by Amber Argyle
Undon took a step back. “His men killed my son, so I took his daughter.”
“So it’s revenge, is it?” Gen’s voice went dangerously soft.
For the first time, Undon looked nervous. “She’s alive. That’s more than I can say of my son.”
“She’s beaten and half starved. What else have you done to her? To the other girls?” Gen’s face had acquired the look of deadly calculation she’d seen on men’s faces before they killed.
“She was punished for disobedience.”
Gen’s gaze narrowed. “Your account doesn’t match what the Shyle claims. And even if it did, the Council decides matters between clans. We don’t take up arms against one another. You’d no right to take Ilyenna or to attack the Shyle. At the spring feast, the Council will decide what to do about your attack of the Argons.”
Gen tugged Ilyenna behind him, always keeping Undon in his line of sight. “Ilyenna, get on my horse. We’re taking you and the other women back to your father.”
Undon laughed. The Riesen men tightened their grips on their axes. Ilyenna held the basket of dishes so tightly that she felt the weave imprinting on her hands.
Undon stroked his axe haft. “You’ve no right to interfere with my tiams, Gen. Come to me with the Council’s verdict, not your own. Then we’ll see what course to take.”
Ilyenna knew a verdict from the Council would have to wait another few weeks. She didn’t think she’d last that long.
Gen suddenly changed tactics. “Why, Undon? You know the Council will send the girls home in a month. What do you have to gain by keeping them here until then? Let them go.”
Ilyenna felt a flicker of hope. Undon could have gone to the Council and demanded tiams for the crimes against his clan. Instead, he’d crippled both the Shyle and Argon, taking tiams who would ensure his clan remained untouched until the Council returned them in a month’s time.
“I’m afraid I must insist on taking Ilyenna,” Gen said. “You agreed not to let harm come to her by violence or neglect, yet I can clearly see she has been beaten. And any fool can see she’s half starved.”
Undon snorted. “And who can trust the word of a fool?”
Gen’s hand flew to his axe hilt.
Undon held out his hands and took a deep breath. “We agreed not to harm her so long as she fully submitted. She hasn’t, and so we must teach her.
“I tire of you, Gen of the Resien. Ilyenna is my concern now. You may speak with Rone. Then I’ll send a man to lead you to the burned-out farms. But thereafter, I suggest you leave Tyran lands. The hunt is on, I would hate for someone to mistake you for a boar.”
The men around Gen pulled their axes free. The Resien clan chief took a menacing step forward. “Don’t threaten me, Undon of the Tyran clan.”
Undon slipped his axe from its loop and ran his thumb along the edge—an edge sharp enough to peel a mushroom. “The truth is, the Tyran is one of the largest clans. You can no more stand against us than the Argons or Shyle could.”
Gen gripped Ilyenna’s arm. “We’re leaving with the clan mistress.”
Undon rested his axe hilt on the ground and leaned against it. “Clanmen!” he roared.
Dozens of men bearing axes and shields slowly began filtering out of the clan house. Undon must have guessed how this meeting would go, and he’d been prepared. Ilyenna’s hope shattered like glass.
Undon smiled congenially, but his eyes held a threat. “We’re off on the hunt, Gen of the Resien. Care to join us?”
Gen exchanged a tight glance with Ilyenna. He’d lost, and they both knew it. “This isn’t over.” She thought he said it as much for her own benefit as for Undon’s.
The Tyran clan chief slowly shook his head. “I certainly hope not. I look forward to meeting you again.”
Gen stared at Ilyenna, his eyes seeming to try to convey the words he couldn’t say. He and his men mounted their horses. “I’ll come back,” he said to Undon. “If I don’t find Ilyenna well, I promise you, the entire Council will descend on you.” He leaned forward in his saddle. “And if they don’t, I will.”
Ilyenna’s heart sank. The Council’s power lay in the clan chiefs’ willingness to send their men to war—men needed to plant crops and protect their own lands. Dead men meant years of hunger and fatherless children. It wouldn’t be easy to convince them, not when the attacked clans had already been defeated.
