Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel

by E. A. Burnett

  chapter Twenty-seven

  She certainly wasn't a cook.

  She had failed to make a day tart, the simplest of dishes that she had witnessed Arundel's cooks make dozens of times. Eggs, which she had gathered from bird nests near camp, herbs from the small kitchen garden, sunberries, a pat of butter (she had found an entire log of it in the kitchen cupboard), onion, and a bit of cheese. Where the butter and cheese had come from, she still hadn't a clue. She only knew that they were a commodity in the camp and that she had taken some.

  Only to waste it.

  Ember pushed herself to shift faster in the darkness of the hovel. The day had barely been born, Riggs and Norman slept, and here she stood shifting in the dark, bone-weary, sickened, and furious.

  She hated the oven's fire. Unpredictable. Inconsistent. She had no idea how the cooks kept it steady and calm. First the fire was too weak, and after she added more tinder and a flat piece of wood, it sparked and crackled to life. Exactly where she wanted it. But then it consumed the wood and the tarts with it. By then it had grown too hot for her to even try saving them.

  So she had watched her hours of hard work get eaten by the fire and tried not to be disappointed.

  And now she had to go back to the kitchens, as if nothing had happened. As if she had not wasted a thing.

  She stopped shifting and leaned over, gasping for air and pushing down the bile that burgeoned up. Riggs stirred where he slept on the cot, and Ember held her breath, hoping he would stay asleep.

  His deep breathing ensued.

  She released hers and stood, then pulled on her deer-hide dress, silent as a mouse. She was glad she only had to worry about waking Riggs; Kitt had gone back to his own hovel days ago, as soon as he was able to walk.

  She crept up the rough stone steps to the door, which she squeezed out of and carefully set back against the ground.

  Spring touched the air, cool enough to prickle the skin, heavy with the prospect of rain. Mountains to the east blocked the rising sun, leaving the camp in shadows until late morning. Above the mountain slopes, the sky reminded her of Mirror Lake, a murky black washing into purple to the east. Bulky clouds gathered to the north, half-hidden by the tail of night. A storm.

  Sighing, she pinched her cheeks and stuck her nose against the nearest dogwood blossoms before plucking one and sticking it behind her ear. She hoped to look a little less tired than she felt, in case someone realized certain ingredients were missing from the kitchen and that that meant someone had either cooked or stolen from the place overnight.

  Stopping at the river, she sluiced crisp mountain water over her face and rinsed the bile from her mouth. She drank, and the coldness sank down, settling her stomach. No one else in the camp stirred. Beyond the gurgle of the stream, robins sang random, whimsical notes while thrushes played their lilting flutes and wrens carried on their endless chatter. No doubt some of them noticed their missing eggs.

  Not wanting to linger too long at the river, Ember brushed back her hair with hasty fingers and crossed over to the cave opening. She would need to clean out the oven first, now that the fire had died, before others arrived and witnessed the burnt remains of day tarts.

  "...they gave more this time than last," Ember heard Asenath say as she walked in. Etty stood next to her at the chopping table, both with backs turned on the cave entrance. Disheartened, Ember glanced toward the brick oven, and saw with dismay that someone had already cleaned it out and started a new fire.

  "It's still not enough," Etty said in her stern voice. "The children are weak as it is. It's only a matter of time before the next injury."

  "I agree they need more, but it's dangerous going out there. Every time, they risk discovery—"

  Etty seemed to sense that Ember stood in the cave entrance and turned with squinted eyes.

  "You," she said to Ember. "Early today, I see. Come churn this cream."

  Without a word, Ember went to the table, waiting for Etty's vocal lashing for foolishly wasting food the night before, and grabbed the handle of the small butter-churn. There was little cream inside, a small portion of what was left in a jug beside it. Beside the jug lay a large hunk of yellow cheese, a pot of honey the width of Ember's hand, and a sack of flour, which Asenath used to make dough.

  She caught Asenath giving her a meaningful glance as Etty poured cream into a small pot, and she ducked her head, keeping her eyes intent on the churn.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  "You keep churning that slow and steady. Careful not to slosh it out," Etty reminded her.

