Erania’s walls,” he informed me calmly. “It can’t be done.”

  “But I thought…” I snapped my mouth shut while searching for more polite phrasing.

  “When the Theridiidae stormed our city, our gates were opened by their kin from the inside. Their warriors strolled down our streets, welcomed by the traitors we left to guard our clan home. The risers will have no such help. No. The others aren’t at risk from an attack.”

  “A riser found the hatch leading into the stables,” I pointed out.

  His laugh was tired. “You see the problem.”

  “We aren’t in the city.” I had seen no walls, no buildings, nothing but the summer stables.

  “We are on the fringes.” He gestured around us. “All this is underneath the wall.”

  “You’re saying the risers will trudge to the wall, bounce off it and stumble across the hatch leading to the stables and try their luck there instead?” I frowned. “What in th
e gods’ names led a person to think that was wise? Why bypass the city’s and the nest’s greatest defense? What is the hatch but a gaping hole in an otherwise—by your estimation—impenetrable stronghold? Who in their right mind thought excavating the nest and linking its tunnels through the stable was wise?”

  Rapping his knuckles on the counter, Henri said, “Father used that exact argument against me.”

  Having lost interest in our conversation, Fynn walked off, stretching his arms over his head, limbering up while he had the chance.

  Turning my attention back to Henri, I asked, “What was your response?”

  “That we live, and have lived, underground for three-quarters of every year since our elders founded our clan with the help of our foremothers. In the beginning, our clan was weak. We were also poor. To anyone who asks why we chose this inhospitable land to colonize, what choices did we have? The stronger clans ruled the southlands. There was no room for us to erect our own city. No safety for our people. No guarantees we could keep what we grew or what we made wouldn’t be taken. Our elders knew our survival hinged on our silk, molding it into a commodity that other clans would pay gold to possess. Armed with that certainty, they led our people through the veil, into the northlands.” His words kept a practiced cadence of one familiar with his history. “Here they befriended the Ctenidae clan, who led them to an underground cavern at the base of Mount Ereac. It was small and cramped, but their new allies taught them how to expand the existing tunnels and support them to lessen the possibility of collapse. From that day to this, our clan has never stopped expanding.”

  “Ah.” At last I understood. “You ran out of room to safely expand.”

  “We did.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We made do for several years, but the quality of living suffered. There were too many families, too many children, too many resources we needed to keep providing for both. Not to mention that a second, though minor by comparison, source of income immerged. Our stable masters turned our ursus stock into the finest in the northlands. The other northland clans buy their mounts from us. As that trade has grown, so has our need for separate areas for breeding, birthing and training the beasts. The underground stables were my solution.”