by Amber Argyle
“What happened after I left the clan house?”
Larina squeezed her eyes shut.
Bet answered, “They took everything they wanted. Killed or beat anyone who tried to stop them.”
“And my father and brother?” Ilyenna forced the words out.
“They were badly beaten, but still alive when we left,” Jossa said.
“How many of you are there?” Ilyenna asked as she began counting.
“Eleven,” Bet said. Her eyes took in Ilyenna’s ripped dress. “What’re we to do?”
Ilyenna wet her cracked lips and stepped closer. “For now, do what you’re told. If you don’t, you’ll be beaten.” Pain shot through her back. She tried to hold in her cry, but it came anyway. On her knees, she turned to see Darrien standing over her, strap in hand. “You dare keep Undon waiting for his breakfast?”
Casting a warning glance back at her clanwomen, she scampered away from him and ran. Humiliating as it was to flee from Darrien or his strap, she hoped her clanwomen would watch and learn to do as they were told as quickly as they could.
***
Metha kept Ilyenna busy with dishes and scrubbing until long after the plump woman had fallen asleep before the hearth. But at least Ilyenna had managed to find a forgotten, moth-eaten rag she could use in place of a clan belt. Moments after she left the clan house, Rone stepped out from behind a tree. He handed her another wrapped bundle.
“Did they feed you anything today?”
She shrugged. “Metha wasn’t pleased with my cleaning of the chamber pots, but at least I had breakfast.” She didn’t mention it had been a piece of moldy bread.
Opening Rone’s offering, she found an oatmeal biscuit and a boiled egg, but she hesitated to take it. “Is this from your own share?” If he gave this to her, he wouldn’t have enough for himself.
He kicked at the dirt. “No. It’s from the allotment given the tiams.”
“Thank you.” She took a bite of the egg. She’d give just about anything for a withered old winter apple right now. “How are my clanwomen?”
Rone glanced at her sideways. “The Shyle are a strong people, but they need you to reassure them.”
He opened the door to the women’s house, and Ilyenna surveyed the sullen faces. An even mixture of Shyle and Argon women.
Why has Undon taken three Argon men but no Shyle men? Ilyenna wondered.
“It isn’t right, Clan Mistress,” Larina cried. “The Tyrans had no cause to take even one tiam, and they’ve taken eleven of us.”
“To take a clan mistress or clan chief is unheard of,” Jossa put in, “and they’ve taken three and killed the other.”
More grumbles rose up. Ilyenna lifted her hands and said firmly, “I know, but there’s nothing we can do right now. The clan chiefs meet for the spring feast in a month. They’ll hear of our plight and force Undon to release us.”
Larina sniffed. “And what are we to do until then?”
Ilyenna looked into the women’s faces one at a time, making sure each of them met her gaze. “War and peace—opposite ends of the Balance. Make no mistake about it, we are in a war. Battles will be lost, but only when winning will cost more than can be gained. Keep together as much as possible. Look after each other.”
Kanni asked Rone, “What do the Tyrans expect of us?”
He stepped forward. “The men are gathering stones for a new tiam house. The women have been put to work in the fields. The rest of the Tyrans aren’t as cruel as Undon and Darrien, but try to avoid them. And Ilyenna’s right—it is best to stay in groups.” He eyed the women. “Especially you clanwomen. Some of the men have been . . .” He glanced at Ilyenna. “Unruly.”
The women lowered their heads. Larina gripped her overdress so tight Ilyenna wondered that it didn’t disintegrate beneath her clenched fists.
The door opened and a burly Argon slipped inside. “Men from the clan house are coming this way.”
Rone reached for the axe that was no longer there. He grimaced. “You women better get in bed. You’ll have less than two minutes.” He paused at Ilyenna’s shoulder. “I’ll not be far. Call out if you need me.” He joined the other man out the door.
The women scrambled to wrap up in their blankets. Rone had calculated correctly. No sooner had the last woman tucked the blankets around her than the door opened. Darrien stepped inside, a line of men behind him. His gaze raked across the women. Reaching the nearest one, he yanked off Jossa’s blanket. “Sleeping in our overdresses now, are we?”