  There was hardly enough cream in the container to risk it sloshing out, but Ember nodded obediently.

  Etty took her pot of cream to the oven fire, pulling out the hook set in the top so that she could hang the pot at a safe distance from the extreme heat of the flame.

  Ember turned toward Asenath, about to ask whether she had cleaned out the oven, when someone stomped into the cave behind her.

  "Storm's coming," Wymer pronounced.

  "Of course there is," Etty snapped from where she stood stirring the cream. "Did you get what I asked for?"

  "With the help of these fine ladies," Wymer said, unaffected by Etty's impatience as he motioned a bony arm at the cave entrance. Two of the kitchen girls came in carrying baskets loaded with wild leeks, chives, berries, and mushrooms. They both rolled their eyes at Wymer before joining Asenath and Ember at the table.

  "Good," said Etty, turning her concentration back to the cream. "Now chop them." Wymer's smug smile fell, and Etty added, "We'll be making tarts for supper today."

  Ember paled and focused on churning the cream, ignoring her tired limbs and the uneasiness that lingered in her stomach.

  "Easy peas," Wymer said airily as he came to the table to half-heartedly chop leeks. He grunted when he saw the honey, cream, and cheese. "That's all they got? I bet if I'd gone, we'd have twice as much."

  Ember repressed the urge to ask who 'they' were and where they had gone. Did the appearance of the food have to do with the wolves she had seen the night before? It's not the hunting, Seabird had said, but where they go after the hunt.

  "Why don't they try threats?" Wymer continued over the sound of chopping and churning cream. "Maybe an old snarl at the throat, teeth exposed—"

  "You'd be better off keeping your thoughts to yourself." Asenath's tone was cool but clipped. The bits of fur on her dress danced as she kneaded the dough.

  He snorted and opened his mouth, only to close it again with a shrug when he caught Asenath's warning glance.

  Thunder growled overhead.

  Wymer turned toward Ember instead. "Why so quiet today, Em? You look like you've seen a burnt loaf of bread."

  Ember pretended she didn't hear him. He reminded her of the stable-boys in Silverglen who made fun of her for dressing like a boy. They had stopped making fun of her when they found out she carried a dagger, not that she had ever had to use it on them. But even if she had her dagger now, she doubted Wymer would care.

  The noise of pattering rain filled the cave.

  "Wymer," said Asenath, "Why don't you bring this loaf to the oven and see if Etty needs anything?"

  Seeming glad for an excuse to leave the chopping, Wymer hastily set down the worn knife and took up the mound of dough. Ember shot Asenath a grateful look. An exchange that Wymer didn't miss. Ember couldn't help but notice his frown, the ugly curl of his lip, and the way his balding scalp tinged pink.

  She willed the cream to turn to butter faster. A cool, wet wind swept into the cave and stirred the chopped leaks on the table. The girls began to tell Asenath where the leeks and mushrooms came from, and how they had only picked a small amount of what grew there. Ember feigned interest, certain that Asenath was the one who had cleaned out the oven and that Etty didn't know. But even if the tarts had been entirely eaten by the fire last night, surely Etty would notice that there was now less cheese, butter, and onion than the day before.

  Unless the new food
distracted her too much.

  "Ember!" Etty called, causing Ember to flinch. "Fetch me that pot o' honey."

  Ember grabbed the roughly made honey-pot, noticing its uneven bottom and the opening in the top that didn't quite match the shape of the lid. Her fingers found coarse grooves that looked to be claw marks, as though an animal had picked it up.

  A hawk, perhaps.

  Cold blossomed in her chest as she walked toward Etty. The pot had been made by a villager, Ember guessed, which meant that Jinni and the others—if it was indeed them who had brought back food—had crossed from Orion into Lach. Ember held the pot up to see the minute potter's mark etched into the bottom.

  Her foot met resistance and she reeled off-balance, crying out as the pot slipped from her grasp.

  CRACK!

  Ember found herself flat on the ground. The honey-pot lay just out of reach, the honey seeping from three shards of pot and gathering dust from the cave floor.

  "You clumsy fool!" Etty rushed to save the honey with a bowl and spoon. "This is the only honey we have until fall."