Undon gave a mocking bow. “I look forward to such a day.”
After one last look at Ilyenna, Gen kicked his horse. He and his men galloped down the streets, scattering Tyrans as they went.
Undon watched until the Resien were out of sight, then turned to Ilyenna. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. Perhaps Undon realized just how sharp a knife he was playing with after all. “I trust you know better than to hope, Ilyenna. The Tyran clan is one of the largest. It’ll take more than two defeated clans to raise the Council’s axes. By the time they convene, tempers will have faded, allowances will have been made. Especially when they learn you could’ve ended your suffering simply by becoming a Tyran clan mistress.”
Ilyenna kept her expression blank. “I’ve washing to do.”
Undon smiled. “I’m glad you’re learning.”
For the rest of the day, it seemed no matter how fast Ilyenna worked, Metha always found something wrong with the chore she’d just finished, and she was forced to do it over.
Ilyenna had just headed out the door with a pilfered bit of soap when Darrien’s voice stopped her from behind. “Where’re you going?”
She didn’t turn. “My work’s done. I’m going to bathe.”
“Until you agree to marry me, your smell doesn’t distress me.” He circled her, an evil smile on his lips. “I could, however, be persuaded.”
She glared up at him, trying not to notice how big and strong he was. “No.”
“Let her go, Darrien.” She startled at the voice and turned to look behind Darrien. Undon stood in the kitchen doorway. “Her smell might not bother you, but it does me.”
Darrien’s jaw flexed in anger before he bent forward and sniffed loudly. “Perhaps you’re right, Father.”
He turned and both men disappeared back inside the kitchen.
Trying to keep from running, Ilyenna started up the path to the river.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Nearly jumping out of her dress, she turned to see Rone hurrying to catch up. “I asked what you’re doing.”
She studied him askance. He had a very handsome chin—strong and square—and the brightest, spring green eyes she’d ever seen. And she’d never felt less attractive. Much as she wanted to be near Rone, she didn’t want him near her. “I’m going to clean myself up.”
He chuckled softly. “Bit spoiled, are you?”
Suddenly he was the old Rone, the Rone of her childhood. The one who teased her mercilessly. “Spoiled?” She shoved him, so glad he’d forgiven her earlier outburst. “I haven’t bathed in a week.”
He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Yes, I noticed.”
She glared at him. “I just finished cleaning the chicken coop.” She knew full well it was more than just the coop that made her smell.
He shook his head and pulled out a nutty wedge of bread, wagging it at her like a finger. “I’ll wager you this piece of bread Metha hasn’t had a bath in four times that.”
She snatched the bread from his hands. He gave it up easily, adding a couple boiled eggs. “Did you eat today?”
She nodded. “Metha let me have some lunch.”
“She’s a real apple, that one.”
Ilyenna sputtered, nearly choking on her bread. “Round and rosy?”
Rone grinned mischievously. “No. More like a smelly, rotten, mushy old apple.”
Oh, an apple sounded lovely right now. She adored apples. She took a bite of the egg, and he handed her some water. She took it gratefully. “Metha’s expecting a baby.”
He froze, his mouth hanging open. �
��Someone stuck around long enough to get her with child?”
Ilyenna laughed; it had been such a long time her cheeks felt stretched and stiff. But suddenly she wanted to know why Rone was helping her. As a clan chief? Her brother’s best friend? “Thank you for the food—for everything. But Rone, why are you watching out for me? I’m not an Argon.”
He folded his arms. “No, but you need someone as badly as anyone here. Besides, after what your clan did for mine, how could I not offer help?”
“Oh.” Her food suddenly tasted like sawdust. Didn’t he find her pretty? Now she was smelly and skinny and pale as birch bark, but she hadn’t always been. What she wouldn’t give for Rone to feel ardor for her like Darrien did. She shivered deliciously at the thought.
“You’re quiet. My answer didn’t settle?” Rone said.