“If Tyrans are going to barge in here, we certainly won’t be sleeping in only our underdresses,” Narium shot back as she clambered to her feet. Ilyenna and the other women did the same.
Darrien crossed the room to Narium in three strides. He lifted his fist. Narium didn’t flinch. He shook his head and dropped his hand. His eyes searched the room, stopping on Ilyenna. He pulled his axe from the loop at his belt.
Has he come to kill me? she wondered.
She wished Rone hadn’t left. The temptation to call for him nearly overwhelmed her, but she knew Narium was right. If Rone interfered, he’d be killed. No matter what happened, Ilyenna had to keep her mouth shut.
Besides, she’d been marked. Death would seek her at every turn. The question was, how many more times could she evade it?
Darrien casually tested the weight of his axe. “I have reports you had a meeting here tonight. What was said?”
Other Tyran men crowded into the room. Big, strong men with axes, against unarmed women. It would be a massacre. Ilyenna felt like she was suffocating. Some of the women exchanged terrified glances.
Darrien wandered through the room, staring the women down. “A good tiam answers when her master asks a question.” He paused beside Ilyenna, his shoulder brushing hers. “Shall I show them what happens when a tiam refuses to submit?” She clenched her teeth to keep from making a sound.
He gripped Narium’s arm. “Shall I start with you?” He shoved her toward the door. Narium stumbled and hit the floor hard. Darrien reached for her again.
Ilyenna knew Rone would be watching from the barn. If he saw Darrien hauling his mother to the beating pole, he’d interfere. Then they’d all die. Ilyenna jumped between Darrien and Narium. “The Shyle wanted to know what was expected of them.”
“And what was your answer?” Darrien growled.
“I told them to obey and keep their honor.”
Darrien rotated his axe in his hands. “Perhaps that’s so, perhaps not. Either way, tiams do not meet. They do not discuss. They obey!” He glared at each face in turn. He moved so close to Ilyenna that his shirt brushed against her breasts. “Choose one for the beating pole, Ilyenna.”
She closed her eyes, willing her tears to stay at bay. “I choose myself.”
Darrien looked surprised.
Narium gathered herself up from the floor and straightened to her full height. “I’ll go in her place.”
Larina jutted out her chin, tears streaming down her cheeks. “No, I will.”
Within seconds, the whole house erupted as women volunteered to be strapped.
Ilyenna fought to keep the triumph off her face. The Shyle and Argons had just won a battle.
Darrien glared at the women. “Silence!”
The clatter died like a capped candle. Darrien circled Ilyenna, his axe balanced in his hands—the same axe that had nearly killed her before the fairies’ healing. At her back, he stopped. Her skin crawled, but she didn’t dare turn. He rested the sharp point on her shoulder. “I wonder,” he said as he began drawing it down.
The axe dragged along the length of her back. Ilyenna’s still-tender skin flamed. Darrien came around her. His axe probed open the ripped belly of her dress. Fear rose in her throat till she nearly choked on it.
“I wonder if you aren’t the cause of such . . . rebellious thoughts.” He stroked his jaw as he exchanged glances with his men. “What do you think, clanmen? Shall we keep a closer eye on this one?”
; “I’ll watch her for you,” one of the men jeered.
Ilyenna fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself as Larina had.
Darrien chuckled and began pacing in front of her like a wolf before the barn door. “I’m not sure I would trust you with her, Ondeb. She’s as tricky as a mountain goat. No, I think she must stay in the clan house.” He paused to watch her reaction.
She clenched her fists at her sides to keep them from shaking. She wouldn’t allow him to see her despair. “I am a Shyle,” she said softly.
He backhanded her. She fell to the floor, dazed. “No. You are a tiam,” he said, “and tiams don’t have a clan.” He chuckled. “My room will do. I can keep a very close eye on you there.”
The men snickered.
Ilyenna lay stark still. She was afraid if she shifted at all, she’d black out. “I am a Shyle,” she repeated. “A Shyle is strong as stone and supple as a sapling. You cannot hurt me, Darrien of the Tyran clan.”