  "I'm sorry," Ember said, dazed. Sitting up, she glanced back to see what had tripped her.

  Wymer. He towered behind her, his arms crossed, looking on with a smugness that made her long to brandish a dagger.

  "I have no patience for clumsiness," Etty said, huffing as she stood, the bowl of rescued honey gripped in two hands. Red-faced, she went to her pot of cream, her plump jaw set in a way that contradicted the slow, careful stirring of the cream. "Nor do I have patience for waste. You've used up all of my patience, Ember."

  "But—"

  "No. You'd be of better use elsewhere."

  Ember stood, watching hopelessly at Etty stirred. "Is there nothing I can do to—"

  A sharp, fired glance from Etty and Ember snapped her mouth closed.

  "Go," Etty commanded. "You, Wymer, clean up that mess."

  Ember ignored Wymer's look of contempt as she spun away and strode toward the cave entrance.

  How dare he trip her? Incorrigible man. Boy, rather. Repulsive. Impudent. A host of other names only Dev might have used ran through her head. He wouldn't have dared do such a thing if he knew who she was. The daughter of the most powerful lord of the Council—

  She shook her head. No. Not his daughter. She would not associate with that hated man.

  A gentle touch to her elbow made her jump away, palms out as if to grapple.

  Asenath, looking as startled as she felt, spread her fingers in peace.

  "I'm sorry you've had a hard time here. It's not so easy for some of us. That's why I prefer decorating the dishes with silly Glamours rather than cooking." Asenath smiled. "I am better at it, and it suits me."

  "The children like it," Ember admitted. Even something as simple as a decoration made life at camp better. Why couldn't she be good at something? "But what else can I do?"

  Asenath rested a reassuring hand on Ember's shoulder. "We could always use more meat."

  Thunder clapped. The vibrations rattled through the cave and into her bones.

  "Are you suggesting I hunt?" Ember couldn't keep her voice steady.

  A slight frown wrinkled Asenath's silky forehead, and her hand dropped away. "We all must work for the good of the camp. All of us have responsibilities, whether we like them or not."

  Ember straightened her back, not trusting herself to speak. She gave a brief nod and stepped out of the cave, into the lashing breath of the storm.

  Torrents of rain drenched her as she crossed the river. The wind howled through the trees and whistled past sunberry shrubs. The forest shuddered around her, though she couldn't see much beyond curtains of cold rain.

  She had been a fool to think herself free here. Foolish to believe she could have a place in the kitchens. Foolish to believe she could ever be accepted in this camp of shifters.

  She had tried to be one of them, and failed. And now this, now they asked her to—

  Lightning arched overhead, blinding her with a flash. Thunder snapped and rolled. Ember ran.

  A short, slippery distance, and she threw open the hovel door, sliding on wet feet down the steps, and jerked the door closed behind her.

  Quiet shadows bathed the space below. Riggs stood near the fire, a stick in hand, prodding the small flames to life.

  He looked up as she slid down the steps. "Ember?"

  "Riggs. I can't work there anymore."

  Shivering, she came toward the fire. Her skin thirsted for warmth.

  "What happened?"

  She held trembling hands over the meager flames, feeling the dread curl through her.

  "I burnt the tarts. Wasted. I wasted food, Riggs. All those children, starving because of me. And Wymer." She said his name with as much hatred as she could muster. "He tripped me and I dropped the honey. The last of the honey, until fall."

  The fire blurred before her, but she couldn't stop, wouldn't stop the words from leaving her tongue.

  "I have to do something. They are starving and I have to play a part, it's my responsibility. It's my fault."

  Her body shook like a leaf in a gust of wind. The withered dogwood blossom tumbled from her hair and landed on a coal, curling and blackening before a flame devoured it. She felt cold. Unbearably cold.

  "I must do something," she continued, looking at Riggs to be sure he understood. He didn't. He was riffling through his medicine box, pulling out a flask, worry and confusion etched over his kind, wide face. She longed to tell him everything—the words thrust against her lips—but she couldn't. She mustn't. Ember shook her head before he could offer the flask and gazed back into the fire. Why was she so cold?