She handed him the waterskin, glad she could hear the rushing water and have an excuse to end this embarrassing encounter. “Honor is a fine reason to help a woman. Sleep well, Rone.”
She found a full bush and began undressing behind it. When she turned, she was surprised to see him still there, though his back was turned away, his eyes riveted to a tree. “You can go back now,” she said.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I’d better. What if Darrien comes?”
“Then you’d better be as far away from me as possible.” Checking to make sure he didn’t peek, though a part of her wished he would, Ilyenna tested the water. It was as cold as ever, yet that cold felt comforting to her aching body.
“One day, I’ll kill him for you.” A hardness had crept into Rone’s voice.
“Go back, Rone. I’ll be fine.”
He shook his head. “I brought more ointment. I’ll rub it in once you’re finished.”
“Stubborn man,” she mumbled. But secretly, she was pleased. The thought of Rone’s hands on her made her tremble with excitement.
Soap in hand, Ilyenna washed her dress, wrung it out, and hung it over the bush. Then she went in as deep as she dared and splashed water on herself. She began lathering up. She sighed at the sight of her body, a mass of bruises in various degrees of healing. She could feel the ridges of each rib.
Soon, she stepped out of the water and pulled on her damp dress. She tried to adjust it, but the water made it hard to shift. With her dress twisted and heavy, she made her way to Rone.
“You must be freezing.”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
He took out the ointment, and she turned and pulled her hair over her shoulder. His hands were rough as cracked leather, but so gentle on her skin. She shivered.
“See, you are cold.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she bit her lip. His hands seemed to linger as he rubbed in the ointment.
“Your skin is as pale as moonlight,” he said.
“So was my mother’s,” she said without thinking. She was usually careful not to speak of her mother. Memories always dropped a smoldering coal of guilt in her chest. After all, it was her fault Matka was dead. But now Ilyenna had started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Do you remember her? She had hair the color of a midnight sky and eyes as dark as earth.”
“So do you.”
Ilyenna turned to face him. “If only I were half so beautiful.”
Rone’s brow furrowed. “I don’t see how she could be any more beautiful than you.”
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Rone threw his hands up. “I’m sorry. I never know what to say to you.” He turned to leave.
She snatched his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . do you really think that? That I’m beautiful?”
He stepped closer, the intensity of his gaze surprising her. “Yes.”
Her eyes shifted to his arms, the bulge of his muscles visible beneath his undershirt. How would it feel to have those strong arms around her? She couldn’t help herself. Her gaze rested on his lips. Her heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it.
He cocked his head to the side, studying her. Unable to bear it, she looked away.
Rone took a small step forward, still watching her. Was he mocking her?
If he starts tickling me, he’ll have more to fear than Darrien’s axe, she thought.
Calling up her courage, she matched his step, her eyes trained upon his lips. He leaned toward her, so close they breathed the same air. She closed her eyes.
“What are you two doing?”
They jumped back like thieves caught stealing spring lambs. Ilyenna’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. If Darrien found out . . .
But it was Narium who appeared through the trees, her expression twisted in disapproval. Crossing her arms, she glared at the two of them. Ilyenna dropped her gaze and stared at the ground in a mixture of embarrassment and shame.
“Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone else saw what I just did? They’d kill him, Ilyenna. They’d kill my son.”
“They’ll kill me regardless, Mother. The slightest slip—”
“And you think to leave your death on her hands?” Narium interrupted. Her gaze softened, and she stepped forward and placed her small hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be selfish. You’re not the selfish kind. I still need you. Our clan still needs you. Ilyenna still needs you.” She dropped her hand. “From now on, I’ll see she receives food, but not from you.” Narium’s face was hard as flint. “Not anymore.”
Rone took a deep breath. “I am clan chief. I’ve the right to—”
“Silence!” Narium said with all the power of a clan mistress. She turned to Ilyenna. “Please understand, he’ll die.”
Ilyenna dropped her head as tears blurred her vision. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” She turned and ran.