He stopped laughing and booted her in the stomach. Air fled her lungs, and her stomach cramped. He crouched before her as she coughed up blood. She lifted her face and glared at him.
“I can hurt you plenty, Ilyenna.” He moved to his feet, staring down any woman who dared meet his gaze. “There are no Shyle or Argons in this room. Only tiams. And tiams obey. Any who wishes to ease her burdens, has only to . . . keep an eye on things.”
Ilyenna knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she said it anyway. “You won’t find traitors here.”
He kicked her thigh. She felt it all the way to her bone. Her muscle seized up and she grunted, her body straining against the pain.
“You see? Plenty of pain.” Thrusting his axe through his belt loop, he headed for the door. “I won’t wait, Ilyenna.”
Narium was there in an instant to pull her to her feet. “You’re a Shyle,” she whispered fiercely. “He cannot take that from you. If he did, all honor would be lost. No clanmen can do such a thing.”
Ilyenna limped toward the door. She didn’t trust Darrien’s honor any more than she trusted a pig to stay out of the slop, but she nodded anyway. With her head down, she followed Darrien toward the house, rubbing her thigh as she went. Was Rone watching? She tried to force her steps to fall evenly.
Please stay away, Rone. He’ll kill you. He’ll kill us all, she begged silently.
In the kitchen, Metha looked up from her blankets before the fire. When she saw Ilyenna with Darrien, she glared so hotly Ilyenna wanted to slap her. Could the woman actually think she wanted to be here? Darrien led her to the second floor and opened a door. Inside was a wide bed covered in furs.
Dread squeezed her heart. The walls were coated with mounted heads, skulls, and antlers of almost every creature she’d ever seen—boar, deer, bear, mountain lion. Above the bed, her clan belt had been nailed to the wall. Another of his trophies. Ilyenna stared at it.
Darrien pointed to a rough-hewn ladder that led to a trapdoor. “You choose. My bed or the attic.”
He wasn’t going to force her. Despite herself, she gasped in relief. She walked to the ladder and looked back at him. She placed both hands on the rungs and climbed. At the top, she opened the trapdoor and glanced around. The only light came from below, and all she could make out in the attic were cobwebs, dead insects, and dust. She pulled herself up. Even at a crouch, the ceiling brushed her shoulders. She peeked down.
Darrien looked up at her. “You’ve but to ask, and you can sleep in a real bed with blankets and pillows.”
And you, her mind finished for him. She moved away from the hole, circling the cramped room, looking for snakes or mice or any other number of things she could throw at Darrien’s head.
“Perhaps you should stay here until you’re willing to divulge the secret of your healing.” He climbed up the ladder and shut the trapdoor, plunging the attic into total darkness. She heard the ladder scrape as he pulled it away.
But as her eyes began to adjust, she realized it wasn’t pitch black after all. A shaft of moonlight filtering through a small chink in the mortar between river stones. Light. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Wearily, she curled up under it.
9. Supple as a Sapling
Tears kept blurring the frozen footprints. Ilyenna pushed them off her cheeks as fast as she could, and still they kept coming. She hated being a girl. Hated that Rone and Bratton wouldn’t let her go with them because of it. Hated that the tears came whether she wanted them to or not. Hated dresses and being smaller and weaker.
She saw the river like a dark ribbon on the snow. Argonholm was built just beyond its flood plain, past the ridge that was iced with frozen trees, and next to the lake. Ilyenna didn’t want her mother and father to see she’d been crying, so she sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, determined to stop.
Sitting on her bottom, she slid down the slippery bank to the riverside. The layers of ice deadened the sound of the rushing water. But Ilyenna saw it below, black and colder than ice. It had taken all her courage to cross it the first time, when Rone and Bratton had been within calling distance.
Now she was alone, and she couldn’t swim. Few of her clan could. The lakes of the Shyle were fed by glaciers. They were clear as the finest glass . . . and cold as the ice that bore them.
Ilyenna was a little below where Bratton and Rone had crossed, but not much. It was less steep here. She’d find their path easily on the other side. She eased her foot out and listened for any cracks. Silence. She took another step, her arms out like a bird in flight. Her hands started sweating inside her mittens. She slid one foot forward and brought the other behind. Slowly, slowly, she shuffled across the river.
