by Amber Argyle
Using the cloth to protect her hands, Ilyenna took the pot and moved through the wide doorway. Speaking in hushed tones, Undon and Darrien sat at the thick table before an immense fireplace. This great hall was much larger than the Shyle’s, but it felt so empty with only two men inside it. Ilyenna pursed her lips in disapproval. Besides wasting firewood, the men debased their women by refusing to eat with them. Her father would never force her to sit so dishonorably.
But she wasn’t a Shyle anymore. She was a Tyran tiam. With a deep breath, she spooned porridge into Darrien’s bowl. Father and son went silent. Ilyenna froze, wondering what she’d done wrong. Then, she suddenly understood. If they were this obstinate about sitting arrangements, what about serving the clan chief first? She hurried to Undon and scooped up a spoonful of porridge.
Darrien gripped her wrist and wrenched it to the side. The porridge-coated spoon flew out of her hand, sticking to the floor like a spear driven into the ground. “Always, always serve my father first. Do you understand?”
She blinked. “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know?”
His grip tightened and she felt the bones of her wrist shift. Suddenly, the pain all seemed too much. Lanna and Otrok dead. Five years of her life gone. Her back on fire. Her stomach turned inside out from hunger. She cried out.
Satisfaction crossed Darrien’s face. He threw her to the floor. The pot landed with a dull thud, the porridge slowly flowing toward the floor. He raised his fist. Ilyenna held up her arm like a shield.
“Patience, Son,” Undon intoned. “She cannot learn if she’s dead.”
Darrien lowered his fist to his side. “You’re right, Father.” He sat back in his chair without giving her a backward glance.
The porridge bulged out of the pot like a tongue trying to lick the floor. Ilyenna caught it in her hand and righted the pot. Her hands burned terribly, but she forced herself to scrape it back inside. At least she’d saved her only chance for breakfast. Shakily, she rose to her feet. She pulled the spoon from the floor and tried to still her trembling hands enough to finish filling their bowls.
After she’d served their eggs and cleared away their plates, she went back into the kitchen. Now that the men had been served, the women sat down to breakfast. Ilyenna stood, waiting for Metha to acknowledge her. When the woman was scraping the last of the porridge into her mouth, Ilyenna couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m hungry.”
Metha dumped her bowl into a basket full of dirty dishes. “You dropped the spoon.”
Ilyenna’s shoulders slumped, and her hands seemed to burn all the more. No breakfast today.
“Wash them at the stream,” Metha called as she pushed herself up from the table and waddled away.
Resting the basket’s weight on her hip, Ilyenna filled it with dirty bowls, plates, and pots. Hanie came from the great hall. Without pausing, the girl placed a piece of bread on the table and hurried outside.
Ilyenna watched the girl disappear. Before anyone could take the bread, she shoved it in the space between her over and underdress. As soon as she was out of sight on the trail that led to the river, she wolfed it down so fast it made her stomach hurt.
The river wasn’t far. The water was clear and clean, as it came straight from the Shyle. The bottom was coated with the river stones etched from the mountains behind Ilyenna’s home and carried downriver. Cupping her hands, she drank her fill.
She paused before dunking the dishes in the water. Ridges of porridge lined the bowls, and remnants of eggs stuck to the plates. Her mouth began to water. After only a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the cleanest spoon and scraped the food into her mouth.
As she washed the dishes, she studied her surroundings. Insects darted above the rushing stream. Above her, an apple tree was heavy with dark pink blossoms that were yet to open. There was a swirl of color—a dancing flower that spun and pirouetted, somehow staying airborne while it twirled from one flower to the next. Within moments of its touch, the flowers opened wide.
Ilyenna froze. This wasn’t a flower anymore than the snowflakes had been. She squinted at it and saw not petals, but gently curling wings, white at the tips and gradually darkening to a deep pink at the base. And the wings would be attached to a tiny body.
Suddenly, she could see the little fairy’s body. Hope making her heart pound, Ilyenna hurried to her feet, shading her eyes with her hand. “Who are you?”
The fairy started and whirled to face Ilyenna. She gave a little yelp of surprise and zipped behind the apple tree.
“Please don’t go!” Ilyenna cried. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
A tiny face peeked out at her. But this fairy was different from the ones who had saved Ilyenna. Instead of a harsh, sharp beauty, this creature was soft and rosy. The ends of her hair were white which gradually darkened to pink at the base—like an apple blossom. Her eyes were almond shaped and as golden as pollen.
“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.”