  Riggs shuffled away and came back, and a woolen blanket came across her shoulders. She clutched it with both hands.

  "You're alright now." Riggs soothed a hand over her back. "You don't need to do anything except calm down. The fire will warm you."

  As if remembering his task, he leapt to get more wood from one shadowed side of the hovel.

  "I must do something," she repeated in a whisper. If she said it enough to herself, she would think of something, anything besides what she knew she had to do.

  Kill. Hunting was killing, and she didn't like to kill. The word brought up Arundel's face, his hands, strong and lean and capable of so much. She remembered the scent of metal, tangy like blood, hard and controlling. His grin, the pleasure and hatred shining in his eyes like madness, like sickness. He never minded the blood, the way it dyed his clothes carmine and stained his skin brick-red. When she was little, he had touched her with those bloodied hands, touched her tenderly, like a father, to hug her or bring her to see his conquest.

  But he wasn't right and Salena knew it. Her mother understood and tried to bring her away. He was angry but never hurt Salena. He hurt the horses instead, and cows, and the pigs, and the dogs.

  How could she, Ember, cause harm like he did? How could she hunt and kill for anything, for anyone? The idea of getting pleasure from such a thing sickened her.

  But she must, she must do it, whether she liked it or not. The children needed to eat, they needed to be strong. They needed to survive, to hide or defend themselves from the patrols.

  The patrols that might be looking for her.

  "Ember. Are you alright?" Riggs kneeled across the fire from her, patient as ever.

  "Yes." Her throat felt thick, her voice husky. "I must learn to hunt." With the words said aloud, a strange numbness fell over her. Cold calm seeped into her limbs with certainty, and she let the blanket fall away. "I need to find Kitt."

  The shadows in the hovel stirred. "I’m here."

  Before she could speak, Kitt walked into the light of the fire.

  chapter Twenty-eight

  If it wasn't for the icy calm wrapping around her, Ember might have shifted into a bird and flew off, beating her wings against the stormy air in a fit of anger and shame. But her frozen heart wouldn't, couldn't let her feel anything beyond mild surprise...and something e
lse.

  The firelight warmed Kitt's skin to an amber hue. It dipped into the pink scar of his thigh, coursed along his torso and arms, and wound up around his throat like a snake seeking heat. She would like to be that snake.

  If Kitt were anyone else.

  Ignoring the warmth that tingled up her wet spine, she lifted her chin.

  "Kitt, eavesdropping?" she said in mocking disbelief. "Impossible."

  Kitt lowered his head, and the silver along his temple flared. "I was here before you arrived. It was unintentional."

  Something in his tone had changed. Softened.

  "And you decided not to announce yourself," Ember prodded, fighting to see his eyes beneath the shadows. He poised as though waiting, a frown creasing his forehead.

  "I didn't want to upset you further."

  She smiled and would have laughed—hadn't Kitt rather enjoyed upsetting her, the wizard-shifter?—had he not suddenly lifted his gaze and rested it on her, dark and serious.

  The frozen coil of fear in her heart cracked. She looked away, into the fire. "Will you teach me to hunt?"

  Kitt moved to kneel next to her. His eyes shifted from shadows to their usual mossy green, and he leaned toward the flames, thoughtful. "I will try. After the storm."

  She could smell his familiar, wild scent, nearly hidden by sweat and the sweet, earthy poultice Riggs used to heal Kitt's wound. Remembering the healer, she glanced up and caught Riggs' ridiculous, ear-flapping grin and a look that held far too much interest.

  She glared at him, effectively wiping the grin off his face. He cleared his throat and pretended to rummage in his medicine box, looking happy and even happier when he pulled out a leather flask.

  "Will you share this with me?" Riggs offered the flask, and Kitt took it with a small smile.

  "To celebrate what, exactly?" Kitt asked, tugging out the small cork and sniffing the contents skeptically.

  "A truce," Riggs announced. "Between wizard and shifter."

  Kitt's eyebrows rose. "You're the only one who isn't a shifter here, Pitkin." He took a swig from the flask and handed it to Ember.