When she was three-quarters of the way across, she heard a loud crack, like the sound of an axe chopping a tree. She froze, her heart in her throat. Even slower than before, she eased her foot forward and gingerly put her weight on it. The ice cracked again.
For an agonizing moment, she waited. At the sound of the third crack, she bolted. She felt the ice splinter beneath her feet and fall away.
“Ilyenna. Ilyenna,” someone whispered.
Ilyenna struggled to free herself from the dream. She saw someone ease the trapdoor open. After leaving her locked in the attic for an entire night and a day, had Darrien come to break his word? Well, not without her putting up a fight. She lurched to her feet, a scream on her lips.
Rone’s head appeared. At the sight of her balled fists, his eyes widened. “You planning on killing me, then?”
All the fight went out of her, and she slumped back onto the dirty boards. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was weak from hunger and sore from Darrien’s fists and feet. Her head ached for want of water. Though Hannie had snuck her a little food and water, it hadn’t been enough, and Ilyenna had been sick with heat during the day.
“How did you get away?” she asked Rone now. He usually watched for her after his day’s work was done, but to sneak away in the middle of the day?
“That’s the thing about gathering river stones—you’re out of sight at the river often as not.” Rone finished climbing up and handed her a waterskin. She gulped down the liquid. Almost immediately, she felt the water traveling from her shriveled stomach outward, spreading through her chest and abdomen, to her aching joints and withered brain. She took another drink and another, until she was almost drunk with water. Suddenly drowsy, she lay her head on Rone’s lap.
“How did you get in here?” she whispered.
He began to stroke her hair. “Not sure why Darrien thought it a good idea to take so many of us. The more tiams there are, the stronger we become.”
“And the weaker our clans,” she responded.
He paused for a moment. “How so?”
She took another long drink. “We’re hostages. Our clans won’t attack when their daughter’s lives are at stake.”
Rone grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’ve dried blood on your cheek.” He pulled his sleeve over his hand, dribbled a little water on it, and b
egan wiping the corner of her mouth. As he worked, he kept glaring at the attic door, as if he’d like nothing more than to sneak down there, find Darrien, and put a knife in his heart. A part of her longed for him to do just that.
“I didn’t even find out you were up here until today. Why didn’t you call for me when he took you from the others?” Rone asked.
She heard the accusation in his voice. There was hurt, too, but she didn’t understand why. “You know why,” she said. She winced at his scrubbing and pressed her hand over his to keep it still. He paused and left his hand on her cheek. It felt good to lie there like this with him. Too good. A sister wouldn’t have these kinds of thoughts.
Embarrassed, she pushed back. Rone watched her before looking away. Slowly, she worked her stiff jaw. It was swollen and no doubt bruised.
He handed her a cloth-wrapped package. “Mother worried they weren’t letting you eat again.”
Ilyenna pulled back the rag to find a few chunks of bread and smoked ham. She shoved some bread into her mouth and chewed as quickly as her sore jaw could bear.
Rone chuckled. “I guess Mother was right.”
Ilyenna guzzled more water. “My clanwomen?”
He sighed and looked away. “The Shyle are strong. They’ll survive.” He surveyed her. “How was your seventh day?”
Her frantic chewing slowed. Had it really only been seven days since Darrien had taken her? It was a sobering thought. She wanted to confide her fears to Rone. But what could she tell him? That Darrien would push her until she broke? That she could already see fractures in her resolve? That marrying him didn’t seem half so bad as starving to death? If she told Rone any of that, he’d do something stupid and get them all killed. She swallowed. “What happens if a tiam runs, Rone?”
His gaze swung to the chink in the river stones. She waited for him to reprimand her lack of honor, to tell her to hold fast to courage. “You know what happens. Every clanman takes to his horse and they bring out the dogs. Then they bring the tiam back. But the Tyrans don’t stop there. If it’s a man, they’ve the right to kill them then and there. If it’s a woman, she loses all her rights.” He paused. “The Tyrans will pass her around before selling her to foreigners as a slave.”