11. Healer
Though her blankets were spread before the hearth, Metha was nowhere in sight. Ilyenna was glad to have the kitchen to herself so she could stitch up her overdress—her underdress would have to wait until she had both light and privacy. With fingers accustomed to a needle and thread, she worked quickly, not wanting Darrien to catch her in the kitchen in nothing but her underdress.
She sighed when she pulled the mended overdress over her head. It was such a relief to have her back covered. Suddenly, she heard voices beyond the door—a man and a woman arguing.
“Why are you doing this?” the woman asked, and Ilyenna recognized Metha’s voice.
“Shh! Do you want to wake my father?”
That was Darrien. Ilyenna cringed. The voices moved toward her. As fast as she could, she ducked outside and pressed her back against the cool river-stone wall. She heard the kitchen door creak open.
“I will not ‘shh!’” Metha said loudly, “You told me you loved me. You told me we’d marry! Now everyone knows I’m with child. My family has thrown me out, and still you won’t give our child a father!”
Ilyenna braced herself against the river stones to keep from falling over. Darrien was the father to Metha’s child? She wanted to marry him? It seemed so preposterous. Ilyenna couldn’t help herself; she peeked through the door, which was slightly ajar. Darrien shoved Metha into a chair and pressed his palms into the table behind her, boxing her in. “If you weren’t carrying a child, I’d beat you for speaking to me that way. I will be clan chief. The daughter of a wheat farmer will never do.”
“Not just a child, your child.” Metha’s voice came out half strangled. “You helped create it, so why am I the only one being treated like a whore?”
Darrien shrugged. “Because you’re a woman.”
Metha’s chest heaved on a silent sob. “And I suppose that scrawny little witch from the Shyle would make a better breeder?”
Darrien pulled back his hand and slapped her full in the face.
Ilyenna covered her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out.
Metha screeched and raised her hand to slap him back. Darrien grabbed it. With his other hand, he roughly grasped her face. “Don’t you ever, ever speak to me that way again. I got you work o
ut of pity, but if you’d rather, I can take it away and you can live as the harlot outcast you are.”
He released her face and gently stroked the red marks he’d left there. “As for Ilyenna, yes, she’ll make a fine breeder. I’ll enjoy every moment of breaking her. After fathering a few whelps with her, you and I will be free to meet in the woods, as we once did.”
Metha slowly shook her head. “There won’t be any more of that. Ever.”
Darrien chuckled. “We’ll see about that. I like my women with a bit of flesh on them.”
Metha spit in his face. The thin line of spittle ran down his cheek. He wiped it off with his fingers and gazed at it in shock. He threw her to the floor, drew back his foot, and slammed it into her stomach. She gasped in shock and pain, curling protectively around her swollen belly. He kicked her again and again and again.
Ilyenna couldn’t process what she saw. She remembered the Argon babies—the ones she’d tended. The ones who might even now be dead, like Metha’s would soon be. Ilyenna threw open the door and screamed, “No!” Ducking her shoulder, she barreled into Darrien.
He barely had to shift his weight to absorb the blow. Without taking his eyes from Metha, he backhanded Ilyenna. She hit the floor hard. Blackness curled in from the outside of her vision. Shaking her head to clear it, she saw Metha, her face screwed up in agony as Darrien pounded her, his features contorted with rage.
Ilyenna threw herself over Metha, screaming as loud and long as she could, “Rone!” A kick to her already bruised ribs stole her breath. Her whole body clenched in protest. Darrien kicked her over and over, and a scream of pain tore from her throat. Ilyenna realized her folly too late. She hadn’t saved anyone. He was going to kill all three of them.
Something cracked. It sounded like lightning. The kicks finally stopped.
Ilyenna rolled off Metha and vomited. When her retching finally stopped, she managed to look up.
Rone had Darrien underneath him, his fist working the other man into a pulp. Undon must have come down while she’d been sick. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to pull Rone off. Ilyenna tried to shout, but her words came out as little more than a hoarse whisper, “No. Don’t kill him, Rone. They’ll execute you.”